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"practical" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.   As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .   The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms . Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus . Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation.  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.   In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Glyph
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.   As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .   The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms . Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus . Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation.  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.   In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
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6
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised? Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise? Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims... Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart? To love and to cherish til your knees did part? If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another? There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror Love is for life until you dress it with liquor If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another? We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
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Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
(You Will in Your) Holy Matrimony
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised? Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise? Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims... Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart? To love and to cherish til your knees did part? If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another? There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror Love is for life until you dress it with liquor If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another? We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
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32
☾ *I wish I were the Moon Bequeathing an enchanting night A mystical celestial sphere Bewitching lover’s hearts A practical magic spell C a s t In a lonely hollow shell       An ardent musical echo ― Released in an irrepressible Impassioned moan A twilight sigh escaping in untamed Blissful breath A Sky without Moonbeams Is like a world without song It takes a certain darkness To heed a Sky full of Stars alone I wish I were Moonstruck A fate I crave to behold Waxing and Waning Rising ― Changing A distant ocean’s ebbing tide A captivating enchantment In the twilight beauty Of your eyes Dreaming of drowning Deep within Their deepest water’s Wild I don't want to wake up     and become ― More fading Barefoot traces left behind On some faded memory's Deserted shore Right now is all There ever is ― and I wish I were The Moon tonight* Jesse Stillwater ... May  2018
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May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
... I Wish I Were the Moon
A confident man feels not a need to speak on all things with which he does not agree Though in the proper time and place he is not afraid to assert his way And though his words at times cause spurn, he will admit when they are out of turn Fearing not the inevitable mistake, but rather owning it too late Caring and feeling without hesitation and not for reciprocal adulation Emotions are expressed appropriately; either subtlety or rationally As honest with others as with himself; recognizing what he does and doesn’t do well Claiming to know what he does know and asks when he don’t Pursuing tasks for their benefit and or joy rather than status or fleeting ploys Those latter things are often great fun, but worry of them yields none While in his mind there is good thinking, he is more occupied with good acting In order to have concerns of the ideological, requires labors that are practical On his confidence, he does not ponder, as neither he or anyone wonders of whether he truly possesses it. We know it.
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Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
On His Confidence
He is Capricorn I am Aquarius He is Mars I am Venus He is analytical and practical I am intuitive whimsy emotional He is structure and rules I am freedom and going with the flow He is kids house ring white picket fences I am spur of the moment camp outs and never settling He wants to be on a white horse I climbed down from that tower a long time ago Or so I thought... Because when his hand brushes mine, a chance meeting, all that I thought I knew melted for a second and I could see a Life doing it the Capricorn way He is Capricorn I am Aquarius One chance meeting made me aware we could be something serious What will happen to our two zodiac signs? One chance meeting I leave it all behind
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Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
Capricorn & Aquarius
I've been practicing lucid dreaming for a while now, and I think I've almost got it down. (If you didn't know, lucid dreaming is kind of like dreaming, but with the lights on. It's very cool.) The way it works -- or at least, in the method I'm using -- is by first establishing a "totem." I use the jade elephant you gave me for my birthday three days before it happened. What you do is you alter your totem in a unique way so that it really stands out to you, incase you ever come across it in your dreams; this way hopefully it will jump-shock your mind into consciousness, allowing you to take the wheel. I wrote your initials on the back. DN. And I know you'd probably be thinking "why would you ever waste time perfecting a skill that will never have any practical use?" You always were the practical one. But hear me out. When I dream, it is the only time I get to see you. You know, you've been gone for almost a year this Tuesday, and this jade elephant is all I have left. This jade elephant, and your initials. This Jade elephant, and DN. I miss you, man. And I don't really know how comas work, but if you can hear me, just know that I've almost got it down. Soon, it'll be just like the old days. I promise.
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Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
The Jade Elephant
A proud man, Upright and unshakable In belief and morals, Once only I did I see him Without a tie. A child of Edwardian England, The links Of his watch chain Glinted As they hung With formality and elegance From his waistcoat pocket, Yes, even as he worked. And work he did. Patiently, Brilliantly and tirelessly With ingenuity and imagination. A craftsman from a bygone age. A master of his tools. Grandfathers are soft, Playful, bear-like in their Gruff-whiskered familiarity. Not Poppy. Unwittingly aloof from his grandchildren, We avoided the need for directly addressing him, Unsure of where we stood. He’d probably have secretly Loved the informality Of our secret nickname. I hope he knew. The chapel piano did for him. Too much weight for his work-weary ticker. Grandma gave me his pocket watch to keep, And for a time I treasured it, Measuring its weight Like a smooth round pebble In my palm. A workman’s watch; Practical. A yellowing face Behind a scratched And hazy glass. But accurate, And precise. Reliable as the man. Detached in life, I liked to hope that Gazing down, Watching, He just might have Laughed In loving acknowledgement of his Grandson’s curiosity And foolishness Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, With heart-thumping nausea Adrift in a sea of springs.
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Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
Lost Link
The wisdom of God has always wanted big things to come in small packages. And like grace in unlikely places, so is the story of a child. In us (children), God shares His experiences with Humanity (patience, love, discipline, leadership, etc). Its a practical class. For In our heart is the possibility of Heaven And like us are those who live there. We are the glory of God concealed and it is your honor to find us out. We are the heritage from the Lord, a weapon of defense, and a great company for comfort. The most blessings of any family is hidden in us, by God. Like an arrow in The hands of the mighty, the one who shoots us, as directed by God will never miss his target. We come into your lives, you love us, we grow, we learn, and we love you back. We are that godly seeds the great husband man searches for.
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May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
THE GODLY SEED (children's day)
You know the type. She's probably called something like Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra. and you find her in the sort of novel where she's outdone by someone called something like Jane. Agnes. Lucy. She's remembered in criticism as Trivial. Silly. Foolish. She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold. She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her. She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine, whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end, Rational. Independent. Brave. She reaffirms the heroine as someone who learns and grows while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror. The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl, the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books and wants to believe the stories. Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror, chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries, looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know. I know I'd be one of the silly girls, not the heroine, out there, just surviving. I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet - what's so wrong with the silly girls? What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves, or love the wrong people or love their clothes? What's wrong with the girls who are brave but not rational, independent but trivial, selfish but practical? What's wrong with those girls, because I always find myself preferring the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
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Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
silly and frivolous
* How many times we starved ourselves dreaming something that we can’t have… How many times we deprived ourselves from wanting the life we wanted the most just because we lack something or having the practical mind that it is not for us… Sometimes we starved ourselves to limit our flight. Bound by rules, responsibilities, duties, or even culture, tradition and religion… Despite all that, we balance everything for what’s right, what feels right The Weighing of the Heart --- *
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Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
starvation
Probability. I sit here in class, Seeing my teacher talk; It's probably something useful On probability. How about the probability of my life? Probability to do my homework; Non because I've been called a ******** so many times, I've given up. Probability of me getting the perfectly imperfect version of a boyfriend; Zilch because no one appreciates a young healthy, very curvy sophomore with a DD, Yet people who make fun of me will WISH and HOPE for my ******* in their future years They will even get surgery just to make themselves like me, So what is the practical probability they stop making fun of me; Zilch! Probability that I will be seen as more than an object to others; ******** to none because I don't make an effort anymore, not after sixth grade. Probability I will ever feel completely good about myself as a whole; Maybe because I have six awesome friends who don't put me down. Probability my life will get better; Someday but not today My past made an irreplaceable mark on me And my probability. Will the percentage grow, Along with my hopes?
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Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
Probability
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -- A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street. Jealousy can open the blood, It can make black roses. Who are the shooting at? It is you the knives are out for At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon, The **** of Elba on your short back, And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery Mass after mass, saying Shh! Shh! These are chess people you play with, Still figures of ivory. The mud squirms with throats, Stepping stones for French bootsoles. The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds. So the swarm ***** and deserts Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree. It must be shot down. Pom! Pom! So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder. It thinks they are the voice of God Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog, Grinning over its bone of ivory Like the pack, the pack, like everybody. The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high! Russia, Poland and Germany! The mild hills, the same old magenta Fields shrunk to a penny Spun into a river, the river crossed. The bees argue, in their black ball, A flying hedgehog, all prickles. The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb Of their dream, the hived station Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs, Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country. Pom! Pom! They fall Dismembered, to a tod of ivy. So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army! A red tatter, Napoleon! The last badge of victory. The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat. Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea! The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals Worming themselves into niches. How instructive this is! The dumb, banded bodies Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery Into a new mausoleum, An ivory palace, a crotch pine. The man with gray hands smiles -- The smile of a man of business, intensely practical. They are not hands at all But asbestos receptacles. Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.' Stings big as drawing pins! It seems bees have a notion of honor, A black intractable mind. Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything. O Europe! O ton of honey!
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7.8k
The Swarm
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -- A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street. Jealousy can open the blood, It can make black roses. Who are the shooting at? It is you the knives are out for At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon, The **** of Elba on your short back, And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery Mass after mass, saying Shh! Shh! These are chess people you play with, Still figures of ivory. The mud squirms with throats, Stepping stones for French bootsoles. The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds. So the swarm ***** and deserts Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree. It must be shot down. Pom! Pom! So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder. It thinks they are the voice of God Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog, Grinning over its bone of ivory Like the pack, the pack, like everybody. The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high! Russia, Poland and Germany! The mild hills, the same old magenta Fields shrunk to a penny Spun into a river, the river crossed. The bees argue, in their black ball, A flying hedgehog, all prickles. The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb Of their dream, the hived station Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs, Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country. Pom! Pom! They fall Dismembered, to a tod of ivy. So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army! A red tatter, Napoleon! The last badge of victory. The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat. Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea! The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals Worming themselves into niches. How instructive this is! The dumb, banded bodies Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery Into a new mausoleum, An ivory palace, a crotch pine. The man with gray hands smiles -- The smile of a man of business, intensely practical. They are not hands at all But asbestos receptacles. Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.' Stings big as drawing pins! It seems bees have a notion of honor, A black intractable mind. Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything. O Europe! O ton of honey!
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60
Because he was the robin, see I built him a birdhouse made of the fingernails I chipped from every time I was forced to button up my own flannel shirt It was quite silly and awkward-looking So it didn't bother me when he didn't want to live there It would take a lot of fake smiles and wooden blinds to tolerate a habitation such as the one I constructed for him So it didn't bother me when he didn't want to live there When he told me he was making a nest I took a paring knife from the kitchen drawer When he told me he was making a nest I gave him 10 inches of weave to (through) the twigs When he told me there were lots of split ends and varied shades I wasn't too hurt because it was true And I knew he would use twisty ties from bread bags instead Which were much more practical than 10 inches of lover's hair I just couldn't understand why he didn't give it back He misplaced it, he said How can you misplace something I had (longed) for him
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Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
ungrateful naivety (perhaps)
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance. Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique. What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion. Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression. We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms. There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all. We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural. Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate. Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success. The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race. How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’. So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for. Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism. It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism. Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights. This is mandate. The republic for which we stand. Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
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Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Mercenary Mendacity
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance. Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique. What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion. Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression. We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms. There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all. We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural. Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate. Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success. The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race. How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’. So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for. Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism. It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism. Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights. This is mandate. The republic for which we stand. Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
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18
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason, Logical, radical movement Trying for less invasive measures of medication To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence, Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change. The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats. Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate. Whip lash. Flick, flame, fumigating Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace Twitching with the need to take action To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
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Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Ballot? What Ballot?
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason, Logical, radical movement Trying for less invasive measures of medication To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence, Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change. The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats. Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate. Whip lash. Flick, flame, fumigating Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace Twitching with the need to take action To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
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25
I remember sitting with my legs crossed at an empty parking lot with you. Burning our lungs, sharing our deepest secrets at 3am while I rest my head on your shoulder that cold summer night. I sang along our favorite songs and you wished that time stopped so we could still be together. But alas, You are still too damaged. You think too much. You are too practical. You are not yet ready for anything. And I’m left confused and angry and frustrated and a little bit hurt, I guess. So here we are again, so here we go again. Who would have thought that we would actually burn even faster than our cigarettes?                                                                               — apbq
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Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
Cigarettes
Around the table, Literacy discussion turned elitist... Bemoaning some poor Johnny, Son of a plumber who does not read Beyond the practical need, And has no desire to. I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard... Was transported to a prairie farm; Thought of my Father, then in his eighties Who felt no need and no sense of loss For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway, For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis. Every morning, he read his Bible; Some nights he read the mail's Motley collection of literature: Ads and politicians and fanatics, Demanding money and his time, But mostly money. "I don't have time to read!" He'd shout when I suggested a novel. What literature he had was in his head, Poems memorized when he was a boy In a two room school, or His own lines, written as a young man, Describing work and friends Long distant now, but still alive In memory. Dad taught me how to read In different literacies and different texts: Nuances of sky to read the weather - What chill or storm or drought was on its way ("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!"); Cows and calves and bulls, (Which one was sick or well, dry or bred); Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments ("Start with the easiest options first"); Metals, to know which welding rod applied ("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks"); Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands, (a test of ripeness); Cement, to blend the perfect mix, ("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!); Conservation, ("Always keep some grain on hand" &   "Keep your fuel above half-tank"). So many literacies... Dad, the Master Reader of them all... No wonder he'd no time for books.
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Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
RR No Time For Books
Around the table, Literacy discussion turned elitist... Bemoaning some poor Johnny, Son of a plumber who does not read Beyond the practical need, And has no desire to. I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard... Was transported to a prairie farm; Thought of my Father, then in his eighties Who felt no need and no sense of loss For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway, For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis. Every morning, he read his Bible; Some nights he read the mail's Motley collection of literature: Ads and politicians and fanatics, Demanding money and his time, But mostly money. "I don't have time to read!" He'd shout when I suggested a novel. What literature he had was in his head, Poems memorized when he was a boy In a two room school, or His own lines, written as a young man, Describing work and friends Long distant now, but still alive In memory. Dad taught me how to read In different literacies and different texts: Nuances of sky to read the weather - What chill or storm or drought was on its way ("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!"); Cows and calves and bulls, (Which one was sick or well, dry or bred); Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments ("Start with the easiest options first"); Metals, to know which welding rod applied ("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks"); Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands, (a test of ripeness); Cement, to blend the perfect mix, ("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!); Conservation, ("Always keep some grain on hand" &   "Keep your fuel above half-tank"). So many literacies... Dad, the Master Reader of them all... No wonder he'd no time for books.
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49
So many questions in my head about simple religions are they something God made or just devil envisioned? Its kind a practical but if I ask I'm demon possessed **** let me breathe in this cult I manifest. I'm lead to believe in something I don't understand I ask with such command am I insane because of this. They tell you two things opposite from each other but share the same views like prosperity and salvation. Telling you to not follow Islamic Ramadan, Hinduism caste systems or anything that corrupts the mind. To me its just nothing but simple communism an oxymoron for morons without a way of living. Too many days hoping for a message in a source in a enlightened force instead of letting nature take its course. How many years am I gunna live behind shades Even my shadow gets the most attention. Tired of wishing for the best still the stress keeps consuming success is up a hill a thousand miles away. Only if I had dreams to steal just to **** time A false grind running in circles chasing my own *** well even a dog wouldn't chase after a ***** with a fur collar I'm a dog barking at these strays. No choice no vision just a broken sand clock paused days seems to delay my own knowledge. No oracles its rhetorical trapped inside of Matrix living a basic life Brainwashed by circles of successors. So many serpents biting my flesh in this Garden of Eden Starving and bleeding constantly dreaming when I'm sleep and when I'm sleeping I'm 2 steps behind.
