"retroactive" poems
What is life like now?
No technology, somehow,
Just imagine, here and now,
If there's no technology,
We'd all manage, you see,
As in days of yore, prithee,
But you can't reverse the clock,
Retroactive, quite a shock,
If no technology somehow,
What would life be like now?
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
A retroactive reconstruction of
whats forgotten forms what’s real.
We rob and steal
past transgressions,
but what happens
when the mechanisms making memories
twist elegantly toward
the ego?
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
(Dedicated to Stephen E Yocum)
You who have spent time on this planet,
That you can count your annual growth rings,
By just employing a combination of
Fingers, toes, eyes and nose,
Stop and think, after reading on.
Forty years on, what are the words, the titles,
The honorifics that you would like to see
Next to your name?
There is a yeoman Yocum in our midst,
Who has collected a few adjectives,
The sum total if additive,
Is a resume most complete,
One you should envy!
Able Friend,
Lover of Dogs and Humans,
Gentleman Farmer, Decent Photographer,
Spinner of tall tales, woven for his
Grandchildren.
A writer, a poet,
He says "a would be,"
I say, one who attempts,
Puts his name on writs public,
Is no would-be!
Who here would dare disagree?
More than all this, unlike so many,
Grateful for everyday of life,
Even those ****** full of strife,
And who served, a grunt,
One of the proud, the few.
I salute, you, and call out,
Attention Poets, Marine On Deck!
But no stuffed shirt ,
A man of soil and earth,
Who can laugh at himself, and write,
*"My driving experience feel greater,
Would be to speed down the road,
Behind the wheel of my little Red Racer,
Completely **** naked,
And of course,
Feel the wind in my hair."*
It is easy to be some things.
It is hard to be many things,
But it is the hardest, and the best,
When you look back,
And laugh out loud, admit,
The funniest thing you know,
The one that keeps you sane,
The one-thing, hardest, and the best,
Is to laugh at yourself.
So stand attention,
Go to the mirror,
Tho you might not like what you see,
If you focus, and really look tight, squint,
Do not be surprised,
If, in a few minutes,
You burst out laughing,
Especially if you do it in your
Birthday suit!
Maintain this perspective,
Forward and retroactive,
And then perhaps,
You will be able to write
These words...like he did!
*Where upon, sheer elated emotions,
Of this my journey of self discovery,
Began to sink in and I started to cry.
There are times is one's life,
when lessons are taught,
When almost no words
need to be spoken.
And the best teacher's are
our own Brain and Heart,
Comprehending, embracing
Life's many shared Lessons.*
Marine Slocum, Stand at Attention!
There are Poets saluting you.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
Today will be retroactive; in penance to those times spent wondering.
The will they wont they has finally calmed.
We wont count today,
so I'm noting it now as an important moment left undiscovered and forgotten later.
Today something came into being that was already there.
The gestation cycle forgotten, we only count the time after birth.
Sometimes I like to think of myself as nine months older.
So, with that I say we were in womb before now.
Welcome to the world.
But for our own purposes we can count those months spent in utero.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
My college instituted a new policy today.
In an effort to promote solidarity,
All students, professors, service workers,
Janitors, coaches, board members,
Dining hall workers, librarians, baristas,
Gardeners and printers
Are required to mark their foreheads,
A sort of branding if you will,
With permanent marker.
This is retroactive immediately.
I had thought I had seen it all within week one:
Lions, GPAs, phone numbers concealed by long
bangs
Personality traits, four letter words, names of
significant others
The very same that were crossed out as the bottom
fell out,
Rocket ships,
Or what I'm assuming were rocket ships,
Advertisements, slogans, “taken”.
I also saw bar codes
And statistics
And long, non-terminating sequences.
I looked at myself in the mirror
And saw that I had not yet marked my forehead.
I pulled out a sharpie
And upon my face
Highlighted my wrinkles.
Because, who isn't tired of being a cog in the machine?
And who doesn't worry about life otherwise?
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
They're piled in an Amazon box of almost never-
(that is, all not-quite not-ever-
but sometimes twice- and most often a mere once-)
worn clothes destined for another,
bigger green metal box proclaiming itself
charitably fashioned for such donations
as these nearly pristine shirts,
jeans and sweaters that have only those holes
their makers intended but still lack the want
I've wasted for arms, legs and torso to fill them.
What they don't have is shabby stitches
or those counterfeit claims mocking
a public thread-lust for luxury labels,
but they are mild misfits of the well-meant
gift or of my poor-choice selection
and they carry an ill-suited look,
whether it's fleeced too loose and loud,
or flanneled too bold and blousy,
or otherwise woolly with any too fuzzy
je ne sais quoi that puts me off.
Too's had grown too many as if the clothes bred
while tucked in nice 'n cozy at backs of drawers
rarely drawn or stacked sleepy on the bottom
of a closet's clutter-topped shelf,
and if proved it would be a miracle
on par with Christ's gospel-touted cloning
of the loaves and fishes, but it's not,
so I can't compare my parlor-trick sharing
of two dozen hand-me-downs carelessly passed-on
to his magic of multitudinous feeding.
After all, the real comparison is,
I could have accomplished even more
than this speculative giving,
had I been retrospectively better
in my retroactive accounting
and made the significantly less sinful
omission of never (not just once or twice,
but actuarially quite not-ever)
accumulating so much always
not-needed, however tasteful, stuff.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
Sweet envy,
I'm envious of how she was blessed by the gods to have looked into your eyes, eye to eye. To study their color and watch how they look when you lie.
She knows the way you blink and how you close them when you sleep at night.
I hate thinking how you've both spent some nights.
The thought of her taking granted of breathing the same air as you boils my blood.
I'm jealous of how she was able to graze her fingers upon your skin, let them travel across your back
and how her hand once held yours... only to foolishly, finally and thankfully let them go.
I curse and bless the day she broke your heart.
I curse each day that I have to live with this jealousy.
Holy jealousy,
I'm jealous of the kind of jealousy you've made her feel, like when you would glance at another girl when you're together.
Or how you'd talk to a girl in a cafe or bookstore when you thought she wasn't looking over her shoulder.
Or how you'd talk to anyone about anything at all without uttering her name.
I'm jealous of how you two probably used to stand across each other in a room and throw blames.
I could imagine countless of scenarios but then
I also imagine I'm the one feeling that too.
I can take that any day, as long as we're together too.
Because the only jealousy I feel is jealousy of your past. This fiery envy towards your history.
****** history,
I'm reading into every words you said like memoirs and piecing every excerpt trying to look for answers. Answer as to how and whyㅡhow she broke your heart and why she did it.
Would you change a thing about everything you did?
I ask and scream these questions to the moonlight.
Yet if you tell me and show me the answers yourself, there's not a single battle that I would win and fight.
Yet I search for clues in every old photo, in every message and through my sly, secret ways.
Must I scour every corner and highway?
So I can come up with answers to my own 'how and why'? How can I mend your broken heart?
Why do I love you this much?
Because above all, I am a revolutionary.
I acknowledge my envy, work through my jealousy and respect your history.
But then again, with every dark history comes the need for revolution and change.
And I am the catalyst who will spearhead that game.
I am your new age.
I am your renaissance.
I am your vengeance, nirvana, revolution and everything at once.
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 6:10 AM UTC
If abortion was retroactive
How many folks would be gone
If parents could choose a do over ?
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
If you write,
You will realize monstrous things about
Yourself and instead of disappearing they
Will become more eloquent and delicately
Marble carved with years
If you write,
You will hear voices, so many voices
Hypothetical and begging with pain in their
Breath to be made real and feel and **** and die
Only you will see their funeral, know their laugh
If you write,
You will cry oil spills, ***** fruit salad
**** rainbows and beg for grey, murky, bland
The depths pressure crushing; gasping through the highs
The concept mood stretched, you are alive, alive, alive
If you write,
Your shutter flashes double photoed through the day
Will capture the minutia, have your living stuck in past
Endless film rolls overstimulated, document and shelve
Closing eyes, retroactive architect works back
You should write because
To create is to love is to master the manifest
Ink your livelihood eternal, ivory-flesh crumbles and decays
There are those that love the idea of you
You left footprints in the sand
Because
When the silver screaming godgasm hits
You serendipitously and a moment
Feels worth writing down
Things can be right for a while
You will fall in love
Everywhere you go and
Nothing will seem real
You will taste redemption in the
Crunch of an apple or smell wisdom
At the zoo
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Stephen Hawking in a fantasy rush
once thought the universe would max its tether,
turn a mighty one eighty back toward
the starting gun and run the show in reverse.
What if it were really so?
Would a butterfly return to pre-chrysalis days,
crawl backwards on stalks and un-munch leaves?
Would Frost back-step up that diverged path
to ponder his options anew?
Would we have to jettison those data cards
that school has stuffed inside us
and retreat to our amniotic broth?
What if it were really so?
Uh oh, here come the terrible lizards
back for a curtain call.
Don't you think it's getting awfully hot?
What if it were really so?
Imagine if you can, the silence following the
great "thwupping" sound of the "gnaB giB".
February, 2015
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Perhaps everything that has ever existed will exist forever in the psychic clarity of God. Retrospectively retroactive's omniscient ubiquity. Objectified manifest's infinite possibilities exponentially
extemporaneous eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology.
Imagination's immaturities would seem to purvey that these things are irrefragably inevitable in the light of noumenal sentience's semantic regalia. Astral projection's distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness to clairaudience clairvoyance existential extremity.
Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant is totally tangential. Extravagantly exorbitant's flirtatious flamboyance to flippantly flighty flit-ness. Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness, similar states of analogous collusion and ancillary subordinateness. Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tedium, excruciating exacerbations of autonomous avarice.
I'd like to think that these arguments have leverage on the reconnaissance reconnoiter. Mentality's osteopathic prescience is an empirical substance. Psychokinesis is an art. Eclectic synectics's social contiguities zoomorphic zoolatry to demagoguery could raise us all to new heights of enigmatism and leave our corporeally preternatural finiteness endowed with a fidelity that exceeds itself, foreshadowing life's mysteries. No more dour droll dreary ochlocracy of an oligarchy. Stolid stoic bailiff's rake-ness rails, vicarious recalcitrance for all!
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC
Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Similar states of analogous configuration and ancillary subordinateness in fact. Various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness. Preterite orchestration renditions of synthetic synthesis’ retrospectively retroactive. Accidence ambience acoustics, aorist actuator’s arbitrational attenuation. Explicate eventuation evocative expletives, amalgamated anathema android wind up toys. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity! Enigma entity’s identity crisis.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
I prayed for the wheelchair and then for the person in it. I prayed for the water above which Jesus raced. I knew full well that prayer was a starter’s gun. that drowning was the silent education my grandfather on my mother’s side could afford and that his son frequented the left hemisphere of the brain by aligning himself with the right. worse than prayer? its dream of a retroactive birth defect.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Justice is not an action
Justice can not be manufactured
Justice can not be administered by magistrate
Justice is not a cage
Justice is not privilege
Justice is not retroactive
Justice is now
Justice is love
Justice is intuition
Justice is heart
Justice just is
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 8:59 PM UTC
Take these strains
Meld them into the new organism
Birth a violent howl across the skies
Anything more alien
Would be an ally
Something holding alone
Against the dead sky
How long?
Howl,
Howl on
Examine the patterns
Graph them over countless lifetimes
Find the answer to gods and men
Anything more alien
Could fracture the skies
Nothing folding into bone
Making ribs into why
How long?
Howl,
Howl on
Theres a spark in your lungs turning your words to fire, your dragon's breath in my veins. Ice remains, hardened against the heat, but nothing stops these aches and pains. Retroactive pollination, interactive sublimation, you're going to see me dry.
How long?
Howl,
Howl on.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
any mention of slave trade conjures
within the brood
retroactive existential endeavors.
it is confusing for the crow
to land on the arm of a man
manmade
by straw.
secretly, perhaps secretly
jesus is not sad
but envious that our sins permit
exhaustion.
mother never follows the word disabled.
without warning
I am the same age as a breathing pattern.
god is an only father.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
**** the connection & circle back - begin again at the original sin and I'll conceive another immaculate excuse to explain myself this time, I always do, trust me,
Desolation angels blazing weary epiphanies into the highway lines, viewing crop circles at ground level, knowing we should be impressed but not sure by what, and I never drink alone anymore because that holy ******* cowboy is still blocking the warped door frame - I'm ******* trying to lighten up, I don't know what else you want from me (yes I do, it isn't this)
I weep the mirrors shattered luck, I weep my mothers bitter tears my fathers clenched fist my crazed manic adopted brother's visions of inertia salvation - I weep the thrown bricks and ****** fires of youth bled dry, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up
Wisps of my ***** hair catch on sighs of wind and carry off through the trees dead of night - I envy those who can live without context
I need to take myself seriously
With 12th cigarette breath mid week mid summer mid west midnight I will whisper in cracked refrain the vows of my idle retrospect -
I will haunt this city all year, sleepy eyes holding interstates hostage in preparation for the coming doom
I will sit atop the hill, feign wisdom for the ages, and preach melancholy my fondness for the earth, but now that I've made it I'm not sure I can go back
Maybe it's for the best
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
It's hard to believe
in fate
Until it happens
Blood on blood
Running on your skin
Dark tattoos of pain
On your soul
On your floor
You bleed
until you can bleed
no more
You bleed until
You are empty
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Objectified manifest's dimensional delineations are totally tangential to trajectory extant. Infinite possibility's exponentially extemporaneous eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology. It's sheer omnificent ubiquity. Manumission's vicarious recalcitrance to epistemological entelechy's maieutic had an exogamous homogeny with spatiotemporal telemetry's exigence. The basic fecundity of cosmic continuum's radix repartee's mesomerism becomes corporeally preternatural's impetus intrigue to intuitional intrepid.
Livid lucid lambent loquacious emanations that presage synergy's retrospectively retroactive to nuance fulgurous fulham's fulcrum. Cognizance categorical imperative's cognitive, clairaudience clairvoyance, omniscient omnipotent omnipresence. Unary's unbridled aorist actuator's ethology's entelechy. Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities to demagoguery. Hegira to Xanadu ne plus ultra exodus. Elan Vital's apotheosis. Hectic duty deontological probity. Noumenal sentience's irrefragably inevitable semantics. Pandemically phatic futurity fatidic to kitsch kithe. Chicanery dynamism's fealty!
I'm sorry Melan but I don't believe that we must lose track of our corporeal being's identity to experience the true essence of love. We should enhance each other's cognizance constituency.
Jun 1, 2024
Jun 1, 2024 at 9:36 AM UTC
a sudden Bonanza viz ****** abuse among
faux Green Acres within Mayberry RFD
now spells showtime for The Avengers, Batman
and Robin to Get Smart
take to heart (what haint no new bob bing beast),
those perpetrators to forsake their Good Times
yet, who determines what constitutes, and how to differentiate
mere kibitzing from unwanted overtures
though most people would concur when
definitive, tangible, verbal assault occurs,
spoiling future Happy Days, yet numerous incidents *** hide
from clear cut serious offences indeed)
rather when details appear nebulous, sketchy, vague,
et cetera defy categorization, giving benefit of doubt to
females or males in question claiming harrassment,
especially when minors testify as adults, asper
major gross indignties (such as pedofilia, date,
incestuous, statutory **** ******
et cetera committed), that occurred years or decades ex post facto
sans molestation, said time delayed contention
must be taken at face value without fail informing
a jury retroactive justice must be must be handed down
to the accuser blatantly, flagrantly, flaunting illegality,
hence fair sentence accordingly adjudicated
insync decreed capital crime abrogated child welfare,
defiling and permanently affecting emotional well being
of said underage youths, as best one
to compensate aggrieved subjects must purge
abominable categorical imperative
asper deliberate wanton (I soup pose), tricked, mislead,
forced to participate unwillingly
risking mental, physical and spiritual health of innocent kid
imposing unforgivable, horrible, execrable misdeeds
irrevocably damaging Lassie or laddie,
which indelibly foisted battering, whereby
even Doctor Marcys Welby M.D. unable to mend
condemning sufferer to psychological Mash pit
triggering Maude lin while Knot's Landing flooded.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
Phrenic prospectus imagination's immaturity. Dimensional delineation protractive analysis. Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguity's demagoguery. Elan vital's apotheosis, oneiromancy's vicariously recalcitrant futurity fatidic. Prescience clairaudience clairvoyant, astral projection's distance traveled-time spent to dynamic progressiveness, objectified manifest's diminutive minutia iotas, exponentially extemporaneous. Flirtatious flamboyance extravagantly exorbitant laborious beleaguerment's hypercritically meticulous tedium. Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma's incarnate. Fabulist facade fantasia, tesseract, exserted protuberance trapezoidal quadrilateral, rubato rhombus. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles, unicorn railway nails, down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Accidence ambience acoustics, diction's enunciation repartee's rhetoric. Retrospectively retroactive aorist actuator's attenuating arbitration's eidetic amendment. Biologism beholden corporeally preternatural's alluvium aloof impunity. Extremity's adjunct juxtaposition's transpositional interlude's prophylaxis protocols. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Proximity parameter perimeter peripherals, harpy harsh hast propinquity habitation's harbingers of harangued. Exude emote imbue. Impetus intrigue's intuitional intrepid, transcendent translucence and opaque opulence.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC