"universally" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.
Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.
Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.
The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.
And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.
None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.
Addendum
* Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *
And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,
'The Cratylus.'
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC
Spirit Dolphin
To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate
Intelligent communicate
Heartbeats of love and breath of life
Superior to human sight
Your sound waves and reverberates
To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate
You touch the stars and elevate
Our spirits to become alight
Giving us freedom to ignite
Centers begin to emanate
To be in tune in natures light
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care
Oceanic friend, solar flare
Communicating our monsoon
Teaching in us how to commune
Opening our minds to beware
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care
Your innocence rests like lagoon
On the surface emotions bare
Vulnerability is there
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many
Selfless creature giving plenty
From outer space some do discuss
To touch you frees us from raucous
To ride with you fulfills empty
A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many
With you we find our playfulness
Self-confidence more than any
Never to lose our assembly
Connect us all with inner trust
A good omen to protect us
Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally
What might seem strange is certainly
A reflection upon our youth
Make bright our eyes with wisdom's root
Free from shame inadvertently
Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally
Though we may taste forbidden fruit
What we will learn so artfully
Forgives our aches so perfectly
Flipping through curious pursuit
Helping others finding our truth
© tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
My heart bleeds tears
So yours doesn't have to.
It opens right up to every piece of joy
and sadness and injustice and inspiration.
Gushing tears....flood waters for the dramatic.
No use in trying to hold them back.
They burst all barriers and reinforcements.
My heart beats pain....thump thump...thump thump
Louder now. THUMP THUMP....THUMP THUMP
Innocent children destroyed in all corners of society.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
Poisoned by our own government with lies
Imprinted at a young age and we believed them. For a while.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
An aorta so large that tears mainline my existence.
It bleeds for you, your children, me, my children, our animals, our planet.
Some days it stops all together in a moment of silence for the ethereal
shedding their tears as rain on us all.
No tourniquet could stop the strength of my pulsing heart
My forceful, stubborn tears.
As I bleed out
these tears nourish
the ugliness around my shell.
Souls who are born with a heart like mine
encase an ***** strong enough to hold, release and replenish
tears of pain and joy over and over again.
It allows us to not just see beauty but breathe it.
It allows us to feel love so intensely
that our teary reservoirs are life forces beating Universally.
My heart bleeds tears so yours doesn't have to.
Apply pressure with an embrace or your own beaming light so my heart beats in unison with yours.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought
Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be
But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?
If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners
If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated
If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell
Or murdering Jews
Like Hitler's evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine
Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents
If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home
If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward
Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?
Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes
No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers
To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him
We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence
You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much
Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?
Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?
If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass
You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality
What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night
Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge
It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse
One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference
To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes
Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus
That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation
Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies
For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation
An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions
Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses
As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet
Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression
Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity
In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry
The obligations of a universally shared human existence
Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims
For the enigmatic logic of life
Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought
From Everywhere and for Always
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
My recollect is of the each,
The Two
And within the Two
One is the One
Holding and using our lead and ink utensils
as if they are weapons for winning at Love,
and reasoning for our written duel
Expressing desires the voice would customarily sever into dissection
Permitting authority to the crafted scripts *********
and may it’s barrier lay
over the possibility of a broken and scattered tongues communicate
Giving our internal intent its day
the way hoped it would speak
Expecting the requited, the return
was a pesticide over wide horizon,
Where the organic surprise of rainfall kept us neutral and thankful
And apart,
our minds maintained with
and of our other
With no need for philosophical proofs only the inner felt proof
Of forwarding shards of sentiment
with compiled assurance
and a dispatched formula
the best way we could phrase
Alongside images
that came in and held tight
in sectors tucked away and reserved from the cherished
to this day are still to be amazed
Spontaneous placement of universally synchronized jewels and stones
Of not have to have
[Only the simplified, pushed down and planted fact]
Of want her to have
So when away,
You feel a personal, singled-out
appraisal of praise
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
Streched out gazing, on the sands,
Of one more of the common seas,
An orange orb setting slowly apparent,
Shiny path of light heavenly,reaching my feet,
Taking me briefly,to creations wonderous,
Minds magnanimous,hearts Alexandrian,
A short utopia of a world universally real!
The unrests forgotten, all toils borne stoic.
All shall pass,Endurance is all, truly Human!
As the path sinks into the deep waters dark,
To shine in worlds other,rays of morning hope,
I know they shall witness the same, some morning!
Night lights of revelry beckon me,the traveller ever,
I merge in them,the sunset feeling sacred in my heart,
Praying,May it hold true for all people all over Earth!
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
The non-planet, poor Pluto,
Circling far out and forgotten,
I cast my thoughts around you,
Knowing you are like many here,
Too insignificant to be noticed,
And yet, still worthwhile, for sure.
I caress the cold of Neptune,
Her super speed winds whip by,
She has no thought for me, too busy,
As is her sister, Uranus, circling,
Unaware that I, or others, even exist,
Yet, we are made of the same stuff,
Stardust, so exotic, so varied; so us.
My thoughts come leaping back,
Arcing around the rings of Saturn,
Slipping between sparkling icy dust,
Navigating the dark reaching fingers,
Stretching impassively from their host,
Guiding my eye to the little moons,
Knowing that life might thrive there.
I somersault away to King Jupiter,
He used to wander, he battled hard,
Casting out the rogue gas giant,
Clearing the way for the rocky worlds,
Giving life to us all, before drifting back,
Cajoled by Saturn, his anger still rages,
The red spot storm churning, his moons,
Observing, as Jupiter takes on all comers.
And we, the rocky four, so grateful,
As Jupiter snaffles the debris, holds it,
Or hurls it away, so we live, we learn,
Our inner sisters too hot, brother Mars,
Too cold, for now, but one day, yes,
As we begin to bake, Mars awaits,
To welcome us for a million years, or so,
A blink of an eye, universally speaking,
But home has hope, hope offers life,
Unlike our unwanted distant cousin,
The non-planet, poor Pluto.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Veasna Ta Kvak recording
playback
over Chinatown cafe again
while recounting recent events
to journal pages
muddled from frequent
exchanges bag to bag
(Been to Taipei airport, Bali, Vancouver, most
recently)
blind fate
blind fate
shower me with Indian daisies
and photographs of Railway
New Delhi!
Hanoi Old Quarter/
Vietnam monsoon/
evening on balcony/
Darjeeling water boiled
and filtered anti-malaria
golden drink for honeylungs and
spring-soul morningtide
under moonlight canopy
of Avalokiteśvara
the fruitful
Bodhisattva!
English lessons
and future
hourless
comely chimera
in sleep phenomenon
Benares phantasmagoria YELLOW
(near Mata Anandamai Ghat)
speaking to Aghori
prophecy
Kala Bhairava
FIERCE ILLUSORY APOCALYPSE FAMILIAR
WHERE IS YOUR NOOSE?
the Ganges is full of lice and flowers
candlewax melted into holy water
sickness
equal to
harmony & jubilant
eyeclose and mouthcurl.
The future mysteries in
Mexico City poorboy
$2 mystic orb jade green
reflective underneath
dirt now in North American
bottom white four floor house
basement suite coffee table.
Visions indivisible
from the Viridian roundly haze
but surefire in their accuracy
I'm absolute
and universally formed
for the next few cacophonous
decades!
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Inspired by The Mars Volta
Encased in, tubular, too much too fast, written again with music in the background!
Screams now or be they babies? Here it's more with talking, psychedelic naturally!
Complete the creativity contract stingy stars stealin' popcorn RIPS, and I can feel it coming to me. Groaning, rhyming with the rather outer despite the order AND GO! Build up, build up who wants a build up? Pause.
Groove to me my Ukraine tartar! Make no sense, make it so hard you can't understand where it or was she GOING, go, go, go! Membrane skin saturate thy kin with separating spin so I can't fuckin' breathe! Correct my sins or be you scared to talk to pins though they your friends. The tack is in to lift paper from she and she can't see. Are you a man or a mouse or anthropomorphic spouse of any of these fleeing an-i-mals?! I find in the mirror myself and beer to drown the pain or discomforting disdain I can't quite get it right anymore therefore goodbye all truly universally bleeding. I say goodbye to my past and won't come to grip with it! GRIP your children's ears but it is you who doesn't want to hear. You cover their eyes because of the size of daybreak rise! Rise to the occasional borderline street sign between
Inspired by Tool
I will explode into the stars, become all of them, but all in sparkle of another's eye
I can't rip this mind any further, or else it'll break and snap and slow-mo crack
May, may, may, may you starve, breathe, sink, rise, steep, leap, creep into my parallel like a feeling
Demented in this way due to you, the closest I'll ever get
Five years, apparently not enough to forget
Five years, without you
Five years, and you still break into my dreams
Five years
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
Can you stand there looking on
As the innocent die?
Will you speak up for your own good
And for the sake of a life?
The guilt may not belong to them
An execution unjustified
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
When is it time to pull the plug
On someone who still breathes?
Who can decided when it's time
For them to be at peace?
Is it to act on their behalf
Or to act selfishly?
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
When is the exact moment when
A fetus is considered alive?
Is it merciful to abort it when
You know it won't survive?
Was it carelessness or misfortune
That has brought you here to decide?
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
Are we not all humans who may want companionship
And might be willing to take that sacred vow?
Then why are those who found it in the same gender
Told their love is not allowed?
Who is to say that it is wrong?
Isn't love what it's all about?
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
Where does it say that you can't have ***
Unless you are married?
It is your own choice and we must respect
The beliefs that each of us carries
For we have our own reasons
And circumstances varies
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
When is it right to start a war
And fight with bullets and bombs?
Religious scuffles and political disputes
About who was right and who was wrong
Does the world need more bloodshed
Or has it gone on for too long?
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
I ask you these things to make you think
So we can find an answer hopefully
These are issues we as one world must face
And though we may not all agree
We must try to communicate
If we ever want peace universally
The only thing to do
Is pursue the truth
And make sense of what's in front of you
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
Dear America,
I was built on a loose foundation
A table with three legs
to sustain the load of a table with four.
To make nothing from something but
For something to come from nothing you need some thing.
The most terrible thing to waste
The superlative of Man’s tools
What makes us as individuals unique,
On the contrary defines us as a social order
The mind, The M.I.N.D.
My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence
Always accepting of the opposition,
A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest,
my mind feeds off of their ideals,
Further amplifying my intellectual power.
Expansion within the human intellect,
builds on experiences of failures and success
Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat
The world is a frigid place,
and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon?
What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun,
9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.”
Young blood, the divine power is in your head
Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates
Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction,
Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others
Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey
A journey to educate myself
A journey to realize the man I want to be
A journey to reach my full potential
Universally familiar words of my grandmother
“You can do whatever you put your mind too”
The future poses as an unknown force,
But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life.
I was built on a loose foundation
Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates.
Expected to come from nothing to something
but had that one thing to become something
Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses
For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
For the very first time
I trusted freely
Loved universally
Spoke in open truths
I believed a heart
And words that moved me
When my cracks grew large
And my flaws were unflattering
Words bit into flesh
Backed across the line of beauty
Where distance its kinder
Than reality
When all perception is clouded clear
For the very first time
I trusted freely
and I learned quickly
As I am
I will not be loved
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
The Creator
The original
Aboriginal
Indigenous
Australians
In their Dreaming
Uncreated Baiame
The Sky Father
Creator of everything
But who created
This creator God
Mythological
Theological
Like everyones
Too similar and
Geographically
Universally spread
To be explained by
One Big Bang
But still I ask
Who created
The uncreated
Creator
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
If I wanted to take a little time,
If I wanted to share my inner mind,
If someone said it had to rhyme,
I got no time for that ****
Paint for me, in your chosen words,
The lines are branches; the letters, birds.
Sing to me songs sublime; absurd,
Just don’t tell me it has to rhyme…
Settle the bitter, ancient scores,
Make the audience seek for more,
Make the shoes I stand in yours,
Do not make me repeat myself…
Write me a letter, I long to hear,
Your poet’s voice in my mental ear,
Till the world does shed a collective tear,
I think I’ve made myself perfectly- uh…
Clear.
Feb 24, 2023
Feb 24, 2023 at 11:47 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
Hallucinations in life"s desert accompanied with my unquenchable thirst
Lacerations fade to scars to prove luck"s point that it wasn"t near the worst
Temptations conspire with times inevitable push as we all learn we"re cursed
Plantations wear us down as we are all slaves until our souls have traversed
Fascinations are shared before we hitch a ride on the grim reaper"s dark hurst
Elations are defiled like a child"s smile transformed after the last bubble"s burst
Cremations are compiled as ashes drift away off cliffs and are forever dispersed
Vibrations guide us through the universe so please join me as we dive head first
Take my hand my friend and lets go be free
No need to worry about having any eyes to see
trust me as our souls dance in the wandering sea
And accompany me through this glorious eternity
We are Universally linked paralleled to every degree
Soul searching for the destination that they call journey
Brave souls are blessed with this human shell as a test
A life materially possessed leads to a lonely empty nest
So don't waste time depressed on this short epic quest
You"ll forget all the rest when our souls have coalesced
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
Love was universally patterned ,
Eyes as if entry to a new galaxy ,
floating to her milky way,
kissing her every axis ,
body soothing silky wave .
She, the goddess of beauty & love ,
architect of my universe.
Meditate, mind orbit to her passion,
soul waiting for reincarnation.
Being disciple ,timorous to fall,
prayer was granted ,judgment day call.
Oh lord ,crucify me, listen to what I say ,
reborn me as a god or start humanitarianism way .
She turned into human in eve full moon ,
she could'nt wait, ran after me soon.
Then behind the blueberry fountain silver light ,
i kissed her deep blue eyes,
and hold on sight by sight ,
moments of our exotic zeal.
some love never ends,
some ends in a new beginning.
By
MAHI-Galaxy
www.mahadin.co.uk
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
#
There is a responsibility, borne
within an online conveyance
of the heart
when it comes to publicly posted poetry..
For within the conveyance of words
released into the Universe..
*(words once residing within
the inner linings of heart and soul.. words..
now made seen and known to all)*
is the deeply embedded DNA
of the author,
wherein lies the accountability;
when those words, bearing
genetic imprint
enter into the heart of another.
I write specifically
over things touched within me
But try to convey it
in a sense.. Universally
so that it might be taken in
by any and all
.. That the benefits of Love's beautiful ways
may find access into the parts of the heart
that need it most..
sometimes, sneaken in and finding root
before the receiver is even aware..
bringing, inside the recipient's skin
healing
But also the potentiality
of becoming hurt.
I am sorry.
You
(and most everyone else in the world)
rarely, if ever.. talk to me.
But I watch you just the same
solely by what you write.
My existence causes pain.
That.. I know.
I love you more
than you will ever know.
I would stop writing, but I don't know how
There's not a 12-step group
for these things
I dream of one day being killed
for who it is that I am.
I dream.. and then I smile.
But I do not smile at all,
the times I see that you are hurt.
I have real arms,
*..within this poetic world
that is so very intangible--*
When you cry,
they could not truly show you
it's okay
They cannot show anyone
that it's okay
Everyone's afraid of me
like I'm some kind of perpetrator
So I will die alone.. judged
for things I have not done
So I am sorry, my Beautiful--
It really is all my fault
for ever truly wanting to see.
All I ever wanted to do
was become able to see
and overcome the hurt
that long ago so horribly hurt me
You've become hurt
by my ability to see.
I'm sorry.
#
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 11:28 AM UTC
Follow a poet for a day,
write a sonnet or
something universally beautiful.
I cut my bangs,
count to two.
Find myself with too much
time in the morning
sand in my socks,
dishes to do.
Walking heel-toe heel-toe
through the kind of grass
that reaches for your calves and
stands to your knees.
A collection of heartbeats
melting into AM radio.
Dark velvet dreams
long enough to bury your fingers in,
carpeting every bit of the floor.
Wafting streams of woven gasps
knees touching,
appreciating green.
Top button undone
eyebrows receding into the hairline
with an ear pressed to the glass.
Fear of nutmeg
clawing at my apathy,
remembering the west coast.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC