"randomize" poems
Thousands of doors are going
To open Today
After a Long Day
Of Sultry Dark
Slowly moving Clouds
But what it is!
As if the speed of the wind more than
A Hurricane
Extreme sound Rocking the Sky,
The Home
And the Expanding
Barren Field,
Repeatedly being Thunder Around
As far as I can See
Across the Horizon
The Rain has come down
As Cats and Dogs
Dim Light in the Room
Hope, despair shaken
Windows Open
Southern waves
Randomize the Poetry Books
Flying Pages,
Never before or after in the
The Scent of the Poetry
In the Air
Sky-word Sentences
I have seen my Reflection
In the Light of the Short
The past Knocking
On the Closed Door
To open the Wide Sky
You have sat down
In the Horizon
That has reminded
The First Love Poem
Where I read
And planted my Dreams
Bringing the garden
Roses,
Marigold,
Sunflowers
Where there the moonlit
Of moonlight has
Crafted the Dreams
Like an Imagination
As if,
Unclogging Peacock's Feather
But the sudden wind
Increasing the Velocity
Light has been Extinguished
Yet the Flame Alive
But don't see my Reflection,
In the distant Glass,
In the Poetry,
In the Words
In an Angular way,
Through the Windows
Rain coming into the Limelight
Put away the Poetry
And the Dreams
As the Books of Poetry has Seemed
Like the Stones
But Yet I'm waiting,
For The Next morning
Where the Hope will Come Again
In the Shining Smile of Light
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
You may not entirely understand the reality of a 'dank existence,'
As the ranks of society have used interpretive dance as resistance
To the lime-green light that illuminates that room in the brain,
Where interpretation of thought drives explanation insane.
You may not entirely understand what is real;
From the epilogue clearing fictions fog to what makes an orange peel,
As it's not a simple way to live every day,
But it's found that, quite obviously, it is the best way,
Lacking the patch of reality's seal,
It truly is the only real way to feel.
To say that my mind has gone mad without power,
Is like saying pop-rocks from '67 aren't sour,
Or a Peoples Republic won't rise like a tower,
Over Western metropolis, and the President's glower.
And to say that my brain is subdued within chains,
Is like claiming humanity never made it to space.
It's a possibility, but from any value of face,
The assumption is old, and conservingly fake.
Lets say we randomize all events in our lives;
From the time we wake up, to where we close our eyes,
And the constant adventure, as to 'where to go next,'
Finds that our past is quite static once the next second is vexed
And the constant thieving of the ideas that we steal,
Makes life an existentialists ideal meal,
With the past, and the present, and the future entwined,
It's a smorgasbord of endeavor drawn outside the lines,
And we love it.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 4:53 PM UTC
NEEDLE! Through the middle of a razor-edge! Face in face out face sin face spout! I cannot see through the masochism of honesty, corrupt the faucet and leak and drain into a towel of wet PAIN! Holes rid themselves of fantastic-type dust! (And on the cusp of agony's grateful constitution hereby is a sitar scimitar). Unwilling to grow old into throats of bold and I am here today so what does it matter? Cough n' clap n' clasp n' rappin' sapping my soul's voidy tounguester. Have I become throats? Or abomination ropes? Tungsten blow-hole deep neath the depths of water-disgust! Rapture came along with whipping writhing throngs of toothpaste convolution tongs pulling out the wrongs and wrong doings of King Kong's rightful songs. Randomize architecture so that a building can grow from blue dirt into the sky and spread at the top and cover the entire planet of the human-beings where there'll be forever-shade shading shaded, faded, blue. Tuesday is a monkey banana bonanza bizarre bizarre scarring n' scaring little toothpick carrying caring creatures faring their merry way past curds and whey fields. Acclimate to constipate and betroth-berate irritate-type tube tape. Youthful castor plaster made from youngster disaster number: one.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
I write subtleties,
Thoughts that randomize in the wee of the morning,
The lover longing for something past its expiration date,
The curtain billowing in the breeze of the dark,
Fingertips reaching blindly for hems coming undone.
Bits and pieces to pluck away,
In the wee of the morning,
When thoughts randomize.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
I can easily play
With words
With meanings
Twist them around
Randomize
Sometimes gaining gold
Other times, dirt
But one to me
May be the other to others
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC