"postulating" poems
The soon to be beached meadows shimmers
as the heightened sun dehumidifies the outlying cornfields
evaporating the ground cover.
Scarabs appear postulating
the broken bonds of farmer
and nature.
In the combustible sands
Great things will be birthed.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
you'll never guess what i heard today
endless narratives
encapsulating pointless encounters
passing judgments
handing out ruthless commentary
life lessons
ridiculing those that are different
infringing on the delicate bounds of insanity
infinite meaningless utterances
thoughtful queries
timeless perceptions and interpretations
brilliant phonetics
postulating conspiracies
comical puns, quips, and jabs
underlying assumptions
fascinatingly deceptive and imaginative theories
i hear you
i hear everything you say
but all i needed
was for you to LISTEN
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 12:27 PM UTC
come ever falling summer's moon
astounded of my skull
a timid knuckle espousing glimmering
able digested muck
so shorn of lucky timber; a swelling soul
tingle hard cancer
some dna i cleft and palate gently naked
fornicating dancer
a **** clever imperfect blemish postulating
feminine crank
turn in angles unimaginable
and growl a sun placated ephemeral ***** light
i cup in oral extremal
a cur vy violet lung ; you are beyond every other blush.
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC
colors
slide over
ink-slick
○°○ skin ○°○
○°○° °○°○° ○°○°
○°°○°○stretched○°○°°○
°°○○°○°°○°○°°○°○○°°
a skein of
furtive fabric
wrought of woe
and wrested
from futility
°°○°○°°○°○°°
pundits posture
○°°○°○°imposing ○°°○°○°
○○°○°°○°°postulating○°°○°°○
○°°○ ○°○their ○°○ ○°°○
○°○° importance ○°○°
°○°○°○ ○°°sleek°°○ °○○°○°
°○°○ insolence °○°○
curls °°○
crafted○°
churlish
like a
pre
°° hen
°° sile
°○°○tail
SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/28/2017
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
The softest whispers of
Past ideas, and inclinations
Postulating long ignored dreams
Of long dried progenitors
Upon which we now look down
From the mouths that pour out banal well wishes
To the frozen digits, attached to architects and engineers
Most come to understand the past lies in fragments
Crucial details overlooked, time and time again
Lost amid a sea of bleak optimism
Futurism has its place, along side the winds
The ones that bring the same tired tides
I've drawn myself yet another line in the sand
The definition is as lucid as I could possibly be
Maybe a reflection of identity
It keeps shifting
Stepping forward, though unsure why
Commandeering tidal waves
Building bridges between figments in the skies
Attention drawn
To the edges of half way signs
"Onward and forward", the dead still proclaim
Long after the earth is packed
After death, so many still remain, if for the moment
Apparitions, spiritual possession of discourse
Tearing away from the pale, and digging deep into the fresh crop
You'll be gone soon enough
Into the standstill, though
The dead see it differently
Cosmic mistrust, a classic case
To free yourself from the very shackles
Blood had prepared you for, oxygen raised you for
Natural order now spurned
Floor to ceiling, ceiling to walls
Connected them seamlessly
What are you still fighting for, now?
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
If light is the fastest thing in the universe,
why is darkness already there when light arrives?
After watching Harry and Megan Sussex grub for ever more cash and attention, I’ve decided that they should start a OnlyFans site.
We’re going to a booze-free dance party.
“You don’t have to drink to have fun.” I assure myself, in the bathroom mirror, but somehow the event sounds like a high school dance.
I’ve been reading the Internet - was it really a giant squid that sank the Titanic?
...
Panpsychism Is a scientific theory postulating that consciousness is part of the fabric of the Universe.
On the theological level, why would God (or nature) create the bitter taste of espresso and vivid, azure skies slashed with rainbow sunsets if stimulating consciousness weren’t important?
“Colors, tastes and smells are no more than names,” Galileo declared 400 years ago. “(as perceptions) they reside only in consciousness.”
Does life exist, as sensors, to experience stimuli for the galactic consciousness?
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 10:26 PM UTC
Mathematical and grammatical
eating my piece of pi
Playing theoretical
before I up, and di
Numbers that are relative
sometimes I laugh, and cri
calculating and postulating
all I can do, is tri
Opening my texts technical
the words, oh me, oh mi
dangerous as can be, my friend
using TP, that's only single pli
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
You are my desire.
The thought of you, my mind could never tire.
You are my reason.
There must still be hope of it is your heart that I am seizing.
Desolate flaws and endless virtue,
Unnerving thoughts that you'll
leave too.
Postulating that forever youll stay,
I will remain infatuated every single day.
Please declare that youre not going anywhere.
Because this world is cold, this life is bitter.
The thought of you leaving induces a heart stopping shiver.
To the ends of the universe
I would travel...
For your hand and mine,
To never unravel.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
I watched someone almost die today
and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me
I see a life flash before my eyes
a million executions play like infernal theater
on multiple screens and the protagonist
keeps walking to the stop more afraid
of missing the bus than being run over
while the driver stares blankly, maybe thinking
about something they saw on Instagram
I am troubled by this but I’m feeling an odd
sense of bliss and reverence for my senses
flooded with multiple universes deserving
every bit of my attention indexed into
stories I tell my therapist laughing at
the absurdity of it all
the majestic tapestry woven
with uneven threads and patchwork
processes humanity has distilled into
averages and medians and experts
who think they’ve outwitted god
through postulating perpetual motion
towards Hell or Nirvana or Haley’s comet
whatever stops the itch
burning a hole in our collective consciousness
regardless of our upbringing we’re wired
to ask why are we ******* here
until the question becomes heavy
and our knees buckle and we
kneel at the feet of something
other than the ground we’re standing on
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 11:18 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
Foretelling the sweet aura of a dream
Signaled by the silent whisper of the southern winds
When all that counts is the smooth sail downstream
And a peaceable expedition upon the Sahara silky sands…
Nowadays a young voyager seeks to understand and affirm
The recourse being presented by this mysterious cosmos
Which stealthily conceals its activity like swimming *****
Pursuing its ambition surreptitiously to win the dummy run;
Searching, leaching and escaping the monotone matrix amid countless
Incidences of mystery that only point to infinite possibilities
Devoid of meaning to the ‘blind’ mainstream masses
Initiated into scripts they did not opt to engrave;
The vexed issue of priorities to save
This amateur spirit innocently postulating for pity,
Searching to find the obliterated Sovereign deity
Whose sacred truth is jam-packed with piety:
Imploring, musing and mulling over yesterday
To sequentially understand today and tomorrow beyond the unvoiced valley,
Ascending the irksome expedition to the mountain top
Were the most wondrous reality awaits this intellectual creep,
That the delightful fortune being sought
Is the world “With-In” and not
The world “With-Out”
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
A Few Short Years Of Grace
Looking at my sagging face,
And thinking about what I saw –
The cheeks, eyelids and sagging jaw,
And postulating what would be
If I had plastic surgery
With what I’ve seen of movie stars,
The tight, creamed skin,
The scars without, the scars within
The thousands spent during and after,
Smoothed out skin deprived of laughter;
Then I see my sagging face,
Know that I’d have some years of grace
Before the sagging showed again.
Folk who know would shrug and say,
“She looks okay!”
Folk who do not know me:
When they meet me would accept me as I am
‘Cause frankly, they don’t give a ****
What does some years of smooth-skinned grace
Mean to an aging face
That’s changing every second of each minute every day?
I cannot get away from that.
I’ve tried to hide, slide, glide from aging, lesions, prides illusions.
In conclusion, and for reasons written;
Leaving out the surgery and thoughts of temporary beauty
This old jaw will have to be
Left as it is (a little disappointingly)
And as it is becoming.
A Few Short Years Of Grace 10.13.2016
Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Wrinkles; Circling Round Vanities II;
Arlene Corwin
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
revising revisions fulfilling obligation
the road to a degree is strewn with barriers
mostly living
within
doubt, inadequacy,
languishing in obscurity or worse
class clown/ dolt
cheezburger memes rectify nothing
as is the case with poetry
but they feel better than empirical research
so here I sit
longing to share a moment with all of you
all the while formulating links
drafting expansion
within
postulating presumptions
quantified with statistics
qualified with love and summer breezes
bending grass blades springing back to upright
as kisses from the surrounding air seem to heighten the aura
clacking keyboard brings me to the present
and a small window holds my capstone
mocking my imagination
blocking me from enjoying the birth of springtime that I see all around
but mostly notice
within
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Tis a poem
that comes from
a slow brain
today
Van Winkle
murmurings,
muttering,
postulating
creativity
as it
settles
further
further
down
into the
crevices
of wrinkled
wretched
weariness
slothlike
the words
come
like
treacle
on the
morn of the
winter solstice
synapses fire
with all the bang
of sodden gunpowder
and before you all
lays the detritus
of a mind
sans sleep
sans caffine
sans the wisdom
to read... not write
Tis a poem
orat least
the shadow of a thought
that wished, that wanted
one day, one fine day
to grow up
to become a poem....
but became this instead
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
Platitudinous, pusillanimous,
Pulchritudinous, posterior
Poseur, postulating pus bag
Posing as plenipotentatious
President POTUS, posturesome
Proudly putting paws on *******
Publicly preposterous woosie
Pretending propriety: a putz.
Eternal egregious eccentricity,
Endless empathy-less publicity,
Effectively inbalming ethnicity
Eviscerates any essential nobility
Excluding even existential energies
Of expectations of excellence
Instead enacting evolution-free
Economical inimical extortion.
Hourly horror holler hate,
Both houses holding hotheads
And hundreds of houris
Honoring honor-free hopes
Hesitation-free horrible haste
Hosing hope and helpmeets
Who have inherited helplessness
From heartless halfwit hoydens.
Boisterous ***** and boors
Beat beauty and belief badly
But beg and bawl for bounty
Bathing in bastardy and blood
But beyond bowing to betters
Banquets and bowers of berks
Badly bent beyond blessing,
They’re best boxed for burying.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:00 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 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
January 2005.
What a creep.
The end drove me to foresee.
Imagination went wild.
New creature arose.
A whole new world.
New different level.
Living on the edge.
With the creatures I created myself.
They are all fiction.
Yet I believe in them.
Postulating them real.
How?
To stop presupposing.
Haul me.
Salvage me.
Patronize me.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
wonders whether Schrödinger, upon postulating his cat, considered the "moment of observation" for Mary and the disciples upon discovering Jesus' tomb both open and empty...
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
knotted
to be blind
to feel twisted
memories metastasizing
catalyzing
you go as quickly as you came
each fleeting meeting swifter than the last
that pressure permeating
postulating
it's alright
i'm still upright
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
each a sphere
the solar system
the amplitude
all the way down to a molecule
inside what makes that
smaller things
I can imagine down to infinite
or as big as all of it
inside my neurons
made up of small orbiting things
still smaller things are caught
in elliptical or circular
formulae
and still I stand upright
postulating,
ain't that a miracle
I don't just spin right round.
Like a song by
Dead or Alive
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
We could go into the psychology, of a given situation
tell ourselves it's all in fun, a self, examination
Turning all the terminology, into a game of mind
pretend that it's not disturbing, of the scary kind
Mentally we'll cruise the path, the one close, too insane
postulating other choices, maybe not so good, or tame
Conclusions derived from normalcy, and all the way too crazy
we could do all this, if we, weren't so gosh **** lazy
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
There is geometry in the humming of the strings,
there is music in the spacing of the spheres.
– Pythagoras
When I think about what day it is
Dates blur, if I look
further, past
05.03
twenty
twenty
a bunch of O’s and dots
and digits, stuck together, unwieldy
If only I could feel their insignificance
with you, nudge them towards
the bed, moonlit
where we can spend
our time, studying the way
Bodies tangle in
white sheets, cold feet and
all the heat rising to our chests
that rest in parallel,
while lips draw lines and circles
across our pale paper skin,
postulating on whether or not
‘all right angles
are congruent’,
sharp elbows overlaid
and legs wrapped tightly
around each other,
in golden spirals.
Who knew Euclidean geometry
could be so intimate.
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 7:43 AM UTC
What I wish I was
And What I Have Been
A contradiction in terms
That disguised himself
In an intellectualist's cloak
A time worn wooden shelf
For all of my insidious memories
Decorating tacky shameless
Lighting for a cemetery
Making a mockery of
The designations of life's many fates
And my creed was based on the novelty
Of avoiding how to grieve
Crimson tired eyes
Postulating sleep upon restless nighs
For I expended so much time
Doing just a little less than nothing
And somethings, my brothers
They never change
I am so unequivocally deranged
My life changed
And what promised to illuminate my life
Encapsulated my only light with shame
As I breath
Martyrs and murderers
become the same
The leaves fall like they do
When their colors change
If that's how our lives worked
I would die today
Away from my lovely tree
Be swept away by the wind
Disintegrate into this earth again
Regret that life's not as simple
As I would love to forget
Find reprieve in a new life
I never found in the one I have in front of me
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC