"plurality" poems
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
Vitamin Forest
nurture in nature
healing the soreness
from legislature
metropolitan heart
the sreets pulse like veins
each hour depart
clogged artery trains
a lifeless appendage
bleeding the suburb
with no one to bandage
deluge to each curb
renewable resource
found in rurality
we ask for remorse
draught, virus plurality
Human being cancer
lets all dissolve
to find out the answer
and utter resolve
if the soul of a monster's
sins be absolved
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Some days I stare at my hands,
Trying to find my singularity-
Individuality!
Lost in the muddle of plurality!
When you exchanged my heart,
And swapped in your own.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
*you know, i can **** before i become homeless; yes? ok... cheerio.*
when i experience no intelligence
after being educated, it's
hardly an expectation to
experience any after... desirably hoped for, that
which offers up the antonymous by-product that's
despaired after so freely, and all those more profitable affairs
of a literate nature to engage with: to be
enslaved likewise missing; oh the gravity
as nothing falling, the tears on my cheeks
with vide cor meum, ah, but you see,
i can stomach a cage and being caged,
should i be forced into a freedom that's
only homelessness.
oh so many insignias of pause that were never
given a mathematical rubric of allowed deciphering!
that grand pause of arithmetic in the undecided
length of pause between (,) (.) (;) and that italicised
pause of (:) readying (a) list(s) of emphasis; let alone
the hyphenation of all the lost emphasises of Pompeii
(embark tongue tied into the grapheme æ);
or embark asking between the threes that are
direct and indirect articulation of plurality,
given then the anti of pluralism is god, and that's neither
direct or indirect, consolidating the direct as prayer
and the indirect as atheism.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
The granular spittle that remains in my throat
A long day between winter and spring
My state known only by friends few of them
My Love felt by every creature
The ******** that sprinkles with their hatred
And those that converts their names and faith
This suffocating visible plurality of creatures and bizarre manifestations
My spiritual nervation has strengthened
Soul cells are dancing the muttered nation’s dance called Love
Those who make *** in the air as flies’ foals hatred babies
Can you **** babies is our question
We the invisible plurality of divine creatures and manifestations
We the perpetual Theophany coruscate in pure hearts
As Sun in the dews of mornings full of vetyver, ambergris, limonene, fragrance and a slight skunk of civet, moschus and the sweat men by labor exhausted
We speak we sing we paint
With the act without exhaling a syllable from our holly mouths
We sprinkle with the aureate dust
Straight we look at Saturn ring color eyes and the color of peacock tale feather
We built a cube temple and play chess in cube
We love the terrain where the guests of Moses and Lot before him had passed through
We sing with Seraph of high realms we sing in sync
Here we bring joy in hearts of those who encroached in procession through emerald macadam
Where you seldom pass
We know by heart the Al Jaffr and ten Sefirots and we read the Liber Razielis
We accompanied Adam Kadmon in his solitude prior to separation and embodiment in terrain that will be bloodied by human through centuries
We have said to John to go in the river Jordan baptize the Christ and lead him on
For those who knows a little
We said to Waraka to prepare Muhammad to become the leader of those who seek the truth
We said to Bahaullah to explain men to take after women and the mother Earth
Otherwise in upcoming millennium the solely food of them shall be kernels and water
We said to Gibran commence the Theurgy for upcoming millennium being as solely artistic repose for creative men
We said to Fahredin write as much as possible and hush as a canyon stone
Until he finds his echo point
We…
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
Here , origami flowers , folded willingly
While I touched only pleasure with my mind.
These hands moved under guidance of zen ecstacy
Fingers deftly flip over forms
Directed by shivers of Kali pointing out
My next act with ten thousand hands
this lotus encloses secret airs
That blew a glance turned gaze
from a plurality into a singularity
black body radiation gratifies our dieties
engrams exist in a black hole
all that matters in memory one
overdense point S)P)E)C)I)A)L)
an orb of delusion that i will attempt to
hold with nonattachment and gratitude.
Here, take this fragile piece of paper
time form energy used by me
now it is a flower
For all holidays
And broken promises unmended
take this flower
please accept it
and when you go home
and throw it away
don't tell me
you care
This lily is for that all the mistrust, miscommunication , lies , painful fights.
But you will never know that
I will just give you a flower
next time random time
we meet .
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 1:53 AM UTC
Here 'I’ am, at ‘this’ place in time at ‘this’ posited location.
Here ‘I’ write, at ‘this’ time; ‘this’ time is ‘Now’, but what is ‘Now’, and what do I mean when I say ‘Now’?
Did I say ‘Now’ now or after the ‘Now’?, videlicet is ‘Now’ after the ‘before’ or before the ‘after’?
If today was tomorrow and tomorrow was yesterday
Where would I be 'Now'?
As Hegel would say:
"Now is a plurality of 'Now'"
Perhaps then it was 'He' who suggested that we just go with the flow of things and live for the moment.
'O sense-certainty... you make me smile...
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
this one doesnt count
its on private
no one else can read it
you dont have to worry
about what ill write this time
i swear to ******* christ
i wont cuss in this one
i wont talk about you
at least not as the ****** woman
you admit to being
your words not mine
but i wont use them
i dont even agree with them
those syllables would never
spill from between these lips
guilty conscience perhaps
nah
if i can muster something like that
then you couldnt
i dont think the next lines matter
the supposed resolution...
i know that im at fault here
writing lines that point to and accuse you
on what moral grounds do i stand?
if any they are shaky
i must hold out may hands as if to surf
(i have never done that by the way)
to steady myself
and through my accusations
and through your actions
us
to use the queens plurality
we dont need this
in fact
we
we dont need
a single other thing, dingus
but you knew
and i did too
and as much as
EYE
and EWE
despise all of it
im sure
sure of it
that we can come out the other side
more willing than ready
to tackle
THE MOST SERIOUS SNUGGLEFEST
snugglefest for the win.
bi
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
The beast mortified inside
Breast aflame about to burn
Inside he dies
Where the black flower
Blooms into anew
He will seek respite
For past sins
Old grievances
Poured into a summer blue
His *** meaningless
Spite cracks the whip
Plurality the dinner knife
Sanitation foresaw
Without the forceps
Boarding on a foregone conclusion
The spring mattress
Made broken
No time for resale
His' cage, not a solitude
Words obtuse and unabused
Love is his knight
Shining and gleaming
Scornful without hate
Shameful but sane
His burden
The heart
Colliding with the bar
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
My loyalties ought to be elsewhere
Not self-respect.
Twenty-ought years
Of listening, performing
Commands in my ears
Atop the most prominent point
Of a circle.
Do I speak up and proclaim my wants,
As they have, as they do
Whose execution is one’s normative due?
Do I risk monstrosity
That grotesque
Of passivity turned active?
O, people hate the biting mirror.
Architecture worn and rubble
Precludes the fate of so headstrong nations:
A people, all leaders,
Would swallow and spite
Litter the flowers with bones
And plight.
Great structures built with power
Are levied ‘gainst the weak
For plurality would cancel it out;
It’s not imperative
Bodies of power to push for us all,
The lion’s share.
It’s more an empty cadence, mere practice
To tickle emotions
And prove, ultimately, the infallibility
Of tenets of strength and structure:
The passive are submissive
As they should.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
*upon being invited to add to a collection here called Brokenness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He he
** **
Ha ha
it has been awhile
that I recv'd an invitation
to add to anything
or join a club,
just like Groucho (Marx)
worth being invited to...
but when yours arrived,
I chuckled and jived,
for this broken biz
be an area of expertise,
about which I gladly can opine,
since most of which I contact,
is inevitably in that state demised,
marriage, children and other trifles
so to the topic at hand, let say but this,
if not eloquently, then perhaps,
gravely, for that is where the
broken pieces oft call home
or cemetarily. a final resting place...
perhaps you were unaware,
there are 449 poems in attendance,
where the word brokenness
doth appear
in this sanctuary of broken children
and adults too,
easy discovered in the memory of
Hello Poetry
but this will not be, I hope, the
four hundred and fiftieth
as I decided to nomenclature this oeuvre
as Brokeness, with but a single N,
since a good N
can be hard to find,
why use two
when one will do?
if a faithful ecrivant thee be,
you won't be shocked that there are
so many Brokenness in this world,
the dictionary doth recognize its multiplicity
as a word legit, accepting as a plurality*
brokennesses!
which is a whole lot of broke
so let us poets to the process repair,
with a tikkun here, a tikkun there,
a tikkun everywhere
so that the healing never ends
and that someday we will delete
all words of humanity in disrepair,
let the broken be the unbroken,
and let's all say amen
and get started...
Ogdiddynash
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
A medley
in dictum
as foreseen
anglicization collect
beat swimmingly
with intrigue
in literature
and euphemistically
tell realization
that further
eyewitness in
plurality with
fealty in
foreign affairs
here that
schlepp peace
with ferrety.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
the radical ambiguity
of the Roman Catholic Church
the horror and the holy
both hidden in the Search
better protect your chidren
read, resist, research
seek salmon, shamans, sushi
poets, painters, basketballers, birch
suspicion sits with trust
may the best battle back their worst.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 9:15 AM UTC
there is a plurality in the times
for I cannot stop for death
it cannot stop for me
and I hear the roar of silent space
as it hears the roars of me
driving one towards
visionary liberation
like a frenzied shaman
in his dance
deranging sensories to be found
yet still known in this trance
and punishment for poetry is not new
nor is the strangling of my hair
for we are all solitaries
placed, situated, somewhere
so I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel the impressions of words
explode within my hands
and to drink all the ink
that baths upon me and calls itself anew
it is the shimmer of this violet haze
that echoes in my view
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
Will someone ever understand me?
As simple as it sounds, the word ‘understanding’ is an uncanny term. To expect understanding from others is like a screaming paradox that uninvitingly and inevitably gives its RSVP. Definition of understanding varies from person to person. While some term ‘compatibility’ as basic understanding, others think understanding as a means to gain affirmation. Both interpretations sound alike but in fact very much like bibliophile and bibliomaniac. It gets peculiar as we proceed.
Why in this world do we need affirmation?
It’s profoundly queer to ask for acceptance. Do we really need ‘approval’ for our existence? We’re not illegal. Illegal things require approval. Drugs require consent. We don’t need to prove why we should be accepted. Giving heed to such a peculiarity is equivalent to symbolising yourselves as illegitimate. You have a birth certificate. You’re a registered citizen of a country and you have a house to live. You go to school/college/ work. You’re normal. Believe me, you’re not a felon.
Why don’t people fulfil our expectation?
Major Irony Alert. Expectations being fulfilled is, I believe, one of those rare miraculous occurring in our lives. When people get it, they find the solace hard to digest. Just when they are faintly ready to accept it, they change the course the things by doing deeds to blindly adhere to the balance of sad and happy. And when the ruination has been already done, they crave for it. Dear fellow beings of earth, stop expecting. It’s purely a hypothesis. The permanency of the damage expectations leave behind needs no explanation. It’s one of the most obvious and self-explanatory dictum on this planet.
People around me crave for being accepted. Girlfriends incessantly complain about their boyfriends not understanding them and vice versa. Parents lament over the ignorance their children. Children whine about the gap between them and their parents. People spend humungous cash to buy endurance. The reasons for such acts, I don’t reckon.
There’s an old African belief that hovers around the truth of being singularities. I find it deeply humbling. Why ask for plurality when the sole purpose for our creation was to be singular and fulfilling.
The purpose for this entry is to some extent not defined to what I believe. It is not meant to mould you. It is meant to be analysed by you. Critique it. Make your own moulds. It’s just what the existing needs.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
If values come from facts
That will axe a hefty tax
Relax a heavy burden on our backs
Unpack the despair of uncertainty
Track repair by rationality
With slack we can finally see
The factual reality
And actually move humanity
Past our shallow vanity
And into an eternity
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Attack of the Gods
Maya... I asked For Sweet Companion
and You Showed Up with a Laugh
Apology
For Simply being Human
And I said Thank You
I so often Feel the Same..
You Laughed Again
Like a a Star Studded Poet
Who never Left Her Home
Knowing Where Love Was
So I asked.. Where?
And You Sat there
Peeling Potatoes
Sitting on a Kitchen Stool
Just Sat there
Peeling, Again, and Again
Peeling
Knives on Flesh
Oil Wells, Animal Skins, Plows
All in that Potato Peeler
Potatoes Flesh Its True
But It started to Bother Me
Why Cant You Use Your Words,
I asked...
Thats when I saw It
No Mouth To Kiss With
Like a Mr Potato Head
With a Part Missing
Not Nothin to Say
Just Couldn't Say It
That Told Me Everything
Turning,
I Snapped the Fingers of Love's Heart
And Claimed the Wind Harp
of Life's Soul
Her Words
The Instructions of a General
Her Sound
Clear Intention Played
A ire FORCE FIELD
fOUR the Earth
Even
"The Star Be With You"
"And Also With You"
Navy Seals would Understand
Harmonizing Plurality
Diamond Faceted
Impenetrable Barrier
Of Life
Earth Song
Symphony of Light
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
the rain is collecting onomatopoeia (rare
to find a word with plurality in it
misspelled in the geometric hyper-linear
onomatopoeias) -
ever think of the womaniser bred
from feminism? i know you haven't,
and i know you won't before playing
the Shelley game of test-tubes -
your ideals i'll never die for -
i'd be in the trenches during the first world war,
but your world, i don't want to be part of.
she read Huxley, he played football -
he was an outdoor kind of guy,
she was a moth rather than a butterfly,
a new breed of womanisers has spawned -
turns out my kind are the idiots -
well... hello darling, welcome to the real world.
the rain is pouring out there, god playing
piano, looking for both onomatopoeia and metaphor...
it's drain drain drip... it's hospitalised drain
drain drip and the words that encourage
the wholly vacant - the rain -
imagine the evolutionary tactic approached with
assimilation, the invisible immigrants i call them -
they're there, they always want
the dumb innocent Alexei Karamazov to marry,
but when it comes to the events via Ivan as
hidden wedlock, they want the knights of Charlemagne
to bitch-slap them silly for the crown of menopause -
i.e. what if i wasn't a woman and never wished
to be one?! freeze the ***** invoke onto me
a belittled version of ****** - you know you are neo
accomplices, and now defence from feminism will
spare you such association;
just remember why the Nazis loved science,
feminists love it too! more in the extreme -
all that's missing is the eradication of Eastern Europeans -
a fear of Russia - most feminists are in love
with the potentials of science like Nazis -
i kept my phallus in a pickle jar to prove her point
that she wanted to reign over the role of the Paraclete
as the comforter of futures to come -
god she loves the fascists - the womanisers in
feminism and the idiots that marry her -
leave her! let her utilise the full potential of a Frankenstein!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
indeed the plurality of the word swans leaves it (the expression) duo-sexual, for both widow and widower are expressed; a reader of poetry has to become an orchestra, he has to intermission instruments, learn punctuations, learn greater patience, learn the non-existent fluidity akin to what philosophers championed: the river... he needs to learn the bumblebee's flight buzz impromptu... he needs to learn his own language... the river has nothing to do with poetry... it can't be simplified to simply deterministic meanings that probe with vectors via telescopes into vacuum or at the stars.
to leave but a breath,
seems more to us than to have
left a proof of the monogamy of
swans with the widow spider
entangling us into a boa web of
coils and constrictions of geometrics
(poets elaborate and seemingly
profess "nonsense" because of φιλοσυμφωνια -
which means a love of arrangement,
esp that of arranging letters in a way to avoid
using stress, or diacritics, although unavoidable,
a love of grammar doesn't exact the expression,
love of arrangement φιλοσυμφωνια does
do away with what philosophers do,
expressing compounds of -logy stating a trumpet
is a trumpet but hardly differentiating
a trumpet from a trombone):
or 10 steps worth of footprint
on a beach, which the tide will
nonetheless take to erase rather than keep
another analogue of us to take to imitate...
that everyone after us could state
a walk as equal, in "original" intent an original
intended, to therefore be erased subsequently and "originally",
and leave this life as worthy a placebo for others
(O kept memory akin to Marcus Aurellius):
to make room for others to make equal share
likewise, in sequence to be kindred likewise
as an "original" intent with the unknown and unfathomable,
for each of us to know, yet nothing more than ourselves,
and to be crowned the highest prize of the world
having known us.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
God came in three -
they set aside time and space
for collaborative creativity
God came in three
and in that 'us', 'our' and 'we'
metaphored an identity of mutuality
God came in three
advocating once and for all
a celebration of plurality
God came in three
illustrating that all families
are a godly thingamy
God came in three
inviting you and you and me
to join them
together for eternity
Jul 16, 2021
Jul 16, 2021 at 5:01 AM UTC
<>
with time whittling my days down,
the plurality point of my days long since
surpassed, my poems to the wayside
fall as new generations seek the voices
that are nuanced to their ear, tastes,
I remain, for the more obvious, more now than ever,
forever for the poets who sign their emails to me with:
“I close with much gratitude”
spoke or unspoken,
you-see I-see your poetry nuggets in everything,
the extraordinary ordinaries!
that delight the weakening eyes, move the ****** muscles
upward and outward, those nuggets by that,
one can grasp
the nexus of existence in words few and singular, open/close,
and the filters that mark life as word worthy,
salutations of words like:
Gratitude
and all that matters is this simple, my friends, my children,
that I go down in days full of gratitude
for them, for them.
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 11:39 AM UTC
**she pretends~polite irascibly
enquires:**
“So far, and so early,
when your day begins,
when the main brain
rebels with that creature of energetic ether,
be it midnight or any hour
thereafter,
before daylight
brings you new clearer
and brighter brilliant visions of the
hereafter,
and the earnest hours allow your disquiet
pre~tense that you’re going about you busyness, which is a plain brown paper wrapper guise,
to write more poetry’s
that thy thine, your
“eyes~command, nay, demand?”
“And where are my love poem daily promised, premised that it’s a requirement
for our cooperative living arrangement?”
“I am familiar with your many ways, poet,
all your names, viewpoints, specialties,
your secret personas, insider insights that
fool no one, so start your every twenty four on a left foot forward, questioning us, yourself, where shelter lives, even inviting any and all passersby to come inside your scheming mind, and stay awhile, jointly**
compositing
upon your uncomfortable
Adirondack thrones, while permitting the sun to burnish brown caramel your inner sweetness, and the wind to bring you scents
from faraway places, to pluck and insert in a variegated languages plurality, to spice up
those written words you ridiculous store in your tiny iPhone, typing one letter at a time,
trying not to fall behind what the mind is
churning and breeding?”
“Furthermore and finally. confess, confess,
your shame, shame,
shame!!
it is my
name
that
deserves the unvarnished truth,
without my
everything,
your poetry will
wither like
a week old roses,
that she/me/da boss
is the one true
authoress
behind the
boy/oy/toy/pretender
to whom I give my very
soul’s inspiration…
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 8:21 AM UTC
His complex plurality of unity has been worshipped with a scarcity of uniformity, with a variety of melodies across humanity's long history and He has responded with reliable proactivity, speaking with consistency through a variety of agencies and always with generosity, ushering His family into his eternal city where at last we will no longer see Him as if through a glass darkly, but instead see Him in His full and unending glory.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
In absence of holy ground
Wrong perception of self
Ego of Omnipotence
Wisdom of nothing
Doubting the doubts
Enlightening questions
Rejoices with the truth
Estimating degree of reality
Fragile life
All needs sleep to get wake up
Changing imprinted genes
Get changed for acceptance
Unity, not plurality
Hatred responded with Love
When mind thinks wrong
Beware of self
Spelling, “sorry”,
Transcend faculty of the mind
To end all the pain
Element of liberation
Voiding an ego of supreme being
A positive doctrine
Let it be…..
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC