Unincorporated Insights III
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.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mandates of Their Empire
Do not let language be used against you.
Refuse the rhetoric of mass control.
The system will not reveal what is true,
For honesty emancipates the soul.
Do not debauch your ideas or words.
If you do, you choose to refute meaning.
Why would one desire to be left unheard,
Relying on others intervening?
Do not wait for the world to become fair
When billionaires plan your daily routine.
Renounce the indoctrination, despair,
And injustice of their content machine.
Do whatever you sincerely desire.
Disregard the mandates of their empire.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Across The Miles
For Suzanne Gaddess
A voice with no sound
Stretches across invisible miles
A voice of words like an outstretched hand
Its fingers waiting to be touched
By another in a much sought bond of friendship
The words are read and treasured like precious jewels
The fingers have touched
Another voice of words
Extends itself across the miles
Like an invisible thread
The much sought link is forged
Friendship through words of unseen faces grows
Trust follows in the distance
As words of comfort, sorrow and joy
Move back and forwards along the invisible thread
28 December 2006
poem by David Harris
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Being Close
Life is unexplained, so unexplained. Not wanting to say anything. My heart is silent and to be honest I do not really know why? Silence, often turns to be the only language sometimes since love is best when felt through feelings and those expressions do not really require a voice to convey love. The feeling gets to be known just by being close to each other.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Words Not Enough
I can sit and write and write,
sit and write all night.
And none of my words can convey to you
my feelings of delight.
For love is centered right in my heart
and inflames my sense of you.
And the pen and words are insufficient
for only expressions are in view.
For I'd gladly lay my pen aside
and let my fingers touch your hand.
And all of the writing I have done
could never be as grand.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
I am the girl whom you call "hey"
As you continuously greet me with "hey" in my voice mail
Your rude colloquial messages and tone represent your vile character
For you are truly a vile POS
As Mandarin is like Greek to me
For the concept has no logic to speak in a language where one does not understand
For it bears no meaning to me
Futile
Fills the void for the dead spots
For I am not the standard Mandarin girl willing to tolerate your nonsense
Of whom you surround with
Think before you act
Point blank: I am a Cantonese girl
Eloquent properly to me in Cantonese or Tosian
For we can then converse in Chinese
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
Reflection of your uncivilized lifestyle
Am I a friend or foe to you?
As you don't treat a friend so poorly like vermin
By articulating lies and name calling
For you are one ghastly imagine to a lady
Barbaric as a cave man
Implies ghetto background
Lacking class
Unpolished
As a lady needs to be treated with respect
Surely, you can handle respect in your demeanor
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
To succeed in this world
Ineloquent does not bring the bread home
Disrespect will haunt you
As respect commands a gregarious worldwide presence
Disappointedly the English language does not cooperate with respect anymore
You can run, but cannot hide
From the cold hard truth of yourself
Unincorporated Insights IV
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?
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read Me, You'll See
It's tough…
When other people get in the way
Of perfectly clear communication
And confuse the heck out of you
When you were doing so well
Saying what you needed to say
Even though
Sometimes
What you are trying to convey
Is limited
By the limits of the words at your disposal
It can feel stifling
Like, you wish you can say so much more
I guess
As long as you can somehow
Express
Something
It's better than nothing
But
Other people
They get in the way
So,
Then
I wonder
Do you still understand me
Can you recognize my message
When it's surrounded by so many others
I have to admit
Sometimes I'm left confused
I don't always understand
What you are tying to say
All those other voices
All those other titles
All those other ideas
They sure do get in the way
And
I have to say
I don't see myself as obtuse
Though
It took me a while
To recognize you
But,
I'm admitting I am a bit confused
It's just tough
When other people get in the way
And, dilute, confuse,
Add to without meaning to
What I'm trying to convey.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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By His Hand
Be still to watch the Hand of the Lord, as our ways are not ignored,
By Jesus Christ, throned high above, any trial, which you speak of;
There is purpose in our trials friend, as many will see come the end,
When in Christ you take your stand, as He guides us with His Hand.
God’s Hand held up high, shall guide, all those who in Christ abide,
As Believers wait upon The Lord, His Grace, down on us is poured,
Filling us with peace, from up above, as God guides is in His Love,
With His Purpose above our ways, as Christ guides us all our days.
God has His Uplifted Hand, raised to guide us in ways He planned,
Planned before we were on earth, even well before our natural birth,
Friend, even when we lived in sin, well before, any thoughts of Him,
God’s Plan led us to Jesus Christ, to receive from Him Eternal Life.
God’s Hand indeed guides all of us, all who belong to Christ Jesus,
He Who redeemed us from the fall, daily guides and protects us all,
God guides us on a path of Grace, as we learn to seek Gods Face,
For God’s Will shall surely be done, as we’re led by Christ, His Son.
By His Hand, He will take us home, where we’ll gather at His Throne,
High above all the earthly clouds, gathered round Heavenly Crowds,
As we join God’s Heavenly Throng, we shall join in praise and song,
To our Lord God through eternity, for all He’s done, for you and me.
Colloquialism
This colloquial word has been tremendous,
The full word is a concise term, a love.
For the sight of trouble needs these words,
And they collide and collapse for better terms.
Our colloquy needs establishing, a full light,
For terms too mighty and sad, like sound.
Grave words need to be spoken, often,
Gratitude amazes me, as I speak them.
The colloquial word is special as goodness,
A grace so mighty, so sad.
poem by Naveed Akram
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To Who It Concerns
to who it concerns
My homework will be late
It fell onto my pancakes
and stuck to my plate
To who it Concerns
My mom made me write this
and I'm just a kid
so how can i fight this
To who it concerns
I lost my assignment
maybe I'll get lucky
solitary confinement
To who it concerns
I just turned 15
too short to be shortstop
too plain to be queen
to who it concerns
I'm great with a ball
but boys don't watch tomboys
as they're cruising the hall
to who it concerns
I'm not made of steel
when I get blind sighted
my pain is quite real
i don't mean to squawk
but it really burns
so I thought i'd just mention it
to who it concerns
By Kristine Sisk
poem by Erin Ryytty
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For want of love
When the poverty was ruling,
People suffered only for food.
With prosperity on the card,
Each one is busy with oneself
With no time to convey concerns.
No pity is accruing too.
No helping hand is forthcoming.
People will die for want of love.
02.01.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The president said that this is not removing a mole. You know, removing a mole, that's an outpatient sort of an operation. This was removing a cancer, removing a cancer takes more time.
quote by Gordon England
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovers language!
1.Rehearsal for hundred times
how to convey the love,
Meet each other,
Silence - No words,
Eyes will speak,
Lovers language!
2. Rehearsal for hundred times,
Hesitation to convey the love,
Occasionally love fails,
Speak to win!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Kind approach
What importance we give to children?
Are they not the messenger from heaven?
Can they prove apostle of peace and preacher?
In times to come they can prove best teacher
Children are quick and apt to learn new language
No institution or classes can handle or manage
Small kids learn new words and easily convey
That is how statussstics reveal and show the survey
Always to learn frankness and jovial mood
They run all over the place without caring for food
Ask for nothing but create home as heaven
We know wealth can’t offer mental peace even
Stress and tension may disappear with their smile
You may forget pain for a little while
So much innocence and tight grip with embrace
Great relief in mind even when danger you face
God may appear on beautiful face of child
Enemy may also be seen as kind and mild
Who will want to be stupid and look blind?
Child may do mischief but we may not mind
It is our foolishness that we are too hostile
Thrash them for mistakes and shout for while
You will take time to cool down and budge
They may still come to you as last refuge
They are our hope and shine in midnight
Sometimes may guide and not allow to fight
Our hopes may not be balled as sun rises
No more worry or despair even with deepening crisis
Have to be little cautious while showing anger
Not to prove harsh daddy or simply as manager
We live lasting impression in their delicate mind
We got to solve their puzzle with approach kind
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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In our daily lives as programmers, we process text strings a lot. So I tried to work hard on text processing, namely the string class and regular expressions. Regular expressions are built into the language and are very tuned up for use.
quote by Yukihiro Matsumoto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To whom it concerns
To whom it concerns
I yelled at my teacher
but who cares he airn't no precher
To whom it concerns
my homework is going to be late
I will jst say it fell on my panckes and stuck to the plate
To whom it concerns
I faled my test
no one cares
that i did my best
To whom it concerns
I see alot
no one cares about the fight that we fought
To whom it concerns
I see alot of pain
but don't worry
this is just the begining of the lain.
Expressing Emotions
Purity and simplicity
of colloquial language
used to express
paradoxical interaction.
A slice of life
insight segment
investigating
human sentiment.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Curse....
as you must have observed,
she speaks, in tatters, disconnected
but transparent, and
transcendent, having that grip of
psychic possession,
witnessing what passed
and what shall come
have you read about such words
as awe, horror and pity?
and the helplessness that follows
next,
those frightened sing and
always will be unable to understand
her,
she goes backstage,
with the fall comprehension of
what's there waiting
her own murder.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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6 Chiffon
The star that hangs
Once meant so much
Time lessens everything but your memory
Gone
a blink, and gone
I wish
wish again
dilute the pain
with arrows aimed
Bullseyes, blind eyes
opaque, dull
mouth agape,
the taste of guilt,
bitter regret for yesterdays tomorrows
A sponge heavy with hope
squeezed tight,
empty
forever never comes
The blame game,
a board
two squares
.........no three
You, me
history
A dice
three sides blank
Two tokens
Yours a smile
mine a broken heart,
static
You roll a different dice
three sides blank
A memory
a night sky
the moon elusive
glimpse’s of pale yellow through chiffon clouds
me,
quiet,
listening to your voice,
in profile your smile
beautiful
poem by Bill Smith
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