"sophomoric" 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
The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial. On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death.
Open sky annulled
to bordered lines of
uptown edges,
worldview momentarily
forcibly redefined by
memories of buildings and sadder days,
recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising
A photograph
makes me look up,
and sit down historically,
need to catch a breath,
to rest mentally,
upon a storied small bridge's steps,
that I well recall,
a disappeared street stoop.
all were rubble then and once
upon that day.
Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective,
but the hardy heart is hardly stilled
by the recognizable gray upon
bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of
memories of buildings and sadder days
So today, on a reborn street,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn, but
nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
silently weeping, thinking that:
We throw away so much we should have kept.
We keep so much we should have thrown away.
Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses
locked away in compartments that open only to
benedictions uttered in ancient tongues.
Make your own list,
be your own curator,
catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs,
museum mile pile
those early poetic drafts,
be unafraid of memories
raw and ungentrified,
overlaid, buried underneath
postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques
Finally went downtown to see
where the blessed water falls
into catacomb pits that once
were the foundations
of buildings that ruled the cityscape,
downtown anchors
for a modern city that exists
only because it was built on
million year old granite bedrock
Stone monuments are stolid, discrete.
Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency.
Negatives resurrected that survive digitally,
all blend synthetically, layer upon layer,
essence distilled in a single,
black and white photograph
that serves to
disturb complacency,
awaken stilled pain,
reflections suppressed,
are restored
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
conceited and overconfident of knowledge, but, poorly informed and immature
embodying the definition, I lie in bed, quiet, thinking,
face down, shirtless, in a pair of cheap purple *******
breathing in a smell--cotton sheets, sweat, and coconut
I am not nothing, not miserable, but not happy
I am not frightened or bewildered by anything
I am an elder amongst the young
I'm a youngster still, to everyone.
all trash talk,
not new news.
I just sort of quietly revel in the experiences
unravelling above me in a floating memory
adding up my mistakes,
until all pressed into me
+ that doing the right thing hurts, sometimes,
+ people are going to do things that you can't
and still that's okay, but don't get discouraged
if you work hard and get nothing out, that just
means something, that if you like it, fight for it
I don't know.
I also learned this year not to trust the bad liars,
that sometimes people are bland, but even still,
it doesn't mean death, and it's really going fine.
I learned this is as smart as I'm going to get,
so maybe I should try a little harder with it.
turning on my back, I flick an imaginary cigarette,
I put on a little blush + a long-sleeved black shirt
then I did what I was supposed to, maybe for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
I think something went wrong when I was made
like God skipped a stitch and left
part of me gaping open and
when I was eight I found that thread and out of
sophomoric curiosity I started tugging
look at me now
a mess of tattered strips of fabric
all tangled up in the thread
that was supposed to hold me together
and sometimes I get it in my head
that someone will come along and
fix me
but that's never quite how it seems to work
because I was sick the day
everyone else got scissors
and so when I expect affection
I get rejection
and the cold snip, snip, snip
of the parts of me they want to take
and now there's not much left
underneath the pretty face
just tangled thread
and a graveyard of a heartbeat
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
I am not some mere romantic
Hopelessly in love or seemingly frantic
I am simply a man with sophomoric antics.
Closing in fast and with my dreams supplanted
By what I can only imagine is a place unwieldily for simple magic.
For there are no dragons of ancient lore,
Nor, for me, beautifully tantalizing ******
But simply mistakes of my past, to reach me at last.
I imagine everyone creates this place of loathings' past.
While some do not believe in hell defined by a scripture, I assure you somewhere in your eternal slumber you will experience the guilt of past discomfort.
I pray it is only for a second for you, not minutes or hours or years or eternities.
But to whom will I pray? Myself I dare not say. However there is no man in the sky to consider my actions against me, there is no entity impartial to judge lonely old me. There will always be a standard for justice, good, evil, loyalty, infidelity, and of course, people.
But who is our judge? Is it not oneself? And if not, then who else?
I say none have the authority to constrain one but himself.
And if he wish to abide by his own moral abomination, too far outside similar creations.
His life, it will be taken.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
Distinguished disguised dancers
masquerading man-made makeshift moral-plays
complete compelling communicated classical conversations
penetrating pontificated, pompous perceived perceptions
incisive impregnating indecisive ideologies.
nomads, no longer nomads
humanity, hardly humanity
children, no longer children
innocence, hardly innocence
agitated ardent adversaries arguing
open-ended opposing opinions overtly
disregarding discussed details on.. display
meager moronic monologues misused mindlessly
as..
politically-powered perverse points of 'principle'
vigorously virtual virtues vehemently vested in
stolen sordid 'salient' solutions set to 'save'
To save what?
A system born to fail?
A culture devoid of culture?
A materialistic, sophomoric generation of deadbeats and mindless sheep?
A corporate ********** of sound bites and advertisements?
A persistently forced state of wage slavery?
A game of he said, she said, I'm right and you're wrong?
A seemingly endless spiral of despair and dissatisfaction?
A time and place living in fear of the next epidemic or incoming atomic bomb?
Where's the sense in that? I mean seriously. Why can't we all just get along?
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
The summer is static. Over
A drying lawn the slur
Of heat descends. Quiet
The garden flowers. This mind's diet?
Shaded hills and solitude.
Slow recession of the crude
Tracings of my origins,
The silhouettes of sins
And murmurs, blurs into
The sophomoric hue
Of my brain. Can I
Extricate myself? This lie,
Though it elude my thought
Into what action I know not,
Seems to legitimate my being
And foretell the fate of my self-fleeing.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
formulaic
derivative
uninspired
sophomoric
myopic
misguided
decorative
nicely framed
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
and the echo you called out
(we lied to ourselves the first six weeks;)
had the whole town irked;
(spending time in an alley's shadow)
an honest tongue only after you won.
(your sophomoric soul and my reflective streets.)
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
If I could tattoo my poetry to my skin, I would
I would show them my word-riddled wrists
Where the scars used to be
And the prosaic verses sprawled on my neck
Where I planned to loop the rope
If my poems were good, I would tattoo them on my skin
Sadly, all I have are a sophomoric amalgamates of odd words
That make dead poets turn in their graves
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Do not love me yet, for I
am still a teenager
A scimitar about the heart,
too sharp to touch too soon
Before I'm touched, I need to grow
more full in golden light;
I need to smile upon my life
& rule some path of the night
I need to know what roads & fields
lie in my domain
& dull my brand new ecstasies
with sophomoric pain
I need the love of some clueless boy
as smart & wicked as me,
that we might ***** in ignorance
& fear of what might be
& then when I'm all grown up,
& know what I can hold,
Then, perhaps, we could try love,
if you're not too old
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Oh yes
I have known loves many in number and place
I could become complacent and dote on your grace
Or even still the beauty of your flesh
Alas your lips are no more awe striking
As the moss on stilled boulders
Unremarkable like soma drenched kisses
On some listless evening long ago
No you are all unremarkably the same
You pray for the kind lyrics of song
But dear loves your beauty will wither
Will you wail when the lyrics are gone?
So I will not sing of your kisses
Like soft winter sun caressing my sinuous skin
For dear love your beauty has weathered
Yet I still know loves many in number and place
I in my sophomoric splendor saw you as singular
Now as I ponder truly you are no more than
The caress of linoleum
The sunburn from sky light on my back
Or the grains of age on a headboard
Yes I have known love
Numerous yet they are one
“Sing a song for me my dove”
I suppose for you I shall rise like the Son
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:28 AM UTC
I giggle in pride writing the obvious, the ******
Kindergarten feelings
I feel sad, mad, happy, sappy.
Rhymezone, songs, and great works stealings
Roses are red violets are fine,
My poetry could be written by a child as young as nine
Punctuation is still a mystery?
Ironically, I teach Shakespeare!
I will say, love poems and alcohol do not make good bedfellows
Sophomoric mumblings about a sunset's yellow
I take solace knowing even Rupi wrote bad poetry sometimes.
Yup, I compared myself to Rupi. Also, F**K this last line.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
I woke up Tuesday morning
to the raindrops on the pane
it smells like spring is coming
but then all the clouds pretend
that hiding sunshine from the world
is a funny game to play
But Im not laughing, Im just getting
through the day
It seems a bit sophomoric
If I lit a match inside
there might be a hazard
to the structure of the walls
I hesitate a moment
and I ponder if its right
My conscience bleeding, Im just waiting
for the night.
First day mysteries
failing sunlight
swing the floodgate
doors wide open
and these hours
drown beneath tides
we will find these
clocks all brokened
now, now now...
...this is the moment I get over you
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 11:52 AM UTC
You're ****** and doomed.
Your soul's not saved.
Virtue-signal all you want...
the road to Folly, fully paved
is Fool's Gold gleaming all the way.
Virtue's valiant vanguard, you...
the banner of surrender waved;
Facebook-friendly memes of mention
pointing to your selfish cause:
socially just desserts. Attention
paid to certain liberal flaws.
Virtue-signalling to the flock
gesturing, gesticulating;
hieroglyphics of deceit.
You're up for take-down, ours to mock,
bleating to your followers, prating—
well-assured in your conceit.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
We spoke in riddles holes in the middle
“Darkness” we told me darkness will mold me
“Utter darkness” carcases, carcases
(maybe they marked us)
I liked how it glistened I shouldn’t have listened
“Trees, rivers, mountains” we told me return to the fountain
“I need you to focus” the skylark will show us
(the sky is below us)
Suddenly it was quiet see I
“Here you are” we told me saw
“You can’t turn back” a
(just me on the)
I saw a cabin by the water teeter-totter
“It’s time” we told me thought I oughta be
“The circle is complete” plural, complete
(we’re obsolete)
Elevated, euphoric, fearless mutated, sophomoric, peerless
“Let go” we told me let go of me
“You’ll fall forever”
or
we
will
fall
forever
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
The uninitiated pandering to the lowest common denominator,
the clean cut ************ in sophomoric rhetoric,
"Sick" he says,
"Addicted" he says,
Like,
"I haven't seen the girl I have a crush on in almost 24 hours and I feel.......like......
Withdrawing.
Itchy,
Nauseous,
Angry,
Vomiting,
Like I've got insects EVERYWHERE,
MY BODY IS THE ENEMY,
OPEN REVOLT OF THE AFFECTED CELLS,
(THEY'RE ALL AFFECTED BY NOW)
There is no escape there is no relief there is nothing to be done but wait it out,
One day clean,
Two days clean,
Three days clean,
Maybe, this will pass,
NO IT WILL NOT
Four days later, a glimpse, relapse, progress undone, back to 0, the sickness is inevitable, I'm going to die like this"
When was the last time you looked into the ravenous ****** eyes of the masses, and what did you learn from this?
Not enough
Grow up.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
don’t flip me the bird
if I want your life erased
it’s a magic trick
points of contact between us
are sketchy and full of shame
tickling someone hard
as to discover their roots
brain coiled like a fist
as to maintain discomfort
keeping peace in the bedroom
guzzling beer or gin
of manic necessity
cryptic politics
planting **** in the basement
harmless binging on popcorn
charity for all
insomnia for no one
candidly speaking
triumph of simplicity
social media be ******
an octave above
the gift of tongues forgiven
coming out to god
the second amendment rights
a warming inundation
leading an army
sophomoric sergeant’s guilty
round peg in square hole
suspicion is the ground rule
round up the usual suspects
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
#Zhey is to Them as Zhee is to It...
The argument: God got it wrong.
Your singular identikit:
A plural and psychotic song
The selfish language of the young:
Confusion -- that’s your mother tongue.
The pronoun wars have lost the day.
We shall not call you what you wish,
Nor let you serve yourself this way
From your strange cracked and leaking dish.
Freshmen claim to be dysphoric,
Acting merely sophomoric.
We get it. You’re a special kid.
You came, confused, from mama’s womb
With daddy’s chromosomes outbid
By better buyers, we assume.
Have your tantrum—we won’t take it.
Girls are girls and boys can’t fake it.
Regardless how you cut and paste
Or wax autistic at your foes . . .
Reality can’t be defaced
And sin’s rebellion ever shows.
Your gender was confirmed at birth
When you arrived on God’s green earth.
Proud warrior of the gender war:
Change Romance languages, and ***
Then count your chromosomes once more…
Till Y no longer follows X,
The Lord is God. That does not change
His truth has power to derange.
Apr 7, 2023
Apr 7, 2023 at 3:54 PM UTC
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning ********
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
I dislike I despise
The stuffy minds
And the philistines
Wearing virtue signs
Like dressed figurines
In pop social themes
Or faux thoughts and prayers
Displayed on twitter feeds
For their attention needs
All superficial cares
And sophomoric ideologies
Demanding apologies
Like commodities
And all that that implies
I dislike I despise
Those who dramatize
Moralize and jeopardize
Like a line of merchandize
The free human mind
And all that that implies
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC