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Scott M Reamer Apr 2013
Man life know just set eyes way like young world soul day hunger space mouth earth thoughts ignorance blind things mind knew final moment human creation kind creatures souls high forgotten dream love spoke self existence face holy deep bound think home void say surrender ear forever called held ephemeral red state end shall heed hope edge living waking fall sea wake garden need February thought past wanderer got men page colored tepid terrible **** proudly untitled features point painted faceless box forgot render wild spring splendor  handfuls looking half brain lost torn ancestral  unseen vision inner summer honor mister owned banner save today fear groans wasn't smoke  street fable strange year contrast black years  able pain body spoken word known motion  palpitate reeling nature culture disclaimers  cancer beg attentive frames ****** base profound double remember wholly finger death token  cries continue folk oh fishing form broken true  divides spread ah twas away breathe wait warning hallowed wish closer lens turn eye live  constant current author hung theory dangle  bramble chemical new force changes adderall  anymore giving beneath possess pardon commentaries eternity internal walk reason  long change does idea glimpse consciousness  wandering simply wonder physical dreams war  sleep told rest benign prior begging truth little  2012 born tale crow bowels allegory animal rule  exasperate making horse curse hands ones read  rearrange capture doing command fail awake  aperture seedlings shift steely sir nap spead ****** demons slits clever telling loud spits la-la-di-dah killing slip game reflected nameless ask  lovers rabid bear salivate plunder shameless  famously savior mint rides menthol bully fate traded melodies play misunderstand mammals gentle witless fine utterly savage silt tongue-less  dirt dilutes pure non-sensory taste briefly ravage dismember it''ll shedding ruined curtain  knots offers plot fulfills munificent two-act  relegates boxz bug altruistic wintergreen tossing  callously guise grovels one's singers treachery ashes mid-life mutter fashion parading  ambiguity separatist liars staple steeping neath  guidelines scoffing stitch moans civil wrote  Fictitious undoing fables table effigies serve  sonnets staged remark psalm swoll praise harken  beggar verse bread lines heavily electricity detection snow sack-happy preaching credit  spotted wicked best gravity gun campaign owe  barge choir revelry celebratory satiated sinking  headline pack hound persistently propaganda  gentlemen excluding diminished ******* run idles  occupied levies wolfishly honestly misinformation cuba vehemently dumb grace spectator erasing  toned sage crowded secrets inter-connectivity  loaned prayer hymns grave mistaken magnified  vandals selective jump leak escapes says minister  buckle mass honesty shut tar children's hats  monument doping long-lived electrical ladle  exaggerated cartoons address seconds cool cradle bleak yang's mind-framed hypnotic  walker caps folly treble claim streaks mixtures  swelled interstate elapse teasing spoon mobile  succulent witchcraft borderline fatal 99 temple stacks sups plastics creeps neurotic ills tossed  meek sipping old crack interlock wax alleyway  coughing blown freak clock birthdays societies  slow flashing viscous candy argument toothless  pills cerebral rapt wall bisect lives wheezing  photo kid starter foiled pair saturated self-castrating pre-packed naked uncertainly pill  used came chaos coated reprisal fells wrack  irreverent mirth sickly disinherited proudest  collate wheeze appearance palette disharmony  discontented bastardized emotive bio inhale diction beat spoiled reclamation loudest tempo  totally disembodied matte imperfect shells flat  struck sounding imparts flak origin severance remarked bone walls snared leaflets mocking  hot scripting adjective noun agape seemingly  resistant gawk calamity passage paintings wind  trashcans signings sits cheap makers poetry persist scrap slipping individual talk wonders  leaving questions fold actor fancy parchment  fates engenders flown jaws stripped longer music  sacrifice fakers book boldly frown sigh atop patient hang trade occupation blows spectacular  whispers worthy backward waving certainty danced suppose needn't ‘drawkcab’ second-guessing  boys forget marched motto heads tightly lies two-tone earthbound harp twice turns goodnight  lying ***** internally indiscriminate nickname  drunk convictions myth steep  in-consumption  fitting artist **** universal sick expressions bad  du spell melody big siphon proud learn sprawls song spastic something temperaments utter check  fissures stomp totality blend definitely thrall sing rug voice shade pestilence ties commiserate round devil steady brains emotional certain gate  suckling gates dearth decay weight bounce pound  carrier pangs glass startle contest earthen web  tug pressed air patience flush amassed guest gone apprehension staring empathize captain believe fading in-perceivable deathbed guarder makes surrounds scatter drooling ebb blink cob tome  venom near door lair derision draws host stairs scent parts curiosities spider webbing surprise wares tips stepping ascetics starkness realize picture surroundings dictations grand pillars  deaf limited comparisons greet visual residents  personal settings dismiss alien law stability common earthly shiftless places prelude  understanding mosaic keen trifling embodiments  geared inception whisper visible jowls kiss murky  puddle rank dawn dichotomy single faithful fraying pays tailor veil climb mores pence whim  breath wellspring samara god stony pear  shadows fruiting forebodes moonlit looming  shown passed bog gold wracked faint tongues  noble preachers mirror shifting layered depth  threads jungle narcissus bemused seamstress self-worshiping architect's wore slumber anomalous  opened barren seam lip caustic scene coupled brick gardener's clenches -with forms idle breed  embodied lore starving empathy design illusion  tree coat fabricate lucid mason scatter-all  narrative seeking imbued 16th shivering chemicals 17th 15thrisk improperly dare  deliberate plan purge try brought chapter speed  aide utmost spirit leading intervention felt  recall recent advent sincerity times diary  lackluster piously lasting happy holding hear  stem tasteless whimpers wet spine monstrosity  dripping causes position quite softly claws pallet  answer digging tearing beast satiating circle breaks skips redwoods beckoning rotted hushed  gray lapsing monoliths deities creborus  imbuement hand stroll paradigm rendered chorus shy whispering forest residual tension  surrenders tolerance lull anew sentenced  bearing tide birds dirge divergent rim joined  cogs wood hesitant mist emergent towering offer  awareness confinement inverted faultier stowed  plane sanctified blanketing trusting memory fossil flash twists laden self-indulgent fleeting invitation agony grip shore impetus lingering  crows promise gift union swallowing endless floor supposed ecstasy sensory intent  psychotropic cradling placement interned  jagged connectivity exchange congenial begun  summons singular spiral assumes ambient reciprocates re-entry fruition reached aggregate lifetime limbs birthed instinct  frightening tarry proper entire light  boundaries innocence pursuit ago discover left  youth's unknowing sacred time place meager  simple fact cast ceaseless wide-eyed literal  apparent coincidence create boldness morphed  crooked kempt mere stumble buried shutter fairy  pivotal definitive months worth shear ambition sound required journeyed self-reflections title  facets vague restless intimation gut wanderer's  leap motivate path account boy soon bears faith  question tripped reasons uproot awaited confronted days step heal provocations wisps crushing transcend chronicles instance  directness raw drove occurrence objective-less  real enters slightest confident nondescript  typify  foreshortened interment paradox bitter heart  devoid jeopardy angry sensation confidential guilty arrogance mercy compliance reprieve  vincent deadening factual sign emotion awe  inhibition shackled butterflies absence actual sciences acknowledgement violent stagnant  spiritual American doors roots lack matted fore  gestures society cause streams intensity hair impossible discord lonely hearts resounding  jest  what's flavored pains closed toxic contented  happenstance scientific knowledge yeah  wizardry shaking stifled withdrawn bloom  jitter dreads settle asocial hulton make  predisposed figurative reflections demeanors  wondered affect hulton's projected sense  morning industry arrays ghosts feeling  certainly endomorphic where's partially wrath  passer mornings jovial unease advertized asking  trash onward wished tempers media mentality connect pasts sharp-toothed scramble great colours trial test salvation continually lent  degree secretly subjection social waned  disconnected colors grimly intellectual civilization cash trading baffling particular  digest myths monumental ending seasons winter  repetition introducing agent everlasting  shoulders delivered honestly-- possession funny  continence history unsightly function suffering propulsion profession divulge familiar tugs era  importance capability perpetuation spite inventory words entirety leveling fray insight  date record continues writer getting evermore fellow tongue possessions identical proof accuracy education similar sack admittance  favor unravel conveyance guilt gives beginnings  predicting audacity definition bobby heady eaters frameless learned release stone grandeur sang  speak molds sleeps split built seats people folded  sheer pour evoked playhouse liquid boring  tellers frayed stark walked reality pleas doth  preformed shows beak pride squawks opinions  greatest bold stunning sightings he'd loudly slain  sunk watch legend precipice theater deeper compound commentator civility justly silly sin  reverent seen prophetic moral confounds notion  lacking explain attempt prolific viral estrange proclivity scorn hide blur pious strung eden's  horror cut skin arch cruel twig mother vile  pass lend woods peach shrunken trail man's canopy worn 434 eat warm limb familiar father delete.

