"reconstructing" poems
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons
for the Hopeless Stargazer who immortalized his Subject with one hundred and eight sets of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter
for ***** tight clad teenage boys who envied frisky fleas, struggling to make holy ungodly passions with cheap arguments and metaphysical pick up lines
for Disillusioned City Dwellers, who, wandering lonely as clouds, stopped to quietly reflect upon wind-beaten moss-covered crags, and heard God’s whisper thunder from petals and blades of grass
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons
for Bespectacled Slave Drivers who submersed idle minds in anthologies, forcing them to **** neon yellow on dreams deferred and rivers; slicing and dicing Grecian urns with red ball point pens; bruising and battering, in blue ball point, roads not taken; scalding supermarkets in California with pyroclastic flows of graphite
for those pushing to tear apart lines and letters, reconstructing ,deconstructing, agonizing, imaginizing, bullshitting, and brooding on to crisp white sheets in times new roman twelve point font
for the Monsters and Lollipops that exist in the millimeters between a skull and a brain
this is for the Dreamers, Lovers, and Surgeons slumbering beneath Restless Leaves Under the Moon
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC
Another Autobiographical Anomaly✍️
My memory, how is it working?
Reconstructing what I will,
But no matter how I will it,
Using tricks or keeping still,
It goes downhill while lurking.
Mostly, I can’t get the date
Or the event - details I railed at,
Smiled or wailed at.
Where I laid the pen just used;
That is NOT amusing.
Histamine.
I read that histamine boosts memory.
Priority.
What do I prioritise with ear, nose, eye?
My husband tells a story
But his story and the history keep changing.
Joke?
Sheer smoke based on illusion in the first place?
He’s an honest man.
Why change the plan or plane?
How to help boost our brain!
Enigma
And for some a stigma.
Diet, food:
The marvel is the wondrous good
It does in spite
Of all the things we don’t do right.
We’re losing neurons constantly
From ages six- or seventy.
Exercise:
Training. Learning.. Instrument.
Being bent on something! Anything!
For just about all/everything is heaven sent.
That’s what I read
And what I think,
And where my intuition and my instinct lead.
Anyway, this poem is just another way to do it.
Renewing bits with any course available,
And one in which a syllable will stick.
The main thing is to get a kick
Out of the rhythmic lyric of our life.
Yes?
Another Autobiographical Anomaly 2.11.2019 Pure Nakedness II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
Lonely
In the corner
Staring into an abyss
of pointless options
And all the edges
in the world
Aren't sharp enough
to cut through
The concrete wall
surrounding her heart
Cold
In a crowded room
Searching for an empathetic face
She sees the smiles
filling the empty space
And it seems
that no amount of joy
Is real enough
to take the fears place
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
Bio chemical creation tracing the steps of evolution through the fetus
The blood trail seeps into flaccid lakes of genocide
Bottleneck effect on government induced laboratory experiments
Questioning the interrogated under kaleidoscopic examination
Believe me when I tell you to leave me alone
Reconstructing DNA strands of Darwin’s transgression
Molding to the perplexity of the world
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 8:58 AM UTC
In those days all thinking took place in his heart.
It had no favorite suburb, no shelter that was home,
immersed, as he was, in the Mojave of humanity,
memories of only former places through which he'd drifted.
Yes, there were women, storms of passion, brevity in bed.
Today, they only took him back in time,
reconstructing scenarios more of actions never taken.
Bedposts served as bivouacs for the nomad.
Here in this desert water assumes a circumstance,
the nomad becoming as fond of it as ambition.
Here silence need not be kept at bay, rather welcomed in,
though it looks down upon him in uncertainty.
Out there on the horizon he hears a sigh,
a mother tongue corresponding to his own.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
Remember when I told you
Not to force me?
I meant that.
Force me to love you
And I will hate you.
Force me to hate you
And I will love you.
Force me to stay
And I will run,
Force me away
And I will never leave.
I promise you this:
I do not love you more than I need to be free.
My freedom means
I
Do
What
I
Choose.
Not what you think is right,
Not what you think is safe,
Not what you think is
Best.
You cannot make me stop thinking of you-
Months,
Years,
Decades,
I will enshrine you
Out of spite
And throw away moments of every **** day
Reconstructing your face in my mind
Whether or not I ever see it again-
I promise you this:
I do not love myself more than I hate being
Forced.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Can you feel the resonance throbbing gently through this subtle discourse?
I constantly find your lustful innuendo to be an incredibly pleasurable experience. Like your a magical lyricist.., Your words urge to create masterful penetration's through laced pages with in me you bring out the artistic'ness hidden deep with in me.
Rhymes and rhythmic vibrations build up until finally they gush forth with musical symbols, A stream of lyrics resounds in & out of my orchestra,
While we attempt to concentrate on our next feature.
You have me unable to distinguish the next verse for our repetition's, Artfully your lyrics coincide with my own causing phrases to be come literate and a **** good read, Flowing melodies,
While you impregnate my text with all your, your lyrical kiss&naughtiness.;
Filling up my syllable's,Reconstructing my vocabulary.
Our rhyme is basic element that defines the couplet, LOL Coupling as we do.
Our consistent element is the repetition of form,
As in me and you forming as one Not in-difference to you ,
Just with small changes,
in your technique
As we face off while playing out these scene,
Your persistence of our sonnet reverberates like multicultural dance,
I'm competitive while feeling in awe of you. Your sweet tunes ripple down my spine,
while our word play
brings havoc to my mind. Like a chant or a sweet harmonies.
Causing mental eruption's. Conversing about to end,
tactically you evoke emotional & sensual response, But I'm
keeping up with your lyrical flow. Rhyme for rhyme,
as each adjective courses through me, in and out while you become a
cunning linguist
master!, I'm about to overflow as you
Cause me to rhythmically fall victim to
insightful
Poems!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
Guess I'll be postponing December's reconstructive surgery
There's nothing like being delayed from your own burglary
It had potential too, well maybe if it wasn't so ruthful
I'll still tentatively deem it as successful
I started to shed the lingering fatigue
I began to think of my completed protocols
Triggered the realization I need the reconstruction after all
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:05 AM UTC
Think not about
the gossamer windings
of feeble minds
for our souls' inner
structure
is by sacred design
and as we roam
and spin and
consume in flame
we do our best
to soothe our
own inner pain
and when the seedlings
burst forth
their silken fire
and the dam breaks loose
with longing desire
we strive to remain
on top of the tide
in undertow rush
and unravelling pride
It is these moments
that we snap into shards
in a mosaic of selves
veins mapping
heart
and our arteries burst
into rhythms that slide
as shifting polar sparks
ignite waves of time
tectonic plates quake
as we are torn apart
from inside
our cells reconstructing
our fibers re-defined
This is spirit recreation -
a tiny flare in the dark
for we are dying to survive
our own inner hell
we are ******* the breath
of that life-giving spell
we do all of this and more
as we crumble
and spew
on our knees at rock-bottom
searching for new
So fear not
those depths
of the unlit abyss
for it's our own
shining eyes
that stir
light's
fervent
kiss
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
High voltage poetics,
Planting words seeds
In a field of nomadic minds,
In a sky of dreams
Bursting above the magnetic stars,
The skin of words
Peeled from flesh of life,
The page is a silken weave,
The words threaded in a void,
Syllable construction
Of a spiraling flame that invents
A city
In a day
In a life
In a person-
The thought deconstructed
Into metaphysical metaphorical,
Musical mandolins,
The mandolinist touches the foreheads,
A pack of wild people
In the wild city nocturnal,
The spectrum of voices
In a rainbow of verbiage,
A wonderful desolation
As the hours fly as a writer flies,
The Sunstone's dial
Burns time at the crossroads of midnight,
We are a gallery of echoes,
Our history lives today
Hushed into memory,
Diaphanous vision
Accumulated into the mind
Vast as the moment,
The mirrors reflect the Word
And the Word is life,
Reasons are a geometric anomaly
With morality at the center
Of the theoretical poem:
I choose to inspire,
Which means to live and observe
Daily reconstructing in the poems,
But the poem is not truth;
Poetry like history is made,
Eyes of language,
The truth is to walk it,
Inspired to live and the dream
Is written in verse.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Static of definite extinction, to whom are We allied?
If it is to Your noise, Your scatter and clean-up-later attitude,
then We are separatists.
If to Whatever, We are assuredly conspiring cohorts.
Do You claim to provide what We've needed all along,
but have simply been too short-sighted to know We've needed?
Or do You delineate? Do You define Us by unpacking Us,
thereby reconstructing Us into sections of a whole untarnished tool?
Machinery, if you will?
Take, for instance, television.
Do We need, or even want to watch?
Needlessly We need it. We want it for lack of choice,
or so We think. It is, simply, there.
Easily - and how easily We may never know - one may turn
to the body's offerings, or the plummets and peaks of the mind.
Sport, science, language, art, human, essential, vivid, now -
they are nearer than no one knows; practically graspable.
But Static, You move Us to wish.
You **** Us to think we must consummate Ourselves.
As We said, We are separatists.
Declare some vapid civil war.
Who, then, will provide your nothings?
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
You are the grains against roots
You are the pictures to the poems
You are the music to the seasons
Utterly mistaken for one, two years
Shifting your moves
Reconstructing images from the page
Searching new views
Resting your chin knowing
The crickets will never rest
The oceans will never forever forget you
The forest will be burnt
A paradox will be solved
For you, crashes require reboots
Setting leap year back once more
The flowers will forever
Bring you a demesne
You are a pastiche
Your voice is mellifluous
A formal fallacy resents
The starting line logically
Helping you recognize the beginning
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 12:07 PM UTC
All our senses concatenate, building on each other
<>
this interplay is truly interplanetary,
for each of us a unique solar system,
our brains,
intricacy literally personified,
and our five senses, working
in
concatenation
our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs
by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating.
blending and then reconstructing…into a whole!
*a gentle breeze ruffles the hair,
the tree swing rises and flows
of its own accord, no passported
passenger required, and a neighbor’s
American Flag, moves majestically &
impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing
to a tune only it can hear,
the syncopated air currents providing
a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…*
and the brain takes this all in, a momentary
second of a vista that is constantly flexing,
yet remains unchanged, a muscular view
of a real world, living but yet immutable,
and I utter thanks to my motor functions,
that bless me with the eyes to perceive,
the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air,
the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible
orchestrations of silences by their absence
and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips
to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized
to that gentle breeze that decorates the
landscapes external,
*and the combinatory
addition of the all of it, into a single momentary
poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will
greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar
friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims:
this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that
a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and
through impoverished words…share*
4:14am
Mon Jul 22
2 0 2 4
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
The eyes should be plucked from their orbits
Submerged in formalin
Stored in a museum for all to gaze upon and know
My love is pure-tried by fire-
The fingers cut off at the second knuckle
The skin and meat picked from them leave
Pale Pale Pale white bone beneath
...Untouched by any other man
Scrape Scrape says the knife carving
Runes and poetry into the finger bones
So that all may know
My love was pure-tried by fire
The ****** knife danced
As in the sleep visions I cried out silently
Gray and muted were the eyes and
The voice was...lost from those lips
I remove the death mask to lick the cold lips of her corpse
Purple Petals that wither in the winter air
The warm cloud of my breath
Filling her nostrils
God breathing breath into Adam's first-rib
A lock of hair I disrupt
Falling from the high place
In Hurried Lust
I wonder at the stopped machinery that lies beneath
Do I dare slip the scalpel once more from its placement
And bring it to bare at the left breast?
It is the doing of another-I am no longer here
Searching for what is lost in the garden of her entrails
Wilting Bloom
I search the throat with my fingers
Reconstructing the final moments
Once more I run my fingers against thread
Delicatley I have sewn closed the gaping slash wound
To the throat warm spray a muted gurgle
Air slipping from the vocal chords disjointed dirge she sings to me
Forgetting quickly my stone ears deaf to such frivolities as mercy
The knife found it's own way through the breastbone
She and I are ancient beings
Our bodies sarcophagus for the true form
Released at last First Breath
Picking pieces of it from my teeth
Nail marks line my fore arms
Wounds tasting of the final throes
For she in peace dances at the feet of Him
Her wings cover her eyes
Her wings cover her feet
Holy seraphim returing crest raised high
Among the host
The great cycle completed
Tried by fire she is found whole once again
And I await with joy
The eternal punishment
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
Finding Your Rhythm
Your rhythm can have heat,
It can have speed.
Depending upon what you need
In the moment’s feat,
It’s very heartbeat.
Whatsoever gives you power,
Your bio-clock
May rock
That hour.
Power by the minutes is what counts.
It mounts by seconds as you play.
It plays,
And you should let it play
Since rhythm’s power never stays,
Permutating with each pulse.
Respect it, for it’s no one else -
The simplest sample of the minute’s you,
All you are and all you do,
Adapting, altering, amending,
Reconstructing and evolving
As you solve new pages,
Entering and leaving stages.
When I play or sing
Finding tempo’s rhythmic swing
Is key; door’s opening
To fundamentals: moving, sitting, cooking, eating…
Finding beat the core and more.
At the bottom your rhythm
Lies a measure of your pleasure,
An intrinsic part of it;
Pleasure in the heart of it.
Finding Your Rhythm 3.28.2018 Vaguely About Music II; Circling Round Energy, Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
Sometimes ...
Its best
to let go
to fall apart
to shatter
to brun down
to ashes
but
then it's bestest
to rebulid
to rise
to put things together
piece by piece
beautifully
removing the ugly bits
remolding,
reconstructing..
to make melody
out of sorrow
and
smile out of pain !!
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
I have seen God
in the cool of the day she takes deiform time and again
the second coming of Nefertiti is upon us
and she has done nothing less than conquer my mind and overthrow the control center inside of my head
she is reconstructing the constellations that I have grown used to
I find myself believing in things I’ve never seen before
The wonders of the world ponder about her 7 times a day
My eyes are soothed by such a golden aura
Her positive vibes draw me closer
Her transparency has me made a believer
I long to study this queen I've searched through scrolls, decoded encryptions but still only one thing is clear
I have seen God
and I have given serious thought to changing religion
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.
Round and round and round
My mind turns about.
Now never again in my life
Will I try to doubt
Who I am
and where I will be.
When the evil within tries to get out.
Its time to reroute./
I've gotta reroute. /
I've got to get up on my feet
And shout. /
I've wasted too much time asleep.
Only ****** at myself
Because during the time I've spent
Trying to dig deep into her/
I have totally forgetten
Where I was and who they were./
Those who held me back/
gave me plenty of hugs and daps/
but made my time on earth a blur./
I love my brothers so/
And I lift them up
When they're low/
But when it's time to go/
**** its times to go./
Open up my crusted eyes
And let the Suns holy glow/
Help me grow./
I just hope that when I rise
I begin to know
I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.
Round and round and round
My mind turns about.
But never again in my life
Will I try to doubt
Who I am
and where I will be.
Camels and Arabs/
I often wish I could walk
The land that they have./
Yet, I walk the land
Of trends and fads/
Expensive homes and tags/
That make me see everything
I do not have./
Only to drag me further away
From my true path./
Desensitizing me of
What I'm not suppose to have/
And throwing me on that circuitous route./
Now that I've figured all this **** out./
I'm going to backtrack on my life
And add in everything I left out. /
Reconstructing my mind
To make it my vibrant home.
So when they ask and say
"Klash, what took so long?"
I would reply
I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
I feel like a puzzle with missing pieces
I don't know when I ever felt whole
Perhaps I was the day I was born, but I'll never know
But now my life seems fragmented
Like a puzzle that is in many pieces
And I cannot find the missing parts
I have been slowly reconstructing it all back together
Sometimes, nothing seems to fit any way I try
And, in my rage and sadness, I find myself wanting and lacking
Perhaps, none of us are meant to be whole
But our lives are filled with "holes" instead
So we know we need to rely on others
Relying on others so we are humbled
That we don't have it all together
And in our need, we shall reach out
In that way, my brokenness is a blessing
For it bannishes my foolish pride
And lets me know I am only human
It lets me know I need God
I am but a part of a bigger picture
Even if I do not have all the answers I want
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 11:58 AM UTC
We live in a SOCIETY obsessed with looks
Are we ASHAMED?
Are we AFRAID to be left alone?
RECONSTRUCTING your self-esteem by going under the knife
REPAIRING those parts you feel are damaged
You do it to IMPRESS youself "So You Say"
Comments from those you LOVE
ENDLESS PRESSURE
TV
MAGAZINES
SUPERMODELS
Oo yeah NICKI MINAJ
What a beauty
SUPERFICIALLY beauty is within the eye of the beholder
WHERE
DO
YOU
STAND
????
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
On my team when we rap we finesse
Finessing wins an nothing less
Only wins i.expect
Losing i dont accept
You can detest
But youll always.be.SECOND BEST
Don't ever second guess
Me cause i address rappers in.this contest these.competitors context
Is out of text
Wwf suplex
A rapper on.his neck
My quest
Is destruction
No reconstruction
Reconstructing
These subjects
My.suffixes killin em call that presuffix
My.phonix is puncturing
These objects in my conference
Geometrical flow spitting at the top of my pinnacle
Higher conscious in my temple
Lookin through my third eye visual
Balancing my.energies
Frequently these negative entities
Pervade my frequency
Made in God imagery
An i write spiritual symphonies
Praises for the epiphanies
He had on this being
U not seeing what im seeing
Traveled back to egypt cause of Phoenix
False idols an teachings
Deceiving
Worshipping idol gods an beings
See I'm a light an im beaming
Astral
Travel
To different dimensions
See i might look human but im far more different
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
As the existential transition is signed and stamped and photographed for our fathers
My little journey a little later than others, an adherence to the structure sure, but where else will we learn
As the papers are handed in, the informal formalities hit home with just enough liquor
And we are torn between insecurity and empowerment
I notice among the bread and beer and bullshitting banter
One of the girls is looking my way a little longer
Her mind draws me in to a natural respect, an intelligence clearly and frankly explored
It is a source of comedy, a source of conversation, and for me I'd be lying if not a source of attraction
Naturally her appearance doesn't hurt the situation, a compliment of warm smiles and intense colour coupled with an honest sense of self
And a sleek silhouette to hold it in
One thing this town has taught me, by both strangers and the self
It doesn't take much to be ****
The real goal is constructed from the subtle implication of your own taste
That you find that someone who is sexually and socially engaging
And who could add more than trivial ******* to your life
Someone who compliments and compares to you, reconstructing the familiar to something more rewarding
That is not to say *** is pointless
But if you find that right one who acts as your muse, *** is another exploration of that two way empowerment
Clothed and carrying on, you can talk out the simple and fantastical, defining direction as companions who find each other's presence a motivating reassurance
And in the sweat and the snog, after the spontaneous first **** frees you, you can start to suggest new tests of sensuality and mindfucking loveliness
I wonder if all those looks mean what I feel they mean
That she respects me in a way I haven't given her openness for, that I let those compliments go deeper than rain on the wind shield
That all the natural conversation is something for which I should let go of all the defensiveness that has kept me so comfortable in these years of functional formality
That maybe I should take a chance on this one, that cute one standing tall on her identity, in the same time of transition as me
But with less lessons behind her concreting her certainty
Maybe it's worth risking that bitter old ******* rejection just one more time
Maybe I should ask her if there's something
In
That
Really
Inviting
Look.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
You got me breaking my own rules,
Like how I was supposed to stay single while finishing school;
Remember I was telling you,
To work on you and then once your done to come through;
I told you we couldn't kiss,
But when we did it bliss;
I even told you I was scared,
And for me to feel was something rare;
My heart was closed,
Locked up somewhere dark and cold,
Motionless it stood frozen by the snow,
Everything was dead around, nothing could possibly grow;
And then the snow started feeling funny,
It was melting as it hit my heart,
And me being smart,
Realized something was cooking,
That's when I opened my eyes and started looking;
And realized I was feeling you,
I wanted you, that was true;
And I started breaking my rules;
Took out my tools,
and started reconstructing,
readjusting;
I fixed it, there's a beat,
suddenly I can feel my feet,
So I started moving forward,
with you I started a new tomorrow;
Can't you see, said my heart to me,
It seems it's meant to be;
So I made you mine and locked you away,
In a place that was far far away;
Now your heart is in my oasis,
never to be tampered with, never to be tainted.
-E.G
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC