"mimesis" poems
Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia
The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony
Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes,
Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus
To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee
Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry.
That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured
Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta,
Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition,
And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly
Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity
Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth
To untimely half the yellow Sun
That juxtaposed planet of poetry
Behind the star of tribe as a priority
Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated,
in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis.
Ever predated on when tribes form nations.
A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins
Of white humanity, battling cynosure
Historically evinced in Antony and his father,
Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio,
Or Macbeth and counterparts
Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother,
As the white blood cells of the white blood,
Militantly attack the white corpuscles
Of the misfortunate chimpanzee,
Converting the later into
A chewer of misfortune.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
at this time in the past right here
it used to be real
oh!...oh! for another reality
to leave this false perception
and go...go...go to feel the wind
on another's face
to see with another's eyes
how the colours appear to them
to hear what another hears
with an innocent ear
to feel the euphoria
that slows the world down
to have another's departure
from all perceived notions of reality
to a new understanding
another reality
where brief encounters with time
start with the embarkation of a sentence
that causes a curious disquiet
to race through the nerves
ricocheting in a vibrancy
of vatic vitality, a creative tension
transforming the cortex
creating new unforeseen images
a new reality where thoughts are visible
and circulate, orbiting moons around the mind
dazzling with a universal symbolism
that with a kaleidoscopic vengeance of words
scatters and amplifies the distinctions
of the senses, into a new reality
one of convulsive voices
oh! this new reality
it causes me to walk to a stranger
who is myself
and forms a true disintegration
of a controlled focus
on a beautiful disorder of
chaotic discourse of a volatilized impulse
of the emotions, where blood stains smile
lavishly with a different vocabulary
destroying a predictable reality
and forges a new one that entertains discovery
of other dimensions.. which are the figments
of another's imagination
it is solitary encapsulation of ideas
that glitter on my tongue
where conflagrations of burning water
swirl dramatically in difficult articulation
of the smells and rancid ***** stains
of the ordinary that tries but is precluded
from the stream of consciousness
rushing in a discord of sympathies
through the inner geography of my mind
and forges a symbolic relationship
with these inplosively brief encounters with time
causing psychic post apocalyptic
predispositions to a false mimesis
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
The similarities between him and the illuminating character;
Gatsby
Alone representation of the tragic flaws of all-
Humanity
Just like mimesis in this mad world
Tiresome by the mediocrity of life you:
creating a frivolous exterior and embracing materialistic ideals
paint a room lined with mirrors: see the opposite (sublime)
too fringed and embedded with false ideals
the reminisce of balconies, blushing flowers,
prayers as strong as love to .last.
The similarities between him, and
Gatsby
in awe, yielded to a facade lover
Both to die and live in Paris
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
"Cap-ti-va-ting,
sim-ply cap-ti-va-ting”
in Mommy’s mirror,
he tries to be delicate with his mimesis.
Young fingers fumble the rouge tube.
He’s teetering on heels, on toes
not enough grown, not enough.
A falling of chiffon too long,
and shaking grass-stained knees beneath,
On pink-inked cheek and lip, he’s hit.
Retching, and sobs over mother vanity,
the perfume struck the awful dusk,
giving him a first taste of an alcohol-laced lust
for a beauty unobtainable; a beauty that can ruin.
DANIEL!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS
TO GET LIPSTICK OUT OF WHITE LACE?!!
JUST YOU WAIT UNTIL DADDY COMES HOME.
JUST YOU WAIT.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
*Mimesis:
the deliberate imitation of the behavior of one group of people by another as a factor in social change.*
Somewhere, someone
knows these colors to be home.
Not only the sandy complexion of the boots,
but the laces slipping and sliding
into loops and over
soft tongues and slowly pulling,
constricting, suffocating.
Even its shape—
the shallow curve of a man’s ankle,
the slow descent to the tips of his toes—
these are the sandy silhouettes and generous hills
recalled from their youth.
Someone, somewhere
admires jagged peaks of pale crested mountains.
The same jagged peaks
they have seen rising and breaking
in the wrinkles of loose fitting fatigues,
and complimented by vests,
spotted with the gentle green pastures
once ruled by their jidd’s sheep.
There are chains of mountains
as wide as chests under Mandarin collars
and just as full of pockets and pouches
as military issued BDU’s—
but this is cheap imitation.
