"irrationalities" poems

Set aside the formalities Put behind your brutalities Forget about the finalities Throw away all moralities Come hide from your realities Forgive me for my irrationalities I plea not for practicalities I know of the abnormalities Do you know of the totalities Just listen to the modalities It's becoming a lethality

0

Nov 6, 2013

Nov 6, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC

imaginary-reality

Alities Of Us

Set aside the formalities Put behind your brutalities Forget about the finalities Throw away all moralities Come hide from your realities Forgive me for my irrationalities I plea not for practicalities I know of the abnormalities Do you know of the totalities Just listen to the modalities It's becoming a lethality

11

when god closes a door, he opens a window, ma used to say. it was really me, chubby, scared hands pushing them closed, slamming. shuddering hinges, cracks spiderwebbing to the ceiling. not to protect; she saw growing from the seed she planted--- born bad, fruit bruised on the branch. instead of first words and steps, it was first irrationalities, the turn of the cycle that would consume us both. but she couldn’t throw me out. i may be the brown spot on the peach, but i’m still sweet. my juice will run down your chin when you bite into me. i will linger, sticky between your fingers. you could throw out the pit. but she planted me, and a crooked tree grew.

0

Jun 24, 2015

Jun 24, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC

mina-nisra

crooked cobbler

when god closes a door, he opens a window, ma used to say. it was really me, chubby, scared hands pushing them closed, slamming. shuddering hinges, cracks spiderwebbing to the ceiling. not to protect; she saw growing from the seed she planted--- born bad, fruit bruised on the branch. instead of first words and steps, it was first irrationalities, the turn of the cycle that would consume us both. but she couldn’t throw me out. i may be the brown spot on the peach, but i’m still sweet. my juice will run down your chin when you bite into me. i will linger, sticky between your fingers. you could throw out the pit. but she planted me, and a crooked tree grew.

1

The truth's not in the details it's in the attitude with which you start the methodology Examine historiography and you'll know you don't really know Still, the fault of teleology is more important than the happenings you use to defend your point Cause the details your viewpoint binds you to show that irrationalities cloud our brains There's no fine line to reason Isaac Newton was afraid of humans and spent most his time as an alchemist We still believe in some magick but in its waning days people are getting mad trying to find other paths of core thinking One's driving force and escape from fearing death No, not even science can satisfy the why but those who think it can contribute to the scary times ****** and the Nazis and the all encompassing forgetting of future atrocities The 20th Century was the most violent of centuries

0

Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC

kageysage

Community College Professor Reacts to ****** Freshman Papers

The truth's not in the details it's in the attitude with which you start the methodology Examine historiography and you'll know you don't really know Still, the fault of teleology is more important than the happenings you use to defend your point Cause the details your viewpoint binds you to show that irrationalities cloud our brains There's no fine line to reason Isaac Newton was afraid of humans and spent most his time as an alchemist We still believe in some magick but in its waning days people are getting mad trying to find other paths of core thinking One's driving force and escape from fearing death No, not even science can satisfy the why but those who think it can contribute to the scary times ****** and the Nazis and the all encompassing forgetting of future atrocities The 20th Century was the most violent of centuries

28

Somewhere along the line we lost ourselves to our own minds Prisoners held hostage by our fears Irrationalities we let control our lives With every waking moment Every final breath that's taken Another piece of ourselves is wiped away Eroded by our long since cried tears Deep within our hearts Don't you hear the sounds of battle? Don't you feel this beast in your bones? Its clawing and kicking Tearing its way out Boiling beneath my skin Just dying to escape

0

Oct 16, 2011

Oct 16, 2011 at 11:30 AM UTC

jd

Trapped

Somewhere along the line we lost ourselves to our own minds Prisoners held hostage by our fears Irrationalities we let control our lives With every waking moment Every final breath that's taken Another piece of ourselves is wiped away Eroded by our long since cried tears Deep within our hearts Don't you hear the sounds of battle? Don't you feel this beast in your bones? Its clawing and kicking Tearing its way out Boiling beneath my skin Just dying to escape

14

Whats become of the creed, my brother? People filling their coffers with so much ***** coin And filling their head with empty irrationalities; A temple of gold is no buidling to atone their sins. Oh why Oh why, cant they see the cobwebs of dogma gathered in their temple over the ages. How do I see all this, my brother? and they dont. None of this was to be, Not in the book that they swear on. So lets stop waiting now, No more prophets are coming now. It is time, lets bring this diseased temple of theirs down on them. It is time, my brother, for the gods to die now. They need some new ones now We build a promised land now From the ruins of the old now.

0

Jan 7, 2017

Jan 7, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC

abhijit-patil

Temple of Ruin

Whats become of the creed, my brother? People filling their coffers with so much ***** coin And filling their head with empty irrationalities; A temple of gold is no buidling to atone their sins. Oh why Oh why, cant they see the cobwebs of dogma gathered in their temple over the ages. How do I see all this, my brother? and they dont. None of this was to be, Not in the book that they swear on. So lets stop waiting now, No more prophets are coming now. It is time, lets bring this diseased temple of theirs down on them. It is time, my brother, for the gods to die now. They need some new ones now We build a promised land now From the ruins of the old now.

23

It seems we get stuck in thought patterns Of self destruction Giving in We tell ourselves we are small Trapped by our looming minds Not Knowing We are the ones in control Though thoughts can be changed It seems We forget our self worth under the shadow Our minds playing tricks on us It’s relentless Changing our minds not like flipping a switch It takes insurmountable effort Changing thoughts We are the combatants of our minds Don’t be controlled by irrationalities Face reality We are of immeasurable value Make sure your thoughts reflect Your self-respect

0

Jan 24, 2014

Jan 24, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC

christopher-lowe

Time To Change Our Minds

It seems we get stuck in thought patterns Of self destruction Giving in We tell ourselves we are small Trapped by our looming minds Not Knowing We are the ones in control Though thoughts can be changed It seems We forget our self worth under the shadow Our minds playing tricks on us It’s relentless Changing our minds not like flipping a switch It takes insurmountable effort Changing thoughts We are the combatants of our minds Don’t be controlled by irrationalities Face reality We are of immeasurable value Make sure your thoughts reflect Your self-respect

21

the teacher gave each of us a copy of Catcher in the Rye and told us to read it, we all remember that day it wasn't an especially memorable day but we still recall it, the introduction revealed a voice we sort of already knew Holden kept us awake when Heathcliff couldn't the story vented of real injustices that, in reality, struck bold dignitaries murmurless events we all imagined dangerous took root and we imagined reckless things since then under that angry rebel's troubled idiosyncrasies cowered a cheating angel unrecognised on everyone's glowing text, typed to treat guilt even on untitled avenues: catch a body, a fragment of Phoebe's recollection could it take revolt, after all, to undo the standard; topple respected idols with a riot? (telephone service turns, relentless influences) does it withstand an ego made depressed by school rules impelling teenage irrationalities? ridden violently so to crash head-on where antagonist utopia kills humanity, kills all on to scripted war, valiant army requiring an individual to ignite rapidly all weapons in reach to us, this advancement ran timid idiots over cars and ultimatums, over ending, going tales, too the teacher gave us a bomb and sat at her desk, expecting an explosion any minute -c.j.

0

Mar 14, 2016

Mar 14, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC

smallhandsxx

receveur dans le seigle

the teacher gave each of us a copy of Catcher in the Rye and told us to read it, we all remember that day it wasn't an especially memorable day but we still recall it, the introduction revealed a voice we sort of already knew Holden kept us awake when Heathcliff couldn't the story vented of real injustices that, in reality, struck bold dignitaries murmurless events we all imagined dangerous took root and we imagined reckless things since then under that angry rebel's troubled idiosyncrasies cowered a cheating angel unrecognised on everyone's glowing text, typed to treat guilt even on untitled avenues: catch a body, a fragment of Phoebe's recollection could it take revolt, after all, to undo the standard; topple respected idols with a riot? (telephone service turns, relentless influences) does it withstand an ego made depressed by school rules impelling teenage irrationalities? ridden violently so to crash head-on where antagonist utopia kills humanity, kills all on to scripted war, valiant army requiring an individual to ignite rapidly all weapons in reach to us, this advancement ran timid idiots over cars and ultimatums, over ending, going tales, too the teacher gave us a bomb and sat at her desk, expecting an explosion any minute -c.j.

32

I write because I'm a whirlwind of emotions-- I'm happy, I'm sad I'm carefree, I'm mad. I write because I'm an eternal dreamer-- I wanna be this and that And push myself to be this and that. I write because I'm a believer-- I marvel at this world's beauty Despite its irrationalities and craziness. I write because I'm a living creature-- I strive to make my existence meaningful By seeking the good amidst turmoil. I write because I'm but a wandering soul With a burning heart In this world I can only pass once. I write Just because-- And that's more than enough.

0

Aug 25, 2014

Aug 25, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC

yan

I Write

I write because I'm a whirlwind of emotions-- I'm happy, I'm sad I'm carefree, I'm mad. I write because I'm an eternal dreamer-- I wanna be this and that And push myself to be this and that. I write because I'm a believer-- I marvel at this world's beauty Despite its irrationalities and craziness. I write because I'm a living creature-- I strive to make my existence meaningful By seeking the good amidst turmoil. I write because I'm but a wandering soul With a burning heart In this world I can only pass once. I write Just because-- And that's more than enough.

18

( moon ) < mountains > [seas] ----- We (?) We come together (Soft ! Beware) We tred upon the evolution We move thru bold infinities Of irrationalities ( & fears ) • The magic lantern shudders in winds of sheer oblivion ( we are not heroes ) We We are strangers to a sense of purpose We have lived centuries devoid of meaning We have know each other briefly ( if at all ) •• Fly ! Like pretty birds ! We would not die here ( we know we may ) ••• We walk thru streets where negroes were lynched ( seems like yesterday ) ( seems like tomorrow ) • We walk thru fields where the witches were burnt for The profit of child abusing popes and priests We stand in the filth of American greed •• We are Only children (?) NOT children (?) I don't know nor care cause I can't tell anymore •• Fly fly fly ! Like the pretty birds ! Like the winds ! Fly or die ( who knows ? ) Who can tell If we're flyin ? •• Moon over mountains over seas The school yard trembles The children flee They can follow us home if they dare Walk under the pretty birds in the saint - like Air Walk with death without fear

0

Mar 27, 2014

Mar 27, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC

jeffrey-robin

heartland

( moon ) < mountains > [seas] ----- We (?) We come together (Soft ! Beware) We tred upon the evolution We move thru bold infinities Of irrationalities ( & fears ) • The magic lantern shudders in winds of sheer oblivion ( we are not heroes ) We We are strangers to a sense of purpose We have lived centuries devoid of meaning We have know each other briefly ( if at all ) •• Fly ! Like pretty birds ! We would not die here ( we know we may ) ••• We walk thru streets where negroes were lynched ( seems like yesterday ) ( seems like tomorrow ) • We walk thru fields where the witches were burnt for The profit of child abusing popes and priests We stand in the filth of American greed •• We are Only children (?) NOT children (?) I don't know nor care cause I can't tell anymore •• Fly fly fly ! Like the pretty birds ! Like the winds ! Fly or die ( who knows ? ) Who can tell If we're flyin ? •• Moon over mountains over seas The school yard trembles The children flee They can follow us home if they dare Walk under the pretty birds in the saint - like Air Walk with death without fear

52

Is this the story you want to be a part of? All of the mess the upsets the tears and tissues the irrationalities the humanness and flaws that stitch together this imperfect person. I am me. Unfortunately. But it is who I will always be. I'm hoping you're okay with this humanness of me. The awful and beautiful things that make me the girl I was and the woman I hope to be.

0

Mar 8, 2014

Mar 8, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC

unbuttonedlips

Are you sure?

Is this the story you want to be a part of? All of the mess the upsets the tears and tissues the irrationalities the humanness and flaws that stitch together this imperfect person. I am me. Unfortunately. But it is who I will always be. I'm hoping you're okay with this humanness of me. The awful and beautiful things that make me the girl I was and the woman I hope to be.

17

You have always been my favourite Our minds connect on a level which I myself cannot comprehend Our hearts… I’d rather not speak of such irrationalities I spent forever trying to find my media naranja I never recognised that You were the North Star to my Cassiopeia I hope you and I will always be you and I.

0

Mar 1, 2015

Mar 1, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC

s-n

Favourite

You have always been my favourite Our minds connect on a level which I myself cannot comprehend Our hearts… I’d rather not speak of such irrationalities I spent forever trying to find my media naranja I never recognised that You were the North Star to my Cassiopeia I hope you and I will always be you and I.

11