"optical" poems
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and
Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and
revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial! Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,
neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ****** exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,
perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and
pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,
song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,
India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
The grass is soft and green
But never green enough
Sitting by the fence
I am telling you
It is just
An optical
Illusion
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
two visions collide
your hand in mine
you asked if you could see me
end of the night
going against time
frozen gaze
our touch escalates
i asked you to kiss me
you asked if you could please me
prayer hands tattooed on your neck
i caressed with no regrets
now i’m on my knees as if i’m praying
but instead you receive
i see you in my dreams
you cradled my face and reminded me i was beautiful
fusion
optical conclusions
it’s crystal from this point on
maybe this won’t last
but for now it’s not gone
residue from you tattooed on my soul
it helped me to bloom
you’re etched in my imagination
blue hues always lead me to you
it feels electric
my heart beats for you
for now anyway
Apr 9, 2022
Apr 9, 2022 at 1:03 PM UTC
I sit passing time wondering why
I see time passing me by
an optical illusion?
delusion?
confusion reigns in the house of no names
and time does play games with me.
It's only time
it's only time
and if it passes by that's fine
but I wish it would spend time with me
a minute would do
a second or two.
But time blew on the dandelion clock
In shock I stood
blood ran cold
before I knew it
I was old
it's only time
it's only time and if it passes me by
well that's fine.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
"Boy were we wrong! We're the oddball. We're the freaks." --- Dr. Michio Kaku
We looked at trillions of those stars and knew,
that somewhere out there was another Planet Blue.
Those were not canals we saw on Mars;
optical illusions, lensed figment memoirs.
Stare into trillions, space mind overwhelms.
Rimbaud entrapped in countless ethereal realms.
Not the goal of evolution, merely happenstance,
the search for elsewhere leads a merry dance.
Planets a dime a dozen, yet no Goldilocks Zone
produces signals bearing SETI transient tones.
Birds more subtly impact our lives,
than do the aliens our universe provides.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
These optical illusions
Create an optimal confusion
When eyes are a welcome intrusion
To the brain's inevitable conclusion
We stared into the mystic mirror
I witnessed everything I ever wanted in life
All you witnessed was just two people standing there
The transparency you cast upon me
Reminded me of how the plumes of **** smoke
Were never as thick as my problems
And as those clouds left my mouth and dispersed into the air
I saw your image
Preserved in briefness
It's a shame how my magician's mind
Summons smoke and mirrors
Nobody else believes me
But magic is the only way to explain you
The way you turned me invisible
Was spectacular
Your methods of sawing me in half
Certainly weren't natural
And your teleportation demonstration
Left me suspended in ice
So I guess I'm to Blaine
For the mirrors I erected
And the truth they reflected
Because now I'm lost
In what I refuse to call a funhouse
As I search frantically for some ancient tomb
That might reveal your brilliant incantations
Attempting to ignore the horrid revelation
That every spell I learned
Had been based in your arcane aura
And all the power I had gained
Had been based in your enchantment
I want a magician
Not an illusionist
So what does it mean when your illusions are so magical?
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Vision
is a molded masterpiece
from the Almighty Maker,
an optical order
from the Divine Creator,
becoming sight for we who do not see
Sent to each visionary
to believe
in the simple truth
we possess
Vision
is to glimpse God,
the artistic nature
that His mighty hand has left
Obvious details about us,
even if focus is found
through failing sight
With a heavenly pair of lenses,
looking at what we cannot behold,
we can imagine eternity
Vision
is a tuning device,
a fine violin
rupturing the eardrum
of mediocrity
An untapped well
in refreshing water
designed to leak and splash
and spring into potential
upon the souls and minds
of mankind
Vision,
a prerequisite to each breath,
a telescope to uninhabited skies,
a stethoscope to the desires of the heart,
is Godly intent,
the gut of greatness,
as we mortals
any purposeful plan
conspire
creation
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
Let me set the scene
The sun is shining
Time to fill my day with play
The illuminated field of grass calls to me
Like my soft blankets after a hard weeks work.
Should I take off my shirt?
I don’t want tan lines.
Tan lines?
Tan lines.
What are those?
You know,
When your skin has a line where
“Darker tan skin meets lighter tan skin”
Tan?
Tan.
What is tan.
You know,
You know a darker flesh tone.
Flesh tone?! Oh no,
Here we go.
What is flesh tone?
Flesh?
