"introspections" poems
tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars,
diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray,
birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines,
occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures,
sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even
defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar
*not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling,
many voyages of indeterminate measuring length,
leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations,
each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated,
without critique or commentary, the numbers are the
gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination,
terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute*
a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced,
notated but not annotated, just numerical truths,
(sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie)
and today my calculator app informs, that I am now
19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected
naturally this provokes a natty,
spirited, self-inquiry, lessened,
lessor, for better or for worse?
have the physical alterations
accompanying this reduction
mean exactly what,
if, it should be, a greater lesser?
here is the hard part.
your have always been a mirror~poet,
laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven
AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied,
the external never denying the interior “less~than,”
a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions,
counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections,
of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical
less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am
*gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue,
the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:*
I,
am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds,
my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices
and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter
many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man,
there, internal infernal
too…
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
I am Jupiter storms
Unabounded by time
Raging on
And eons
Can not hope to confine me
To unstable matter
And mass
Rearranging
My molecules morphing
To liquefied jewels
And my surface
A canvas
Of unrefined fuels
Like an abstract mosaic
Of swirling
Unfurling
Tempests of archaic
As constellations
And the ages I've waited
And slumbered and spun
Into memories
Faded
And taken the names of your gods
As my payment
Inflating my ego's
Mesmeric rotations
So quick to claim hearts
Of Europa's amidst
My seductive, enchanting
Illusory bliss
Venture into my centrifuge
Fumy abyss
I have pressed up my lips
Of a frigid, wet steel
And then sealed
With a kiss
What ‘nary
A planetary
Can resist
And as she revolves
Around me
And gives life
Io dances about me,
Callisto my wife
Ganymede my seed
And the rest of my progeny breed
Future needs
What the Earthlings will need
To make up for their greed
All will see
Look to me
In my enormity
As my reservoirs
Fill them
With infinity
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
-3-
I did not have a name,
[Shapeless]
I was ephemeral at moments
but I was loved for existing,
regardless of the pain and the torments.
No justification needed,
no explanations necessary.
"Just you and I baby"
"We'll get through this together"
I thought I heard,
but what were words,
and what was meaning?
-5-
When I was inside her,
I had no worries or thoughts.
Ignorance was truly bliss,
no tumultuous introspections necessary.
I had no doubts,
no need for identity.
I was one with time
[moving]
Little did she know me.
Well, as much as she knew herself.
-7-
Less space to swim,
but your soothing voice became more than a dream.
Who were you?
Aside from everything to me.
Without me, you'd be fine.
But mother, you were my source of life.
I sank.
-9-
And right before my clock marked nine,
yours marked ten.
I came to the world.
But the world wasn't yet a possibility.
All I knew is that I was born
and that I had been living
inside my mom.
-1-
"I'm bleeding, I am not pregnant after all"
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 11:56 PM UTC
This goes out to all that choose,
To suffer in silence
As if it can’t be subdued
The people that think,
Not even a shrink
Could understand their feelings
Even if written in ink
This goes out, to all the brave souls,
That navigate their ship
Alone to their goals
The kind that believe
That their inner beliefs
Only upset others
Making silence, your grief
It’s time to wake up!
Speak your words,
Listen up
The time has come now,
To stop this hiccup
People will judge what we do, and we may not like it
But if you never speak out,
You’ll get trapped in your psychs grip
Lonely and cold
Walking a winding dark road
Without human emotion
From others to be bestowed
Upon you, cause it’s true
Everything that we do
Has it’s place in this world
Through venom and virtue
We may no be perfect
But there’s nothing that is
Even the universe was created
Through the concept of this
Imperfection introspections
Helps us learn our life lessons
So speak up and speak out
Before your inner-self lessens
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
it's almost like saying:
atheism
and theism, or deism
or whatever.
it's rought comparison,
but that's the best i could ever hope
to allude to...
concerning the aye, eye, i...
oko: eye,
okno: window
oczko:
a little eye, typically
of a baby;
judasz / judas: the peeping hole
in your front door.
bilingualism is like
a mongolian horde in terms
of etymological
"struggles", i.e. introspections...
i can't even begin the platonic
assertion of form-morphing
that's translated into
darwinism of
monkey into an ape...
as someone who's into artistotle more
than into plato, because he's more
into shakespeare's dialogues than plato's...
i don't buy the platonic crap
in darwinism...
it would be, perfect,
if we were all reduced to monkey form,
and picked out one type of monkey
as our origins...
what, ******* point, would,
a shit-brick sized gorilla ever need to evolve?
a gorilla that could wrestle a tiger
and pin him to the floor, while breaking his jaw?
the **** is this?!
or right... choose a chimp...
but not a macaque monkey...
i'll just do what atheist
youtubers do... in terms of language:
******* imbecile!
pointless platonic imbeciles!
