"synthesised" poems
why do we always inspire the young who idolise and idealise, make the middle-aged merchants and are spoken of by the old as necessary memories by way of rekindling their own memories of youth not travelled upon the paths of the various arts?
modern world decided
to depict the **** perfect family
as a form of ******
now we're told the perfect
family is within reach of
our genetic understanding of things
and how easily synthesised,
how easily synthesised and
rarely analysed to be mutually
bored before the television
content and silent...
raising a family these days almost
feels like committing an act of ******
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
A florescent moon
hangs high
above
the multicoloured
twinkling stars...
where angels and faeries dance
proclaiming hope
and peace
in flashing neon.
Synthesised choirs sing
as plastic bells
pretend to chime.
Yet
I stand alone
beneath the mistletoe
blowing kisses
hoping they reach you
in time
for Christmas.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
The music shot into her eardrum like a trance-inducing drug, each bang of the drum, each rhythmic flow, each string of the guitar would slowly take her under. Under hypnosis.
The power of the beat was so intense, that it lifted her chin and shoved her into the floor of dance. There, was where she found herself in a state of uncontrolled and vigorous rhythmic movement. The music had somewhat possessed her limbs as though they had a mind of their own. Her routine was calculated and her foot movement, unique.
She, all at once, knew and knew not what she was doing. As her surroundings stood marvelled in awe, she was alone. Her hips shaking and bouncing as though a chemical mixture was being synthesised deep within her, a mixture that was yet to explode. Explode with power so great, it would possess others in her 'roundings. Surroundings that would, in time faster than inhalation, be under the same knife. With movements and sways that embodied and humanised the worship of music.
Rhythm is their God, the controller of beings. Almost as if dance is the ritual of prayer, and the club, a mosque or sacred ground.
Like rhythm is the favoured slave-driver. Like rhythm is the unfeared tyrant. Like rhythm is what brings the animalistic spirit within us all back to life after daylight and spiritual rest. Like rhythm is the pair of unspoken arms that push them, its subjects, over the precipise and into the river of flow. And under The Rhythm's spell, they will move, they will love it.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
so much politics
went into the LGBT community
as it did into a zoological propaganda
machine -
that the source of such
anomalies became excluded
to rhyme compensation;
we became anti- heterosexual,
i mean, why bother,
given the enterprise of science,
we're gods after all,
divorced, artificially inseminating
with ****** (who the ****
cut my **** off?!) the next perfumed
foetus dear...
**** me, forget natural,
leave it to a science leverage...
let's become critical of heterosexual males,
pederasts in the shadow of the crucifix;
since when did sins equate laws?
he was crucified for filing redemption under:
**** well, sober up, and boil out the waters,
get rid of heterosexual males,
might at well, Holocaust the *******
given the science...
erase their opinions... elevate prostitution
to surrogacy... it's only natural...
**** them off... i'm waiting for you to grow
a pair of ***** or bouquet me silly
with floral arrangements to induce sleep,
such that more homosexuals and trans
come from test-tubes rather than my *****
to sentence me with sanity, and your
Nag Hammadi revision as: Giza prior
to Eiffel... i really don't think i'd rally
with **** sapiens to testify the quality
as inherent in me; when they're synthesised
without my involvement i'll think it natural,
scientifically speaking, analytically so,
without me being the precursor of more more more;
ever speak to a family of a trans-gender individual?
so why the **** are you fighting for the laws?
you hear the family speak? hear 'em?
it's hardly Alice in Wonderland.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Somewhere around the globe
An earth shattering discovery is being made
and somewhere else,
a new chemical is synthesised ,
In some hospital ,
a life is being saved
and in a house somewhere far
A little boy is crying ,after he failed
While on the street ,
someone found his phone is stolen
And in a cafe nearby ,
a girl is sipping her coffee daydreaming
And at the same time ,
while along with some significant things take place
I sit across my laptop
scribbling some verses while I eat chips
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
I gave my all to you
My skin, my lungs, my eyes, my soul.
Without you I would have to rebuild.
My depths would take years to refill.
My heart would have to be re born.
I would be made of emptiness, I would possibly be too empty to re gain strength.
I trust you'll keep me close to you.
This world is a much greater place.
Our souls synthesised make magic.
You gave your all to me..
And I promise to care for you entirely.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
*heretical grammar: the finite article is defined by ego... the infinite article is defined by god... **** your Freudian trinity.*
when you first learn a language, you are taught the language
in order to synthesise it...
it takes about 20 years of having synthesised the language
to then analyse it, and analysis of an acquired tongue
is a comforting walk through the halls of
Shiva kissing Hades like Erich Honecker and Leonid Brezhnev;
you turn toward the way in which the language is
programmed, silenced, encoded, you check
the orthography, what's missing... i'm astounded to see
how no one spotted missing diacritical marks in english,
for fuck's sake... the greeks are even using them!
no wonder england became such a ******** after the reigning
power on a global scale... this is a Copernican gosh!
it'll reign for some time; well, we know that Cyrillic is
the evolved form of Greek, that paved the way for
Mendeleev - i guess straining the sound encryption will
make you see things differently, or as the English say
in Essex: the H might as well be a surd.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
I’ll often hear a song that makes me think of times before.
There’s always faces burned into the memories recalled.
A head thrown back in laughter as we bounced so high; we flew!
That was the boy that I first kissed on the cheek
( he kissed my shoe)
We were on the trampoline and high was never high enough!
We screamed “I want my MTV”, it was truly epic stuff!
Later on when I partnered with a lycra’d dancing queen, we tore it up to Mel’n Kim, we were quite a solid team!
Our tay-tay-tay’s were second-to-none, Respectable the jam.
We were synchronised and synthesised, we were fluoro, we were glam!
Later the next decade, the clubs were more the scene,but there always was a DJ, a request to be redeemed.
One young man with a strange nickname, no bigger Pearl Jam fan, could be found on a seat, tapping his feet and hollering “ Better man!”
Ofcourse the girls were always there, making the dance floor hot; and you sang the words to “You’re the One that I Want”, whether you knew them or not!
And no-one likes a mega-mix but play the one from Grease? You’ll even see a few Danny’s get up and join the beat.
These days the tunes are “retro”, but I sometimes play them still and the details might be fading but the feelings never will.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 5:37 AM UTC
Synthesised reparations collect,
authenticity flawed even before
it reverberated
beyond its beginnings.
But still you try to expand
on the dullness of what you wanted
to be a reproduction
from the source,
but nothing echoes further than your breath.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 4:11 PM UTC