"positing" poems
pontificating elegiac
stalwartly asymptomatic
positing logical phalluses
into fleshy vices
seeing virtues in viewpoints
seeing in the eyes of beauty the beholder
the calculating and crafting of a sapiosexual
positing calculations
into social craft
slightly autistic
whatever that means
a breed of abnormals
set against the world and themselves
bound to lose
doomed to win
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
the intellectual and practical activity
of the systematic study of the structure &
behavior of the physical & natural world
through observation, experiment & experience
is called science generally; Pythagoras positing
the theorem that reality is composed of
interconnecting points in space & that one
could instantly travel from one point to another
in what he cryptically referred to as the
[transmigration of souls]; a concept taken by
Christians & reinterpreted to mean the soul's journey
to heaven or hell; Pythagoras meaning the physical
manipulation of dimensions but this era's
technology has yet to achieve that; Thomas Edison
& Einstein each had a part of the puzzle
but neither had the whole thing
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
musing on pondering,
cogitating on ruminating,
postulating on speculating,
considering multiple theories,
deeming the discrepancies deniable
positing the petty presumptions,
theorizing multiple condsiderations,
apraising the mediations,
digesting the deliberations,
allowing for freefall meditation,
envisioning the expectations,
presuming the pontifications,
anticipating the asumptions,
comprehending the conclusion,
accrediting the rationalizations,
concluding the comprehesion,
spinning synaptic wheels,
hypothesizing the conjecture,
recollecting of the reminiscence,
adumbrating the prognostigcation,
concocting of the subliminate,
masticating on the cereberal machinations,
of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,
reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,
there is... just too much time,
to think....
and far too little time to write....
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
There’d been a factory here once,
Squat red brick structure
Suffused with too much noise and too little ventilation,
Built for the purpose of making typewriters,
Unwieldy, cacophonous clanking anachronisms
Whose time, like the town it occupied,
Had long since come and gone,
The only businesses on the sad little main drag
Being those shabby, tattered concerns
Which flower, improbable and cactus-like
At the intersection of the vagaries of memory
And the ascent of decay.
Nothing sits here now,
Simply an empty lot returning to Nature,
Although half-hearted attempts
To accelerate that process have not taken root,
As the soil, fouled by metal shavings, solvents,
And only God knows what else,
Has proved less than amenable
To anything save weedy shoots and scrubby boxwoods,
So it sits empty, impossible to build upon
(There is liability in every spike of crabgrass,
A potential lawsuit in every patch of clover)
And wholly impractical as parkland.
The firm which owned the site erected a fence
To keep whatever was in there in and everyone else out
(In their final addition of injury to insult,
The check they gave to the fencing company in payment
Bounced higher than a child’s rubber ball)
But a generation of winters and general inattention
Have left the chain-links a patchwork affair,
And though the “POSTED” signs remain
(Their original angry and officious red
Having faded to a benign maroon),
Enforcement of their edicts is spotty at best,
So we sit, unbothered and alone,
On an odd little mound at the back of the lot
As the dusk begins to take hold,
I, in an act of mad optimism, the peculiar positing
That there are good things yet to come,
Grab your hand, intertwining the fingers with mine.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
what need we know,
what laws to posit,
mission clear
but still us,
we remain a wee unclarified,
the theoretical, lacking,
so today,
all scientists, all visionaries,
all literature professors,
critics and ******
today, only positing,
non-negating,
in order to
establish the tenets of
The General Theory
of Poetary Genius
once proofed and proved,
the theory capable,
discerned and predictable,
the foretold course
motion foretold of a
planetary body,
a special singular star,
a peculiar one,
plot not its course,
but it's discourse,
the emanating waves
of words arriving, self translating
in any and all languages,
but for all,
in their native tongue
The first element,
chiefest law of them all
is to pose the problem differently,
so that answers come from
a planetary poetic perspective radical,
enabling any old genius to see it
as no one has seen it before, till now
We mortal Joes,
ponderous weigh,
inexplicable unsolvable ordinary,
what is love?
The Poet Genius declares:
it knowable, it's real,
its solution a matter of a matter,
among two planes it coexists,
though in three dimensions...
what is love co-exists
in space and time at the
subatomic level
and moreover,
who gives a ****
The second element,
(To be continued)
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
sans regret full of hope
then sleep reigns peaceful and deep
I close eyes thinking of
those things we as a human
might dream of
be it real
be it sane
be it but
a dream.
For without
our imagination our
seeing things
that are not
and positing our faith
above our reasoning
life would dully be
a hell on here ,
I get not all of our dreams
come true, so far
very few, but,
I take the optimists
view,
that without
dreaming
life would be useless,
so I close my eyes
with a fair thought of someone
I hope to know,
and one of the lady
that glows always
when my eyes are closed ,
my lady dream imaginative beautiful
like sunsets and
the best stars glow.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
"It's not love."
Okay, sure,
so suppose I were to concede.
Then you're positing that
more than half the love I've ever received
has always and forever been null.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
Positing like a fingerprint stain on a bronze bust in a ragged swivel chair,
i stare at the space and
paper filled scribbles lining my nest;
the Menu from "Sweet Tooth Bar-B-q" complains blankly at my skeleton, as I sip under a caffeine stain on my nose,
a telephone long idle and a half-filled bottle of aspirin in case,
Monet on the wall, cheap copy and all, surface
in my side eye and compose the most beauty that lies here I suppose.
Who asks whose ancient desk?
whose home?
My only answer is "who knows?
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
musing on pondering,
cogitating on ruminating,
postulating on speculating,
considering multiple theories,
deeming the discrepancies deniable
positing the petty presumptions,
theorizing multiple condsiderations,
apraising the mediations,
digesting the deliberation,
allowing for freefall meditation,
envisioning the expectations,
presuming the pontifications,
anticipating the asumptions,
comprehending the conclusion,
accrediting the rationalizations,
concluding the comprehesion,
spinning synaptic wheels,
hypothesizing the conjecture,
recollecting of the reminiscence,
adumbrating the prognostigcation,
concocting of the subliminate,
masticating on the cereberal machinations, of the ocillations,
in the agitatation, apparent in insomniac's maniacal brain,
reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,
i have way too much time
to think...
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
The painter in Me
By Otuogbodor, Okeibunor
I paint not with brush strokes
On weary canvas
Nor with mesh colors
Darkening my concepts.
I paint using no tattered Coates
Expressing my pains
Nor with mute abstracting mixtures
Contradicting my designs.
I paint with words straighten in lines
Juxtaposing my world in humournic gospel.
I paint with lyrics n rhymes
Soothing the souls of my clime
Positing joy n laughter.
I paint with literally candor
Subjecting pains n sorrows
Mirroring my world in truth
My rhythms of love n peace
The only colors I know.
My language is succinct
Rendering sounds of blue n bliss
Greasing humanity crave to live.
I plaint not with staled oil Coates
Staining the muse of creation.
I orchestrate my colours in word vibes
Thrusting my Visual syncs to heal
For I cream my onions with ease
Printing my ego on black n white.
--------------------------------------------
Oh God bless this painter in me!
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
Saying Political Things
I suddenly find myself
Saying political things.
A president who has a name
That pumps out rhymes that rhyme with stump and thump and clump
So numerous, so humorous you try in vain
To stifle sniggering, giggling, trying to abstain
That is, when you are not afraid of what comes next,
(What, whose head will come undone on any pretext.)
I, who never had opinions of significance inside my head,
Find that I am sitting up in bed
Watching the news,
The countless views,
And find I’ve got some too!
The boohoo, ***** you kind, and views about:
Is North Korea bad or mad?
Why is the crime rate rising?
Is it rising?
Not the least surprised
If it goes either way.
And so I say,
It’s unexpected to discover
Arlene Corwin (former Nover)
Faltering and altering, but taking stance,
Dancing around matters of importance,
Though they may be comical to you,
Positing her new-found thoughts political.
Saying Political Things 5.29.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
does my bladder
and dope my head
and poetry my spirit
love is my blood
I recall being
young and naive playing
downstairs wih Cindy
discovering
How girls and boys have
all different plumbing
how girls are slightly
ticklish
and giggle
how boys are supposed to
make things happen
How the encyclopedia had
weird words, National Geographic
posed Dark naked bodies
in front of us,
and feeling things in
lower regions ( we in the basement,
remember)
had no answer in the dictionary.
I remember positing with Cindy
the many things in common to the Lincoln
and Kennedy assassinations.
And hiding our pants pulled down under a cover
as my mom brought us dinner.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
this Democratic Party affiliated member i.e.
considered (with an eye blink)
positing the following blurb
for a very short while
asper the "FAKE" trumpeting
oaf fish shill offal
continuous, indecorous,
and poisonous barbs doth re vile
me, an anonymous middle aged
concerned citizen at thee...reptile
no...no...that, would
unfairly debase creatures such as
snakes, lizards, turtles, or alligators,
whose aggressive acceptable modes,
one expects tubby non servile
thus in my mind hiss non diss incriminating
cruel, fiendish, gallingly jawboning
mawkish philistine (YES, I
MEAN YOU DONALD Quisling TRUMP)
figuratively roasting
respectable people analogous
to rake them over hot coals
then, burn them at the stake,
which witch trial characters assassination
with point blank expletives
found an introspective chap (yours truly)
responds to broadcast
unflattering sentiments,
albeit swiftly tailored harried, yup,
yar...obnoxious fulminations rile,
said brief explanation motive enough
(occurred within a split second)
after gleaning most recent denigrating,
hurtful, lambasting puerile
verbal and/ or twittering outbursts
(MOST DEFINITELY) unstatesmanlike
at least to me: a circumspect enlightened
genteel individual kind nattering
nabob of nativity, who feels alarmed
at venal wickedness by thee ->
President Trump spluttering, smoldering,
slandering gallimaufry
predicated predictable awfully banal,
cringeworthy diurnal,
and fiercely hurt locker ful invective bile
perhaps indicative of dementia praecox
or smother mental illness,
ye would immediately refute,
and be in din aisle.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Within Pantheon Of Classical Gods
stricken with affliction,
sans amyotrophic lateral sclerosis
(also known as ALS,
or Lou Gehrig's disease)
in the prime of his youth wrought
underestimation, vitiated termination,
targeted sequestration,
solidified rigidification,
rendered quandary,
per paralyzation obliterated,
nixed navigation,
morphed motivation,
marked limitation
kickstarted infatuation,
jinxed immobilization,
induced intellectual hyperfunction,
garnered fundamental fascination,
fanned fabled exploration,
devastation demonstrated
delectable declaration,
cosmological constant comet
clinched, chained certain capitulation,
brainstormed benefaction,
benediction attribution assured.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
his longevity (marked by bing permanently
linkedin, hitched, drafted
to a custom made wheelchair,
his brilliant unsullied scientific genius)
endured seventy six orbitz veer
ring round the nearest star,
though seemingly motionless, he freed their
ret tickle physiochemical insight
encompassing, revolutionizing,
and jaw-dropping, revelations
with mortals he did share
transcendent seeded plentifully
mental limitless groundswell
fed his fecund rare
if eyed cogitated, formulated, insulated
(infinitesimal nook and cranny) force queer
lee disproportionate overly endowed capacity
bracketed with mar ching madness peer
ring with laser, razor, and taser sharp mind
(or a minuscule approximate near
facsimile thereof) scrutinizing, positing,
and discerning astronomical phenomena mere
via concentrating gifted limned, and rapacious,
though processes affixed
with a visage mordantly like King Lear.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
When all history comes and goes
In the blink of an eye all is unknow
Able. From dream to dream with
out beginning or end, and all would
Be well but the mad men who tell
Us what is and is not positing more
And more complexity proclaiming all
The while they are the saviors of
Mankind. It is a great burden, a
Travesty of truth; unbelievably
Cunning. So the dream ends in
A crucifixion. Love is dead. God
Is no more. On the bright side
Thank God it is finished and you
Return with no remembrance of
Things past to make you smarter.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC