"suppositions" poems
Gold glitter
Only stays on the ceiling
When the upholstery is gray.
Church gyms are suddenly
Piggy banks to play
Basketball upon.
I will draw a city on
The bulletin board
And owl pushpins will inhabit it.
My mind is no longer in a
Casing of gray rick-rack
And suppositions I do not feel.
It is a precarious thing to
Play a solar piano
Under the midday sky.
Have you ever heard
A pumpkin-flavored
Volkswagen van?
It happened suddenly
That everything I could possibly
See became a photography contest.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
/ innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
prōven innocent...
ah!
so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...
innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...
no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...
innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
with 18 years lost...
and then the tears of relief!
Tomasz Komenda...
an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
en masse...
an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
a count de monte cristo
allowance...
but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
succumbing to old age,
and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...
there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
schizophrenia?
the latter overshadows
the former...
because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
but with the former?
bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
to jimmy savile...
guilty until prōven innocent
has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
has? not much,
just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
be left intact in its the momentum...
honestly... the study of law -
is probably the ********* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.
p.s.
because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
1
in the fish market of religions
and faiths
and suppositions and declarations
and fierce revelations
much of the commerce is done
on the principle:
*Who shouts loudest
and shouts longest
and shouts often-est
gets to empty the most pockets
of bewildered customers*
(You always empty their minds
first)
2
You never lose in this fish market
Even the quiet ones
the ones of mild manners and timid ways
can trawl a good number
of faithful customers
3
You can sell fresh fables
or smelly old tales –
they are all good commerce
4
Of course some slap you
right in the face
with their fish:
That too seems to catch customers…
I think you stun them with one blow
and they remain stunted all their lives
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 5:11 AM UTC
Brain waves sway in this cerebral cyclone.
Eating, breathing, bleeding in a home that isn't my home.
Breathing? BREATHING? What are we doing that for?
Abusing and losing. But who's keeping score?
Racing, chasing, running in a circle now.
The same train of thoughts has fallen off the tracks now.
Trying to abide by all your stupid rules now.
Searching for the answers in a mind that's shut downnnnnnn..
Get me out of this new cerebral cyclone.
Ringing! RINGING! That isn't a telephone!
Air-conditioned suppositions and amenities to die for.
View of the pool and a washer-dryer combo.
It's useless to use this scattered brain jumbled mess.
We go from 60 to zero.
But we wear less to impress.
Now we're preparing to pretend that this isn't the end.
When we know that it's time to detonate.
We hear the wind chime now, it's time to unwind now.
But to be thrown off the rocker' s our fate.
Oh, what we'd give for a sweet cerebral cyclone.
Noisy voices in my head, but at least I'm not alone.
Dreaming.. Dreaming... Leave us on the bathroom floor.
Lovely ****** tub with amenities galore.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
If you care:
My
life is a little
box
and I dreamt of a
little box. The more I watched the less it
was. In
a solid white something. Lamps. A
table. Clothes. Proper punctuation and
capitalization. Unthinkable hopes
and blasphemous suppositions. Some force
that I can’t call God, just my sick
dream-logic, blew it to ashes. My world-cube. My mirrors.
My books. My awards and certificates and
All my precious stanzas. Cinders and pronunciation alone remained.
At this, I
smiled and
shook my soul
with the Prophet. My own music burst out
before me like mathematics
(My very breath guided by an
infinitely ascetic
sweep) and like oil paint (in
a world that glows
like neon and
breathes out empty
space) and I awoke from whiteness. I fold
myself into four
like the
secret of flight. But you don’t care.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 10:23 AM UTC
there’s always been a certain feeling
quite difficult to name—
discomfort, most likely,
or a vague,
blurry,
unhurried sense of fear.
a worry
that perhaps you can tell
that the floor was swept
and the carpet vacuumed
only minutes before your arrival ,
anxiety
making suppositions
about your x-ray vision
and delicate opinions.
perhaps you can see
the layers of sweat and blood
behind every painted wall,
perhaps you can hear the sound
of arguments and sweet nothings
seeping up from the floorboards.
i’m sure you mean well,
that you’ve brought some sort of lasagna
and cheesecake for dessert,
yet i cannot shake the feeling
that you are invaders
from a foreign land,
here to take
and take
and take
and take
everything your eyes land on.
this shakiness is formidable,
this unraveling so easy to do,
but i am not one to succumb
to anxiety’s follies—
so i open the door anyway
dissect the chambers of my heart,
throw open the shutters,
offering every bit of my soul,
my voice echoing
off every beam and wall and ventricle,
the word soaring into your ears:
“welcome!”
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
Dubious sense of unresolved ambivalence
Given to implausible suppositions of fragmentation
That distinguishes itself in well meaning solemnities
Of delicious incompetence that evaporates distance
In its poignant lament of darkness
That shadows words of cruelty, indifference and rage
Oh how unbearable those misadventures of piteous overthrows
That cram into brief utterances more meaning
Than language can hold and force a confrontation
Of unresolvable contradictions hidden in such speech
That are the stilling of time, those words that find expression
In a mystic power that transforms darkness into intense light
Whilst blocking out the harsh unforgiving light of everyday
And causes mutation and change of place in disorienting fashion
In seeking a loyalty of angers by shifts of dramatic register
Views its own meaning unstable and problematic
In defense of its own legitimacy
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
to idolize a segregated love
against fear, that knows nothing of failure, hurt, destruction
to cage evil, to make evil, by making cages
and to venerate, righteously, some ideological and illogical heaven
to loose sight, of the dark
and be blinded, in sheer light
is to forget beauty,
real beauty
is lost in piousness
in gross
over simplifications
in staunch
suppositions,
unintelligent
and heartless,
some dreary
mundane
banality;
and to lose beauty,
is to lose life.
without death you are dead
and if there were only good there would be no good at all
and truth is true by falsifiability
never lose sight of the terror
that waxes at beauties heart
with trembling and real love,
shaking for the unshakeable,
and put demons in their place next to angels,
bring shadows to the light,
or you'll know nothing
of great dreams
of shifting colour and hue
and shade and shine
and here we are
and here
we are
I say
give me it all,
I'll refuse nothing,
grant me totality,
hand in hand with
my union-
godly
I am for wholeness-
divided
I am for
the world
I am a lover
feel, I need to feel
I am a lover
sense, I need to sense
I am an artist
see, I need to see
this
reality:
here,
to hide nothing
to hide nothing
to
hide
nothing
and see
forever!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
A Division of Mathematics
Adding great value to it
Multiplying its applications
Reducing laborious means
Going on logical steps
Riding on its riders
Gliding on its theorems
Solving hitches and glitches
Assuming things as “x”
Applying rational methods
Adopting sequential steps
Solving problems complex
Starting with assumption
Running through derivation
Following brilliant notion
Deciphering through perception
Grand in concepts
Grand in derivations
Grand in suppositions
Resolving problems in a grand manner
Mother of mathematics
Mother of logics
Cracking all mysteries
By initializing things as “x”
Assuming God as “x”
Following tenets and commandments
Living life on virtues and truth
Surely shall we know what “x” is
And what “I” am and what “V” (we) are
And surely shall we know that
X=I=V is Life’s Algebra.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
Mountains may seem unscaleable,
Whilst you appear available.
Both suppositions may be frail
when it’s just the fear of
failure that prevents events,
and wents only remembered
as occasions that occurred.
From all I’ve heard reality
requires risk.
For death demands that a degree
of dare be spare,
For living to be less a chore,
and more a rare affair.
© James Rainsford 2010
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 8:05 AM UTC
Your mind,
to me,
is an undiscovered treasure.
