"incorporating" poems
Establish a research and development facility tasked with recycling 100,000 commonly used household goods or packaged products back into the original base material needed to remake it into new product packaging. Pass legislation requiring all companies selling products with packaging to buy their source materials from a registered public-private venture allowing any firm willing to participate to do so. Companies must then manufacture packaging locally using source materials supplied by one of the public-private companies. Companies will also be required to hire locally using a diversity and economic income model incorporating or locating the participating companies in the poorest rural counties in the state.
Society grows great when Old Men plant trees. -Socrates
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 7:46 PM UTC
A man is like a flower
Starts with a bud
Blossoms into its nature
Natural ecstasy and perfection
In time it wears out too
Finally falls off the tree
A natural process
A natural phenomenon
Naturally the man
See as a flower
All the nature of being
To the base is the same
The intelligence the man puts into saying
That he is only the creature of importance
And everything in the world are the resource
Resource to be consumed by himself
Is the false flag he is raising
And is in the denial of the very nature
Anything which is resonant
And synchronous to the nature
Has the time in nature to the eternity
Whereas if not
In accordance to the nature
Sooner or later
On the verse of decay
On the verse of extinction
I see the human race is in the path of extinction
As civilization denying nature rather than glorifying
Human beings are far from the true essence
And are not synchronizing in the heart
Of the very nature
The so called intelligence
is what humans praise and glorifying
A lot full of ****
And it is a shame
We see the population of human species
To rise and rise
So may presume the statement
I just stated to be false
But seeing the thought processes
And so called intelligence
Is setting the human species
To a sense of decay
The step to the human race to demolish its own race
Is a unjustified intelligence in itself
The truth and laws of nature
Being in shade
Humans incorporating thoughts
As a tool of destruction
Rather than construction
In the field of criticism rather than motivation
In the field of extinction rather than sustainability
In the field of destruction rather than collaboration
And effort in maintaining the continuity
Of equilibrium and resonance with the nature
On the contrary
Making critics and complain about the others
Not realizing all are the part of the whole
Is creating a challenge to the nature
Going off beat with the nature.
We shall know
Anything not synchronous
And not resonant to the nature
Nature wipes out sooner or later
We cannot accept the very fact it is true
Even seeing our own life
As a child
The bud to the flower
The youth
The perfection in being and entire existence
The new ideas and new world
The fruit of generation brings about
The generation to come
To fertilize the seeds of the existence
The old age
To be renewed thoughts
Nature wipes out as per the plan
of its own
Accept it as a reality
As it is the truth
The sharpness of flower
Remembered as the youthfulness of flower
The bud is treated emotionally
With care as it is to be the perfection
In the time to come
The flower to be wiped out is respected
As it was once a perfection
Once roared the magnificence of itself
Upon this very world
The being-wiped flower doesn’t ask
For its claim in the now world
And indulge the new with its now state
But appreciate the perfection once it had
Make believe the youthful flower to blossom
And accept its own existence in the present.
Every species and beings
Are in the nature of being
We are no different from the other species
We are no superior and at the same time no inferior
To the other species
And not the other species to us humans
Everybody and everything
Is the part of the whole
The whole is the nature itself.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
Success can only take place if you have fulfilled achievement
You must think positive in voice
Later incorporating your own concepts being your choice
The Graduation Cap being your thinker
Your Graduation Gown being the Copper and Gold Ticker
Education that took time
Research, Lectures and Concepts that were all combined
You learned discipline in what it takes to succeed
It’s all up to you in how you will proceed
Education gave you the tools of solution base
As you leave the school for the final time you have become the institution trace
You are the pride and honor of any school
Yet you will be the asset and the fine tool
Your eye on endeavors
But it’s no time to sit back sliver
This will be your time to deliver
Think wise and be clever
However, there is no word being never
Step up means step out
Always hold your head up
Dignity being your pursuit
There will be times when struggles come through
Education and Education alone would have shown you in what to do
A moment being your time
Having a smile will be just fine
But never forget during while
Your life has just begun, but think theory and beyond
Education was like an endless mile, but it involved understanding during while
Remember, education is an continuing entity in being ahead and sustaining the learning process
Knowing when
Establishing how
But use all the resources from education
Careers are chosen categories
But you will become the new success story
Your far off has reached today
Yet these will be the words you might say
“I have achieved even when I had doubt, but education helped me see my potential, and I know I can excel”.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC
Hunched over the stove top,
meticulously folding melted chocolate
over and over itself
in infinite tides of glossy excellence.
Incorporating yolks into sugar
whips a wholesome protein
into sweet thick ribbons
that tumble from their metal beaters.
Milk and cocoa powder whisked
until ominous brown clouds
explode into the sky.
The slow incorporation of pieces
climaxes into a smooth custard,
so **** and luscious
you'll lick it off your own fingers.
Any attention that can be
drawn to your mouth is
good attention,
particularly that of homemade ice cream.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
Days extrapolating feeling
Rise before beloved nightfall;
Fill my wisdom teeth with malice
And my writing hand with red sound.
Could it be that such a nightfriend
Wishing me his presence bear be
Such a creature of convulsion to
The color-coded fireworld?
Yet again, it could be thus:
A figment of the waterthought
Defending self-same affluence
In verdant speech clouds’ spheres.
Here simplicity should be foregone
Whilst incorporating to my ken
The worthiest of childhood urge
And true descriptions seen therein.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
Eager men gather, a coalition snug in fortuity.
“Do” is their sentiment.
Vacant economizing is their doing.
Incorporating crisis trepidation intended to conceal true dealings.
A lofty story, nebulous and misty, cordially faces jeopardy.
Equality is never the aim for the uneven.
Humor them though, to their caprice show them what it means to be upright.
The uniform have no battle to fight, like the adage of the sage.
Both ponder in delicate hesitation, is this the moment?
Do I advance?
Do I relapse?
Have I any recourse at all?
Doubtful in whimsical inquiry
wishing to elevate such a state quickly,
be pleased with assumed explanations;
without debate, such a reckless undoing, will enfeeble us all.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 7:11 PM UTC
Same old, same old
nothing changes.
Corporations corporating while
the poor men scrape a living.
New lamps for old tramps?
I don't think so.
We're being force fed by the mega men
who do it as they please and when the
poor complain
they do it, do it and do it again.
Same old story
different book,
wonder why I
give a ****
Nothing changes
never will until
the corporations stop incorporating
and
give the poor men recognition.
When I'm dead and gone
the mega men will still be here,
will still go on,
nothing changes just remains
like unwashed sheets
and ***** stains.
But where there's life there's hope I hope
or is this just a hopeless quest to
do our best and
die.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
Fri Feb 10
8:12 AM
“As artists, we are exposed to a heavy level of scrutiny, mostly from ourselves,” adds Villarini-Velez. “At times we might be insecure when a choreographer asks us to do something that takes us away from our usual, classical vocabulary. I felt like some of my peers who aren’t exposed to this movement would feel insecure at times, but nonetheless, rise up to the challenge of exploring new levels of artistry. It’s easy to rely on our usual bag of tricks, but I enjoy the risks of detaching from what looks good and moving in a way that feels good. It’s our responsibility to rise to these challenges and expand our artistic horizons.”(1)
<>
guilty. as charged.
so, incorporating new words,
differing styles.
do what does not come naturally.
“detach from what looks good,
moving in a way that feels good”
make radicalization your ethos
make new-for-you your eponym.
give your name to what you create,
a mere signature insufficient, it is not part of the work!
taste the wet words upon tongue and lips,
let the saliva linkage be to the following morseling phrase,
the mouth sac moist be where verbal embryos are birthed.
hear them spoke in your voice, but,
silently, in your mind, and yet, speak-say them inside
with the shocking thunderous force of a newborn’s first cry.
and when you read them assembled,
weep with pleasure, relieved, this, your child,
looks exactly like no one, with but trace elemental traits of you.
but it is all yours, sinew and cell, fiber and skin,
drawn unformed, ejected from the intramural hollows of the body,
then and only then, mark them at last as truly
mine..
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 2:05 PM UTC
Dreams provide the building blocks for nightmares
Working with outsourced puppeteers,
Freelance shiit talkers
And unlicensed engineers
Incorporating in-house failures,
Stacked to the rafters,
To orchestrate such fears
A passion project with plenty of volunteers
But after 40 some years
Missteps and heartbreak are full blown careers
With daily bonus checks awarded for tears
©2024
Jul 3, 2024
Jul 3, 2024 at 4:26 PM UTC
I agree....just simply through my Experience.
I understand the fine tuning acquired & required as we unVeil New & refined Capabilities
~Waves of Revelation, surging inside of You
~ as you feel a Personal Amazement of all previous Moments ~synchronized~
in
Cosmical interconnectedness
The Entanglement
~that directed the bigger Picture of the a transformative situation
(Testing Ground).
I realize I gain in blessed gifts for my service through proper conduct, awareness through dichotomous states of Eagle Eye Concentration, incorporating full sensory ~Engagement~
... at the same time I Release a part of my Conscious Attention into ~Extended Awareness~
Bless my Befuddlement...I..I..mean I am having a recent frustration causing conflicting feelings about the role I see Myself contributing as in the Grand Procession of These Kind of Things....
I am mainly Elated , Honored, Focused, Excited, and, Well, gawddarnitt...Git me ma horsee ma...We's gots a good long ride, Theys'alls a'beans tellings....I hears
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
While I’m Standing in the middle of the sleepy show , Embracing your holiness with a half-rigid conscious mind, Quetiapine is all over the tiny universe, incorporating into a hundred thunders.
ill eagles are committing suicide, and bats are celebrating the final happy ending over their corpses.
Verses turned into transparent hope, and folks died.
I’m over their terror, burying my whole calamity beneath my haunted soul, crafting some papery flowers, coloring their folds, and organizing them around your fiery throne.
Despite all those doomsday grand signs, I'm luring the romance in the sky’s red layers to possess me as a last romantic attempt, to be able to cover all your fantasies and make them come true for the last time.
My love, I’m there between your fairytales, inhaling the magic and exhaling the tragedy instead of you.
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 6:41 PM UTC
Come whisper in the listen I now long to hear you see
Of my odd interpretation of the lesson in this session
Surely spewing wicked somethings in disorder as it feeds
Agonizing ramblizing far too soon to fail to mention
Incorporating lonesomeness complexities in legions
Is there no unserpentizing the enlightening of strange?
Misuncircumstancing as the reader finds no reason
In such savory salivations of the misconcepted change
Unknowingly still growing far beyond the closest measure
Into raging inconsistencies that weep unto the page
Bleeding such intuitive progression never severed
In the ****** of youthful fluencies in such a weary age
The gladness of the madness strikes within the battered shore
Not but a hair above comparisons so folded in the fray
Enticing bold imperatives unsweetly through the outer core
In air of uninheritance that creeps the numb at play
Parading the tirading of such unsubstantial ecstasy
In such an unconventional impression of insane
Always sometimes never far within the tragic synergy
Of answers unbegotten for the rottening of sane
The murderous disorder in infectious undisease
As such sporadically chaotic posthypnotic juices flow
Now lost in such emphatically irrational absurdities
That pour out further twistedly insistent as I go
Shattering the view and boundary bordering abnormal
In this morsel of a mouthful seen before its time had come to go
Reaching destinations in displacement so unformal
In the storming of the forming verbalating undertow
Bringing order to the chaos of this psychopractic babble
In a lesson of the breaking of the rules amidst the flow
With intention of confusion that makes sense within the rattle
It is only when we break free that we find where we can go
In creative inspiration as this invitation I extend
To all who may so dare to violate the rules of play
Embracing utter lunacy in oddest infestation
As I show what can be done when mental limits melt away
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
"I write because writing is the hardest work I’ve ever done. It is slow and painstaking and frustrating. I do not begin with an idea or a theme, and I don’t make outlines. I don’t have a plan for the ending or, usually, for the next page or the next line. Even short pieces might take shape over years. Everything that I have ever seen, done, or felt, had, shared, or lost, is in play, and
the word of the day is, on most days, confusion
I no longer regret writing, or the life I have made along the way. I’ve learned too much and come too far, and I am in pursuit of an art form. It took a long time, and a lot of work, to get to this point, and I will never find an end to it. I have a problem that can keep me busy for the rest of my life. I have something to look forward to."
Donald Antrim^
~~~
though the waters are eerily placid,
the beard roughened wind
beneath a grey, solemn overcast,
predicts, foretells, enhances, over casts (ha!)
the mood of the moment
but it is not causal for
native, irregularly regular
is the word of the day,
on most days,
confusion
life is my tale of two cities,
for now, for me,
it is best and worst of times,
a cyclical, bent and dinged cylinder,
contains a shape shifting persona
seeking the solidity of a
single polarity
higher highs and lower lows,
the new normal, a new word,
still a slung slang concoction,
not yet unapproved by Merriam Webster
I drink up the external contradictions of
the stiff breeze buffeting the
serenity of the water's horizon
a perspective that always calms,
mirror mocking, so matching
the stiffened interior of
this buffeted flesh form
*"I no longer regret writing,
or the life I have made along the way
I’ve learned too much and
come too far, and I am in pursuit
of an art form"*
rewriting my own internal art form, daily,
incorporating the free, external, unasked for edits,
craft blending the backwards and the forward,
living the confusion that birthed
this poem,
this person,
this art form
~~~
July 18, 2015
Shelter Island, N.Y.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
.*the cracks appeared with black pigeon speaks' video: shibuya halloween 2018: western nightmare made real... listen i loved this **** the whole internet counter-media commentary... but when you begin incorporating your competitor's styles of presentation, i.e. computing forever & paul, john.... john paul... watson... **** john paul watson... no... paul joseph watson, yeah... it's burnout... and all these internet commentators will be the drowning men forced to cling to a razor to stop themselves from drowning... that's not a defeatist statement, like i said: i enjoyed the content... but if it has become such a tedious... self-reflection retrospection of content... sometimes i'm like... **** on me... even i don't drink in front of a mirror, and talk the: mirror, mirror on the wall, like these chaps... dunno, maybe it was a momentary clique fetish... but sure as **** it's ending; which is somewhat, a shame... oh well.*
i'm sitting there, zombified for a a while,
and then...
SNAP OUT...
why am i watching all this internet
commentator ********
esp. surrounding replying to comments
in a live-chat stream?
what, is, wrong, with me?
nostalgia...
yeah... once upon a time it was
all fun...
but fatigue has set in,
the same commentators have become
demoralized...
plus i haven't had enough whiskey
and i ate a meal quiet late...
so i partly dozed off on the windowsill...
so if the content creators have become
demoralized...
had to branch out to LGBTQ
erm... FTIGMB platforms...
oh... right... Gab is down...
so while i snapped out of it,
i was like...
**** it, better get onto fixing the jukebox
and reading some book and ****
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
I had a dream
about
Contact 16.
We were above
the green planet
and the two moons
watched with us
as
the black flower of death
spread
over
Uris
like
agitated silt
in a slow
murky cloud.
We reached earth
and there
were a thousand yous.
A thousand people
that looked just like you
and
the thousand yous
destroyed me.
A thousand
of them
so close to me,
and those thousand people
didn't notice
that I was devouring them
slowly
taking
vital peices of them
and incorporating
them
into me.
Becoming
an amorphousness.
I have devoured sixteen already.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
I am amazed at your view
You see nothing that is right in front of you
They reach out but you refuse
Your kids, your wife, anything new
How many marriages does this make for you?
You may have another before your through
Because you refuse to change your attitude
Your point of view, open up a feeling or two? NO
Once upon a time I had faith in you
But that is no longer true
All that grows is my disappointment in you
To refuse to change your bubble boy views
Once upon a time I wrote a term paper called
"The Bubble theory of Personality"
Every breaking bubble adds to our understanding
All the airs come together and become one
Nothing separate left unsung
It was all about incorporating all that one is
But your bubble refuses to fuse
You will not break down and be yourself
Instead your like a glass bubble sitting on a shelf
I cannot get in, you will not come out
Stuck in your bubble will always work for you
I find that very sad and have sympathy for you
But I cannot be in company with such a limited view of the world
I am challenging the Universe to place me somewhere new
Somewhere without bubbles that refuse to pop
A place with sunshine and lollipops
No more of your negativity
No more broken bubble boy who can't show love
I talk to the sky and rise above
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
She is caressed and tickled faintly
Moves her limbs swiftly against its currents
Seeks to fend off the darkness that surrounds
But is too uncaring to pay heed
Pay heed to those floating by
Disturbing their reveries
Dreams they dream with their eyes wide open
Gazing at the stars, the skies pitch black
For their dreams to realize
They pray to the stars falling
To holy spirits, to Zeus in the gauzy haze
Ignoring her as she drowns
Wishing with lust for glitters and gold
They float all over all around
Blocking the shimmering moonlight
The miniscule ray of hope that she had
Worse, she got vertigo
The waters wash away with whirlpools
In effervescence all bonds that existed
Now withered and weak
The water of totality
Incorporeal, incorporating totality
With mediocre attempts
Barely chafing composure of the surfers
Surfers in trance, penancing after their dreams
Somnolent and drooling in lullaby
Unmindful of the drowning damsel
She is about to succumb
A drunk sailor passes by
Intoxicated in psychedelics, tipsy
With languid gait and slow movements
The world melting before him
With eyes closed he sees the unseen
Vivid serene sceneries and warping visuals
That you and I call hallucinations
Purple, pink and scarlet with spirals
And other ineffable amorphous shapes
For his senses are hindered
That he outreaches for help, that’d cost
Cost him his own dreams and adventures
Dreams to cover the seven seas
With eleven bottles of ***
A downhaul he extends for her
All he sees is a beautiful woman in pain
All he assumes is a paragon of virtue
A company to fill in his solitude
He helps her aboard.
Appalled by apathy of the world
She impels him out of his boat
And treads on alone
To conquer the world
A world of despair
Somewhere among the dreamers
Floating on their surfboards
The bored pirate sees it all
In ephermal tranquillity
For him, “All the world’s a stage”
Innate truths of the world are clear
Thus he just observes from a distance
Like an all seeing eye of the illuminati
And he doesn’t dream
Anymore.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
i am one big
tangle
of nerves
feeling everything
without perception
rolling through the halls
picking up all the trash
left around
experiencing
incorporating
them
all the same
frazzled
ragged
i TOLD YOU
i can't talk about this
before school
i can't be MORE stressed
i can't
handle it
but you can't help it
god
why
are you
doing
this to me
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
i could be
incorporating zillion words to reel
at the combustion of my percevearance
of my contagious belief and clearance
but i wont
i am higher than imperfect ego
than the dirt iwas born to live inside
equal to the monument of thoughts of teachers
build inside this crumbling mind
discovering the glue to fix
discovering some time to make it beat
at least
a little bit
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
*talk of bilingualism in the anglophone realm of talk of bisexuality, is almost the same, as talk of polymath within the context of incorporating ********** for the asylum number of sexes in the current trans- discussion; how about i **** a goat?*
who's to study language, seriously?
poets?
philosophers?
"english" teachers?
polymaths?
or simply bilinguals?
i'm sitting on my windwosill
imitating serpent,
huh?
yep, scratching off my tobacco
soaked skin from my fingers...
and then applying some cream
to hide the dehydration...
let's keep it socially constructive,
and call to mind bilingual in terms
of latin: (a) with diacritical markers
and (b) plain dolly english, i.e. with none...
still, thank god for the hand-cream,
i'd be scratching my hands to get
rid off the excess skin for hours on ends,
esp. the rolling-tobacco stains on
the index, middle and thumb fingers...
could be worse, could be
a serial killer from the film seven
having to discard my finger-prints by
applying them to an excess of
rubbing material...
get them all flat and lonely...
and i know the pity people convene
on when reading a work of fiction...
that odd poetic moment
located in a single sentence, or two...
as with poets, who think they wrote
something "profound", when in fact
they were looking for a novel,
for the sake of volume, or weight...
before you call me, i'll call myself
a pretentious brat...
no shame in that...
you call me a **** i'll be like:
do you have a clint eastwood
cut-out from where eagles dare?
for some reason i feel like acting
out 30 minutes' worth of goebbels;
oh no, i'm not a **** sympathißer,
i'm an indiana jones sympathißer,
who was a sympathißer of nazis for
a "lack" of a better narrative.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
I need to break out of the wide-open cell I have locked myself in.
I can spot the thieves, the robbers, the vagrants,
all shifting through the sticky tin and plastic
of my life's wasted moments.
Every alternative reality mocks and condescends me,
highlighting every stutter and stumble
as I fall through life on this (temporal and fleeting) trapeze.
And clinging onto the hopes of a softer landing,
I know I will always fall into the safety of the net
so that I do not land deep in that shallow water
and drown in a six-inch pool.
I have been thinking of rope again.
The simplicity and mastership it would take
to efficiently break my neck so that the crack of bone would precede
the crack of thread.
I have been thinking of sleep again.
The simplicity and infallibility it contains.
Incorporating every aspect of being
and painting it in the only colours I can see.
And I see.
And I understand.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
A fleeting whisp of eternal glory,
Developing the reflective protagonist in one's own story.
The heat and sun, describable only as warm,
Reflect youth in spirit, even when age's experience grows worn.
To subsist freely, unencumbered in an unworried state of time,
Already aware that this seasonal pleasure lies predominantly in the mind,
Remain conscious to yourself and your life's plot,
For love will last, while your life will not.
Radiant heat on the toes of my feet,
Tingling sun supplies vibes describable only as upbeat.
An unexplained aura of melodic euphoria,
Supplying the vigor emanating out of nature's own formula.
Summer's enticing gaze lucidifies the bulk of this year's haze,
Incorporating without a doubt the height of our own glory days.
A summer long repose from school and servitude.
Shape your own destiny, practicing all year to maximize the magnitude,
Of a precious few chances to make the most of something great:
The solidarity of choice, a free and open space.
The kind of unique youthful place,
Available only in summer break.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
“You’re the shrink wrap on my string cheese,“
he said from his knees, to no one in particular,
incorporating slanguage under the horns, but
over the bass, knowing what disco turned into.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
I am a sculptor.
An artist.
My masterpiece? Myself.
Every curve, layer of paint,
Every shadow or exposed face,
All cultivated. Planned.
Incorporating all I know
And that which I do not know
Yet.
But you have only a picture.
A photo.
An image from just one angle.
And all that you recognise is
A flat
Two dimensional
Processed scrap of film.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC