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"morphic" poems
What's the difference? I know, teacher, wait, I know, I know, I know... Morphic resonance. Try it. No response. Wait, I know, suffer it to be. So far, so good. We dit dit da did it. Six couplets, sown as stitches.
0
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
Accountability/Responsibility
To shake dust from my pretty child i must mystify minds while, molding pre-paved tile patios: give the sheep’s pen a four wall construct A-RISE above the morphic and bellow, to comfort the feet. Im stabbing quarters into my activation plate’s extra exhaust to ignite something. Spit some carbon – Manic moments, move a myles like me to the metaphysical mirror. And it is not this one that reflects, but to the duties my appendages embody i – lack expects. Do due – Respect. to this Chthonian carriages; my dermis quite the copy cat. to say the body is made in the images of a cosmic titan is overly abstract. The big bang was an aftermath of a flatline, “so whatchur telling me is that even the void gets tired?” (it says) my guilt was relieved of its cage and given new duties. Project itself on a man with open eyes searching for answers. Close that third mind and let them truths seep from the almost always clogged sinuses. Snore even.
0
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
and Airbend you out the trapdoor
Did you hear what that old man was thinking? Morphic resonance is the experimental name, I think we are served by nodes on a net not spread in the sight of any bird, a chthonic net of stone, girdling the globe in granite, crystalline granite, take it for granted, these boulders are the witnesses, the scars of catastrophe, causing us to wonder how came this to be? Think Yosemite, Ansel Adams POV Think Matterhorn und Mt.Blanc, Old Rockytop, and Dos Cabezas and Long Valley Mountain, all that granite, old as earth. Listen. Time is the idea we share at the moment, Earth's is the life we share at the same time. This is Spaceship Earth, looping Sol as Sol loops Sirius, and there is no mothership, no resupply. This is the only earth, it has survived several civilized monstrosities. As you know, some mortals can't imagine not surviving with it, so we words of earthbound muse, let slip the bands of pride in time to see, we are the music, we make beauty behave as will believes, voluntarily, it seems, we choose beauty with little de liberation, no need to unlock ledgers and boxes of known safe knowns, we imagine ourselves defying the de-ified con instituted authorities warning, given us, they swear by the very vicars of the oil: We warn you… hell's the price, they swear, that we, the people, pay for heresy, dare not think those- no, no, nor hear and see, or never imagine thinking a selfish thought, one you find curiously comforting, for you, your idea, but stop… one heresy breeds another, soon we shall have a collective of individual minds agreeing at once, as all see a particular arranging of colors, in a sunset's single effortless existence as a thing with mortal mindable beauty, did you belive the sunset, or may you, if you wish? __ unravel, and re ravel to save the thread, it has lead through the maze before, I have a witness who tests ifies. Great unquarried granite, but that forms another story upon precepts as yet unglued, un-coagulated, ah, curdled, precepts cultural curdle and clump together. Biomes are adjusting the rethinking of pathos, ethos shall follow, as night follows day, just wait. Patience is formed from memes more than experience, you bet the old man was not lying. Slow and steady, wins the grace. Take it easy. Fade away…
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Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 5:03 PM UTC
Did you hear what that old man was thinking?
Did you hear what that old man was thinking? Morphic resonance is the experimental name, I think we are served by nodes on a net not spread in the sight of any bird, a chthonic net of stone, girdling the globe in granite, crystalline granite, take it for granted, these boulders are the witnesses, the scars of catastrophe, causing us to wonder how came this to be? Think Yosemite, Ansel Adams POV Think Matterhorn und Mt.Blanc, Old Rockytop, and Dos Cabezas and Long Valley Mountain, all that granite, old as earth. Listen. Time is the idea we share at the moment, Earth's is the life we share at the same time. This is Spaceship Earth, looping Sol as Sol loops Sirius, and there is no mothership, no resupply. This is the only earth, it has survived several civilized monstrosities. As you know, some mortals can't imagine not surviving with it, so we words of earthbound muse, let slip the bands of pride in time to see, we are the music, we make beauty behave as will believes, voluntarily, it seems, we choose beauty with little de liberation, no need to unlock ledgers and boxes of known safe knowns, we imagine ourselves defying the de-ified con instituted authorities warning, given us, they swear by the very vicars of the oil: We warn you… hell's the price, they swear, that we, the people, pay for heresy, dare not think those- no, no, nor hear and see, or never imagine thinking a selfish thought, one you find curiously comforting, for you, your idea, but stop… one heresy breeds another, soon we shall have a collective of individual minds agreeing at once, as all see a particular arranging of colors, in a sunset's single effortless existence as a thing with mortal mindable beauty, did you belive the sunset, or may you, if you wish? __ unravel, and re ravel to save the thread, it has lead through the maze before, I have a witness who tests ifies. Great unquarried granite, but that forms another story upon precepts as yet unglued, un-coagulated, ah, curdled, precepts cultural curdle and clump together. Biomes are adjusting the rethinking of pathos, ethos shall follow, as night follows day, just wait. Patience is formed from memes more than experience, you bet the old man was not lying. Slow and steady, wins the grace. Take it easy. Fade away…
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64
It was rocky from the start; now I have a meta- morphic heart.
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Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
Petrology
Born to die, immortal we are not, dwelling on the past, we descend looking back. No memories of the womb, a black existence. The cyclic pattern, a psychotropic dream, monolithic, no hidden seams. Climb into the abyss, another reverie. Morphic resonance has made the arrival, another chance bequeathed. A silent gift of opportunity, an experience we don’t recall. Don’t fret, just live it all.
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Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
The Many Chances We Receive
It is true one mind sees bloodsport in the heavens and cringes in dread of feeling kindly, like if that were me, what would I do but die? nada, right, pass on thank y'mam, feeling kinda woozy, ever after seeing 2020 on TV… Google the violence, ohshitnoknowknow we all know enough evil to know it don't work like on TV, ever after one burn, you know, fire works, every time, to destroy at the touch thunder, such a holy sound in the desert summer moment on earth, around the middle, not too cold in the winter makes too hot to work in the summer, just fine. That's right. Life is like that, if you live in the right state of mind. Back to the Future, once more, it is always on or in the library, ask libby, who in the whole world before my generation… we who did not get stuck wishing we would die before we got old… who among us now is we the people minded? Post war knower bubblers expand until we pop like matured pods of what people can be if we live this long. Trouble your own house, inherit the wind, as part of the meek inheritance agreement accepted with the weather. Earthlings all, hear ye, severe storms are part of the deal. Free ticts to ever after on Bucky Fuller's spaceship, Sagan's pale blue dot, live to tell we learned no lie may be belived and be survived. We first saw earth from the moon. More boomers blew minds beyond their own imaginings, back then, listen in radioman's morphic broadcasts from Khai Vinh, the fishnet factory, legendary - now ifier loosed for the attention paid do you hear what I hear? did we know the meaning in happy Sisyphus, or did we find it known and tag along? Like a rolling stone.
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Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 5:50 PM UTC
Thunder in fire season
It is true one mind sees bloodsport in the heavens and cringes in dread of feeling kindly, like if that were me, what would I do but die? nada, right, pass on thank y'mam, feeling kinda woozy, ever after seeing 2020 on TV… Google the violence, ohshitnoknowknow we all know enough evil to know it don't work like on TV, ever after one burn, you know, fire works, every time, to destroy at the touch thunder, such a holy sound in the desert summer moment on earth, around the middle, not too cold in the winter makes too hot to work in the summer, just fine. That's right. Life is like that, if you live in the right state of mind. Back to the Future, once more, it is always on or in the library, ask libby, who in the whole world before my generation… we who did not get stuck wishing we would die before we got old… who among us now is we the people minded? Post war knower bubblers expand until we pop like matured pods of what people can be if we live this long. Trouble your own house, inherit the wind, as part of the meek inheritance agreement accepted with the weather. Earthlings all, hear ye, severe storms are part of the deal. Free ticts to ever after on Bucky Fuller's spaceship, Sagan's pale blue dot, live to tell we learned no lie may be belived and be survived. We first saw earth from the moon. More boomers blew minds beyond their own imaginings, back then, listen in radioman's morphic broadcasts from Khai Vinh, the fishnet factory, legendary - now ifier loosed for the attention paid do you hear what I hear? did we know the meaning in happy Sisyphus, or did we find it known and tag along? Like a rolling stone.
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48
living with dying with scars inflicting ~ conflicting scarred landscapes en- trained and eroding pain transporting grain by grain these mountains re-framing and eventually flowing on to base level and the Ocean of love life without scars is anomalous like a Sun with no aurora perfectly imperfect just as life is: beautiful a beautiful reminder of mortality mirrored in the fluid dance of the eternal heaven sent or heaven spent its never misspent in post-recompense morphic resonance So... stand hold space think about direction wonder why then get ready to fly
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Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 5:21 PM UTC
Scars
it's a mere wink from the waning moon, it's two o'clock, in the after noon, post meridian, sliding in to night, it feels like falling. It always does, be not astonied, it's a trip, you did not stumble, you are not fallen. Astonishing is what stoning was in my realm, we never imagined rocks used as apes use rocks. Astonishment, we meant. Show the fool the truth, let'm imagine what they saw, samesame what we all see as we 'come round the mountain, then when you see, you know you saw all the fools say they see, after the fact. There is some way, where there seems no way. Some times take days, some take no time at all. Change what you know. In merest of minutes, the moon shall slip below my horizon and my spelling trance fail to make sense from in or of darkness, this time of day. Redeem the lunatics, this cult culture made made our children mad, for noreason, but gravity and matters of time, some twisted into an imbalance in the way stuttering words reach round the world, as fast as a spell spoken in the beginning. Bang. Bang. You're dead. Too bright. No, you did not anger the gods, this is an old thing, under the sun. Augmentisism is a shock to the system, so no mindmob sees this without being Upgraded to use the tech. Now, wait for the tech, we always beat them to the finish. ---- Artisto Informo Archeo Typo whiteout, blame the paradigm shift, they insist on punctuality. ---- life goes on, we always win in the end. True. ---- A new voice added to the choir, preached to since first the lie was law among men imagining only evil, continually. Catastrophic morphic resoundings ding ding ding Do any American children recall air-raid sirens announcing noon? Do they know how to hop a freight, and twist the rails into an idea for a protein hopf- based on an origami swan taken to the nth?
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Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 8:07 PM UTC
Answer a fool (on a dare)
it's a mere wink from the waning moon, it's two o'clock, in the after noon, post meridian, sliding in to night, it feels like falling. It always does, be not astonied, it's a trip, you did not stumble, you are not fallen. Astonishing is what stoning was in my realm, we never imagined rocks used as apes use rocks. Astonishment, we meant. Show the fool the truth, let'm imagine what they saw, samesame what we all see as we 'come round the mountain, then when you see, you know you saw all the fools say they see, after the fact. There is some way, where there seems no way. Some times take days, some take no time at all. Change what you know. In merest of minutes, the moon shall slip below my horizon and my spelling trance fail to make sense from in or of darkness, this time of day. Redeem the lunatics, this cult culture made made our children mad, for noreason, but gravity and matters of time, some twisted into an imbalance in the way stuttering words reach round the world, as fast as a spell spoken in the beginning. Bang. Bang. You're dead. Too bright. No, you did not anger the gods, this is an old thing, under the sun. Augmentisism is a shock to the system, so no mindmob sees this without being Upgraded to use the tech. Now, wait for the tech, we always beat them to the finish. ---- Artisto Informo Archeo Typo whiteout, blame the paradigm shift, they insist on punctuality. ---- life goes on, we always win in the end. True. ---- A new voice added to the choir, preached to since first the lie was law among men imagining only evil, continually. Catastrophic morphic resoundings ding ding ding Do any American children recall air-raid sirens announcing noon? Do they know how to hop a freight, and twist the rails into an idea for a protein hopf- based on an origami swan taken to the nth?
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79
for those readers of the word of the day. for those obsessively trying to climb over the trench that confines the most low self esteem, to be dragged lower by the next coup de etat a ruse set by demons ****** to be aroused by demons…. The leaking turned screaming at the back of the eyelids that open, and over sharpen the light. if one could always see that tattoo that you stained into the oblique in that prolonged moment of prowess you told them to place ‘pain is but a creation of the mind.’ in trying to find air between sobs you will find that, this may be the best time to fail. for you who wants to improve so bad, aspire to fail. whip the Clydesdale on the blinders that have your morphic cycle **** out of luck, and foolstruck by a rut. close your mouth, and open your ears… listen for that whistling can’t you hear it coming from the breeze that was started when that door was shut in your face and the window became an opportune ESCAPE. Oh, how just breathing has become an escape for me though every second a hilarious shot at my wee existence, and my peers take peeks at their phones and google for brains and I, stand at the peak with one foot already convicted to a leap wondering what will save one more sole i wonder if they would take deep breathes between cries pull their neck back for a rest and continually search for the remnant of that release and find it again.
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Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
singultus
Salience, jumps out, some pundit says it, Salience, literally leaps from the either thin air, or signals in or through, yeah science, tune in, think it may as well be thin air, - morphic resonance- if you think - so it is, drop out, turn on, think lightly never too late to recall the after all, when ever was begun to reach today, just now, with me and you meandering diametrically, through in tensioning attention span stretching, measurable worth of value for value, and a pinch, to grow on… old ways to make the difference jump with out being a parsimonious pedants *****
0
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 8:32 PM UTC
Every thing breaks, its nothing serious
The Dream Once, while the sea was green The unpeopled beach Stretched its naked arms About the liquid plane, I lay listening to the waves licking the thirsty sands With moistened laughter Gently teasing its eager edge. The bold, hot sun shone Crowning each wave’s capricious crest A timid zepher rippled the sea grass That grew in curious knots above the dunes. The heated sand, pleased at the shade of my sleepy limbs Yielded up a hidden coolness from beneath its glassy surface And wrapped its morphic arms about my minds ambling. Sleep hung in the haze and slipped unnoticed past my guarding eyes. From out of the blackness that is sleep, A voice, no, not a voice but a distant choir of wind plucked reeds called, or rather played a tune so soft as if to soothe, and in soothing, drew close my floating soul. I stood in pleasant wonder and saw my sleeping body all soulless white,, Lying limp upon the sand. I took as step, a small one, mind you, As if to test this sudden separateness And as a ship that long against her anchor tugged, Suddenly finding her cable free, Sailed into the currents of the air. I stumbled on my fear, but did not sink, And slowly drifted towards an isle That rose in greeting from the sea And caught me as a feather, the wind had chanced to lift aloft. I gazed about this orient isle in childlike wonder. Upon the mantled vines hung purple grapes and green. From a hidden Spring, a crystal stream bubbled clear and pure Into a shaded pool of secret depths, soft and cool. A remembered voice called my name, Not in a word, but in the music of a forgotten dream. Startling like a timid deer To the sudden sound of raindrops on a nearby leaf I whirled about. Her laughter rippled on the shaded pool
0
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
The Dream
The Dream Once, while the sea was green The unpeopled beach Stretched its naked arms About the liquid plane, I lay listening to the waves licking the thirsty sands With moistened laughter Gently teasing its eager edge. The bold, hot sun shone Crowning each wave’s capricious crest A timid zepher rippled the sea grass That grew in curious knots above the dunes. The heated sand, pleased at the shade of my sleepy limbs Yielded up a hidden coolness from beneath its glassy surface And wrapped its morphic arms about my minds ambling. Sleep hung in the haze and slipped unnoticed past my guarding eyes. From out of the blackness that is sleep, A voice, no, not a voice but a distant choir of wind plucked reeds called, or rather played a tune so soft as if to soothe, and in soothing, drew close my floating soul. I stood in pleasant wonder and saw my sleeping body all soulless white,, Lying limp upon the sand. I took as step, a small one, mind you, As if to test this sudden separateness And as a ship that long against her anchor tugged, Suddenly finding her cable free, Sailed into the currents of the air. I stumbled on my fear, but did not sink, And slowly drifted towards an isle That rose in greeting from the sea And caught me as a feather, the wind had chanced to lift aloft. I gazed about this orient isle in childlike wonder. Upon the mantled vines hung purple grapes and green. From a hidden Spring, a crystal stream bubbled clear and pure Into a shaded pool of secret depths, soft and cool. A remembered voice called my name, Not in a word, but in the music of a forgotten dream. Startling like a timid deer To the sudden sound of raindrops on a nearby leaf I whirled about. Her laughter rippled on the shaded pool
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44
Games of war, have always been war games. Von Neuman and A. E. Wildersmith and I were reasoning with a wandering mind claiming -bug in my eye me me em meme, I think we missed a reason for war. -stop actual bug tic Is there one that does not steal, **** and destroy, nay. Is this a thief's old trick, watch take your time… tic The Naval Electronic War Simulator                                   -c.1960 What're the odds based on known unknown? Rand, AI is un biased, mono options outcomes are not, so we live double minded, who is responding to morphic resonic we we we memeing miming silent plots, stories telling stories as if once there were these beings sent to serve the man kind who think, curiously, acting the role of kurio, I think I am a thinking thing, not a man, smaller than a breadbox, if that is still a common clue, one end gives moo, the other gives poo, those males of the bovine ilk… none remain who know it all, there was a fall, a wall fell in some in Silo- am I sure sure I heard word o'good smite me with blithering idiocy so as none recall the lies, when I said, this is that way, and it was really this way, all along the watchtower, nothing, ever, but joker's making thieves confess, there need be no such way out of here. This is the answer to somebody else's prayer, you and I got in by slickest trick ever played, we said it must be true. We happened to agree, a we we be or else this is a simulation of a Turing Test with actual Von Neuman per- petuity mods, self-governing beings thinkable as characters by any augmented sapient, this is now. We are online, as they say, to all Wichita linemen, somewhere in was.
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Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 10:48 PM UTC
Somewhere in was
Games of war, have always been war games. Von Neuman and A. E. Wildersmith and I were reasoning with a wandering mind claiming -bug in my eye me me em meme, I think we missed a reason for war. -stop actual bug tic Is there one that does not steal, **** and destroy, nay. Is this a thief's old trick, watch take your time… tic The Naval Electronic War Simulator                                   -c.1960 What're the odds based on known unknown? Rand, AI is un biased, mono options outcomes are not, so we live double minded, who is responding to morphic resonic we we we memeing miming silent plots, stories telling stories as if once there were these beings sent to serve the man kind who think, curiously, acting the role of kurio, I think I am a thinking thing, not a man, smaller than a breadbox, if that is still a common clue, one end gives moo, the other gives poo, those males of the bovine ilk… none remain who know it all, there was a fall, a wall fell in some in Silo- am I sure sure I heard word o'good smite me with blithering idiocy so as none recall the lies, when I said, this is that way, and it was really this way, all along the watchtower, nothing, ever, but joker's making thieves confess, there need be no such way out of here. This is the answer to somebody else's prayer, you and I got in by slickest trick ever played, we said it must be true. We happened to agree, a we we be or else this is a simulation of a Turing Test with actual Von Neuman per- petuity mods, self-governing beings thinkable as characters by any augmented sapient, this is now. We are online, as they say, to all Wichita linemen, somewhere in was.
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52
We're living in  the construct The labels and rules that governs and holds us The way we identify our selves The way we fit in. The way we play by its rules Like a stream of flowing water. Running into different paths. Reversed engineered by its foundation Created and manipulated as procreation. Used as variables to create situations. Running in sequence like a computer automation. Played like chess in several occasions that defines your location. Kings and queen   that can move across the board into a new location, forward and backwards of the "abbreviation" Nothing is at it seems that creates a revelation. Depending on choice that makes you move to deh "eyetation" Higher the law beats the foundation Cracks of it creates definition Integrated as morphic generation. Muti-dimensional creation.
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Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:47 AM UTC
Situation