"orientate" poems
jesus came back in 1945 in egypt
with a shepherd
digging the scrolls up:
the nag hammadi library...
the jewish historian josephus wrote
about a false egyptian prophet
~2000 years ago,
dot dot dot...
well... dot dot dot;
counter argument?
in defiance the defence rests its case
with a semi-detached and a roast dinner
every sunday until death do us part.
sorted then!
*** change's a bonus on top of
that balancing act to keep glogotha relevant
in terms of impregnation above the interest
of bethlehem to orientate
east with 3 splinters aimed at gift:
take east and you're looking at a linear
two dimensional realm of preceding allocation...
preceding allocation of the mirage that's
a recurrent but nontheless a receding mark
of served colour...
**** we all missed the 2nd coming in 1945...
the holocaust got the historians clamouring
for the columbus prize - as that famous hip-replacement
for the jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Tiles
Soaking in cold processed air
Licking with every step
feet bare and made damp
by the mornings dew
gooseflesh marks bare arms
baked from the sun
confused by the rain
mixed signals
from room to room
from out to in
in one moment bright and burning
energetic as the sun
in the next flashed by
new room
new rain
relationships half built
abandoned for the better option
lonely walks
awkward eye contact
misplaced affection
stretched thin and frayed
The gecko
stuck behind a glass door
is a better friend
a warmer soul
a more significant heat
sharing my own space
I orientate myself
from one room to another
different worlds cramped
on a single plot of land
Reason tells me I am not alone
the full bed sharing
my cold and processed space
says 'there are others like you'
but full fields I cannot open
full rooms I pass through
as a ghost through a wall
call 'you are lonely'
and there is no one
(but myself)
to blame
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
I’ve turned into a sad poem,
about loneliness,
about loss,
about jealousy,
about bitterness.
A poem about my inability
to properly express it in a
systematic, logical way.
It builds up fast,
like the tetris game
on hard mode,
and I didn’t even try to orientate
the ******* blocks
so that they fit
perfectly.
It just keeps on coming,
stacking and stacking,
until it hits the surface
and I can do nothing but
shiver and cry in
the pure agony of it.
I’ve turned into a sad poem.
Rain clouds haunt my steps
and I fall down,
slipping on my own tears.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
for them to write a haiku,
for us is to write A, or B, or C -
if our form of encoding
sound wasn't as it already is:
we wouldn't have chemistry -
say Na and sodium,
Rd and radon;
they write haiku like
we write A B or C, to them haiku is
our version of the alphabet,
the succinct -
hard to orientate
units of encoding
as complete meaning /
majestic -
we just find
it hard to spell /
put the puzzle back together,
the puzzle is still
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p
q r s t u v w (x y z)
v.i.p reservation
for mathematics (in brackets):
now... the mystery of life,
primarily? put that puzzle back
together. is it a puzzle in
the first place? how should i know?!
it's all fair game:
they write a haiku we write an A,
they write another haiku,
we write a B, the ****** puzzle
is there for the taking:
all you have to do is take some
play-dough on your little camping
adventure and come back with something
remotely needing boxes and shelves
and libraries, and university lecturers;
perhaps a few cannibals to boot too.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
there's this guy who thinks he knows more than me about the far-left than i do, even though i'm the one with a communist grandfather; which means he's gone as far as mao to replicate an answer that i might agree with alongside adolf. ah no worry... the queen's corgi(s) are here. they always do that, the left, as long as they can provide you with a house and pension, they have the upper hand in argument meaning you have to agree with them... what about colour says the right? ah don't worry... we'll just all wear gray and become radically different from the canvas.
i love how the left asks to be agreed with
in terms of politics,
given no far-right politics was expressed...
death of communism taught them
they had to express far-left politics in such a way
as might be a form of deviation and counter-intuitive expression
of the middle ground... poor stalin...
god please let me enter the mozart club of death at 35...
i missed the modern club of 27... drinks on me... amy;
i just hate the way the left opresses us now...
it’s that thumb missing in terms of english law...
you know that thumb... ex hominem ad exemplum non hominem...
a lightbulb moment... because man never gave a nullifying
example with each example of his existence given as non;
man is curiously aware of his mortality, therefore he engages
with dating things in order to orientate...
of course... coins... deus ex **** although no solis ex ****
that would never work... would it now?
why would man need a sun if all man desires from
the sigma expression of will is to not exist?
can i enter the reference of will with a craft that deciphers water
as two hydrogens and one oxygen?
oh wait... i already have... three years of chemistry
in edinburgh taught me pressurised concentration
of carbon dioxide was termed fizzy.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
and of how many howling a times
have i watched the closed lid
patches of bonsai tiger tattoo
in stitches and in wrinkles
the rekindled routes of rivers
and veins... that might take to
the route of heart and molten iron
as sourced...
thus my fright,
that aged begotten by only pride,
and cat in pillow safeguarded
by the stuffing of lullabied sheep
of forked duck feathers
into a volume of bypassed flight,
that huffed and puffed a wheezing of sleep,
sepia too arable, kept the pedigree
of unexplored surrender kept for some concern
for signature; and thereby i too served the tongue,
as a plated palette of forehead
that once scorned acne worthy of constellation
but later make stars an inconvenience
should obstructions be limbed and active
to raise hand and simply orientate with a wave:
so to the incomprehensibility of what defined
poetics rather than simply selling a car,
of what defined poetry and came to be merchant's assertion:
the economy of language never provided its beauty:
and the second economy never lifted a stone
to say it was mountaineering for a zenith of the ever resting
as challenged to be above: for each child nonetheless
in rubric a confirmed multiplier
but hardly a welcome addition that posthumous fame desires.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
For them to write a haiku,
for us is to define
two variables in a
curved relationship.
If our form of encoding
sound wasn't as it already is:
we wouldn't have statistics -
say X and β
f(-) and ε
the succinct -
hard to orientate
units of encoding
as complete meaning
Majestic.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 9:52 AM UTC
english... or in hinduism... the reincarnation of latin and the latin man: ‘come on greek, sing along with me... ah, sly you, you did what the german umlaut said and applied diacritic distinctions... but why? why?! your alphabet is too beautiful for those marks, mine isn’t, it required the distinctions to integrate the barbarians into the optics!’
where’re
my fine trimmed mouse t’ash
my moccasins / suede shoes
my pipe
my waistcoat and my jacket
my tailored trousers for the bulging crotch effect
my pulpit
my thrill seeking female uni. students
my fancy silk hanky in my pocket
my theory of how pronoun usage doesn’t
really orientate itself exclusively in pure subjectivity,
but also as sly objectivity;
ah yes, on the talking heads song.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
My senselessness may crop up to celebrate
My beloved it will be good just to annihilate
My heart is passing through sheer darkness
Bring it to your light to make it illuminate
I am imprisoned by multifarious sins ,crimes
Please open the doors of mercy to extricate
I just want to see lightening with open eyes
You can take my soul from body to separate
I am in search of you my sweetheart to find
Come in me and make me just god incarnate
Mehr he should dawn upon me like real light
Give me knowledge about me to orientate
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
silver sphere suspended
atmospheric phenomenon
through the dark branches of an old oak
it hovers ~
arm hairs stand
magnetized and energetic
they seemingly dance along the tanned skin
weaving and braiding themselves
while a low mysterious hum
surrounds me ~
frozen in place
not with terror
but instead with molecular glue
feet became ground
rooted to the grasses and trees around me
I was one with the landscape
before instantaneously I felt
myself floating
blinded and paralyzed ~
the cold metal table had the same hue
as the silver sphere I had seen
in the sky
resting behind the old oak
that sunny afternoon
unable to hold my thoughts I considered cheese
why we ingest cow milk rotted
I thought back to hot stringy grilled cheddar
as I watched grey tubes being pulled from my body
examined by three fingered hands
and placed back inside my body cavity /
the vision is startling
I remain numb and interestedly intoxicated
as a whiskey drunkard on payday
witnessing his own appendectomy ~
flashing strobes holiday style
leave me disorientated and nauseous
beneath my brick stained hands
green shoots of grass
poke up
I puke ~
staggering and trying to orientate myself
I realize it is early morning
and I am face down in the yard
above oak branches cross
and block a shiny silver anomaly
floating in the blue sky /
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
I feel it in my stomach first -
hollow pain that prods to be noticed
there’s a dizziness, sudden need to
orientate myself
that ominous stain
glares
I have a boiled egg for breakfast
shatter the shell, examine the yolk
next, nausea
white bites churn
spat out egg is uglier than
disintegrated egg planted in my pants
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 4:42 PM UTC
She gave me
the map of
her
self.
It was exact &
up to the moment
but changed
as we moved
through the landscape
of the future.
Now with heartbreak
it is
out of date with
a section missing.
Where we should meet
is a crease
so worn and torn
we can see right through
to the reality
of defeat.
I look to the stars
for guidance
to orientate me
through all the hate
but it is too late
the map
no longer
exist.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC