"perspicacity" poems
say goodbye to the bucolic summer
the rafts of winter are upon the banks of your desire
please placate the wild streets of abandonment
let the edges of your neediness
take you into independence
i am less dense than a fly
and more round than the sky
i am a shade too dry for some people's liking
are you wanting a more permanent vacation
the icing on the cake is the real equation
immediate desires all forsaken
our love is worth practicing non-anticipation for
if you kiss me now i’ll be forever liberated
if you show me how
i’ll take you to the 9th dimension
seventeen floors above the world
and we are standing on
an indefinite embankment
i am intimidated by your perspicacity
as the persimmon sun sets upon the horizon
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
1483
The Robin is a Gabriel
In humble circumstances—
His Dress denotes him socially,
Of Transport’s Working Classes—
He has the punctuality
Of the New England Farmer—
The same oblique integrity,
A Vista vastly warmer—
A small but sturdy Residence
A self denying Household,
The Guests of Perspicacity
Are all that cross his Threshold—
As covert as a Fugitive,
Cajoling Consternation
By Ditties to the Enemy
And Sylvan Punctuation—
5.5k
His wife is as
assiduous as
a mother bird.
She keeps
the windows
clean with rags
and buckets
of vinegar and
steaming water.
What happens here.
He sweeps
the ceiling
and ponders
the meaning
of the word
perspicacity.
There are
mornings
spent fussing
over underused
demitasse sets.
What happens here.
There are
afternoons
side-by-side
on the front
porch glider,
watching clouds
attenuate across
a porcelain sky.
What happens here.
The smallest
sounds never
fail to surprise
them.
How sparrows fold
like feathered paper
below rectangles
of polished air.
*What happens here,
happens over there.*
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
Loving the abstract you
Now that you in flesh are
No longer here
(Many years,
So long)
Your hair unplugs the bathroom
Harsh words
Entail no tears
Your beauty lingers
Burned under my eyelids
And your perspicacity
Shields my fear
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
Look down
From on high
Lord knows
How bleeds your sharp knife
Incisor
My pack fights tooth and nail
Our brood suckles hard
Gets our due from each ****
Renewable Romulus and Remus
Makes Mother happy
Her pups engaged
Zeus burst his brain making you
Jupiter’s irrational exuberance
Pumped up
Hear me now
Believe me later
We guttersnipes must contend
With your white largesse
**** on us trickler
At least give us jobs
Blown handy our daily ****
Rather eat ***
Off a silver platter
Served by Salome
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
Is an old poem of mine that I tender to you to turn your mind away for just, even just, a few minutes from the sadness and the depression that I read about in poem after poem. I am an old man whose sighs are recorded in the lines on his hands. It will be better. You will be loved.
Be brave.
Lead to Gold, Philosopher to Poets
When the philosophers abandoned
castle turrets for ivory towers,
lost was the secret of
I and thou,
of turning lead to gold,
but these cagey, canny scholars in new residences,
who traded
perspicacity for pensions,
before they left,
they tasked to the poets,
a singular task,
cloaking them in a life long responsibility
charging them as follows:
Be the harpooners of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
**with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets**
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
when no man pursues
the truth,
the idea which contains all true ideas, aha
ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,
i think
When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think
How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.
we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson
-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem
spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop
The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)
see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation
verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,
"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.
Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit
in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec
just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,
knowing, my side won.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
Help me understand
the simple complexities
that keep you happy.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
Such is the state of your glory that if thought would be given;
It would make the impudence of the heart a pilgrimage place of amazement!
~~~~~~~
O Manifestation of Perspicacity, bestow on me the alms of Beauty:
That like the sun a begging bowl may be the lamp of dervish's house!
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
They say that wisdom comes with age
that knowledge slowly worms it's way into your mind
that each day brings forth new ideas, new connections, new moments
that molds your not fully developed brain into a somewhat more stable shape.
I have moved another year forward
now have 22 years under my belt.
22 years of jam packing tidbits and statistics
from places I've never been,
and yet that aged wisdom still escapes me.
I feel as though I have Benjamin Buttoned myself
to a time before I ever existed,
an empty chasm of isolation where asking a question
feels even more difficult than finding an answer.
These pieces of myself are falling away
as easily as my baby teeth fell from my mouth
that metalic taste faded like the edges of a picture
labeled summer '03.
My eyes are crinkled,
lines mark my cheeks whenever I smile,
and my mind is fogged with the things I feel
I don't know.
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Isolation of my immense solitude's
Find expression in words
Beautiful incandescent words
Energetic advocagets
Of secret fibers of consciousness
That block out a harsh and unforgiving reality
Who transform an everyday darkness into intense light
Words that are not complete unto themselves
Nor empty but malleable with relentless perspicacity
Creations mythical and radical that cast fanatical curiosities
Upon the clear and harmonious contours of the mind
Melting nerves and thought making concience blush
With contemplated reflections of paralysed silence
Imprinting multicolored words on an immutable identity
With elegant and capricious expression that brings a joy
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
A hot summer day, lush green grass turning into hay.
A sickly child of nine, in a park carpeted with pine.
A little after six, the other kids gone to eat meals their mother's fixed.
He had no worries though, his mother was always home late,
She was probably at a bar or on a date.
A slight breeze blew with warmth that soothed his skin.
While his mother remained half drunk on tonic and gin.
Realization struck, playing alone felt juvenile.
He started towards home, a perpetual mile.
As he treads down the curb, his wariness escalates unperturbed.
For at home, what he is made to witness, gets him feeling constricted.
He feels bound by a chain.
Formidable lovers or accountable customers.
It made no difference, for after they were laid, they treated his mother like a maid.
Which to him was the epitome of lame.
As he was walking down the street, he heard the soft thud of feet.
Curious, he turns around.
As he was gawking, he saw an old man walking.
Towards him, the man was bound.
Without a trace of infidelity or a hint at destructivity, the old approached the child.
In light of the age on his face, the old man's perspicacity seemed mild.
A long coat on his back and a cap of grey hair on his head, this is what the old man said.
" My dear son, lets have fun, lets go to my house and play.
It'll be really merry, we'll drink some hot sherry and I'll give you enough candy to last more than a day"
The boy measured this pretension, reasoned with apprehension the thoughts of his mother at bay.
He reasoned she won't care, or if she did she won't dare for her lovers don't give her much say.
So he followed the old man, content to have a friend to play with.
Honestly though, it was the candy that his motives stayed with.
They walked along till they were deep in an unfamiliar part of town.
They come upon a dingy little house, which he could have sworn was raided by a hound.
"Please leave your shoes out the door,
Or else you might soil the floor"
Said the old man without a hint of zeal.
The boy pulled of his shoes,
Then the socks came loose.
The candy holding its enchanting appeal.
As the boy walked in straight,
He saw the old man slide the lock into place and smile.
The boy shuddered, his feet cold on the linoleum tile.
The old man sighed, "Common my son, lets have some fun, I'm your neighbourhood friendly ********* "
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Moods still change with the seasons
and the orbit of the moon.
Eyes are glass
Look into them long enough and you'll see right through.
Eyes that have seen
Life and Death in the most beautiful manifestations
Eyes that watch brother grow up,
And mother grow old.
Eyes that can show me where I am,
but not what's in front of me.
Eyes that don't change the happened
only sit and watch as the world vigorously blackens.
Mostly these eyes are a disguise to hide the lies, depression and anxiety held inside by the so-called perspicacity of the mortal mind.
More often then not I find that these eyes deceive me but
when I'll do whatever it may be within my capability to distort what they are showing me.
Or close them because even the sugar coated delusions are too much for them to bear to see.
But when these eyes close it appears that there's nothing but the truth to take.
So I'll stay awake.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
When I look at the beaming blue sky
get always an inspiration to soar up high
with strong wings of ***** and adventure
to explore the new altitude of the nature
and learn the astounding lessons of
clairvoyance and perspicacity to never to give up
While beholding the deep blue but serene sea
it always galvanizes and stimulates my dreams
to dive deep into the kingdom of knowledge
and Inspires to unearth the mystery of its depth
by gleaming the pearls of new hopes
so that new sun rises tomorrow with new dreams
Getting lost into the blues eyes of my partner
I always feel curiosity to learn
new formula of math and chemistry so that
knotty and complex equations of life
are made soluble and enjoyable by all
really blue triangle teaches untouched lessons
(By Kishan Negi)
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
How must you expect me to succeed,
When you gave up your dreams
So long ago?
You have given me everything,
Which I will never forget-
You made me who I am.
But settling for an average life
Seems so much less than what you Wanted…
Than what you are worthy of having
As your own.
You have the vigor and perspicacity
To achieve more,
To achieve the contentment
That you very much deserve.
There is still so much time
That we have as living, breathing beings
On this beautiful,
Oscillating sphere of dust.
So need not worry,
I will be a part of this realization
When it embraces your consciences.
And when that time comes,
I hope that you will read
Upon this line,
And be proud of me-
As well as yourselves.
*Someday,
When we have started our lives,
You will too-
It is an inevitable truth.*
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Hank Williams was hymning
“I Saw the Light” that night
when after dispatched glasses
of small-batch bourbon
and increasingly tall tales
of sorrow, heartache, and woe
Uncle Rick removed his right eye
and handed it to me unsolicited,
an alabaster marble in his palm,
the iris cobalt blue—coral icing
around a hearse-black funeral pie.
After a lifetime of wondering,
my fingers brushed his hand
and I knew he saw me plain.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
Whereas last night the full moon made the night resemble a cold day
Today clouds give the night its old shrouded, crowding demeanor.
Ghosts stalk the forest gleaming (at me) from just beyond the circle
of light thrown by the fire.
You, old night, I wish to make my peace with.
Eventually I know even I (I think, I'm told) must enter naked, a cold
north wind in winter or a gentle September breeze instructing my
sole spirit . . . .
There exist powers overwhelming for the human body and mind.
The aborigine's untold night of meditation on the mountain, coming
away with his life-long totem and power.
The mountains tonight are alive with benevolence that could (for one
lacking humility and respect or the hunter's perspicacity) flame up
into insane malevolence.
You, old complete night, I wish to make my peace with
Being utterly a creature of the water and the light.
Night on the mountain, the human animal alone, without cohorts,
speech and music inane without other ears to listen
Yet blasting, blasting against the night
Even after fire dies, its skin still the halo beacon to nothing in nothing,
Mind pouring on the electricity, outward to friends back in the cities
Receiving in return only strange sounds.
The ear must differentiate and protect.
Just as fluids within keep the body balanced so must the ear when
the eyes are blinded by night
Balance the mind. Eyes, heroes of the day, enjoying orgiastically
autumnal delights
Are now slaves to every primeval passion of the mind.
But the ears: it is a sound they have heard before and can identify.
Night, old strange night (were we once acquainted?), I wish to be at
peace with you by becoming knowledgeable.
Fear like fire clings to its fuel.
I wish to dampen passionate fears by attuning the five senses to all
that is normal dark and day.
To know the habits and cycles of everything I live beside
And my inner spirit become a silent tide attuned to nature's lunacy.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
the mind has no limits
it slips beyond all your theories
there is no magical hypothesis
that can contain your thesis or antithesis
all of our stories are limitless prisms
engaged to refract the light
but photons do not dance for just one party
they are infinite slivers of eternal consciousness
biologically inclined to dine upon your reason
all our satiated afterthoughts
are but the decadent crumbs leftover
from another lunchtime philosophy session
time to clean the dishes of your mind
and find the china that sparkles
beyond your wildest imagination
insight and clarity, the luminous perspicacity
to really see anything clearly
i adore you but if you choose ignorance
i will have to head for the hills
like a lonely gambler in a movie
forms are poems left in stone
and our setting souls know no remorse
yet still i moan and count the colors of you laughter
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 5:37 PM UTC
the speedometer that measures the
acceleration and deceleration of
time in our lives journey is
remarkably similar to the one
we employ in our vehicles
intra moment we can move from
slowness to rapidity in minuscule
amounts of seconds, all the while,
those few bursts of being high, are
parcel of a longer cross country trip
that could be calculated in years,
decades, even life-spans
though we lack the visual imprimatur
upon our eyes of our exact speed most
times, we always have in our possess
a notional beginning and ending
we take a trip to grocery store, up/down
to NYC, fly to Paris just because, and return
home to bury and burn loved ones,
witnesses and fellow travelers to the
longer segments of our irregularly
configured continuum
here, you sigh, why, do you trouble us
with this obvious observation when
we have so much to do, so many roles
to don, and the kids need milk for cereal,
which is a thirty minute round trip that
should have not been necessary had
we “organized our moments of movement
far better organized!*
perspicacity.
this word has been mindful for me for a
days, while bits and bobs, of a poem’s
composition blurted up and out, in
some disarray, while the mind, tries
to collect them all, all for one, for
later collation and an unknown
destination
the wisdom to see down the road.
to plan accordingly, when we can oft
not see around the next corner,
or even the next single steps we “plan”
to take, made without any thought
thereof
is there a poem in here, somewhere, Oh Sinner-man?
perhaps…or, just an indifferent end?
Aug 10, 2024
Aug 10, 2024 at 5:02 PM UTC
perfect summary, of pre-times, the ex-diurnal regularly raggedy,
lyric line, of lunar linear days, wave to it hi/bye crooked jaggedly
foretelling, of a first time, when world was self-imprisoned, wondering, a sin of commission, an omission from a shut-up confession
guilty of laxity, no perspicacity, our fortune telling, loved our ignorance,
lazy greediness let sickness rule, everyone pointing no, not me, fooled
heroes dying in saving, rich in New Zealand hiding, while poets
march in punctilious timing, mourning lost freedom to be unafraid
all thinking, now disbelieving, we’ve lived so well so long,
but the fault-lines cracking showing all of us were emperors naked
from now on, we’ll live so long, not so well, suspecting each other,
the masks we will wear forevermore, dual purposed, protect and
hide our ashamed faces, gowned to disguise, finger pointing
not my fault, but the curve of life and death, proclaiming good bye:
***so long so well, so long glass houses, so long, age of so swell, we too, sophisticates, above the fray, impervious innocence, so well we dead
gutless guiltless***
<>
_____________________________________________________
^ ”*And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it's all right, it's all right*
We've lived so well so long
*Still, when I think of the road
we're traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what went wrong*”
“American Tune” by Paul Simon
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC
Dear ...
Yours is a post PhD thesis and sets us thinking about what life is but definitions are relative and subjective as philosophy and morality is not science--more by way of speculation and hypothesising. Truth is sui generis--we de-sanctify it by claiming we know it but it stands askance.
I would look at life in awe and in recognition of the limits of my own understanding, also in acknowledgement of my lack of maturity and perspicacity ---I shall not pre-empt bur rather live a day at a time-if lucky enough, I might learn to know a bit, just a tiny bit more ,of myself and my relation to life.
I do not need to have an answer to life's mysteries, complexities, nuances or its contradictions as my happiness and wellbeing does not rest on knowledge--I would deem myself lucky to have some oblique insight--to be able to see a moment in its intrinsic state is quite enough--though it is not enlightenment, a new consciousness would have dawned upon me as what was reflected by Blake in his AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE.
Whether life has meaning or not is definable only by personal experience, stripped of external influences or the ranting of writers and philosophers---it is the perennial 'I' and 'Life' that is the crux.
Existentialism is but a lonely and isolated way of looking at life and might be better suited for Western thinking in its vague and dubious search for answers to living unlike the Eastern which seeks to live in harmony with the self and the universe. As such, the West is Yang and the Eastern, Yin--the former involves struggle of the self, the latter is strife-free in its benign acceptance, acquiesce, humility, compassion and subjugation of the ego and not over-doing or over-achieving. That the West is bending more and more towards Zen, Taoism and Buddhism clearly shows a sharp shifting of thinking in espousal of Eastern wisdom.
Love is more real than life as it impinges upon me in my relation to those whom I love and also in my knowing I am loved in return.
It is not an abstraction like life or truth.
What shall save me at the end is not understanding nor knowledge
but rather in recognising I am but a ripple in the limitless vastness of the sea of life and my acceptance of such.
Do I make sense, dear Master?
My IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN--THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE (published by Brolga Publishing, Melbourne) is on sale in 14 countries under Lim-- for rating vide Lim Sing AbeBooks, et al.
It mentions, inter alia, existentialism, Camus and Sartre
with my deep esteem.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 11:59 PM UTC
My main memory remaining of you
Was the time I said "perspicacity"
And you told me it wasn't a word
I guess your just not aware
Of what it means
Or how you lack it
I held to my point
And even tried to make a bet
Five dollars
She promptly looked it up
She was unhappy when she told me I was right
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Not everything that can be said needs to
be said. It's not like you will burst in to
a flaming cloud of words, you won't come to
an end because you do not say right to
the face of some far friend or stranger who
may well be wrong when you are right. For who
will benefit from that? When speaking who
will hear your words, your thoughts? No one, that's who,
if you do not engage their sympathy
if you don't stimulate their empathy
if you ignore their perspicacity
in your need for pure supremacy.
Sometimes silence and simplicity
are what need your wise complicity.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC