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"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.
0
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
plank v. veneer via grasshoppers
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.
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45
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,
0
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
Re~Regarding Only Love Poetry (olp)
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.
0
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Insomnia pt. 2
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
0
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Blather shoot
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
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166
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.
0
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
Homeless fever-dream
/      *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.                                                             /
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Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
jetztsein post scriptum
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
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May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
collective collaboration
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.
0
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Haikus for the times
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?
0
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
slang and misnomers
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?
Continue reading...
58
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.
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Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
And what is love? It is a doll dressed up
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.
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Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Add a poem
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.
0
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
Manual of Style
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.
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Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
Ersatz Skin
*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*
0
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
manifesting maya
*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*
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44
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
0
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
Power Ties and Paint *****