You are what your reading lady. Now would you hold this gun?
Nicholas Mar 2019
Universal entropy,
masking it’s plan

Perceivable good and
evil, much more than so

A light waiting to be shone
beyond which we can ever comprehend

Camouflaged, patient;
wickedness one day proving itself
God’s rippling gift

And yet, the present seems bleak,
The great unknown rests
behind a curtain,
even to you

Keeping us suspended
above countless destinies below,
those realities flickering like traffic from
a private city rooftop

Our actions,
for an audience we are unaware exist
So not for naught,
do indulgences befall

Some good can come of our mistakes,
even if it's to faces we'll never know
An attempt to explore the implications of the butterfly effect and how our actions as individual, no matter how seemingly random or potentially evil they may be, may inadvertently impact people we'll never meet in some positive way.
Saumya Jul 2018
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit graciously on silence's table,
And study my evolved, yet un-evolved self,
Undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
By world's brightest gulf.
...and smile back, as I watch myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit cozily on peace's table,
And watch my wounded, yet un-wounded self,
Un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
By world's sorry self
...and smile back, as I watch myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit calmly on agony's table,
And observe my painful, yet not too painful self,
Unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
By world's weirdest self,
...and smile back, as I watch myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit gladly on glee's table,
With my eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
Unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
By world's unrequited self.
...and grin back, at myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
Twill indeed be a blessed, contending  miracle,
As that's when I could pat & greet myself,
In real, In real, In real!
And make this fact to myself perceivable,
That Our world may sure often demand struggles,
And our mere existence in it,
May just be negligible,
But we never gotta forget
To stay hopeful, smile and giggle at ourselves,
No matter how hard,
or harder are the struggles,
As that's the precious fuel,
That can truly cause miracles,
In a world,
Often so obsessed with struggles!

And then with a grin,
A sparkling hope within,
I'll bid myself,
A sweet, serene,
Just a thought :)
All your feedbacks are most welcome :)
Nigel Morgan May 2016
Poor stone. You’ve wrapped it, hidden its serene and uncomplicated self. I can no longer feel its smoothness, its emptiness embodied in touch. You have brought it in from the beautiful silence of its solitary state and covered it around: a net, a bag, a coverlet, a coating of thread through which we can only see something of itself.

There is a consistency here: in this doing, a reflective doing as much as conscious making. You’ve moved from the mending of damaged acorns, splintered leaves, forlorn detritus gathered off the sea strand to making tiny homes, shelters, enclosures, that sometimes have no perceivable openings; so some stones are wholly netted, completely wound and threaded around so there is no escape. But some, it needs to be said, are like the lasts of the cobbler, there to provide a form to hold the stone shoe firm, in place, and around which the woven thread in your hand can ply and knit . . . and then it is sometimes cast away, this last of stone, having only provided a stone shape; so only its shape-memory persists for the viewer. And when touched - this garment, this cloak of thread is pliable, and moves with the fingers’ touch and press.

I should like to capture this stone in the process of its enclosing; what seems to be from a viewer’s stance a not wholly planned journey with the needle - around and about, in and out and under. So I imagine a stop-motion sequence of photographs, beginning with the lonely undressed stone in your hand. As time lapses we watch the intricate play of your hand, your deft fingers, that particular pinching and holding to place the thread here and here and here, the pulling through, the special holding in place while one thread knits together with another thread by going underneath and up and along, and all the time the hand turning, the fingers dancing in the hand.

Then will come moments of rest where the stone moves from the hand to a still surface. It regains its shadow - and rests. The hand moves away and we are left with the silent stone, the journey of its dressing interrupted by life’s necessities. The maker’s hand moves to other tasks; the preparation of food, the writing of notes, the tapping of virtual symbols on the mobile phone (now there’s a surface that shares with the stone a hardness and smoothness – once we held stones for comfort in the pocket – now we stroke the mobile to remind us that we’re safe in the dark street, not ever alone, connected to our thousands of followers, admirers, friends, our loved ones, and that repository of what is and where to go, and the whole world of music and photographs - of woven stones).

Let’s go back to this stop-motion. To lift the stone from its precious private place, usually alone (no other stones around), index finger and thumb come together to lift our stone from its shadow – a shadow that disappears, magically, into the surrounding light. Oh surely no more, the stone cries in its shadowless voice. No more of this twisting turning, upside downing, the sense of the stone recalling a time beyond time when in a storm-laden sea one dark winter’s night it, and countless companions, were lifted from the sea bed and rolled round, around, round, and swept, afloat in a turmoil of waves that break and break and break until finally onto the sloping beach - where the stone is left – alone, motionless – at rest - to dry in the morning sun.

Gradually the movement in her fingers becomes slower, even sporadic. She is looking at this stone with her grey-blue eyes, intently. There are pauses; moments of reflection where our stone is set down and viewed, picked up again and moved into a different light (its shadow returns momentarily, fitfully, knowing perhaps any stasis is only temporary). The camera keeps clicking; stop, a 300th of second motion, stop for a second. Already there are thousands of images collected in the camera’s silicon memory chip.

And so movement gradually becomes stillness. The light changes. The camera’s incessant stop-motion ceases. The stone is placed on a white surface for a final photo-call – a single click. Once naked; now clothed. There is no longer the possibility of return to its original stoniness. It becomes an ‘object’ to place on a surface for wonder and admiration – not the stone of course but its clothing, its covering, its embodied shape in thread, perhaps that thread soaked in mud that in itself holds a distance memory of water, even water that has moved from sea to the coastal strip, the estuary, the river’s bank.

Later, after being wrapped in tissue paper, perhaps boxed, and moved into a total darkness, the stone is brought again into the light. It finds itself placed among other stones, stones and shells, rusty objects even, and laid out variously on a pristine white surface. Its stoniness is now shadowed with words: a description, a title, its ‘found’ location, a date of finding – a date of making. That this stone, once beached, and picked from the sand, from amongst so many other stones, and thought unique and carrying potential as a last, a shoe-maker’s frame, a steady 3-dimensional surface for wrapping, now becomes something more that a solitary stone. It has been given a new life, a life of an object imbued with the thread of a maker’s curious mind; that in so threading has come to know this stone so intimately, and with so much love and care that its clothing, whilst having no pre-formed pattern, becomes something in its maker’s eyes that seems  - meaningful, poetic, ‘right’?

Through this stone-weaving with thread, this stone-covering and describing in thread, you have made a poem of the nature of stoniness. Your fingers now know this stone, and perhaps, if we can in our imagination follow that partly accidental / partly planned journey, we can read your poem – of touch, of turning, of minute viewing, of so careful observation of every millimetre of its surface. Yes, perhaps that’s it, what this is all about . . . only our stone has had its wonderful serenity and solitariness, its smoothness and surface taken from us. It will no longer lie in the pocket to comfort the hand. It will no longer lie on the desk to be a tangible remembrance of a place and time, treasured.


‘And now I remember a poem, portraying a stone, a pebble placed in a child’s hand, picked up on a pebble ridge. A pebble to place in the pocket where we finger it until it becomes warm. Its shape and certain¬ty is firm and sure. It consoles us. And, as we change and decay, it remains lodged with us: *a thing that contains nothing save the mystery of life.’
This prose poem is inspired by the stone weaving of the artist Alice Fox
Breethyr Nov 2020
When i tell people about how i saw beyond reason, they tell me i'm not making any sense. Ironically, that's exactly the point. Something beyond reason can't make sense, logically, but it doesn't mean there isn't anything beyond logic.
We as people often act defying logic, although, arguably, the logic we live by is relative, and that leads to certain logical conclusions. What i am more interested in is, if all the relative points of logic can be seen as parts of objective, or even universal logic, then can i map it's boundaries? The answer is no. For the reason that if you can't see beyond a certain point you can't tell what's behind it. Say i stumble upon the logical end of my thought - it seemingly ends at a certain point, but what is beyond - i cannot know, that's why i can not tell if it's the logical end of it is relative to me or objective. But that is a logical mistake on my part. It's the relatively logical way to think, but objectively it's doomed for failure. For the same reason why we can't find the edge of our universe - not just because we don't see beyond the visible space region, but because it is impossible to reach such an edge in three dimensional space.
Allow me to logically explain why, on example of a two-dimensional space. Imagine yourself in a jar with water, you are swimming on the surface. The boundaries of the jar is your observable, or for better word - reachable universe. But the jar is not the entire universe, beyond the jar there is enormous amount of water. Whether it exists on a three-dimensional sphere or simply goes forever is irrelevant - you will never swim to the edge regardless. But if you were to be able to jump up from the surface of water then you would have understood that the true edge of this universe was actually vertical and you've just escaped through it into a new 3-dimensional one that is an extension of the two-dimensional one you previously were floating in. Now how do you then escape this 3-dimensional one you found yourself in? You know the answer, you jump into the 4th dimension - the logically only true edge of it.
Whether you can do it or not is irrelevant, what matters is what it tells us about logic - the exactly same thing - you can't reach the end of logic by simply looking around for it's borders, you have to fundamentally defy logic and go beyond it from the start.
Before we attempt that i have to lay down some things i kept secret from you until now. Why do i even chase the logical end? The answer is - i don't, i chase the fundamental understanding of the universe. "Whoah - hold up there" you might say, "what a perverse charlatan you are with your irrational methods, leave the universe to scientists!" And i will tell you - you are completely right. I don't understand anything a physicist or astronomer does when they examine what they can about the universe, but i believe, even though objectivity is not a matter of belief, to have a full understanding one can't study things from one aspect. Logic is the counterpart to fact, it is due to logic that facts exist the way they do, and it is due to facts available to us that we have the relative understanding of logic that we have today. Logic is the interpretation of the universe. And to reach a logical limit, in a sense, would be similar to reaching the limit of the universe. I can't jump into the fourth dimension of space, but i still i want to gain the fundamental understanding. I am desperate. That's why i will not stop until i have found it.
I have to derail from logic, and to do so i first need to deconstruct it. Construct is the foundation logic. By tying things into constructs, logic allows for interpretation of facts. Take for example the three dimensional space. It's construct is simple - it is existing in a three-axis fashion. There is left-right, forward-backward, up-down. Very simple, yet if need be it allows for great complexity, which can always be traced down to it's construct - three axis. To go beyond logic's very basic construct would be reaching my goal, but it is too early for that, as i can't yet pin-point what that is; i can do it for the relative space that i operate in, since with logic i interpret it, but to break down the very thing i interpret the world with is a completely different task.
Let's return to constructs. As i have realized, they are the foundation of logic. But further than that, they allow for existence of concepts. Now, beyond being a pretty word, a concept is something that we can logically interpret - understand, deconstruct or construct. Now not to play this game of terms any further, for the sake of logical simplicity i have decided that there are two types of concepts (and nothing further) - relative and objective. Relative concepts are understood in connection to other ones, while objective ones don't need the presence of others to still be ready for interpretation. The truth is, no one operates in objective constructs, because for that you would have to be outside of logic and universe, know it completely and wholly, only then would you truly be able to tell what constructs are objective. Even though relative to us, some concepts seem objective, for example - evolution, we describe it as the process of continuous adaptation. Seems very objective, right? But to proclaim such a thing is a fallacy - as even though it may be connected to our entire relative field of logic, we cannot tell whether is a fundamental property of all layers of the universe beyond our own. Another example - the concept of process. Well, time flows and with it something changes. Very objective. But time is relative to our perception of reality, there may not even be "time" at all and all there is is the way we experience the universe. What if we experienced time backwards? What if we experienced all time available to us at once? What if we did not experience time at all and stayed in a single "time-frame"? Is the concept of process still valid then? As such, all concepts available to us lie in the relative region of logic, and as far as we can understand, they don't stretch beyond it at least objectively.
Now that i have decided upon the features of logic, i need to derail. I don't know where to start so i will attempt to deconstruct a concept, and hopefully i will reach a logical failure - that will indicate to me that i have reached the limit to which i can deconstruct the concept, unless of course i have failed to stay true to logic, which seems contradictory, but really it isn't, as duality is the nature of the universe - even in logic.
If i have to "derail" then i will go with the concept of "a train". The one that travels on rails. What is a train? Is it a machine powered by fuel that goes on rails to transport someone or something, and usually consists of many connected wagons? Yes, but a lot of that is formalities, as how exactly a train works isn't a fundamental part of it's concept. The human idea of train can easily be seen in how we use the word alternatively - "train of thought". Fundamentally, it's something that travels to (hopefully)_a destination (but this train is doomed to fail). As such, i have discovered that "train" is only one of the faces for the fundamental concept of "transportation". Transportation is so fundamental to not just our existence but all life on Earth; because of this the invention of train by humankind was inevitable.
Let us transport somewhere. Conceptually, transportation means continuous movement of object by another. I want to go from point A to point B and i transport myself: i put myself in a cart and the cart takes me there. I want to transport a can of soda from the store to my fridge: i transport it there by carrying it in my hand.
I have realized that transport is a bad word for all of this, since it is not yet the most fundamental concept. What an oversight by me! Let's quickly fix this by proclaiming that more fundamental than transportation is movement. That truly is a great concept, as it is very fundamental, so please replace the word "transportation" for the word "movement" in the previous examples i'd described.
Movement is the primordial concept. I have arrived to such conclusion by thinking for an entire minute. If the construct of our perceivable reality is the three-axis, then by adding the concept of time and cause-effect into the mix, movement inevitably appears. Actually i have messed up with the terminology, so i will clean up the mess: construct of perceivable space is three-axis, but the fundamental construct of our relative reality also consists of time and cause-effect. In such a formation, movement is the primordial construct of this relative reality, as it is the most fundamental act. If you didn't know, non-movement is impossible in our reality due to the principle of relativity: even if you stay in place - from many perspectives you are in fact moving.
How does movement occur?.. What does it describe?.. A process of me moving from one point to another in a certain period of time? But what if it can also be reversed and describe me as moving in time in a certain length of space? Yes, it should, absolutely. Because from a detached perspective, it's the same thing. For me to move a certain distance, a certain amount of time has to pass; when a certain amount of time passes, i inevitably move a certain distance. I can't move to a certain distance without passing through a certain amount of time. I can't pass through a certain amount of time without moving some distance. In fact, i have an idea, i will move through time just because i decided to, and for that to happen i only need to go over a certain distance, or i may not even need to go, as i move through space all the time anyway. I still can only experience the time in one direction which is dictated by the cause-effect first being cause then effect in my relative perception of reality, but all it takes for me to go backwards is to turn around the cause-effect axis the same way i would turn around in the spacial three-dimensional axis'es. Everything would be exactly the same, just going backwards, and would make perfect sense once you apply a different logical interpretation strategy (with the effect being prior to cause).
Now i turn on the cause-effect axis in such a way that to my right is the cause and to my left is the effect. Time is at a standstill. I can't tell for sure but either i experience just one time-frame or all of them at once, but time no longer plays a part in my perception of reality, in fact now i see that to my right is the past and to my left is the future - it's frames like the one in which i currently am but slightly alternated, only if connected in a sequence they combine into time, but standalone they are like three-dimensional pictures.
I have experienced the world in a way i never had yet, but it still makes complete sense. I need to start removing parts of the logical construct. As i still witness past to the right and future to the left i decide that i can also see the alternative pasts and futures - all of those that intersect the one frame i currently inhabit. Why did i even decide i can do that? Because quantum mechanics told me i can, since according to their principles, universe is both deterministic and random - all effects occur from all possible causes and thus form infinite amount of timeline forks - all of which happen but a single observer feels like he only experiences one.
So i am an observer who turned perpendicularly around the cause-effect axis and decided that he can see what other observers he interconnected with experienced and will experience - them being technically other versions of me that cross paths in this frame. Now, when i say i've decided, you must understand, that even though factually none of this is possible, logically it is, just as much as you don't need to actually perform an action to sort of experience it - when you play a video-game or imagine things. Now, back to my experience of this ultra-reality, it is not very comprehensible, as it is similar to having not just one vision but 3 powered by infinity. I can't take it all in, but all my counterpart versions did come to this time-frame too, after-all. Which means that right here and now there's infinite amount of me, and all-together we can comprehend this mess of infinite pictures, one by one. This is definitely some sort of super-consciousness, made possible by all of us observers realizing that we interconnected from divergent paths in this one frame, which in turn was made possible from us rotating on the cause-effect axis. This is as close as it comes for me experiencing something truly divine. Not factually possible, yet logically experienceable.
Now i have seen it all - the entirety of my personal observable universe - or to be more factually correct - the entirety of my relatively available logic. Being only one of those infinite converging observers, i can't really tell you exactly what it consists of, but if you follow me in my previous steps you will understand it without me having to explain it.
Now only just one thing remains to finally derail - as i see everywhere i could ever see, and still wish to see what i could never see. Just like from that two-dimensional water i jumped into the three-dimensional air above it, i have to jump from whatever this thing i currently am experiencing to somewhere beyond it.
And i actually do so. In a way. I can't see **** here. Or at least, i can't figure out what i see, it makes no sense, it is beyond logic, beyond comprehension. Not even the infinite amount of my brethren can figure it out, it is on a completely different plane of existence, or maybe it even is unexistance, i can't know. It's completely quiet, even though maybe it is actually loud, just that the sound doesn't make any sense to me, so it's the same as if i don't hear anything. I just stare into it which is both nothing and so much everything to me that i almost drown in it. It pretty much ***** my thoughtful entirety into it much like a black-hole, it can't really do it but all my thoughts are attracted to it. It is to me like a great void that probably has lots of stuff inside but i can't possibly ever reach it, so to me it's a void. A void beyond logic, the delirious nonsense itself. I cannot reach it.
I get back from it to my plane of existence and turn around into the normal position on cause-effect axis of my relative reality. I really did it, i found that edge, that border. It's such a strange insight unlike anything else i have ever experienced in my head. I both know and don't know so much more about the universe - i experienced that black hole in my head, the end of the line for the train of logic, that drowns out into the vast void of complete irrationality relative to me. Now i know where and how to find it, and while it's not of any use to me, it brings me both despair and solace.
And did You find your end of the line?
Not a poem but a small personal philosophical absurd "treatise".
Martin Rombach Aug 2012
I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. A clattering engine of destructive vices, a body average under Adonis, a mind weathered by experience and paradoxical in influence.

It has taken a lot of work and luck to become who I am today, with that ****** in the mirror tripping me up plenty along the way.

But in this moment, amongst our grand but insignificant civilisation, amongst our beautiful but minute planet, in this relative scope I sit here with you in...
Somehow... things have finally worked. Fitted. Reached... some level of... peace.

As I indulge in your eyes there’s a lot to contemplate, speculate, agonise over.

There will be times between us where consequence will draw conflict, where our dividing, clashing aspects will build the intensity of how different we are, questioning whether we should know each other at all.
Moments where the reminders of the subtle magnetism amongst our personalities seem almost transparent.

Familiarity breeds contempt so they say.

What I hope, for us, for whatever this is, whatever it will become, I hope potential and positivity can develop.

You once were... the goal personified. Amongst the trivial, the financial, the creative, a connection with you became... valuable. And now... my love, now the connection has filtered into my memories as something warm and reassuring, you have stepped from the centre of attention to a turn of my head from the perceivable forward.

In the drive of the day, you serve as a fantastical presence in my mind, a word repeating in the sentences rambling through the monologue, associated with an image that stirs a collection of emotion.
The words and images, the memories and ghostly echo of a voice straighten my back out, and knock my chin up a touch.  

We don’t depend on each other, we aren’t each other’s everything, instead we are friends in love developing ourselves in a way I can never fully express thanks for.

Life is a challenge, and at the same a beauteous opportunity and I’m glad you’re sharing it with me. The reassurance of you... helps me take it all on with pride.

So thanks.
Katryna Mar 2014
"what are you holding on to?"

the question wasn't rhetorical but the earth stood still. the clocks stopped ticking and the distant hum of car engines was silenced. even the street lights with their comforting buzz, stopped abruptly to take a pause. the stars nearly fell out of the sky, and nothing twinkled and danced in your dilated pupils. the air was dead and the strands of hair the wind had taken hostage were offered respite as they fell like pins down my back. the world faded - not into black - into nothing, into complete and absolute emptiness. your cigarette smoke hung in the air and the filter never came nearer and nearer. my heart, by some miraculous count, stopped racing long enough to reduce the sound in my ears to complete and utter silence.

i tried to answer, but all that came out was "I think we should paint the apartment soon."

you stared, "we should paint the apartment?"