Tone?
Flesh, our skin.
It comes in all different shades of pinks, oranges, and red.
No there’s different shades of black and white.
No one is white, truly.
You know what I mean!
No! I don’t, I really don’t.
I mean,
There are people who exist with the complexion of fresh fallen snow.
Oh no,
Here we go.
Snow is made of ice which is made of water.
Last time I checked water is blue.
We were talking about you!
Well now we are onto something more important!
You seriously think water is blue?
It’s an optical illusion!
Can’t you see?
You fool.
And your stupid tan lines.
If they bother you so much take your shirt off!
Don’t be more than one shade! You have to make sense!
You have to blend in!
You have to be perfect!
Woah. Wait a minute.
Weren’t we having a nice time in the sun?
Well brain,
I was trying to.
But now I feel like I’m in sin.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 4:24 PM UTC
Love can be like
trapped light
existing like dusk
the likes of which we can't see
physical but not optical
gravesites for stars
a waystation for dreamers
a delta to cruise through
paradise on Sunday
cold as ice on Monday
a hundred pound block on tongs
with a butterfly at its center
your temple of madness
or the Egypt of your ***
lands of mystery
an island of death
proven theories of sorrow
your lineage, children, tomorrows.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC
do we you or i live life? I think so
we live life and experience things like the cosmos – nebula's, constellations and galaxies the speckled white backdrop of purple green on a black satin sky at night – so magnificent
we live life and experience things like that hobo – cold and homeless an image of pure sadness we look at the wretch and feel despair – he smiles, his shallow and sickly eyes say the opposite. So we wonder what is his story, his history – a mask
we live life and experience things like a rainbow – an optical illusion that has no end and no beginning, it is infinite and we reach and reach and grasp and grasp and and we never get a grip – a mirage
we live life and experience things like children – inebriated adults proclaiming a grin of innocence and a smile of sweetness in small form – we cling to our youth, much like the rainbow or the lion seeking his prey we hunt for it – **its momentary **
we live life and experience things like exhilaration – riding a roller coaster, a high speed car chase – watching a man land on the moon, falling in love, and the times when childlike excitement fill our bodies – the escape
life is so magnificent, who we are behind the mask, how we see a mirage, and its momentary fleeting passing, and our escape –living for the escape.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
You are the earthquake,
Tearing apart the ground
Beneath my aching feet
After years of running from
Your destruction,
You let me fall through the cracks
Like sand through fingertips,
Consumed by the dark,
Falling past wonderland
And the other side of the Earth,
Drowning in a sea of stars,
Flushed away to the farthest reaches
Of the universe
Just so I can feel beautiful again,
To reshape myself to fit the new mould
That I constructed after you had
So effortlessly contorted the previous one with your bare hands,
Like smoke and mirrors,
An optical illusion,
There are things that your eyes
Cannot see that are burnt into
My skin,
That I can't scrub from me as if
They were mud stains,
From skidding to avoid the collision
Of my dignity.
I am left suspended in ignorant bliss,
Silent and calm,
Comfortable and collected.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Sometimes Smith has no idea of what’s happening
Whether the ground below is vanishing away from his feet
Or he is just levitating past the skyscrapers
Smith has a good book
There he reads about a great artist
A con artist to be precise and all his sadistic puzzles
Smith tries to wake up, thinking he is still dreaming
Because the artist’s puzzles are still at large
How is he that successful? He has vast architectural knowledge
Knowledge enough to create ever-tricky mazes
Only the divine can fix the con’s jigsaw
And sometimes those with the divine touch show flaws
The con creates a series of optical and mental illusions
Illusions great enough to make you think there’s no divine being and even make you believe there’s no con
Smith wonders why the bad escape and the good suffer
Sometimes he gets trapped in his mind, thinking of the **** luscious mermaids and geisha girls
He is able to ignore them sometimes
But barely escape them and their never ending charm, on a very lustful day
The con artist sits in his empire and literally tries to get people stuff two plugs together or merge two sockets together.
That is a sick idea!
The con keeps smith wondering in delusions
He hides under the disguise of light
When the divine light shines, it melts off Smith’s saturated delusions
And restores him to reality
With the light he can see, you can see
How the con poses monsters as **** pretty ladies, heat as comfort, graves as castles, blasphemy as thanksgiving.
How he tries to make people monopolise the power of the divine
Sweet in vanity
In the end the divine light blinds the con artist and all those gleaming eyes in the dead dark
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
I wish I could write a poem that rhymes
I've tried to do it a million times, or more
The words never seem for me to come
At least not as easy as it does for some, people
I just don't know what I should do
To get my words to rhyme like you, can
Well one of these days maybe I will
I'll finally write something I feel, inside
Why can't I find these words I seek?
Sometimes I hunt for more than a week, or two
I won't give up just wait and see
One day these words will come to me, maybe
Oh Wizard of Words lend me your ear
Help me to rhyme these words right here, sometimes
I think I can, well maybe I might
Think of a rhyme for me to write, today
No one will ever know my name
If my words don't rhyme or sound the same, way
I've finally come to my conclusion
Did you notice this poem's an optical illusion, of sorts?
Read it again and stop at the commas
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
Blue eyes
perfect smiles
and dimples
it’s all a trick of the eye
in the light
it shines
But night takes over
and what the eye hides
is revealed
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
omnipresent sick to my ******* stomach
dressed in mosquitoes that are woolen
like the lining of my english ******* and
coated in a complex mixture of secreted proteins
i follow the screen of the teleprompter as it storms,
blue and brilliant behind a mess of optical wiring.
lip and teeth
theres bile at the base of my throat
threatening to bust with each greased second
as my brain becomes nauseated by the snow-drift
of sentences burning the back of my eyelids.
i've never believed the things i read
so now i'm mute but spitting, spiteful and unoriginal
visualizing their greyhound decapitations in high colour.
nearly implying transit to our friendship or something
that would only churn the stomach like rich food after famine
so yes, i am the cruelest female of august
shipwrecked on the front porch with the lamplight raining in my mind
and i'm asking the moon as it rises like a solemn word
why i'm sick all the time, sweating
from everywhere but my tear ducts and
waiting for several breeds of cold to attack my corpse
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
From the helter skelter
In a helter skelter dash
For solitude at the esker
I strayed in a labyrinth
Of dark soaring woods
Here-upon, trees begun to move!
An optical illusion it seemed to be,
Though a moment my eyes did love;
But in a mean time, out of kilter
Was the avenue to the esker.
Wandering midst soaring woods
Serendipitously there I beheld
An elegant creature,
A creature with a velvety
Pale unblemished skin,
Lilly white as porcelain,
Gaily yet opalescent as an opal,
With curling glossy auburn hair,
Mellifluously whispering a lullaby
With verve in the wanton air
Whilst flapping her wings
To take wing.
On feasting about her impeccable face,
It thus dawned upon me:
"She was not of this our world
But an alien, an angel rom outer space."
Swiftly, I gravitated towards her
And unto her said I was lost,
Lost like leaves beneath the frost
Upon my way for solitude at the esker
However the sheer cynosure
She'd taken my fancy
Hence moonstruck for sure.
She gagged me, cwtched me,
Enveloped me in her wings
And merrily took wing
Whilst I gallantly kissed,
Kissed her nectar kisser.
Past mullbery skies we soared,
All the way unto her land of bliss
Where upon we swam naked,
Naked in halcyon waters,
Waters of her land.
Together, we made poetry
Of love and life so blind,
Cherishing moment after moment
One could search forever to find,
Whilst gallivanting from star to star,
Only alone by ourselves on yonder
To a very distant colourful clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
Standing in the vast range of nothing.
With the assurance of thinking you're secure with her
while you spin that thought on the tips of your fingers.
She slowly creeps into your life.
Embracing her crooked smile.
The virus is dormant until you look a little closer
inspecting her deceitful optical organs
the skylight to her soul
The mutation starts to grow.
She slices you open and tempers with the brain
peeling a layer back at a time.
Injecting tainted love into your system.
The true Hannibal Lector.
Her cunning looks and soft voice making you think Its okay.
Holding your hand she leads you to the mirror
what a fool you are.
Her laugh starts to bleed through her teeth.
Now the picture is painted of her wounded soul.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
Let me add a new definition to Bing's Web Dictionary today
let me start it off this way....
Because I saw it all in their faces and I saw it on her burial day.
1. I can feel it coming and many have no clue but by the end of the day
there will be many breaths taken and many minds forever will be blown away.
They all will come to learn the truth in the end, and after your funeral procession.
The private family members only get one chance to make it a lasting impression
scripted actions, looks, and a heavy carrying ****** expression.
This needed to be done no matter how strong there loving depression.
Everyone's jaws dropped to the floor when they saw the truth,
it was a sold out show and there was no ticket you could buy because there is no ticket booth.
Out the chapel, across the street and into the Catholic Church
upon the trucks they placed your casket as if it were on a perch.
Your Mass now comes to an end, I saw it all and now I see a painting right before my eyes
Because if you could see all their eyes as I opened her casket and took out the urn
you would see that, they were all stuck as I carried her through the family crowd
and carried her in my possession,
all you readers should let me rank number one and give me my turn ;)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOUN
2. optical illusion: an optical illusion of a sheet of water appearing in the desert or on a hot road, caused by light being distorted by alternate layers of hot and cool air
3. something illusory: something that appears to be real but is unreal or merely imagined
[ Early 19th century. < French < mirer "look at" < Latin mirare "wonder at," variant of mirari (see miracle) ]
Thesaurus
NOUN
Synonyms: hallucination, optical illusion, illusion, vision, delusion, fantasy, figment, imagining, phantasm
NOUN
Antonyms: reality
(CARSr. 12-31-12)
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses
arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers
stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts
school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers
limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity
it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners
our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
DISTURBIA
HYSTERIA
FOLDED
ROLLED IN THE BACK
OF MY EYELIDS FLUTTERED BY HAIL
BUT MY EYES DON'T BLINK
DRIED LIKE CONCREAT CRACKED
OPEN
FROM TEARS OVERDONE READNESS
CONTAGIOUS
IN MOUNT OLYMPUS
PALE LIKE COCAIN
IT CONTAINS YOU
LIKE EVAPORATION
I CRAWL WHILE I
SLURR THE LIFE OF MY EYES
LIKE
CHECKING ON INTO IMMAGRATION
BOBB MY HEAD BACK
AND TWIST OPEN THE CAP OF EVERY BLOOD FLOW BEHIND THE SOCKET
AND IT GOES
IT FLOWS
LET GO
LOOSE LIKE A **** TO HER KNEES
PLEASE YOU
ME
INTO YOU
INTO ME
IN MY EYES
STAY OPEN
CAN'T PUT THEM
TO SLEEP
AND SHEEP DON'T COME ROUND HERE NO MORE AND MY SIGHT KEEP SEEING METEPHORES
OF HUMOR FORMING
INTO EVERY TRICK PLAYING OPTICAL ILLUSION
YOU WERE
...AN ILLUSION
CREATING MADNESS
AND THE CORE OF MY HAIR ROOT RAISNG SKIN DEEPINING ICE BURGE SKIN FROZEN
THE BECONS ABOUVE THE SKULL TOP SPITTIN OUT PELE'S LAVA MELTING BURNING
TEARING APPART
THIS MASSACRE OF MY HEART
AND I AM LEFT TO HARVEST
HARBOR
WHAT'S LEFT OF THE UGLINESS IN MY EYE
(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII )
© Copyright 2014 S.T. Parish CSP Rebel of Eden
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
Alas, this miniscule moment of separation,
Igniting infernos of cardiac anguish,
Coursing silver slivered lightning to the cerebellum,
Shall not, sever the connection of our entanglement.
Entangled like microscopic electrons,
Bound by more than optical illusion,
Our hearts have joined for eternity,
No matter the distance in time or space,
Your heart skips a beat and I lose my breath.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Sitting on a park bench, looking straight up,
Green leaves become black against a grey sky.
And I wonder, looking out, if it's because of some
Optical illusion or perhaps because of my micro view...
For the trees, over there, leaning slightly to left,
Their leaves are green.
And then the rain starts,
At last.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree
In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo
They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive
On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line
What a comical spectacle
However solemn their purpose, they must find a home
The little one abaft of the line
Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind
Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees
Beyond, just yonder
Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight
A new forest with new opportunities
It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers
They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession
High up in the trees they mark their territory
Males call out to females and they howl in response
The young ones frolic in the underbrush
They mate, they eat, they thrive
Another forced migration
There they go again in that sideways march
More deforestation for infrastructure
There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other
One must wonder now
What future lies in store for these that have no place in government?
Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem
Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction
Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate
The extraordinary feats of agility they display
The gymnastics they perform from day to day
On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday
Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations
In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns
Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to
Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history
At this rate since erecting urban jungles
Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day
They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur
In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one
Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil
Nellie Nkosi
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC