"perceptual" poems
For my muse, I choose the euphoric source
Of my most transcendent -
Lovely
- Muddy
Memories.
Perceptual flashes ― slosh slushing
Approaching an untamed blue-green pond
Just your average amphibian gone blonde.
In sunshine or windward shower.
Loitering around the grassy brim,
On that one slick rock, I stood up
Catch a fish ― oooooh you swift ⁓
Let it back in?
Or you could...
Run screaming like the flaming river rumbling down the mountain.
To the lunulate lagoon?? in the front yard
Hop & stand
Fish in hand You. Have. To. Make. It.
But the gargantuan estate. . . it's too late.
That tiny t-rex gait ― might just seal
That golden guppies fait.
Cause you sprung like spring
And set that little sucker free.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
I look up at the sky and it feels like love
And in my mind words echo and poems form
I look at something and the first thing I see is beauty
An undying, pleasing combination of qualities that provides a perceptual experience of admiration
An entity which is inherently valued and adored
I find beauty everywhere
Inside of my eyes
My heart
My body
My head
The entire world surrounding me
I see it in everything
Beautiful things, beautiful people, beautiful creatures, beautiful places, beautiful objects, beautiful ideas, beautiful sounds
There is beauty in everything
I am in love with the moon and the sky
The way the sun shines through the trees and paints pictures on the ground below
The clouds and how they decorate the blue around them, accentuating its tugging beauty
How the birds sing songs for the flowers
The way the trees loom over everything and provide shelter and comfort for the smallest creature or an amiable passerby
I am in love with how the brook babbles
How the wind whispers secrets to the meadows
I am in love with every form of beauty
And if there is beauty in every single thing
I suppose you could say I am in love with all that there is
The life and beauty around me are sometimes so breathtaking I don't know what else to do rather than just revel in it
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
Be wary of the
paradoxical, neglected sentience among the departed minds
Seek the route which makes accessible...an absolute truth
oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, calcium, nitrogen, phosphorus
The composition of life
The creation of awareness, drifting from your nature
live irresponsibly, expose the fear to danger
it will devour the inessential anxiousness
and set yourself free
release from obligation,
release from routine duties
the masquerade of conditioning
no longer possessing you
bare spirit,
confront yourself
See the illusion, its deception
of your perception
remove the veil and feel
intensified anguish of the acknowledgment
of authorities dominance
to invent and forge manufactured minds
to divide us, impregnate the beauty
with depraved psychosis
then label it with sanity
taint them with vanity
to take the present moment
as an opportunity to breathe
here and now, everlasting liberation
reality, what is sincere?
What is truth?
It’s an option you determine
sight, holy sight
creating this world, this dread
this opportunity to break loose
undress and **** the reality in camouflage
reborn through a perceptual experience
the wilderness is within
the blinking 4th dimension
will soon carry us away
to an enigmatic change in sensory perception
the ego, self importance, it will pass away
is there a choice, a selection of setting?
When you zoom out of earth
examine closely the size of this
universe, we are microscopic babies
from the womb of infinite mystery
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
There are men (fair knights) who always get what they want.
If suddenly, Mr. Knight doesn’t get - say, a girl (the fair maiden) - he’s confused - what IS this, he wonders but he doesn’t KNOW. We will assume that getting this thing (girl in our example) is important to him.
Though his perceptual systems are still searching for answers he gets a sinking feeling because his limbic system reacts faster. It tells him something’s wrong - and it might be a predator (the dragon) so he starts sweating, he wasn’t prepared for a dragon - for chaos!
Why didn’t I get what I wanted, he will ask himself.
Maybe I’m not attractive? (That would be a horror of the 1st order)
Maybe this girl is trying to hurt me.. attack me? (the predator) - that may be a thought, but it’s unlikely and an unhealthy one.
Rejecting that he must ask himself questions: Did he come on too strong? Was he acting like a **** Did he make too many assumptions? Am I well dressed? Did I shower today? (he smells his breath, checks himself in a mirror) He goes back over the encounter in his mind. Was he really trying his best?
If he decides, at this point, to go on, he must face his unrealized world in order to slay the dragon of chaos blocking him. The issue may be something outside of his normal, conceptual structure.
In that case, the problem is literally, the snake in the garden (his walled conceptual garden - his view of the world and his place in it).
Now this IS something - a snake in the garden - again he can give up - quit with this girl, quit trying period, quit dating, bathing, eating - that’s how the dragon can ****
Failure is a message from the implicit world. The good news is - it’s a message from the real world and it may be a gift - the best thing that ever happened to him. A slap that says: wake up, learn something, clue-in.
It can be a treasure, the gold that dragons hoard.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 9:14 AM UTC
murderous; oNyX;(befeathered)puddle
po
poo
pool
pools
poools
pooling
on celadonian
plateau gather 'bout
huskish shells bleeding chlorophyllic residue
obsidian beaks pluck/pierce/penetrate
earthy skin
searching for
edible squirming analogies
wielding the loathsome oral club
of (kawing) that
kawing chorus
beating on my
perceptual walls
";".
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
Let's start with Thoughts
Neurons spread chemical data building their connections
the more connections, the greater the power, the more transferred thought
All of these thoughts, as you read, as you hear, as you flow with the statement
An eye twitch, an inner dialogue, you build a connection
cell to cell, synapse to mishaps, the truly connected have built in their ties
Let's continue with People
People spread physical data building their connections
The more connections, the greater the power, the more transferred thought
All of these thoughts, as you read, as you hear, as you flow with the statement
**** you in, an outer visage, you build a connection
Makes you believe, the truly connected have built in their ties
Now let's break it down
People project the image of themselves they most desire to be seen to build their connections
The more connections, the greater the power, the more transferred thoughts
The way they project this establishes, if you'll flow with the statement
Either brings you in, or casts you out, whether you wish to build a connection
How you are perceived, is where the truly connected have built in their ties
Where Thoughts meet Clashes
How one wishes to be perceived is cut up in The Great Disconnect, the perceptual marker that negates the internal, where chemical processes wish to make their data a physical reality
"If I say my piece in this tone, with this voice, I can establish my connections"
The more connection, the greater the power, the more transferred thoughts
The Great Disconnect changes how you are perceived,
is where the truly connected have clung toward their ties.
Where Clashes meet Angst
When outside perception shifts beyond the control of the internal will,
the mind races to make its own reality another's reality
The stalled connections, the later the hour, the more scattered thought
as you search for a means to flow with the statement, when you are shut out of the loop
Grasping at straws to connect, the mind and the body flowing outward, where the once truly connected have let go of their ties
Where Angst goes to Deal
Once the connections have cut, the thoughts cease to stir chemical process,
the physical data keeps itself clean.
and all of these thoughts, as you read, as you feel, as you roll with the statement
an eye twitch, an inner dialogue, you cope with disconnection
Mishaps to synapse, privy to lies, the truly connected aren't bound by their ties.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
And here in this windless hole, I sit and wonder where I had left that which mattered most to me under the starlit fields of Montreal. I crave it and yet wish to God that I had never been the man who held you close to me. Everything I had in my arms in the parking lot outside of that hotel dash turned dash residence. A messy room and a crowded cafeteria. A hotel dash turned dash residence dash turning dash memory. And here in this wonderless ******** in this airtight cabin of past fantasy’s design, the rent keeps piling up and oh the dishes are due. Half-finished paperback classics flapjacked on top of each other in this white shirt no sweat world with the sleeves rolled up. This pill form city with all the charm and magic of an after dinner mint. Take a walk with me, let me tell you about this dream I had.
It had wine
and white sheets and tables.
Paintings that I knew
but did not recognise,
gasping under the grip
of yellowing wallpaper with pink flowers.
It was hell,
hell I tell you.
waking up with fever thinking I was portuguese and that there were three of me
Remembering when you sat me down,
and told me who I was in all of
two paragraphs- underline this underline that.
Black and red LEDs in full contrast of the room turning real again.
All I remember is you.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
Connection involves a reciprocal flow where being detaches from nothingness into an inseparable unity.
So, let us acknowledge the colours and feel the vibrations as they transcend the parameters of compartmentalism, into an infinite and unified whole.
Attempts continue to socialise us into the abyss of perceptual bankruptcy with materialistic carrots where the fabric is truly frayed despite plausible and intellectual argument.
So, I want to talk with you as we swim in deep rivers of generational statements, which are released from the conglomerate of necrotic unions. I raise my glass to realms which lie beyond tangible and finite chords.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Bouncing Betty in the closed corridor
The white walls bleed red
The red walls bleed white
Oh, how can we escape this squalid shell?
Ceiling fans Awaken
Silent hardwood floors,
They run screaming into the dull darkness
Let's feed the creature
That's lurking below.
Does the creature exist outside my mind?
All my rainbows fade
TO SHADES OF COPPER.
All the browns of the trees still look the same.
The mind can be a
Prison for your eyes
Let's escape Perceptual Alcatraz.
A silver dawn waits
For the queens return.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
Let us now decorate the symbol of life and ensure that the protection from Scandinavian and Turkish witches is confidently displayed at our thresholds whilst snowflakes silently fall.
Are you able to recollect the innocence, where the magic circle of Arctic captivation nurtured the sending of burnt letters through anticipatory chimney flues, deep into the twinkling sky at night?
There is a certain connection to the pattern of Odin - the guide of souls.
In wisdom, I have left savoury and alcoholic sustenance for ancestral spirits between the high places of Ounasvaara and Korkalovaara. So, here it is my sibling energy field of eternal carbon footprints. Once again, the Yule buck and its Old Norse master are soon to descend upon us.
So, although it may have been outlawed in colonial America by Puritans in 1659, we must also acknowledge those infinite prints of cloven hooves in the deep snow of 1038 a.d. in this mid-winter nativity of Cristenmasse.
As we celebrate the harvest of Kekri and consult with Joulupukki on the forest ridge, the symbolic colours of red, green and gold will lavish perceptual and spiritual gifts which are unable to be purchased with material commodities.
As this festival has gradually evolved into an obscene Western construct of politico-economical prowess, we must identify one more thing: Santa is an anagram for Satan.
Is this truly Finnish or Byzantine? Perhaps it is just cosmological ethnography?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
What is it about stairways?
An image of promise,
Or is that mystery?
Cascading in slanted light,
Tempting us forward,
Upward
Delivering us to romanticized paradise
Or ornamented haven.
To sanctuary disguised as a sun dusted bedroom,
Where doubtless, is a hidden love
Of the sort that once uncovered,
Will ever follow us.
Or maybe to dark wooded rooms,
Glowing with strings of frosted light.
Indigo ceilings and charcoaled walls,
Lit up
Or a creaking hallway that will usher us
To chipping french doors with a glassy view,
Where we will glimpse a new and equally hopeful vista.
Perhaps enchantment
In the form of rolling, dark green gardens,
With another Stairway that is their own, but is
Descending,
And which, at its very sight, we can feel tugging at our hand;
Breeze itself, defined and determined
It will be an alluring yet familiar pull.
Luminescence between our fingertips.
The sight a vow that will pull us down those steps
Cool stone alive with mossy cracks, that curve, disappearing from view
Laying us down to wonder,
Only in a moment to reemerge in the clearer eyes of our mind.
Where surely, round the corner, we will just be able to make out that the steps are met
With an unclouded, rosy woodland.
The aspen encompassment of a measured and ghostly chemistry;
Flourescent tree line and rocky hem,
Savage and most lovely,
If we only have the courage to climb or to descend them, a perceptual promise awaits,
An ended hunt.
The perfect tincture of Wilderness and Refuge,
That will make us feel the scope of our existence,
without ever having to doubt whether we are safe.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Our bilingual illiteracy and contemporary expression of vintage infancy remind me of developmentally mature eccentricities within a complex haven of interpersonal dynamics.
Just like a carnival hall of mirrors, our perceptual disturbances succumb to elaborate revelations and dreadful expositions of what we presume to be articulate prose.
Although the socio-political roots of a seductive striptease may shatter the silence of our audible and urban ecosystems, we can now access realms which connect to the severance of divided collusion.
Our galaxy has established her infinite story, in the same manner as a wrought iron gate interferes with the evidence within our contemporary society.
It is just like an alternate universe.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
My insight and awareness are shallow, to say the least.
The realms of cognition and perceptual familiarity are subject to dogmatised interpretations of political agenda, which salivate with idolatrous and economical intercourses.
Are your activities of a voluntary nature? Then like a lamb to the slaughter you shall march.
A lack of consensual engagement equates to an experience of ****
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Perception is a strange phenomena.
Our thoughts.
Feelings.
Ideas.
Interpretations.
They are all determined by us.
I'm not sure exactly what causes someone's sense of perception to be warped.
All I know is mine seems to be so.
Some have stated they believe me to be an intelligent articulate individual.
However when it comes to common perceptual sense, I have none.
How does one train their perception?
Is anyone really in control of the way they interpret?
Lost.
Continually lost.
Taken the wrong way.
Offending those without realising.
Socially inept.
Yet still possessing the empathy and ability to connect with all kinds of people.
Is there a simple solution to figuring myself out?
Or am I simply on a wild monkey hunt with no end in sight?
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
We have all lived these lies before.
But fortunately for you
The ungodly mystics
Have come to blur the logistics.
~Jamais vu reducing you to presque vu~
Normal adults with abnormal hearts
Bodley sensations
Perceived as memories.
Is this all consciousness seems to be?
Accept it
& venture on.
Nature lover wildflower
I am mine.
Before I am anyone else's.
Sendoff the catharsis of psychopomps
Abandon ship
Engage in privet talks with Psychonautes
Denounce the war in my mind
Between who I am and want to be.
For it’s a privlige to be a kaleidoscope
Forever changing color
Ambitious zeal
Misguided hope
Artistic creation
Misanthrope
Elegance in a nonfigurative sense,
Perceptual flashes of internal concepts
Decomposition on the Hawaiian Island
Lose of whits somewhere past the horizon.
Island fever.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
Upon you, I am transfixed.
Being of All, center of the worlds.
To your majesty I bow,
every individual is blessed a king.
Gods and Goddesses of the
gardens, show yourselves!
My vision has thus directed
a change in view.
I'm spellbound by this divinity
that reflects from within you.
What heavens could we imagine?
What quests would the greatest
among us set out for?
Pulled from the masses,
swiftly switched are my perceptual glasses.
A mass of flesh craving to cling
to absolutely every material 'thing.'
But then again, what could be said
for the lost glory and wars o' the dead?
I pray we can return..
Over the hill,
around that teasing bend,
lays the treasure of our souls.
This diamond we must defend.
Link of history past
and center of the soul!
To thee I ascend,
the ultimate goal.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
**A hitchhiker, he sits in a roadside shack, with a song on his lips,
a jewel, a chance find from the heap of trash, in front is in his hands,
just back after chasing a rainbow, in an aircraft crossing sound barrier,
he found it's made of droplets of water and hopes yet to be fulfilled,
the moments invaluable she gifted to him, he'll never measure,
with anything other than emotions pricier than the costliest diamond,
the moments he gifted her from his repository of secrets in his heart,
takes many births to make it ripe like that, he understands.
He has no apologies for anyone for anything, everything
happens with the mathematical precision, mind sets in motion.
Each moment has something to offer, if one hesitates,
the plate goes on changing hands and someone takes it.
He doesn't stop smiling, sun and moon, with their rare moments of
unequal beauty, are his darlings, he decides what he wants to take
feels the flow on mind, soul, veins and everything moves,
don't you fail to be aware, you are an endless flow, he tells himself,
quantum of energy, in perceptual synchronized motion,
from waves to dancing waves of the limitless cosmic ocean.**
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
These are odd times for us, whether we can perceive it or not
It may be that we know but knowing isn't quite as tangible an experience as we'd like
We live as overwhelmed individuals in a layered psychological and cellular construction
Or, be it better or worse, solitary insecurity clusters ignoring screen after screen
Electronics spreading root throughout our air, ground, and following us around
Reality a strange blur between the definite, clear sober now and the insistent, ageless imposition of imagery
Of pixels and posters and places we've never been
Of people that distort our perceptions, degrade our emotions, and misinform us with too many voices
Our entertainment often becoming an intellectual and perceptual tranquiliser
Or a place to inhabit and let go, when the pressures of economic stability and social conscription to labour need to be forgotten, if only for a while
I still hold onto the optimism though
I hold onto it because I have to, because I want to, because I believe in it
It is my abstract fuel, a state of mind that every now and then gives me the pick me up to plod on
The internal negativity clawing at shins reconstructed as a test of masculinity, negativity from the world a test of solidarity
I am not infallible, I move slower sometimes, get lost sometimes, can't quite make it tangible and structured sometimes
I am reminded that I'm not recession proof, that I'm still the system's ***** and sometimes my buttocks aren't raised quite high enough
But..
I keep going. Like we all do. I try to let it exemplify myself a bit more than most, but..
If I can make that girl thank me,
that guy give me a smirk,
that project go a little faster,
that day smell and feel nicer
and that anxious night seem a little more transparent
Through something as simple as trying to be optimistic and mindful of the self
I guess there's something to keeping your chin up
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
For in dreams we enter a world that is entirely our own. A world entirely my own consists of nothing less than the entirety of you. I've always liked how things that oppose so boldly fit so perfectly together.
You know how they always say opposites attract?
Subconscious thought and conscious thought may be opposites like hot and cold, but I swear when you burned me with your everlasting flame it was so hot that I felt like I was freezing.
My conscious thought is always filled with your life. You're alive in me. Whenever I'm awake, you're fluttering inside the structure of my mind.
My dreams are filled with your death.
You're sick, you're dead, it's too late, I couldn't save you.
Your life flashed before my eyes so quickly your life and death are a blur.
Are life and death opposites or are they just two variations of the same form of perceptual experience?
When you're alive and I'm conscious are you just as much a part of me when I'm unconscious and you're dead?
Opposites attract and our charges couldn't be more polar but the gravity of you has me so magnetically drawn that I couldn't stay away if I tried.
For in dreams we're in a world that is entirely our own and yet to oppose that my world is yours.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
_____
She says I...
should treat her like a masterpiece of art,
And I’d be a fool to not get the fuller picture;
I might linger by her side, yet my position
remains a mystery, akin to a Khaled feature.
She hides behind her smile;
that’s a kaleidoscope of emotions—perceptual,
asymmetrical, mixed signals with her eyes –
okay, I think I got the picture; “she is a living
Mona Lisa;” yet, she remains to me,
an enigma.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 4:16 PM UTC
Would you journey with me into a vulnerable breaking open in the psyche, where it is said that the milk of grace starts to flow?
Come then, ! Listen! No.Really.Listen
Can you hear the sound of this vibrant brightness?
Sweeping across the flower petals of this existence,
bathing everything in its bountiful cascades of light
ever emitting the low frequency wum and thrum
as it get louder, awakening the primal {om} of moaning,
Fall swiftly into remembrance of this sacred landscape
Where the bound, captive, and fearful cries of lovers
Dared to break free
from their self-assembled prison
courageously chanting Ohm and Uhn and without censor
While liberation fills space, we begin to notice the root of the sound comes from the combined emptiness of these self-tuning, self-replicating, self-transcending instruments. The space between the notes lingers in the perpetually perceptual reality of exchanged and hollow breaths
The cosmic conductor reminds us of the rhythm and signature,
[4/4] A one, a Two, a Three, A. . , . . , . . , . . , IT BEGINS AGAIN
∞Movement and rest∞
movement∞rest.
Wipe the wet hair from your eyes
and take a d e e p breath,
This is the punctuation of the moment
unfurling it’s lotus blossom
from our hearts into our being
Witness how the silence offered by such ever present union elicits glimpses of the Self above the self.
Be still and die and such an emptiness will appear and you too will take part in the Sacrament.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
And the man with the battle-bruised segmental fracture fists turned to the cylindrical tree
And asked,
“As you are a wise tree of such a unique shape, I must know if I am the self of tomorrow’s past or the momentary projection of a conscious spirit swimming in a perceptual slew of today’s virtues?”
The tree shed a leaf and observed a drop of rain, now multiplying.
“What difference does it make? Your existence in this interchanging moment is undeniable, when all else, consequently, is.”
The tree paused and saw a ray of electric energy pierce a nearby farmhouse, setting fire to its mahogany foundation-
“We serve witness to a recurring pattern of chaos, always singularly consistent in form while simultaneously imploding within itself against a vacuum.”
The man walked home and thought on this until the wrinkled hands of tomorrow drowned this form towards oblivion.
-
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
snow and humidity flow wealth
deal slow spoken depart of evening dusk
geography gave its classic crowning achievement
banks of breeze
chrysanthemum, artemisia, dahlia profusion
teeming between vast favelas
undulating urban inscribed temple example
contributes to interlude
unafflicted infrastructure officially released
an array of agglomerations and organisms
fantasy spoke understanding
capacity to cope
innermost insulation in the valley
small lessons prepared immune defense
immense swaths of civilization plan
an accumulation of saplings
prestige expanding on the edges of periphery
trees rooted in tribal transformation
movement conceived by branches
an acquisition of blooms abounding
connectivity involving strategic placement, intuitive responses, orchestrated shift
combination of changes to communicate an aesthetic of nature
a perceptual intellectual engagement to negotiate the cumulative effect
the manner in which a sense seems to take shape
through elements overhead
sculpted mindset of synthesis
animates the dynamics
a characteristic
a reservoir of peace
paradise components
dazzling province
metropolis of permanence
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC
*He smokes to live
for dying soon
But he never was drawn
the creed on death
How life becomes dark essence
staring at the moonlit night
watching from over the sunshine
He thinks in distortion
walks on delusion
sleeps with the obsession
He lives in anarchy hallucination
He sings for true love
but love could never hold him last
He fights for living peace
but peace never be upon on him
Life becomes enamored death
scribed on nature
versified within soul light
But he never was seen
the death in his dark soul
He thinks in distortion
walks on delusion
He sleeps with the obsession
Doesn't he live in anarchy hallucination?*
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC