"ineffability" poems
Her syllogisms repose trust in her adept beleaguering of unworthy opponents.
Constantly in a state of lassitude for this desultory, inure world of the insouciant youth which dwells upon it's cathartic terrain, she engages not in lachrymose nor is she crestfallen for the hope of romance and it's everlasting ineffability.
She is a fugacious moment of frisson embodied in a human form; a juxtaposition of the serendipitous moments that ever constantly come one after the other in a fickle wheel of steep highs and deep lows. All her life, this girl will lilt through the crossroads of her obstacles and show the world the efflorescence of her beauty. Hush don't speak lest you miss hearing the mellifluous music of her voice of fail to hear the lagniappe that is her name.
She is the cynosure of human attention, the goddess and we are but her humble servants. She is innocence most rare, love most coveted. She is infinite. She is peace.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
I'm seeking to amass a Collection
of the World's spiritual, mythic and philosophical codices.
I want to collect them out of veneration
for those who came before who have tried to illuminate the Paths:
The following is my library of such books of yet.
Entries in bold are my recommendations;
entries italicized are strongly recommended.
-Old Works:
**Egyptian Book of the Dead
Tibetan Book of the Dead
The Bhagavad Gita
Euclid's Elements**
Tao te Ching (I have 3 translations)
I Ching (2 translations and a workbook)
The Qur'an
The Bible
-Newer Works:
Plato and a Platypus walk into a Bar: Philosophy explained through Jokes
*Quadrivium: Number, Geometry, Music, & Cosmology*
The Pulse of Wisdom - College Eastern Philosophy Book
*Food of the Gods by Terence McKenna*
The Elements of Reason - College Logic Book
1001 Perls of Buddhist Wisdom
*Net of Being by Alex Grey*
*Art Psalms by Alex Grey*
**The Portable Nietzsche
*The Red Book of Jung
The Portable Jung***
The Subtle Body - Encyclopedia of chakras, auras and other personal energy systems.
Who are you? - 101 Ways of Seeing Yourself
--
I seek to compile this Collection
not to have a nice looking bookshelf;
nor do I seek to find which one is right.
I seek to learn from each of these
the lessons that are intrinsic in our Lives;
they're all matters of perspectives.
I want to compile the aspects of each philosophy with which I resonate
and integrate them into my own,
forging a dynamic and holistic individual philosophy.
All of these books are Mystical masterpieces.
All of these books provide insights to the nature of our Holy Reality.
All of these books ultimately attempt to express the same ineffability.
All of these books are interpreted then translated and interpreted again.
The way I see it,
I may as well do it for myself; draw my own conclusions:
Think for myself.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
*********** like Purity
Puckered lips
Whispered Ineffability
Capacity, Potential--
but never speak above a whisper.
NEVER DISCUSS BEYOND THE FUTURE.
Just hope empty hopes
you use to fill your dreams.
-LP
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
All that I need, all I've wanted for years, and even during the lost times, you were pressed under my skin like pure, warm aching. Had to go through it, we say now, had to lose each other entirely then to be heavenly entangled now.
Such great heights only after sunken deep lows.
Let me tell you, angel, I am certain you were made for me, and goodness, believe me, I could never leave.
We stood the test of time.
We endured the distance.
We have conquered demons.
You and I fought a ****** war, and hell if we didn't win it.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
Living and dying
are not so dissimilar from
swimming upstream
and being pushed
by the current
downstream,
respectively.
It is not a matter of
how well equipped you are
to swim upstream,
It is, however,
a matter of application.
-30/30-
--
Death is a wondrous thing:
not in that I envy the dead
but in that it so defies language.
Death, of itself, is a rather dull topic. Uninteresting.
But the implications of the asymmetrical nature of Life
reflect many of those we theoretically deduce and induce of the Universe itself.
We, and all the things around us,
are but spontaneous expressions and manifestations
of that which defies description.
We arise, we exist, and we return again.
It defies description not because no one has experienced it,
or because we don't try to translate it when we do experience it,
but rather because no one has the capacity
to translate this experience
into the languages we happen to use
such that
it can be shared with others
much less
become common knowledge.
(Assuming also that others would be willing and able to understand)
In fact, I feel that we've all died already.
Maybe once, maybe an infinite number of times.
We just can't seem to recall it,
and even if we do,
it mocks us with it's ineffability:
I feel that death is the inevitable night
from which one awakens
at the dawn of the day of one's Life.
Circles beget Spirals.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
~I was an accomplice
to the crime of wasted
Beauty...upon noticing
her...she acquitted me...
laughing free...dom.
She saying: "What do
you mean accomplice,
you were the sole perpetrator
until you noticed me...never
forget the Beauty in Ugly!!!"
I took on the ineffability
of you...my prized buffoonery.
You are massively disruptive...
my only mourning commute...
peace be on you ...as the rain
you love to hear at night.
I can't help but now understand
what can't break its fall...and how
deeply the earth drinks of it.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
The wicker chair on the porch
it’s bent
the leg that is
bent sort of brokenly in
which reminds her of
inversions,
how they turned in
and found darkness,
ineffability,
space.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
Here I stand a liar
in a world where the truth is said to be absolute
and a God may or may not exist to punish the wicked and unjust
(hint: God is only what you think of yourself in your head)
and I ask if anyone of us is even worth saving.
But then I remember the nights when group sing-a-longs and metaphysical I-spy were the noises that made my heart hum, too
(hint: treasure the time spent laughing with friends before they die. Really, truly).
I remember the way my little sister used to hold my hand as we crossed the street until my reach embarrassed her,
and I bring to mind the nights my baby brother fell asleep on my chest, which was a perfect fit for his head
(hint: no one can stay young forever).
And so tell me why I keep on living
even after all the reasons I've been given to stop.
I walk around streets just watching people move and I know
the ineffability of humankind is found with the word humanity
(hint: it's when a person can still be kind when they have lost all they had).
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
A Pond makes waves, and then, where does the light go?
Retort: Where are the waves of your pond in your childhood?
A monk says, “What are your own waves in the pond?”
I say, “How can you see the pond ponderable in your waves?”
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
The candle at the corner of the room
Dissolves and waxed away in tears.
Its light exhaled a mystic Moon
That flung a shadow o'er my fears.
No light that light to me returned,
But flickered privately on the vane.
And all the air around me burned
With a sense I could not name.
by Gilbert NMO Morris
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
In through the stained glass windows the days pass silent, the order's obeyed as laid down in the law.
Behind these stone walls I see kingdoms rise and together they fall, I watch and it becomes all.
There's a difference,
this monastery,
full I'd say of not so merry men,
a thieves den of ineffability fools me.
I look again through the codpiece of Christopher Wren etched in the stain glass,
I pass on looking more maybe the monks who drier than sin would welcome me in, but the order is sealed,
a healing may be for some, not for me, the order is clear, all are welcomed but not in here.
The bells ring
the monks sing
The day brings
no new
beginning.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
I cut through realities
like a slow-moving train,
seeing chess masters, victims,
silent witnesses
drowning in dense air.
From a dim-lit corner
I see those who run
breathing in danger.
Scattered shreds of information
stick to my head.
Precognition is
riddled with blurry spoilers.
Too vague to hold,
too sharp to ignore.
One girl was saved.
The boy? I sensed the loss
but not the name.
Bitter ineffability.
I draw words from an old well.
I wish my visions
were just a nightmare—
not incarnations
of a day yet to come or not.
The pictures wrench at my veins,
like dulled knives
playing a discordant melody.
Only a clear mind can save me.
I rebel in the silent scream,
clenching my hands
smiling slightly—
just enough
so others don’t see my fear.
The heavy drift of solitude
between reality and possibility…
Stubborn time bends,
refusing to be linear.
Am I still here…
or nothing but a vanishing sound?
Mar 5, 2025
Mar 5, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC
This can't be right to work all the day just to sleep half a night then to work all the next day for so little pay that pays scant regard to my well-being, there's no free time, no half time, my life is like part time which is hard work for full time for most of the time, the rent's falling due but I work six 'til two and I don't think that this can be right and at three until ten I am at work again in order to buy me some food I could cry, the boss doesn't care if he wears this man down and this country I live in cares less.
The doctor says stress in the number one cause and my death will be caused by more stress, but I'd stress a bit less if I worked a bit less and slept a bit more and the night lasted longer than from two until four.
Back to the grindstone, back to the mill, back from the dead when work's had its fill and a blue pill to sleep, a red one to wake, a pink one to break the monotony of working to keep from insanity and God in his own ineffability seems to have buggered off and forgotten to mention me, can this be the blinding of light, is life a permafrost coating over the long coat of night, do I have a right for a say in the way of it or is this just the grey in the hair of the day that feels a bit longer than most?
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC