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As I struggle restrained
by charcoaled fleece,
unvocalised and uninspired
another “baa” to add to the
manured gears at work,
plagiarized -
sunlight awakening
and moon-dust
dozing serene,
by a need for purchase -
an invasion of the minute
green-noted men,
outlining fortune tales
of a win every time
just pay the million deposit first,
success is guaranteed
just be lonesome.

Perhaps my insatiable curiosity
of fictional footsteps, lotions,
potions in various flavours
rows upon racks
of wondrous words
are leading me astray,
Vicarious witnesses might
consider me a dreamer
uncommitted to a prospect of wealth,
am I truly shuffling along
instead of chasing paper moths
straight into a debt induced flame?
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
in a house, where a bonsai tiger sleeps listening
to jack johnson's in between dreams
(realising his loathing for radio transmission
dynamics of advertisement and talk when
the album fills a full hour of ear drum concerns,
and in a house where upstairs frank zappa's
hot rats plays in unison to a man on a windowsill
musing: 'by god, zappa did a john coltrane
in a symbiosis with a love supreme; there's only
one vocal track on the album, the rest
is sheering saxes to grizzly.

poetry, esp. non rhyming poetry to detached it
from musicology, poetry is after all
the oldest musicology without instrument
as whether dicing tongues protruding
made sneezing a new wheezing or coughing
to beat-box rapping, i guess it's like that,
well, non-rhyming poetry that old rekindling
adolescence needs to be less "scientifically"
itemised with theories to identify a metaphor
for a metaphor: just take it in one gulp as the whole;
it needs a detachment to lose all inhibitions
of self-consciousness and carve a route into
exhibitions, pompous art of music, this poetry,
so if not rhythmic rhyming at least interested
in music: a strong rhythmic section makes music
interesting, esp. when the bass guitar
is as important as the drum-kit - and gets equal
expression, unlike all those air-guitar soloist
techniques within the framework of critique of
the famed phrase 'intellectual *******,
thinking, epitome of liverpool's jabbing and upper-cutting
because of a football score because of a referee decision,'
same thing in music: big hair, make-up, solos
of guitars with over-burdening vocals - i need the rhythm,
i need the rhythm to enter the labyrinth and scatter think
by way out, by the odd chance right choice.
so scientific theory died with the higg's boson,
god got a mention, no need for scientific theories,
with my x-ray vision i see everyone wearing laboratory
coats and pretending to not have rats' whiskers and tails,
it's over, we need all theories to move into
humanism's area, from science just practicality,
but as always, we have the merchants and middle-men
who will stall human endeavour for a higher price
being reached by politico dynamite exploding
in curbing the populace for a horse-blinders of
angry rubric divisions into economy theorised.
so if i told you otherwise, would you tell me
the winter be bleak? i find winter refreshing,
after all, only in winter can you see the celestial
marriage of moon and sun, seeing how the moon
appears in the daytime and in the night is missing.
with that famous debate about pinpointing god
(existence - out of every instance? that's hard),
i'm not going to guise myself in a theological disguise
of spider and spider's architecture to eat with
the spiderweb his digestive system inside-out:
like a poet to his unvocalised muse: this word
isn't complete, it's an abandoned poem,
and hence us, we come in with scissors and pliers,
hammers and nail, due to the incompleteness of
this world we have a momentary chance to fill
it with ourselves... that creationism fight v. darwinism
is too claustrophobic for me, so anyway:
if i said to you the romans were better poets than
the greeks because the greeks gave names to
their phonetic units: alpha to omega in between
iotas, then i'd tell you the romans didn't name
their letters to be befitting for scientific constants,
on the basis of do re mi fa so la,
and hence i'd tell you romans were better poets
and the greeks were better fathers of shakespeare,
and i'd tell you homer was a greek and fathered
the tree major sons in rome: ovid, virgil, horace.
then i'd tell you our age has to have a lightbulb moment,
after the 1st prometheus stole or simply gave fire
unto man in order to be gnawed by a hawk
gnawing on his liver (metaphorically, might have
been a heavy drinker, drinker's hawkish vision),
a 2nd prometheus must come:
i'm guessing with some sort of magnetism to capture
zeus' wrath of a lightning storm...
2nd prometheus is rather dull, let's use etymology
to drive out a name for this man:
lightning bringer (αστραπαραδευς) - derived
from lightning and the word *deliver
, the deliverer
of a godly essence - of course other ambiguities
can be crafted, but putting two nouns together
to create a compound, like -1 + -1 = -2,
so two nouns put together don't really create a
new noun, but couple a noun with a verb
and it's like -1 - -2 = 1... hence i didn't use
the greek word deliverer (ελεθερωτις /
eletherotis).
DieingEmbers Nov 2012
Hush...

spoil not this moment
                                       with the need of words

breath soft upon the pause twixt

                   Laughing
                        and
                    Kissing.

Hold fast and stay your hand
                                                    simply feel me

Here

        within your heart

beating in rhythm with the night.

Wait just a while longer
let the longing overwhelm you

as my lips yet in silence bring you answers

                in one sweet kiss

hush

listen

and hear my words
          unvocalised yet spoken


impressed upon your lips



                FOREVER.

— The End —