"tautologies" poems
the social pace manic in its self-absortion, possession facing possession and what if
the world risks collapsing under the weight of its own irony:
a hedonic frame of mind so devoid of the ******* of life
the tyranny of desire is teaching **** to the naked eyes
a culture stops breathing if it can't let go of its desires to find them again
nothing to be destroyed cause everything is dismantling slowly
going right or left it's the same but not in any corner of the world
the leftovers of God, tautologies in a straightjacket,
cause one has meetings all day but no sleep all night
He/She/They colonize you with the scripture of profit
everything has its price on the expence of being enlivened
some don't have water, others too much of an illusion
some don't have peace, others have haute couture
some haven't eaten, others have molecular cuisine
some have the shelter of the sky, others listen to the echo of Big Bang
this logic of contrast is dreaming of the creativity of decay and
what if politics has become a narcosis, a drunkenness of words,
while the wisdom of trauma is hidden in billboards,
the text says Politics of Happiness or Diserotica
the depressive society fools itself with the financial ****** of disconnected bodies in search of the last noise of the day
the space of the mind broken by narrow horizons
the flesh and bone might turn into a virtual dimension
yet
the soul of the world flickers, it covers its solar plexus until we meet again as brothers and sisters of the trees
just because you feel good doesn't mean that
the world feels good too
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:42 AM UTC
an infant with still hands is said to be fingerpainting in hell. a man who wears a hat to bed is said to give god hair. a boy who strings up dead rabbits left and right is said to be fighting a toothache. a girl who punches herself in the nose is said to be a plain woman who on roller skates entered a strange traffic of hearse and horse as two of her mother’s footsteps.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
Convex curvature, female caricature
In the shiny polished upper side resides my reflection
Up left, roses would strive
To derive right ***** from the
Unparsimonious point of inflection
And what inflection! Phrasing inflected
Sings songs well affected
By the erratic gliding
Of ********* chiding
The inopportune haste of
Her lover
I, graced, sit down in bemusement:
For nor does she bring just a
Knickknack's amusement
Nor do I lug
A source of apologies
Instead our duality slates
Juxtaposition
As the most redundant of tautologies.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
To-day we have repetition of parts.
Yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow morning.
but to-day, To-day we have the repetition of parts.
While spies under the guise of dark, disguise our art.
To-day we have the repetition of parts.
To-day we have retaliation of their arts, yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow; mourning.
But to-day, to-day we have replication of parts.
Bright minds might find a start, but requital is the name of our art.
To-day we have a revenge on our part.
To-day we have the reappropriation of purple hearts,
yesterday we had yesterday,
and the morrows sorrow follow furrowed brows on our enemies part.
Harrowing barrows and gallows are swallowed, by the dark.
Redundancy is a common commodity of ours.
To-day we have a thorough reconnaissance of our purplish hearts, yesterday will bring young blood to further our course.
to-day we will re-vitalize their wars, and re-cycle their arms.
We will retaliate, for every heart they have scarred.
To-night we will light up the dark. Insha’Allah.
To-night we have reciprocation of parts; re-coil; re-load; re-align reticle,
re-coil; re-load; re-align reticle; re-coil; re-load; rinse and re-peat.
a place of peace seems preposterously far,
as we keep firing into the dark.
To-day we have reciprocation of parts.
To-day we have repetition of parts.
Yesterday we had yesterday, tomorrow morning, we have tomorrow morning.
but to-day, To-day we have the repetition of parts.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:25 AM UTC
Because it doesn’t matter,
Regardless of how hard we wish it did.
We fold our hands and say our graces,
But a better tomorrow never comes
Because tomorrow doesn’t wait
On us like we wait for it.
The soles of my shoes are worn,
And, tired as my footwear are the dreams
Which, being chased, wore these soles to dust.
I’ve run further and still travelled less
Than almost anyone I know.
But self-pity is the sloth of soul.
I refuse to cheat myself with
Empty platitudes and tautologies.
What I, and we, go through is not,
Cannot be, encompassed by the wrote.
We don’t climb trees to reach their heights.
We climb trees for the experience
Of having climbed, of having felt ourselves
Actively participating in and coalescing
With the world around us.
We find ourselves in relation to the infinite else.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Poorly phrased tautologies lie in the crow named ******
Wanton airs of royal talk distort her lesson further.
Final wit; a shameless hit.
She caws as you consume her.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 8:49 AM UTC
altered decency positive as provisions dedicated
tautologies in stated properties, indicators of philosophic
indecency, a plenitude of coins and even sources, a trick
of curiosity, means of kinesipathy celebrated
homogeneous deemed interests of objects, resources cultivated
anew, solid beginnings related to certainty mimic
kyriolexy, come puppets, committed to odd logic
and erroneous ideas, a spacial cases of opponents' rage unabated
and unrestricted, never matched never occasioned, external
perfection, pleasure, frustrated
hopes, a lack of evidence contributes
to predicaments, positive chances of infernal
balance, concordant with sardonic desires, kaleidoscopes
rarefying ****** opportunistic disputes
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:28 AM UTC
I have heard the tautologies of the rich,
the shifty and the shallow
when told of their impending fate
in a medical review
I’ve seen them torturing themselves
over the unfairness of it all
as though it were a deal, to negotiate.
But The Reaper always calls
They don’t go gently into that dark night
but not like that drunken poet meant
many pass with a look that begs
One question, was that it?
It was
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 5:49 PM UTC
Buttered boards
sturdy frame
in front
a gi-normous
unapologetic
Holstien
next to it
big boot shiny spur
lassoing huckster
towers above
elicits tautologies
it is what it is
what you see is what you get
and either the steak is good
or it ain't
to further impress
broad bold brush strokes
sells the tickets
moves the iron
and always wins the day
whit howland © 2019
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 3:04 AM UTC
It is an easy enough thing
To prove: a man is not here
When he is gone: Whither
The wind. The same may
Well be said of all points
Along his passage. So brief
Now and here is its kin and
Equally likely to wander.
Tight or loose tautologies do
Not stay the ship our departure
But there is more for we would
Linger yet captain still of every
Crossing seeking what will be
No matter what the whether-
It too shall pass as a certainty
Between now and then i am.
While Reading Conrad's "The
Mirror of the Sea"
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC