"tautology" poems
1.
Nymphomaniac-addicts,
Overweight bisexual vegetarians
Climbing trees to stay fit
and eating 80’s fried chicken *******
2.
just imagine
Aquarians full of class valedictorians
Swimming on display for graduation ceremony…
reverse-symbolism of how Moolch drowned His *****
3.
Better yet, just imagine
Holy wars,
Beautiful words written to describe the burning pains
Of holocaust...the Kristallnacht nights
Under the mistletoe,
Watching Hall of fame ball hawks on pivot toes
Driving through hoes
After the whistle blows
4
College Literacy classes teaching basic:
Ideas that good questions leads to good answers,
Reading reminders
Free association conceptual constructions
5.
But ************ professor:
free association **** shticks
misfires, false alarms
are all art, too,
Like sticking a dagger into an apple,
Not the edible, but the technology.
6.
Go head, deconstruct the philosophy
Of oral cute-tification,
according to the Tautology of Leviticus,
With the same three half truths, pogroms
against biological deviant... FLAGS!
7.
Cryptic gospels of a ************
Where three F.F.F’s
Stands for six six six
Like how 1mg of juxtaposition
And a dose of metamorphosis
is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon
‘cause even the Holy Ghost
drinks from the cup of Christ’s blood.
8.
Reading,
Self-flagellation gospel-manual of Pope John Paul II,
At shrink sessions under the daze of heron Piper methysticum blunts
With sweet phat butts like lit lickerish that droop eyes
Like the psalm of Valeriana officinalis root extract.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
No one listens
Friends seldom seen
'I'm all right'
Cancelled conversations
Happiness on demand
Courses in tautology
Reverent respectability
Chimes lost to time
Disconsolate coverlets
Scenes from lonely places
Litter on the streets
You're on your own.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Americana folklore,
the modern vintage spoiled.
Early 2000's became the
dystopian 80's nightmare;
beans spilled by bloodied action heroes
part time self fulfilling prophecies.
No religion as a crutch.
We slay God as a fire breathing dragon,
and go to war in 1st world countries
because we're ******* mercenary psychopaths
America as patriotism is nationalism is
patriarchy is violence is a tautology.
America is America.
Has been and always will be;
stupid, violent, full of "grace"
[grace like plastic china].
They say Abe Lincoln was honest,
and they say Jesus wept.
Yeah, Jesus Wept, ************
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
all poets are human, therefore, all humans are
poems
<•>
"In logic, a tautology (from the Greek word ταυτολογία) is a formula that is true in every possible interpretation."
<•>
hardly a tightly taut tautology,
yet true this, in every possible instance
all humans, poems,
as if their portrait painted
from words dipped in a vocabulary palette
which is why,
you my million muses,
are so oft the themes of who I write
and when foolish think there is no
inspiration in the air,
your names
each and every,
a title awaiting
finishing
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
"I have gotten from there to here"
Its a simple tautology, chant it
either/or an uncertain accomplishment.
From there to there to there until there became here.
This too is fairly obvious,
but still, it seems so strange,
how many times must you be reminded
that you are too ill-equipped
to string the sequence.
And what about those weak suspicions
that reappear from time to time,
the ones you are
quick to disregard
out of the fear that you may be a lunatic.
What if they were correct, what
if a moment were nothing more
than a brown package
of stimulus.
They came to you, one after the other
and you what could you do but follow
them, like crumbs in a trail that lead
you further away from home
and into this carnival.
Where people who sing lullabies out loud
carry pistols and globs of color
are merging in all
directions.
Wedged in between "there to here"
and "here to there", the laws of tenses
never made this much of a difference.
Babies know this all too well.
That's why they're the last
ones
we turn to for wisdom.
But should they ever decide
to permanently stop crying.
You'll know what they mean by their silence.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
i miss the dogfight
of our teeth squaring off
in a shiny mirror.
you could call our canines
moon kernels or portents,
but the sentiment
is sharper. the poem
tautology to a bracelet
of crescent dents.
self-portrait: light
shadow, shadow, light.
a plane reflecting
other planes, an edge
biting an edge, biting
an edge, bitten.
the bracelet tautology
to a skyline sans sky,
one wedge of evening
held in your periphery.
i press my fingers
into a warm glass throat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
"Walk my eggshells?" I drool like a dog,
something you're eager to **** with
and dispose of.
I should walk your eggshells
like a minefield in first
world countries?
Mold on your fruits of love or labor,
yet I eat like ******* swine,
aftermath; no hope or sense of self,
**** my sense of identity senseless,
since September still yet towards
another fake continent or mass
of fictional places.
Stuffed back into a box and strangled,
slept next to the coffin he was buried in.
Didn't find it poignant until eight
weeks later washing dishes
for a Latverian dictator.
Google took the teeth out of the search,
and the hand that fed was gummed.
You love the rain till you're stuck in it.
You love escape till you have no home.
You love what you can abuse
and still take home;
Violet on your skin,
Violet on my mind,
Violet for a dream,
Violet for a name,
Violet in my blood,
Violet on my toes,
Violet as a drug,
Violet as an insect
you eat in private,
Violet as violet as violet
as a tautology,
or addictive prescription.
Once I had the leash on you,
now the sores have come back,
my knees and palms make
sick *********** with earth
I cough.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
*i've become as lazy as composers
when writing titles,
example of tautology is as lazy
as beethoven's ninth symphony...
yeah, grand... but what a dull title!*
so i was reading this article
about bim adewunmi
about the singer laura mvula...
and you know how it goes...
leftist liberals tend to write
tautological spaghetti,
likened to bim's example:
'short-haired, dark-skinned
black girl', bim, we get it...
could have said rancid cinnamon
for all i care...
tautology is a logic of adding
more salt than the salt required
so it doesn't taste too salty when it
does... i could also proof-read
other journalists...
restaurant critics are the best laughs,
esp. when reshuffled like
a ****** cabinet of the labour party
to the opinion columns...
then it's not called opinions section
but table talk... a bit like saying:
do i woo the sea back into this oyster
before i gulp-down-the-hatch-it?
well what do you expect,
free democracy and subsequently
free journalism has a judas kiss /
brutus stab at everything,
why not laugh at it as a useless
get up in the morning read a newspaper
be pulverised by stories from kingdoms
far far away and opinions of people
who'd send ******** dubbed
soldiers off to the slaughter fields of Flanders
so they can keep erectile egos ready
for a salary readied...
journalists always divert the heat & fire
to the politicians... while
journalists get away with satirising themselves,
and i dare say, they are the clumsiest
satirists of themselves,
the most wonky ready to dismantle itself
noumenons in existence.
- journalist: huh?
- the public - (elvis') aha uh um (frolicking
without the stiff upper lip).
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
A heavy cloud hangs over the sky
in rumble tumble
and I can bend the universe
If I can get there first
I'm a tautology guy
so latrine cakes arrive one after
the other in succession
they may be a mystery to the ladies
but they’re very familiar to gentlemen
Here we go clockwise from the table
and in one straight shot
we go to places unwished for
but barely unimagined
places that cheat the polygraph
places of stalled-out civil wars
and infinite permutations
places of frequent flush and analysis
places that drain out of each one of us
and right into the undone sea
Jan 23, 2023
Jan 23, 2023 at 9:47 AM UTC
Reached in and picked a winner
from your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to roll zero on 2d6.
You fuckin' missed
**** the bed!"
I guess you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.
"Carpe Diem" on your calf,
laugh your way to the bank.
But put a stutter on your chuckle
'til the day they seize your wages.
If it "happens for a reason,"
fold your cards and hold your tongue in.
Hold your tongue and
clamp your teeth.
"What it is is what it is."
That's a "tautology."
They taught me that one in college,
when I took critical theory!
If you seek an explanation,
you're just critically faulting
on your dice rolls
and your debts.
Reached in and hit the bottom
of your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to keep afloat on empty words.
You fuckin' missed.
"Feeling blessed?"
Turns out you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
i was in the womb when
the chernobyll calamity happened
in 1986...
people still speak of seeing
radioactivity rainbows
in the trees: segregating streaks
where 10 metres of trees
were green and 10 metres of
trees were brown...
much of my ailments i blame
on the chernobyll calamity,
with neurotic scandinavians
spotting the radioactivity
while some of us were tattooed
with symptoms
by this great tattoo artist;
yes, chernobyll was far away from
where i was born,
but we're talking about atom among
atoms in the wind - distance doesn't
really matter when atoms are involved,
not all hurricanes are visible,
the atomic fabric is too fragile to be
as easily isolated as a tornado for the eyes
to see - remember what i told you:
10 metres of green trees, 10 metres of
brown trees, Vivaldi was turning
in his grave; the seasons are all but
forgotten, spring blossom on trees
throughout winter, and daffodils
and other flowers perpetuating colour -
and because they're around throughout
the year, they're not that beautiful
when the right temperature feeds the pores of skin
to turn ivory tinge into copper hue
(yes, anti-classical poetic technique
requires the use of tautology - it's
the new form of rhyming - tautology
is required now, not rhyme immediate e.g.
tinge & hue... that's an e.g. of tautological
rhyming - or like baby pink & pastel red,
chestnut & cinnabar, dark sienna & seal brown).
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine
this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths
pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty
moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
In the timeless dark waiting
One awakes and His first wish
To know the kind king who rules
Where he may reside where love
Is Sovereign over all. He sees it
Not nor yet feels only that it is true
A skeleton of logic, a tautology of
Being that where he is all is good
The seed of imdination that even if
Forget still is.and still lives in the
Light that which only perceives its
Shadow. Have you not heard spoken
The Word: "Forgive them they know
not what they do" For there is beneath
The very beast the child that was and
Still is. More than this I say that if the
Great world be evil it is but a sham and
Illusion that perishes before the Truth
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 1:24 PM UTC
I. nope.
II.
long-windedness verbosity
diffuseness prolixity
wordiness rambling
circuity discursiveness
redundancy tautology
tediousness verbiage
verboseness length
longevity permanence
garrulity windiness
volubility circumlocution
expansiveness babbling
periphrasis gushing
blathering protractedness
waffling lengthiness
iteration repetition
prating prattling
jabbering digressiveness
dreariness tedium
deadliness wandering
repetitiousness repetitiveness
pleonasm convolution
logorrhoea boringness
maundering superfluity
duplication tiresomeness
monotony reiteration
gabbiness informality
mouthiness diffusion
logorrhea wordage
blah-blah dryness
dullness boredom
sameness loquaciousness
talkativeness loquacity
freeness orotundity
roundaboutness breadth
gobbledegook gassiness
wittering multiloquence
perissology big mouth
gift of the gab garrulousness
staleness tallness
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
A blossoming intensity
Invisibilium
One day I’ve felt: to be who you are
the urgency of feeling alive
the quietness of the waving at the end of the road
That’s how it is: I am who I am
An intense inexplicable tautology
or a certain taste in my mouth,
a lazy hand on the morning pillow.
the salt of the earth in my tears, so many, uncountable
young staring in the mirror- to have someone to watch my scorching sorrow
the conundrum of why to keep dreaming
iridescence of silence in my gaze, unpredictable tones
To be, to keep it simple.
the elements and their transmutation cannot explain it:
each and every antientropic pulsation
the eyes of fire see through me
I am unrecognizable inside out
Cause I am you and you and him.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
The Queen without a face:
Standing between two warriors -two friends- built with star composites, asterisms.
She is crowned with Corona Borealis- glittering, sparkling. She smiles.
Hercules pats her on the back, playfully. The crown slips onto the Queen’s nose at an angle, her hair in a mess.
The three of them walk across the grassy horizon.
Acid bliss. Citrus circuits.
What?
Unclear writing, unclear thinking, thunking. Wait, who? Why now, tautology. Unclear, inconclusive.
The starry-eyed lover of everything? Or the overcast, dark spectacled preacher king? Graphite eyes, starry skies? Pies, kies, lies, what rhymes with eyes and skies and light-bending forces threatening to. Tear. Me. Apart.
Ghosts and gravity, black holes and dark thoughts, deceiving selves and lying heart. Tautology. Unclear. Inconclusive.
Forlorn is a pretty word.
God save me:
Save me. From myself. And.
For myself.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Whether thou art true as
((to be) or (not to be)),
Or false as
((a summer's day) compared to (thee)),
My love for thee is a tautology.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆
Dearest Count,
I know you watch and listen.
It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts
To you, to whom, I christen.
These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane,
but seldom in vain.
In antediluvian silence drawn,
manifests in hyperborean dearth
a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth.
Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate,
the omphalos of matter, still inchoate,
where perichoresis in vertiginous tide
the fractal that doth assuredly bide.
A palimpsest of null embrace
where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns,
and time itself forgets to turn.
Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin,
in circumflected aeons spin,
converging on the cusp of naught,
where paradigms in silence rot.
A chrysalis of paradox,
enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks,
that chime in fugue, then dissipate
beyond the hinge of latent fate...
The pericombobulatory grand design
deliquesces in auctorial decline!
(Syncretic palingenesis unspools,
within the aether’s epistemic pools,
a syzygetic parallax unweaves
the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.)
For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.
Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.
Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.
A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.
Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire,
where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire,
one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam,
an ontosemantic palinode to the dream.
The Archetype realized.
The Alchemist mystically re-materialized.
Count, oh Count.
"Wherefore art thou," indeed,
in this : our time of greatest need.
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 4:23 PM UTC
Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within circumspatial paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.
Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.
A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.
For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 8:56 PM UTC
I'm so grateful to know you
don't pay attention
so I can say I love you
too much
when you're looking away
i know you've been loosing your hearing
since before you met me
i'm so glad I'm loud
but i try not to say it too much
because i've seen it change meaning
upon repetition
i fear it will fade
or you're saying it in other ways
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
the ancient greeks
would call
asia's mysticism
nothing more
than a tautology...
tao:
the tao that can be
named,
is not the eternal
tao...
i see one tao:
the best way
you can help
the world,
is to forget the world,
and let the world
to forget you...
like some Irish
poet once wrote;
who was it?
ah!
louis macneice
in ehyeh asher ehyeh...
*in der beginn
und der ende
der nur dezent definition
ist tautologie:
mann ist mann,
frau frau,
und baum baum,
und welt... welt...*
which is the basic
principle of asiatic
"mysticism"...
der ding dass ist, ist...
und der ding dass nicht ist:
ist
nein-ist,
aber nicht: nein!
watching Swedish drama
i took to understand
the difference between
nein and nicht:
and nichts...
circus of nouns...
Asiatic mysticism -
tautology...
nein ist nicht ein absolut
nein:
the Asiatic folk
spiced it all up
with an addition of
adjectives... nichts mehr...
how can i have
an opinion about England,
not being an Englishman?
sidenote...
i'm no migrant exotica,
i am not luxury:
given that i am economic...
hence
my desire to hide
in German,
whenever i can,
while entertaining
the use of English...
i can't have an opinion
about England,
because i am not an Englishman
and the Englishman's
opinion is worth:
jack-shit...
out of curiosity,
i watch,
and... too apprehensive
about waiting
i forget to wait...
wenn da eine nachleben:
ich hoffen zu spreschen
deutsche...
i was born in Poland...
so...
what do sie denken my
meinung of England är,
given that i'm not an Englishman
and i'd föredra to speak
Deutsche
after death,
than be plagued by
this acquired tongue?
i don't have an opinion
worthy of it being designated
as having accommodation
to encompass said land,
i'm only here in passing:
i wish!
but for not being
a pompous brat,
my servitude is that of the natives...
of which i am not...
hence my minor
ploys of escapism in
german...
somehow...
a few words in German
alleviates the burden
of seeing the natives
buckle before
whoever reigns...
but being white,
i could almost pass off as
a Brit...
i can, and do...
and then on occassion:
i don't.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:28 PM UTC
How much longer will your love linger around?
Your love is as perennial as the grass,
yet I lose it in every in every autumn,
to this insatiable nostalgia of what once was.
You have become the shadow of love lost,
of lost love and the hope of love found.
Though of love I know not,
I have loved you since our eyes first locked.
This is not a poem of love or a love poem.
These are words, my heart wants to get out.
But be in peace, for I have made peace
with the tautology of you, of us, of love lost…
when we first locked eyes.
LeydisProse
8/15/2016
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 8:45 PM UTC