"reflexive" poems
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
Serendipities torrential deluge
Of dulcet applause reigning
In the divine dynasty of
Empiricisms arcane lore,
Heavens most high of heirachies
Beyond the veil
Drowning in altruistic
Reflexive salutations;
The regnant patent mutitioning
Of the waters Lethe from
Serpens poisened chalice of saints
Evoking the advent vigil of
Dusts chaldean dreams,
The sabbatical ordination
The fatal ravens annunciation
Heralding valediction
Convening betwixt and between
Gates of ivory and horn
Arraigning the apostolic conclave.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
Inaction in action
A most frightening thing
Eyes flash from green to brown
Was that a smile or one of your cute frowns?
I can’t tell up from down
In this vacant hole
I feel like I am supposed to remember
Impact has dried up
Like a drought that makes farmers
Wonder if their crop ever did flourish
Or if the dust simply snuck into their heads
With paintbrushes and vivid imaginations
Of what fresh picked berries once tasted like
I want to run
Faster than ever to where I once was
To where my emotions began
To when a kiss was still intoxicating
And you smiled at clasped hands
Mirrors in my mind turn
Reflections of you blur
Engraved lessons I’ve learned
Were you ever my home?
I trace the walls of your character
Each knot and groove familiar
Reflexive fingertips
Gliding over walls as they turn inside out
I forgot what all this was about
Do I long for a light that once shown
Or just another culpable excuse
To regain the throne
My wishful thinking kingdom
Though my senses are honed
To both authenticity and mirage
I fear I am equally prone
Even so.
If…
If you were ever
Or still are
And we cross paths again
Or maybe for the first time
Kiss me with your brown eyes
Or were they green?
And I will try my best to recognize
A love I fear I’ve never seen
But I can’t muster pursuit when consciousness is stolen by a dream
Inaction in action
Is a most frightening thing
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
"I love you"
should be a little more difficult to say.
There should be advanced language classes
revolving around complex sentence structure,
advanced clauses and arrangement,
complicated syntax,
so that
"I love you"
means more than loving anything else.
Ich liebe dich.
Te amo.
Je t'aime.
I love you.
Saying "I'm sorry" in German
is more difficult
than "I love you."
Why is it that in order to apologize for something,
I first have to learn about reflexive pronouns,
and reflexive verbs,
and that the same word for "the"
can also stand alone as the subject of the sentence?
Das tut mir Leid
is more grammatically complicated
than Ich liebe dich.
And yet one wonders why love
seems to have become so clichéd.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
The world belongs to the nocturnal, the ever present reflexive vanguard whose presence elicits attention,
be it negative or positive.
The crawl to a standstill, the distractions, the regrets:
These are as naught to those whose focus supplants physical duress.
Success is the only road, the path to failure can only be trod by idle feet, hot coals to the promised kingdom of recognition and praise, this must be traversed at all lengths, at all levels, by all means:
Take it.
Hatred or envy does not compare to the rush of achievement, real effort brought to fruition.
Be not afraid to raise your expectations, be afraid that they never rise.
Most of all, love unashamedly and furiously as if no one could weigh in,
the universe bends to the warrior's perspective
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
People always complain about political correctness
Unless it's something important to them
Then they expect you to use empathetic indirectness
As to not hurt the feelings of men
I'm a homosexual talking to a stranger
They don't detect this
They say ****** and unleash my anger
They don't expect this
They were expecting me to be socially correct
To their bigoted views
They can't handle it when their hatred reflects
And they're given their due
I can't ask for a simple date
Or mention anything about God
I can't ask for their ****** state
That would imply that they're flawed
Yet they say I'm easily offended
But their argument is upended
When there are many topics I must avoid
Or hedge around
Otherwise they will get easily annoyed
And wear a frown
People say Donald Trump is politically incorrect
But that's not true
He's a hateful piece of ****
People confuse that with political incorrectness
But if about half the people who vote are pieces of ****
Can that really be said to be incorrect?
The idea of the president being politically incorrect is absurd
By virtue of being elected his politics are being endorsed
And endorsement is what comprises political correctness
He may know nothing of governance or diplomacy
But he was correct when it came to politics
I live in a country where I can say pretty much whatever I want
And then everyone else can react however they want
To be angry at someone's reaction is its own political correctness
They're just mad it's not their own specific politics being adhered to
So when people mention political correctness I laugh
It's a defensively reflexive path
When they live an unexamined life
But then complain about their plight
They think they're hated because they're white
They think they're hated because they're right
I dislike them because they have low empathy
So I don't want to be near that
Because their hatred starts to enter me
When they call me a queer ***
Then they expect me to love it
But instead I tell them to shove it
They tell me I'm being politically correct
Maybe it's their own lives they should inspect
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
I don't know where, if it will end.
Refuse to voice or recommend.
To treat what ails us is pretend.
Slips through fingers apprehend.
To help more than to hurt,
reflexive sunny disposition
which can cradle sallow sleeping stoic pride.
Distinguishing the dirt,
collective run beside conviction;
acting ladle heavy, heaping, terrified.
Leave things better than you found them
Received our debtors stand; surround them.
I wonder if to soothe what ail,
under apprehension prevail.
Therein lies each us, our grail -
our demons sinking in each nail.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
.the moral obligation, to be cognitively dissident; which has to align with Heiddeger's da-sein at some point... a piquant fervor for reality as: static, yet at the same time moving in the realm of the Titans / orbs - time, is a concept that has to match up to the orbs... otherwise all this space... whatever the wind, the clouds... is just static... inanimate... time could only be derived from animate objects, which became subjects which became momentum... the rest, the rest is just space, and its excesses of the vacuous night... space became a probing mechanism, an investigative vector, posit, charge.
now you call me a germanophile...
like a Caligula or some
odd ****
kennts ihr selbst:
know your self...
which is a reflective form of
the reflexive Anglo
counterpart: yourself.
so i noticed...
whenever i become, really,
and i mean really reactionary
(not angry)
i tend to drift into
writing in my native tongue...
funny...
mother tongue,
fatherland...
but it's the opposite in Moscow...
motherland...
and the epitome
of the Cyrillic?
well... there was
a St. Cyrill...
but father-tongue just
sounds so ****** stupid
in English...
maybe in German?
vaterzunge...
well... sure as **** that
sounds better than mutterzunge...
but hey,
preferences preference preferences,
not everyone says: om, om,
ooh, chocolate,
when taking a bite of a ****
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Walking under the rain I give up,
I give up with the smell of your worries,
with the way you smile
your completely untrue stories.
I give up with the taste of your two soft, red edges,
which are part of your mouth,
with the unpleasantly sharp taste of your lips.
I give up to let the phoenix
set fire to itself and born again,
raising from its ashes.
I give up with a satisfying meaning.
I will stop trying to guess
whether I'm here or there
I will stop doing my research
before I have completed it.
I will log out before being knocked out.
I will let that great affection
work with the reflexive pronoun "I".
I give up to let the ability to recover
quickly fill me in...body and heart
I give up with a pleasantly meaning
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 7:46 PM UTC
What would be like
to be
100%
safe?
I mean
to be that perfect combination
of visible
and invisible.
I mean
to be
left alone
while walking the streets.
I mean
to be
respected.
I mean to be a
white
straight
man.
-
I have to drill it into my head
that I love myself
as I am –
queer, ace, woman-read, brown, crazy, femme –
because if I didn’t
I’d never be able to leave the house.
I have to say
that to be otherwise
would be boring
so that maybe one day
I'll actually believe it.
But I cannot say
I have never wanted to be
100%
safe.
-
Today
I put on a short dress
I have never felt pretty enough to wear,
and walked to and from a café,
knowing what would come.
I kept track –
four honks, one leer, one whistle,
told myself:
*you knew this would happen,
this is nothing,
you’re lucky,
it could be
so
much
worse.*
It still hurt.
I practiced the motion
of flipping off the bird
as I walked,
tried to get it
as reflexive
as a cop with a loaded gun,
knowing
that it would make no difference.
-
To dare to be feminine in public
is to perfect
the art of looking straight ahead
the art of being hard of hearing
the art of fast, fast, fast walking
[just in case].
So often
we have to weaponize femininity
because that’s all we’ve got.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
I like purple. It’s as simple
as that. Well, maybe not that simple.
I’ve in love with purple. We are unified
through time and space
forever until I die. Purple, being immortal,
would mourn my death and find
one of its many followers to connect with.
But for me, there will always be purple. If I had a choice
in any expression of character design that had
my own personal preference of color, purple
would be there somewhere. I would dye my
hair purple if I could, but my mother
told me never to come home
as long as my hair is dyed.
I love her and believe her, so I
don’t dye my hair. I have a
purple dress or two that I dress up in to express
my beauty. I know
it sounds terrible thinking
about it, I have to dress up to express
beauty to others. However, the fact that
I’m complemented means something to me. The way
I do my makeup and carry myself
and choose to dress, it has an effect
on those that lays eyes upon me. I beam with pride,
showing all my expressions of purple. A homemade purple bow
here,
a lavender wig there, a dress with the right touches of purple-
maroon
and a beaming mahogany woman, brimming with specialness. I am a purple girl,
not the only one, but the most reflexive I can be.
If I could color my soul, it would be purple sometimes.
Not every time, but a lot of the times. Any kind of purple
would do. The light purples
like lilac and light lavender are sweet and fluffy.
They remind me of happy seventy-five degree weather
days with a comforting breeze, and no pollen
since I’m allergic and pollen is pretty much one of
those things I’d encounter in hell. Darker purples,
like plum and grape, give a more mature
vibe of elegance and sophistication. It reminds me
of a dark night, a woman in high heels and
a dress with a slit so high that
it makes men lose their religions and minds
for a taste of her tantalizing forbidden fruit,
with a flawless expression of her body that gives
those men wet dreams and fantasies. In my heart,
there is a purple stream that flows from the heart that starts to
circle around my body and continues to float into the
ground until it touches the core of the planet
and up in the air into space and beyond infinity.
It always seems to be there, that purple
stream of magic and imagination. I dance a purple dance,
leaving traces of purple steps in my wake.
So I come back to the beginning. “I like purple.”
With those words, I haven’t done my expression justice.
It’s true, but it is an understatement.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
*greet
life
pulsing
deep in wounds
when scars reopen raw*
resist reflexive closure
*with unflinching presence
as portal beacons timely truth*
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
i've always wanted to apply for CSSSA,
but i'm too scared the rejection letter
will be the future shades of senior year
when i finally hear back from the mailman
who took my essays a year ago,
all bundled up in pre-approved envelopes,
stamped, addressed, received, thrown aside.
-
but that's not for two years,
so i don't know why i'm worried.
-
i've always wanted to do something,
not make something of myself,
even though the verb is the same in
spanish, with a reflexive difference.
-
in regard to this, a wise twenty-something (contradictory)
once told me to let myself feel instead of worrying so much:
"to put it less eloquently, feelings are like **** FEEL 'EM."
-
apparently i haven't felt in eight months.
-
so maybe in compensation,
i will apply to CSSSA,
though the deadline is the 28th,
and the assigned portfolio demands
an utter lack of procrastination--
not my strong suit, you could say,
as a month of homework is still
sleeping in my bed.
-
**** it's all due tuesday.
-
also, while walking home
i saw a norse god namesake
on a balcony-asgard, wreathed
in the byproduct of his last smoke,
and somehow, despite my inability
to feel, that just made me so sad.
-
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
My darling dear I love you
oh honey I've got it bad
but no more maybe baby
cuz I know that makes you mad
let's sit upon the sofa seat
I have something to say
I bought some bread
a loaf of wheat
that expired yesterday
and it makes me feel so needed
when you tell me what to do
your instructions have been heeded
please don't scream luv, I hear you
doll, your bossiness endears me
and your rudeness I deserve
and I love the way
you squint and say
what you looking at you perv
dearest pumpkin, let me say this
from the moment that we met
I have hungered for our first kiss
have you decided on that yet?
cuz your perfume wakes my senses
it alerts me that your near
sweets, I have no more defenses
just my quick reflexive fear!
©2012 Lyn
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
I wanted to kiss
her knee-- a sharp
edged, angular,
comic book, superwomen
clean cut, streamlined
down to tapered calf,
to pointing toe-type knee.
Hers wasn't a square
worker's padded joint
for kneeling down.
Under sheet and pillow
I once found it
giggling with spastic
warnings!
Her knee was ticklish!
My heart never did
smooch her there,
fearing some reflexive,
paroxysmal laughter
would kick me in mouth.
Ouch. No kisses on the knee.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
He was equipped with a fine vocabulary
Far in excess of his intellectual needs
An entertaining fool
Stocked with dictionaries
Obscure constructions
Medieval verbs
Circumlocutory, verbose
Impenetrable
A simple mind hid amongst
A confusion of entangled phrases
As if using a foreign language
Assembling hopefully meaningful phrases
Where a listener may find coherence
A simple message
Every request
Every Statement
Observation
From his mouth, no matter how mundane
Appeared decorated
Embellished, almost..
Baroque
In this wordy fog
It was hard to know
Hard to find
Traces of a real person
A tangible, relatable identity
Something predictable.
In the swirling wind of
Constantly shifting
Complex expressions
Seeming riddles.
He was a prisoner
A lifer
Doomed to remain
Incarcerated in his usage
Dense, cloying, exaggerated, unyielding
Usage
He could not avoid
Unconscious, reflexive, merciless
He did not struggle,
That ended long ago.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
**Beauty of presence, resplendent in grace,
such beautiful eyes, in a beautiful face.
Aphrodite child, exquisite in form,
an Orchid, so fragrant, with countenance warm.
To light up the sky, you bewitch, you beguile,
instinctive, reflexive, with Heavenly smile.
Galadriel Lady, the only one of a kind,
an Angel of light, and so refined.
Honourable woman, so noble of heart
genuine, proud, a woman apart.
Unfailing, loyal, a dependable friend
there when you're needed, always there to the end.
... ... ...**
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 3:13 AM UTC
What is it
about what you fear or hate
that is so dissonant
with what it is
who you are?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
up on Boot Hill
the sun sets early
the soaked anguish
of grieving mothers
swaddled in
twilight's vestments
mourn the death
of another murdered
child
we roll our eyes
and speak in tongues
tiny prayers
incant
RIP
these reflexive bits,
our shattered votives
litter city boulevards
on each solemn
street corner
new alters
of desecration
are erected
then despoiled with
the wasted wax of
misspent novenas
our extended families
are bloodlines of fear
spawning
prostrate men
tattooed with
multicolored pain
who refuse to cover
body marks
bespeaking epic tales
of sorrow,
divisions
countless separations
also marking
righteous reasons
of seething
resentments
eager to settle
accounts
sweet vendettas
clever ambushes
carefully deliberated
for generations
by discordant clans
believing in malice
exalting guns
shared loss
is our
common
affliction
uniting everyone
in envelopes of sadness
becoming live
Dear John letters
bearing news of dearly
departed loves
atop the coffins
of dead children
votives pile high
with scrawled eulogies
of fevered graffiti
solemnly pledging
“gonna make someone suffer
gonna even the score
never forget you
RIP”
and we all die
looking stupid as hell
lamenting
love don’t rest in peace
hearing
it scream from the grave
witnessing
the hallowed earth
churning with revulsion
accepting the bitter ashes
of another dead child
for the love of you
is your funeral march
love don’t RIP
it stalks the tomb
of indifference
it mourns
the ambivalence
of its devaluation
it haunts the
day dreams
of what could
have been
it restlessly
flits among
the playgrounds
of our minds
cluttering the rooms
of our homes
with grief
up on Boot Hill
we clasp the
small hands
protruding from
shallow graves
groping to find
a graceful sleep
for love don’t
rest in peace
Stevie Wonder:
Love Is In Need of Love Today
Written to honor
Love Appreciation Day
jbm
Oakland
1/19/13
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Tours depart at 7.30,
in time to reach the office by 9.
En route, keen-eyed travellers
search faces, gaits
and speculate on destinations.
There are no prizes
but you will experience a cold satisfaction
with every success.
Most prized
are the ones who hide
behind a guise of bluff normality.
It takes a real expert
to catch the tiny glint of fear,
the too-quick reflexive start
at any human contact,
the unwillingness to meet the gaze
of their own reflections.
But persevere
and you too can add to your list.
The longer your list
the less likely you are
to appear
on someone else's.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
It is as important
to recognize
what love isn't
as it is
to know
what love is
mistake not
lust
ego-driven
crush
flash flood
rush
nor need
the kind
that scours
the bones
licks the marrow
clean
not apathy
silent killer
complacent
acceptance
of less than
we deserve
violence
physical
verbal
control
love is never
these
it is
easy breathing
reflexive
vital
doubles down
no surrender
love holds
through heat and cold
sick and old
when age
erases my name
from your memory
I will come to you
fresh every day
someone new
different wig
ravish-me dress
old-lady hot
we’ll have a little fun
with the time left
at least you’ll die
thinking to yourself
*still got it
with the ladies*
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Not just sort of okay. The ice melts and freezes faster the second time.
I've seen it.
Few words mean everything in a world that doesn't shut up. The enemy knows you better than yourself - it's you, with an objective view. I can crumble my tower quicker than any studies conducted have shown, but I like to make my suffering last.
So cheers to my reflexive world shrinking efforts that make my body fatter everyday.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
Maybe I’ll beat up my sister today to deal with reflexive reprieve. No.
I think it’s because people are disappointments.
Maybe it’s because I’m afflicted with poverty. This is not real poverty, just the poverty I live with, the type I’ll see today and tomorrow.
Maybe its because we have the opposite of wealth and will never have enough to facilitate a dream. Fathers a salesman what can I do?
It’s because I’m disappointed with how shallow my life has been.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
1. i will give to you a piece of myself that will attach itself to your heart. no matter how meticulously you carve with a scalpel, no amount of time spent playing self-surgeon will remove this part of me from your organs & flesh. it will evade your every attempt to erase me. you will never erase me.
2. when i said i loved you too, it wasn’t a reflexive gesture said only to complement your whispered ‘i love you.’ i said the words because i couldn’t bear not to.
3. the coffee i bring to you every morning & the goodnight-kisses stamped ceaselessly to your forehead will tell you all the things i cannot say.
4. by some fated or perhaps coincidental quirk of the universe, we became us. i will clap a hand across your mouth any time you question how or why because it is irrelevant.
5. i will bend until i break for you. i will bleed rivers & hurt until i gasp with pain because you are allowed to see me at my ugliest (no pain like this body).
6. there will be bad days & good days. you will wonder if i am worth the work & i will try desperately to prove you wrong. i will push & shove & scream, but beneath it all, i will wish i could be selfish enough to ask you not to leave.
7. never will i ever learn how not to love you.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC