What brief utterance this, the color of time

That gives more meaning than language can hold

To force a confrontation between unresolvable contradictions

Such as make malleable a gracious hospitality to ******

And sound trumpets of unwarranted discord

That lie and lament the reputation and experience of damage

Hold forth the envious clouds of displacement

To provide for the vicious energies of hate

Those oppressive weights of past problems

That enactment of intense and exhausting experience

Which embalms the tears of fresh bleeding

Without impediment dictates the human existence

Where the mistress of aggressive thought finds

Extremity of dire mishap a strenuous protest

Leads to well meaning certainty of illusion

And asks, art thou so in love with masks that you

Would transform thyself and as such

Bind a loyalty of angers to thy touch

when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,

who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm

This writing was found in Italian among
my father's papers, when he passed away
___________
*Dedicated to F. Murray Abraham, whose
performance as Shylock, rent open my chest.
and with deep apologies to Shakespeare*
and gifted to Liz Balise
__________

The True Tale of Shylock's Pound
(Did Shylock pay his pound of flesh?)

A peculiar circumcision,
into the Jew's chest
shall now be commenced,
by the Medico Legale of Venizia,,
his instruments blessed, ready.

Dual purposed, to extract  
an accursed payment,
in service to the Court and
in furtherance to man's
greater scientific knowledge.

Incise a body prone before him,
but it's not a body at rest,
the cut, the trademark coroner's
inquiring and most appropriate Y,
(his pleas to Yehovah go unanswered)
shall be executed just so,
both as legal tender,
his debt to pay,
and to answer queries varied,
shall we,
this living body, dismember
while coincidental, alive.

Tho we injure with pleasure,
t'is recorded fair,
t'is at the behest of a
court-ordered scientific inquiry,
ordered to measure,
answer questions
from the trial's record
that having been posed
to the Duke,  
and for answers,
impatiently,
the Court and Duke,
now awaits:

By the unholy virtue of his
guile and trickery,
a trifling pound
shall be ours,
for the Jew's resource,
and fortune
have been most
legally reversed.

His due, most legitimate,
more than forfeit,
is now ours to keep.

Hath a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions,
senses, affections, passions?

If you ***** the Jew,
doth it bleed?

How much doth a Jew's
pound of flesh weigh?

Doth it weigh more or less
when his unholy soul
yet contaminate
his writhing body?

What color doth his heart,
exposed, reveal
or simpler yet,
does the accursed,
this dog's vessel,
even a heart contain?

What powers the Jew's cunning,
inspires his deceptions,
so he prospers despite  our
many constant degradations?

Come wise councillors of
most notable lineage,
let's us put our heads together,
like the olden Egyptian sorcerers
who tried yet failed.

Have at it skilled Da Vinci, you
and your scienziato brethren,
do assay well the potions
that doth taint the Jew's blood,
so that we may,
his secrets maketh,
our own notions.

Come Medicos,
discover how the Jew
maketh precious stones
from coals, spit and hate,
for the bene proviso of the
citizens of our city-state,
dearest Venice!

Our brothers who from
Spain and Portugal hail,
have much knowledge
in these matters,
so let make haste,
cut deep and true, Doctors
the Jew physic treasures discover,
lest the Spanish Alchemistos
the secrets earn,
their inquisitories reveal
how Jews turn
dross into ducats!

Take measurements fine,
observe most accurate
his corde vocali,
the infernal instrument
projecting these shrieks, cries,
so horrible peculiar,
we need to ascertain
the wherefore of such
wails and moans.

All knoweth,
Jew cries are lies,
yet they haunt and crucify
our most perfect, noble demeanor,
**** them.

Attention pay, dear ones,
examine with great care,
the tongue that populates
his now most deformed features.

Its secrets many,
for it speaks guile
so fluently and elegante,
and in so many lingua,
a skill, our brothers Borgia
hold exceedingly valuable!

Our introspection today
in Heaven's service performed,
this pound,
its value exceedth
its countermeasure in
gold and jewels

When has Justice
and science
simultaneous,
been served so well?

Only one quest remains
unknown and alas,  
as yet unresolvable:

**What maketh a Jew,
this Jew, all Jews,
choose death
over our warm and willing embrace?

Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

You’ll find them in all such establishments,
(Be they graceful small-town former Victorian homes,
Or cinderblock edifices mindful of some campus multi-faith center)
Sitting in the basement, cheek-to-jowl
With moldering burial records and banking statements,
Yellowed newspaper clippings, faded prayer cards
Small squared-off boxes hastily tabbed together,
Ostensibly temporary containers which have acquired
An unintended and wholly unwelcome permanence.
The whys and wherefores of their subterranean placement
A mixed bag of foible and outright foolishness:
Unresolvable squabbles concerning possession and burial,
Families that skipped out on the bill, leaving mom behind,
Cases of outright not giving a good-*******.
And so they remain, in lieu of repatriation and redemption,
To sit for something akin to perpetuity in some cases
(Members of the profession resolute in their respect
For the dignity of life,
Though their sincerity enjoys less unanimity)
While others wait for mass burial
Once legal niceties have been satisfied,
While still others, in care of firms not so scrupulous
About crossing their t’s and dotting their i’s,
Are flung, albeit somewhat surreptitiously, out the back door,
The remains to take flight if the grass is dry and the wind is brisk,
Otherwise to be left to the vagaries
Of curious birds and creped soles.

Dubious sense of unresolved ambivalence

Given to implausible suppositions of fragmentation

That distinguishes itself in well meaning solemnities

Of delicious incompetence that evaporates distance

In its poignant lament of darkness

That shadows words of cruelty, indifference and rage

Oh how unbearable those misadventures of piteous overthrows

That cram into brief utterances more meaning

Than language can hold and force a confrontation

Of unresolvable contradictions hidden in such speech

That are the stilling of time, those words that find expression

In a mystic power that transforms darkness into intense light

Whilst blocking out the harsh unforgiving light of everyday

And causes mutation and change of place in disorienting fashion

In seeking a loyalty of angers by shifts of dramatic register

Views its own meaning unstable and problematic

In defense of its own legitimacy

a new poem (words, words, words but another drug), bolt upright, uplight, reattach yourself to the liquid of the music,
soothe the irritation, slowdown the shaking hand,
give god or his creatures, the nocturnes and sonatas,
a chance to restore the pounding of the chest to a leveling
equanimity

to no avail, the sleep angels have fled from the
forest fires in the chest, and the helicopters must quench
with the commence of dropping clouds of wet words,
when, when will I be released from a life that has no
easements

words, words, words but another drug, a habit that gives
everything but a temporary state, every poem nothing but
another her, another lady puncture in my restless body,
another juncture, where all your choices are the way of
error

the high will last, shorter each one, but the track will exist
for all the time, a token of human foolishness, the more is
the inevitability of the ending, writ, drawn a little closer,
and comes with a hand written spongy-apology begging for
existing

in his notes, motes, dust mites of titles, single verses,
elegies, essays half written, passing thots claiming to
want to be wannabes, this appears and it's a perfect
ending

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable

man in his perfect certainty, never was, nevermore, n'ere will be never, and one poet walks a razor's edge, that is his three tenses struggling for mutual coexistence, one of
a calming beauty, a dark glory, a perfect closing, choosing
a final solution, a belief in relief, that simultaneously
engraves, erases, and
equates

another new poem fissures to the surface, and the palpable
is a magician's illusion, a trick, a feat of dismemberment,
an excise of a piece, a drink, a Tennessee whiskey of him,
an emission that never gains remission status, all this fakery,
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug),
excellent, worthless and self-
effacing

{|||}

3:48am-5:46am

you'd always come home via the garden path, reveling in the crunching of the twigs, the slooshing of the leaves, the endless clackering of misfound footfalls. till the day, after a particularly satisfying stomp snapping, you looked underfoot and saw the remains of the fallen sparrow's nest


it took you five days to soak out the blood


tonight's supposed to be the biggest moon in 68 years. Biggest moon! Wow.


a girl at the party says it's stupid to care what others think. i agreed with her. She agreed with my agreeance, and then burst into tears. i ignored her and walked away. i'm a frigid *****, but theys' gotsta learn, they


God, the flies, it's such a cliché, but it's true, as you trek down into the sludge you can't see them but you can hear it, the buzzing, you can always, from everywhere, the buzzing


when our flatmate left, he deconstructed his bed. he didn't take it with him, he just, took the mattress, threw it in the water closet, left the headboard on the stairway landing, and the sides and springs'n-**** in the garage
                      i really respect the gesture


in the gully between the graveyard and the mine, they built a highschool. a ******* highschool. lord knows why. it looks like a ******* campers lodge, all the kids climb up the banks and the uni students sell them acid in lolly mix nickel bags. everyone i've ever known came from that school, one way or another. heavens know why. hey, look at the big chimney, guess the furnace is on. it's still in use, huh? probably shouldn't be loitering. anyway-


the big diggerman's dig up the concrete, put it in a bucket.
the big diggermans with the big digger truck, with all the cones and stop signs.
Bawm! Bwam! the big muscle arm, full of strewn piping and pistons, bab's the ground bab bab. Take that, ground! Bab Bab!! the spinning chair vibrates, the man gyrates, and the big arm up's and downs, down down, swivel, dump.


remember when we were thirteen, and the idiot boys made a game of standing in a circle, trying to **** into their own mouths? you wanted to punch them in the face, but didn't want to get your hands *****. if only you'd known, back then, that your limbs were really just overgrown turnips, would you of been so insistent at keeping your distance? keeping the world at arms length? that's always the irony, isn't it. the world was inside you all along

–

At the end of the cemetery, past the hedges, a car park, overlooking the hill, where there's a huge oak tree, and all the concrete is just fractured under its weight, and the asphalt is in tar stricken colours a blackbird in mid-dive splatter. Anyway. Sorry,-

god, you're making porridge? Porridge? *******, are you even hungry, or did you just ******* want to see the ******* oat-*****-muchus coat everything you

-just, there, in this graveside car-park overlooking the city but also in the middle of nowhere, there's two cars. One, a ******* Mitsubishi GT, all slick and weltering plastic, pure pristine millionaire CEO's toy phallus, and beside it, a banged up old Datsun, and it all seems like an allegory for something, but it isn't, it's just, someone dumped these two ******* cars here, but they're not even dumped per see, the registry in the windows are up to date and everything, but they're just there


      all the damp men take the STOP out the truck, stand on the road, hold the cones, watch the digger man seat shuffling; gotta shuffle move up the pavement before you big hand down


You were too clever, weren't you? to bash her head, right there, in the corner, there, above the left cheek bone, so i couldn't tell, right? to make her look like just one more corpse, among the rot? obscure that one side, turned away? left to decompose, mid-perch, on a desert highway? well, maybe it wasn't, maybe it was just someone else, but the fact that you knew, you knew i'd check above the left temple, and that you ****** chose that as the point of rupture, it shows, it just ******* shows, the


the flies never gather, at the point of death, they just breed in the damp, the gulleys surrounding it, why is that


and just look at you now, sitting there, naked as a newborn, crying to yourself, wiping your weepy eyes with your simpering turnip paws, and it's just pathetic, isn't it? And i love you, i do, it's the one moment i can say it, i can feel it with burning, simple purity, with self effacing truth and clarity, because, here, i don't matter. you don't need me, you need a body to hold, an arm to hug you. in loving you i can be absolved of all qualities, and so, for once, i do, i do

Yeah no! In sixty-eight years! What even is the moon



it's amazing, i've eaten nothing in the last thirty-six hours, except a single dried apricot. yet
                                   i need to *****

  you know that feeling? What a feeling. You need to retch, but there's nothing to retch, and there you are, just standing there, at 5am gagging to yourself in a damp field. A stomach, trying to turn away, fold upon and shaft itself a vicissitude. A stomach, no, no, yes, you see?  You need to empty yourself of this bile. What bile? Exactly. There's nothing. Nothing up-emptied onto nothing. And that's all there is, right, that's all that life is, is given right there; the gag, the convulsion, the upturning unto itself, the attempt, attempt, you understand? Of the cathexis, of the innerworld, taken to contain only the unspeakable within itself, miserly bile, a concomitant of all the worlds ills and would be ills and then upon it taken as an ill unto itself, a single nebulous fluid husk of malignant umbra, held in *******, bound in fleshy lining. But then the expulsion, the retch, is attempted, to take all the seething disease of the inner and to project, upturn it onto the outer world. Where? It doesn't matter. In the bin, into the shrubbery, Anywhere but in here. Once it's gone, it gone, that's all that matters, gone, go, go, get. The body tries to push the malaise of(as) the internal unto the external, the outer, but in doing so, finds itself(boundary) empty, where it thought it incubated only vile, there was instead, only nothing, but still, somehow, the convulsing, the retching, the act itself, remains. And that's it, you see? That's all it is, all the emotional turmoil, all the half-hearted hallucentric episodes, the all of everything, is just that, just an, an emptiness trying to upend itself but finding there's nothing to upend, but it still asserts itself as process, as an unending nausea, unresolvable nausea, both grounding and thrown, the throwing and that-which-is-cast, bent under itself,  nausea



the swamp reclaimed the garden last summer. flood season, after all. some days the stagnant waves came right up to the brickwork, can still see the lines, see? your old swing set's a gonna though. all the rabbits either abandoned their dens, or were drowned out. lord knows how many micro-organisms died as well. lot's of new ones were probably borne though, right? hear those flies, bzzt, bzzt. life loves damp heat. you can never tell, never tell really.

Forgive me please, please do

For he takes possession of me once more

His voice leaves the darkness

Where shadows dwell in silence

Dancing like music on the wind

Escaping a muffled winding sheet

Bringing a delicacy of tribute to my ears

With brief utterances that cram more meaning

Into language than any book conceals

Forcing a confrontation with unresolvable contradictions

That provide for the unraveling of a mind

Living organisms, the tiny specks in a humongous universe,
Are in their own ways, extremely diverse
But what connects them to one another?
The very thought of it's disappearance makes one shudder

Water, the solution of life
Without it, who knows how much we would have to strive
Quenches one's thirst, harbours aquatic beings,
The sheer magnitude of it's importance, sadly, not everyone is seeing

A leakage here, a broken pipe there,
Is causing this magical elixir to become scarce,
Oil spills from ship wrecks,
Leaves our oceans in an unresolvable mess

Why waste what gives us strength,
To save as much as possible, I'm hell bent
So are you with me or are you not?
For before god's gift to us disappears, we need to save it by giving our best shot!

The sunshine, flooding the room with it's light,
the fragrance of the flower, filling the atmosphere,
the chirping sounds of the bird, loud and clear,
the aroma of the food, satisfied the hunger.

Too much of darkness, she was invisible to see herself,
the smell of the rain, is what she loves,
she sobbed weakly, everyday,
she starves herself to feel the pain.

She needs love, she needs medication,
To recuperate the pain she was going through.

"Cheap" is what she was labelled, little do they know how dear she was,
her smile , it's like a glowing star, it glows just for a moment.

Homeworks with questions that had solution,
what was running in her mind was unresolvable questions.
She's just a girl remember ? Just another crazy happy-wannabe girl, remember ?

She is fine, she is happy,
no one should know even if she is holding back a tsunami of emotions.
She can't let anyone know how she feels or else no one will respect her the same way they used to or did they ever ?
She said so much without saying anything because she knows her silence was all it could be heard.
She wasn't good enough, was she ?

It's not about turning off the light but it's about utilizing even the little amount of light to make a change.
This is about giving yourself one more day, one more opportunity to wake up in the morning and to live a life you want.
It's about staying alive because the future is coming.
You don't have to see it, you just have to believe it that you could make it.

It may sound pointless because not every one really fathom what she's going through, do they ?

-Manisha

Seeing God In  Everything

Make it a habit to see God in everything.
To go inside the biologic brain
And train.
The practice simple but not easy
Time and effort: key.

Repetition means repeat;
It also means rehearse.
It has the power to reverse
What feels a curse to grace,
A sense that everything is in your favour,
Savouring its flavour
In Itself a nice affair.  
It needs a run-through every day
Or else the feeling gets away.

It’s hard to not take note of pain
Which comes again, again, again…
A something you can’t comprehend.
The man I live with renders
                                       thanks
Each morning when the body wakes,
Though there is pain he cannot shake.
Perhaps that is the way to solve
A problem unresolvable:
Wait, translate, try to love an obscure It above.

Faith: a puzzle all its own.
A koan. A hurdle.  Complication.
Yet we take on faith coin’s worth;
A sun, moon, star
Which always have been always are…
We trust the unseen power source:
Atoms, protons just because
We know they’re laws.
                    
If one can take a a blind belief
Finding that it gives relief-  
A circumstance wished for
Has been dished up suddenly.
Why not start to practice seeing
God and good in the entirety
                       of your existence,
Giving in without resistance
What comes fleetingly each moment
And what comes fittingly to be!

Seeing God In Everything 2.10.2020  God Book II; Circling Round Reality; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;  Circling Round Meditation; Arlene Nover Corwin