Unincorporated Insights I
What context contributes toward meaning?
What illusive patterns outline our thoughts?
What process prevents mindless careening
Into tangles of intangible knots—
Into the depths of deeply-rooted seeds
Of imponderable definition?
And what flower does theodicy breed
By the threat of holistic omission?
What cryptic mysteries do we express,
Though in traces of vagrant memories—
Perhaps causing us to hide and repress
Them beneath our transient reveries?
What codex—so voiceless—do we create?
What emergent grammar elucidates?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Unincorporated Insights
What context contributes toward meaning?
What illusive patterns outline our thoughts?
What process prevents mindless careening
Into tangles of intangible knots—
Into the depths of deeply-rooted seeds
Of imponderable definition?
And what flower does theodicy breed
By the threat of holistic omission?
What cryptic mysteries do we express,
Though in traces of vagrant memories—
Perhaps causing us to hide and repress
Them beneath our transient reveries?
What codex—so voiceless—do we create?
What emergent grammar elucidates?
What emergent grammar elucidates
The syntax of our juxtaposition?
Why must we meander and gravitate
Toward the pull of blank exposition?
We speak in indefinite articles,
Communicating as a formality?
Our dreams are overlapping particles,
Transposed over strips of reality.
Our intellects are woven by conflict,
Disproportionate threads that braid our lives.
Ideas coalesce to contradict
Where what we call logic attempts to thrive.
We design ignorance, always preening
The language that has been intervening.
The language that has been intervening
Interrupts the words we would like to say,
Mercilessly and stringently cleaning
Our voice, removing what viewpoints convey.
Therefore, we conjure the chiffon lexis:
A vagary of coded expressions
That dilute our colloquial axis—
Our terminology of discretion.
We relinquish comprehension and
Dilapidate whatever we might learn
In the grip of the Invisible Hand
Which guides us to our tenuous concerns.
All the while, idiocy saturates
With our illocutionary mandates.
With our illocutionary mandates,
Why does anyone make sense anymore?
Verbally, our tongue only translates
All the talk that has been spoken before.
We erase our culture with social platforms.
Our lives are forced to conform to the contours
That more often confuse or misinform—
Drawing images we ought to ignore.
We are bound to the art of artlessness,
Secured to an emptiness that lingers—
Taught that obsession will lead to success,
Explaining ourselves through index fingers
That point to nowhere (nowhere completely) .
For what reason do we speak un-freely?
For what reason do we speak un-freely,
Relegating ourselves to elision?
Our motives are spoken clandestinely,
Enshrouded by baseless omission.
As zombie hoards packed in a ballet box,
Groaning for a persona non grata,
Our disheveled culture carelessly stocks
Its thoughts of banal desiderata.
We replace facts with comforts and patterns.
We substitute our fate for the future—
Devoured like the many sons of Saturn,
Relinquishing our delineature.
We dismantle our bloodlines and unions,
Cauterized by divergent opinions.
Cauterized by divergent opinions,
We remain stagnant as our lives progress,
Similar to the hipolimnion—
With its waters still, aching to express.
The erumpent and sluicing fluids
Of understanding and dialectics
Flow in a stymied, wholly languid
Way when we need something apoplectic,
Something fluttering with violence and
Roaring with rage and swooning with romance.
Let us not pretend that we understand.
Let us be carried away as the advance
Cavalcades, washing out redundancy.
Are we blinded by irrelevancy?
Are we blinded by irrelevancy?
Do our apotropaic impulses
Blacken our natural radiancy,
Fading each ray of light as it pulses?
Why do we sous rature our honesty? —
Filtering it through the media's veil,
Fearing the release and the amnesty
We want, letting resignation prevail.
Why do we design newer deities
That deafen the voices that long to speak?
Why not relieve pressing anxieties
And articulate meaningful critiques?
There is no reason to be a minion
In the realm of persuasive dominion.
In the realm of persuasive dominion,
We are grinding in mechanized fittings,
Smashing in the roll of pressing pinions,
Watching as our heads— crushing and splitting—
Massage into a rouge polish for gears.
Our thoughts slowly gloss over orange rust—
Now crusting with our suppurated smears—
As the accruements shift and readjust.
Why do we pancake our skin and our bones,
Flattening our pursuits and our passions?
Why melt each other to produce clones
Portioned to consume commodity rations?
As we instill and install these values,
Fallacies that we believe in argue.
Fallacies that we believe in argue,
Challenging each other—conflicting lies.
Veracity wallows out of our view—
In either a subterfuge or disguise.
We become confused, trying to translate
The coded hieroglyphics that carom
Over lofty expectations— to spate
Our process like a gyrating maelstrom.
Glabrous, fulgurated electrical
Strikes beam through the core of the whirling storm,
And the skies rain an antithetical
Slathering as the dry climates deform.
The weather is forced— through harsh coercion—
By the Holy right of their assertions.
By the Holy right of their assertions,
We permit more for a selective few—
The few that would live by their dispersion;
The few that dispel, for others, virtue;
The few that show an eidetic éclat
In our too-nictitated memories;
The few preaching their secular Salat,
So that we may bow to their glories.
By the Holy right of economics,
We accept their pure Word as Biblical,
Building pietistic ergonomics
That subsidize on the unnatural.
They pardon their afflatus as it spews,
Disseminating what is maybe true.
Disseminating what is maybe true
Causes us to scatter ourselves like seeds.
Our promulgating ideals will strew
Themselves, rooting within our pseudo-needs.
We watch them knot and snarl beneath our feet,
Disheveling the ground on which we stand.
We watch the branches, gnarling with conceit,
Above our heads as they shadow our land.
We watch the ossified stem sprouting out,
Latching onto the world with a vice-grip,
Standing firm as cement, both thick and stout,
Causing terra firma to bust and split—
And, yet, it withers by our desertion
In the hysteria of exertion.
In the hysteria of exertion,
We become moribund and bellicose—
Buoyant with undulating derision,
Palliated by a ravelment of woes.
Our muted, quiescent panic twinges,
Cascading over the peace we pretend.
Our intuition tears at its fringes
While we berserk, bicker and condescend.
The lacuna, the bedlam, the terror bursts
Like stampeding, bionic wildebeest.
We receive a chaos that seems rehearsed
Rather than a real entropy released.
As these trappings bellow in the still night,
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites.
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites
As if they were catfish crawling through dirt.
Sprawling though they are, they are out of sight,
Pressuring the mud to remain inert.
They prevent an untold calamity
By refusing to sift their skin forward,
Relaxing where there is conformity—
Though fear makes them thrash about and wayward.
Their quaking tremors of brash distemper
May break us from our rachitic foothold,
Hushing our antinomian whimpers,
Showing us that control is uncontrolled.
We tremble, not knowing we are their might,
Forming unincorporated insights.
Forming unincorporated insights
Makes us define ourselves by dramatics,
Inundating our mind's durable lights
For the tenebrae of post-pragmatics.
Our shadows shape like parabolas
Over the structures of our ignorance.
We provide each other a blank atlas
That maps the pathways of disappearance,
Landscapes of the nervus probandi—
Whatever we have lixiviated.
We compose in dissonant glissandi,
So all notes can be asphyxiated.
The whole time we ask: What is redeeming?
What context contributes toward meaning?
What context contributes toward meaning?
What emergent grammar elucidates
The language that has been intervening
With our illocutionary mandates?
For what reason do we speak un-freely,
Cauterized by divergent opinions?
Are we blinded by irrelevancy—
In the realm of persuasive dominion?
Fallacies that we believe in argue
By the Holy right of their assertions,
Disseminating what is maybe true
In the hysteria of exertion.
The grays of thought trail to the blacks and whites,
Forming unincorporated insights.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Unincorporated Insights II
What emergent grammar elucidates
The syntax of our juxtaposition?
Why must we meander and gravitate
Toward the pull of blank exposition?
We speak in indefinite articles,
Communicating as a formality?
Our dreams are overlapping particles,
Transposed over strips of reality.
Our intellects are woven by conflict,
Disproportionate threads that braid our lives.
Ideas coalesce to contradict
Where what we call logic attempts to thrive.
We design ignorance, always preening
The language that has been intervening.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Definition
Definition
What does that mean?
The meaning of life
The meaning of who you are
The meaning of our dreams
How can we define?
What all that really means
Is it the definition of?
Life
Dose that mean we can be
Anything we want to be
Or is it simply
Do what you say
And be forever free
Is it the definition of?
Who you are
Accept your fallacies
And be a better
Human being
Is it the definition of?
Our dreams
Dream the impossible
And live up to your dreams
And make them all real
Who really knows?
What it all really means
poem by Kaila George
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Ceate a spirit
As you go through life you create a spirit, a force of attraction, as an adult a great deal of what you do in the process of individuation (and in therapy) is weed out the bad programming, the no longer useful attractor patterns of your past, while at the same time you expand on the attractor patterns that are beneficial for your expansion and for the emergence as well as the cultivation of latent forces in you, the more actively you engage in this, the more you make a path of least resistance for others, that is you positively influence others while you ad to the culture. The best results of this is that you give the children of your and future generations a better start, they go through life more free from outdated and destructive forces and more able to recognize as well as express the life affirming forces in themselves.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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Thoughts Just Thoughts0
Who am i?
A lonely vesicle
An open shell
Only to be filled with thoughts
Only thoughts
Thoughts capable of causing
Causing so much damage
Thoughts that falsify good intentions
Thoughts I hope will never cross
Even the darkest of people
But I continue to smile
It’s all we can do
But we are continually
Insisted to cry
We let our eyes fill
With salty waters
And lock those doors
We hide behind
Reassuring ourselves
Those others are on the outside
So we are stuck in this isolation
That is welcoming and intimidating
All at the same time we cry
We show our emotions
To no one but ourselves
poem by Charlie Alexdranda
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Beneath All Else...
beneath my feet
i hide my shadows and
they escape like
fugitives
under the guises
of their
sad stories
beneath my hands
i clasp my emptiness
and shaped like a ball
you mistake it for
fullness
you are confused
and i look amazed
still unfazed by your
feigned confidences
beneath my hair
i hide my thoughts
beneath my skull
i hide my soul
beneath my beliefs
i hide a number of faces
beneath my heart
i tell love stories
beneath all these
are the shallowness of them all
something that nobody expects
for i am simple
as a yellow paper
where you list
your bad debts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Patterns
Patterns all around you
Patterns everywhere
Patterns of behavior
Sometimes seem unfair
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Patterns unfamiliar
Patterns lead you through (to)
Patterns of discovery
Tracing out the clues
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Stuck in your mind
In this land where stability is hard to find
You can rearrange the patterns so unkind
Dont bother asking why a pattern never cries
Old patterns never die they just go on and on
Patterns multiplying
Re-direct our view
Endless variations
Make it all seem new
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well the themes for me were and remain sex and love and grief and death - the things that make us and undo us, create and destroy, how we breed and disappear and the emotional context that surrounds these events.
quote by Thomas Lynch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guess the Title - Patter down Pat
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....PATTERNS ..........................................PATTERN S
enrich.................................. ...................................which
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..........................PATTERNS
10 August 1995
robi03_0762_robi03_0000 QXX_MXX
[C] Jonathan Robin written
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Outside
Outside the worlds a mindless child
Outside
Outside reflects the worst of styles
Outside
Inside when youre in my arms
A mindless child is still to be borne
Inside, baby, when we come inside
Outside the politics of greed
Outside
Outside misbehavior seethes
Outside
Mindless repression dominates the street
While I kneel down and kiss your feet
Inside, baby, when we come inside
Outside
Outside they dont think they breed
Outside
Outside emotion determines need
Outside
Outside the worlds a mindless child
That we could bring to life in your arms
Inside, baby, when we come inside
Outside the politics of hate an greed
Outside
Outside the worlds a mindless child
Outside
But when I hold you in my arms
Its a mindless child that you want
Inside, no matter bout the world outside
Inside, a babys what you want inside
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Happiness Is Illusive
When happiness is illusive
it is like a lingering dream
funny sometimes
to see you cry with a smile
with tears of joy
taking their own directional path
and meandering in happiness
on face and flesh
the tears being born out of a womb
where the story was told
where the echo from laughing
gave birth to a new friendship
a holistic feeling of closeness and comfort
more healing in its creation
laughing forever
laughing while time is not watching over you
laughing is your spirit and soul
echoing with the tears in your eyes
even unable to remember
when happiness is illusive.
poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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My burning desire to create
MY BURNING DESIRE TO CREATE
So intense and so powerful
Like a furious burning fire
My desire to create is so powerful
So painful and so throbbing
Like a hungry child crying for food
My desire to create is so hopeful
So rigid and so consistent
Like a passionate entrepreneur
My passion to create is so unshakeable
Every hour that passes by I want to create
Every moment I spend I long to create
I have a living urge and desire to create
A living passion to express myself
A burning desire to live my true life
Sometimes I hide myself in the midst of business
At times I deliberately cloud my space with my busy life
Sometimes I try to hide away from my passion to create
Sometimes I try to narrow down the size of my passion
But regardless of all my efforts my desire always finds me
I am so transparent inside, my passion to create
Has invaded all my privacy inside
So strong and so powerful
Like a helpless child looking for love and security
My desire to create is so seeking and so burning.
poem by Tsholofelo Mooketsi
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Polka Patterns
Everywhere, I see them there
I stop and stare at patterns
I dont care, I must declare
Ive got a flair for patterns
On my hair, the clothes I wear
My savoir faire is patterns
All I see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Lets go into the bathroom
I know were in a room where you would not expect much math
Usually youre in here for a shower or a bath
But if you gaze upon the floor, and if youre kinda smart
Youll see the repetition is like geometric art
Wow, haha
Look
Everywhere, I see them there
I stop and stare at patterns
I dont care, I must declare
Ive got a flair for patterns
On my hair, the clothes I wear
My savoir faire is patterns
All I see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Hey!
A polkameister like myself never has to be bored
I just grab my ax and play some patterns on my keyboard
Nows the time for earplugs if you care about your health
So stand back, everybody, Im gonna express myself
Look at this, patterns
Ive got blisters on my fingers
Woo, hey, aw, get down
Yeah, help me, somebody, woo
Still there? okay
Next time you find yourself at an exciting polka party
You can make some patterns with your feet and with your body
If you dont know the steps yet, heres the gang with all the answers
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the weird al polka dancers
Here they are
Everywhere, we see them there
We stop and stare at patterns
We dont care, we must declare
Weve got a flair for patterns
On our hair, the clothes we wear
Our savoir faire is patterns
All we see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Wallpaper, skyscrapers, funny papers, patterns
Evergreens, nouvelle cuisine, human beings, patterns
Garden rakes, wedding cakes, rattlesnakes, patterns
Golden wheat, little feet, my heartbeat
I gotta stop
Patterns, patterns, patterns, patterns
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Undone To Undo
Undone to undo...
Those passionate insights.
Individuality disconnected,
To a symbolic way of life.
Undone to undo...
Questions and curiousity.
Freedom to disconnect...
From a torn and decadent society.
Undone to undo...
Truth and honesty.
A rise in higher consciousness,
That allows eyes wide open that see.
Undone to undo...
Facts and nonfiction.
To restrict convictions.
Undone to undo...
Influence that speaks,
To those poor and meek...
Reaching to strengthen,
Identities that seek...
A reality that teaches,
Shackles are for the sheep...
Heading for mutilation.
And a mindless humanity!
Undone to undo...
You and I.
And all good deeds pursued,
We attempt to do.
Undone to undo...
But intervention,
Prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
An intervention,
Prevents it.
And dimensions,
Diminish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The constant other
The constant other
~
There constant in my thoughts
A feeling towards another
Grows and roots deeply
Through my heart and loins
Holding them into my conscience
A thought so sweetly found
In this most unexpected source
Bares the fruits of passion
The fruits of love
On which I feat hungrily
To feed the appetite of the soul
How sweet, fair and beautiful
I have found this other to be
Now constant in my thoughts
Deeply rooted in heart and loins
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Transformations
THEY Wait
the caterpillar, the flower bud,
time is like a hand that does not compel
them, because by its unnoticeable grace
the process goes on and on
the caterpillar is caressed into a cocoon
in still air
stiller hours
of petals falling one by one
giving way to seeds
existence
the buds have no memories
what to tell
how one morning they all turn
into flowers
then wilt
upon the conquest of
sunset
some things too
have wings that flutter
happily
but only for
a day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ink (for Theresa Marie)
As I crease each page with the pressure of my point,
Cutting into the flow of each character,
I strive to lay lines to the surface of meaning.
I attempt to make sense of the flow of my thoughts
As I try to define with each separate line
The value that each gesture strives for.
I cut into pieces the correlation
Among the characters in my narrative;
Between scribing and feeling.
But this contradiction between purpose and process,
Between intention and muscle response,
Belies the nature of liquid.
For the amount of flow,
If nature has its way,
Is determined by the size of its reservoir.
So to finish my thoughts
In the context of language
Do I cede to the size of my pen?
Do I rely on the nature of language?
Or the language of nature’s mien?
poem by Dan Ramirez
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Freed From Lieing
When people can not handle honesty,
Or periodic self examination...
The meaning or definition of discipline,
Will be as foreign to them as being freed from lieing.
And not having the ability to create new excuses.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your conscious intent
Your conscious intent will heal and offset your unconscious issues, your attachment patterns, in time as well as instantly provide you with healing experiences when you deeply and really mean it, that is to the degree that you connect with your depths, see the God in others, and make a loving way even in the face of seemingly overwhelming intentional ignorance and cruelty
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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The Fragrance Of Virtue Rises To The Heavens
The blissful flower landed on the earthly dirt
And rooted its seeds on the bosom of mankind.
The flower blooms only in fruitful pure heart
Which grazes its petals like one hungry hind.
Virtues are the atoms of God, the holiest one.
The more we attain it, the more we appear near
To Him, His being, Virtues and godliness anon
As our soul drenches with immortal holy tear.
The earthy flower blooms, dies in perched air
With a fragrance that melts, melts, melts away.
But the fragrant flower of Virtue is always fair,
Its fragrance rises towards heavenly stairway.
poem by Osman Gani
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