"yes, I think so, it's so awfully bland. it makes me feel cold."

"why does it make you feel cold?"

"because of the absence of colour."

"what do you make of the absence of warmth?" your eyes were saying less than your mouth, and my words kept getting stuck in my throat.

"I think it's somewhere, maybe beneath the floorboards. we should change the floor, put in carpet. carpet is comforting."

"is that what you think? we can repaint and re-floor and we will be warm."

"I should think so. maybe a new bedspread, what do you think? we could go shopping maybe. tomorrow? or the day after?" my voice trailed off when your gaze shifted from my face to the ground.

"you're not holding on to renovation prospects and you're not answering my question."

in this state of universal paralysis, i became the focal point of the entire universe, to everything but you. i took a breath, and held it in, i thought and thought and though carbon copied hallmark responses danced around my brain, i had no words. i had only this moment, of complete and utter stasis, of company among solitude, of enlightenment as my senses betrayed me and my emotions were given room to embrace this artificial reality.

"the colour of light"

i know this surprised you, and i know you don't know why, even to this day. so i continued.

"i'm holding on to the sound of silence, and the taste of reassurance despite. the cathartic feeling of abandoning the conscious mind and licking mercury from your eyelids. the putrefaction of tactile and the vicious assimilation of awareness. the relentless burning of the merriem-webster definition of what it means to feel, to be. i'm holding on to everything you've cultivated within my mind, every stream of consciousness you diverted and corrupted, every single thought you've planted and watered and allowed to spiral out of control. i'm holding on to the challenge. i'm holding on to knowing - and what i know, is nothing."

you blinked, one hundred and twenty three times exactly - before you spoke, "you're holding on to what you know."

it was less of a question than a statement but I answered nonetheless, my voice was meek, "yes"

"well then," you flicked your cigarette and exhaled a breath, "we should pick out paint colours tomorrow. what were you thinking? red?"

"red is alive."

"grey it is then."

"but grey is oh so dull," I said, devoid of emotion.

you looked up for the first time in a while, "yes, I know, i'm holding on to what I know."

i heard a car horn or two. the colours returned and the sky had in fact remained full of stardust. we walked, quite a distance, until our senses once again became the paragon of normalcy. we both knew the ambiguity of my answer, we both knew that it ran deeper than we wanted to face, and we both knew that despite the inundation of motion in the perceivable world, the earth had not yet, begun to spin again.
Kenzie Delong Feb 2013
What if the things we see are only perceivable by us? As if we all have unique spectacles, ones that let us see what we think is normal, but to put them on anothers’ eyes would be to change their entire world, their idea of what things are. Blue is orange, green is black, trees are ugly, distortion is beautiful.
Then what is the truth? What is the tree’s true nature, the honest hue of blue, what does my face look like in reality? Suppose there is no truth. That what we perceive IS reality, in all honest hues, viewed differently in each spectacle of each individual. That it is all in the mind.
If life exists in that way, in the mere space of our minds, the vastly infinite universe that resides in all of us, then my only goal is to share my spectacles.
Saumya Nov 2017
Although the skies appear blue,
Blueish white, with cottony hue.
Coloured orange, with fainted red
Dazzles bright at each sunset.

Evening sky, intensely blue,
Fainted is the sunset hue.
Glowworms dance, adorn the hue
Happiness spreads  in the world anew
Into this landscapic purplish blue.

Juggling, days
Klucking nights
Lying stunned in this hue so right
Man, the creature, so curiously few.
No matter it's a day or two,
some hues amaze like a landscapic view!

Orange red, with deep yellow in blue,
Pearly stars, adorn the view.
Quilty cold, in the days with dew
Rosemary looks majestically new!

Sun, the ball of fire for few
Teaches, turns a page each new,
Unknown, interesting, perceivable to few
Vanity is so pale, to take,
Wander, wither, breath well each day.

Xmas may not come each day,
Yawn, smile, admire all days, as uncertain are night somedays
Z**enith meets  only the braves,  let zephyrs cuddle,  embrace your zealousy face.
ABC Poem/Alphabetical poem:

ABC poetry is a short form of poetry. It is normally written to show feeling. It contains five to six lines in each stanza. You may begin your poem with any letter of the alphabet.
The next three lines must follow sequence. So if you start with the letter "G" the next line must start with the letter "H". The last line can begin with any letter of the alphabet.
Example :


Sleepless, fitful nights, (first four lines follow the order of the alphabet)
Thoughts of you adhere.
Untouchable, love abounds.
Visions haunt me;
Memories sustain me. (last line begins with any letter)
- Anonymous.

Read and lemme know how was the poem.Thankyou  for reading, reacting, and Commenting!
The world is so connected and indeed, it is not in many ways,
From newspapers to the internet, social networking sites to video calling and last but not the least telephonic calls.

We are so absorbed in the world that exists not as a tangible reality,
that we forget the ones seated next to us,
to smile at our friends we forget or we don't realise
but find time in all the world to smile at a WhatsApp message or a Facebook chat.

We miss the chances to care and help others in real world
while we make panels and help groups on social sites,
And work ******* promoting  stressing and straining to make things work.

We forget our loved ones while trying to find new loved ones
through distant chords and invisible strings of a virtual world.

It is indeed right we learn of cultures and diversity
and acknowledge most kinds and varieties
forgetting the very near and very much wanted.

It is a difficult question as we are still gestating in a world of virtual reality
far fetched from the perceivable reality
if we still wanted to continue as such.
But the truth is that we are more connected by this umbilical cord of illusionary virtual global connectedness  that we block real realities in the dawn of it.

We are not ready to be reborn with more sensitive capabilities,
to transform and reunite and catch hold of our lost sensibilities and sensitivities
to save our world from being so disconnected.

Is not it time that we did redesign a new world
Where love and care
Warmth and tenderness reign.

Is it not time that we stop and stoop to hold our old world and yet conceive of a new world integrated
With technology and live side by side
And weave a wonderful life for us.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2019
Wonder this today, what if
We are
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.

We swore
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,

we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith

is evident.

"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred

for our own American Dream, it seems, now.

Mortal tyranny
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
away in
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten

to deposit at interest less than I pay,

this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough

old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…

we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.

The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names

Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
with passion,
proud, puffed up butchers,
heirs of
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.

Say I am,
How long will that be funny?

Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as

eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
slick as snot,
it's not.
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
in passant

considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--

ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
We square?
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.

Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification

springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away

brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet

A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,

Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own

libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
agent of
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
frequency of
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.

Nurses whisper, listener listen
emulate Socrates
in knowing
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,

who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…

The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.
Phonetic Hebrew from Strong's Pre-computer era concordance of every word in the KJV. A grimoire of the benefucent sort for sure. Aitia proof.
Jasmine Martin Sep 2013
I am here to remember
What I am
That which lies hidden
Beyond the remembered
The access lost – or so it seems
Somewhere in between
The tapestry of experiences –
Weaving time through space
And space through time
Cutting and pasting
A kaleidoscope of experiences
Into the frame of linearity
Of our 3D playing field

And that which exists
Beyond the humanly perceivable is
But shrouded by the veil of forgetfulness
Made up of intricately interwoven patterns
Concealing the escape hatch
Out of mental confinement

© Jasmine, August 2013
I'm doing something I've never done, publishing a poem that is not finished. But hey, you gotta do things out of the ordinary sometimes. I'm still not sure about the beginning and the end, so I opted for posting the middle - just to stay out of linearity!
Evening Ways Apr 2014
Now as the cold paraded its barren stride
Across the unkept fields
The land glows with a subdued affection
And illuminates perceivable years

Across the expanse walks my dame
Pacing with ease, steps true and light hearted
A flowing ribbon stair igniting sacred memory
Her eyes, my passion shines to vent the unexpected

As well there should be cause for grace
Where for the moments that made us dissipate in a fog of static memory
And dissolve in to the setting sun like ash into dark waters
For no man walks this earth unscathed
And I, as being one of the many, am not partnered with exception.