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Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Constructive Criticism
Pleasure, oh pleasure sitting in silence Among the lime trees The silence of delight A perfect pardon Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No hurry, no hurry To go anywhere While strangers offer smiles Such perfect smiles Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Magic a specialisation A practical specialisation Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People of all kinds Come streaming by Pilot people Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People passing with such power Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees All power is violence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Pleasure, oh pleasure Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No power is needed here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Only truth and justice Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No grievous ache remains a mystery Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That purple mass made clear Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An aroma here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An exuding stupefying aroma Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That startles the sparrows Identical sparrows Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Other silence is unequal Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A quivering tenor of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Gilded silence that flashes Hazily across the vision Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Frenzied silence, irresistible silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence split into fragments Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Fragments that remain intact Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence that vanishes from sight Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A severed silence That remains infused Golden and deceptive Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Like split up bandits On the run Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Who race up two Different boulevards Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A day return silence Always nervous and irritable Sitting her in silence Among the lime trees A softening handsome Lilac colored silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Regal in its resonance Of romance Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A silence of scarlet kerchiefs Wears a tail coat Has black raven hair Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Trying to catch spiders Rats, little devils and dogs Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Day breaks Inexorably in silence Over the poet Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees The unstoppable Silence of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such silence once started Is unstoppable Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such as the strange silence One finds in snow Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence in a deserted shout Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Oh such silent noise Such silent noise Silent noise, silent
0
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Silence among the lime trees
Pleasure, oh pleasure sitting in silence Among the lime trees The silence of delight A perfect pardon Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No hurry, no hurry To go anywhere While strangers offer smiles Such perfect smiles Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Magic a specialisation A practical specialisation Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People of all kinds Come streaming by Pilot people Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees People passing with such power Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees All power is violence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Pleasure, oh pleasure Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No power is needed here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Only truth and justice Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees No grievous ache remains a mystery Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That purple mass made clear Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An aroma here Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees An exuding stupefying aroma Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees That startles the sparrows Identical sparrows Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Other silence is unequal Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A quivering tenor of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Gilded silence that flashes Hazily across the vision Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Frenzied silence, irresistible silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence split into fragments Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Fragments that remain intact Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence that vanishes from sight Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A severed silence That remains infused Golden and deceptive Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Like split up bandits On the run Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Who race up two Different boulevards Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A day return silence Always nervous and irritable Sitting her in silence Among the lime trees A softening handsome Lilac colored silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Regal in its resonance Of romance Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees A silence of scarlet kerchiefs Wears a tail coat Has black raven hair Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Trying to catch spiders Rats, little devils and dogs Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Day breaks Inexorably in silence Over the poet Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees The unstoppable Silence of silence Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such silence once started Is unstoppable Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Such as the strange silence One finds in snow Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Silence in a deserted shout Sitting here in silence Among the lime trees Oh such silent noise Such silent noise Silent noise, silent
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131
Your Style Can Not Dominate Not Being Crude, Not Spreading Hate I'm Just Spreading The Word, Going To Radiate Even Without It, You'd Probably Meet Your Fate Taking You Down Has Become My Mission Going To Split Your Mind, Sanity Fission And Your World In Two, Territorial Division I'm Coming At You With Insane Precision Not Going To Rush, Going To Be Tactical Make Sure My Plans Are 100% Practical Attacking Aimlessly Would Be Impractical Give My People A Show, Theatrical I'm Flawless, You're Flawed When People Hear My Words, They Applaud When They Hear yours? They Call The Firing Squad I Don't Think Inside The Box, I Think Abroad I'm Guessing By Now You Must Be Hurting You Coming To Me, Asking For Some Kind Of Converting The Topic Kills You, You're Diverting To You. I'm Quite Alerting
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Dominate
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience . As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .   The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms . Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus . Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation .  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .   In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
0
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Glyph
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience . As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .   The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms . Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus . Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation .  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .   In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
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6
When my world was collapsing, You came as a pillar, When my dreams were fading, You came as a light, When my thoughts became blank, You filled it in with color, When my smile started dying, You became the reason for me to rejoice, When tears in my eyes overflowed, You bought solace in them, When I started feeling lonely, You bought life back in me, When my mood became emotional, You made me practical, When I missed terribly my people You mimicked each one for me, When darkness came near me, You bought brightness with your presence, When I felt it to be end of road, You showed me new path, new goal, When today I think of you, So many emotions surge in my heart, Love, Gratitude, Guide, Philosopher, The best one though is last to come, Coz’ I make you my dearest friend, You have given me so much I can never repay, But promise I make, to be always happy, Promise I make, that I will always smile As in my Smile lies my dearest friends Smile. Neha srivastava
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May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
...... SMILE.....!!
Symbol: The goat Opposite Sign: Cancer Meaning: The achiever Modality: Cardinal Element: Earth Ruling House: The tenth Ruling Body: Saturn Motto: I build Birthstone: Garnet Color: Brown Metal: Silver Flower: Carnation Fragrance: Spearmint Lucky Day: Saturday Numbers: 3, 4, 9 Lucky Colors: Red, Pink, Purple, Blue Lucky Flowers: Cyclamen, Plantain lily, Fittonia Capricorn is: persevering, patient, conventional, practical and disciplined.  Capricorn can be practical, unemotional, sober, orderly, controlling and manipulative.
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Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Capricorn
You really can do whatever you want, you know. People who say that aren't just naive optimists. However, they do leave out a very important caveat: You really can do whatever in the world that you want... So long as you want it MORE than anything else in the world. Like... say you want to leave town. Maybe you don't do it. Maybe you sit in your office and dream about getting on a plane but you never do. Responsibilities, money, family, friends, fear... Excuses. Honestly, Excuses. The truth that people don't like to face because it makes them uncomfortable is that if you REALLY wanted to leave town, If you wanted that and only that, If you wanted it more than anything else in your entire life, You would do it. That is the simple truth about... most impossible things. You want it? You've got it. But you've got to be willing to give up every other thing in your entire life in pursuit of it. You've got to know yourself well enough to know, absolutely KNOW, that this thing is what you want, what your soul craves, what your dreams revolve around. You have got to be 100% dead SURE that what you want is what you WANT. And if you are, if you can know that and face it and understand how selfish it might be to abandon everything else in your life for it, and if somehow it still pulls you towards it like a magnet even with all the rationality and doubt and practical thinking you can throw at it... Then that is your purpose. Your dream. And you will have it. That said, anyone who thinks I'm unreasonable, or silly, or naive, or wasteful for going after love... Quite simply, I know what I want. I know who I want. I know what makes me happy. And since I know it so clearly, so utterly, so inescapably, I couldn't possibly live with myself if I didn't do everything I could to have it. And it's not an easy path, knowing what you want. Because when the answer is no, it's no to your deepest dreams, to your heart's most aching desire. When you have to wait, you have to wait for air to fill your lungs, you have to wait to be born. When you lose it, you lose the sun, you lose the earth under your feet, you lose the courage to look in the mirror. But when you have it... when you have it, you have a home. I know what I want. I want love. I want to be happy. I want to do what I love doing, and I want to be with who I adore. And if I know that, and I admit that, and I put everything I can into that... Well then, It's not over until I breathe my last breath. I haven't failed until I've fallen. And I think I can live with that.
0
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
Whatever You Want
You really can do whatever you want, you know. People who say that aren't just naive optimists. However, they do leave out a very important caveat: You really can do whatever in the world that you want... So long as you want it MORE than anything else in the world. Like... say you want to leave town. Maybe you don't do it. Maybe you sit in your office and dream about getting on a plane but you never do. Responsibilities, money, family, friends, fear... Excuses. Honestly, Excuses. The truth that people don't like to face because it makes them uncomfortable is that if you REALLY wanted to leave town, If you wanted that and only that, If you wanted it more than anything else in your entire life, You would do it. That is the simple truth about... most impossible things. You want it? You've got it. But you've got to be willing to give up every other thing in your entire life in pursuit of it. You've got to know yourself well enough to know, absolutely KNOW, that this thing is what you want, what your soul craves, what your dreams revolve around. You have got to be 100% dead SURE that what you want is what you WANT. And if you are, if you can know that and face it and understand how selfish it might be to abandon everything else in your life for it, and if somehow it still pulls you towards it like a magnet even with all the rationality and doubt and practical thinking you can throw at it... Then that is your purpose. Your dream. And you will have it. That said, anyone who thinks I'm unreasonable, or silly, or naive, or wasteful for going after love... Quite simply, I know what I want. I know who I want. I know what makes me happy. And since I know it so clearly, so utterly, so inescapably, I couldn't possibly live with myself if I didn't do everything I could to have it. And it's not an easy path, knowing what you want. Because when the answer is no, it's no to your deepest dreams, to your heart's most aching desire. When you have to wait, you have to wait for air to fill your lungs, you have to wait to be born. When you lose it, you lose the sun, you lose the earth under your feet, you lose the courage to look in the mirror. But when you have it... when you have it, you have a home. I know what I want. I want love. I want to be happy. I want to do what I love doing, and I want to be with who I adore. And if I know that, and I admit that, and I put everything I can into that... Well then, It's not over until I breathe my last breath. I haven't failed until I've fallen. And I think I can live with that.
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