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"inferences" poems
#*Go write your own history Learn the geography well To compass the feelings Do your geometry The value of pi does not change Variables and constants Algebraic expressions Do many experiments in the chemistry lab Observation and inferences Experience gained Make sure you do your math Be Calculative You ought to make calculations and come to decisions Learning languages for special skills Expression is an art And creative you must be*#
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Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
Know Your Subjects
When an illusion becomes a reality The whole idea of existence is shrouded In the mysterious clues we are given Unearthed from the remains ancient Many hypotheses which float around Mystic lands which once existed So many exposed to the light of day Many more still cradled within the layers Many interpretations, ancient chronicles Dates back to time immemorial Many sources and many more tales The soul of the scripts lost long ago None will come to know the real sentiments Mired in the deepest secrets of yesteryear Historians’ favorite child, philosophers guide We can only come up with our understanding Spend a lifetime deciphering between the lines Many centuries of hidden anecdotes We can only reconstruct what we decipher We may not be close to the real meaning The custodians have whisked away the heart And soul of the entire episodes Leaving us between the vagueness Papyrus holds the words, without the meanings Not sure of the real feelings and emotions Maybe a rendezvous with the chroniclers If we can travel back in time And enter the ethereal world of these histories Can reveal the truth and exact sentiments Till that time, we have to live with our inferences Maybe we are way off the mark In a different trajectory, away from the core An illusion we may have created form our cognizance
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Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
Illusion and Reality
He called her a **** at dinner Told she could be thinner Played the part of being an *** Voicing opinions deemed crass A waiter wandered up Refilling a cup Gave the girl a wink But was more of a sporadic blink Her date stood tall And turned his fist into a ball Told the waiter to **** right off A comment muddled by a cough Then, in an act of violence Came a brief respite of silence The waiter was struck in the jaw Knocked on the floor captured in awe. He was then beaten ‘til dead Over inferences read The woman screamed At her date, the blood coated fiend Police were brought in The man simply grinned Cuffs were attached As the man’s might was matched A month later Due to the dead waiter The man had his day in court A bailiff acted as his escort The man was sentenced to 15 years The woman, in attendance, shed no tears The man was taken He appeared visibly shaken Taken to a cell at Briar Field A place all go to yield He was beaten for days on end By prisoners looking for time to spend Searching for a sense of hope Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope The man found a friend With a helping hand to lend Then one day talking wasn’t enough The man’s friend got rough After a quick stich The man was anointed a ***** Sitting for dinner he was called a **** By his friend, who had become quite blunt A guard came by and batted and eye The friend asked if he wanted to die Said this man was his slave A poor butt-fucking knave The guard retreated Victory conceited But the friend pressed on Until the guards life was gone Then walked back after the stunt And called the man a fat old ****
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Perfectly Profane (NSFW) Whatever The **** That Means
He called her a **** at dinner Told she could be thinner Played the part of being an *** Voicing opinions deemed crass A waiter wandered up Refilling a cup Gave the girl a wink But was more of a sporadic blink Her date stood tall And turned his fist into a ball Told the waiter to **** right off A comment muddled by a cough Then, in an act of violence Came a brief respite of silence The waiter was struck in the jaw Knocked on the floor captured in awe. He was then beaten ‘til dead Over inferences read The woman screamed At her date, the blood coated fiend Police were brought in The man simply grinned Cuffs were attached As the man’s might was matched A month later Due to the dead waiter The man had his day in court A bailiff acted as his escort The man was sentenced to 15 years The woman, in attendance, shed no tears The man was taken He appeared visibly shaken Taken to a cell at Briar Field A place all go to yield He was beaten for days on end By prisoners looking for time to spend Searching for a sense of hope Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope The man found a friend With a helping hand to lend Then one day talking wasn’t enough The man’s friend got rough After a quick stich The man was anointed a ***** Sitting for dinner he was called a **** By his friend, who had become quite blunt A guard came by and batted and eye The friend asked if he wanted to die Said this man was his slave A poor butt-fucking knave The guard retreated Victory conceited But the friend pressed on Until the guards life was gone Then walked back after the stunt And called the man a fat old ****
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56
Earth- it's a speck on a speck on a speck, Stunning place nonetheless, One of creator’s grace and my address. I am a Human Being, The most advanced mind-body machine, We dominate life on Earth, But, miss life’s worth. We are a slave to our physical senses, Trying to find you through scientific inferences, But I know you are out there, So, get in touch with us, through love, Break the light barrier, make us vibrate higher.
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Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 8:46 AM UTC
I know you are out there in space
in this instant, is his embittered, stubborn stance's insistence upon the inherent lack of existence and consequence of intimate instances consistent with continual distance's enhanced persistence of inconvenient glimpses into wished circumstances and kissing lips' inferences?
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May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
listen
I took a risk, a leap of faith What I said I wouldn’t, I did I didn’t listen to my brain Instead let my heart advise me Your beauty was too enticing I couldn’t help the feelings felt For they flooded my emotions Faster than a flash flood in July I judged your book by its cover And you did the same with my book Thinking the picture showed it all All 1000 words like they say But after I opened it up I was dismayed with what I read Yet I kept turning the pages With hopes that it would get better Only to end up closing it And flipping it to the back cover To read what the summary read Hoping to get an idea… Of what could have been.
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Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Inferences From a Summary
Oh! Indians! In this land of Harischandra, India, The wheel of life moves indifferent Why this indolence, seek the media Come to inferences sadly different. Pre-independent great leaders sacrificed Disinterested in material benefits; they Rooted in struggle for freedom, though crucified The dripping blood stirred their spirit gay. But, now the blood and the spirit are diluted Generations of ingratitude grow up lazy. Sans sense of history, love and being looted Whereto we move, Oh! Indians! on way greasy. Awake brothers think why we are betrayed Like a hound chased sheep we are strayed.
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May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
Oh! Indians! - a sonnet
all my poems are unique general principles ~for Helene Mendelsohn~ “A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in crowds of instances for each form":   R.G. Collingwood each a construct - an arch-i-texture, each a crowd of a single instance special forum, a dialogue differentiation, a conjugate particle, forming up, in marching order, a singular troop, a base case singular, a soldier especially demanding, “Of Me, Write, Write” for within my insight, a one-off sighting, one glinting wave reflecting, its one millisecond exactitude of existence, reforming unseemly, a new but not! a seemingly similar shifted shape, but no wave is a precision repetition, perhaps a passing familiarity of its precedents, antecedents, at best an instance borrowed and paid back to the generosity of time for a fully developed statement of a general principle, even a primary secondary textual emendation, requires a unique naming definition being born and dead dying while you are blinking, does not understate absolute value, a principle exists to give absolution, so the moments resets, perpetually, but its own resolution is n’err forgotten do you see the crowd of inferences herein contained? the principal unique, poem plucked from passing sun ray, a tickling hair of a brazen breeze, one wave, one wave reconstituting a millennium of preceding lives, deriving its abbreviated genealogy of droplets of prior principles forever reinterpreted so I gave you back words you knew but in a new combination establishing this poem, its constituents, as a unique general principle there is a prior poem, new, unique in everything
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Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
all my poems are unique general principles
all my poems are unique general principles ~for Helene Mendelsohn~ “A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in crowds of instances for each form":   R.G. Collingwood each a construct - an arch-i-texture, each a crowd of a single instance special forum, a dialogue differentiation, a conjugate particle, forming up, in marching order, a singular troop, a base case singular, a soldier especially demanding, “Of Me, Write, Write” for within my insight, a one-off sighting, one glinting wave reflecting, its one millisecond exactitude of existence, reforming unseemly, a new but not! a seemingly similar shifted shape, but no wave is a precision repetition, perhaps a passing familiarity of its precedents, antecedents, at best an instance borrowed and paid back to the generosity of time for a fully developed statement of a general principle, even a primary secondary textual emendation, requires a unique naming definition being born and dead dying while you are blinking, does not understate absolute value, a principle exists to give absolution, so the moments resets, perpetually, but its own resolution is n’err forgotten do you see the crowd of inferences herein contained? the principal unique, poem plucked from passing sun ray, a tickling hair of a brazen breeze, one wave, one wave reconstituting a millennium of preceding lives, deriving its abbreviated genealogy of droplets of prior principles forever reinterpreted so I gave you back words you knew but in a new combination establishing this poem, its constituents, as a unique general principle there is a prior poem, new, unique in everything
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53
Poetic inferences led the boy to speak in verse Objectifying his father’s keeper, a light hearted nurse Forced to pick up the title of the family curse Bumping down back alley’s, swerving into Pa’s hearse Responsibility, the weighted chain, Attached generationally through one’s surname
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Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Stevenson’s “Requiem” Held From The Wake
Many miles traversed Between those thoughts Each birthed during Circumstances unique To times which are bygone Time has moved on Yet, they still occupy a place Deep within the mind Without any inferences They could have been different As you toy with ideas Trying to apply today’s solutions To an era gone by Each compartment Demarcated with timelines Minds traverses A different trajectory Time may have long forgotten But the mind has its own reasons To keep those thoughts preserved Much weary we may be Yet, sometimes We cannot but refuse To traverse between those thoughts
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Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
Miles Traversed
I see the ways of this world Full of selfishness and hostility It makes no sense to me Why can't we just get along? If we put aside our differences And stop making inferences About one another Maybe if we stopped all the greed We could be a world full of the freed No more racism or rich or poor None of the cruelty Or and if that brutality All of us truly equal Then maybe the world would be better And we could all stand together On this planet we call home
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Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
Planet Earth
Take me to a theme, Explicating love, when blue. Hype the hyperbole, Metaphors aren't boring, And similes are true. Take me to the meaning of love, When love is new. Letter your signposts, Your verses aren't lacking, Figures of speech are attractive. Dole out the affection, Infect with injection Dilating, collapsing veined roads. Take me to any theme, With your GPS, I'll obey all directives, Noting imagery along your path. If inferences go astray, I'll backtrack your way, To a predetermined destination.
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Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
GPS Poetry
As I walk across a pathway a heartbeat's width across a floor, A peculiar sensation finds me wanting of an explanation to adore, Not a feeling of a feeling, I don't have those anymore, I can rip open my chest cavity to find nothing at its core. - I saw a young fine thing come cantering to a score, And in her eyes I saw reflected back my lust for gore, I didn't think of love or courting, that I do stately implore, I have no idea how I could have had emotion before. - Incurring inferences upon  deranged insanity, I deny the charges and insist I must be free, With my generation crawling at my likeminded feet, I find myself unable to believe in humanity. - An algorithmic synapse of my mind's forward encryption, Once brought about my failure of a heart's lonely submission, And to this day I do wish that bitter was a real decision, But I find something close to comfort with indifference as religion.
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Indifference.
There exist so many worlds In this one celestial world So many different perspectives Looking eye to eye, communicating So many languages to decipher Many feelings and emotions galore Wrapped with the bond of humanity As many opinions and inferences Many worlds have thrived for centuries So many twists and turns have occurred Celestial wonder, surprises the inhabitants Many paths do lead to the culmination This is a world with many wonders
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Many Wonders
Your night, Fueled by the throbbing bass My night, Fueled by your melting face and I realize the only difference is the inferences. The Kitchen sink, stained with ***** decorated in broken bottles. Empty spaces extinct by strange faces, some of them had cartoon eyes and for the first time in my life I felt my shoulders needed to breathe. Together we all broke the floor. The laughter right after let you know what kind of house this was. "Hey, I'm Shane, whats you're name?" "I don't have a name" and she walked away, Nameless, but we both know more then we did before. The constant pulse made every second the first until the red and blue lights came to save the neighbors nights sleep.
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Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Strange Rave
Side worn glances draw the skin pale. Half dressed inferences hooked on a nail. Spiteful nostalgia picked from the nose, of Tom Waits while holding a rose. Serpentary train of thought, inevitably back to the same spot. Revert to responsibilities of old, and return to reveries told. Spectrums of light tumble blindly, refracting in through open panes, Opaque shadows cast from blind spots left by stains. Trying to be poetic for poetry’s sake, resolute in resolve, discovered as a fake. The lexicon’s been tossed aside, for depressive angst most should hide. Tachyons convolute the art, allowing the removal of heart. Starry skies stripped of worth, sanitized sacrilege straight from birth. Tentative steps, pushing the precursor forward as the floe begins to melt, Nudge the idol in, and return to shore without talent, but svelte.
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Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Pop **** Dreams, Of Pop Stars And Things (Satin Skeleton)
Caught myself in a cart wheeled stance, gazing fondly at a soiled sky A homeless man calmly rants, preaching to every passerby Follicles dry up, flaking off bits of skin Wayward into a cup, stuck in teeth, accompanying the grin Inferences read by a measly pauper, picked up after a quick popper The fuel fed, deemed improper, drained from the canyon by a local proctor Repeated references to a world of old Stored on dust filled shelves until sold Spoke too much fancy for one to understand, blindly making it hard to comprehend Lack of knowledge for the reprimand, timely practices seem to suspend Going to try and be still, maybe close my eyes Sleep on the lull of a hill, quick to rise Told of Grimm lit tales of horror and abuse, held in spectrums casting light Reordered for disorderly misuse, clouded by traces of spite The jabberwocky speaks before the crowd, shrouded in the misconception of a dreamed up word. Hastened into speaking loud, the message soon becomes absurd Words are falling out in a cyclical lexicon, adjusting themes to fit complacent lives Illiterate Satanists sit in their hexagon, purging everything that thrives A final thought implies just that, I have more faith in this thieving rat
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Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
A Collection Of Nonsense
Circum/stances (slash) foregone circumvent forebears circus-schisms of the forefathers circumferences foreordained . . . Abrahamic inferences Feminine foreclosures Unfabulous infibulations Equivocating equivalencies . . . Childbearing foreborne Preposterous paradigm Gender agenda return to sender Hebraic / Pharaonic / Moronic . . . Abracadabra   Presto change-o !
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Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
Skin in the Game
The mind started to dive in nothingness, But doubt seeps in. I felt frightened to make this journey, A journey to decode the questions of right, Confused i walk to find the virtue of rightness, Suddenly all around me, Inferences started to fell victim to the darkness, Mutely emerges this moral song, Dancing on the ridge of right and wrong, I fear the fall on the either side, Not that i fear the pain, But deep down a realization remain, The fall will widen the perspective gap, That it claim, Considering the cause is in other, There will not remain a way to uncover, To uncover what is right or wrong, Come forth the silence of dusk To make an effect, Still myriad dots left disconnect, From this onus the mind became baffled, And the poor soul quietly maffled, How can it be fault of mine? When my six can easily become your nine.
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Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
Right or Wrong
suffer me, that is... allow this vista to be superimposed unto your own. glean from your kind, make the necessary human inferences. that a mirroring calm awaits the storm. which will yet astonish you anew, even with all your foresight.
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Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
Allow This Vista
Being slowly stripped of obsessive compulsion, unable to creature the habits of X-- its greater pains taken by pains taken. Volitional deductions, and inferences...alibis and motives scarring a madman's template. Ram-shouldered entries through paper thin doors, in response to off color remarks on his meta-physique. Isn't nature self-regulating, why shouldn't it produce freaks of like control? To assemble variables thereof, Warholian assembly lines stockpiling non perishables for unseen disasters. To man, to woman the reins is a most satisfying illusion...spurring on the tramping boisterousness. We like formalities, dress rehearsals, the arteries of maps...to run our fingers down, nonplussed by their pulse. We know that we don't know, today the weathermen completely butchered the forecast, of this wouldbe blizzard. Time is already filtering their accountability.
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Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC
Slowly Stripped
It's hard to say if I really made it out alright. Like that, I hope and pray we never ever have to fight. Previous loves always waking me up in these nights. Nightmares of unhappiness spreading like a blight. So don’t go on making inferences. I recognize the instances my bad decisions is I know there’s more than one so I don’t need the list. I’m just trying to have fun, all right. Why so serious? If I said something wrong, I was joking. Be careful with me, clearly my heart is broken. I cover it up well though, with all of my daily smoking. But depression is a fire fueled merely by poking. It doesn’t need stoking; just a little coaxing. Wishing wells are just holes that people throw their hopes in. Why try and worship perfection? Even the pope sins. The rich need to tread deep waters? Lucky you, your boat swims. But this sea of lies we swim in seems to be endless. Filled with countless tests, stress and constant tension. Bad decisions and miracles unfolding right before our eyes. Better make the most of it because we only get one try. One chance to make it and get out of it the most. One state of being, but seemingly endless seas and coasts. Drinking by yourself or with family making toasts. Making everything a problem, or seeing it all as a joke. Like moving someone’s seat and losing it. Or comparing my reality to his make believe and choosing him. Or deciding to rent my heart out without ever moving in. Offered a choice between heaven and hell and choosing sin.
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Alright (rap)
It's hard to say if I really made it out alright. Like that, I hope and pray we never ever have to fight. Previous loves always waking me up in these nights. Nightmares of unhappiness spreading like a blight. So don’t go on making inferences. I recognize the instances my bad decisions is I know there’s more than one so I don’t need the list. I’m just trying to have fun, all right. Why so serious? If I said something wrong, I was joking. Be careful with me, clearly my heart is broken. I cover it up well though, with all of my daily smoking. But depression is a fire fueled merely by poking. It doesn’t need stoking; just a little coaxing. Wishing wells are just holes that people throw their hopes in. Why try and worship perfection? Even the pope sins. The rich need to tread deep waters? Lucky you, your boat swims. But this sea of lies we swim in seems to be endless. Filled with countless tests, stress and constant tension. Bad decisions and miracles unfolding right before our eyes. Better make the most of it because we only get one try. One chance to make it and get out of it the most. One state of being, but seemingly endless seas and coasts. Drinking by yourself or with family making toasts. Making everything a problem, or seeing it all as a joke. Like moving someone’s seat and losing it. Or comparing my reality to his make believe and choosing him. Or deciding to rent my heart out without ever moving in. Offered a choice between heaven and hell and choosing sin.
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31
Where you at, Boo How do you not feel me calling for you All the inferences that we drew Answer the call, make me brand new If only you figure out That you are you
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Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
Mental Motorola
I'll invade your recreational days In D.C., Canada, or Maine I'll push my wrists through your favorite drinks At the basement show, local bar, and skating rink You are not dead, but your actions are post-mortem I write you letters of apology A certain kind of eulogy A never ending repetition of hand references You gather evidence from my numb inferences I don't recommend your behavior Leaving me on the bathroom floor Loving someone and throwing them to the flame We drown ourselves without ending this game You are not dead, but your actions are post-mortem
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Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
Going East (to get your attention)
are my inferences logical or am i stitching innocent gestures together you're getting in my head and i don't know whether you put yourself there on purpose tors
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Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
intentions