I will spend the time I have been given
With you memory not on leave
And appraise ever image of your presence
Before they wither, and can no longer be perceived
Your whisper will speak life when I slip away
Only above city lights does she ever walk with me.
For she who walks the earth
Pea May 2016
My eyes still burn from the tears of gasoline you poured down on me.

How could someone who have given you so much joy every day could suddenly make you want to withdraw them out of your life without any sort of sirens singing around? When our two worlds collided, they were comprised of a confetti of a hundred different things, some were vibrant reds and others atrocious yellows.

From an outrageous exchange of IM’s, being picky with certain kinds of food, talking about weird teachers, sharing an umbrella when the sun’s out and when the skies throw a fit at us, and you being gaga over your bizarre fantasies that I will never understand.

The things that should have been disturbing to me, didn’t even matter. Because it was you. You were the one who mattered.

Do you remember our first conversation?*

You probably don’t. But, I still do. I was the one who approached you first. But then again as time flew by, I’m always the one approaching you first. But I never minded. I never did because I’ve always thought that it was a thing so superficial and minor that it should not have even been a thing. ‘Cause who the ******* hell cares if I talked to you first? All I wanted was to talk with you anyway. I thought it wouldn’t matter to us in the coming years.

There were those days when all I wanted to do was snuggle up close to my laptop screen and talk to you nonstop about anything left on the shelves to pick at. I’d try to tell you things of my own but you’d always manage to twist it around making every thing else about you a little so suddenly. That never failed to leave me feeling all confused and dubious, though. But I forced myself to believe that I just didn’t know how to converse as riveting as you are.

A handful of people around would tell me that I deserved better. That being with you, changed how I spoke and acted in an unpleasant way. But I thought to myself, “Why would I think that? You are so important to me. I would never."

True. Because hey, you mattered to me. But, why did it seem like I never did, even at the faintest bit, to you? What was the matter with me? Was I completely ****** for being just so comfortable with you whenever we’re talking that I even cuss, call you names and point your flaws out? I never meant every offensive thing that got to my head, though. I just crave for your attention all the time. But you still liked me around. You never showed that you even cared about me acting “psychotically”. You probably even liked me being clingy and needy like the girlfriend you never had.

But, this time… I’ll have to do something for myself. I’d have to stop thinking about what is good for you or for the both of us. I have to let go. I have to give up on the future that we picture ourselves embracing together. You have to let yourself be, and in order to do that, you have to leave me out of it. You wouldn’t want me sticking around. I couldn't stand it too, trust me.

You care about yourself more than anyone. I’m not regarding this in a standalone paragraph because it is the perceivable truth. It is in fact a sad truth but, it isn’t sad for you. You should be happy that you are being well-taken cared of. By yourself. I’ll give you a pat on the back for that.

Giving up on someone does not solely entitle the fact that you are letting go of him or her—or for the best of times, in that matter. Giving up on someone also means that you are untying the chains that sulked the bond between the two of you, and finally, becoming free.
EJ Aghassi Sep 2015
something reenergizing flows
do you feel it? can you sense it now?
the air carries scent
of optimism, the
faint hint of brighter tomorrows
bells and chimes- rustled gently,
swayed by our Mother Earth's
graceful twirls-
sweet peaceful rhythmic
vibrations in perceivable distance

birds are curious creatures
they sing so beautifully
though their beauty is
not known to them
this wind rings in my ears
the birds that are singing
now intertwined with it
their melody has become my own
yet they do not know the soul
they've shown such beauty to
they do not know it any more
or any less than they are
aware of their gift
they just are

and so like the winds
and so like my friends
who gift beauty to grace
the flow of energy
i will be but one
with the breeze & flow,
i will intertwine
so graciously with the gift
i will transcend
                           i will be
appreciation leads to inspiration leads to enlightenment leads to...
Natasha Mar 2016
tides change, a perceivable measure from my skewed vision anyways. soft shudders, wings from birds of flight- there is something in the air tonight. the earth trembles beneath me, the sky rises above- something in the moon my dear entrances me in love.
             there is no wind upon my legs, or my arms, across my face. there is no breeze to catch my hair, no cold sparks or humid drench in the air. So, I start on my summer-side way, the paths we used to take- while we were too young to understand the beauty of just being able to walk for a day. in the fields we'd run, the trees we'd climb, in the grass where we spun, and we spun;
                            until mum called us home for supper-time.
            my love? when did we decide to grow up?
for now, we are left enjoying the moments in the past, we were too busy looking into the future, to enjoy what we had.

                                                                   *but I suppose, we always are..
Hadrian Veska Mar 2019
Away and hidden
So fearful are we of our creator
That we deny His very existence

Further down and away
We delve to prove He cannot be
That we are all that is
And that we alone control all fate

Inward and outward we grow aware
The cosmos fills our minds
On every perceivable scale

In our great effort to undo our creator
We find Him both in heaven and on earth
In the pure order of creation we see Him
Witness Him and despair

As they did in that ancient garden
Hiding in their nakedness so many ages ago
Witness Him and despair

For His wrath is close at hand
Alin Feb 2015
• X is the one in your mind
• Y is the one that you see
• Z is the anonymous

a. If you slowly start seeing Y in a different way than what it used to be for you because of X;
then you have a new way of looking at Y because of X and X is the one that makes you realize a new self in yourself which makes you see a new Y.

b. If you start loving Y if and only if a. is true then it is also true that X is the trigger where love comes through

• This may mean that (me) the one that loves, has actually been willing to love by the foundation of a new self through X either will it be a thing (tile, candle, tin, window …) or living (elephant, boy, girl, teacher, …).
• So love becomes an inevitable thing for the one that loves (me).

c. If the interaction between X, Y and of course (me) makes (me) slowly realize the existence of a ‘Z’ then Z becomes what I have been longing for as the new love and life combines.

• Z is secret and as a result discovered secretly.
• The secret discovery is by (me) and this is also what creates Z as a truth – a truth only perceivable by (me)as ‘freedom’ – which (me) will be able to communicate to others (this makes Z exist for others but in another way than it is for (me)).

So then the question is which one is my Valentine? X, Y or Z?
Or even (myself)?

• X is the one in your mind and not the one that you have seen
• Y is the one that you see and since the discovery of X you realized that Y has not been the one in your mind anymore
An older poem I wrote in 2009.
I guess nobody read it yet or felt like reading. LOL!
Happy to  be able to share it with you here today.
LeV3e Mar 2017
Grain by grain the sand
Fell through the sieve
You slipped through my hands
Your belief faltered

The pile stacked against you
No perceivable escape
This land becomes your tomb
Your body upon the alter

Ready to make the sacrifice
Nothing is gained if absent
Blood is mankind's truest vice,
But ink is the authors
Martin Rombach Jul 2012
The months ahead are meant for the living constructs around us to echo colour and depth
The air smells full, feels warm, surrounding our cellular circumferences with a relieving presence
The plants look alive, saturating their greens, showing a perceivable difference from the bricks
The animals that talk absorb their culture, using community and collective expression to enjoy well... just being

Even those that aren't sure where they'll go when the sun goes down
Forget that the night is coming for a while

Some of the animals want to live among many, be it under the sun or the moon
They talk and smile and laugh, absorbing the eyes and messages of others
They walk and ride metal boxes from place to place, drawn to experiences of shared culture
Ending their days with aching legs and fulfilling memories

Other animals want to live with those few eyes that come comfortable, extroversion less natural
They sit and read in a body of grass, sit and drink on a wooden backless table
They draw warmth from the vivid reality around them, and the presence of those they know well
Days drifting off with a cushion of contentment, sleep coming quicker

Whatever kind of animal each individual is, whatever skin or gender, personality or perception they wear
The subtle empowerment of the sun
The eyes and mouths of their brothers and sisters
The blooming coloured cells and sweet smelling transparents
And those times where the animals stand side by side on mass for something they feel drawn to
Give em a chance to breath in deep, feel the warmth
And enjoy
Janhavi K Feb 2016
They saw each other,
And ignored the past,
Speaking like it never happened,
Pretending to be friends till the last,
Suppressed emotions,
Hurt and guilt and desire,
Perceivable tension,
And hearts were on fire,
Each one was aware,
Moving on was a pretense,
Far from being separated,
But never together again.
Ajey Pai K Dec 2015
I believe, that there's a place void;
Of all sickness and the body's ailment.
I believe, in a land with only souls,
With only peace which can't be felt.

I believe, in a universe with no stars,
No moons and with no galaxies.
I believe, in a universe with no knowledge
And without any parameter associated with.

I believe, in a universe where reason,
And logic don't get endorsed. Only peace.
I believe, that this peace can't be felt.
A state of feeling nothing. Like being dead.

I believe, that this is my heaven,
Where I shall go after my tenure here.
I believe that I can only feel nothing.
Only pure and not perceivable peace.*

-The Silent Poet
Lacey Dec 2012
unattended- detached- jilted- vacant- disassociated

never been these things. wait- except-
                                sort of- internally.

physical- tangible- palpable- manifested- perceivABLE

here it is. see it? how pretty- it blankets the light.

how very ugly to me- as always.
Julia Lee Jun 2015
bass palpitations and neon fragmentations
briefly deflect the cruelty of
your perceivable

a rainbow of sweat, anonymous
stems encompassing sauntering spirits
a fully elevated identity
identifies the rationale
behind the soul's existence.
dangling before doped surveillance;
can't you taste its sweetness?

before you grasp it,
the crescent wanes
pacing shuffled steps
tracing fleeted memories.
nights with beautiful intruders
terminated with sonorous ears,
oscillations of the frame,
and you,
on pillow-top.

how did you got here?
tattoos of a misleading
PK Wakefield Nov 2015
"Unfortunately, in reality, it doesn't really matter how you feel on the inside; it's what you project outwardly that has meaning. No one can look inside you. They cannot see or hear what you do not divulge. You are entirely in control of the way people perceive you.

Speaking and giving off of yourself is the most powerful mechanism you have in your hands. You can get the things you want and control your life simply by adjusting what's on the edifice.

You can be a ****** up wreck on the inside, but as long as you do not let this out, as long as it is not perceivable in your character, no one can know.  

In fact, to the contrary, you can, despite these feelings, build an image of confidence and power. This is what others come to know, and this becomes the shared reality."
Shirley Mar 2015
Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air.
A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing.
Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor.  
A world within a dish.  
Slapdash pixilation.
Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps.
No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed.
The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue.
Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy—
Bleeds across an exposed chest.  
Vulnerable core.  
Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source
Into branched capillaries.
Into plush, coy lips—
Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations.  
Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth.
The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting.  
Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement,
Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn—
only facilitated by the hand of time.
A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable.
Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother.
*Cri de Coeur
Scott M Reamer Mar 2013
Come closer. Should you wish to that is; believe me, I empathize with your apprehension. By now I would guarder such hope; as one stepping further into the web that surrounds this deathbed. Perhaps that makes a spider out of me. With patience shall I wait for any and all whom hunger in the pangs of their own curiosities as one draws ever near. Those that will tug away the webbing cob of my fading lair must heed this final warning. What one may find down a set of stairs, through a door and then some more may startle and surprise you. I may yet breathe, palpitate still with the ebb of life. Think less of this than the latter for if I have gone, know that I: your drooling host have become the scent of the air, the scatter of amassed earthen wares. The venom of my soul tips the edge of each and everything that I have never owned. As I render this tome know that my face is pressed flush to the in-perceivable glass, the lens that parts the hallowed derision between this life and the next. Do not blink, my guest, for this is a staring contest.
Shailesh Otari May 2014
With arms wide open
I ready to greet happiness
My upright, door opening approach
Pours through smile on my face.

Often happiness came barging in;
Perceivable, albeit tiny,
I would label and preserve it
In the archives of memory.

But unexpectedly this time
Rightly manufactured jar with wrong destination
Comes unannounced,
Laughing at my much-prepared standing ovation.

I saw how happiness needed
An environment - natural and timeless,
A welcome that is warm,
Spontaneous and limitless.

You have to let it grow inside you, you know,
And with greed it will chase
You; filling your heart and giving itself out,
defying narrow containment of archive.

Gaseous state of happiness
Is the truth most absolute
Happiness is easy to obtain
Yet always ready to elude.
Inspired by Tanvi Jadwani's blog post (
Why did I let that song play?
I know somewhere I need to feel it -
To swim knowing of the riptides, sometimes
Allowing oneself to be overcome
                    by soaked wet weight,
                    that heavy longing
I feel you wander around my mind
Like the paths of falling stars across one's eyes
Complete spontaneity, uncontrollable
And voraciously burning
I conceited its existence
                    unknowing of its hunger -
That deep, dark, perceivable pang it has to fill,
Fields of grass, textured skies,
Hills that roll away
The sun sets with a sigh -
These feelings settle like dust all over,
Thick enough to seed, I sprout
Tiny dandelion weeds and
Strew fuzzy daydreams all over.
Megan Sherman Dec 2016
He tinkers at my Heart
As Angels on a Harp
Making stunning reverberations
That pierce my spirit sharp
Heaven's Philharmonics
Are perceivable to me
To Ethereal tune, I doth swoon
Enveloped in Serendipity
Steve Jun 2018
Just like everything else she goes away in the end,
there's no such thing as special,
it's all just the false spectrum of our perceivable desires,
liberty's eyes of unappeasable bliss maniacally stabbed out,
everything is nothing,
and nothing doesn't exist,
In the unforgivable end I'm always alone,
I live for your romance, but my love lets me starve,
loves unstable walls of unbridled lust,
The ****** weeping angels of pride,
classical war zones of ridiculed misery,
the devils mine of fraudulent consciousness,
starkness clouds of fictitious reality,
life's a dangerous game, humanities humble begrudging essence,
all for one and none for all,
our world's gone mad,
all lives taking part in the hollow pit of it's permanent nothingness,
it's a sad sad world
Love, life, meaning, romance, death, pain, poem, alone, lust, pride, misery, consciousness, humanity,
jennee Feb 2016
we drown out to sea, we drown in our fears
the warmth of the city lights, i can't feel them anymore
cries of stray cats and dogs, i hear them echo
but the currents keep dragging me deep down below
my voice screams for aid but nobody hears
those words have been lost in the abyss for all of these years
facade so misleading, existence irrelevant
the warmth of the city lights, i can't taste them anymore

"mother! mother!", i knock at the door
i look to my shoes searching but i don't know what for
short ***** fingers that fold into a fist
"mother! mother!", i exclaim as she opens the door
"the carnival! the carnival, it's here!
i can taste the aroma of the air, its fragrance so pure and clear
brewed tea, cotton candy, ferris wheels and balloons,
feet running to and fro, lovers hand in hand and kisses in the middle of june"
the warmth of the city lights, i can feel them once more

a heart warming smile presses across my mother's lips
the sorrow and the pain, they flush into the abyss
the frames of her face, the joy in her eyes and the subtle wrinkles are perceivable, i fear she's getting old
the city lights, they fade away all of a sudden
and just like that, i can't feel them anymore

but that was years ago, i am where i am
i have taken these feelings of my heart into my mouth
i am always drenched in water, lonely, soaked and cold
for i am the ocean, the sea
i am the currents of these soon forgotten memories
i will disappear into the bottom, until i am nothing,

until i am no more

edited version, poem written on october 12, 2012
Baby's breath whispers beneath quiet Willows , morning sun
approaches its bold , westward salutation , inaudibly removing the nighttime cold ...
My cumbersome foolhardy days along the perceivable , well worn footpath of a venerable life scholar ..
Silent , amusing thoughts of intrepid youthful days , life's bitter traffic
upon the minds electric foray into disillusion , avenues of terrific familiarity and knowledge ...
Copyright February 9 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Megan Sherman Dec 2016
Beyond the realm of mortal men
Lies Time and Eternity
Transcending all that's written
In the scrolls of History
Beyond the minds of mortal men
Lies God, divinity
Perceivable in visions
Of holy symmetry
Joshua Adam Jul 2015
A day started out, it really looked bright
no one could recognize just what was in site
how was I to know, the heavens were about to flow
soon I would be escorted, to that place we all must go

When those angels came for me, I was ill prepared
didn’t pack any clothes, wouldn’t need anything to wear
yet I knew that it had to be good, whatever would be
because G-d is calling the shots, to this we all do see

Lost opportunities to reflect on life, and all that my body once did yearn
how it has now been reduced, to little more than food for the worm
stoic indeed was I now, since during my life I maintained my belief
preparing my soul for this journey, so that I could now expect relief

I knew, therefore, when I was young awaiting me was this court case
even though it was much in the future, eventually, it I would have to face
so I made sure to invest the time, helping both friends and strangers in need
for I knew the secret, heaven would certainly treat me likewise, indeed

Measure for measure does our Creator deal with us, for this is part of his design
not always perceivable to man, because it emanates from the realm of the divine
ultimately making known his true righteousness in judgement, for all to see
A day of judgement truly awaits, and our very souls will be forced to agree

Only in this world are we constantly challenged, many tests emanate from within
because there has been put inside of us, an evil inclination trying to get us to sin
having made known to us, there is a medicine for our benefit he has deployed
patiently hoping for us to choose wisely, our constant sinning for us to avoid

This medicine is a secret, and is made known to only a select few
and is given over to those, choosing to staying far away from the untrue
I have recognized this fact, a fact that is difficult but does hold true
when you starve your body from sin, merit for your soul do you accrue

After leaving this world, we hope to paradise we all shall surely go
not wanting to contemplate, the existence of that other place down below
the message is a simple one, tailored for all those earnestly wishing to know
do many acts of kindness in this world, and in the next your soul will surely glow
Spiritual/Inspirational Poetry with a message
jobeth Oct 2017
My head feels like it's constantly on a marathon trying to get to first place, trying to make sense of what's left tangible, the tiniest bit perceivable. I like to try to murmur to my right ear the sweet nothings in which I never even believe-no matter the extent I've dug deep because everything there is in this fragile chest of mine are hundreds of wailing ghosts I have no capability of releasing.

And, I hate it.
For the sake of the lost,
Now wandering in the maze
Of no perceivable, precious, lovely escape
For those who can't bear
Even the confounded notion
Of life ahead or perhaps this moment,
I write for those
True to this life
While undesired, ridiculed, lashed, and despised
I'm writing for those
From conception, beyond demise.

For the pleasure of no one,
I will conform
For the sake of the scapegoats,
Broken and torn
The lost and forgotten
For I was not born
To mend the ailed and tend to the dying
I'm inconceivably selfish
For that I am sure
But of none else am I so certain
It is me who must search
River Jun 2017
2012 had been warped by the contents of a vile,
A hallucinogenic liquid that I would put on my tongue
And ingest like a good sport
I so very much liked where it would transport me
Far away from any perceivable misery
I floated out of my body
And my circumstances had no emotional pull over me anymore
But the consequences were beyond therapeutic
I transcended so high
That I became disassociated from my body
And corrupt thoughts sprouted in my mind,
Ones that didn't really belong to me
This liquid separated me from my earthly misery but also cut me off from my human empathy

2012 was about being pretty
It was about being the prettiest girl I could be,
Even while wasting away inside
The first thing I would do in the morning was smoke a joint to myself,
Which would trigger a panic attack, something I had not experienced before that time
And then waste nearly an hour painting my face
And never being satisfied with the end result
That year was surrounded by other pretty girls,
Who were callous and self centered
Who frivolously ignored my intense well of sadness,
Exacerbating my wounds by their self absorption
Every time I reached out my hand to my friends for genuine comfort or alleviation
My hand of slapped back down and instead a joint was passed to me, or a bottle of alcohol, or an adderall, or a bottle of robotussin, or a pill of ecstasy or a liquid hallucinogenic in a vile
And I imbibed and imbibed and imbibed
In a desperate attempt to suppress everything
Up until the point where when I looked into the mirror,
I couldn't recognize myself anymore
I felt so detached from everything,
Including myself

Like all extreme ways of escapism,
Everything ended with intense chaos
Hitting rock bottom
Is God's final and loudest wake up call
I literally ended up stranded in the rain oneday,
With no where to go and no one to turn to
So I was just there, in an unfamiliar place
In the pouring rain,
Sobbing profusely
All the anguish pent up in my body decided to release itself all at that very moment
One of my parents had betrayed me yet again
And I would have to pay a heavy consequence for their lies, for their incessant blame of me for everything wrong in their life
I would have to pay that price for a whole year following
I don't like to think that all things are God's will and that bad things happen for a reason,
But I can't help feeling like all the chaos that led to my wake up call were so integral to me becoming clean,
Because I just know that if I went another year the way I was living I was going to die

The chaos in our lives, the unwanted discord we so desperately try to escape
Is a catalyst to the realization of our true self
Chaos is like fire that burns away all things that aren't in alignment with our indisputable truth
I can't help being grateful for everything that didn't go the way I planned,
Because when my plans failed
I came upon an astronomically more fulfilling path that I didn't even know existed because I was so focused on the plan I had created
What if we stepped into the fire, instead of trying to bypass it
What if we allowed it to consume us, the traits that originate from our ego, until all that is left is our essential self
Our simplest and purest form in which we become agents of love and radical reform,
Selfless and humble vessels of God
Renewed by reliance on Him
And not hustling for our self worth by our own means
Each of us, in our unique way, are heroes,
When we own our war story
And share our transformation produced by surrender to God
Saints who are far from perfect
But courageously living out the truth and love God has planted in our hearts.

— The End —