"misnomers" poems
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Of all my misnomers,
Mistooks of arrogance,
To think I could career careen
A life
in poetry,
Extra pressure of the
Broadest of a narrowing sujet,
the scripting of poesy
on the restricted topical
of only love poetry
Must have been punch love drunk,
When that notion crazy stung
My cerebal,
Gored discor-ed cortex,
Probably just another
Post a Loving,
dreaming scheming moment,
Or reading a Shakespeare sonnet,
Or
Midst the long lonely pauses
somewhere,
*(S)under the rainbow,
tween teener and geezer,
and
Everything in between*
made myself a poet of a restricted diet
not "eating " for days at a time
for love comes and goes,
frequent departures much more easygoing & common,
than regularly scheduled arrivals,
easy go, not so easy come,
what was I thinking of?
what a she-muk,
talking about cutting your nose off
to spite your face,
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
This is rude. I should stop using misnomers for my own devices, but I cannot help myself. So insomnia it shall be called, when I cannot find the words to sleep or the fervor to close my eyes.
That sounded all wrong on my lips, but my head could care less at this point.
The cool touch of my glasses on my nose wake me further. Way to go Grace, you're even more awake now. Like you ever needed it.
There's a jitterbug in my leg, sending me so sky-high.
Should I go to bed or continue pondering existence and words and dreams until my tongue goes numb from rolling all these R's: Rest, redeem, re-purpose, redo, remember. Always remember. Its hard to forget.
Days past and the insomnia persists. I have slept, perhaps, in that time, but yet I have not dreamed, and that is where my insomnia lies. Which lies do I mean, that is the real question, duality always tricks the eye.
Let's get these hearts beating faster, faster, to the beat of the music, while they touch each other's fingertips and kiss each other's lips and meet hips in a vain attempt to have it mean something more.
The words have left me, and I do not know where to end. So i propose another unbirthday be the day of reckoning, and maybe another poem, another day, my make more sense to me. Adieu my dears, and hope to pray to live just another day, for life is the most beautiful tragedy we can ever love.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Call it prolific
Monoliths
Monolithic
Amnesia
And pill popping
I like words
I like how they taste as they flow
From my mouth,
From my fingers,
Into your ears
Your eyes
I'm inside you.
I've never really understood that
****** conquest
(I changed pages on you)
Like, we should be proud, as men
That we've been inside someone
"I put my **** in that"
Congratulations, Charlie!
You came!
Honorary meetings
Magna *** Laude
(Did I change pages again?)
Vulgarity
Shame on you Catholic boy!
Shouldn't you be whining about *** scandal?
Talking about pro-life?
Hating the gays?
Misconceptions
Misnomers
Misconstrue my meanings
Misplace the common denominator
Math is always interesting.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
/ *are there any misnomers in the representation
of language, only, and only within the confines
of phonetics? sure... spelling is not exactly
arithmetics... but is it?*
/ trance
as the "misnomer"
of the prefix trans...
oh my god,
current english -
and the golden
age of chaos -
and that nashville twang
in an american blonde's
voice: like a banjo...
gott ist tot:
kommen die titan, la(s)chend.
/
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination.
Winds that billow in bellows of blue balderdash,
that hides these vague souls in the elephant grass,
as white horses run for an unconsecrated pass;
I sit sipping lightning from a small green flask.
I cannot see beyond this collision of cataracts,
sitting in a puddle of Alzheimer's and absent facts,
hard to predict parlor tricks' and posthumous pacts,
metamorphosis of those we ****** on, lies intact.
Veins constricted from catastrophes and contradictions,
synapses sinewed by audacious biannual addictions,
misdemeanors of malicious misnomers and maledictions,
breathing in the beneficent bleating of benedictions.
Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Deprivation stings,
descending through the levels,
I have much to learn.
Worn like blood-soaked shoes,
On the land of misnomers,
All of this is wrong.
Attempting to see,
Inside darkness without light,
such tragic attempts.
The end I do see,
Is coming all too quickly,
I hope you all know.
Be where there is love,
All things here are absolute,
Reside in the light.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
just keep nagging about poetry stealing
if not simply invigorating
people's index curriculum vocabulorum
(day-to-day pint of milk
what's the weather like speech) -
keep nagging - it won't make a difference -
i have a grievance all of my own -
one word - slang - or the effective
tool for unprecedented use of misnomers -
slang is, after all, a practice of using
misnomers with social acceptability -
some claim that poetry is incomprehensible -
too difficult - too cult-like -
too whatever it is that people think poetry is -
i'm in it for the long-haul -
i'm looking at the fame of Homer and of
Horace and i see no fame in the modern
definition - the certainty of Nietzsche:
perhaps my true readers haven't been born yet.
i'm that certain of what i write,
capitalism and the short-term effect -
the cure and the same song as stated
on the album *********** -
just keep nagging about what poetry is
and what it isn't - i just spotted an pink elephant
of the easiest of comparisons to nag about too...
urban slang - slang in general - but instead
of a single people being incomprehensible
(like the tweeting format? no? we have an antidote
for that) - i never bothered or knew how
to learn slang, the "cool talk" of being recognised
as a part of a pack of hyenas about to "change the world";
if you explain slang to me i'll explain poetry to you,
some does mature outside the realm
of adolescence - Rimbaud certainly did - and with
him as example i guess we should only write
in our teen years then forget about it,
never age with it - never do a Sistine Chapel pinnacle
with it - poetry is the secondary fashion statement
of the young, the primary fashion statement is
slang - i don't know why i kept it up as i did -
and i don't care much for being too technical
either, Tartar stake for me - i guess the trick
of the novelist is that he knows he can take breaks
in between writing a novel, he can always
come back to it knowing the reader will probably
take days and different yoga positions finishing
his outpouring: as already suggested, poetry as
something that constantly requires a revision of
meaning (esp. in the age of twitter) -
fair enough for the haiku crew - but consider
my deliberate care for a counter haiku: the ensō (zen)-
maximised with the Tao teaching of forgetting
the world and letting the world forget about you -
lethal combination................................
so this slang debate... can you tell me why
it's so akin to the incomprehensibility of poetry
and why it fizzles out after adolescence of the teen years?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
And what is love? It is a doll dressed up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a perfect tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Till Cleopatra lives at Number Seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warmed the world,
If queens and soldiers have played deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say
That ye may love in spite of ****** hats.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
My names are misnomers,
but you already knew that.
My lines are free flowing,
but these give no credence to that.
I wish to let you know I live,
and let you know desire's back.
I care, I care, I care so deeply,
and that is the end of that.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Crash unbridled gates. Grind organs
through the rosy calm of tolerance.
See misfits shuck the beasts
in bed with bliss. Type up and tack
to this new daily mess the bounds
of what went by 'neath private barroom
skies; no looming spy will fix you
flint to burn the friendly waters,
flicker honor out to disarrange
and scold some rhyme too bold
for comfort-answers, dumb-fit, fumble-
grounded in some sliver too uncouth.
Tape pageless trees for truth;
blog-sift the spheres, watch darkness' evil
ears upend and train the tuner on
the lips extolling groundwork kisses
(sparkful dominance upstaged
by passion turned to stone:
reserves gone sour, hour unknown.)
Mist-choked misnomers
acting onerous and blinking out of phase:
de-stage the structure. Anchor down who stays,
who pulls the latest polls. While blind-spots
clutch white lace like arguments,
make space to process what flies past
as ****** rats stay the course,
a maze in grace.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
Reclusive turtle soloing about its ribcage for one bestie' tendency.
After spent the night in its master's clink full of candelabra with Earthlings, the turtle doesn't want to go to thine torturous awry cotillion where everyone is fumbling for the right words.
It is happier to mate with the bestie while all the misnomers vibrating as if they would penetrate into the soul lucidly. Seeking gratification by every frottage and endless non-penetrative *** whispering straightforward colloquial language became a morbid fascination.
Beastie frighten and enthralled the turtle with Sigillum Dei like riffs from decades of its polytheistic worship, machinations and machinations of coercive persuasions unlike crowdy psychopathies who pay no heed to propaganda and their mutual ************ provoked by **** star personality taxonomy and *** toy fabrication.
Turtle caused beastie a impairment of memory because of its anonymity and disruption of beliefs.
Falling in love with you like seeing someone else dresses in my skin. What I want to do to you is systematically indoctrinate you through torture techniques.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
*what a challenging occupation
this infinite being presides over our frustrated creativity
i see women dreaming like symphonies
serendipitous discoveries
individual recoveries from addiction to imprisonment
symbols surround our mountains
and draw us down from the ethers into present day realities
i choose to face the fire of the architect directly
stardust collects on your shelves and altars
stall as long as you wish
for procrastination can not touch this
who found infinity first
to brag about it would be laughable
i question our obsession with thoughts
why we validate some and consider others repulsive
can there be value in individual concepts or only in conglomerations
chains of misnomers
all skandas are fundamentally empty
including form, feelings,
perceptions, formations and consciousness
earth water fire air ether
manifesting maya
a satire or a tragedy
with a sprinkle of ire or is it irony
i canʼt recall since i had that fall
my memory has been slipping
but truly today my brain is working perfectly
it feels brand new and polished like an old table
what a refreshing feeling
that existence is cheering for you
pushing you forward
towards your destiny
all you have to do is let go
and accept support and love
its all naturally wonderful
and yet we wonder about our value
if we are not struggling we forget to give thanks
if we are not puzzled we forget that we are amazing
staying put long enough to get organized
helps if you want to remove the clutter from your mind
yet traveling can help you to broaden your horizons
oh and by the way
i may have forgot to mention
that i signed you up for the total package*
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
The stares of my
Right hand men
Bring me to the misnomers
That they would leave me
For leftist visions
Left for all the right reasons
My friends never abandoned
Me
They just may have joined
My enemies
Whose names I'll never forget
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC