"utilisation" poems
Windows high or low, windows sing or woe (if they could effect sounds)
Windows are protestants of peace; often the mediator between the inside and the out
They tirelessly shield us from the rain and sun, the dust and even noise, sometimes the wind itself too; so things don't topple over
There are times you open them, when you look out and think of an adventure out
There are also times you close them, when you seek some respite
Windows, if anything, are the forgotten heroes of time
They are your guides, your decision-making helpers, as is the Spirit
Their panes (pains) are to be taken care of, wiped regularly for absolute clarity
They nudge, with the help of wind sometimes, dying not to be ignored
They crave interaction with its user, oh if only our owners knew they cry
Knowing how to operate them for full utilisation is truly, a skill
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
maxim utilisation does not necessarily
create a symbiosis between
the unitary appropriation of universals
and particulars, old Socrates knew this,
he knew the problem well recorded
by Plato: a rich man can have all the needles
and camels he wants...
maxim utilisation works miracles
for the rich, handy truth being:
i have life insurance and a pension,
but i'm still stuck in a trench with
high-school memories and a house with
20 bathrooms but only 3 bedrooms,
hence i'm the Chieftain of Microsoft...
the rich know the best maxims,
the poor know the best narrative...
i'd rather hear the narratives than the maxims...
maxims are utilised by the rich
in a way that does not allow success,
they speak fluently in terms of success stories,
but they sell them, meaning there's a limited
success rate; meaning their narrative sounds
are a bit like: if i ****** this guy over, and this one,
i cup-caked this one into a half-baked scene;
yep, ****** this one, and this one, and this one,
and this one over twice... but hey! i'm rich!
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close, impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
by my count?
eight knuckles;
and two folded thumbs;
i can't believe i have to
make language thought,
worthy to cushion
the violence, in the language
said, and then acted upon;
there's seems to be no bravery
for speaking in public these days:
people have seemed to
have forgotten the "pleasure"
in thinking;
and by any danes' state of
affirming the maximum economy
utilisation of a maxim...
there's more freedom in thinking,
than there ever will be...
in speaking, and defending that
sort of "right"...
you have a right to think,
and use up the pacifist canvas of a
blank page...
amendement 0...
the freedom to think, and to have no
need to transcend the mental realm
and, utilise calories,
worthy of a worthwhile engagement
in a pish-poor reengagement in
the socratic, long lost and forgotten
art of dialectics;
if plato would be to have woken
up yesterday... dialectics to him
would be a single expression:
why are they shouting over each other?!
people want to rekindle the concept
of dialectics... but in a language base
that employs no diacritical utilisation...
no wonder they're going to succumb
to mob rule... no diacritical inspection...
no dialectics; just mob rule...
and the "sharpest" idiot shouting
the loudest, but hopefully, the least;
it's just that, the argument for
the need for free speech...
it's like the little dogs barking too much...
and little dogs do bark too much...
you want to hear a rottweiler bark?
oh sure... you can stomach a poodle's bark...
come... let's have a riot...
and hear a rottweiler bark.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
you can't learn intelligence,
you must be born with it,
you can learn from rhetoric
to imitate intelligence on the sly,
but eloquent speeches
are only orated once all the facts
happen, and such eloquence
ought to be used to predict calamities
ever happening, or if happening,
ousting a humbleness and immersion
in being anointed by them happening
for pride's self-worth as a welcome
emotional utilisation (for
a better accumulation of predictable
thought): better than a broom
to sweep old vacant apathetic dust i say;
god, this almost sounds like a self-help
book... got to surd it... gnome (g is a surd
in this e.g.), psychology (p is a surd in this e.g.):
so if other european languages used the latin
alphabet with stressors / diacritical marks,
there's an unspoken surd system in e'ng-galosh.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC