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Jack D Serna Sep 2015
Look here,
"What's your major?"
What's that got to do with me,
Much less petty.

I'd like to start a trend
(sure why not everyone)
To reply to this friend-
ly under-toned question:

"Get to know me first
and find out for yourself".
One Little Outburst,
Yet...

Laden with the unimaginable
never-ending, tortuous self-criticism
(Okay maybe not for everyone,
But it sure is asked to the infinite brim)

Such a question should be offending,
Even if one really is deeply involved,
A person cannot be defined
Or confined to one thing.

To give credit to the inquirer
Default to the English language
Commonly used here
Which is to say this garbage:

"I know you study various topics,
but what is your focus?"
Poor inquirer rarely asks; thus,
As the respondent would rather;

"What is it you are
passionate about?"
It May Be A
Far              
                                                              
C­ry
For the inquirer
to cite some
Inductive reasoning here.

Oh! The respondent is
(Emotionally defensive)
Suspicion of someone who majors in
Something that is not practical.

This cannot be the case,
Especially with the nerve,
For it is not known
What people gown

Discriminatory in nature,
To ask and to reply,
Results in a label or a lie...
Fermented questions mature.

Now we mustn't run around questions;
Answers must stand and must move on.
In writing we have the privilege of inspection
We do not in speaking.

The question is a contraction--
Heuristic--or
Lasting impression of post-industrialism:
Simplify collectivism!

Prefers the blunt conversations
From points A to B;
Linear  
Mathematics.

"True" or "False" prefers
Complexities to be imagined;
Respectively refers
Anthropomorphically confined.

Prefers the contractions simply
It flows out of the mouth.
Practical of common wealth
This person is not hardly.

Prefers this heuristically;
The pragmatician short cuts.
Anxiety becomes too much
To express oneself truly.

Enough character of inquirer,
Discrimination is offensive.
Most students by default of most schools
Study various topics; in which is called

"Breadth requirements",
Should also be re-termed as
"Breadth opportunities".
Life: an example of experiences.

Study has no differentiation; 
What is lived is learned.
But why the separation?
Opposing ends, family and education.

Not for long, and
Not for everyone;
What learned is lived, and
Which lived hammered nails for shelter. However,

Though we may want and try to be experts,
Every field must settle for mediocrity.
Every person must make decisions
Of time and money, indeed.

There is truth to every major, like a stem cell
Mitosing daughters--any cell and of itself;
**** sapiens study
Human tools.

Hard or soft;
Art or science;
Weeds or grass,
Fruits or vegetables;

Right or wrong
We test the theorem.
So now can you
Guess my major?
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
This is an edited, expanded, expounded, confounded, reverberation of Linguistic Illusions to Probable Solutions written months back.
Lindy Oct 2012
Ankles bobbed. Cannibal Dan executed female (gorgeous). Hartford Inquirer:  
“Justice killing? Love? Money?”
“ No.”
“Oh?”
“People question rationale. Society thinks, ‘Undeserving Victims!’
Well, 'xcept you, Zackary.”
This form is called abecedarian: every word follows alphabetic order.
Em Glass Jul 2013
dark.
grass, soft and itchy and cozy
an ugly christmas sweater
that you pull eagerly over your
head and snuggle into.

I can reach up and
swirl my hand in a puddle of stars
and wach the ripples of
starlight.

a ladder to the roof,
to the sky
the grass is below,
the sweater is discarded by the
fire — too warm
for it but it is remembered
fondly, its woven green fronds.
energy of the logic circuit burns
everything in acrid scent.
but it's not forgotten.
cozy, off to the side.

I can reach out and clasp my
hands around the moon, obliterating
the light, but it won't be dark.
hard to see,
not dark.


I can let my hands open
and let the orb of light
roll, eerie and slow,
out of the sky

it will have a soft landing
a sweater woven of grass
and darkness

do they glow now?
do they glow with the
light I brought you?

darkness is soft
softly hiding itself
in the quest to hide everything
scary that has ever made us
afraid of the dark.

light asks, softly, to be looked at.
He is smart
He knows how to articulate his thoughts
He knows who I am as a person
He knows Shakespeare
He quotes Shakespeare
He is someone I can share an awkward silence with comfortably
He is preferably Scottish
He is proud
He perseveres
He has principles
He is knowledgeable
He is open-minded
He is a risk-taker
He is optimistic
He is an inquirer
He is preferably a gemini, libra, aquarius or leo
He likes to read a lot
He is reflective
He is handsome (to my standards)
He has dark brown, wild, wavy hair
He has insightful eyes
He has dark brown eyes
He is insightful
He is caring
He is faithful
He sings
He dances
He plays almost every musical instrument under the sun
He is confident
He is self-assured
He is outspoken
He is bold
He is not afraid t0 show emotion
He wears his heart on his sleeve
He laughs everyday
He has a crooked, sweet smile
He has dreams
He has aspirations in life
He has goals
He has his life planned in a general outline
He is safe
He is prepared
He is spontaneous
He calls me beautiful instead of ****
He doesn't snore
He brings out my more intimate side
He is not my *****
He can play rough with me and not hurt me
He knows that I am not fragile
He knows that the only part of me that I cared if he broke it would be my heart
He is honest
He doesn't hide anything from me
He respects my privacy
He is not possessive, jealous, or overbearing
He lets my have my space when I need it
He respects me as a woman
He respects me as a lover
He respects me as a Human Being
He can clearly define love and what it means to him, and I agree
He doesn't base the strength of our relationship on ***
He does not push me into doing things I do not want to do
He has and recognizes that he has past lives
He is an old soul
He is one and at peace with his surroundings
He is spiritual
He is good
He is a healer
He believes in Magic
He believes in hope
He believes in justice
He stands his ground in a fight
He knows when to say NO
He comes with emotional baggage we can solve together
He depends on me as much as I depend on him
He can kick any ones *** in a fight
He is willing to admit his mistakes
He is not afraid to apologize to me for anything
He is willing to change for the better
We connect on a deep level
He has and recognizes that he has psychic powers
He is smart when under the influence
He uses his God-given brain
He uses common sense
He is perfect for me.
He is smart
He knows how to articulate his thoughts
He knows who I am as a person
He knows Shakespeare
He quotes Shakespeare
He is someone I can share an awkward silence with comfortably
He is preferably Scottish
He is proud
He perseveres
He has principles
He is knowledgeable
He is open-minded
He is a risk-taker
He is optimistic
He is an inquirer
He is preferably a gemini, libra, aquarius or leo
He likes to read a lot
He is reflective
He is handsome (to my standards)
He has dark brown, wild, wavy hair
He has insightful eyes
He has dark brown eyes
He is insightful
He is caring
He is faithful
He sings
He dances
He plays almost every musical instrument under the sun
He is confident
He is self-assured
He is outspoken
He is bold
He is not afraid t0 show emotion
He wears his heart on his sleeve
He laughs everyday
He has a crooked, sweet smile
He has dreams
He has aspirations in life
He has goals
He has his life planned in a general outline
He is safe
He is prepared
He is spontaneous
He calls me beautiful instead of ****
He doesn't snore
He brings out my more intimate side
He is not my *****
He can play rough with me and not hurt me
He knows that I am not fragile
He knows that the only part of me that I cared if he broke it would be my heart
He is honest
He doesn't hide anything from me
He respects my privacy
He is not possessive, jealous, or overbearing
He lets my have my space when I need it
He respects me as a woman
He respects me as a lover
He respects me as a Human Being
He can clearly define love and what it means to him, and I agree
He doesn't base the strength of our relationship on ***
He does not push me into doing things I do not want to do
He has and recognizes that he has past lives
He is an old soul
He is one and at peace with his surroundings
He is spiritual
He is good
He is a healer
He believes in Magic
He believes in hope
He believes in justice
He stands his ground in a fight
He knows when to say NO
He comes with emotional baggage we can solve together
He depends on me as much as I depend on him
He can kick any ones *** in a fight
He is willing to admit his mistakes
He is not afraid to apologize to me for anything
He is willing to change for the better
We connect on a deep level
He has and recognizes that he has psychic powers
He is smart when under the influence
He uses his God-given brain
He uses common sense
He is perfect for me.
Keiya Tasire Jan 2020
Dear Inquirer,

Thank you for your beautiful expressions.
Asking about opportunities and possibilities.

Love is full in my life.
Experience and expression flows from my heart
From the imperfect experiences
Expressing a desire for something more
To raise the vibrations of lower emotions
Discovering how to embrace a higher light.

I am blessed with a husband who is imperfect
He challenges me to grow within our love.
By understanding the underlying needs
Echoed through his imperfections.

These roots of our yearnings
Reveal a child neglected.
A child conditionally loved.
A child buried within the man
Who desires to give and receive love.  

Yet because of his imperfections
Expression can be awkward, at times.
His child who mirrors so perfectly
My own imperfect inner child.

Through the ups and downs
We agreed to keep a promise.
That no challenge, no issues
Will ever be more important
Than our hearts desire to
Learn and grow deeper in love.

So we journey together along the road.
We bump into our hurt feelings and misunderstandings...
The very opportunities within our garden
That bloom into greater wisdom and undying love.

Long ago when our love was young
It was necessary to put our pride aside.
As the fire of anger roared
He taught me how to open my  arms.

Together in an embrace.....
We breathe ....
Until the hammering stress subsides.......
Calming, cradling our pain.  

Together, in turn, we explore:
What do I need to understand, right now, in this moment?
What was my trigger? Who or what am I reacting to?
And the pieces of the puzzle fall together.
Our Promise remembered.
Our promise fulfilled, once more.

Over the years
Our wisdom and love grows
Knowing 90% of our anger
Is from our hurt and sadness, rooted in the past.
10% from our protective ego's, "How dare you!!"
Aimed at the teacher, my mirror, my love, my companion
Who is but keeping his role, very well.
As we bump into each other
To dance with the shadow within, each of us.
We step into the darkness with faith
To find our courage and embrace
Our lesson wisdom and Light.

Dear Inquirer,
I am grateful to be loved unconditionally
I wish for you this beautiful form
Of ever growing unconditional love and joy.
May it bring you adventures
Deep appreciation and a beautiful growing
Courageous love, in this lifetime.
Please, count me among the ones
Who hold this blessed prayer for you.

With Best Regards,
Keiya
I respect the bravery it takes to reach across miles to someone to ask if there is an opportunity or a possibility of finding love together. This poem celebrates that bravery; plus is an answer that my life is full of love, challenges, growth, and expanding unconditional love. This poem ends with a prayer for the Inquirer to find his love and bliss too.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
against the motto: write little; do it well -
sure, let's fill galoshes with frogs and slugs and
seawater - fry a pancake, eat a leotard -
play chess using our toes -
do all those things, but never get a brimful's
worth of insight into waterfalls
or volcanoes interrupting the goody-two-shoes'
lives in the market sq. of Pompeii -
let's do that, let's do that, write sparingly,
let's not gesticulate at the void like
what's missing at the para-Olympics -
two blind men boxing, lights out already?
throw a torso into the swimming pool!
misery... and the funniest comedy - you
could almost get tired, but it doesn't tire,
you were expecting a mile long walk -
now you're running a ******* marathon,
hyphen (or the hanging pause) -
just yesterday, a minor virus on word,
font turned into Vendetta from Times New Roman,
and this ******... ¶... everywhere, each line
a new paragraph, who's he?
Mr. ¶ or Mr. Pillow-Crow - piquant like
a radish in pickle acidity - before
writing the invoice a good 10 minutes trying
to make Mr. ¶ disappear - long ago it was
like so:

¶xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxx
¶xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
**­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

but it changed into

        xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxx
         xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­

(cheaper print charges, could allow more blank space)

nah, forget writing well but very little,
learn the trombone or the viola instead,
write a lot, write a lot to make mistakes,
become Jack the Decathlon inquirer,
all the trades, master at none,
splash in a rainbow, some thunder and
some sleet, give it a proper variation juggle
and wait for the chuckles brigade -
now instead of writing about reading
we're writing about giving advice,
i'm not, pronoun usage can be misleading,
i'm giving myself self-assurance,
yeah, in a car accident, whiplash,
i'm gonna bank about 2 thousand quid in insurance,
and i'm working it out from the citation
of Alexander Dumas, Athos - "the best advice
is to not give advice", and boy did that morph
from " " into ' ', i.e. my own -
the best plan is to not have a plan -
while they write their systematisation and
skeletal fiction with unsurprising anatomies
i'm writing and i'm like... huh? i didn't plan this!
well, no shame in that, no beetroot face,
unlike squeezing a wet **** on a rush-hour
commute home on the tube -
write a lot, so you can write ****** pieces,
write a lot, so you can become a simile of a missing person,
write a lot, so they don't find you (no paranoia intended,
not really about some obscure government organisation),
write a lot, just so you can write mistakes,
don't become a prim-bow-tie perfectionist.
She had a love in her heart
And never let it go
Even when it led her astray
And every night, she lay alone and pondered
Asking questions to the midnight sky, and receiving moonbeams for answers.
Her nightgown fluttered in the dark room like the wings of a butterfly or moth
Her eyes gleamed in the night, like moonbeams of Heavenly design
Her hair is strands of silver silk woven by a goddesses loom
Her face as pale as the face of the moon
Her feet are bare and she treads with an airy float
And she dances
A magnificent flowing whirl
Entrancing all those who see her, a Heavenly girl,
The woman in the moon
The inquirer of the gods
And her wings flutter softly in the spotlight the moon's rays have created for her
And she flutters back home.

The people below watch the iridescent butterfly take flight, and they think to themselves "What a lovely night it is!"
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
Joe Jr Mar 2017
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
solana Mar 2020
"Since Metro Manila has an elevation of around five meters, it seems to be living on borrowed time."
Philippine Inquirer, 2019

i am the daughter of a girl without a mother    
born on an island bordered by water

my closest ones live too far away from me  
scattered like dozens of inlets floating on water

in Tagalog the verb mag-alala  [ to worry ]     shares a root with pag-alala [ to remember ]
every year i grow older   & more likely to drown from water

my home is a country   joined together by a liquid border
in thirty years   the city that birthed me will be under water  

every poem i write has become an elegy     mourning the loss of a country i invented
that only exists in my childhood memory     and memory is as fragile as water
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
now i just look at words:

          i sometimes want:
to describe what the tongue doesn't
need to prompt or cue -

mostly thanks for e. e. cummings...

it's so necessary to find this
metaphysical tongue
in my brain -
how it's a mundane thought:
nothing at all worth
morally questioning -

loitering in a status quo...
or -
        beginning a sentence
with a conjunction:
rather focusing on conjunctions
bilingually...

an hour prior i would really
focus on etymology and
nouns in bilingualism -

something prophetic had to
be excavated from argentina...
it's not like i don't like new
music... it's that there's so much
of it: listening alone
to it is unlike sharing it...

         notably IAH - III...

to: this
tamto: that
tam: there
           w - in
o - about
            even if english allows
i - ja
              or a - the indefinite article...
z - with...
          
what am i with my born
with tongue that...
unlike those who arrived
on these shores as *****...
in the loving embrace...
that they were born
in england...

              some made-up
propensity to teach
others from a native foundation:
because... the bilingual
is somehow less?

spew me canon fire of words...
mesmerize me!
no: clear vantage point for
exploitation...

a long winding crescendo...
a labour under the gravity of using
wings...
a completed dialectical question...
which never allows
a rhetorical answer...
as plato noted:
a mere yes or no...
for the inquirer is asking
a question to further his rhetorical
pursuit of inquiry...

classics... i should read up on
some Aeschylus...
i can't imagine south america
as an extension of spain...
i guess the conquistadors
really did **** with
the aztec and the mayan women...
i find south america as
unique...
devoid of spain's influence...
language alone is not enough...
spanish was never going
to be an undermined language...
it was never to be subverted
by either german or russian...

but this english litany:
how the new continent is still
having to mind inheritance...
how the inheritance "tax" is so...
suffocating and strait-jacket esque...
i can clearly see
argentina for argentina...
is hardly a whole lot to do with
spain being dragged into europe...
into the funnel...

    celt and prior
romans and prior...
  oh no... this is not a history lesson...
then the germans
then the slavs
then the huns the mongols the turks
the... turkmen etc.
this little crevice of land...
this sort of in between
of continental pride:
a place to build a ship and...
******* to new a greater pasture...
to adventure...
to a small island in the pacific...

i never have to think of brazil
as an extension
of portugal...
   even though their language is
so: base... same...
or mingle with argentina a spain...
but in the anglophonic realm...
tightly-knit community
of: 'just across the pond'...
pond: d'uh... the atlantic...

       you can't call it an english
or a spanish diaspora -
                  hardly...
                 i try to think back
and relate to my fellow language
proficiency exemplars...
what chains bind me:
that i am prior to self-first selfish...
my own owning my ownership...
before i am cannibalised
by a national identity...

            it must seem rather strange
to explore these avenues in this tongue...
cry! schizoid! tremors!
blah blah...
                 that i do find immovable
"pawns" in england...
people who will not... dare thread
crossing barriers with exception
to holidaying on some greek island
or... spain... of all places...
they are so intrinsically adamant
in not splitting their mind
with kneading the dough-for-a-tongue
of a second language...
well... i call them immovable "pawns"
rather than n.p.cs...
        
perhaps i would write in my native
zunge - perhaps i'd tease at some germanic:
alt vater albion to boot...
or scribble some cyrillic -
but then: who has that sort of keyboard
and this narrative is begging
for a fluency of time shortened...

         english has no diacritical marks
that i know... which allows speeding
up the process...
if i were to fiddle and playdough with
diacritical markers:
which venture in their idiosyncratic meaning:
stand-alone...
i would...
the english must have thought
they were the afghans of the ancient
world... that they would somehow
inherit latin without...

a german esses und zeds...
    or a french cedilla...
                        or an iberian ninyo...
                             ~ on top of an n...
they had to determine themselves as...
the failure of previous empires
was... their landlocked ergonomic of
spreading...
lend us the greek concept
of free-city-states!
let us use the seas!
the sun will never set!
insomnia barons and pauper maddened
toy kings...

it's  not like the intricacies
of two towing tonnes os tongue is
in anyway unbearble:

w tym - in this
  
but i find it's unnecessary to merely
focus on the disparagement of nouns...
i find red a bogus...
immediately constructed
into plural / masculine / the feminine...
it's never red alone...

czerń is black...
it's almost a verb when being presented
with red...
na czerwono: on red...
czerwony - red (masculine)
czerwona - red (feminine)...
czerwone  - red (feminine plural)
czerwoni - red (masculine plural)...

chechen renegades of post thunk -
the armenians reading into
an ottoman less lightly...

   look here: my prosthetic limb

red is an impasse in my native tongue...
it's like this anglophone
focus on "gender neutral" pronouns...
i can't seem to find...
a red is red...

or what's: back into english...
i read (once upon a time)
coupled with: i read (currently doing)...
there's... red and there's a reed...

what czerń allows is:
czarna, czarny... czarni, czarne...

czerwienić się: to blush...
but the colour red doesn't stand alone
to stress itself without
a "dismabigutation"
when loan grammatical tools
come to the fore...
and implore the "loss od detail"...

for this only one man
has to know two tongues...
and for that i am metaphorically schizoid...
sK-oid... voiding further
the sofa-esque mentality of people:
how i admire those people
with a knowledge of only one tongue...
or two or polyglot with
not dare reminder of
intricacies:
how they arrived at language
proficiency where everything is
either leftover or works just fine:
it's all reflexive and nothing... is ever auld
or odd...

ah... but...
czerwień is an adjective - an allusion to red...
from the burdens of a synonym cloud -
what was once: a bold
introspection... has become an alluded to...
a loan... a gimmick
a burgundy is a hue of red...
a deviation... how it teases
purple...
                 it's a quality... "esque"...
this native tongue of mine...
well... it can't escape gendering certain
words...

white is gender inclusive...
          all the colours are!
                  one has to find onself
a gangrene riddled dog barking up
the wrong tree...
when the anglophone debate over
gender neutral pronouns comes
to the fore:
this here the tornado:
i here, the butterfly...

           biały... biała...
"concern" for things...
well... you wouldn't say: biały rzecz (white thing)
you'd say biała rzecz

i imagine the birth of the concept of:
NOTHING to imply...
i have exhausted a desire for
etymology, for nouns...
for calling things concretely like
some geologists or chemist...
i'm here, socrates... borrowed for
glue and chewing gum and
the leftovers of conversation...

i.e. "thing" is the precursor generic
noun... nothing = nonoun...
something new... pronoun aside...
nothing for me implores:
gesticulating at nonoun -
Kant almost saw this coming
with his noumenon...

to talk without having to implore oneself
the details of seeing a feline marker...
because: that's what we already
do! a cat is a cat is not necessarily
a maine ****... or a siamese!
a dog is a dog isn't necessaarily
a cocker spaniel of a german shepherd!

a tree is a tree isn't necessarily an oak
or an acorn!
this cognitive construct could
only have been invented by the faculty
of memory: how best to filter,
throw a cipher into a bowl of
borrowing deciphers...
memory this formerly grand
cameo cinema that had to become
a fickle ontology... destined for a per se...

yet how i strain myself to
keep it on a leash...
after the acid bath of pedagogy and...
drilling into me the arithmetic of 2 + 2 = 4...
how i "wake"...
that i spell these words with
such adamancy...
is because i want to: i desire for them
to be strictly bound...
i could sooner slash my wrists than
allow myself to turn all sloppy...
lazily prone to heave: third party
slobbering leftovers of ****-towing-curd...

i will not lend my eyes to spell out
either greek or "proto" greek via cyrillic:
it's enough to know the CZ and CH
and this loitering demiurge
phoneticism: riddle a people with
enough mammon worship:
and sooner or later the pennies just
drag: extensive as to how
copper write was invented:
two feeble scots arguing over a penny...

for the nuance of a solitary reader...
had i the fortitude of a single tongue:
a well arrived at presentation
of a universal man...
i didn't have this blockages of
bilingualism:
it's not that i "somehow" find myself
obstructed:
there's this intilled:
reflexive: pronoun compound:
as there's this reflective: my self...

the ancient 'uns speak of a selb
to masquerade an imitation throw...
i dangle my arm and
pretend there's a stone in it..
i have to gladly arrive
at this sorrow for an ongoing praise
of pursuit per se:
i can't imagine chasing ****
was ever much fun to begin with...

but when it mattered and it must have
mattered...
i weaved a loneliness to the prusuit
of staging aloofness:
which married itself to... some german...
and lately had to revised:

jetzt: now...
           hier: here...
this teutonic beer hall:
tam-da-ra-day...
       sing-along...
                          
               limbo wording when finding
awkward "squares":
the geocentric model and the loath
of patriarchy...
the heliocentric model and
the ****** crisp queen
of gynocentrism...

  today i tried to figure out
how a siamese twin could ever
overcome a sstatus symbol
of herr cain... serial killer....
i couldn't: but the image struck me as...
somewhat... belitteling and...
"sincere"...
           how impossible it was...
to ever find... a siamese killer...
beside the serial stressor...

chances are:
if i were not "culturally appropriating"
this english...
if i had questionable insight
into an antithesis of all is well:
western cosmopolitan...
french of service! please amore!

if this wasn't a shadow
of ol' *****: risky...
                risque?
  esque...
               russian: pax varshava...
              such that the sun never itches
to sleep....
aeschylus is to be mourned...
wait 2000+ years from now...
this will translate
into a paragraph of... less conjunctions
and more... punctuation markers...
i hope the diacritical marks still
retain their stature...

i speak two languages
yet it's a burden for 6 o 7...
i only speak two languages...
yet it's a "burden" that would gladly make
an affair of a dozen "creases"...
have... astounding pressure
being met with:
economical proficiency being...
exacted: as therefore stressed...

for the worth of a night arrived at...
i have to spare you...
endearing prospect of a reader..
my limit...
petting cats i fathomed inately...
for the better half of my exposed
self: churned into ***...
i was an amateaur at...

here's to me ******* a headless chicken:
trans-spaecian misinformed "..."
additionally curses never
to revise a 1950s h'american
nostalgia pillow credo...

  sleep tight sleep tired...
my most bothersome lacklustre additive
of spike and crescendo lobough'
tammy... and a led zeppelin's play
on hay-maker... with a jive of:
jai... tell me the difference...
between jai and jay...
i'm dying to know!
i'm so pristine raw and ignoble
to have to... concern myself
with these overshoots of...
why i didn't happenstance
a life... and the end result was always
to be... a riddle of walking...
employing
a pretend walking stick...
a ball and a hole...

i was blindly 'ere... scouting
for rabbits and deer
and grouse... i was 'ere limping for
a wolf to wrestle with:
i was 'ere for the gnashing of teeth!
i was never 'ere for a leisure...
a praying for comfort,
for happiness...
   i need this uncertainity pulpit:
zenith.. this long reserved crease...
like it might be: tied into a butterfly
or a "bow".
After mine wife
asks for this, that
or something else rife
with intent to provide barrel of laughs,
(likened to barrel of monkeys)
yours truly crafts
description how we share mirth

validating how our respective worth
matters each to the other acting childlike
to stave off altercations
that might come down figurative pike
worst case scenario whereby I strike
mine steadfast fine companion.

Neither rules nor regulations exist
to our made up silly game
whereby whenever
one of us knowingly reaches out
to latch hold of desired item
specified by name,
the other person feigns to hand over
then pulls back same
alluded to object

held aloft (think
non verbal teasing banter)
said motions sustained
moments before until...
participant/ recipient
(trying in vain to grab
their coveted cherished
jackknifed prized possession)
becomes angry as raging bull.

Ofttimes when I pretend to surrender
that specific something sought after
by her royal highness prefers advanced version,
she doth lapse into her guttural patois,
which scrambled, throttled, and vocalized
(back of the throat utterances)

metrically syncopated
(couching unspoken) unclear clues
her primal wordless request
vaguely analogous
to decipher cryptograms,
whereby, I learned to look for patterns.

Yesteryear selective pastimes
whiling away hours
included many a cognitively
challenging endeavors
comprising decoding enigmatic
intriguing looking English language riddles
located within entertainment section
of The Philadelphia Inquirer

no I could never solve sudoku,
but eldest daughter (Eden Liat -
yea "star student" who matriculated
and graduated summa *** laude
courtesy University of Pennsylvania
breezed thru those logic-based,
combinatorial number-placement puzzle.

How bland a marriage devoid of non
establishmentarian activities, none
of which include physical intimacy,
cuz me libido went south linkedin
with half dozen plus medications

yours truly readily swallows
prescribed medication to alleviate
mental health issues such as:
anxiety, obsessive compulsive behavior,
palmar hyperhidrosis,
mild depression et alia.
rather yours truly doth thrive
on keeping the ethos, mythos,
and pathos of Pigpen alive
subjected to eternal
abomination, brutalization,
condemnation, damnation,
emasculation, humiliation, ostracization,
who one day envisions himself
as a decrepit solitudinarian
an aging long haired baby boomer,

(I seriously contemplate donating
about a dozen inches of straggly hair
to locks of love, hoping
a stylist makes house calls -
since anticipatory anxiety
wracks these lovely bones
at the prospect
of setting foot inside a salon)
wherefore he might finally
cease to be a subject of derision,

but please do not chide,
a sexagenarian whose bruised ego
experienced more'n lifetime
worth of rejection,
whose first three plus decades
(approximately half my existence)
of mein kampf livingsocial I gingerly elide
where persona non grata of Charlie Brown
(essentially portrayed as a loser)
on his keister he did glide

cuz unkind behavior
demonstrated by Lucy Van Pelt
without fail always pulls away the football
disclosing her character,
who harbors spitefulness inside
earning her another point
of maliciousness notated
on the figurative blackboard,
when I chalked up and kreide.

The Peanuts gallery
populated pleasure reading
during mine boyhood
as well as the Little Engine that Could,
whose disposition evinced a solitary lad
never delinquent except one attempt
to get caught shoplifting a yoyo at Ames
Department store in Lansdale,
but other than that amazingly as all good
boys do fine.

Matter of fact quite few other comic strips
ranked as my favorite back when I read
the Philadelphia Inquirer Sunday edition
approximately two thirds
of threescore and three years ago
(approximately half life
of Matthew Scott Harris)
I cannot forget other comic strip titled
Andy Capp, Beetle Bailey,
Berkeley Breathed, Blondie,

Brenda Starr Reporter,
Calvin and Hobbes
Dennis the Menace, Dilbert,
The Far Side, For Better or For Worse,
Frank and Earnest,
Fred Basset, Garfield,
Hägar the Horrible,
Mutt and Jeff, Nancy, Pogo,
Shoe, The Family Circus, Tumbleweeds,
The Lockhorns,
The Wizard of Id, and Ziggy.

So many choices availed themselves
regarding how to while away
my leisure hours during
those fleeting twenties,
thirties, and forties of mine,
but yours truly (me)
frequently, easily, and decidedly
found contentment then and now
among the rank and file
of other not ready
for prime time players
soaking up newsworthy morsels
and if not reading aforementioned material
than appeasing the insatiable bookworm
holed up within corporeal complex edifice
housing these lovely bones  
cerebrally feasting on a favorite genre
possibly fulfilling hunger
for historical fiction
or miscellaneous nonfiction.
As a student in Missus Grace Wells third grade 1967 class...
at Henry Kline Boyer School
a fairly prominent structure,
whose personage exemplifies
a storied history recounted below.

Henry K. Boyer

Early Life

Henry Kline Boyer was born on February 19, 1850, in Evansburg, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. The youngest of two children to blacksmith Ephraim Boyer and his wife Rebecca Kline, Henry was raised mainly in Montgomery County, with his father at one point even being the official town blacksmith of Evansburg. He attended formal schooling in Montgomery County from a young age, with an aptitude for math and a love for English and history. Boyer later attended Freeland Seminary, which is now known as Ursinus College.

He completed his formal education at only sixteen years of age, and in 1866 became a schoolteacher at the public school in his neighborhood. Kline then moved on to other teaching positions, including ones with a “classical academy” in Philadelphia and a Quaker school in the Byberry neighborhood of the city.

In 1868, he received a grammar school teaching certificate and moved to Camden, New Jersey, to work as the principal of a school there. Boyer did this until 1871, at that time he left his position in Camden to pursue the study of law in Philadelphia at the firm of former United States Attorney General Benjamin H. Brewster. In 1873, at the age of 23, Boyer was admitted to the Bar in Philadelphia County, where he focused on civil cases.

Political Career Begins & Flourishes

Starting out as a lawyer, Boyer took up permanent residence in Philadelphia and practiced well through the 1880s, attracting political attention. He was an active member of the Young Republicans of Philadelphia, and “his growing inclination for public affairs led him in the Spring of 1882 to attend a meeting of Republicans … to (choose) delegates for the state convention.” He was announced then as a delegate for the Seventh Ward of Philadelphia. He received a strong showing but lost. In the fall, he then ran for and won his first race, for the Pennsylvania Statehouse. Winning handily, Boyer had gone from a lawyer to a politician.

Henry K. Boyer served as State Representative for the 7th District of Philadelphia County for six terms, both before and after his time as Treasurer. Boyer served from 1883 to 1890, 1893 to 1894, and 1897 to 1898. He became a powerhouse in the State Legislature, with some of his legislative activities involving being a driving force behind the bill that created the Pennsylvania State Board of Health, encouraging citizens to plant trees, and regulating pharmacies. His action on these matters during his first term did not go without notice, as on January 4, 1887, at the age of 37, Boyer was elected as the unanimous choice of the Pennsylvania House Republican Caucus to be the next Speaker of the House. He was elected Speaker again the next term, and for a third non-consecutive time upon his return to the house in 1896 after serving as Treasurer.

As Treasurer

The sitting Speaker of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, Boyer was elected as Treasurer of Pennsylvania in 1889. The State Republican Convention, which less than 10 years before had denied his bid to be only a delegate to it from Philadelphia, unanimously selected him as their pick for Treasurer. Pennsylvania Senator Boies Penrose introduced him at the convention, with the Philadelphia Times quoting Penrose as saying that he knew of “no other man” for the job.

In his acceptance speech, Boyer said he was a “proud and happy man,” and that the party had “made a correct choice. … I assure you I will endeavor to merit your confidence.” Boyer was elected in what was the largest total majority ever given to a Republican candidate in a political off-year. When the returns were coming in, the Snyder County Tribune reported that “Well, we have got Boyer and are very happy.”

In the role of Treasurer, Boyer authored the extensive Revenue Act of 1891, and he saw to it that schools specifically received substantial funding. However, in 1891, Boyer was locked in a corruption scandal along with Auditor General Thomas McCamant. A Philadelphia politico had been discovered that year as being corrupt, so a sweep across the Commonwealth revealed allegations of corruption…as far as Boyer’s direct role in any corruption, it was written that he was “criminally negligent at best and corrupt at worst.”

The scandal ultimately did not lead to his removal from office after the Senate split on talks to oust him, although Dauphin County prosecutors charged him with the misappropriation of $600,000 in funds. Once again, it never got off the ground, and Boyer retired at the end of his term while immediately making another successful bid to the Pennsylvania House and Speakership.

Later Life & Death

Boyer went back to the House after his term as Treasurer, holding the Speakership once more. The Capitol burned down during his tenure, and Boyer led sessions of the Legislature from places like the nearby federal courthouse and Grace United Methodist Church. He resigned from the House on January 17, 1898, after being appointed as Superintendent of the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia. He retired from the Superintendent position in 1902, and after that, spent the rest of his life in various pursuits.

He was a fan of farming, especially dairy farming, and at one point through his retirement had a 130+-acre dairy farm that he worked painstakingly on. It was reported that at this farm, Boyer remodeled every single farm building, purchased the best farm implements, got everything up to date, and had some of the most fertile soil in Pennsylvania. Besides investing in his dairy farm, he invested in land and other buildings, such as an old hotel, and enjoyed planting as much foliage as possible around his many acres of land, just as he encouraged citizens to do in one of his signature bills as a state representative.

In 1910, he was living as a boarder in Collegeville, Pennsylvania, in 1920 he was living by himself in Lower Providence, Pennsylvania, and in 1930 Boyer was living in Red Hill, Pennsylvania.

Never married, and never having children, Henry K. Boyer died at the age of 83, days shy of his 84th birthday, on February 14, 1934, in Red Hill, Pennsylvania. He was buried at Chelten Hills Cemetery. The York Dispatch eulogized him as “one of the well[-]known figures of a past generation in politics,” and the Philadelphia Inquirer highlighted him as “an outstanding figure in Pennsylvania politics in the last quarter of the 19th century.”

His place of residence
currently repurposed into to Play & Learn,
formerly Boyer School, 35 Evansburg Road
as iterated above aforementioned building
constituted quaint grade school
(one classroom per grade),
wherein I still remember
The golden-rod is yellow;
the first line of a poem
titled September by Helen Hunt Jackson

memory of mine jogged,
when remembrance of things past
pertaining to my boyhood
at about eight (almost nine) years old
strongly instructed to memorize
and be able, eager, ready and willing
to recite said poem
(other classmates as well needed
to abide by assignment or else...)

despite being a diminutive lad
with a pronounced nasal sound
(courtesy of submucous cleft palate - split uvula)
approximately fifty seven years ago
reprinted here with permission of
Your Daily Poem
P. O. Box 14054
Greenville, SC 29611.

September - now follows suit
by
Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentians bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
From dewey lanes at morning
the grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.
But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.
'T is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.
2 days? really? 2 ways: tow two ouch days?
i have written anything in two days?
well!
that must stand corrected:
if i'm a poet therefore i'm a bad journalist
and battling insomia... and god:
and the night walking
Heraclitus and Bertnard Russell...
what five, 5, 5iver books would
i bring to Kauai and teach Reyla
the glory of books...
i know one... Cantos... Ezra...
Bukowski:
something about walking through
the fire...
no no... Bukoswski is right:
just two books..
the one you haven't finished
but were reading over there
and a book to glorify the memory of
your grandfather's hospitality
and learning...
your time alone:
books then:
Knausgaard's vol 6 and ******...
the jumbee jump
into ****** and Elert as two human wholes:
double-think>?
Orwell didn't mention double-think did he?
serialized Harlequinn of the low
hanging fruit of prophecy...
try Solomon's agtitation with  a persistence
for a stability in and of time...

such a different cat to human dynamic
when i'm left alone
in a house full of the alchemy of ghosts...
something that Christianity never
allowed itself to have:
but the cult of science is there
and when create a strcuture for a religion
too...
religion of the antithesis of consciousness
as the Arabs proposed...
with the thesis being concentration
and focus...
focus...                         focus:
honing in machine...
        public scrutiny unlike taking pictures
of suicide in a spot in Japan:
the argument:
a father and two sons
had wine drenched t-shirts...
started the argument...
as judge, inquirer,
empathy-defendend
as sympathy-accussed...
                     an? not and? not defendant?
i'm experiecing a freeflow to
understand dyslacia...
can i pleas write without AI
underlining my words:
fgo: a period of 10min?!
pole: please please:

             my wife asked me:
i replied: what big bang?
in a ******* vacuum?
so the interlude:
i monkey, chain: asked:
exasctly:
she's ultra-Christian dream-lady
not a cat-lady
a dream-lady
she asked for a night-walker
and chatterer for a lover...
she asked for a night-walker
and a chatterer for a lover...
thrice?!

wait wait: so i wasn't supposed to throw
the party?
oh: right: i don't know enough people...
i thought it was only me and you (Greg)
and Alex...
i am introverted so i will probably
spend most of the time talking
to your daughter:
and if i will wear a Taylor Swift t-shirt
it will indicate white knights
of the light geekdom
unlike the black and BARACK UBAMA
                        IRON MAIDEN!
so much in my head: St. Augustine...
catholic safe haven
for abused leftover Prostentatism
of the Gospel DISPERSE choir...
who heard them:
why did i travel to Hawaii
and fall over my knees and Achilleses
and... seriously?
unearth an ancient people who were
asking from Asia: toward the sea
from Taiwann...
because...
the...
"supposed"
European dict...

then i laughed so hard and woke
the sleeping cat
on my desk that's my bed:
van gogh and ear and chair
descartes and thought and table
what did i start to do?
licked my index middle and ring
with my saliva my painting
then started to groom  my pet
by giving him gel for a fringe
but not gelatine and whiskers...
licked it like my favorite scene
where Quicksilver saves
all those children from the school
after the explosion...
but... i'm not Quicksilver...
i'm Quicksilver's father: Magento...

i thought i was throwing the party...
oh: the kido cried because she got
a taylor swift t-shirt with some bangles...
i have only one left:
anti-hero...
      
             so... let's spealk grammar?
don't think so...
i think i thought about something
too: altoge....

cats ask finish: feel good chaos:
best good English Whitechapel y'ah
alles gut... blah blah...
                Jacob STD phobe:
enzyme... cultural icon too:
but scientifically:
what is individual in biology and chemistry
physics etc.
but with religion
after christ a madman...
so... the balancing act:
can't allow Buddha in into this dynamic
of the chimera of scrutiny of
employability:
still don't think we're on the numbers:
why-how

        outliers where: when:
fire is how?
water is why?
air is where?
when is earth?                           ask...

one...          i give one person one time:
to tell me where i made the intitatial mistakes
having being the first
to find this problem:

sie(tail)
         is not the self
or the self-absence:
sie(tail-e)
began the process of
automation:
a.i.: efficieciency:
this Holocaust will be covert:
slow... it has to be slow:
can only tell an idiot
he's one once:
nail: to no hammer:
just a coffin:
they sort of sink in and keep
the matter shut...
we don't need retards in heaven
these retards of christ
of the earth will not be resurrected!
do you understand me?!
do you?!

DECORUM!
the argument and the stage of the court:
one father 2 sons...
against
Solomon... i am...
there came a judgement and i was called
an uncircumcised ****...
i have a *** Army father with two cucks...
he showcased me not being circumcised...
a ******* Jew in the Hammer Army?
seriously...
powernap... argument of a woman
and a vulnerable male
against three males, sober...
protecting their ******* smartphones?
i was: judge: i would have
the executioner powers had i had them
and shot them: dead to autumn
like concers and brains...

              decorum: you don't ******* film
an alcoholic trance of meditation
and then film a JApanese suicide of
just hanging around:
you *******... PLEB! you TV ZOMBIE...
the moon turned red when Alex
aseked me about my frequency
but i ssaid i had no favorite color:
favorite? seriously? do you have a favorite
word or shape?!
favorites who spoke this ****** Zodiac
paraphrase?!

my hand is a paw is to a feline tiger
a spider...
but as i mentioned:
the muddle: who strives to will a power:
without telepathy
or the comic script...
i'm not... prof X...
turn away digust of the cat that i wrote
those lines... who then for the children:
i should get bald?!
so much cultural affection of a dying kind...

the will to strife what becomes a will to strive:
simple:
ergonomic philosophy and
the fact that horses and cats
get to relax without fewer rats
and plough and wars

one finger: the cat continues to lie in my bed:
one finger: index:
i'm writing about you:
you're not a model
i'm not a painter:
i don't need your features:
i just need your summary:
your ontology...
i am sketching with poem
and you're not a cat...
i'm a fox godhead
and i'm looking for the cat godhead:
if i am the fox... no... now...

i'm the incubated house and intelligence
and the warm:
so my pride is
a fox is a toothless... Christian gay-lady
of homelessness that becomes
an affair of a grand household
on Mawney Road (roads are winding,
streets are rigid)
          
sorry, lost the plot...
i'm still conscious:
i'm still experiencing consciousness:
but i've lost concentration:
that dimension where thinking exists
to find and explore and share
meaning
of correlating the ancient Greek
genesis:
universals are synoynms
while particulars are antonyms...
maybe let's test it within the confines
of giving spain Sagrada Família...
i seriously thought i was hosting
the party:
the lasty bbq i hosted i ended up
a black girl in the attic of my bedroom:
maybe on neutral ground
i'll just buy my deducted price
Welsh whiskey
head up early and help with the prep...

— The End —