Furtive,
I try,
to gaze into your soul
I like what I see,
no judgements or opinions
promises and hellions
slide right off my coat
This moment that we share
may last until the sun has risen
Surly or debonair,
Time decides
sporadic rhythms
We've tossed our fear and care,
Relinquished expectations
Green and firm and fair,
I forget my suppositions
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
His last memory was my cold shoulder, as I with ease severed our bonds
Tears embraced the pain filled face, and nightmarish shrieks took ahold of me
Each step was strenuous, a colossal amount of weight
And it was not as though my body could not move, but that my heart was unwilling to leave
Why does it always rain on those who deserve the sun? Such is a question that has no answer
Perhaps if I filled myself with suppositions a bit longer, it would soon become natural
Regret swarmed my mind and thoughts, I could do nothing but ponder what could have been different
Under the blazing sun, on the smooth warm green grass that hugs us both
The calm delicate face of his hand asks mine for a kiss, and grasp one another tenderly, bashfully sharing warmth
Hazel orbs directed at my own, seemingly pouring inside sweet endearment
Of course, we were not the only stars in the sky, another match made in heaven were joyful right along with us
The blazing sun had duet with he moons, and in the finale the role of spotlight was handed to the moon
As it twirled onto the center the sun cast a spell of light making the moon a star to be seen by all
He lied their imperfect revealing every foible, the thick, viscous blackness oozing out his heart
And surely, I am no better on the inside, sorrow rolling on my cheeks, immortal wickedness enslaving me
Yet a lovely pair sprouted their feathery wings and flew towards us only to perch on us
One drew a smile and unease lifted itself from my shoulders
T’was an exquisite blissful night, and dreamy desires filled my mind
‘Could our love be as beautiful as the moon and the sun’s?’ one whispered
No, it cannot my imperfection will make sure of that
How I adore you who investigates my heart and still intends to come closer, but the closer you are the more we hurt, simply the act of smiling at another can trouble you for days
Being friendly with an old friend summons insecurity and jealousy, and suddenly endearment is no longer sweet
For I’ve cut the both of us too deeply with my selfish love, tis so cruel I always want what I cannot have
My last memory was his hand reaching out to me and his pleading face, as I in tears severed our bonds
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
Will you walk this way
Will you leave open the door
Will you be more than just the reasons
that you implore
When you look inside
When will you separate the appriations
When will you part and devide
all the suppositions
"I am this today
I am that tomorrow
I am anything as long
as it doesn't cause me sorrow"
"I am as fickle as the sun
I am sunshine , sometimes storm
I am the moon's false reflection
that falls upon the praise that you adorn"
So who is it that walks through the door
So whose mask will you wear today
So who will fall for your insidious lies
that you so disrespectfully diplay
What a way !
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
/ the overarching principle of tao:
which is not even a maxim
to investigate -
unlike scientific truths and
propositions -
philosophical maxims?
are they presuppositions,
or mere suppositions?
presuppositions you have
to attest to, finding out -
not some willy-nilly half baked
croissants...
nonetheless... it all balances
out, as the world always does:
begining with the tao principle -
*the only way to aid the world
is to forget the world,
and allow the world to forget you*...
why was ezra pound an anti-taoist?
well...
thankfully we can all see
the mastering of zen by the americans.
"schools" of thought do not exist
in state insitutions...
fwee wack a birweedee!
like, like, i mean like: free like a bird...
silicon valley is decrepit zen...
motorcycles and **** and fixing them...
why was ezra pound so anti the principle
of ταo?
missing diacritical marks?
(i.e. punctuation marks within a word?)
if he'd wake up and
spot the ζεν (or ζην if you're sharp, crisp:
samurai movie pronunciation tactic type)...
if china holds a grip of hollywood,
as the americana "conspiracy theorists"
believe...
dig deeper...
ζεν contra ταo...
i'm what ezra pound would
hate... as the 20th century came to a close,
ταo was out, ζεν was in...
maybe that's the problem...
teacher?
got kicked in the ***** by one
of his disciples, and he said very little
to begin with...
so he was a ****** teacher
to begin with,
given his disciple kicked me in the *****
now my turn...
i already presumed you
have no testicles... so why
bother doing anything with you,
other than allowing you a rigid gluttony
super-structure that becomes a sumo (wrestler)?
honest to god:
that's a heidegger primo value
elevation...
because this question?
is question-worthy, since it is
a momentum.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
"when I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
Let it be"
Solo notes set to rest
Crimson petals fragrant
Descants and refrains
Take the light
Take the floor
This image flickers
Suspended adoration
Sister mine
Forever singing in the secret
Sacred places
Unscathed, unscarred
Wild irish locks in ringlets
at your throat
grace notes and triplets
concrete streets and desert skies
While years and tears fall around me
I keep you safe inside
Weve weathered everything
casual insincerities
jealous suppositions
vicious cycles of friends and enemies and fools
Ticking clocks mark idle time
You so often the weary warrior
While I cower naked behind these words
Pray they say enough to cover us both
Passing off my emptiness
You fill it up
Give again
Feed my monsters fragile kindness
from your hand
You bless me more than you will ever understand
My sister Treasure
the forgiveness of a friend
All my petty dreams and inclinations
gathering dust at the end of the day
I slip away to that sacred moment
and you are there
I hear you sing again to me
"whisper words of wisdom....let it be"
Take the light
and you are free
for Terry - who gave me a second chance at friendship.
012209
quote from Paul McCartney Let It Be
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
‘Why’ yawps and whines in the corridor, dim
lights paving ceilings to greater unkindnesses;
Greater unknowns fester in cigarette smoke,
And always in dwindling moonlight . What do you
Suppose of yourself? Is it to be, or not
Until men in hats set your sad sky aflame?
The sunset stains you, you’re frittered and worn,
Deluged in the spirits of seventeen.
The night unties the laces of school kids
And you lie in your idle sheets of euphoria
To ignore, or simply not to know.
Where did you go
When you said you don’t know, in sheets shrouding school kids
and their shoelaces all soaked with the sap
Of seventeen, sunset coloured in daylight
Beckoned by men in hats asking rudely of
Scathed suppositions and how they might sound
When the moon is seen blushing in thieving late hours
Catching cigarettes with fading lungs in its glow,
And the greater unknowns which prey on us all;
At the end of poorly lit corridors, asking why.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
is this anger
is this anxiety
or is this madness?
days turn into nights
in the blink of an eye
and here am i
the whole day was wasted
in thoughts and suppositions
predictions maybe?
why do i pretend to care at all
when all this is just a walk
yes, i guess that's what it is
life is a walk
and i don't feel like sprinting
because if i sprint
i won't be able to see nature
and all its greenness
and the waves crashing
i guess you can say i'm mad
rather than say i'm sad
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
The Skotzki girls, Helga and Inge,
Fifteen and thirteen years old,
Boarded the SS St. Louis in Hamburg.
Let their story forever be told.
The girls' parents, Gunther and Charlotte,
Experienced with growing unease
The dangers of living in **** Germany.
The solution: to flee as refugees.
Nine hundred Jewish passengers
Aboard the luxury liner departed
In May of 1939.
For them a new life had started.
Or so they hoped. Two weeks later,
When they reached Cuba--the end of their trip--
Only twenty-eight of the people
Were permitted to leave the ship.
Discrimination and politics
Had suddenly played a deadly hand,
Affecting the fate of those who sought
Asylum in a foreign land.
Toward Florida the ship sailed.
The refugees begged for immigrant status.
The desperate cries refused to budge
The cold, political apparatus.
"We've already fulfilled our quotas."
"Careful! They might be **** spies."
Excuses emerged and rumors spread
With paranoid suppositions and lies.
The captain steered the ship back to Europe.
The refugees caught in a game of chance
Were spread among four countries:
The Netherlands, Belgium, Great Britain, and France.
Of the nine hundred passengers,
Two hundred fifty-four of them lost
Their lives while they were stuck in Europe
During the ghastly Holocaust.
Helga and Inge, along with their parents,
Probably struggled to comprehend
How politics could come before people.
In Auschwitz their lives came to an end.
We know we can't turn back the clock,
But we must do whatever it takes
To put people first and do what is right--
Or else we're doomed to repeat our mistakes.
- by Bob B (4-25-17)
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
Gentle winds move
Words spoken, forever carried
Be mindful of what escapes you to have been forged in love
Blissful thoughts move in tandem with these gentle winds
Ill fated speak rises from the darkness of an evil heart
Forged in hate and envy
Baneful suppositions disturb placid winds
Blue skies depart overwhelmed by gray
Cold rain dances uncertain in quivering winds
Storms approach celebrating generous helpings of lament
Thoughts are of miscalculated omnipotence
Be mindful of what escapes you to be forged in love
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
The silent wind whispers a prayer,
so imagination moves me.
And in stride I creep away;
not wanting to serve the role of a thinker:
not silent, yet really, not quite there.
Not an option to fly freely away,
so in the world of questions and suppositions
the imagination, as itself, enduringly remains.
To speak of the source or the fool
settles as the final question,
for in either case they move as one;
not quite to absolution,
but to that comfort in knowing;
that lie, be it the truth.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
We told citronella secrets
Under the summer stars
When the Christmas lights burned
Out of the airy tent
The tiki torch tradition
Was newly begun.
We told laughing love stories
As we walked the phantom dog
Down the silent, midnight road
Occasionally lit up by giggling headlights.
We drank soda from crinkling cans
Sipping down our suppositions
Rehashing the year and all
Our misconceptions by the
Light of the tropical
Tribal flames.
We told citronella secrets
And shared our autumnal fantasies.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
So you think you know the reason why it is that we're all here? You think you've got it sussed and that it's crystal clear? But what you fail to realize is that you don't know who to trust. The people who have taught us are also made of dust.
You're strong in your convictions; you never doubt the facts. You read the science books but don't inspect the cracks. You back your suppositions; hold strong to your beliefs. But have you ever smoked a joint and doubted all your briefs?
Life is not at all what it at first appears to be. All you need to show that is some archaeology. Gaze up at the stars at night, or the moon during the day; check out Machu Picchu and reflect on what you say.
We'd be pretty ****** foolish; and equally naive; to place all our bets on the lies that people weave. I don't mean that in a mean way, or disrespectfully; it's meant to show my love and camaraderie.
And hey, I know, that sounds real cocky, 'cause I've no monopoly on truth. But I've got something tangible that's both evidence and proof. If you want to hang a while I'm happy to expound; I'll blow your mind and steal your heart and shake your faithless ground.
© Canadian Cowboy
_________________________________
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 11:59 AM UTC
In scrawling minor compositions,
Perhaps I now confirm
The scaling, swelling suppositions:
My residential term.
Fixated to the melting ***
My skin begins to squirm.
A duty to complete the plot.
Write, rinse, repeat.
Permit the fertile heart to rot.
Of all, my greatest feat
Was rearranging the pieces of mind,
Though the chest had ceased to beat.
Were I to leave them behind
(The colorful personas with whom
I’ve lived in kinship and kind:
The fruits of my creative womb),
They’d surely tread ahead in advance,
Before the sky could reach full bloom.
And when locked within a fictitious dance,
Each step to completion livens.
Cue a heartwarming, back-leading romance;
Take the hand of the contrivance.
Clad in black and instinct raw,
Grin in hand, mask the connivance.
Let barely slip the partial law
Of clinging to reality,
And delay, in turn, the denouement:
The fairness of causality.
I press my hand to a paper cheek
And grant it immortality.
At the height of passion, it seems to peak
The formation of each smiling crack.
Gift me the insanity to speak
To the fantasized cul-de-sac.
And yet, I again become human
When it does not answer back.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
My reply to her Madame's Inquisition was to reply
Simply , "music" , Madame.
"We are having a fine discourse
On the advantages of a six string orchestra as opposed to a banjo man" I leaned in closer to her daughter's ear whispering,
"Meet me in the garden at midnight and I shall further the conversation". To which she leaning over close to my ear replied softly in a purr, "to what purpose should I have the audacity or interest to rouse from sleep and find my way barefoot into a dew covered chilly night?"
"And, so you know, I find your advances and suppositions rather casual and presumptively
Accusatory on the nature of my innocence."
"No, never should I or would I presume, dear!"
" I just wanted to give you a goodnight kiss and speak more
Of Mozart and how your ear Smell's of cinnamon and peach cream.".
"God ****** Brutus!".
"OK!! Allright"
"I'm drunk tired let's just get it on and go to sleep".
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC