"methodologies" poems
~
not a fan of reality TV,
plenty of "unreal" episodes
of my own direction stored,
available for further review
in the storage units of
neuronic black and white prison brain cells
which is why I have free~will chosen
to enumerate my poem~videos;
for easy retreat retrieval resurrection
of the travelogue of mind own insurrections
*a garage of mobility devices,
car, rollerblades, cross country skis plus,
a potpourri of escape methodologies
that by definition are all round trippers,
returned to their storage unit after use
and I count them Noah~like,
two by two, as they come on board,
and when they disembark for days of
rest and recreation*
this one, #4,
is born
among headstones,
just anther memory storage unit
specialized,
flag decorated,
but different
This is a one-way,
no return,
unit
but
it can be viewed at anytime
by those who care to be users,
by speaking this:
*Read to me poem number four,
on a day we celebrate,
about free men of every color and persuasion,
who are calling out to
open the door to storage unit four,
so we to can perform
our once-a-year
Tour of Duty
to the those who called,
and answered with limb and love,
for by their glory,
we are
free too*
to remember in any way we choose
~
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
some years back, not too difficile to recall,
revive and animate those memories of love and disasters,
but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen
eighty day trips around the world, many frequent
flyer miles accumulated with trips to love disasters,
interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing
(sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly
call true love, which is really the high of believing
that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there
is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege,
and sensory deprivation can fool you, absence makes
you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right,
**** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless…
this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the
never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for
discerning the genius of genuine,
when the risk is the reward
maybe when your 22, even 23,
you’ll be better at true discernment,
but until then be wise,
there is no saving the day,
till your knees are scraped,
and crackling and cracking
heart seem like the same thing
but they’re not
do not confuse
causality with correlation
love is not your cause, be-all,
or even the end-all, do the work
on your self to betterment
24/7, knowledge to be wiser
comes with vive les expériences!
and
someday you’ll senses will be tickled,
and the aroma of possibilities will
arose that dormant hunger, and may
be a correlation to another human in the
immediate vicinity, a man, swimming
in your moat without permission, then,
check him out and maybe, jump in,
once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers
test, cause the murk is murky, and is never
fraught with just rose water, but jump a
few toes in and if you’re still sinking,
hell he’ll
find away and give him the rope to help
you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as
clear varnished nails with a heart radiating
the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
Jul 13, 2023
Jul 13, 2023 at 1:31 AM UTC
there is paint
it peels from my eyes
in long gaseous ribbons
it is punctuated by
a bright blindness
where methodologies
reach no conclusions
paint peels from my ears
in uncontested echoes
projecting a self
generated audible universe
paint peels from my mouth
in black storms
of expanded consciousness
leaving behind a particulated
paralized partition
that leaves me disconnected
in a correspondence of color
A field of snow
turning blue under moonlight
in accord with the peeling of paint
like a light emitted by relative thought
paint peels, paint peels, paint peels
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
I, (Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself)
*how I would, honor this with ecstasy joy effervescent,
the simplest of methodologies, if only I,
reasoned how one safely permits
to love myself, if only I,
knew how to love an
I
to self love well,
not a university course,
no simple answers like thirst, yet how I thirst,
hunger, burst, curse for this peculiar wisdom, please,
instinct me to navigate murderous shoals of take but give
I
who teaches this to the children?
I, parents, teachers, not ****** or pastors or
TV the great substitute for all of the above,
myself is not a selfie, no glorying got in I,
I, burdensome, never comprehended,
love thy neighbor better, love actually, no mere pretense,
if well executed, perhaps is when the trapeze line is at last
cleanly indistinguishable,
your I, my I,
both wicks will be joined, brighter lit for it,
one flame, one godlike burning, fusing,
with neither consumed, wax fusing,
but teaching easy loving
to explode the
I,*
~
9:24am EST
6/2/17
airborne over the Western US of A
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
(I) Love Thy Neighbor As Thy
self
~
*how I would
honor this with
joy effervescent,
this simplest of methodologies
if only I,
could permission myself
to love myself
if only I,
knew
how to love*
~~
(II) redemption: the city of man reinventing himself
*busting bursting, this city,
ceaseless change,
old discardation,
how blind am I,
skyscrapers built in a day
how have I failed to notice
the estate changes
a master plan unknown,
the reasoned limits ever stretched.
in defiance of taste and sense,
obedient to Babel tower's net-result,
the miscegenation of language
but this is a ruse issue,
an example of me/man,
this new born spawn,
a wagging tail of
a man I know,
a failed inventor,
nary a patent
to his name
years on years
he patiently awaits
for one true inspiration
a redefinition, a redemption,
a reinvention, a new cornerstone
to lay upon it a new foundation
just a clue, a single block,
he can clean erase
start over, inaugurate
a recommencement celebration
to begin the same mistakes
here be the rub,
the irritation,
the seed comes implanted
and then
wind spread
can be only repaired, replaced
when cross pollinated
with the love of a foreign body
and his only crime, love poetry,
his crime alone, for unopened
it, and he, both-awaiting the time
when others come impatient
to bulldoze him aside*
~~~
(III) Three
three
*an oddity
an uneven symmetrical imagery*
"only love poetry"
*a three sum,
- three legged stool-
there is nothing new under the sun,
whispers the Psalmist
this I whisper
only, alone, one,
be no such!
only love poetry
until*
~~~~
postscript
***if only I,
knew
how to love***
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
Another cup of coffee,
another last cigarette,
waiting to get over that something
I had never managed to hunt
and pin down in a display case.
Chase the thoughts with endless distraction,
habitual reactions to commonplace panic;
the skin on your milk,
the lines in your face-
the colonies in your bedsheets.
A futile blur of words,
ancient shapes and poems,
I scour neurotropic fields of sunflowers:
some organic high,
a steady-state escapism.
Houdini would be proud.
This brave escape from detection,
'till only odour and circumstance
can pick me from the crowd,
this red-eyed happiness,
this stalwart blue.
Chase love down with a box of wine,
old methodologies to find something new;
the drunk-dial confession,
the marks on your arm-
the lies in your back pocket.
Another cup of coffee,
another chemical cloak;
another hourglass intervention.
Meaning slips through hands like sand
when you decorate your life
with obsessive mirrors
and uncontrollable smoke.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
As long as we choose to move forward,
we can find the inward strength to…
hold onto our Hope; pain ends, when
we look to Christ and His Love for us.
Therefore, let’s adjust our backward
thinking, by cleansing our thoughts
with the beauty of His Holy Word; as
we begin to trust Him and apply Truth
to our lives, positive results occur.
Are we gambling, rashly casting lots
for ungodly outcomes to succeed, based
on Worldly methodologies? Can we learn
to be patient and rightly divine God’s
Word? What will it take us to remain,
in His sight… pure, holy and chaste?
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 8:00 AM UTC
I see others friendly, looking well
I'm in Hell, I think
What a sad feeling to stumble into all the old familiar footfalls
The suffering still fresh
And there
I feel the omnipresence
of the bleak shadow of the
world upon me
in malignant faces
at the grocery store
check-out
they operate in slow, sedated
methodologies of madness
I am sprung up from the
cool tile floor
like a misplaced statue bound
in frozen forms of observation
I park in a thrift store parking lot and cry
for you and for myself
mostly for myself
Time's ashes are diffuse and ever-present
living history in the living now
a ********** of the sacred cow is laughing
on coasts of crooked filth
and candy wrapper oases where
dead bird bones mingle in the
putrid ferns
No time to be found relaxed
no patience to be born to anything
but
slow agony of empty wishes called back
reflections, false assumptions
selfishness and neglect
Thank god for this momentary reprieve
from pointless self-analysis in the
broken mirror halls of control
no no no
thank you
I feel saddle-bagged
lost with worry
in some constant vague arrest
plucking at the chicken's feet
the fear itself unreal
broken, beaten, gone
phantoms of this self
all the world is polished chrome
and I am but an image
looking back
amazing how at time minutes
stretch off to infinity showers
& I **** the thicket therein
gone is now but
never ending
shalom
shalom
again
I'm sheltered in the maggot crop
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
In lifeless patterns of repetition,
the congregation of the dead assemble,
eddying around the Light of Truth;
lacking reverence, they sadly tremble
and cringe during the Sunday Service,
seeking loopholes from accountability;
after all, regular attendance grants
the sacred status of Church nobility.
Meanwhile, frustrated ministers hurl
their verbal rocks, in futile attempts
to **** out their spiritual deadwood,
unaware that their righteous contempt
reveals their inability to love others.
Some lacking understanding may wander in,
since membership dues may be optional.
Come join the Church Petri dish of sin
to learn new zombie techniques of gnawing
on the flesh of religious, blind souls;
with Bible clubs and tongues of hell-fire,
receive your training and go on patrol.
Most folks know that ‘iron sharpens iron’;
so come and let us beat you mentally down;
since we’re unable to mature any further,
let’s make sure that you leave with a frown.
Learn secret methodologies for developing
a critical spirit and a unloving tongue;
come fill the vacancy of front-row pews;
come and join us, while you’re still young.
.
.
.
Author notes
.
Inspired by:
Prov 21:16; 2 Cor 4:4; John 3:19-20; Eph 4:17-19
.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
.
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
She opened up her mouth to speak:
To tell the world her thoughts.
Her words needed to be heard,
To the surface, the truth needed to be brought.
She wrote letters to the world,
That must have been swallowed into space.
And she scheduled meetings with world leaders,
So she could meet them face to face.
She quit her low paid job,
And pushed her course aside,
To delve into her research,
And travel round, world wide.
The skies took many colours,
And the air held many voices.
Her monsters never shut up.
She lost hope in her many choices.
She snapped each pencil in site,
And smashed each pen she owned.
She ripped up every sheet of paper.
And her research was disowned.
After stepping into the office,
Of each leader of the world.
To hear the same ********* laughter,
They all used toward a little girl.
Her heart cracked in a million places,
And tears swelled up behind her eyes.
She removed herself from their presence,
Without saying any goodbyes.
All she wanted was to fix the world.
She believed it could be done.
She constructed various methodologies,
To win a fight that needed to be won.
You supported her hand-in-hand.
You stood by her all the while.
At the times she lost her faith,
You were the one who brought back her smile.
She never needed a comic book hero.
She just needed to be strong.
And no matter what the rest of the world thought,
You helped her keep going all along.
Her beauty alone could break hearts,
And her words could mend souls.
Her touch could heal wounds,
And her voice could gain control.
No one knows what motivated her.
No one ever seemed to care.
I'm surprised you never asked her,
Since you were always there.
Her silence was impenetrable.
Her emotion unprovoked.
Until one day the world just hit her,
And her silence became revoked.
She was not as happy as everyone assumed,
And she required a helping hand,
To catch her when she fell down,
And to teach her how to stand.
She told you all her theories,
And she gained trust in you, like a friend.
How could you have been the reason,
She gave up on her dreams in the end?
All she needed was someone loving,
Who would always keep her strong.
To tell her that, no matter what the rest of the world thinks,
She could never, ever be wrong.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
Will the provocative implications
of quantum entanglement, be the…
underlying form of communication
that’s invoked during our prayers
to God? Do the unknown sounds and
tones spoken in “tongues” unlock a
power that enables the connection
between us and God? Can we learn
meaningful methodologies that… draw
us, closer to Him? What non-local
realms of Heaven, can be pierced…
with our words? Can our spirits
soar to their greatest heights,
when our hearts genuinely burn…
with the bright fire of Faith?!
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 6:37 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
We’re faced with a contagion
As deadly as the Black Plague
And so it finds us engaged with
The scourge of the modern age
Yesterday we were challenged by
A disease that was spreading
And similarly today it seems
That’s the place we’re heading
One thing I know for sure
It crosses all demographics
And so we search for a cure
A stop light for it’s traffic
Some call it an affliction
Cos’ that’s their frame of mind
But opioid addiction
Is the bane of all mankind
As we attempt to treat it
Because we heed the call
We know to defeat it
That one size won’t fit all
Multiple methodologies
Will have to be employed
Though the ideal is always abstinence
Let’s not get paranoid
There are other approaches
Out there on the horizon
Like medically assisted treatment
That conveniently ties in
To the awful situation
We find ourselves in today
Doctors providing treatment
Is another option they say
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC
In a 2013 study, human scientists wished to know
The depths of the heart of the common rat,
And devised an experiment to prove that
Empathy can exist even in the smallest of creatures.
The scientists, in their logocentric wisdom
Born out of centuries of Western philosophical tradition,
Metaphysical assumption, and scientific methodologies,
Trapped one rat in a tightly confined space and watched.
To their small-minded astonishment, the rats performed,
Again and again, the role of savior to their fellow rat.
They did this without need for compensation or compulsion
And, if given, shared the reward with their de-caged brethren.
But what the scientists failed to realize is, as is often the case,
That they themselves, with all their complex cognitive capacity,
Had failed an experiment which the rats navigated with ease.
For it was them who had caged the rat, and rats who set them free.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:28 AM UTC
We're not on the same frequency
and we're not on the same page of ideologies.
We cannot embrace at a lover's parallel
for that would require compromised methodologies.
We're not equal; we haven't been for some time.
To be viewed as VIP like you, would be stellar,
but to be tangible, it lusts for a certain desire
and I yearn to be more than just a cellar dweller.
We're not exposed in the same ray of life's sunlight.
Shunned away in a rotting shadow, you radiate perfection.
I plead for the warmth, for some sort of direction, and of your affection.
You're too busy dancing in the fields, oblivious of your rejections.
If we could just be on the same wavelength,
or perhaps bookmarked on the chapter of compromise,
we could reignite the spark we once had,
so that maybe some day, I too, may see the sunrise.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
Friday Night K-nulcking Under III
<•>
it is a (my) three day weekend
it is now
Saturday late morning
Friday night we went to Joe’s Pub,
you could look it up,
to hear marvelous stories and marvelous singing
then
full stop
homeward bound (apologies Paul),
we swap Lulus for p.j.’s,
and alliterative alternatives
after having bathed and showered
alternatively alternatingly debatingly
the meritocratic merits of bathing methodologies
and our respective but not respectable
technological techniques and sundry technicalities
are peaceable declared tied
we have not left the confines
of public globalist bedding since thenning,
and no plans for departeeing
not even for meals
or anythinging
(ok, barbecue chicken not cool to eat in bed)
multitasking multiplayering
music, poetry, Sunday NY Times,
action movies non-stop,
even napping,
anything
i want,
as I am the only worker bee
celebrating a workless Mondayee
periodically and often, I kiss the
knuckles on either of her hands
and we laugh at my joking insistence
for she vociferously denies,
most badly connives,
that she is
(with a pronounced hard K)
K-nulcking under
to my every demand
as she is equally guiltily
and capable of excellent excessive
leadership in the art of slumbering parteeying,
ergo all good
we still have Monday to resolve an unraging debating,
this unurgent knuckle biting questioning
who is the K-nulcker
and
who is the K-nulckee
~~~
for US citizens only:
We approve this message^
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
To some people, birds are
nothing more than eye candy;
to others, a vital part of
Earth’s ecosystem; how far
should one go to study them
in detail? Between exotic
mating rituals and building
skills, what unseen gems
can we observe? The Father
feeds and cares for all fowl,
even though they don’t sow,
reap or gather; why bother
trying to interpret His plan,
when His methodologies rise
up, beyond our ability to see?
Does He reveal Himself to Man
with genius, creativity and by
the majesty of the Heavens?
Of course, He does! Why else
do we raise our hands, sigh…
and purpose to praise Him?
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
We’re faced with a contagion
As deadly as the Black Plague
And so it finds us engaged with
The scourge of the modern age
Yesterday we were challenged by
A disease that was spreading
And similarly today it seems
That’s the place we’re heading
One thing I know for sure
It crosses all demographics
And so we search for a cure
A stop light for it’s traffic
Some call it an affliction
Cos’ that’s their frame of mind
But opioid addiction
Is the bane of all mankind
As we attempt to treat it
Because we heed the call
We know to defeat it
That one size won’t fit all
Multiple methodologies
Will have to be employed
Though the ideal is always abstinence
Let’s not get paranoid
There are other approaches
Out there on the horizon
Like medically assisted treatment
That conveniently ties in
To the awful situation
We find ourselves in today
Doctors providing treatment
Can control this disease they say
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC
Calm and cool came the Lord along with the rising sun.
Invigorated and refreshed fought along with me life's battles.
Feeling His touch forgot all my wounds and hurts.
Mind never felt tired and dejected as Lord was the commander.
Saw Him in the stars and moon and moved in the infinite sky.
Hopes and dreams were perfectly planned by the Lord.
Well developed plans,ideas and methodologies were given by Him for the next day's battles.
Breathed along with the universe and took rest inside the night's slumber waiting for a new dawn.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
you know the days
the ones where you regret
every stupid thing you’ve ever done
look back over your shoulder
wistful at wisps wilted and slipped
through numbly fumbling fingers
while you were busy tightening
your heavy cloak of unlovability
the love you longed got stuck inside
the mirror of nonsensical symmetry
we are like children
inexperienced and naive
never taught how to handle
snow globes brimming with God
disagreeing over methodologies
to get it across the finish line
self-righteously wronging
from craves crumbled
to do it right
because it’s Us in there
enshrined in white orbitals
frosted characters waiting
for whirls to still
so they can be seen
on collapsed knees
opening
to the same page
at the same line
unshattered
today
is one of those
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
Moon has come to my room.
Through the window it has entered and soothing my hopes and dreams.
Seeing the moon the stars are also shining on the roof.
The blue sky is mesmerising my mind.
The universe is both inside and outside of me.
Mind is in love and loving everything and being.
As I look to the roof the moon smiles.
It wants me to be successful in every area of life.
Stars twinkle and give me courage and confidence to fight the battle of life.
I see on my path full of beautiful trees.
As I move in the battle field the cool breeze enchants me.
I look to the stars and moon.
The moon extends its hands and massages my brain, body and mind.
I go to the divine by the cool touch of the moon.
The divinity within me is revealed.
Beautiful and vibrant thoughts decorate my mind.
Being fortified by beautiful plans, ideas and methodologies I find the battle very easy.
Love enters through my eyes and soaks the entire body.
I see a beautiful kingdom with a serene and tranquil mind.
The diamonds sparkles and make me illumined.
I see the beauty of everything and being being always pleasant and smiling.
As I start the day the sun welcomes me.
The trees become very happy and take me on the path of peace, progress and prosperity.
I learn patience and endurance from the trees.
In spite of all odds I fulfill my hopes and dreams.
As the night comes I see the stars and moon in my room and by their sweet songs rest in peace and bliss.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 2:00 PM UTC
Why do we remember things
Found from the finer places
that regulate moments in time
An inkling where we dream again
another day a month of years before
Some seek space as stillness binds
Through therapeutic methodologies
To think this is with love from art
in the beauty of our hearts
What qualities can a memory bring
A way to rise above that flow of life
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 9:01 AM UTC