It is a failed mimesis.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
nice to meet you, how are you
i am well, and guarded too
something 'bout you, i can't place
you have voice, and a pretty face
you abstract thinker, mental scribe
let's meet here and we'll imbibe
and then we'll talk and then we'll bake
and talk some more and then partake
i'll fall asleep into your arms
and i'll awaken to your charms
if by dawn the music's done
we'll hit the store for another one
i'll lead a tango, just for us
and i won't look to hop the bus
i'll follow you where you might go
i'll listen to what you might know
i'll mend my craft with you in mind
i'll see the beauty you designed
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Symmetry deficits call for chiaroscuro.
Highlight the summits,
and diffuse shadows at the vertex
of cheekbone and mandible.
Colour the apples, rubescent as newborn flesh,
and soften edges for a gentle definition.
If you paint claret from bow to corner
it can create something fuller; induce desire-
Valencia can bleach the blemishes.
Liquid or matte lies in pesky furrows
and rots like carrion in warm weather:
remember to blot excess sebum prior.
Are you pneumatic? Applications can support you-
with enough you can acquire
something ample for a decade.
Look to the lens. It winks;
raise brow in a clean cut, diagonal
from nostril edge: the playful frame apertures admire.
Flash.
Share with friends:
refresh/close/open,
and sigh at affirmations.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
night falls. space slackens.
falling into common placeness, the realness
of quotidian moon.
.
a love for the metastasis of minutiae.
a hand on the cold **** pale like the dead.
the tombs of fingernails. creases for
delineations of Earth. clenched, evening.
unloosened, bare as morning.
hand in hand, twilight.
.
outside the house, a figure.
things stir in the persistence of silence.
the flagrant irony of hearing cacophonies.
a part of the world that becomes a kin.
say, without light and the dimensions of
things, no shadows display in grayscale.
listening to the cancer of the avenue:
the continuing tachycardia in the edge
of things. things that pulse or flatten.
the mind, in your passing. the heart in your passing. respect this chronology.
likened to the metaphor of beginning
an immediate and forever turning of the body when trouble meant togetherness,
and consolation, simply remembering.
.
there is a deconstruction in sleep.
the alterable garment of dream. or a flower
revealing its inflorescence.
the blackred hemograph of petals, the accuracy of thorns, the tabulated geography
of its stillness - something it that does not completely practice. the constancy of the wind breaks its mimesis.
.
outside your house again. the undesirable quake in the monotony of your dog, Oliver, chained to the stilt of the house that does
move anymore.
the absolute quiet of the street foreshadows the variegated Dieffenbachia.
the color of my palm, starting to green.
i could be anything within your presence
as the moon intensifies the plunge.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
A key thinker
An intellectual
One who practices philosophy
The pride of the world
Lover of wisdom
The dream of everyone
He thinks with clarity
The admiration of every academia and common man
Resolving existential problems is his focus
Human conditions are his concern
Bringing to light those in the dark is his major priority
Other disciplines, he studies for evaluation and certainty
The protection of human interest has been his basic goal
To all unanswered questions he provides answers
He makes clear the unclear through rationality and empiricism
Burdenous are the misconceptions he faces
But it affects him not
Strong, agile and confident he stands when criticized
The best leader with zero mimesis
Good at addressing sociopolitical questions
He offers theories on profound questions
The idea of him as a king
Was born by a great thinker,
A mentor,
Plato the great
The dialogue in the republic has been his base
A ruler he is
Who possesses reliability
Living a simple and humble life willingly
Aims at discovering the ideal polis
Worthy is he, the king
An encapsulation of ideas he is
With confidence he defends them
His philosophical agility is beyond compare
Encouragement to the young minded he gives
Victory goes to the philosopher king
Congratulations!!!
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 5:42 AM UTC
Illusion persuades by coy mimesis
So I never dared to host the thesis
That our love was never real
My world gets filtered through a warp
It bears no semblance, the truth distorts
Where the spectres of madness play their deal
Now then you might think it's odd
That I could entertain the fraud
Of a lie that's whispered in my head
But there's a multitude of phoney speakers
As they grow stronger, I grow weaker
And the resistance to them in my mind drops dead
So I ask: are we kin, darling, you and I?
Or do you refuse to be an alibi
In this cruel and cosmic delusion
Nothing changes for all the desire
You're still not here, I'm still the liar
Suffering a truth contusion
Yet we often cross our paths like two wee duck
And when we do I thank the gods and luck
Praying that we will cross again
But I've learned our paths are a parallax
Like the horizon, or train tracks
Love is lax; we end up cleft in twain
Now you, I made "you" up inside my head
So now I want you somewhere else instead
Put you where you can't torment
My porcelain psyche is fragile, cracked
and broken. All the odds were stacked
Against us anyway: Call this love's lament.
The sky leans down to laugh, the trees uproar
It's impossible to tell who's laughing more
Or if the laughter's even true
Yet in unison the world mocks me
For the frivolous, foolish flight of fancy
That pivoted footloose between me and you
Now exit love this prodigious charade
My best laid plans have been waylaid
It's time to call the curtain
But if there's one thing that I've learned:
To stop my heart from getting burned
I should be more cynical, uncertain
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
Literature
is
less
about
beauty
~
than
it
is
about
Truth
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
We have learned
About eternal
Distinction between things.
We have seen
The separation
And the cutting into half.
The faces and the masks,
So similar but not
Entirely the same,
Are driving us mad.
Please –
Please for once -
Make it stop;
Make the division stop
And show us
The one thing.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
I grate my teeth on the sight of me,
my dark reflection.
Once a little child innocent to the core,
now a dark ricochet of light.
How I'd like to bury you for what you become,
just to resurrect you from what you used to be.
from this day i'll cast upon you my apathy.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
When courteous behavior,
-is demonstrative conception
public display not playing, serious
weform clouds
of knowing anonymous unknew as
we, the not good Babel was proposed
to end, or keep veiled in mystery
until the time prophesied,
new winds, new gyres, old loops
when no closed beneficence loops
are not disclosed, lids left ajar
to sufficient
audience.
Dunbar designators ding, we think
this
could become mirror neuronically
true…
Monkeys washing yams,
mimesis minds mime watch
studies map mean points in trends
watching work done was, yea, is as
we are
by our very virtue verily true man
knack with sense sharing, good
for most, bad for some, hero,
front and center, fully simultaneous
myelinated dual brain, instant ifey
whenever two or more agree, we
develop a documented ability, us
use, we used to think, words, we say if
is as if was, word users saying words
we obediently define, saying as
speaking used spelled orders
to put dhe, here, I stand,
to where I reach, I defend as
any carnally minded creature may,
- there's the fiction friction, say
- queue the answer, play the theme,
- remind the audience, we already
- know, this pattern, that trait, we seeing
- us as those same protected by standers,
- benefitting from good, despite gritty real,
- glittering like a Trump structure reality TV
2025
It is a fine sunny day in May, high in the Cuyamacas,
far from the mob-ilized defenders of JWST boundaries
on what we all may learn to be a bit in, a particle,
accelerated once past now to then when you read me
to assure one's self sense reflex
adrenal rush, to remain, alive
and kicking… to remain, resting easy,
atop a cake of congealed lipids
treading water, waiting
good sense
as common senses keep evolving,
as our means for making it increases.
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 5:07 PM UTC
Thy heart shines with the light of a thousand beacons
As violent, vivid as a forest fire
In to its light my stray spirit is beckoned
Its radiant truth I crave and desire
Thou art the sum of thy passions
O guiding light to which we are wife
Compelling us to exquisite action
To succumb to the lust and love of life
Beacons light spreads by mimesis
Each pyre imitates the other's light
The fires are never still, in stasis
But ripple with cosmic delight
O Heart, thy beacon strikes on truth
The deepest fibre of my self is moved
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
Who dares do this?
[in the future from 01/19/22
the final night forty years hence
thence two years more makes now
12/12/2024… but I wished it happy early]
My gig is what? I read. Seriously,
sincerely
Poetic License
Speaking truth
to truth's power,
Magic Moment's You Looked Me
in the eyes, e-yes, I will, I expect…
I, the ne'er-do-much,
- be live for now,
thinking,
if the peace I take is metered out,
a measure
for a measure, ***
for tat, eye
for eye,
worth a minute, any time
my word on it init
all that had a meaning,
once,
I imagine,
rituals were kata, steps
in a danced how story, why I know
first step, emerge, be in time, aware
there are others of a sort I am sorted on,
male, confirmed, white,
circumcised, to snip a bit
there off the tip, for no reason, we just
do it
so
it may have held common sense once,
now it seems a secret reason, lost
in evolution
of the mind
of man,
measurer
of all things, sorter
of odds and evens, pull
to push, act react mimesis,
as we see
we think we do,
mirror neurons, telos, reason, cause
sui causal are we? Nay?
We appear,
and be as if formed
to a pattern,
framed as a fine sail… a
wind catcher,
hook burr grip, like a virus or
a sycamore ball. Yeah.
echoing yeh yehey hey, not that way.
watch the beach ripple in the clouds,
there is such a pattern, in beautiful places
and I grew old in one, surrounded
by grand children laughing into teen years.
This would seem heaven to many, init.
I happened as a part of it on earth, happened
around an artistical Tophet gift init getting easy
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 11:00 PM UTC
Before the end it all took place,
I met a man who drew my face;
The paint decides the life it shows,
As ancient men like Plato knows...
for in that portrait I was king,
and people never knew a thing...
for eyes and heart showed innocence,
and in my heart remembrance...
although they'd never understand,
Yet here I sat with crutch in hand.
The portrait's old and incomplete;
that moment framed. Yet obsolete.
But once upon a time and place,
I meet this boy who draws my face;
I held a secret no one knows,
this memoir only wisdom shows...
through pain the art reveals a king,
but Aristotle caught a thing;
a childhood swiftly evanescent,
rare-like paint and senescent...
a boy with rope and kite in hand,
Unsure the world would understand...
thus birds not fly; I'll supersede.
Still not convinced if i'm complete.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
How you have unfastened yourself from me molding red clay in many shapes.
Relentlessly fashioning versions of thing after thing. How I distort in every mimesis.
What you are looking for refuses to be found, though you spread the red everywhere.
Futility becomes of your fingers, too nervous for sewing.
The frequency of this life distorts on you, and you see less and less.
Sole star of sky, unthinkingly, in the dye of yellow, verses you in elocution.
Parody to mutable earth, shall the shadows of stars turn aside?
Belonging to time has its perilousness. In fervor you have underestimated the vulnerability
of the infinite.
We too have wounded, and been wounded.
The heart wavers at the threshold of an uncommon door.
Imperceptible boundaries have multiplied like trees.
How to be water. How to be, they seem to say, stretching small arms in every weak direction.
The angles have become too much for me.
Time is what I ask for, so I may ***** my words for a certain moment.
How unthinkingly you have carried on into an isolate realm.
All worlds pull from me now, as though offended.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
My daughter wouldn’t hurt a spider
That had nested
Between her bicycle handles
For two weeks
She waited
Until it left of its own accord
If you tear down the web I said
It will simply know
This isn’t a place to call home
And you’d get to go biking
She said that’s how others
Become refugees isn’t it?
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 6:38 PM UTC
Prithee darling - be my lover
We'll be in kindred philosophy - unite
For being enamoured - of passion
For all that tyrant interdict
You play - antihero
And I'll play - renegade
Wending to brighter day - we go
Eschewing shade
You play - Jacobean muse
And I'll play haughty heroine
Destinies - fuse
Intertwine
Two paths - never to be cleft
How ever can one light be bereft?
Loves light spread - by mimesis
My thesis
Of souls divine kinesis
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
I.
Magnificent Angel, wouldst thou ever tire,
From divine labour stoking heaven's fury fire,
Rest awhile thine mind with mortal, earthen kin,
Regale me with your godly revelries,
In which truth of Heart's magnanimity,
Where pure hearts 'twixt trials of time are twin.
II.
Then I shall fathom thy light, pure, good and true,
World more good for the guiding light of you,
-- Beacon's light spread by spirit's mimesis,
With those wings, doth dare and proud protect,
Love's plan, to which you genuflect,
The final purpose of your light's kinesis.
III.
I would not flinch from your sultry sight,
Adorned by sparks of brilliant light,
Raw cub of God with soul replete,
A door that's opened unto thee,
Not to be rescinded willingly,
Hurled to glory on divine feet.
IV.
If wishes ever granted, mine to dwell,
In aura of the Angel, splendid, swell,
As we, the cherubs, since long time ago,
Searching for rainbow, to and fro,
As our path takes us, high and low,
We, lived, felt love, but now we go.
V.
To truth, which rapture us in throe,
Sat brooding in desire and woe,
The flame of love be ours to stoke,
The right be ours to wield it high,
And swing it proud around the sky,
Its light resplendent and bespoke
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC