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palladia Dec 2013
some information cannot be found – you can only originate it. facts are often recycled in attempt to clear a logjam that has prevented us from finding ourselves. when i look at the billions of directions my life could have taken, you have to admit we're a very tough bunch, because, who else would have tagged along at this point? we're a recipe for disaster, but that's alright, because we already racked everything. we're bottlenecked. we're deadlocked in ourselves, and there's no way out.

strength cannot be given – it is only self-acquired. we can think of ourselves as vessels of change, but it won't be gifted to you. it has to be done by yourself. it's a real grabber. and once we take it to heart, it works.

axiology—the study of judgments. choice is so vital in postmodern culture, there's a whole branch of study attributed to it. should i take this opportunity, or should i decline it for another? should i rear success with my horns, or wait ecstatically for it to poke me? should i recline, take an easy ride, or work for it? – no matter which outcome, you're still going down the drain because you haven't established the most important part (yet).

i am struggling to understand economics, as well as applied mathematics. wall street certainly does not hang easy for me, but there is more to discuss than stocks and bonds. society has put us in stocks and keeps us in ******* – that’s wall street for you! there are still certain mysteries, such as you cannot put a negative number inside a radical. and all parabolas will have a reflecting twin, no matter how you look at it.

i fell asleep to a black and white movie, and it was still playing when i awoke. however it was in colour. i rubbed my eyes and sat there dazed until i concluded i was dreaming in colour. i woke up again and it was over. now i think that i watch the same movie, but colourized in my dreams, and that i can dream reality, while that reality is a dream within itself.

much reflection has been cast upon theoretical and unchallenged interest in scholars, for example. some presume we can only perceive one – ten-thousands of the universe but of course this can never be proven along with life's destiny and life's purpose, and indubitably, life's meaning. much dark and invisible matter perhaps comprise the rest, but the threads of an unroped cosmos are far from being knitted. can you prove your eternal existence by way of religiosity or science? Jesus rose on the third day and so did the interstellar medium situated in the midheaven. i sleep with a book of philosophy under my pillow, and i'm not in the least ashamed. Alexander the Great slept with a copy of the Iliad, and Mary Shelley, her late husband’s heart. at least philosophy doesn’t stain.

total uproar soars through the galaxy when i begin to think. the terror strikes, and i cower discrediting the truth. my trine is Jupiter, Saturn, and the sun. i’m an Aries, like the one of Judea. constant virtue is what i can believe but i speak in the revolutionary sense. i can enhance my life as long as i am able to try. there is always room to improve a man and i attest to that.

a literary device isn't useful at all until applied in context. an ambition isn't fully good until it is launched. Newton was right, after all. a body is motion will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. you are an artist as long as you keep your creative process going until somebody threatens you. then you hide. you establish a force field, which protects you, and you trudge on, because all that matters is your art, in the end. it's everything.

think... Ω-style. one day lofty things won't take pleasure looking at you, because you’ll be confronting them head-first. machtprobe, a german word for showdown. like the one you'll be taking with yourself if you don't buckle down and unravel your weaknesses.

this morning i woke up and stared at myself in the mirror. i was depressed at the condition of my life and my position in the world. my reflection stared back and held up its ******* at me, saying "what are you going to do about it?" not knowing how to answer, i fumbled around possible responses, but it kept going, "it's not that simple, isn't it? life can be tricky when you've got no motivation. it leaves you in a rut until one morning you wake up, depressed about the condition of your life and your position in the world and your mirror's reflection holds up that *******, insuring you're completely aware of the awaiting consequences." it finally shut up and i stood there contemplating its message. "how bad do you want this?" were its last words i heard before i knew that 'initiative' was the one i would soon fall in love with and meet at the chapel to wed.

"either you take it all the way, or you're gonna go astray." it's either one or another, a choice that we have to make. and i don't my reflection to pose a threat to my self-esteem again, so i'm gonna take it all the way...because really. how bad do i want this?

i don't want to have a shoot out with myself again. so when you ask, i'll just tell you algol sent me.
I've been fostering this one for a long time: my ruminations that I've collected over the past year. It's a mini-autobiography of my life over the past year and what I hope to change in the future. It's those New's Years resolutions we keep for about a week and then banish until December 31 the next year. And now I'm taking a stand again and want to reclaim myself from the miserable ruts I fall into. So, it's more of a personal poem, as a sort of get up and go for the future of myself and my art. And I cannot fall back. Think: "how bad do you want this?"

This poem is written in anti-traditional form: no rhyme, meter, lines, or verses. It's more of an essay, because I am especially fond of writing them, when the topic is left up to the author to describe.
Geno Cattouse Oct 2013
Ivory towers like third appendages flipping of the sky.  Profane.
Rivers run cris-cross beetles in the bog.Traffic logjam.
Instant grats.                     Gratis time bomb ticking.

Age is an obstruction. mindless pursuits of Material security blankets.
Thumb suckers rule. Knuckleheads telling tales out of school. Glass house myopia.
A cornucopia a chorus of jabbernows.              Verbal diarrhea on wax. passes for reason.

Sin-taxes pay the way
Syntax gone astray. What the @*#* did she just say ?

Novocaine mainlined. Numb all over talking heads on the hill.
Need a few meg-volts to jolt flat-lined hearts to do the people's will.
War is raging, storms are raging. Quiet storms.

Oil. Fuels from long dead fossils. Habit handcuffs.
Cant get enough. Lites out soon.

Powers that be.
Juggernauts...Battlebots...  Taking giant steps backwards.
Chaos is local until in your locality.Doomsayer.
The Giant slayer kneels to place his head in the guillotine. Appease the ruthless.

Know it when you feel it. Babylon is falling.
aj heatherly Mar 2017
tea-cream earth underoak
lying drenched in sun gleam
streams, a sky in between
the green sheets laid upon
and the beamyblues

breezes blew past
our post-modern monument,
and I shuddered like the towers,
as i was amply leafed.
strong winds knocked

branches loose, falling from
seventy-four inches up in the air.
a logjam tore a hole
inside my artesian mouth.
still, fresh spring water

found a way out,
taking a ride in a turnstile
cycling through
riffle and pool
all the way to its end.

clothes soaked, made holey,
by rain no righteous men know;
I tried my hand with a needle and thread
still trying to forgive,
a soft fabric to sow.
thanks for 5 years hellopoetry. this was the first place i felt safe sharing my work. an incubator.  so happy to be a part of it

see the photos:
https://www.instagram.com/ajheatherly/
copyright 2017 aj heatherly
Once, a nut brown boy
Neath an endless cobalt sky
Slid down smooth gray rocks
And tumbled to the beach
There, a logjam dragon woke
Tanka
betterdays Apr 2014
please let me apologise
i am unable to write
well of  today's suggested
prompt, but write i must
i made a mental deal.
i am meant to
be writing a terza rima
but at present the form
is beyond me....

my creative flow is
silted up and sluggish,
mindless and murky
just muddy thoughts,
caught upon a logjam
of tired emotion.

and i feel unable to
produce,
a  credible rhyme,
let alone......
tercets with a braided
rhyming scheme.

but a deal is a deal....

to day i plod,
from dawn to dusk,
the world a beating rod

upon the broken husk,
that once, was my mind
now muddied, mush,
gouged by memories,
broken elephantine tusk.

i feel, so blind, so blind
stuttering,stumbling,
about in the dark
chased by ....

see this is the mud...
....in which
i am swimming...

so sorry to you,
as you can see.....
having......
.......a bad write day!!
napo wrimo day15
prompt; write a terza rima

as you can see i had much difficulty and after many virtual sheets of crumpled vitual paper...
i decided to treat this with wry humour
and give you this look into
my brain blocked mind
just don't stay to long you
might get caught up in the log jam
****
i will write a terza rima
with worth by months end...
i will!
Kelly McManus Jan 2022
Rigged to the degree
television's brainwashing
they are what you flush...Kelly McManus
JS Clark Jul 2017
Oft times I wonder what I should do with myself.
I look off in all four directions at any given time
And there is no direction.

I find myself wandering--in a period of wandering.
What does a man say to himself during such times?
It’ll be okay, things will work themselves out in the end?

There would seem to be little solace in this axiom.
Life is strange.
Like the sickening loop-de-loops on our best roller-coasters.

I type this out on a digital tablet with virtual keyboard
In utter perplexity.
An old soul in fast times…

Tense times,
Shallow times.

My neighbors amidst this age haven’t the patience to see how
Events birthed from hollow promises and hasty decision will work
Themselves out.

Promises from leadership whose god is the U.S. dollar.

We get a logjam of hurried consumerist theoretical practices,
Ruthlessly implemented as some kind of workable
Reality among a conditioned populace.

In the end, the only beneficiary to this manufactured bliss
Is the savvy and rich manure shoveler--that neighbor
Among us who throughout each and every day shovels

The materialistic dung into our throats and fully expects
His fellow neighbors to swallow this **** in expectancy
Of the utopic times to come.

And so the tail teases.
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"

red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate

for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts

equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate

government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth

**** sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm

fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
******, inundated, ossified bridgegate

checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of ***** going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate

oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate

pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and *******
every last vestige of ******* peoples extirpate.

— The End —