"philosophically" poems
I get accused of a lot of things at first glance
"You're simplistic, you're hiding something
You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"
Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches
If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context
from a spiritual context
from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset
Don't expect me to swallow
Don't expect me to talk
You won't like what I have to say
Because really you just want me to agree with you
If you want me to respect your framework
When you have nothing but the claims of quacks
and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip
to back you up
While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded
Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe
unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand
and that anything other than that is a spray paint over
my true awakening
Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******
to die for these intellectual sins
The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense
Hypocrite to the highest level
Build me up into a figure of idolatry
Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases
Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations
Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them
Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree
Tell me how I don't dream
When all my life is but that
Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn
Who I am, and where I have come from
Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel
As if I was the newest son of god
When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders
and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race
Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live
While you jam your beliefs down my throat
and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged
Tied up to the crucifix
and asking me to repent for my search for truth
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
People regard *** differently:
Some see *** as a commodity; to be exchanged for favors and things.
Some see *** as a medium for emotive and spiritual expression.
Some see *** as merely a means to a purely biological end.
Some see *** as a good time and not much else.
Some see *** as a set of diminishing returns.
Some see *** as an escape from themselves.
Some see *** with a keyboard and mouse.
Some see *** as a communion of Temples.
Some see *** as something not to discuss.
Some see *** as just another thing to do.
Some see *** as a battleground for Lust.
Some see *** as an extra long shower.
Some see *** as profane and obscene.
Some see *** an personal preference.
Some see *** as ages-old Dogma.
Some see *** as Heterosexuality.
Some see *** as all that there is.
Some see *** as uncomfortable.
Some see *** philosophically.
Some see *** as a distraction.
Some see *** as meaningless.
Some see *** as a way of life.
Some see *** as a good time.
Some see *** as metaphor.
Some see *** as necessity.
Some see *** as a luxury.
Some see *** as a game.
Some see *** as Mythic.
Some see *** as a drug.
Some see *** as Virtue.
Some see *** as Logic.
Some see *** as Good.
Some see *** as Love.
Some see *** as Lust.
Some see *** as Evil.
Some see *** as Sin.
Few see *** the same way:
How do you see ***
The only right answers for you are yours.
How do you see ***
From the first person, or perhaps third?
Is *** a vicarious thing, or is it personal?
How do you see ***
Is promiscuity absurd?
How do you see ***
Can your ****** life affect others?
How do you see ***
Does it matter who it's with?
Does it matter with how many?
Does it matter how rapidly?
Does it matter why?
It sure does to me.
Does it matter for how long?
Does it matter how often?
Does it matter where?
Does it matter when?
Not with the right person.*
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
Upon a midnight’s visage airy,
T’was a lake frozen by fairy,
…and weighing on mind’s tonnage bearing?
There for ice’ opaqueness winter’s seized,
…and arms encased in rime; trees.
“Oh my,”
At dark of sky thought the eye of something troubling upon my mind?
And the frosty cloudy glass,
Take to it upon my axe,
…and the sting of shards will pass.
And will I eat at last.
Thusly, thrusting through the skull, wettened, weakened for the cold.
…and burden carry I with me,
So encased in rime is he,
Doth make of fishing’s night a chore,
Something that I do abhor!
…and stare I did into that sea,
…my frory breathe in imagery,
Dismay it did fluster me, when my eye captured by Sea,
...and in whirling thoughts could reflection see?
…and something else came back with me.
Pool with drops, light curves, dark rings; in vapid mind now find nothing...
T’was a misty sheen seen after showers?
A damp muggy place of reflecting hours,
Typhoid strange did make snowing;
The Asteraceae of my wilted flowers,
…and that Wren philosophically sings,
…and at lake a lone be -ing,
Appearing peering my soliloquy, I am therefore I into thee.
…and fixed calm stared back at me,
“What pray tell I Enquiry?”
Did something else look back at me?
...and glaring gaze thus did see, something I had hid from me,
…and gawking in my mind did ogle; a malevolence of thought once frugal...
A gaping, oscillating, pierced Abyss, forced farther back into consciousness...
Deeper in and further still,
Climb atop Old Arthur’s hill,
…and the winged Raven’s nearer, reflected on me in my mirror?
…and time did pass turning frozen dying, icy tears of sadness from my crying,
…so did silent Hume release, all the pain that’s troubling me; whilst frozen frame thus held in peace?
I fell forward and felt submerged,
Both characters, both now have merged.
And that creature which accompanied me?
Found a solace back in wine dark sea.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
It's kinda funny, in this Language,
that the following two words should rhyme:
Rise and Demise
To me, it sort of implies a correlation:
philosophically rationalized
linguistic ties;
phonetic lies,
the phonetics lie.
Which lie? Will I clarify?
Certainly not!
For it is
double entendre;
maybe more, maybe less.
But nevertheless, the moral of the story is:
[this] Language is kinda funny.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
The fearless ones
are fanning out
into the woods.
Others are huddled
in smartly constructed
camouflaged blinds.
These self styled
eco-warriors
brave the cold
and the discomforts
of inclement weather.
They keep a
watchful eye
over the stale
remains of
Dunkin Donuts,
bagels and
bacon grease
they cleverly
scattered
outside their
deadly bivouac.
These bold ones
eagerly finger the
barrels of their high
powered rifles,
palming the smooth
wooden stocks with
warm naked hands.
They itch to squeeze
the trigger but discipline
and fortitude inform
the vigilance of these
sentinels of sustainability.
They philosophically muse
about restorative balance
and the paradox of killing
in order to survive.
Another day has broken
over the New Jersey Highlands.
The hunt for bear is on.
Let the mammalian cleansing begin.
jbm
Oakland
12/6/10
Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand
the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down
RR's^ query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise
what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry
but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided
there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept
but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike
*thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure
transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being*
So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
I feel
so many feelings
all the time.
I am
a feeling being.
I need
to feel
to understand
the meaning of my experiences
in comparison to my needs and aspirations.
But
my feelings
happen intuitively
and prior to careful evidence-based reasoning
and so my feelings are not philosophically reasonable
and so my feelings are dangerous
if I use my feelings to define what reality is.
I protect myself
from unphilosophical unreasonable feelings
by never enacting my feelings,
by never reacting motivated by feelings;
rather I use my feelings
only as information
that I am having feelings
and so my needs and aspirations
may be affected in some way
by my experiences
which led to my feelings;
then I reflect
on my experiences
to philosophically reasonably discover
how it is most useful for me to feel
to achieve my optimal joy an happiness.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
Nervous. Boot heels click clack up steps. Walk around back.
Step in. People in pockets everywhere. Swerve straight to cooler.
Take a beer. Cracks open with crisp click. Drink drink drink. Ellipse of friends block out world.
Finish beer. Talking a little louder now. Confidence enough to walk to cooler
alone and grab more beers. See Steph and stop to chat. Move on. Keep on drinking the whole way back.
Two and a half beers and I’m starting to feel it. The excitement, the loosening of social limits. The loosening of myself. Boy whose name starts with a “C” but I just can’t remember starts talking to us. He’s kind of cute.
My fourth beer drains down my throat and I’m laughing at a joke. I’m friendly, people are friendly. The world is all kindness.
My sixth(and three fourths) beer in my hand, my head starts to droop and my hips are swaying of their own accord. It’s like the sky has puppet strings, twisting me side to side. The beat controls me, the world whispers my movements. Who whispers to the earth is beyond me.
…am I on my seventh or my eighth beer? People walk off to dark corners, hands on hips and ******* and chests. Still I dance somewhere in the vast dim basement. Still I twirl, rhythm gone but gravity still clinging to the movements.
But where am I? What am I doing here on this dance floor, on this city-planet floating or falling or patiently waiting on the ice-slicked footsteps of space? The world is spinning as it pirouettes around the sun, the sun circling a superstar, that star swirling around the center of the galaxy, spinning like a top in the rest of the full dark silk of space, stars clapping and nebula soaring and supernovas shattering, guests all to the raves of light years. I dance on earth’s doormat drunk and spinning, feeling a giant in my world and a broken bottle in the worlds of others. Oh god, in the words of that song that’s beating in the bones of the earth and the air in my lungs, can we get much higher?
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
*As photographers we see the world differently
We look around and see a beautiful picture
As a “regular” person we see drudging task of life
Photographers see a glistening meadow full of white
“Regular” people see a biter cold with biting wind
Photographers see the world through lenses that act as eyes
“Regular” people think all philosophically and scientifically
Photographers think what would look best
A black and white photograph
Or
A sketch that looks like a picture
Photographers are artist and nothing less
So don’t mistake them for “regular” people*
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
You Egyptian hipstress
philosophically diggin’ through this
world to find a life to live with.
Your summer breeze
metaphorically testing & caressing me
--keep questioning
don’t ever stop, please,
trust me
it’s endearing
and steadfast.
Hearing your voice
my mind rejoices
synapses electrocute my brain
& the fire in your voice
rises, burning, pulsing
hypnotic sonar warming my
soul…
yet you’re impulsively young, still trying
to find the right air to breathe;
via singing artistic gypsy
dominating submissives
yet pondering above your
third eye
burning,
warming,
heating—vividly alive
within your eyes
is intriguing
yet deep down
your rising
embers pop!
Your body dances
sway—shaking—swaying
burning ancient questions
in the earth
but forgetting
what the fuse
is connected to….
find the fuse
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
And why then, should I not? I am not below most and if nothing else am equal to many here with relevancy to being philosophical while writing poetry. The two may be related and maybe it's just personal preference that I try to separate these but it's not without reason or logic.
To write philosophically shouldn't there be few guidelines? Shouldn't thought and inquisitiveness be themselves and without metaphor and emotion?
To write poetically, isn't it more about feeling, grace, and beauty without questioning these?
I understand things change and definitions separate, disperse, die, and are born which is why I'm going to say that the two ideas of contemplation and beauty are inextricable to a certain extent and I'm open their junction.
In the end maybe I'm split on this.
Maybe it's contradictory.
Maybe I'm wrong and it's due to past circumstances that're relatable only to myself.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
George Johannesen isn’t dead
though the State claims he’s expired.
His driver’s License they cancelled
though he still had four good tires.
George, at first, thought to complain
about this twist of fate.
Then he came to realize that
Death is a tax free state.
Five hundred thousand dollars
Were paid out to his “next of kin”
Paid to one with the same name
Who looked a lot like him.
He accepted philosophically
the wage of sin is death.
If the alternative is taxes,
he assumed its for the best.
George enjoys the “afterlife”
on the Island of Majorca.
Where he chases younger women
And he doesn’t need a walker.
Only George, of all his friends,
has managed to retire.
He enjoys his afterlife
While the state thinks he’s expired.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
The other day in a bar
a young man threw down,
called me out, and Said,
"How do you
become a poet,
oldtimer?"
I sat my bourbon down,
looked him dead in the eye,
thought I might fling
an impossible koan
to take him out,
but instead I answered.
"Listen close and I'll tell you true.
It's all in the Muse, kid.
Not a muse; The Muse.
The only Muse for you.
And you'd better start looking now
because it can take your whole life."
I finished my drink.
"Next time," I said," ask me why
the bridge flows, but the water
is motionless."
He sat stunned,
philosophically
out-gunned.
I sat my empty glass down
and slowly walked away.
Another notch on the handle
of my Karma pistol.
No matter how good you are,
they just keep coming.
~mce
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Which came first?
Kodfather questioned
Feeling
Philosophically intelligent
An egg or a chick?
A circle has
Swamy Downey replied
Nonchalantly
No beginning
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
What is life without something bigger
Are we at the top of the food chain
Or just larger than life
Or to obsessed with it
These mentalities are exasperating
Philosophically speaking
We’ve barely scratched the surface
Of what is called humanity
Honestly
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Smile, you painted the smiles
Gather together and sit for a while
Plundering into a polluted pile
Of scratches, aches, and a tortured child
Psychosis, mitosis
My cells are toxic
Overdosing, osmosis
I'm drowning in this box and
My mouth is dry
Philosophically crucified
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Observations and distorted perceptions
Impossible intentions
leading to abdication
I'm walking, falling
I lost my first step
Crawling down the halls
Scaring the psychiatrist
Locked in a stall
Preserve the neanderthal
Aripiprozole-- let's end it all
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Popular culture is often lambasted,
But I think it’s philosophically underrated.
I don’t care, I want to watch top gear.
I want to complain about my job with my friends,
Then forget it all and fall asleep,
And then go out the next day and do my job,
And then buy a nice car,
And then go to the gym,
Because that is the done thing.
And it feels alright.
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 8:55 AM UTC
Welcome, welcome
Father and son
To alcoholics anonymous
And God bless us,
Everyone
There's little sincerity here
And I can't help but wonder
If that's what should be intended
Lost in a flurry of emotion
And misdirection
Turn feelings into anger
Set on high for 3 min.
Let stir
No one said this would be easy
And no one said this would be easy
And no one said this would be easy
And broken records repeat
Like a stutter
Mind open
No shutter
Attach words to feelings
Spread them on my brain
Butter
God help me to Love
For I know not what I do
And I do what I know too well
And in doing I forget
That there's meaning behind
Doing
And Spirit behind good
And evil behind bad
And maliciousness in thoughts
Sometimes
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
I don't tell you very often, but you're a really inspiring person,
And you're one of the people
(if not the person)
I admire most in the world.
You mean a lot more to me than I ever tell you.
We don't get into feelings a lot in person, I guess. It's just not part of our dynamic.
We talk about ideas and thoughts, but not necessarily how we feel about each other.
Often times before I go to sleep I think of you and miss you and want to cry a little because I think
We got lost for too long during our relationship, and I never actually got to tell you
That I love you
In a really special way that I don't think I'll ever love anyone else.
You've probably influenced my beliefs and the way I think more than anyone else,
And I'm really grateful for it,
Because no matter where we are in relation to each other, I always have a really strong connection to you,
Because a little bit of you is a part of me.
I really really hope you do live to be a hundred, or better a hundred and ten, like you said.
Don't start thinking like you're old- you're only as old as you feel.
I like to see you as eternal,
Like a tall tree that has seen every storm and sunny day,
That's always comfortingly there to support you or shelter you as the weather requires.
I know you're not, but I like to see you that way.
Even though I've seen your flaws and weaknesses as I've gotten older,
In my heart you always remain the person
Whose every word I followed without question out on the rocks or in the woods
Because I knew you'd keep me safe.
I guess I really want you to know that, because I've said a lot of things,
But never that you're more important to me than you think you are,
Or that I respect you a lot more than I let on,
Or that sometimes when I'm tired and my day has ****** I want a hug from you so much that I could cry.
In a weird way, you might be the person I'm closest to intellectually and spiritually and philosophically.
I just want you to know that that trust you had from me as a child
Isn't gone at all,
And neither is how much I love you.
I hope I meet many people in my life as extraordinary as you, but I sort of doubt I will.
Even though you have qualities I disagree with,
And you make mistakes,
The way you live your life is something I strive for,
And something I admire.
Every little girl's dad is their hero,
And my childhood sort of prevented me from telling you
That you're mine.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Reading a friend's poetry
and learning about myself--
learning new articulations.
Switching to menthols
for as long as this cold lasts.
Realizing my body wants nicotine
but my mouth wants smoke,
that very often one, not the other,
will be satisfied--that is what's in conflict.
I am trying to be a child,
and I could go philosophically about that
or regressively--
Sort of, it is not the bottle itself I sip
which makes me the rosy ribald randy carouser
but what I put back into the bottle then the trashbin
which displaces the liquid up to my lips.
But regardless of my intents and drinking habits,
I'll still be splashing in the water,
running along the edge of the pool
building a current, a whirlpool
compelling my friends into water,
tackling and dunking and pull them underneath,
and gasping together for breath,
swept along and swelling
hoping to summon a Maelstrom
to engulf me and all.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
*to be in want of writing philosophy without
atypical philosophical words,
analogous of logic, or logos,
like phenomenology, archaeology, ontology,
metaphysics.... and instead dig into
grammatical categorisation of words,
and use grammatical denoting words
rather than philosophically exclusive words
as exampled thus stated.*
breakfast for champions...
that's 20cl of whiskey with coke,
and after
raw herring in sour cream sauce
witch apples and cucumber pickles,
that piquant pinch of it all,
a little bun...
and tomato juice salted & peppered,
eaten while standing up.
honestly raw herrings and tomato
juice drank was the biggest innovation
i've yet to claim in the culinary realm.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
Exploring musical concepts
in the key of C aeolian, with some G mixolydian;
even some G Phrygian sometimes- dominant.
Naturally, there's also some blues scale licks.
Mostly in 4, but some parts are in 7;
others are in 5, while yet more are in 6
(which is arguably just 3, but I venture to argue all rhythms can be more easily conceptualized as combinations of 2s and 3s. Then, one may argue that it's all just 1s, but now it's just getting nit-picky.. think of it however works for you.)
There's even a groove in 27/16!
Who would do such a thing?
Then, it's also a bit of an experiment
when it comes to harmonic rhythm
(the rate at which key/chord/etc. changes happen)
All that **** east Indian music influence!
While I realize how little of that may make sense
unless One is to approach music fairly philosophically,
I implore thee to copy-paste the link below
to hear whatever it is I'm talking about.
Be warned, though: it's measures nearly 15 minutes long.
What can I say?
I tend to get a bit carried away...
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC