"postulated" poems
Torrents of vapor ridden wind, snatched at her hair.
Below, rattled the rapid, riotous and vast, rippling sea.
Churning, like a chewing, charming serpent's lair.
Once long ago I knew her; with time she left me be.
On the edge she was, with will to leap t'wards the horizons.
The brittle cliff would not give way, for even it was curious.
Dare say all of nature reacted for the most prurient reasons.
Even the sky descended to watch, with a lightning so furious.
She beheld no fear and the sky wept with thunderous applause.
Her bare marble-like features glistened in the gleaning of the gloom.
Why she stood there, triumphantly, tempting, terror, for what cause?
It will never be known, for she never was, in a time before this doom.
The earth shook like the hands of a beleaguered, berated old man.
It erected monoliths. Volcanoes, pluming molten magma skyward.
The red glow brought heat; earth thought to please her, or so was its plan.
The elements wrestled for the better view of that beauty stalwart.
Never had a sight been so majestically violent, so mightily tame.
Where she stood, should and would forever more be a sacred place.
The tempest of the elements raged on, though none would win the game.
A silence, softly, settled the rambunctiousness, and halted their race.
The skies parted with a sad and lowly somberness.
Every elated, embittered, element safely put to rest.
As the sun swept aside all their postulated, pettiness.
Rays of the sun showered her with bright white zest.
The lady, she moved with unfathomable grace.
She tilted her perfect head up to the skies.
With the slightest of a smile shook her face.
Like all before, she left them there surprised... and forever, there she stood.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...
This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation. Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being? Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other? Molecular integration? But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.
Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed. They are
no more.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
You my Eraser
My words entering a vaume of contempt and your pompous praise
My glass is raised to you
As my head bows in subjugation
To you my muzzle
To you my totalitarian regime
To you my censor;
Never directly scolding
Never directly
Only molding fear
and unrest
with well postulated questions
Sculpting hesitations
Eradicating my compulsions,
erasing my freedom,
of
expression
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
*Aberration’s child is born as foetus in a man
Thoughts of where and why and when corrupted in the plan,
These aberrations manifest behaviourally where
Normality’s parameters are stretched beyond the tear.
Stretched beyond acceptable, stretched beyond belief
Like when the golden Altar boy becomes a rabid thief!
Like how that fool in North Korea with militarists in synch
With postulated threats has brought us all to nuclear brink.
Like when that freak in Batman gear let loose with deadly aim
To shoot the kids at movie time then claimed he was insane.
Like when the Barons grow the coke to corrupt all our youth
And bribe and cheat and **** and bash, yet call our laws uncouth.
What makes my brothers lie and steal, what makes them want to hurt?
What aberration wields the knife to shred the nubile’s skirt?
Why are financiers predatory, what gearing in their mind
Enables them, with conscience clear, to plot to fleece us blind?
When does this change occur in growth, at what stage does it switch?
How do angelic six year olds at fifteen turn to *****
Amazing that the blue eyed boy who smiled with curly locks
With age became infatuated with a lust for *****
Indecent that good working men who slave to build a stake
Can lose it all to those who use legality to take.
And what of those who plan to **** what trigger in the brain
Determines that they chose this path?
IT’S ALL NOW QUITE INSANE!*
Marshalg
Viewed from my (relatively) safe hidey-hole, Down Under.
Pukehana. NZ
6 April 2013
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
This rhyming tongue twister filled with S's and P's
Is said by Sally's sickly sister as she sits by the sea
Selling seashells as she tells Peter the Piper
To pick pecks of peppers presently ripe or
Else forage the forest for frog legs and bees.
But beware of the badger's butler named Steve
Who forgot of the fox in the box wearing socks,
Bought by the duck in a truck for a buck by the docks
Where witches make wishes, of which there are three
One wonders, two wander, but which one are thee?
Seashell selling Sally and pepper picking Peter
Then postulated how preposterous were the nauseous people eaters
Whose purple pales are full of quintessential quantities
Quietly questioning carefully the existential quandaries
Of buck-riding ducks driving trucks by the docks
With a box of a fox wearing socks made with locks
Who is literally elated over Luscious Lake
Where lucky duck Luke likes to lick lemon cake,
While eleven benevolent elephants and three blind mice
Might magically master their moves skating on the ice.
Thus this terrific travesty of a terribly twisted tongue twister
Seashell selling Sally sought to share with her sickly-sister
While the pepper picking piper, Peter, perpetuated his preposterous plan
To provide the purple people eaters with a conundrum of a can.
Can they can as many cans as a can canner could?
Or what of the wood chucking woodchuck should it chuck any wood?
And the purple people eaters ate no purple people that day
Because Sally's sickly sister this tongue twister couldn't say.
