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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Grammar and logic free language from being at the mercy of the tone of voice. Grammar protects us against misunderstanding the sound of an uttered name; logic protects us against what we say have double meaning.
quote by Rosenstock-Huessy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Language That The Poor Wants To Speak
do you speak good English?
do you take pride in it and then use it to impress others
and swindle them
into a belief that they are inferior?
they have feelings too
of humiliation
which even in such a sad state
wish that their humiliation
speak good English still
they always think that English will give them
a good job
a better standing in the society
a flare of fashionable tongue
you make them cry
but still they want to speak that cry in English too
foolish!
but can you blame them?
you who hold that power and might
you who have taken all what they once had
and made them
worse within
themselves
despite which,
they still want to be like you
to speak like you
a god
how sad!
you have never known the language of love
the grammar of generosity
the syntax of sympathy
that language that good English
sometimes has forgotten
to utter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rising dreams
Dreams!
My delicate dreams!
Woven with the tender threads of love,
Bound with the glue of belief.
When collide,
Break down
Into shears and shreads.
A thousand of them!
Each bit a tiny momento
Of time.
Each bit a priceless memory
Difficult to unwind.
I mourn,
My thousand tears
And bury them
Deep somewhere in my heart.
My heart,
Cemetery of my dreams.
My dreams,
Born a thousand lives
Dying a thousand deaths.
My delicate dreams
Woven with the threads of love
Bound with the glue of belief.
And
To my weirdest surprise
I see them rise
From thousand broken shears
From thousand broken shreds
With smile in their lips
Hope in their brows
They rise
Weaving together the threads of love
Bonding with the glue of belief.
Yes! They rise
My dreams They rise.-anjali
poem by Anjali Kakati
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sub-language
a lustful desire suppressed
takes a language of its own
at first you disregard it
but soon it finds its own
grammar & syntax in your lips,
you taste it again, lick it, roll it
inside your gum, sip and swallow,
your teeth delighting, your tongue
trembling to such sweetness,
you love it, and at the
end, it becomes your
main language again
this time more subtle
metaphorical, lyrical,
and more responsible.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grammar is the logic of speech, even as logic is the grammar of reason.
quote by Richard Chenevix Trench
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's like learning a language; you can't speak a language fluently until you find out who you are in that language, and that has as much to do with your body as it does with vocabulary and grammar.
quote by Fred Frith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Concentric [Acrostic Dectina Refrain]
Clues
Orbit
Nightly in
Concentric dreams.
Ellipses carry
Notes and nuance beyond
The limits of inner space.
Revolving glimmers coalesce
In overlapping lucent circles.
Clues orbit nightly in concentric dreams.
poem by Diane Hine
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The pull between sound and syntax creates a kind of musical tension in the language that interests me.
quote by Marilyn Hacker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I ascribe a basic importance to the phenomenon of language. To speak means to be in a position to use a certain syntax, to grasp the morphology of this or that language, but it means above all to assume a culture, to support the weight of a civilization.
quote by Frantz Fanon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh Those Threads
Oh those threads
beautiful threads
coming together
gold and silver
tears and laughter.
creating a pattern
U and I, fashioning
us.
knotted so closely
refusing to fray
a lovely tapestry
inter-woven over
the years
Oh those threads
beautiful threads
together at last.
poem by Heather Burns
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2011/04/14 Without Intervening Events (Rev.)
Nothing to say in my defence, no material offers to
make amends; inner power enables me to mostly
balance on the edge of the abyss - wishing life’s
battle ended so I could rest, dropp my vigilance,
exist just as pure consciousness without shame
of eternal failure
Less intelligence all I cherish are feelings, a loving
atmosphere, strong emotions, everlasting joy of
constructing an ethereal bubble where I am safe,
free to create my own dreams since the sharp lines,
garish colours and grating sounds of reality cannot
match luminous beauty of my visions
Nothing I visualise can be realised in holographic
three-dimensional reality perceived through five
senses, only stories entailed in narrative imperative
are honoured and valued - attempts to infuse reality
with meaning lead to deception, failure and rejection,
I keep my ideas above and beyond...
... in an alternative dimension where thoughts
manifest in pitch, taste, colour, rhythm, fragrance,
texture, form and temperature; representing love,
anger and fear - without intervening events….
poem by Margaret Alice
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Oh That Tapestry
Oh that tapestry
How I have yearned
to weave it with
you.
A combination of
threads
gold and silver
strong and secure
closely knotted
in the end.
tears and laughter
woven together
creating us.
our lives inter-
woven
a coming together
began so long ago
oh that tapestry.
poem by Heather Burns
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Ideas are cheap. Always be passionate about ideas and communicating those ideas and discoveries to others in the things you make.
quote by Charles Eames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well, I know, after all, it is only juxtaposition, Juxtaposition, in short; and what is juxtaposition?
quote by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like everything metaphysical the harmony between thought and reality is to be found in the grammar of the language.
quote by Ludwig Wittgenstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Communicating With Diminishing Minds
I've chosen not to dope my reality.
And it has been the most difficult thing,
I have ever done.
Especially when seeking someone,
Who has decided to quit attempts to impress.
So many have chosen,
To even run away from their delusions.
And in these times...
Communicating with diminishing minds,
Is not easy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Future Imperative
Essential to efficiency.
When writing prose or poetry.
Elegant simplicity,
will enhance the clarity.
Of what you’re trying to convey
in the most artistic way
Although it makes me sad to say
Standards are slipping day by day.
Communicating at high speed.
Young people do not see the need.
For rules they think needs must impede.
The messages they want to read..
The youngsters use technology
to sweep away the pedantry.
By far the vast majority
adapted to it readily.
A small vocal minority
Bemoaned the loss of purity
And stubbornly refused to see.
That language changes constantly.
That in the future there would be
a greater need potentially.
A switch towards simplicity
and even less formality.
The flowery language of the past
was very slowly overcast.
It was too cumbersome to last.
When change is due it happens fast.
The need for speed bound to increase.
That does not mean that we should cease.
To write in ways that please
and make each work a masterpiece.
Communicating speedily
a modern day necessity
But we don’t need to let it be
Destroyer of our literacy
We have free will so we can choose
What form of language we should use
What to accept or to refuse
We stand to gain more than we lose.
We can store electronically
more books than any library
of any merit literally
on one small chip quite easily
The nerds can txt phonetically
Where speed is a priority.
While scholars maintain purity
Of classic prose and poetry.
Sunday,21 August 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unfulfilled
Many have become saddened,
By the aspects of truth.
And the discomfort it has brought,
Into their seeking lives.
Everything but truth has been sought.
Bringing tears to dropp from many dried eyes.
Crying about their losses and wondering why?
With hollowed prayers demanding from God...
To deliver them from the onslaught of reality,
They choose to deny in its entirety.
Many have become saddened,
By the aspects of truth.
And the discomfort it has brought,
Into their seeking lives.
Unfulfilled and blindly selfish.
Self centered and disrespecting.
And still trying to make attempts to climb,
A greased ladder!
If that was possible to achieve.
But to what heights could they freely breathe?
When it is on the ground,
Where the trees provide that need.
Many have become saddened,
By the aspects of truth.
And the discomfort it has brought,
Into their seeking lives.
Some have been led to believe,
Their lives are exclusively lived.
With disregard for others.
As if their moments here on Earth,
Have annointed them more deserving!
But all that changes...
When The Creator decides,
To take away what He alone awards...
With gratitude to those He knows,
Appreciates His Love.
And bestowing upon them proof,
Of His existence.
And many can not come to do this.
To recognize their eyes,
Would not open...
If this was not the will of God!
Since they have prioritized their lives...
To be lived in indifference.
Excited by the presence of ignorance.
With a helpless attachment to conflict!
Sealed by a victory.
At the expense of remaining,
Unfulfilled!
And killing themselves,
For the thrill of it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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