"synthesized" poems
A test is nothing more
than:
one man's way of gauging
another man's way of calculating
another man's way of thinking
all so pride may be synthesized
in forms of correct and incorrect
put to paper for someone's satisfaction.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
Negligible morsel of biomass
my fat belly, formerly abs
insignificant yet it occupies me
hourly while bored or hungry.
Fat is what? a picture
of despair, giving up caring
or man out of balance, other
side of the world's starving
mass, case of the soul's malnutrition
industrial agriculture, television
supermarkets, vacations, hydrocarbons
and the grid. Electricity, urban
traffic jams, photons at final
rest. Sugars synthesized, abundant
plastics to carry them home in.
Into your house and into your mirror.
Memorizing the periodic table
and learning the calculus makes one
no thinner. Walking the mountain
in heat and cold and rain, alone
or in fire crews should inhibit.
And a healthy fear of death. A laugh
a day at *** and pain and fate
which renews the biomass I hate.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
You either know me, or you don’t.
I’m your best friend, and worst enemy.
I’m bought, sold (new and old),
sought, found, and tossed around.
I get twisted and turned,
mimicked and gimmicked.
I lead you here, I lead you there,
I lead you just about anywhere.
I whisper in your ear, and boom across the sky,
feeding off echoes, savoring my cry.
I’m overlooked and undercooked—
raw as sushi just unhooked.
I’m encrypted and coded into complex clues,
hidden in books and the daily news.
I’m hacked, chewed, shredded and burned,
analyzed and synthesized at every turn.
I’m stronger than ever and growing each day,
collecting, connecting, and creating the way.
Information’s the name, and if life’s a game,
then I’m one slick player with zero shame.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC
energy surging,
heat begetting heat
expands to dark expanse to cool and brew what slow restocking weight
with white supernal flare between
around an equipoise of center you imagined as you write
and what non-being-being residing in beneath the deep?
inspired by the question-thought embracing
death beyond what death to value life a blissful state
in even darkest reaches found
the pain a sundered gate of joy you capture with poetic greeting ploy,
that coin is split to join opposing worlds
as when blind Shiva blinded world
unbridled lust arrayed from hut to hut
obliging them his ***** to rip
but then extinguishing their rant
to foster pleading for the dance again
collecting yoga as viyoga
in samanvaya chiaroscuro maya-vidya
or adept on cosmic player focus
hate-trancendent into vast eternal love
which even Luke (14:26) dropped lovely clue to
un conditioned by contingent fondness
for what myth of real play
we stage together evermore
to frolic in the uncut hair of graves
(greenest grass to know what past)
whose leavings are for future sunrise lush to celebrate another self envisioned
in another set of singing eyes
the literal, empty, formless mien
a synthesized good-bye recursion rush
.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
We take the night
Flourish when our minds are most at ease
In between the artsy and the ghetto,
It's gonna take some doing to really change
Maybe if there's someone else
Who isn't too young to save, too irresponsible
We'd be taken to a more realistic edge
Get down and face it,
We don't need as much
As we think we do
Here we are, and here we go
I've been trapped
Lost in a cage
Planning for a great escape
But whether or not
It could happen to me,
I really can't say.
Today you're where I'm at
Where I want to be -
This can happen to me,
I believe I believe
We've investigated a thousand new names
like what I've got isn't good enough for fame
Surprise, surprise - money buys everything,
Actuality and Individuality
it's a state of realism we can't escape
Looking, you don't find flaws in anything
but you know the difference between
poetry and a shallow being
Let's be real here, crazy, let's be real
we feed off of one anothers intricacies
A beauty in ecstasy and believability
I've tried to melt into someone else
Then before nothing made sense
until you, impossibility
There's nothing to compromise
It's just you and I,
fitting
I'm not numb,
some would find that irksome
but I'm glorified in the feeling
*I find that place on your chest
That beats like a bomb
A keyboard synthesized to play my song
With every breath you grow lost
Confused by each tear
A lapse in judgement, in character
I don't fear, I don't fear.
I have my fingers pressed into you
Like it means something-
"Don't you see?"*
We'll be more than we ever expected could be.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC
Oh how the saying makes me sick while excuses, there are not,
Decisions to decisions, word's weaponed from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase; is born within the dark;
words I whispered to myself, a lone,
A Sky-cyphers Scribble-sailing mark.
For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.
all of the meaning and every moral, we tether to our mortal coil
Life and it's significance- of time, distilled in transience .
The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
How, now, can our destinations insue
We'll come Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.
*between the church hymn
And under haiku
It is,
Ravled in deep bules*
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 2:33 AM UTC
My light
Is Dimming,
Diminshing,
Almost gone.
As it flickers,
I worry.
Why is it disappearing
Descending?
Your light is so bright,
I almost lose sight,
staring into your light.
So ******
and strong,
and even prolonged.
My light,
once like yours,
Symmetrical,
Identical.
Your light inhaled my sparkles of shine,
synthesized the lines,
that once were mine.
My light,
my light,
now flickers in the night.
Soon to say goodnight,
my poor little light.
You stole its beauty,
its happiness,
its joy.
Goodnight'
restless light,
that once shined so bright.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
I was walking one day
Past the city
Into the shadows of our smoke;
The fumes of our cigarettes covered the trail
Until nothing became clear for me to see.
I bumped into an ancient looking man,
With green eyes that turned pale
And a wrinkled face
That was about to crumble;
I saw him cleaning up
A newly placed tombstone.
He was a graveyard man;
I look at him and suddenly
I felt the urge to ask him,
How is it like? Talking to dead people.
He didn't answer
But I continued anyway;
How is it like to look at solid stones?
And envision her tender eyes looking back
How could we mark he territory of the dead?
As if soil could surround our spirits
How could it suffice?
To point out troubles getting no advice
Questions with no answers,
And as you speak
You don’t know if you are being heard
But you continue anyway.
How is it like? Talking to dead people;
Salute the rocks under the carves,
Knowing that underneath
Lies not wood
But a person who couldn't as much as you could,
And even if he could, you don’t know if he would- come out and talk to you,
Because maybe he’s fed up?
Maybe when life takes too long
The sweet becomes bitter
And our friends
Become but anchors attached to our hearts
Pulling us down
Marking our spirits with soil;
Maybe he’s ashamed
Of the blood stains on his folded flag,
Of the- lose knots in his piece of cloth
And you’ll never discover that
But you still continue anyway
Asking your questions;
How is it like? Talking to dead people.
How is it like talking to anti-change institutions?
And, people with no purpose in life
And, violent illiterates who seek to ****
Because death should be passed on
How is it like talking to people that will not listen?
To the governments that will not bother
To the public blinded by the minor majorities
To the children stuck in their melodramatic attitudes
Over crowded with the propaganda of teenagery
To the hypocrite schools that teach but not educate
To the mothers who give birth
To a fruitful seed, but will not cultivate;
To a father that’s always late
To his son’s birthdays
Because his job appointments
Pointed in the shape of earphones
And circled in the shape of speakers
So it’s neither him listening, nor him talking
Its them.
But nothing will change,
Yet you continue anyway
Asking your questions,
Not for the dead,
But for the resting voices
Leaving you the space to think;
To answer within
Or decide to disregard,
Leaving space for you own voice to emerge.
And as I look back at graveyard man
He was gone;
As if his body de-synthesized as soon as I finished
And the newly placed casket;
Bared his exact size,
And the tombstone
For a second there represented his eyes,
And it didn't take too long, for me to realize
How is it like; talking to the dead.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Cancel Haloween, I'm not the monster here
Fall's my favorite season, but hell October's doggie days for me
Stagnant rivers, and pockets full of leaves
I try to run a little faster just to escape these things catching up to me
Big furrys and little monsters at my knees
Oh, geeze-la-weeze
I need to feed on something sweet
So give me your neck girl,
I need your flesh, give me your blood, your best
Give me your glitter, your neon *******
Oh, get me the hell out of this monsters nest
Adrenaline pumped into me, I feel every blood platelet intimately rushing through me.
Radioactively synthesized, authenticity arise
Don't wait on me babe, I'm just trying to synchronize
Worry about me, and I'll let the tension build
Till I get the attention fill I need, babe.
Raid my mind with all your battleships and heavy war machines
Break me down until you find something worth keeping
I've bartered the black market selling love for lust, and my dreams for less
I barter for pleasures, but I always want more
I've lived a shallow life, assured
I've become a monster, and a ***** all while trying something new
That I was told was a cure
Now I follow with the bewildered beasts boohoo
Now I follow with the bewildered beasts boohoo
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Be my muse,
I'll translate you into binary
and back again.
Lying on the ground,
blue carpet between your ears,
synthesized sounds convey through spaghetti,
hearing aides grow old with us.
Child sized vowels fall off their bicycles,
from between your lips.
Keep me busy; when I'm comfortable, I get lazy.
Your shirts are overlaid grids,
the holes, coordinates.
17.43
Always a poet, only occasionally writing,
I hedge my bets and roll die
with insults open to interpretation.
I don't like your words,
I don't need your hyena smiles
I don't want your degrading remarks.
But I know your skeleton,
your tendons, cartilage and marrow filler.
I understand how you move,
the coconut oiling your joints.
Be a textbook reference,
help me cut apart the paperchain people I’ve made,
I want to portray them realistically.
Shade their features with scrawled adjectives,
resolving to care about typography.
White school glue takes too long to dry
to have hopes of staving off entropy.
Scribble highways into dusty prairies,
be the cartographer that misplaces my world.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
The Maybaline raccoon eyes stare
full of synthesized tragedy
for a life
severed from the parents
she clings to so dearly.
The black-flaked fingertips dance
without any real purpose
for entertainment
and communication within
a hand-held device.
The perfectly messy hair lays
upon a head full of thoughts
for friends, enemies, and homework
yet the ambition isn't
anywhere to be found.
She sees herself as different
but she really is the same
committing those high school crimes
That she pretends to be above.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 3:49 AM UTC
I'm an echo of misguided direction.
An arrow stuck to an elephant
whose only desire is to rip his shirt off,
and shout like an eagle.
Stomping the ground to make his presence known,
beating with fists clenched, his legs and chest
to know of his own presence.
Gritting his teeth and erupting,
punch through the sky with un-synthesized experience and emotion.
My brain knows more than I knew
so I'll feel the texture of my steps,
straighten my shoulders, chin up
and let the ground wince for once
I tread consciously.
I tread consciously and my path will scream it for me.
Jul 29, 2011
Jul 29, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC
the sun was deceiving,
it spilled colors in my mind
and turned out a lie
but that's okay,
i know beauty should not feel
synthesized
and they say
"no two sunsets are the same,"
well
i'm sorry if i smiled at you
the same way i smiled at the
sky
your bravado was pathetic
like a landscape without a horizon
line
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
We stared at the ceiling as it blackened from the lights turning off,
and the air chilling with every breath from the A.C.
Inch by inch we moved closer to each other
because we thought it was what we were supposed to do,
but little did we know that with each nudge
our electrons were sending spark signals
way before our bodies even thought about touching.
Like iron and sulfur, we synthesized
moving into each other's lives,
and leaving our pieces behind us,
swapping stories and secrets
in the cover of nightfall
with roaring laughter,
while our heads made permanent impressions
on their downy and memory foam petals
in the garden of wishes
we created.
Constantly I was with you,
just as the shore is never without the sea.
I became your shadow,
and followed you to your room,
and back again,
through the drug cartels of Mexico,
to the blizzards that lie beyond The Wall.
You became my greatest adventure
and showed me what lay beyond the door
I was always too frightened to open.
You earned a doctorate in my mannerisms,
becoming an expert on each temper tantrum,
and each shining grin that you always brought about
on the gloomiest of Wednesdays
when I ran out of milk for my cereal
and overcooked your mac and cheese.
You embraced every flaw I had,
like the father welcoming home the prodigal son,
and came to love every scar I accumulated,
thirty-eight in total,
from the hordes of others,
almost too numerous to count on ten fingers,
that constantly left me with a sewing needle,
and a bottle of Elmer's glue
to mend from each tumble
of their careless hands.
Every jagged edge of mine that cut your palms,
and left nicks on your fingertips
was smoothed by the rough edges of your beard,
and through scratchy kisses
from chapped lips.
You became my greatest blessing,
as well as my greatest weakness,
so now I constantly crave your pale face
spattered with freckles
and beautiful laugh lines
that congregate around
the warmest brown eyes
I have ever seen.
And I thought I loved you then, but
it definitely was nothing like I love you now, because
now I wake up next to you,
I make both of us coffee, and
push open the curtains to let in sunlight.
And when I wake up next to you,
I don't hate Mondays as much anymore,
And when I wake up next to you,
I feel safe,
because through the valleys of your sleeping lungs
I found where I belong.
I found my home.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
symphony of sound
a discordant composition
orchestra on cosmic stage
witching hour to dawn
woken by screeching wind
twisting that way and this
manic banshees
rampaging
in through the window
chilling my body with cold damp fingers
shutting them out
they howl even louder
joined later by rain
incessant drumbeats
endless cadence
on hard earth
lightening
synthesized energy
streaking uncontrollably
around nature's concert hall
listening in silence
watching in awe
standing ovation
applauding unseen hands
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Dark waters ripple thought.
horse drawn carriage tread
voltaic wires, throbbing brain.
lorn elation until osculation
of lips dreamt nightly.
nectarous skin float
between fingers raptured.
everlasting sand blown
from ashes wrought with
doubt.
paroxysm of senses like electric eels
wreck ties bound by vituperation.
Breath like honeyed vapor,
encased rouged cheeks.
savored time in bottles, minutes
turned to minerals mined.
hours of golden flecks
splashed in synthesized
unison.
New always, love evermore.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Synthesized voices galore
Every woman dressed like a whore
Automated drum machines
Played for the masses of teens
Lyrics that have no weight
Stereotypes played straight
All claim to have originality
But there is a sort of brutality
Because its all for the cash
Its no substance all flash
Corporate manufactured ****
And were eating it up bit by bit
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
Poetry is an infinite expressions
of human thoughts and emotions
excited by the external environment
synthesized through an internal intent.
Poetry is a gateway of freedom
an elixir inducing release of boredom
compels intuition of instinctive expressions
of various human experiences and impressions.
Poetry is an art of a wordsmith
literal composite of words and wit
language of the soul by human intellect
subject to criticism as it is perfectly imperfect.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
We stared at the ceiling, blackened
from the absence of light,
air chilling with every breath from the A.C.,
moving closer and closer
because we thought it was what we were supposed to do, but
our electrons were sending spark signals
before our bodies even thought about touching.
Like iron and sulfur, we synthesized
moving into each other's lives,
leaving our pieces behind,
swapping stories and secrets
in the cover of nightfall,
with roaring laughter,
our heads making permanent impressions
on their downy and memory foam petals
in the garden of wishes
we created.
And I followed you to your room,
and back again,
through the drug cartels of Mexico,
to the blizzards that lie beyond The Wall.
You, my greatest adventure
showed me what lay beyond the door
I was always too frightened to open.
You earned a doctorate in my mannerisms,
becoming an expert on each temper tantrum, each shining grin
that you always brought about
on the gloomiest of Wednesdays
when I ran out of milk for my cereal
and overcooked your mac and cheese.
You embraced every flaw I had,
came to love every scar I accumulated,
thirty-eight in total,
from the others,
almost too numerous to count on ten fingers,
that left me with a sewing needle,
and a bottle of Elmer's glue
each time.
And I thought I loved you then, but
not like I love you now, because
now I wake up next to you,
I make both of us coffee, and
push open the curtains
to let in sunlight. And I wake up next to you,
I don't hate Mondays as much anymore,
Because through the valleys of your sleeping lungs
I found where I belong.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
I forgot part of the question
what was it?
Learning history your
she was too young, so was I
need a good grade...am at the coffee shop...drank the coffee....ate the cookie
wasted time on FB the question WAS
It pulls on me and someone puts on Death Metal and there's this gutteral gravely synthesized voice
and (what was the que--)
being pulled, resisting, but it's too strong
and I'm in
floating in memory....the question
to answer I have to slit my chest open and let some of the contents run free
as I ... it wasn't all books and pencils and how dare you ask such a question
my life wasn't a hallmark card
she was only 10 and she was my best friend so that means I was only 10
My learning history--how can I even think...we had a psychic bond we did a test
and it showed and she was a little chubby with golden skin and
her father was creepy and he left out his copies of Hustler for me to see and
told me beauty was in the eye of the beholder
but to **** a ten year old that is vile
I remember...a day or so later, going over to her house where she showed me
what she brought home from the hospital
(chalk and teachers, and winning jelly beans for knowing state capitals)
and she had coca cola in her fridge and all the latest appliances from Sears because
her father worked there, like a push button phone and a washer/dryer with a digital display
and clocks, too, like that and when she told me what happened it was like
being electrocuted painlessly for about three hours and I had to leave
because...books. drawing things and teacher don't give a **** about anyone
and today, children are much more protected and people talk about things
but then
(my learning history? I remember desks, and boards and being nervous)
and how can a grown man take a ten year old he knows and tell her
they were going to find someone and instead
stop the van, just looked like her father's van
(today we are doing long division)
demand she goes into the back of the van and take off her pants
and stick his tongue in her mouth
and then kick her out
bleeding so she ran to a vet and they called the ambulance
(and she never came back to school)
and I started piling on more clothes, layers.
You can't show those ... what is happening to you
and my learning history
I can first give you this
caked in blood and no, it's no longer bleeding, thought it was
I have unearthed something
there was something in the way and
that's why I couldn't answer the question
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Skin…
I hanker to sniff and ******
To languish within the marching wines
Born of our bodies
As to the rhythm of sheets we sweep
Cover to cover
Lover to lover
Like leaves that speak summer
Mere synthesized minutes
Autographed by Eden
These hours we shall cherish
And fancy not of repentance
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
We synthesized tomorrow; -since.
Enzymes bore more than-
Colour to bone; --though.
It wasn't the sound
Of nothing that betrayed-
Marble-ebbing-into-waves.
A lisp could quaver,
Sight; we only heard
Centipede-segments-sometimes; with-
One leg too many.
They caressed magic from
Moon-vivid illusions; and
As whispers wrangled senses,
We found the ground-
This wraith became me.
In distance; I stole.
Attention, yet before that.
We electrified paper once.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
New musical sketch/work in progress thing!!
If anyone is so inclined, check out my newest musical sketch for a track called "Within":
https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/within-theme-1
It's an instrumental track with 3 guitars, 1 piano and drums.
Guitar is me recorded by me, effects are done with Guitar Rig, from Native Instruments
piano and drums written by me and synthesized with Kontact, also from Native Instruments.
-
I've been messing with playing in the 5th position in drop tunings,
and thus was the riff born,
then I adapted it for several things and wrote in some drums in a sort-of hastily fashion.
(that's why I call it a sketch)
If anyone wants specifics:
it's in F# harmonic minor at about 93bpm.
with the guitar tuned to Drop C# (Drop D but down half a step: C#, G#, C#, F#, A#, D#)
Harmonic Minor means that you take the minor 7th scale step, in this case E,
and make that sonuvabitch a major 7th instead of a minor 7th by raising it one semitone, or step.
The result is a step and a half gap between the minor Sixth and the major Seventh,
and the major Seventh makes the dominant chord, C#, into a major chord rather than a minor chord, increasing it's functional harmonic resolution potential, and thus "Harmonic" minor.
Harmonic minor has some interesting flavor; it's rather exotic for how similar it is to the natural minor scale, aka. Aeolian mode.
I think it's rather ******* sweet, personally.
Spanish classical music plays on this harmonic structure thoroughly, as do many other things.
Anyway, there you have it.
Feedback is appreciated,
if you listen, I shall be honored to hear what you honestly think.
It may not be your style of music, but I implore you to think about listening.
As always,
thank you for your time.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
I'm in love with my imaginary friend.
Every night we go for walks
through the pines and twisted oak
and roll along the forest floor
sending ancient leaves to float.
Once, we laid on our backs,
head to head towards space
and synthesized soft new lights
which colored up the scene.
We made dragons dance
throughout the clouds,
eating fish in a serpent's kiss.
Pink and green pulsing slow
as raptured waves and overtones.
Behind that checkered skyline,
through a portal in the clouds
came to mind a severed vision
of her flaming hair and crown.
She has curled around my feet,
hearing the stories that I've told.
And I've watched her streak
across the sky, a shooting star,
a cosmic jewel to behold.
She's celestially empowered,
adorned with patient equipoise,
with Jupiter and Venus
meeting conjunct in her voice.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC