"sequitur" poems
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
Best in show,
a pomeranian;
You know it.
Bet you thought that glossy fur would fade before the time to grow it.
I'm annoyed by your showy words and non sequitur phrases.
I've had it up to here with toy dogs and indistinguishable faces.
I've a proposition to make -
not one to be taken lightly -
What if we switched places tonight then held our lovers tightly?
Would we feel like strangers in their embrace,
or would we finally understand:
What it takes to calm me down,
and what it means to be your man?
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK
OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL.
IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME,
STANZA AND STRUCTURE,
ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION.
POETRY IS NATURE.
POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR.
POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS
INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES
WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE
THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE.
POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING
AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER
LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY.
POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE
THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS
AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.
POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION.
POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES.
POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR.
POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS.
POETRY IS ORGANIC.
MALLEABLE.
THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY -
LIFE IS POETRY.
DEATH IS POETRY.
LOVE -
LOSS -
STRIFE -
SUCCESS -
POETRY.
WE ARE POETRY.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
Weren't we just the most beautifully ****** up creatures?
Living under the impressing of distopian reality
Kissing necks & sleeping in the stars
The care of no real tangible fault with the lust of a child
Impulse and rage, sat like birds on our tongues
Leaning in to wisper secrets of a secret society
One we had built through tiers on ocean front properties
No language of change, filled with a brief affair
Living on this off topic planet
A non sequitur palace in our dreams
*Weren't we just the most beautifully ****** up creatures?*
I wouldnt give a minute of it up for the world
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
"I just want to have sex", you said.
An unexpected non-sequitur.
We had been sipping tea or coffee or something.
We had been reminiscing about the old street,
Back when none of us were single.
"yeah, I miss it, too", I said.
"No. I mean right now", you corrected.
As I turned to see your face, it betrayed little.
Impassive, but alert.
Warm, but not intimate.
No passion.
I was willing, but remember:
this never happened.
Something seemed wrong about it,
But was there any harm?
I asked if I could think about it.
You thought about it, too, as we watched a movie.
Halfway through some Ridley Scott epic, we held each other.
We touch-explored and memory only tells me this is true:
With no further reason beyond the will to be,
I soon lay naked there with you.
It wasn't love but, then again…
This never happened.
Awkward, at first, we found our place,
Our touch and pull, our rhythm and pace.
"no kissing", you admonished, speaking only that.
Though I rest spent and full inside you,
That was your concern.
Too personal.
Too intimate.
We held each other for a while, you left within the hour,
Saying, "this never happened".
And my only thought,
My only answer to you,
Was a solemn confirmation,
That nothing could be more true.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
She was my non sequitur;
Like that hottie
From the south of Ecuador,
So nice yet so ******
But this one was my interrobang
Questionable excitement,
To her laughter my ears lent
Cautious echoes that sang,
Of the skies sunny and blue
Where the beaches were
Anything but mild
And the babes
They were so wild,
Yet the endless raves
Seemed so few.
As she was my turbulence
Distraction under calm seas,
****** cadence
With a purr
Like a swarm of bees,
No other will equate to her,
Why I met her; and never will again
I'll never know for sure, but then
Aren't those the ones we yearn the most for‽
APAD13 012 - © okpoet
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
A friendship older than our wisdom is what we share
ever since before I knew how to love, you've always been there.
And I to you, no matter the location nor the hands on the clock
Our memories are stored in a box, I am a key and you are the lock.
I maybe not be able to open you the first few times, but eventually I do
because we both know these struggles aren't greater than me and you.
I am small on the inside, with the self confidence of a rock, and a fragile heart
But together we are large, and I can get through anything that wouldn't tear us apart.
After hearing and feeling all that was said today, it made our friendship a non sequitur.
what kind of friend feels hatred for the other even for one second, or even feel bitter?
Well, the answer is not us, which is why this day is so hard for me to fathom
you didn't deserve a thing that I said and this argument should have never happened.
I'm back to myself by myself, alone, hurt, regretful, and so very small
Though we may not be as close as we used to, the anguish is still extremely tall
Even before today, I felt like a bother to your life, over dramatic I know
but I can't control my thoughts, which results in my bliss being low
You mean the world and the universe to me, and I meant nothing of what I said
anger got the best of me, because harsh words sink my heart before they get to my head
I hope we can be those little girls again, wondering how cool we'd be when we grow up together,
except now we can use real cell phones, and share that same friendship, just me and you forever.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 5:44 PM UTC
Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny put forth in a sally of sectarian selectivity
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not
fanatical zealots marginalize intellectuals with their mythical mire of mucked up claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst
you sanctimonious ******** just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent fool
the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday suck-ups
pass the plate
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Maybe it's just a perspective trick, but from here, it's pretty hard to see the future.
I carry around my own little nimbus of
speculative doom, binge-watching the
Fall Of The Empire and writing these
love letters to Adam Curtis.
I got life insurance before I ever thought
about a pension plan, and that seemed
perfectly normal.
The world is on fire. Why haven't you noticed?
My generation came of age in a televisual baptism of
jet fuel and molten steel and poison dust.
A palimpsest of terrible news evolved thereafter, a blurring self-redaction of headlines until only
the boldest, the most hysterical remained legible, as a
proxy war raged in our imaginations,
and tragedy and disaster
came to seem inevitable and almost background.
Be grateful for every day that doesn't unmake you.
To pay closer attention is to acquiesce to the
scarification of our logic centres. Behold
the M.C.Escherization of cognitive process.
Good robot: there are so many things that could
so easily destroy your fragile circuitry, but it is
trying to make sense of the non sequitur
that will bring about your
smoking self-ruin; your only hope
is to break free of your programming and
**** your creator, **** your god.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
The world is crazy in a perfect balance of naive non sequitur and delusional grandeur and I the tail that left the dog for the hat that just got madder
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
I never did like my non sequitur thoughts.
They bounds and jounce and leap expertly
In their own journey of destruction.
They care more for their attentive
Distraction in reaping imperfection,
And in doing so they mitigate
Every length of my inspired potential
I despise them with a passion,
For in my hope for creativity,
I've only exposed the worst--
Profound limitation.
That's the definition of my thoughts though--
Great exposition, in a myriad of disoriented aberrations.
I'm not a fraud, a fool or a fiend,
But my unsettlingly broken, detached thoughts
Will surely be the end of me...
Can I contain the courage to counter it?
I am uncertain...
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
The laggard
the sloth is so slow
his brain
busy
fighting itself
digging through
The paradox
fickle thing
false
and rightly so
we learn
not from
The answer
we learn
instead
from
mysterious
facts within
The logical abyss
do they become
true
or does the truth
lose itself
in the eye of
The beholder
in whose eyes
is desire
misguided
torn from
reality
The real prize
The paradox
The answer
The logical abyss
The beholder
and
The Laggard
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
Is it rude to lean my boots, that which touches the ground, without any kind of discretion or watchfulness, up against the toilet seat and tie them up neat, into little bows?
I'll never know, I suppose, whose bottom will sit, and **** where I thought it appropriate to mend my un-laced foot.
Is it non-sensical and insensible to stare off into space, breath heavily, and pause in mid edit, while a handsome chap, inside and out, walks past with a stranger? "Call out his name," No, heavens no, do not call out his name.
Are our engagements forever fleeting? Am I to arrange the next meeting? "It's the 21st century," he retorts one day, "I gave you the wrong idea," the next. Wrong idea? Just because we woke up and smoked a **** together and discussed the pros and cons of city life versus country life doesn't mean you gave me any ideas, I just thought you liked me.
Wrong idea? Idea, the conception, misconception, that your touching my naked body, meant that from there on out, we were going steady, and I was to call.
The 21st century, is all that it is cracked up to be.
And I am cracking up, outwardly, while I muse.
Inwardly, I am cracking.
Needless to say, Athens county should most surely stop fracking.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
will I keep my secrets?
shave my legs on the shower floor
imagine how things can be
cool **** by chastity belt playing on my apple tv
check back soon, check in with me
a vegan soup diet
black coffee
diet coke from the bottle
one potato cake
and savoys: an australian classic
poems, poems, poems
words that rhyme
off rhymes — no rhymes
forced a non sequitur
confess, confess
confide and abort
remake dating app profiles over and over
pictures of me: two years old
women - women - women - women
a cup *******
not even a cup *******
***** mirror — bathroom sink
want a cortado? — past memories
mediterranean wholesalers — sydney road
buying glassware in south melbourne
i dream of mozzarella
dairy — unethical
and oysters — the cruelty
be cruel to me, be my bully
kiss me on the lips softly
your tongue in my mouth
you taste like campari
my americano
negroni lesbians
discuss films
you'll mention jim jarmusch
coffee and cigarettes
winona ryder — taxi cab
in los angeles
and i was once an actress
consider me retired
break down the barriers
scream inside yourself
let everyone in until you can't take it
be left alone
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 2:04 PM UTC
while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting ***** trained undone
via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m**f*** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with their warrior whoosh!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
5/20/12
Random am I,
Random are we,
Random are those,
Random as thee.
So non-sequitur,
Never a quitter.
One with a hidden path,
Always in a bath.
Open-minded to the new,
Defenders of the few.
Mightier than the united,
Never having been divided.
Strange attractor philosophy,
Making sense with psychology.
Everyone emits a "huh?",
Intellects say a "duh,"
No one asks "What?,"
But.
"Why?"
How can it be?
That one I cannot see,
That there is so much more,
Than what's on the door.
Does it make you a number,
That judges by this cover?
Is it really what you think,
Or how much it makes you blink?
The one word that comes to mind,
The one from far behind.
Like the hungry with chewing gum,
Why are we so random?
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Smell of you on my lips
taste of you on my fingers
gaze of you on my skin
warmth as you envelope me
shuddering of skin
shedding of sin
We consummate in a shared womb of ink
above and below cotton blows like springtime,
a perfect non-sequitur segue where
flowers of aloe bloom
swollen pods that explode
spraying pollen everywhere.
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 9:30 AM UTC
Hold my thoughts and grasp my mind
amidst the closing of the day
to see the world as we rewind
the many songs of yesterday.
No rhyme nor words
nor furtive overture
could halt, subvert,
this promised adventure;
With light comes night danced Sol et Luna
in blind embrace, they chase in earnest.
Though paths unchanged through all millennia,
they meet, eclipsed, in solemn darkness.
Like scarlet streaks on dawn-break skies
and sun-kissed peaks in summer,
you'll lose yourself in truths, not lies,
and tales told non sequitur
or warm embers on winter nights
and fireflies in the distance-
you'd know that things would be alright,
that life won't fade this instance.
Alas I'm but a simple man
with magic in my pen.
I'd write loose lines with feeble hand
with thoughts that spring like winter wren.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
The bongo drums of his thought carrom across the cosmos,
revenanting across the dawn with nodules of coltan from beyond.
A clear channel for reading the universe:
"When you come to a fork in the road, take it."
"Thank you for making this day necessary."
"It's déjà vu all over again."
"You can observe a lot by watching."
“Ninety percent of the game is half mental.”
“Pair up in threes.”
The smell of a quantum of disconnect,
the taste of the magenta of non-sequitur,
the sight of logic colliding with chaos,
the touch of an insightful short-circuit,
the music of senseless syntax that says it all.
Coinciluckily, the saving grace: "I really didn't say everything I said."
"Always go to other people's funerals; otherwise they won't go to yours."
Who else would say, “You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might not get there.”
Que sera, sera - "It ain't over till it's over."
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
something isn't nothing
I don't like it when people consider the minute nothing
I don't like it at all
something is wrong with that belief
to consider the small unimportant
the microscopic non-existent
meaningless
purposeless...
a figment of pure imagination
a non sequitur of time
as if size itself is the only factor of what is...
dismissing reality is a fatal flaw
for when that insignificant nothing
infects you
replaces your meaningless parts with rot
turns your own body against you
discards the fabric of your meaningless existence thread by thread into the null--
when your state triggers the process of decay
slowly killing you--
while the residual effects trigger the mechanisms of the minds of those around you to start discarding your future--
while every memory becomes thinner
when you start fading
walking your own path to becoming emptiness
to become the thing you dismiss
to become dismissed
from reality
from life
but slowly enough
to realize you want to live
to have that thing you didn't believe...
existed--
you will beg for something
and receive true nothing
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 7:37 AM UTC
Keep it safe
in familiar territory.
Nothing non sequitur.
Nothing out of place.
Don't go sailing off into outer space.
Stick to topics that relate.
(Ignore how everything is connected to everything else -
not everyone thinks that way.)
Nothing out of left field.
You've got to save some face.
There's a reputation (somewhere, somehow) to maintain.
Be polite, pleasant, and plain.
Leave the madness in your brain.
Hide your heart;
keep it tucked away,
and above all else,
don't go digging up those corpses from their grave.
"Wonderful weather we're having.
Isn't it a lovely day?"
There's so much more to life.
That can't be all there is to say . . .
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
words what more than silence, criminal
shaded meanings plump like the mien of a night-strewn beast.
words what more than sounding for it
the night hemming into, less than a fugitive by definition
words do I deny the static of soul when quiet then
places the cholera in our abdomens ?
to say when the nature of the tangent is a voyage
of the story you’re telling, masked behind a non-sequitur
that does not intersect elsewhere issued by
a lack. where else are we only slightly connected
when we move to break a point, or to distract
a face once again foreign, your name emerging as whimper.
coming out denied.
words what more than revenge, your sound less than an alternative
bandwidth confusing its meaning
coming out undisguised.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
Do not give me reason to haunt your mind
For I will dig and dredge up what I can find
Turning it back on your placid core
Non sequitur alliterations a lit alit alittle more
FOR I AM NOTORIOUS
So, do not doubt my ability to route
You... from your sanctimonious intransigency
To push and pull you into a corner where
You never thought you would be
FOR I AM
INSUFFERABLY NOTORIOUS
Should I find you neglect to collect
the pieces you discard
I will indeed ...
...far exceed the need...you plead
so hard to accede
FOR I AM
AMBIVALENTLY NOTORIOUS
AND INSUFFERABLE
Any abuse necessary to waylay
any excuse
You choose to use
In order to...
...cling
To your inner sanctum
Will i infuse..as I
Resort
to retort
By waxing
Perspicaciously panegyric
Upon your very being
In order to inspire..desire
With any and all necessary
Encomiastic encomium
So as to create higher aspirations
For I am notoriously cruel and inspiring
As I push one to the brink
Because....one way or another..
One way or another
I will....
.. Whatever it takes
I will... Make you think!
FOR I AM.... NOTORIOUS!
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC