"underthinking" poems - Hello Poetry

It's very difficult to do simple well: Overthinking is a folly of the Human condition just as Underthinking is a folly of these, our modern times. We must remember and return to the ways of the Natural virtues: Balance, Respect, Harmony, and Elegance. Wu wei. Let it be, it is fine; it is we who need to be pliant and yielding all the while retaining our own individual integrity. Only then can we, as Humans, reach our full potential: It is within our ability to become Gods. Titans. Transcendents, Enlightened Ones; as Humanity, the Enlightened. Good Morning, Global Consciousness. So happy to see you've survived the unnaturally long Night. I hope we remember our dreams; we sure could use some right about now.

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Nov 13, 2013

Nov 13, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

What is One to name a poem about an eternal and ineffable paradox? Zen? Tao? Allah? God? Life? What's in a name, anyway? Just let it be.

It's very difficult to do simple well: Overthinking is a folly of the Human condition just as Underthinking is a folly of these, our modern times. We must remember and return to the ways of the Natural virtues: Balance, Respect, Harmony, and Elegance. Wu wei. Let it be, it is fine; it is we who need to be pliant and yielding all the while retaining our own individual integrity. Only then can we, as Humans, reach our full potential: It is within our ability to become Gods. Titans. Transcendents, Enlightened Ones; as Humanity, the Enlightened. Good Morning, Global Consciousness. So happy to see you've survived the unnaturally long Night. I hope we remember our dreams; we sure could use some right about now.

30

Sitting high atop ****** Mountain I’m feeling my phylogeny overwhelm rationality perturbing stirrings both primitive and powerful considered improper at the moment Surrounded by beauty natural and athletic of heights, valleys, children, and women I’m keenly aware that unnecessary stresses grow into other messes Hours melt to days and I wonder where, how and with whom you are time slips away forgotten feelings dry permanently on the hot summer pavement Ontogeny . . . phylogeny . . . freedom and fear who am I within my existence? to relieve my mind of overthinking I must overcome the fear of underthinking And what say you amid the quiet chaos of our souls beyond putting one foot in front of the other as we fall apart our separate ways? 26.vii.10 ****** Creek, CO)

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Mar 5, 2011

Mar 5, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC

number-8

Summer 2010 Status Updates (a Facebook inspiration)

Sitting high atop ****** Mountain I’m feeling my phylogeny overwhelm rationality perturbing stirrings both primitive and powerful considered improper at the moment Surrounded by beauty natural and athletic of heights, valleys, children, and women I’m keenly aware that unnecessary stresses grow into other messes Hours melt to days and I wonder where, how and with whom you are time slips away forgotten feelings dry permanently on the hot summer pavement Ontogeny . . . phylogeny . . . freedom and fear who am I within my existence? to relieve my mind of overthinking I must overcome the fear of underthinking And what say you amid the quiet chaos of our souls beyond putting one foot in front of the other as we fall apart our separate ways? 26.vii.10 ****** Creek, CO)

27

Honestly I feel as though this entire time I've been pacing back and forth, accruing images of two ice caps slowly breaking themselves apart into tiny fragments of burning pitch that hurls itself onwards into the night, leaving bleeding trails of light as reminders, notes with coffee stains on the edges, written late at night without much light except for what scraps pour out from under the door from the reading light. You want to breathe normally but the bag won't inflate and it's so hard to calm down when everyone else is shaking and crying and prostrating themselves as though they'll consecrate the middle aisle with their cheap pleas for salvation, for their young childrens' lives, and for all the time they wasted ******* quietly in the dark after the reading light went off and even though they had a headache. They sing a song of mutual slump, of tacit awareness of the grandiose ******** of 75 years spent in too quiet comfort concerned with small victories and unconcerned with massive regrets. Then daylight breaks and you have to look your coffee stains straight in the eye and pretend they're just blemishes when they're sores and wounds and abscesses. And before long the paper disintegrates into brown pulp and you hate that you hate yourself because surely someone is more ****** than you. But that's just one moment out of the day, and you live them endlessly, you love them endlessly, overthinking, underthinking, drinking till you can't feel your extremities and then toying with a knife because you know you couldn't otherwise. Then you nick your pinky and realize how ******* stupid you must look, trapped in your own kitchen hearing your wife down the hall resent you more and more, her distaste, stained the color of sea foam off the coast of Cyprus, her frown fixed forever forward toward your back, and her face makes you sigh, and it's the same sound as before, sure, but now you know what is happening when these tiny admissions of regret escape from anyone else's lips. Then the plane picks up out of its nosedive and people cry and hold each other and you feel more dead than if your body had just ended up tangled in the wreckage of a turbine engine, your intestines laced between the blades like the back of a corset that gets tighter and tighter until you can't feel it anymore because you're numb.

0

Jan 2, 2014

Jan 2, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC

blair-griffith

this poem is terrible and selfish

Honestly I feel as though this entire time I've been pacing back and forth, accruing images of two ice caps slowly breaking themselves apart into tiny fragments of burning pitch that hurls itself onwards into the night, leaving bleeding trails of light as reminders, notes with coffee stains on the edges, written late at night without much light except for what scraps pour out from under the door from the reading light. You want to breathe normally but the bag won't inflate and it's so hard to calm down when everyone else is shaking and crying and prostrating themselves as though they'll consecrate the middle aisle with their cheap pleas for salvation, for their young childrens' lives, and for all the time they wasted ******* quietly in the dark after the reading light went off and even though they had a headache. They sing a song of mutual slump, of tacit awareness of the grandiose ******** of 75 years spent in too quiet comfort concerned with small victories and unconcerned with massive regrets. Then daylight breaks and you have to look your coffee stains straight in the eye and pretend they're just blemishes when they're sores and wounds and abscesses. And before long the paper disintegrates into brown pulp and you hate that you hate yourself because surely someone is more ****** than you. But that's just one moment out of the day, and you live them endlessly, you love them endlessly, overthinking, underthinking, drinking till you can't feel your extremities and then toying with a knife because you know you couldn't otherwise. Then you nick your pinky and realize how ******* stupid you must look, trapped in your own kitchen hearing your wife down the hall resent you more and more, her distaste, stained the color of sea foam off the coast of Cyprus, her frown fixed forever forward toward your back, and her face makes you sigh, and it's the same sound as before, sure, but now you know what is happening when these tiny admissions of regret escape from anyone else's lips. Then the plane picks up out of its nosedive and people cry and hold each other and you feel more dead than if your body had just ended up tangled in the wreckage of a turbine engine, your intestines laced between the blades like the back of a corset that gets tighter and tighter until you can't feel it anymore because you're numb.

1

Silence, like a blanket envelops me. It is comfort at first, But all too soon I am suffocating. God help me whatever deity there is i cannot continue living this way. Hand shaking, Ink stains blotting White paper now corrupted by the words of an unforgiving society Scarlet dripping on the floor, my breathing becomes shallow one pill at a time my world shakes my vision blurs and all i can think of is you.

0

Mar 28, 2020

Mar 28, 2020 at 12:59 AM UTC

peach_tea

Underthinking.

Silence, like a blanket envelops me. It is comfort at first, But all too soon I am suffocating. God help me whatever deity there is i cannot continue living this way. Hand shaking, Ink stains blotting White paper now corrupted by the words of an unforgiving society Scarlet dripping on the floor, my breathing becomes shallow one pill at a time my world shakes my vision blurs and all i can think of is you.

19