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Khyati Pareek Nov 2018
With the summer breeze touch on my neck,
I’ll infer it’s you.
When the winds start to be sharper,
I’ll gladly open my arms to you.

When the snowy snow-***** fall on my face,
Condensing the pores of my skin,
And cooling down, my burning of a heart,
I’ll infer it’s you.

I’ll infer it’s you when a little one walks alone in the rains,
And jumps into the puddles of mud water deliberately,
Holding on to the air for her balance,
And squeaking a silent scream when she’s fearing to fall.
And laughs idiotically over her silliness,
And blushes away from me when she knows I have been watching
Intently, I won’t stop gazing at her,
But my eyes will surely bleed,
If that is possible,
To see her jump, trip and fall and walk,
Still get up and with a smile new.
I’ll infer it’s you.

When she’ll also have petty queries in calculating her sums,
I’ll infer it’s you,
When her childhood opens up and she balances her bicycle,
While pedaling she watches me too,
I’ll be sure and infer it’s you.

When her knees will be sprained
And her elbows would pain
And she would hiss in her ache
I will provide her aid
And take away her ail.
When she’d again get up to rejoice,
And tumble upon the furniture,
Then run away in fear of being caught,
I’ll infer that it’s you.

When she’ll leave behind her dolls to comb her own hair,
When she’ll fall in a struggle everyday on what to wear,
When she’ll tell me I’m not understanding her,
And when her impatience will make me scold her,
She’ll run away to a picture hanging on the wall,
And complain her heart and tears out.

But then she’d come back to me apologizing,
Knowing her wrongs and she’d then be strong.
Her teenage will pass too,
And she’ll be prettier than earlier too,
I’ll infer it’s you.

And then she finally will be set to run away,
With her Prince Charming,
Covered with the bride’s attire when she’ll look divine,
With smile on her lips and the wedding vows,
When she’ll set her foot in her carriage,
She’ll turn to again go,
And run in my arms to slide off the tears,
Of her separation,
And I’d not stop them,
They’d not be in my control,
I’ll shower on her our blessings and love,
And when she’ll smile through her glistening eyes,
And proudly add that I look funny when I cry,
I’ll infer it’s you.
My beloved,
I will know it’s you!
Because you live in her,
A part of us!
She is just like you,
No she’s a reflection of her mother
MARGA Jan 10
it's very much easy to say
that today is the day
wherein you no longer
have feelings that grows fonder
for him— who you loved freely
but indeed so genuinely.

but your challenge
is to look at his every edge
and the way he laughs and smile
without asking for a while
if you still love him for real;
you should then infer
that you are now happier
without him— to whom you gave your all,
though from him you only got a downfall.
daily poems! ♡
zebra Jul 2016
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped

as above so below

the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
******* below ...flesh woven

does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******

then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children

i build  temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****

do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes

the catechism
of the  solar ****

to know
to adore
to prostrate

to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth

to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries  

those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives
CautiousRain Aug 2018
Speak to me in numbers
Something tangible
Equate your feelings with something
I can infer
Without asking you to
Work these problems over again.
this ****** has me writing the same type of poem again
Qweyku May 2018
I can only infer you
speak of my skin
this beautiful brown
this lovely melanin

Yes. Father’s no more,
now long gone, but before
he departed he worked
himself to the bone
straying not a day
from home

As for my colour
you must be blind
the contorted
black darkness
you perceive
has never been mine

Why is this hue such
an affront to you?
policemen, judge, jury
school teachers too?

tis said we’re good
actors; for we play
many a part
but you pay no mind
to such sentiment nor
proverbial heart-to-heart

No sah! Mistake not my
composure for failed
advance, blink once
& I’ll lick you down
given half the chance!

But then you, your ilk
and your briers sown
would just rise again
with sated verbal abuse
& agenda obtuse

Lawd O’ Mercy
I want off this
deadly semantic

Go home!! N * * * * r!!!
Seething; they scream!

...there goes another
coloured criminal
for being created
a shade of Eden's
dust of the ground
melanite brown
Look, feel and infer
All things that exist
Or do not,
The perishable,
The imperishable,
They make our life
Our world work.
Seize and size
Pin them on your sleeve
As yours.
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
    I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
    Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
    And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion

    For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
    I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
    Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
    And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions

    From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics  
    I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
    Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
    And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic

    Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
    I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
    Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
    And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics

    By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
    I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
   Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
   And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Orthogenesis overtures!
Michael John Sep 2018

all in all
when it comes
at the end of
two parts
a smile
or a frown
a brick wall
a white line
ends own
a choice
a refusal
a moments
the birds
all taken wide
and around
up down
soft stones
i know you
no sound now
have a break
take her nice
and easy
somehow begin
do not sigh..


you take a deep
i want to high
do you recall
o the rail bread
the sanctum
the sunshine
the water crashing
and that small calm
said why
what did you do
i will not say
you will
no i will not
why should i
you say
no you
it is taboo
the devil
ah yes they
what do they
don´ t
you know
no,call it
not they
where is the fun
don´ t say
oh ****
here we go
china plates
when did the rot set
with a key
and zap
i might have been
happier before the
four stroke
i´ m not sure
it is hard to be
but still we are just
a blooming accumilation
of what has been
and some of that
is not too pretty
if you know what
we mean
but of course
who does
are now
and will be
for ever
silence wins
that is a common
can be interpreted
as no
best say perhaps
i think that
is lunch..
I see ibicies on alpine slopes,
large curved horns coming almost
full circle. I descry mountain
hawks on the wing that descry
more than I. Bears I do not
see, for they are lost in their
own sleep, not on slopes, but
in slumber;  the number of deer
is in actuality many, but I
have not earned the right to
discern more than few.
Vision is a funny thing:  we
tend to infer from the many
we can see reality, but this
is illusory. Our sight we feel
can be enhanced by glasses
microscopic or telescopic,
but sight is not insight;  seeing
is not knowing. The intellect
sees that all are different,
wisdom that all are one. The
ibex knows the mountain is
deeper than it is high.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
Though the sift of time may sort
Beyond our comprehension, unseen
We may infer its shape from
Whatever marbles remain
Unbroken, and defying decay

Grains of truth and wit with just enough
Substance and optional glamour
To survive the great mesh of necessity
And bright enough to be cherished
By well nourished seekers of more
Never too dull, lest overlooked
But also
Never too bright to incite fright

Never one of innumerable sand
Washed away with the prints of men
Never a fabled relic, stranger to hands
A maze promising truth, yet with no end

The sun brings you warmth
The moon guides your flight
The Needed begs no envy
But relieves your plight

So don't distance yourself from
The thoughts of Old
Still so simple and intimate
As if in voices new

Raise a drink
And warmly cling
Love the great tomes of high above
Not as never reachable untouchable
Shrines of forgotten kings and gods
But as your dearest friend or perhaps
Even as a reunited lover, long separate
By the scarcity of soul pouring words
Reluctantly replaced with fleeting
Musings of often rapidly dissipating
Bland taste
Of fulfillment and disappointment
Never lasting enjoyment

Leaving us with hunger and thirst
For the seasoned fruits of old
That only visits ever so often
But each moment with, spent so
Cherished and with fear of time
Passing, as
A childhood tale, swiftly unfold,
Too briefly told
Left dreaming for once more
Often only to be granted in pages
Wrinkled and stained, shaped
By fate’s mold

Those pals that you’ll ever remember
Those gems that you’ll constantly
Caress over and over again
Those greats of highest degree
Are they so overdressed till envy
Till too heavy, and invites mockery
Are they so kissed by sugar till ****
Unconsumed, banished to rot

They are all soft and familiar
Always with the present
Of the ease to comprehend
As if you know them
All your life

Your Blakes, Shelley's and Shakespeare
Your timeless contemporaries
They never command as gods above
Or hide behind too much whimsy
Always a wise elder, a ***** friend
In sorrow, in passion, in dreams, in fright
Baring the truth like a mother’s wisdom
Or the sure brightness of lone stars at night

Prepare yourself for tomorrow sifts
By sharing the shape of collected past
In essence, not in likeness
For if you dress your soul
To not fall through
In great stones’ cast off dust
When the brush of time greets you
Your disguise will fall off
Lest you waste your growth
On shimmering cloaks
And when judged truly
To be found not as a pearl
But a grain in others’ clothes

If you fill the entire night sky with sparks
How will they find the one guiding star
No shadow to hide, to soften the light
Everyman be lost

If you pride yourself bearing golden straws
They will shower you with praising remarks
But when time leaves you behind after dusk
It’ll be dark as you crush

So tread plainly with only what and
All you are
With timid steps, and light feet
And only must in your keep
You’ll go far You’ll go far
Till steady heights beyond the lofty larks

Where children ceaselessly dream
Where children ceaselessly sing
Where Children Forever, we are.
Truth Bares Itself Plain
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Tuesday, October 8, 2019 6:07
Ken Pepiton Apr 4
when no man pursues
the truth,

the idea which contains all true ideas, aha

ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,

i think

When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think

How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
help, this is a talking point.
okeh. for the future, I see.

we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson

-tension that re
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.

spirit and image of your father.
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh

The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)

see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made

versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the

"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.

Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit

in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec

just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,

knowing, my side won.
I only ment to write some talking points and the the points started being made faster than I cared to row against, so I meandered with the stream to this still pond.
Although we can personify beings with metaphysical prowess, (objectified manifest's dimensional delineations),can we touch others or even ourselves with these extrapolations?  Is zoomorphic zoolatry's demagogueries on the social contiguity a proper solution.  I mean how the clairaudience of astral protectiveness.  One would tend to think that proximity's parameters opaque opulence would tend to take precedence over the exponentially extemporaneous nature of trajectory extant's physical location.  It's the corporeally preternatural facts to exude when you consider the space it occupies.  Noumenal sentience's semantics infer a spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  It's the identity crisis facts, and yet we conception feel an affinity for our surroundings.  This might tend to implicate that the evolution of psychic clarity's mystic symbiotic's were irrefragably fecund.  Ethology's entelechy to apotheosis élan vital's apotropaic.  Transcendental accession's ascension is a translucent transpicuity.  Retrospectively retroactive revision an inevitability.  All that was will be forever and all that could be will become, not that this guarantees a positive outcome.  We're fractal.
Of we fade into irrelevance as we vanish into the void!!
Dondaycee Aug 2018
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
poetryaccident Dec 2018
The incredulous sometimes ask
why I dress as someone else
the answer is simplicity
I only dress as I see fit

identity comes from the self
blossomed in unique ground
producing flowers I embrace
though the colors are seen on high

while the cards may predict
circumstances of normal bent
stating ways that all walk
as the gospel from on high

still the joker has a say
asking for the luxury
to stake a claim for themselves
for the sake of honesty

the gods play with weighted dice
enough to claim they’re in the right
this is a farce you’ll realize
when the curtain is dislodged

though the rules may infer
that the world is black and white
this is a reference for the ones
that cannot see past their thumbs.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181130.
The poem “Past Their Thumbs” is about the difficulty of comprehending others.
Ken Pepiton Jul 10
Dare I. If dare is believe there are

goods to be released from bonds or
buried boxes or hidden codes forgotten,

and we are the heros,
dear reader,
you and me, as a we, we expand

twixt me and thee, see there is some land
and water and

within those two
frames of re
ference infer, we exist to wax spirtual

leave yo' body behind,
and rise up

look around
hear the sound, symbolic TRUMP

and unbelieve
the last lie,

kbamdidamdamdam. Wanna live?
Defend yo' faith,

doncha know? We 'l'ow no con
demnin' heeyah

we all endured thus fah,
we aim
t' claim the prize.
Ah, bait. Fish or cut bait. But eventually we wait.
Irate Watcher Jan 10
You say —
it is impossible
to read
people within
your own frame
of reference.

You’re a neuroscientist,
so I should probably believe you,
because you know
about how
the brain processes

You say —
communication is the closest thing
we have to reading someone’s thoughts.
You can't infer the type of person someone is
or what they'll do
from their actions alone —
you just need to ask them.

Evolution is a testament
to the power of speech.
It allows us to co-exist peacefully
with other human beings,
warn them of danger,
or tell them where the food is.

But evolution isn't so
intelligent, and I would premise
that communication
is just a workaround

First of all,
humans lie
when they want
for us to read
what is NOT in
their mind.
Rarely will one
get a straightforward answer
to the question: "Are you lying?"
And should you really expect to?

You say,
of course you can tell
when people are overtly lying.
There are biological signs
of deception
and we're hard-wired to detect
them —
the overly detailed stories
prolonged eye contact
calculated breathing,
are all indicators
of fibbing.

Ok, so there is truth-telling and lying,
but like most dichotomies
there are several somethings
in between.
Like when people don't mean
what they say,
but say it anyways — miscommunication.
Or when people genuinely
believe the words they spew
are true, but they are — mistaken.
Or when people
want so badly
for words to be true...
but they
not — denial.

For example,
someone like you
could tell me over and over again
that you're sorry,
But communicating isn't gonna help
heal the bruises, honey.

I’m so scared
you'll hit her
when you raise your voice.

I don’t know how to talk about it
because when I do,
she suffers the consequences.

I’m so nervous
I’ll have know about it
the entire time
and still have done nothing.

If I say something,
I’m so worried
she'll think I’m overreacting,
and then stop telling me stories.

What is the least about of harm
you can do
before I’m allowed to speak.
Is it a bruise?
Why must I wait
for the inevitable
just to say
I saw it coming all along.

The complete disregard for her as a partner,
your disrespect, the verbal assaults,
are known precursors of domestic violence.

As is my silence.
But I can't seem to
communicate the situation
without making it worse.

I can’t known for certain
why you treat her this way
from my frame of reference,
because the evidence neither supports or denies
my claim, and I am judge-mental if I infer it anyway...

until it is too late.
Because it wasn't a truth or a lie,
just a thing I knew deep in my bones,
but was told I have no
evidence for
from people like you.

People rarely mean what they say.
Why should I trust their displays
over my own judgement.
Yes, sometimes we are trapped in perspective
and then our perspective turns out to be wrong
about people.
But it takes someone strong,
to risk being wrong,
when she is
chastised for it.
Deovrat Aug 2018
not many people
in this world
seems to infer
the language of impassion

from tangling eyes
apart to derive
some unspecified

promise me
to understand
my wishful desire
of hearts passion

few people
in this humankind
they are able to
make out reason

deducing nature
of thoughts
they listen  and understand
silence of someone

if a person unable
to understand language of love
then no use
to make companion

©deovrat 13-08-2018

— The End —