darwinism = platonism...
god, in the now, now, now...
now i should be exhibit (c) in a zoo...
or playing that ******* wormhole of a game
that's the sims...
eugenics didn't move it far along
the argument scale, that we needed
to play "god" while playing the sims...
there's nothing worth an aristotle in the framework
of darwinism...
darwinism is platonic...
it arises from the head, and the abstract,
rather than on the basis of the senses,
that said:
as one hindu guru said:
why aren't there more monkeys evolving,
turning into neanderthals?
the more atheists call others ********
we'll be swimming ad infinitum ad nauseam
in circles, concerning ourselves with
arguments, that... well...
are best summarised by a cat's
meow of concern for
the arguments in themselves...
bo'h- -ring!
oh look, retards either direction;
if that's what humanism has come down to...
seriously... if i were a gorilla... why would
i want to devolve?
so i can be subordinate
to beta-males' taxation rules of governing me?
punch the ******* in the face, and move on...
to me, aristotle would have rejected darwinism,
but plato? ooh hoo hoo... he'd be darwin's first disciple;
******* ponces.
don't bother questioning whether
poetry requires objectivity...
it's a non-objective form of expression...
as it was never supposed to be...
take your 1 + 1 = 2 elsewhere, and ponder it there.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Hard to go on...so little information
So hard to know to trust my instincts or
to just be open
Try to let go...those 'perfect' expectations
I just never know...what with all my imperfections
***
(CH) I get nervous
Questioning my very self
All my introspections
Everything I think I know
My experiences
Every thought and nurtured hope
Comes down to fear or love
and learning when to just let go
***
I get tired...too tired to bother trying
Never dreaming, but overanalyzing
I get lazy, and sometimes I get whiny
Procrastinating...
and in general; just wasting time
(CH)
(instrumental bridge)
I get fearful,
sometimes feeling uninspired
Things seem hazy some days
Often I feel strung too tightly
But if I close my eyes
It all just disappears and
if I express it right
I only hope it comes out clearly....
(CH)
By Cheryl Klassen
© 2011 Cheryl Klassen (All rights reserved)
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
Jimmy Page and Towns Van Zant sit here,
Strumming out tunes in my living room,
Zant with his unique brand of country,
Page with his acoustic style that's so unique and blue.
Sounds drilling gently into the skulls of the unsuspecting,
Driving deep into the mind,
Defences cast aside at the overwhelming force of the medicine's effect,
Sending one into a journey of the mind,
Unknown depths and introspections dredged up in an unexpected discovery.
Gaining momentum,
Greater and greater,
Only to realize that this shall reach greater heights,
Heights that you will never have enough time to reach it, even if you had an extra 10,000 days.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
The inner tenacity of my machination is rarely understood by many, an introspections of certain recollections that ponder that question..why? But I need not tell you, about gum on your shoe, or the expletive deleted that come after. So I do open doors, and sit on floors, and give random flowers to random ladies. But I am sucker for a smile, an unpredictable trial, of something so innocent as simple happiness. But Then I surely do jest, at the most convenient time, to make fitting a punch line of a joke. And if merely opulence of thought was my only intent, then blushing is the inevitable conclusion. For if I am too boast, to little more than an atrocious manner, then I too am I fool, and love is the tool of a dumb and blind man's decent. As I oddly beg the question...do you have any cream for my coffee, then sit back and take in the wisdom, of times that are far beyond me. To place with no boundaries or burdens, no dying or decay, a place where I can live a life inside a cherished, loving way. For love is always fleeting, more often flooding in, I grab a cup and sit back, it's time to enjoy the days begin. Cause the sun is just about to rise and being to realize, this is some awesome free writin, that almost feel like I might just be bitin, some style that heard through words orchestrated from past memories flowing through an electrical breeze. But I am no artist, no rapper by design, I am merely a healer of the mind. Given the skills of mental manipulation over unguided emotional frustrations that are products of blinded attention to feelings within the heart. The mind is a terrible thing to waste.....but an unbridled heart can lay waste to it all! Logic is the mind...emotions are the heart...watch what happens when one pulls these two apart, into a tragic representation of what it means to be truly scared, a blessed manifestation of a ****** ******
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
*the truth
a petrified sphinx
idol of the natural mind
plagues of fear
and riddles of the world
determined by stark and anguished introspections
passions and beliefs
apocalyptic visions
shadows and voices
by philosophers that sleep
without her tender curves
and clinging kisses
let's lounge around
in fire red *******
my face a tempest
melting between spread thighs
my tongue a rampaging monster
contemplating the meaning
of butter cups and honey pots
that drool tears of gratitude
on a boulevard of arched feet
and dimpled buttocks
cream and cuddles
my holy sacrament
she is
alter to the gods
and besides breath it self
all the truth i will ever know*
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
i've always written poetry
with the passion of a preacher to sermon.
i experience for literature feelings
which i imagine others to offer religion.
i've never been spiritual.
full stop.
my cynicism denies me wonders -
tired tale, sure, true as any other,
but poetry evokes the holy ghost
a being more skillful, more elegant,
setting my mind's eye alight with
saintly delusions of grandeur
it curls from my pen, bleeding fire into my notebook
if there is Elysium, it is in
the private Eden created between
my mind and my notebook.
if there is peace, it is in libraries,
eyes poring over words pouring over
life, utterly human life, told in a
way that is raw and violent and righteous,
connecting one's private introspections to words.
if religion has a purpose,
a redeeming quality, it is
community, connection, consistency.
God Is Always and Always Has Been and Always Will Be.
the great human collective,
the experience of poetry, of life,
the art of internal monologue,
it persists. it persists.
no, i am not spiritual -
it does a disservice to us.
it unjustly ignores the
holy human hand in our history
time is a chronicle of the messy
affairs of human choice and experience .
it seems unfair to me,
to pin all the blame on a
convenient
divine
deux ex machina
slash
scapegoat.
don't give the big guy all the credit!
the exhausted masses had a hand too!
take some responsibility for
humanity's divine man-made persistence!
so, yes, i experience poetry
with the rapturous fascination
as sinner to saint -
yet there is no sin in poetry.
by nature it is a
narcissist's and hedonist's pass time.
so there is only wonder
and childlike curiosity,
and the slightest sliver of hope to move forward,
which, really,
what else is religion good for anyways?
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
The reason I write is to expand upon every aspect
that collects in the drainage point of unchecked
emotions. Its an avenue where I expand all my
sentiments, my thoughts I need to readily preoccupy.
Even though I'd never admit it, sometimes I need
to create words of reflections that have to be freed.
These are the opposite of what I see beyond my pools
of thought coalescing, when writing there are no rules.
We can all hide behind our manifestations, never showing
ourselves. For the reader is always seeking what is unknowing.
I write on blank slates for others to guess what is imagination
and the reality of my syllables all melting in cognitive dictation.
"*I have many reasons to spill my introspections on
every eye to see. For what is a word if not a dawn
in the sunrise of others eyes. I ink the words before there gone*"
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars,
diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray,
birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines,
occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures,
sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even
defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar
*not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling,
many voyages of indeterminate measuring length,
leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations,
each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated,
without critique or commentary, the numbers are the
gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination,
terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute*
a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced,
notated but not annotated, just numerical truths,
(sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie)
and today my calculator app informs, that I am now
19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected
naturally this provokes a natty,
spirited, self-inquiry, lessened,
lessor, for better or for worse?
have the physical alterations
accompanying this reduction
mean exactly what,
if, it should be, a greater lesser?
here is the hard part.
your have always been a mirror~poet,
laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven
AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied,
the external never denying the interior “less~than,”
a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions,
counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections,
of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical
less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am
*gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue,
the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:*
I,
am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds,
my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices
and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter
many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man,
there, internal infernal
too…
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
Entrust me with yours
Then I'll show you mine
In time, and in return I ask
Please keep them to yourself
For I share them all in confidence
Only with my midnight muse
Clandestine common senses
But my daybreak heart betrays
These covert black ops missions
And free speech end transmissions
Are but fake news to my secret codes
In messages to save this world
By over-writing border walls
To reach my girl enclosed behind
Her loosened lipstick gossip stalls
No rumors of my wedding vows
Just passing notes in class
For small-talk minded pleasantries
The distance in between these desks
I cirle only yes to ***
For deeper in the libraries
Of my unrest, a new behest
Still checks me out without request
For overdue confessions
Speaking unrequited volumes
To my hard-cover depressions
Introspections leather-bound
By ancient lore transgressions
In my most restricted sections
Still each page she turns to understand
The mysteries contained inside
This sacred pen within my hand
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Forgive me father
For I have sinned
Over and over and over again
But first I must ask
Before judgment is passed
Just where in this forsaken hell
Have you been
And why have you waited
So long to begin
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
Today I conclude
the last chapter of my life
but certainly not the final.
And for a moment
the world stood idle...
Contemplating my new future,
I cross the horizon
where retrospect inspires
forward-looking optimism.
My perspective has changed,
tweaked by others' aspirations.
Something grew inside me
by deep introspections
and as the clock ticked further
my resolve became firmer.
It tickles my soul
at how silly it seems
that I was once just
a clueless little seed.
But now I am planted
in the soil of my dreams,
ready to take root
and spring up with the reeds.
My doubts begin to wan
as I rise with a new dawn.
I pause to tell myself
I've no sins to absolve,
I must believe it to be true
to affirm my resolve.
Dec 27, 2019
Dec 27, 2019 at 1:08 AM UTC