"obviates" poems
What is a "soul"?
Seriously, what is it?
Ambiguity obviates all simple and complex definitions.
If "souls" do exist,
I suppose my "soul" is transmogrifying,
Transfusing the screen.
The key is Transition
Of a remote position.
Maybe someday a scientific physician
Will invent a tracking device to track its travelling distance?
Sounds sort of like a Stephen Spielberg novel
The genre of science fiction
Or is it?
7/18/11
(c) 2011 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
I have been seeking a moment when
My paean would see the light
A melody when your serrated laugh
Crescendoes and obviates all evils
But what I'm truly wishing for
Is to be a scabbard to your sword
The bell that wakes you up at noon
A hymn that you know by heart
And the rituals that you adhere to
Tell me how I could shield
The furtive rhythm of your chords
To venerate the echoes of your fingertips
And be completely absorbed in your silhouette
I am proclaiming my paean
That seems five months of age
But in fact it has been decades
Trapped amongst verses and rhymes
If Hemingway was exchanging breaths
You could be his martini glass
Or the obsession of Shelley with Keats
Or maybe a beer bottle on Hank's grave
But the golden lotus has been outdated
For you are my fierce flames
To sanctify and to revive
And unlike Plath I'm living to see
When my paean would come to life


Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
He sat in dewy grass
Writing a pastoral dialog.
“And death is also here,” mused he.
“All art depends on gravity.”
He neatly ordered his pages.
She wove lilacs in her hair,
Standing on moss in the damp morning air.
He considered that God might be in all things.
Was he blaspheming by crushing the grass?
But of course Bentham’s calculus obviates sin.
He thoughtfully scratched his chin.
She approached him from behind,
Dismayed by the clutch of wildflowers
Someone had wrenched out by the roots and thrown away,
Yet suffused in the absolute peace of that day.
She touched his arm—a summons.
What was that sensation?
He was left without rational explanation.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
In a bowered place that only
Pixies know about
Tucked down between
The weeping willow’s boughs,
And not far from a singing rivulet
There lives a butterfly with gorgeous wings,
Transparent in the morning sun
And luminous at twilight.
Her wings are patterned in chartreuse
With royal purple fantasies
That end in trailing gossamer.
Feeding on the buttercups and clover,
Her afternoons are bathed in a tranquility
That obviates the need to fly.
And so the gentle butterfly does not,
But rests and ponders what is on the breeze
That transforms air to symphonies
And blends with everything nearby
To make a perfect potpourri
Of serenity and peace.
ljm
Nov 21, 2022
Nov 21, 2022 at 8:06 AM UTC
The memories that were drawn by the past,
the colourful thoughts retained but gone to fade, thus each traces has remained within.
Time flies like bubble nor fogs amongst the wind
that rapidly obviates each and every moment.
For all single times went by,
for all the pile of hued scenes in our lives,
for all the tales of our immediate past,
luck indeed tends to come once in a lifetime.
...and when your wish finally came true,
embrace and don't let it pass,
because sometimes destiny is kind, selfish
or sulky.
Bethink that we cannot plead the time
to visit nor repeat the elapsed precious moments.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,
An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature;
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.
I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
A singular development of cat communications
That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.
A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.
O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.
-Data
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
I thought I knew the man I had become
Within the defining moments of my life.
A brief despair followed by compassion,
Deep breaths swirling through my strife;
If knowledge of reality is amiss to us all
Then thinking obviates the reason to cry.
Sad people chuckle at unfortunate lives
While the happy let loose an ominous sigh.
Yet every day whispers a new thought
And every thought inspires my choices.
But now I'm realizing twenty-four hours
Holds fewer choices than useless voices.
So, at what point do I see my errors?
Which day might define my existence?
The answers elude me, vapors above me,
Reckless to capture without assistance.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC