"myopia" poems
i've moved past my belief
in the Christian trinity...
for me...
the meditation stands
on the pivot of
the following translation
the hexagon,
start of david -
which translates
as the Holy Ghost -
which denotes
a congregation...
the pentagon?
of the befitting analogy
to the five senses...
the "son of man" -
or simply...
the myopia of man
having to excavate
the sixth sense
using telescopes,
microscopes, the like...
and, finally?
on a hand of five extensions,
there are four...
the square...
Y H
⠁⠑ read clockwise
like English traffic
H W on a roundabout.
which? denotes the father...
if the Hebrews "think" they
can hide their vowels?
the Latin answer is...
to interpolate Braille into
their language...
and Emperor Nero would have
appreciated it...
whether with, or without
the Byzantine propaganda machinery
of the nevus testamentum...
and it wasn't a propagandist
piece?
how much longer did the eastern
Empire, outlive the Western
empire, when the onslaught
by the Ottoman's reached
Constantinople?!
the Greek were craving
a cultural revival!
they believed the Romans
to have origins in Troy!
they plaid the weakest cultural
card of Judaism,
revamping it into Christianity...
hell... that's what i believe...
and i'm not about to meet
a Jehovah's Witness propagandist,
or some aged Pakistani
citing the Quran on a park
bench...
or some Scientologist
on Oxford St. with his wacky
machine...
or some pseudo Hare Krishna
monk with a book about
some guru, pushing it like
marijuana...
to change my mind on what
i'm digesting!
plus?
⠽ ⠓
Æ ( read anti-clockwise)
⠓ ⠺
fits in perfectly into the Adam
and Eve narrative -
as with all mythology -
given the extent of time...
nuance, metaphor...
abbreviation...
ars poetica!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
Double baked soufflé people
glistening with sweat.
Vanity is a myopia utopia
steaming to regret.
Handsome shadows swoop
stealing precious rays
The mocking call of the crow
counting your last days.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Unquenchable vitality
Coming off as cold
Certain detaining gestures I've made
Push you away
You recite the words I've heard before
Over and over
"You're a heartless soul"
But this myopia is dark
If I can't see you far, how do I bring light to you.
Like the Light that flashes on the delicate curve of stars I can not touch
The re - echoes of sounds deep down
And through my scowled flushed face
Maybe you'll understand how being heartless is only a protection for me
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away
tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown
phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality
trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
**Society, the embodiment of human securities
Is in reality the stark confirmation
Of a conglomerate of screaming insecurities
Begging….its leaders….fervent introspection **
*Bending logic is an art perfected by all
Regardless of creed class or stature
No wonder the walk is seemingly a hard laboured crawl
Culminating into deep exposed…psychological sutures*
**Beings are bedevilled by a roving myopia
Craving a farfetched grandiose utopia
That’s why a bespectacled cynicism
Is ironically of essence…to neutralise a deep rooted parochialism**
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:28 AM UTC
Ah here sits the stone on the ground
The shrub on the hill. A
Natural state of affairs if you will.
Retched Earth, abominable stone
Why the nerve of the rag tag tree
To perch ones self in stark relief
Blocking the skyline, space invader.
Thief.
Why the unmitigated gall.
Of the rain to fall on withered
Pate..
Tis the empty barrel that rumbles profusely.
The shallow stream that muddles at the bottom.
Pyramid craniums, issues forth babble.
Slackjawd mouth-breather.
Knee **** Buffoon.
Perched in perpetuity,howling
at the moon.
The my way or the Highwayman, astride a cocked horse.
The cant see the beauty of the Forrest for the treeman.
Bull headed, Ram goat Salty old ******
Failure to Communicate.
Rush to excommunicate
Monolythic seer
Cotton eyed joe
Constipated thinker.
Oh the comfort and surety
of riding in the ruts.
.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
I want to learn everything; everything comprises of everything,
be it the knowledge of the nature or the horizons of the cosmos
I want to canvas over the universe, multiverses;
to paint my reality with a brush of joy.
But, it's tough for me, because I'm dementic
If I decline it while inclining towards a book
Dyslexia obliterates my desires and hurt me badly
If I ignore all this, ADHD comes forward to poke me
with a stick of astounds and pains of eventide
If I cut down the roots of ADHD, S.A.D greets me
and enter to my dark world and enhance its darkness
I'm confused, shattered; directionless in a myopic way
Highly myopic, no direction, but I do have vision
I want to crisscross my myopia to an extent
where it diminishes.
Meningitis, shut up, you *******
Please have mercy on me, I don't deserve U at least,
But do I really need someone to have mercy on me?
I guess no, I can build my own world where
Dementia strengthens my spirits by saying,
Why just Embryology, what secrets do you want to find
Ova is not dependent on a ****** *****
it is a complete YOU.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
I threw bread on the ground
watching, as the rivalry begins
black birds swooping down
chasing away their fair-weather friends
the birds, every one, trying their best
back and forth, the fight, the hurt
each piece a new conquest
while only a few feet away, more bread lay in the dirt
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
The libraries and bookstores of the world
Are stocked with pleasantries:
Prim, proper, peach juice-oozing volumes
That made the grade.
These books are all well and good,
And are not unworthy of examination,
Simply because they were deemed so
By a jury of your peers.
Make note, however,
Of the myopia inherent
In limiting yourself
To the savoury.
Observe:
Past the shelves of
Well-lit,
Worn-covered
Thoroughly thumbed delicacies,
There is more to be seen.
Do not hesitate to approach the shelves
Wreathed in thorns and security tape
And kept under dim bulbs.
The books that lurk there
Are sealed tight
And wear jackets plastered in sludge:
Sludge laid thick by heavy-handed brushstrokes.
Prying open the padlock
Will sometimes reveal
Further grime coagulated upon the pages.
Further prying, however,
Will split open tomes
Scrawled with fractures of light,
Lending to the eye
An illumination unique
To such tarred works.
Do not fear these banned books,
These veiled wonders,
For they contain pure, unscreened scrawlings
Soulfully wrought upon simple scraps of paper.
It is within these that truth can be found.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
I am no gardener, but I do know this:
Perennials and orchards need the kiss
Of an early frost, a freezing deep,
To hold them whole through winter’s keep
A bloom in false spring, (winter’s hollow),
Before the heavy snows that follow,
Will have the cell walls bursting, cracking,
Freezing, thawing, expanding, contracting.
So too, must dreams lay dormant still,
Or else becoming Winterkill.
Much as I wish them to bloom, bloom now,
They must lay under the mulch and bough.
I tell myself, “Learn what you can from the season”
Patience, Myopia, Acceptance sans reason -
You are stuck in the wheel, right here and right now,
Hearing naught in the dark, muffled underground.
Yet I am no seedling! I am no tree!
Though my flesh warms and cools just as easily.
So why should I wait? Why be pinned by the cold?
Do I have a choice in the story that’s told?
Could I be a cold crocodile, nose above ice,
Or hibernate warm with the marmots and mice?
Why not come in from the outside to thaw,
And savor small tidbits of hope in my maw?
Could I choose to fly south, or to stay evergreen?
Must I really wait for the melt to be seen?
I wonder, though I’m sure from what seed I have come,
Is it winter that dictates what I will become?
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
Awkward astronomer-lover.
Your nebulae concept:
The universe drawing together,
A delighted animation.
We ruefully laughed onshore,
That profound abstruse oxygen.
Their unappetizing myopia,
Misguided eye sockets.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
by Arcassin B & Sweet Pea
SP: :::theCry:::
:::theCry:::
My lover...my prince
I feel you dearly through
all that angst. No feigning emotion
or pretense. It is I...who wants
this kiss, to touch each one: of
your lips and all those cancerous
wounds...
I've been
quietly forlorn,
yes , I've talked to somebody
to ease my pain. Our Lullaby
made out of Cymbeline's notes&
daughter's cry....Imogene tears
married, but my heart was yours
Betrothed to someone else, in spite
ring on the finger- to fool
the old King
...look at me,
married wife,
but moreover
most precious
lover to you
I hoped
So, please tell
the voices to
quiet down...our time will
soonly come. Put your
cheek to my heart, look at
bosoms pink fiber...aspic marble's
cradle...marked for death now.
My sweet love,
i am woman made of
emotion...the only alternative plan
is to live in harmony,
not a commotion
I'm letting you go,
please make up your
mind...do it on your own. I'm no
convincer...just listen to the prosthetic
heart. It's beat pure, and true is...
mounted up high...I'm a twig broken in
half; an arrow
already dead...
How can I defend myself...you've
already made up your mind. My only
apology is...we've wasted our time
myopia and friends...their whispers
judged my heart, the head chopped was before
our affair even begun...
you hit and then run
you've said the
magical words...I've longed
to hear from you. I can't compete with
what's preordained...I loved you
my sweet, sweet
Prince...be well now
you are free.
AB: Don't pretend you love me in the time
of pure pain ,
I hold my head in shame,
I could tell that you've be quiet,
And you need somebody to talk to,
lullabys in anger,
being married is a
drag,
voices sing in the night and the stars
remind me of some things I once had,
life would be so much different in every
little strand and particle...
...I had a dad,
So don't pretend like you care when we
both know you have an alternative plan,
I don't want anything to do with your
existence,
now that you could understand,
you didnt try.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
Ivory towers like third appendages flipping of the sky. Profane.
Rivers run cris-cross beetles in the bog.Traffic logjam.
Instant grats. Gratis time bomb ticking.
Age is an obstruction. mindless pursuits of Material security blankets.
Thumb suckers rule. Knuckleheads telling tales out of school. Glass house myopia.
A cornucopia a chorus of jabbernows. Verbal diarrhea on wax. passes for reason.
Sin-taxes pay the way
Syntax gone astray. What the @**# did she just say ?
Novocaine mainlined. Numb all over talking heads on the hill.
Need a few meg-volts to jolt flat-lined hearts to do the people's will.
War is raging, storms are raging. Quiet storms.
Oil. Fuels from long dead fossils. Habit handcuffs.
Cant get enough. Lites out soon.
Powers that be.
Juggernauts...Battlebots... Taking giant steps backwards.
Chaos is local until in your locality.Doomsayer.
The Giant slayer kneels to place his head in the guillotine. Appease the ruthless.
Know it when you feel it. Babylon is falling.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
The Platypus
(a limerick for adults, teens and older children)
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?
The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******
Keywords/Tags: limerick, double limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, platypus, ****** duck, proboscis, nose, beak, feet, webbed, flippers, eyes, eyesight, sight, vision, myopia, myopic, animal, nature, ****** erotica
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot."
Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can’t sing,
but now, here’s the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry!"
Ballade of the Bicameral Camel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a camel who loved to ****
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!
Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.
Other Limericks
The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!
Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!
"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch
The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
I sit,
Legs drawn to my chest, elbows on m knees,
Left hand clasping my right wrist.
I sit
In my backyard
Facing the forest, back to the house.
It's midnight,
Yet the moon illuminates all
In shades of darkness.
The sky filled with points of light
Their varying luminosities giving the illusion of infinity.
My near sighted eyes see all of this.
My eyes that are "blind"
My eyes that cant function (society says) without aid.
Through the blur I see the forest.
Through the blur the tall outstanding trees with leaves and branches only at the crown transform into palm trees.
Through the blur the shorter trees become one mass,
a dark perceived green jungle underbrush.
Through the blur the constant sound of the crickets becomes a compilation of little roars of waves producing a smooth calm soft cry of the crashing ocean.
Through the blur the cool air around becomes a salty sea breeze.
Through the blur the wet dew of the grass turns into the reachings of the surf that wets your feet as you walk along the shore.
Because of the blur I am now on the beach of some island.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
The blue pales white above the echoing horizon
Seen fourth times, edifice, sea, wire, sky
Venture, traveller, approach him at last
The air blazes all approaching, stabbing the sense
Palpable is none among you, gliding through
The streets, the cars, those striking titans lining
The eclipse, shivering white cloud on cemented bone
Lackadaisical walk, breezed by wind into drowning
Dusk, when the aching red pours, staining blue, lost
Our sky vibrates, oscillating, drums on sea
Vision blurred, though it seems natural, myopia
Taken by the Pan, made real on nature
Isochronal to all around, who watch in vivid gawp
Neither spectacle, sight nor sear, means much to other
The world breathes, not to ignore, or worry
As clouds drift on, through the rose-bleach
The animal clings into itself, all moves toward
Horizon, a carnival to unknown spots beyond sky
Denizens to the untouchable, we onlookers know
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Sidestepping shadow-plays
boxed in bonus-sized portions
for garden-varietal religions,
I've had these scuzzy intimations
great big (voids) lie behind
most altruistic inclinations
and the biggest news is,
we're still expanding
with-in-exhaustible potentials
to be eternally filled greater.
Now I'll admit to being
hampered in my cognitive
capacity for meaningful
pattern recognition
by my debilitating
predisposition toward
concentrated forms of myopia,
ergo, I can't shape
a formless mess into anything
but incoherent flimflam.
I've tried alleviating this
condition with meditative
concoctions and palliatives
of sensory deprivation,
yet I fear I'll need
a silicon-chip-enhanced head
before I can glimpse
the cosmic legerdemain spinning
its paradoxes of endless
surfaces but no top.
If I finally do, I'll smile big
as a great-white gull winning
his first demonstration hand at
the three-card monte of not-to-be
reconciled contradictions.
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 9:41 AM UTC
it took thunder for me to notice the rain
the fates thrown in my face
it took lightning to spark my sense of pain
i tossed caution to the wind
and kept close watch out for the cause
wondering what fool would want to break this train of thought
off track, i digress
and must come back
to ponder what i see
i sauntered sadly into a pool of light
too late for a punchline...
to see the fool is me
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC
The crunching sound of glass under the sole of my shoe.
The gentle bend as the metal frames twisted unrecognisably.
Fragments littering the cement around me.
For what purpose did I need them.
Walking away.
Dread and edrenaline mix together.
Jumping at my own shadow.
Yet no longer having to look at the world.
No longer having to see it.
But still stuck inside it.
Standing behind the retina.
Behind the same distorted lenses.
Shame.
Longing.
Blind.
Lost.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
I lose something in this home
I smile, you know? I smile with humans
No, that’s not it
I’m true when I’m hating my creations
And what is becoming of me
Oh, pity me bubbly
I’ll weep all the same
But it’s lousy
My concerns are lousy
Just a boy, a tinkerer
A boy
I’m lousy, man
Not pretty
Pretty lousy
Just hate myself. Purely. Sanctimoniously
Doctors were onto something
A grin introduces myopia
Lousy
Lousy concerns
I’m blessed; better by a margin, right?
I ought to hate meself with more pep in the step
And better teeth
God, I wish I didn’t look like this
How could you build me like this?
It’s funny, you know. I write about the cerebral complexities, those magnified things. I notice the film grains in my eye, but hey, I’m still a ***** to loneliness.
Man, you ought to be lonely!
The only difference between now and then is, that now I blame a God that I don’t believe in. I blame it and that for my misfortunes, the fact that luck is merely a word to me.
God, I want to die
Can you hear me? I seek it, I reek of it
I want to die
I’ve mulled over it with great wit and dexterity
I want to die
Stoicism
I want to die
It’s healthy; symbiotic
I want to die
So lonely
Wanna die
I just want to reach the zenith of the mind’s pataphysical eye, before
Before I die
Haven’t you heard?
I want to die
Cries for help are immature
I am not a child
I want to die
Oi, someone help, with this pulley!
I want to die
John’s my only friend
At one point, he was quite alright with dying
He’s been gone for a while
And I want to die
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 4:40 AM UTC
When I stare into the mirror, do you know what I see? I look into my eyes and see the stranger things about me.
So many stories and tears that I've obtained over the years are starting to show, I fear, and affect the ones I hold dear.
Why do I have to have these emotions and feel so much? Like my heart starts off lightly touched then it turns into a clutch feeling like it's in a death grip and such.
My atelophobia has me seeing like myopia, breathing like pneumonia and sleeping like insomnia.
There's no question that because I lie to myself about how I feel is part of the progression to my depression and aggression deeply compressed in my expressions; I'm in need of an intercession.
This reflection staring back at me reveals my imperfection; with close inspection, you can see the connection of affection and infection in the projection of my eyes complexion.
My silence is my loudest cry and I don't know why that I lie when I say it's because I'm shy; the only reply I rely on.
But when someone takes a peep through the peephole, I feel a loss of control when they see a part of my soul that has taken it's toll and is no longer whole begging to be consoled.
The heaviness of this emptiness isn't for pity; it's loneliness in the form of poems and lyrics since I'm left breathless and can't speak about this restless craziness.
Mirror, mirror staring straight at me, is happiness in the near future something you can foresee? Can you please guarantee that I will be set free from the misery?
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
I would give anything to look at the ebb and flow
of the blue sky
and think with naïve wonderment, such as you did
that face-value
is all that exists in the universe, that sky is the limit
think of me
when you think of the sky with mundane myopia
of my smiles
and of my tinkering laugh, isn't that all of my being
it cannot be
think of the darkness of space, the vastness of death
think of me
with that vacuous face, as vacuous as the part higher
than the sky
as the breathtaking sunset, star-lit night, bright 'morn
but don't forget
Earth's sky exists because of the unknown, of cold vexation
from space
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
He hides one face
till there are two
then placed the lie
between two truths.
I'm higher than
the obvious.
I'm underneath
your point of view.
I'm higher than
the obvious.
I'm underneath
your point of view.
So insipid,
i will feign this,
indisposed to,
my reflection.
So insipid,
i will feign this,
indisposed to,
my reflection.
My reflection.
Myopia.
Myopia.
My expression.
My reflection.
Myopia.
Myopia.
My expression.
I'm underneath
your point of view.
I'm higher than
the obvious.
I'm underneath
your point of view.
I'm higher than
the obvious.
My reflection.
Myopia.
Myopia.
My expression.
My reflection.
Myopia.
Myopia.
My expression.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 4:27 PM UTC
‘myopia,’
the doctor
says as he hands
me my new glasses with
the brown plastic
frames and the lens
thick as the thick
bottom of a glass
I’ve been having more
headaches lately and more oftenly
dizzy in the same way I get
after my first morning
cigarette.
‘myopia,’
(noun), nearsightedness
close objects look
clear but distant
objects not as much.
close objects seen clearly
but objects farther
away appear blurred
he explains further
as i hand him the
money and I get on my way
home and I look at everything
around me and these new
glasses already feel like a scam.
They’re sliding down my
nose and I look at everything
around me and they do look clearer
but feel the same as before — a haze,
a blur; indistinct shapes that I know well
enough by their nature but not by
meaning and I realize how
you’re so far away, you’re so
distant but of all the things I could
claim to know you’re the clearest
thing I’ve ever
set sight on.
I do not know if it’s just that
image of you or my imagination
that’s to blame for how vivid
you have imprinted into
the cloud that is my
memory; burned
into my mind.
(I feel you burn
like a fire in
there, it hurts.)
I push them
up against my
brow, these new
glasses, doctors
don’t really know
anything at all.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC