"perceiver" poems
Eyes wide
you do not allow
oblivious sleep
shadows branded
on my retina
reveal all contrast
tattooed on my shoulder
a skeletal hand
*this illusion
pins me down*
your questions
have no answers
questions remain
asked again and again
*I swear
I know nothing*
You say everything
*is immaterial
subjectively real
ideas existent
in the mind
of the perceiver
I am*
(you insist)
a true believer
Parched and shrinking
I ask for mercy
you bring the cup
to my fissured lips
but it is empty
a vessel of air
you murmur
*there is only enough
for one
what will you give
in return?*
Heavy metal
arpeggios of wind
head bang
petulant faces
inured to rain
a repeating refrain
in falsehood
lies your truth
but even you
cannot halt the dawn
a dark horizon
pulls the strings
powerless
you sink
behind the cloud-
wall of your storm
is it safe now to close my eyes?
three times whisper
*be gone
bright fiend*
a weary incantation
spell of protection
the yawning wind
done with howling
hums reassuringly
*“a change is gonna come
imagine
peace in our time”*
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
INTP
Introvert
Intuitive
Thinker
Perceiver
Highly intellectual but
score lower than expected on
standardized tests
Fascinated with the world
Plan maker and
abandoner
Frighteningly unemotional and seemingly moves on from devastating events rapidly
Acts self absorbed but
truly cares for people under the cold exterior
Often feels detached from the world
Unable to articulate great idea and thoughts exactly
Loves to argue and debate
for learning sake but
some don’t see it as
friendly banter
Called the mad scientist without
convention
An absent-minded wonderfully built learner,
That INTP
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. I, myself, believe that it lie in the hand of the perceiver.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
Aureole...Manna's descent like showering
waveforms.
Eyes hungering...upturned, cloven in rapture.
Mouth slants open in a salivary click--
come the incantations...come the
anatomical sway of microcosm.
Intergalactic cynosure, pariah, shaman--
mangy interloper teaching wind to dance!
Tamer of the subconscious...mender of schism!
Anathema to Gaia's Satanic Stewards!
To be sought in the House of Aquarius,
haunting its foundation that it may uphold.
The roads to and fro are as anagrams that
alter with the perceiver.
It is the second look, of what's cross with
what Is...and ever shall be--that gives rise
to disorientation...reincarnation.
O grant dancer of self-evidence, grant your
sundry incantations... yearning for Gaia's heart
of hearts.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Those chanting waves breathe the void!
Circling into mental quietude
Enter where the Lord of Form rests in a
Constant stand still.
Around that cyclic circle of life-fire
His minions utter noises of non-meaning
to praise the very notion of sound and being!
Chant, chant, chant to reveal this eternal
moment we all reside in showing love and
understanding regardless of who or what.
What level can you reach in your human form?
Can you touch the void with the form of fingers?
Chant yourself into oblivion and god..
Go beyond chanting.
Go beyond god.
Go beyond the beyond.
Touch the void where there is no longer perceiver nor perceived.
There you can reach the inner state of emptiness from
which all form comes from.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
Like a giant Sequoia tree, well aged and outwardly still tall and firmly anchored
I proudly display, my outer senescent bark, but inside, I’m pitted and cankered
Still majestic and straight, branches spread, with fingered needles reaching for the sky
But at each limb joint, those cracks lay hidden; not yet visible, to the naked eye
Those blisters ravage and rage, at my inner trunk; but not, so you can clearly see
Hidden by the sap; like those morning rheum tears, which seep out and crust on me
I reach skyward, extend my branches to the sun; my sieve tubes there unplugged
But below, my veins congested, and my arteries full of sap, are fully clogged
And yet I stand, without an outward tremble; disguising well the tremors in my roots
With all my strength, I will them hold; do not cede, to the pain that in them shoots
I will perceiver; not able to bend with the wind, I stand firm still; until I break
Stiffen my resolve; until my fluids coagulate, and rigor mortise does me overtake
BOEMS BY JA 397
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
its grown quiet
here in the darkness
things moving have grown still
or moved off
now even the stillness has
ceased its capturing
left with the impoverished air
that once teemed with subtle life
i **** in its neutral taste
and slowly breath out trying to avoid creating a stir
pause here at the gap between instruction
of the current and the mastery of the next
i flicker between fears unfounded yet persistent
strip off layers of perception only to cloth them again
in some other unnatural garment of paper thin ideal
this struggle exhausts me and i flounder at the escapism
i am left here in the silence
once more
to become still myself as i reconcile the loss
how it came to be baffles me
but i know i must come to terms
i am trapped within and will not find easy egress
the darkness gathers my attention
i search it for meanings
it by inaction speaks
it by force of its encompassing nature
gives birth to visions
creates echoes in the mind
that are not really there
but are real enough to the perceiver
a lone dog shouts his displeasure
a lawnmower begins its guttural journey through
a landscape
a child's joyfully laughing shout
these strange noises come and depart in an instant
in the the minds eye
each has meaning and creates image of each thing
as it would happen
but it is just a thought
just an image
the darkness has not moved
has not revealed a sound
it is more alive than i
eye flutters open to visual noise
and i am free
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
The Oxidant is ever defined by the history of the orient
The context is a mystery until found,
like the minutiae of what an explorer meant
when they added an image to their diaries
There was this specific image where
A giant fish pulls a boat
Waves crashing
from the background to the fore
Cascading, swirling whites and greens,
but effervescent blues show up more
Atman means self, which never dies
Are we the fish or on the boat?
When waves birthed from typhoons
land down sorely and the hull breaks apart
Does the world break too?
Are we the ocean of conditions
through which the fish ferries
the boat of the ego?
Or perhaps the birds eye resident,
a view set between the dual wings
of the present and past sets.
Are we the mind that dreams the future? What is possible entangled through the perceiver’s sight, awareness in kind
Or maybe we are the people
terrified by our lot in life wondering how we got caught up in such an endeavor?
Whose to say?
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
a shale-brittle afternoon hoses
down the pathways of its
April Garden, with a thin smoke.
a single cloud stretched to a wisping
spark that aches.
landward oceans sinking underground--
helped skyward.
color to the everchanging perceiver--
for no sake of its own.
never to recollect what it is called as
if by name.
marked roots from the flip glaze of
calendar years.
Apr 8, 2023
Apr 8, 2023 at 1:03 PM UTC
A lukewarm pile of fresh *****
And the scattered pieces of a broken heart
Or some other wildly clichéd dross
A vague color between green and grey
Maybe some recent cigarette butts
In it are uncomfortable memories
Immortalized vindictive shards of the past
A boot print to assert the endless shame
Nothing positive is ever in *****
It's a relief of pain and dullness
It contains the distilled essence of heartache
I haven't thrown up in years
I must have so much pent up waste in me
Waste of the self, garbage of the soul
Unholy, rancid, putrid, odorous *****
Or am I perhaps forgetting something?
There is tranquil solitude in *****
Isolated, cold, mechanical self-reflection
Representations of pathetic shame
Cruel hatred in regurgitated carrots and corn
No disgust except that which the perceiver suggests
What point is there in disgust and regret then?
The ugly and incapacitating truth escaped
Perhaps the reason I do not, is because I am!
Quetzal, the drunken ***** of the Holy Spirit
Reflecting all the disgust God hides
Transposed onto unshapely fractures
Cavities and chasms, gaping on the cloth of Eden
Become as ***** lukewarm and odorous!
The purest and cleanest reflection of God's adoration
Oct 17, 2022
Oct 17, 2022 at 3:49 PM UTC
A hidden halo shines above your head
My hero
when I played with the twitching fires of death
It was you who took my singed fingers by the hand
Blinded by the masquerade of unearthly expectations
My brain left rattled
Demons singing a nervous chorus
You saw through my calm exterior surface
You shape shifter you!
You morphed into any role I needed you to
You saw the things I had yet to be
What I had to live for, what I was to become
All the sights I had yet to see
Trained me diligently
for all the obstacles I had yet to succumb
Provided me with the confidence and armor to live on
Perceiver until the bulb of my life dies and my rightful time has come
Yet I sit here
Helpless, unable to do a thing
To shelter you from all the hardships
You've been cursed with
Life is a cruel, deadly serpent
I live in fear of the day it shall constrict around your neck
Swipe your soul from the earth's bed
Blasted life with it's under-tow currents
Vindictive earth with its cyclical ways
But I suppose I have you to blame
It was you who had given me the strength to stay
For better and for the worst of days
Even when the fog cleared
When the sky was no longer grey
When at last all the demons had finally gone away
You stayed
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
May the timeless I,
the perceiver
immortal
be parted from form,
from body
temporal.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Outside of language structuring and more into the rhetoric of philosophy;
Logos, within the frame of reference of 2nd person perspective, corresponds to our inner monologues. The mind's speech.
1st person - Perceiver - Person
2nd person - Perception - Place
3rd person - The Perceived - Thing
So whereas from the 1st person perspective, thought is merely an attribute of perception - 2nd person sees the mind as a more physical place.
A liminal space between the material & immaterial.
Therein, thought which is the inner monologue can be offered body. You can personify thought as a whole, personify thoughts in sets, or in singulars. So 3rd person would be thought which examines or experiences itself.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 7:00 AM UTC
FORCES OF CREATION
Structure
.....continued...4
Time, a false perception,
has become the ultimate chronicler of existence,
unidimensional, unidirectional and constant.
The very birth of each individual Perceiver and Observed,
initiates its own filament of Time,
and once initiated, that pendulum remains in perpetual motion, forever existent and recallable for eternity.
Gravity, electromagnetism, nuclear - forces of interaction
to be continued.....
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 10:56 AM UTC
You can be lost in the forest
Riding on you bike
Galloping on horses
Putting up a fight
Marching to music
Baking a cake
or catching a school bus
before a swim in the lake
You can be a reader
Or the one written about
Maybe a perceiver
Without any doubts
You can be a page turner
maybe one who turns around
You could be lost in a forest
And never be found
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 9:27 PM UTC
How difficult it is to quit being
God in this dangerous swirling world
Called life which arises from the ego
State with conscious and preconscious thought
Realms that rapidly flow from moment to brief
Moment presenting a false linear
Image of perception perceiver and
Perceived as three distinct intermingling
Entities where in truth only a oneness
Does exist here and now but quit i must
To loose the hold of bone deep taloned fears
Which are a cause and caused resultant in
This present mind of dreamer and the dream
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
Mostly a head
With a big absorbing sensing *****
At the mouth
A great column conveys into her perceiver
And keeps moving through
The back of her head
Into a distant vanishing point
Everything is stretched and smooshed
In the yellow umbilical column
All the information from each moment
Runs down the column into her
She feeds and reads the information
Time moves for her to be nourished
With all that happens
In our world which generates the information
She consumes.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Unlock the inner perceiver
Nothing more than a day dreamer.
Take me to a place of unimaginable sights.
Big waves with pretty lights.
I contemplate my existence to a spec.
We are just a space in retrospect
What is this life that we seek
Something unobtainable we peak.
An empty hour glass because time is not real
Make your own life it's only what you can feel.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
I touch the mirror thinking i know
the truth of reflection
Not separate but i moving i stare
mesmerized in dream worlds
Flat two dimensional pieces of now
pride swells to safety mastery thought
Of all claimed a union intimate wisdom
if but shyly humbly
An ant whispers hallucinating lions roar
lions will and billions of other ants
see deluded gold bushy mane
carnivore teeth breath of flesh
eater
Braincarving rationalized existence
ecstatic hope or fear for the moment
in mind
Sight touch sound taste smell
consciousness sensate
Variables infinite shaped perceiver
perceiving perceived perceptions
Wave after turbulent wave
light gravity
x-ray thought
one object cause effect
different view
Holding together a mote of cosmos
non other than we this
mountain meru
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
There erupts a quarrel between the five senses,
Who among them has the most significance,
Is it the eye who is the perceiver?
Is it the ear who is the observer?
Is it the nose who is the moisturizer?
Is it the skin who is the sensor?
Or is it the tongue who is the taster?
The Eyes says it's him who is the mightiest!
He sees the beauty, perceives the stars; the shiniest!
Sees the flowers, trees, bugs; even the tiniest,
However, he lies, he says he sees the inner beauty,
But we know, he's after the external; he's guilty!
He can't see purity- limited is his duty.
The ear goes next, she is the master of interpretation,
She gives us pleasure, the sound of nature and it's creation,
The calm sound of streams and birds without filtration,
However, she is not perfect, she prefers to hear gossips,
She is the reasons for dispute and strains in friendships,
She is evil and intrigued to break relationships.
It is the nose's turn, he gives us sensory pleasure,
He identifies odor- sweet, bitter, lovely-All flavors,
From flowers to soaps, ranging to natural odor,
However, he fails to smell the foul in the air,
Gives us dissatisfaction, sensetive to anything near,
It gives up instantly, as soon there is something it can't bare.
Skin's turn is up next, she comes in all colors,
Unique and special in it's own tone, like flowers,
She senses all natural gifts, she senses nature's showers,
However, she is unruly, she is a distinctive status,
Only favoring some, it becomes an inferiority apparatus,
Between sensory love and physical lust, towards the latter it is gratus.
Finally, it's the tongue's turn, he presides over taste,
Gifts of God- fruits, edibles, he engulfs without haste,
Anything that gives him joy, he never throws it to waste,
However, he is highly defective, he likes drugs,
The taste of it, puts his adrenaline high- sugar rush!
Verbal abuse is his thing, after this don't expect for hugs.
Hence, we conclude.... All the senses have their pros and cons,
The eye with blindness for internal beauty,
The ear with deafness to morals,
The nose with blockage to nature,
The skin with insensibility to hugs and love,
The tongue with nullness to moral taste....
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 8:45 AM UTC
Truth
Distorted by the perceiver
People fight to prove theirs
Reminders of how primal we are
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 1:10 PM UTC