And the benevolent elephants and blind mice three
And the licking duck Luke were all laid to rest by the sea.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
Burdened in the cool resentment, of self betterment, hesitant, in its clause, licking pennies from the paws of wolfs, misunderstood and no good in the laws of men, force me on the bench again, and expect to lessen, the sentence, of the commitments pushed to the petal in the proprietary pustules of must haves, postulated from rehabs, of labs and rats, stabbed with needles and smacked, when i doze off, I'm going to go off, like a bomb in class, painting the blast in a bright flash, of mmy baaads.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
O' Casey had been told where the meeting was
senior members of the IRA would attend
he didn't know and thought that MI6 would be there
duped into assassination was a dangerous masterstroke
others knew that he was dissatisfied with the hierarchy
so if it transpired, he would be a likely target
If the real resaon was found, they would never forget
the old mainland action would be re-ignited
and the Brits cleverness found to be short-sighted
the peace process was a sham, arms locked away
Adams and McGuinness in suits, smug faces
while they postulated and mixed in high places
'You realize what were doing?' The ***** said
'Rather, let them carry on with their empty head.'
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
You promised me milk and honey
And vowed to witness with me sunrises and sunsets,
But you left me before the promise beared fruition.
An act that proved how cunning you're.
You made me believe in love that never existed
And gave me a false hope on a future that was not meant to be.
But why did you decide to leave me?
After all the sacrifices I did for our love.
You made me believe in the existence of heartbreaks
And forced me to accept that all men are liars.
But why did you choose to use me as your student?
A student to teach all those sad love lessons.
You said true love can never die
And you postulated that our love was real.
But why did you end our love if it was real?
Giving me a heartbreak on a full moon.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
the lens of perception
gives distorted answer to the postulated mind
so you crawl thru the muddy sunshine
to her cool bed
through the ink and sweat
of her armpit flavors
to her eye
and steal away her thoughts
and childhood twisted memories
perception beats me about the head with its difficult fists
its angry it always has been
it skitters along on broken insect legs
and speaks in a undefined whisper
it ransacks my pockets of hope
perception is a choice they tell me
i can change it anytime i like
but its stained face waits for me when i shut the light
its reproach waits for me in the uncertainty of her spread legs
in the halflight of morning
she lay sleeping and perception crawls slowly over her
leaving no part of her uncaressed by its warm hand cold eye
and in that slow torture of silent revere i begin to see her differently
i see the flaw in the logic chain that lead her to me
from the far distant mountains where we met
i see the flaw in the chain of events that lead my former
lover to follow a spike out the door
i see the lust chain follow the young and willing partner
as she spreads the flower of her dark treasure
i see these chains and wonder how they bind me
to what fate
to what doom
i cannot perceive
this demonic symphony rolls on ever onward
through the years
through the misery and madness
through the joy and laughter
through the miles and minuets
the lens of perception ever distorting ever tainted
by the cool soft touch of a womans hand
its driving me mad
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
From my childhood, I have been the child of
the sun. Without a sin, always livelihood. I
loved literature .. I mean I always read the
Amphisbaena
This was my tranquiliser, almost like an
anxiolytic Dulcinea.
I postulated it for depress,
Effusive as needed be I had to express.
Hilarious how at first it were words I used to
juxtapose..
Or I suppose I unintentionally juxtaposed both,
words and my books.. I can't recall exactly
how it all began. But I can tell how it looks. It
is a haphazard hazel-shelf, an acervunile.
This is a saga, but I will expatiate.
To escape from gloom I locked myself in the
room, and read books.
I had hallucinations, but I kept on reading
books. Full of hegemony imaginations, I forgot
how to tidy. Idyllic, I only knew how to study.
Slept with books in my bed, some were pillows
for my head. Acervunile was a name I gave to
my bedroom. I denied my friend into the
room, we loomed all the gossip over the
window pane
Gosh I did not need any imbroglio type of
scene
In the mornings I was always late for school,
some of my books were not seen.
They were not lost no, but hiding under my
acervunile bed.
I had books which are Ushers, they'd welcome
you the instant you entered the door,
Some are domates, you stamp on them before
you get on bed,
Some are stalkers, always peeping through the
window, it had seen that uncle who dated the
widow.
On my first collection I organised them A-Z,
but to my least expectation with lassitude I
sorted them into a mephitic Aevirtenal Zenith
Zoo
Even though these books untidy my bedroom,
it is because of them that I'm Xenodochial,
literacy-wise and intelligent! I love my
acervunile bedroom!!!
Siyanda
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
1.
Start in darkness —
we are animals giving our bodies to one another.
Simple creatures never pausing in breath. A tongue there
left no room for future. The foot in throat,
a replayed film disappeared in the corner of your eyes.
This is our heaven that I’ve been chewing for years;
tell me does Exodus taste something like this?
II.
Commence in 7 days of making lands.
Creation formed blue blood on dry ground
& you repeated my name like you never had before.
Wild tooth snarls but no gnashing of teeth.
Ear filled howls of our own eradication,
other worlds couldn’t hold
under my step.
Promise me you’ll never promise you won’t leave.
Now forget that. Forget the
postulated attempts to what held
ourselves sinew to bone to a darkness felt.
If there was any other way, I’d meet you half,
hands full of cataclysmic delight.
You aren’t your own,
but neither I am.
III.
This time start infinite.
Complex figures found, formed haphazardly;
jolts of lightning & unholy moments of divine
interpretation. The body sings contours learned in
womb kept supernovas.
If this is escape, I’m perfectly drunk
& you’re blurry constellations.
All explosions end in destruction;
a variation, a line
that follows heaven to
where we weren’t really simple animals
after all.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
Nietzsche postulated His death.
tRump proved it.
But gods are known to resurrect.
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
***Life Lived Metaphorically
Pun Not Intended Literally
Postulated In Poetry***
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
he was just that
a fetal pig
but not the kind you dissected
in high school biology
he was lazy of course
and how he loved his corn
in his darker moments
his snout....it would smolder
the professors postulated that
he must be off-gasing
but the more cynical ones
they would only mutter
“i bet he’s just doing that on purpose”
now the men in suits they were just
plain jealous
they’d posture and scheme
all the better
to be the one who’d get to
"hunker down" with him
(maybe mess with his *****
so now they’re all reading dictionaries
and memorizing quadratic equations
never mind the smell
but the pig....he’s happy
just making puddings
and trying not to think
about how little time is left
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Well folks
Friday's here
I bid y'all, adieu
I'll try to be here
off and on
maybe postin, one or two
Will see ya on Monday
bright and early I suppose
as the sun, comes shining through
Postulated prose
over the comin weekend
God knows all the crap, I have to do
Honey do's and honey dont's
rewards I may, or may not get
my ball's, could be turning blue
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
When a crow dies,
they have been observed to
summon members of their species
and gather around the carcass
as well as cease eating for sometime
following the death.
These effects are most evident
in birds who spend their lives with
a single partner - like
geese or songbirds.
This can sometimes extend
to the remaining partner stopping eating,
then dying itself.
While easy to dismiss
as simply projecting
human consciousness,
and existential dread,
to the grim realities of nature,
there appears to be merit to ideas regarding mourning in wild animals.
As with similar behavior in
human families,
all mammals appear to have internal bonds
to some degree.
For example,
mother chimpanzees have been seen
to carry their dead children around
for weeks on their backs.
Refusing to eat,
or let anything touch their child.
Even as they become mummified by sunlight.
After death, our families
will wash us, just as
we did for the deceased before us.
Then let us lie for awhile, with the house
breathing around our stillness.
Houses are known to take some time
getting used to the idea of our not being around any longer.
It's been postulated,
that which we love lives inside us,
and vice-versa
until there is no longer a vessel
and all pair-bonds are forcibly ended.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
Take aim and fire,
The predjudice reminds me
Of decades past long since
Buried,
I remember that crime dealt with
And repetitious grievances
Arise with postulated gratitude
As if brand new,
The sanity lies thin in erroneous
Generosity of reporting,
Give me a latitude
Elongated and a new world
Arises in the same ole
Problem,
Here in lies the code of insanity
Dressed in indifference,
Lost in ignorance,
Disguised as news
Repeating the same mistakes,
Conflicting interest and a life
Is a terrible waste
In the elitist game of revision.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 5:46 AM UTC
big words can constrict me
leaving little room to wiggle free,
they constrain
unequivocally,
there for show and tell, no doubt!
What can I do with discombobulate
that I can't do with confuse and frustrate?
Or maybe I can postulated
it's just a suggestion
can you relate?
When I say big words,
I meant to say long
cos little words like hope and love have more worth and meaning than floccinaucinihilipilification
Or maybe l'm dumb and use to procrastination
putting off what can be cleverly done.
But if I find a word that's lenghty
and hits the spot just right
I will use it ostentatiously,
or so I might.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
My life is just a cataclysm,
And for the catalyst I am
Grateful.
You were there,
With me when the world
Died and we were
Reborn in a loophole.
Follow the procedure,
But you must be you
And the systematically
Engineed break down will
Melt down in the knowledge you
Know is there.
By the people,
We are for the people
And this country is the people.
We are still here
Take me to the grave with an
Extinguished banner
And hope will remain in what light
Has defeated,
Because even the stars glimmer
In absolution of lumminous
Conjuring.
All you need is hope,
And action in postulated
Destiny will reward the hard
Path ahead.
Be more.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC