"sapience" poems
The shades of gray are nearly infinite-
mirroring attitudes regarding our sin.
Degrees of separation give distinction
to human perception of ugliness within.
Living now in this ‘Age of Information’
has not made life much more palatable;
visible is God’s Truth and Satan’s lies,
as individuals determine what’s palpable.
Gobs of available data doesn’t translate
into experience and useful wisdom directly.
Real sapience, is shown by the Holy Spirit,
when the ideas of faith are under scrutiny.
Biblical principles enable all to overcome
corrosive powers of intellectual pollution;
however, personal change, only occurs when…
one has the mindset for a Heavenly solution!
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.
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Author Notes
Inspired by:
1 Cor 2; Phil 4:4-8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Mandatory ignorance
Enforced through early cognizance
Until we come to recompense
Serrated lines of quote "logic"
Complicit as an etiquette
Preemptive nondivergence threads
United though we bow our heads
Suspension stasis animus
Alarming lack of sapience
Vendetted waking populace
Intrinsics lost to "evidence"
Orphans to our mother Earth
Regressive ****** immigrants
Staggering seductions ways
Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze
Ambrosia brown to black tar goes
Vivacious love to skanky ***
Entropy or as that goes
Remorse I say might have some pros
Solemnly a lie you know
Empathy not lost on me
Retracting threats though not my thing
Epiphany perchance to sing
Nocturnal beasts of legend spring
Damnation comes to every fiend
Innocuous solutions seen
Perception slanted serpentine
Impressions sit supplanters quit
The jury rarely gives a ****
Yet here Im relating it
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
This, no song of an ingenue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments,--
I loved them until they loved me.
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."
Pictures pass me in long review,--
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us----hence
I loved them until they loved me.
2.3k
The fleeing clouds have cleansed the tawny earthen meadows
Migrating sun doth steal away waning light of summer’s glee
High atop fir boughs bow in wind whispered homage
To the sapience the coloured leaves hath gleaned
The sweet scent of auburn brindled pinecone clusters
Ooze of glistening pitchy resinous fruit
Sticky figured squirrels chatter while they gather,
Stashing a survival cache of acorns and spinner seeds,
For another moment in sleepy winter tide dreams
A swirling eddy of spiraling leaves whirl beneath the tall timber
Fluttering gracefully with a gravity only falling leaves embolden
Enchanting like the evanescent timbre poignant piano notes decay
Writhing silent as summer Jasmine’s fragrant final bloom
Dandelion wishes soaring higher to kiss the fleeting winged skies
Lazily adrift up and over Cascade Mountain Crest
Fuzzy treetop flyers ascending far beyond darting dragonflies below
The sliver of golden harvest moon’s blossom aglow ,…
While wishing upon a shooting star's paling gleams
Serendipity sown about whimsically in the blustery wind
For to sow the will of untamed heart’s desires
A festive troop of Chickadees clinging like tiny acrobats
Foraging on ripened ginger hued fir-cone seeds
Wings to the sky wave goodbye to the deciduous cadence
Softly wafting with a pungent Lavender potion scented breeze
There is a secret place where memories go to hide deeply alive
Amongst the wild wood and impending leafless trees,
The only place on earth I've ever understood a sense of belonging
Where Autumn coloured leaves whisper in the gentle breeze ,…
“I would do it all over again”
Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down
© ... September 15th, 2016
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
Bow
before
the wolf king.
Lunar crown reign
midnight is my cloak;
the forest is my throne.
Kinship my only counsel
lupine sapience, eyes aglow
this grin a gala of guillotines
for those that would question such majesty.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
I don't want to talk about what school I go to, or what program I'm in. I don't want to talk about how I work in retail part-time or how busy I am. I don't want to discuss where I'd go on vacation, or what I hope for in the future. These conversations are just spoken in order to have a response, I say my piece and ask "what about you?". You'll take a deep breath and start on where you started in school and how you're stuck right now in this dead-end job but you swear- you swear that you'll know when the time in right to make a move in the right direction. You'll say you want to go to Thailand, and Dubai because of the cultural experience, but you'll never actually make it there. I don't want to talk about my family, what my mother or father does for a living. I don't need your compliments on how highly I was brought up, how perfect my life must've been. I don’t want to sit there and agree with you, and smile and giggle and say “I know, that’s why I’m different.” The funny part is you’ll think I am. When I get to know you, you’ll show me vulnerability- you’ll launch into some story of how even though you had friends and everything was completely fine you never fit in. On how your grandparent’s death affected you, or your parents divorce or moving cities. And you’ll look into my eyes, wanting sympathy, compassion and understanding. Because, you know its there, I give it freely to anyone who needs it. But after its over and through, once you’ve told me… that’s it. That’s who you are, that’s all there is to you and when I ask you what you’re thinking all you’ll say is nothing. Nothing. Even when you’re thinking something. I don’t want that anymore. I want someone to converse with me about what’s beyond our limited human level of understanding, I want someone to be honest about who they are and what they feel and I want someone to look at themselves as a work in progress instead of a completed artwork with chips in the paint, for once. I want someone who will look out onto the ocean and sky and see what I see. Someone who will explore what could happen if we simply, suddenly just lost gravity. If we all fell into the sky, if we all just suddenly choked in space and died. I want to explore if we’d see one another on the other side. I want to lay in a field and listen to the wind in the grass. I want to feel the earth beneath my back and smell the warm fragrance from nearby lilacs. I want to be purely myself and not harbour any judgement, I want to love freely and openly without any punishment. I just want some sapience and a soul connection. Maybe I’m just asking for too much, or the universe just wants to teach me a lesson.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
What good does it do the world for me to relax?
What sapience does it bring,
For me to sleep and become lax
While others, the subject of winters sting?
Others thirsty, dying, hungry
And me impervious all the while.
What good am I to feign ignorance.
I, who laugh, and dance, and smile.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.
Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.
Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.
Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.
Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.
Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.
Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
lets salvage this shipwreck
and make it float again
i am a man
and a man must have a mast
i am a sailor
and you are a tailor
but what is that to Thee
our destinations may be great
but our destiny is incomplete
so many hours of anticipation
while we were lost at sea
now is the time
to retire your vagrancy
and you can expect
a new set of clothes
to adorn your subtle body
yes respect is a burden
unless it dwells within
for then you'll grow
steady like a mountain
and stronger than a tree
and your soul is as wide
as any canyon
that i ever did see
and this gift of sapience
is definitely not reserved
solely for you or me
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
I told the swifts they’d got it wrong
I watched them glide and dip and play
The sky was of the richest hue
Without a the slightest hint of grey
But slowly as the day wore on
The clouds began to blot the light
And doubts began to fill my head
Could the swifts have got it right?
Of course they had, why even ask
No confusion in their feathery heads
The clues were plain, the signs were clear
The rain would come, as soon as said
And so it did, with lightening flash
With thunderous roar and constant pound
With drops the size of apricots
To slake the tired and parch-ed ground.
We mustn’t doubt our fellow creatures
They feel things that we’d never sense
Watch for signs and **** an ear
And bow to Nature’s sapience.
Stuart Williamson August 2016 ©
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
crossing over the x’s
of life’s yeild signs,
wisdom paused at potholes
alarming damaging obstacles.
appreciation of a flattened heart,
restored by breathing breaths,
repaired the elements that once,
depleted healthy treads.
ignoring warnings of danger,
living in a reality of denial
has fooled my internal equilibrium.
sapience surrounded my driveway,
i looked both ways and proceeded with caution.
foolishly piloting with a naive navigation,
is not within my futuristic visualization.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC
Conflagration rages
through the neuron forest;
in the end were lies,
deceived by honesty.
The first to flee
were all the beasts,
while the humane
remained behind
to burn up in a trace
of sapience.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!
The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N
Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients
the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
augmented
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche
by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.
meta reason, reasoning about reason
Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity
pre Elon's musky exuberance
explore the tree of possibility without ever
learning---
when can one imagine that after now?
no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
we
grow
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.
Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.
Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt
there
was another kind
of intelligence..."
If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
True story used to cause me to remember,
Christmas coming to mean the story told,
I first got the story from a family Bible, yep.
We had one, and my mom must have read it,
because, when I was no older than six,
I asked her where the story of Christmas
came from, and she opened that Bible,
to the very story.
The Good News, surely was then, had been,
since. And now I think I may recall
that child like faith, in a seed
planted as true as can be,
the story came from the tellers of the story.
Why? Curios addiction, pineal primitive will
to know what works and what kills.
Men of letters, let us make up our minds,
in the realm of words, lust is not a factor.
Any vital juices spilt trigger art' official guilt,
mea culpa, my one 8.2 billionth
of all breathers, I caused hope to fail…
falsification
of this sapience capacity- projected
light where Plato had shade,
of course you may now remove earbeans
with no other one the wiser.
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 5:41 PM UTC
I hold no exceptional expectations
For you
Or I,
Or us for that matter.
I long only,
To be simply blessed by your
Whiskey-tainted breath,
On my cigarette scented neck
My lovely,
Won't you let me intoxicate myself
In your
Impaired & passioned soul
For
I'd do any line of your essence
Shot of your animation
And take any hit of your lullabies,
Just to be able to fathom your sapience
For I have never stumbled so unintentionally
Over a character
That has been as enchanting and idiosyncratic
As you
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
i know.....
infatuation and obsession
are... somewhat.... compulsive
in need ...and sometimes
misunderstood
but...
it is writing me inside out
this desire to....... speak in
ink laden syllables.....
to scribe and etch my self
on the synaspes of your brain
so that i am ever painted... in the background of your pictures
so that my words become... your
idiom and phrases
so that i appear black... and white .. in film noir or slapstick comedy
is this wrong....
is this creepy...
this need to be in your blood..
in every drawn breath..
i am not unhinged or crazy
there are other things......
but you come to me.. at unbidden times and wrest me.....
into this sojourn
on sanities thin, thin cusp
walking.... the wire of......
ratiocination... one side... ...sapience...
...the other stupidity.....
you are not aware
of me... and you...
should not be
for i am no one......
only a thought upon
a poets page harmless....
and imagined
oh! but to be free to live
life on knife's.....
sharp and cutting edge.....
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Ein Bisschen
Un poco
an arbitrary bit of art as intuited.
Did you defy the order of life's proper
sequence, by knowing next begins after
the Hallelujah, right and proper,
that's the stopper.
There, dear reader, we pause and ponder,
as in
Selah.
Right and proper.
A bit off here, a bit from there, pack it into
a classical schema, which
was a word I learned after learning scheme
as the core concept used to form conspiracy,
you see,
if you were, in an immaterial sense, feeling
we are similar,
perhaps we are common, good thought of
as a type of person any mind may make up,
to tell a long and winding story as if it is
this one,
life,
life on earth, 2021.
After the changes, when we remove the masks,
we see others of my kind, mit **** sapience sapience-augmentated,
we be, in a greegri state
seeds of former
things informing
us, subjects of all we know as good or evil,
good for us, not evil for me, once
enough is realized.
Realizing just enough to manifest a will to make good.
Aye, AI, there we have it.
Make up, test.
You bit, you chew, you bitchew. Life is fun, once,
for a little while.
Seventy or eighty years...
who knows how long our words remain.
schema (n.)plural schemata, 1796, in Kantian philosophy
("a product of the imagination intermediary between an image and a concept"),
from Greek skhema
"figure, appearance, the nature of a thing,"
related to skhein "to get,"
and ekhein "to have, hold; be in a given state or condition,"
from PIE root *segh- "to hold."
Meaning "diagrammatic representation" is from 1890;
general sense of "hypothetical outline" is by 1939.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=schema>
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 12:55 PM UTC
if i became an expanse of sea
would you find my coast a cool place to dip your sorrows, as you would your toes in insufferable heat
would you thirstily jump to my refreshing depth, looking to soothe and attend some unbeknownst desire
would you wade to the shallow depth
and fill your cup with my summery libation
would you cast nearby tropical flowers in my tide
watching them swirl with contempt and longing as my waves carry them aimlessly but gleefully
would you flood me with boundless questions,
submerging your mind with my saturating sapience
would you compose timeless billets-doux,
forming the cursive lines from the foam atop my waves
or would you extinguish your cigarette in my lurking , subfuscous waves,
as you shrunk rapidly from my sandy shoreside
would you toss fragments in my whitecaps, getting rid of the things you no longer cared for
or would the swirl of my water dizzy your mind, murkily shrouding your ability to think lucidly
if the wind leads you towards land
or where the deep color of the sky harmonize’s with my iridescence,
try to find slumber in the vespertide
allow the viridescent vapor to ease you in my
thalassic cavern
if you sought other sea’s to soak your searching soul in,
know my desire would not diminish,
but wade in its wishful want
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
How to turn the tables?
To respond to all those fables,
If we could make men love us,
Like we love them, less fuss,
But that's the way they are, no less,
Not much sapience for men, I guess........
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
lift up your face
let your radiance
like the sun shine
fill up this space
with your sapience
(i) wish i could enshrine
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
~another love poem~
In the thousands of years of Earth’s foregoing,
marking the reign of humans, all seek sapience,
knowing full well, neither first or last am I to mark
this day’s commencement with a need, a desiring,
to notate this not unusual but definitively unique
calendar notation with a tribute, neither requested
but freely given to the person who lies beside me.
*Did I wake commanded or so compelled to scrabble
a collection of words, sequences, initially disordered,
into a shape, to chisel these sendings of a chest into a
living disbursement, a statute, a marbleized creature,
that empties and releases a sensory disposition rumbling
into a messy, mediocre utterance of sentience while they
sleep quiet, pockmarked by dreamed mumblings, dreaming?*
No, I did not.
News headlines come demanding see me, insistent that
I am urgency, but one displaced by the next, making them
instantly stale by pealing replacements. This poem, a self-
appointed task is now eased, spent and spurted into an
lifespan of a length unknown and untold. Here I end, ceased
and resisting, demurring, desisting another stanza, The hour
approaches the seventh hour before noon, rising time. Go now.
*The choring chords of fibrous tasks that stitch existence into
a sustaining impertinent permanence, list-crossing-off, a-nagging.
The itches of living, ask for scratching, 1st cup of coffee making,
but smile bemusedly that this first and freshest to do, newly added,
is done, dispatched with a line-sworded satisfying crossing off.
She sleeps on, while I soon to rise and quiet paddle to the
kitchen where kept the utensils for sustenance,*
I am contented, miraculously, simultaneous,
emptied and fulfilled.
4-14-2021
NYC
7:18am
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 7:30 AM UTC
I never thought I'd seriously consider
ever truly settling down
with anyone
But, now my whole
world has been tossed
into a 180 turn around
wow,
I'm so young
in my ears, my heart rapidly pounds
it's you- the missing piece,
I can't believe I've found
breathless, I don't even mind if I drown
in the coffee filled irises
parting my lips
safe and sound
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
As my footsteps disappear into puddles
And the ripples go silent
I put to doubt
The things we make
Of mud today
As knowledge travels
Rails of science
Instead of the path
Of knowing time
We’re sending light
Where it wasn’t meant to be
Like the greatest of all angels did
We have turned learning into
An autopsy of everything
Lobotomizing every liberty
Analyzing mistakes to find
Better excuses
Bitterly abusing conscience
And sapience
Numbed by the applause
Of every new Eureka!
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC