En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Unincorporated Insights VIII

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.

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unincorporated Insights VII

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.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

poem by Dylan Thomas
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Ludovico

Readjust how I should have been feeling—
My state of mind and my way of being.
Show me happiness that is practical—
Refocus the lens that gives me seeing.

I do not care if it is natural
To manipulate my more rational
State to form a dream-like reality
And cloister it where it is tangible.

Apply those abstract ideals inside me—
Remove the traces that form tragedy.
Install the perfect passage of belief—
Instill the compass points of alacrity.

Chew through the sorrowful aperitif
Of my lifestyle, eat through the crumbs of grief.
Eliminate the recurring motifs
That color my unhurried relief.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mix A Pancake

Mix a pancake,
Stir a pancake,
Pop it in the pan;
Fry the pancake,
Toss the pancake, -
Catch it if you can.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Consuming

Thoughts of you consume me
Hold power over me every
Second of the day

I wonder at His glory that is
a woman and ask who is
She that walks so proudly?

Thoughts of you consume me
Hold power over me every
Dream I dream

You walk through me like
A chill on winters eve. I see
You but I am but a shade
Unto you

Thoughts of you consume me
Hold power over me every
Breathe I take

You are the forest to my trees
That hide me from your sight.
We dance the dance of the
Stars and thoughts of you
Consume me

Thoughts of you consume me
Hold power over me every
Death I die

Her being, her beauty burns
Through me. I died in her
Passing when she smiled unto
Me

Thoughts of you consume me
Hold power over me every
Kiss you kiss me...

poem by Leonid Gonzalez
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Fools! Do you argue, that things ancient ought, on that account, to be true and noble! Fallacies and Falsehoods there were from time immemorial, and dare you argue that because these are ancient these should prevail? In ancient times, do you think that there was not the ignorant, and the shallow minded? And why after all should you embrace so fondly a carcass of dead thoughts. Live in the present and shape the future, do not be casting lingering looks to the distant past for the past has passed away, never again to return.

quote by Subramanya Bharathi
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Mill

WINDING and grinding
Round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
Ask not if neighbor
Grind great or small:
Spare not your labor,
Grind your wheat all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.

Winding and grinding
Work through the day,
Grief never minding--
Grind it away!
What though tears dropping
Rust as they fall?
Have no wheel stopping--
Work comforts all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Orange Clock Work

How does an orange clock work?
Well it tells the time in orange coloured ways.
In its innards do strange gears lurk,
And it chimes the years and ticks away the days.
It's a bright and shiny timepiece;
Every second does it add to make the hours.
When it's wound down will its time cease,
As its flesh and skin the universe devours.

poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Callin Baton Rouge

I spent last night in the arms
Of a girl in louisiana
And though Im out on the highway
My thoughts are still with her
Such a strange combination of a woman and a child
Such a strange situation stoppin every hundred miles
Callin baton rouge
A replay of last nights events
Roll through my mind
Except a scene or two
Erased by sweet red wine
And I see a truck stop sign ahead
So I change lanes
I need a cup of coffee
And a couple dollars change
Callin baton rouge
(chorus)
Operator wont you put me on through
I gotta send my love down to baton rouge
Hurry up wont you put her on the line
I gotta talk to the girl just one more time.
Hello samantha dear, I hope youre feelin fine
And it wont be long until Im with you all the time
But until then Ill spend my money up right down to my last dime
Callin baton rouge.
*chorus*
Callin baton rouge
Sweet baton rouge, my baton rouge

song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fallacies worth pursuing

Beliefs well rooted, faith well anchored,
And hopes promised will give you strength
Notwithstanding their negative results.
Pursuits of fallacies are vehement.
13.07.2004

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am going to be working on bathroom fittings for a company in the USA, and then I thought it was appropriate to simplify the fittings and, thus, lowering the cost.

quote by Arne Jacobsen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our lost weekend melting crayons!

Reflecting on the lost weekend from beyond the sand valley carousel of cape cod,
I dig the lost hours the thoughts, the gallivants, which melt in the purest crayon wax of our souls.
I dig the diamond lattice in crystallographic earth facets like a house of mirror
or some bleak bleeding laboratory blowing girls dresses up from their gooseflesh legs by compression air jets and floor tricks that reflect from my inner loupe grinding the light through roadside glass and mica rotating in minds eye on fun house dizzy and whimsically revolving exit funhouse wheels that spills us to our seat, and casts confetti colors around my eyesight like the inside of a rain drop.
I reconstruct these moments connected in the lotus of thought the flowering palm of wisdom
Each moment!
Each feeling!
Each idea!
Each painted cage...
Watching them shuffle by on lotus like; the peeling elephant painted, the open black panther cage, the straw stuffed lion cage, the monkey mini top all starving dirty like and I dig it all like ZaZa zen of a circus train splitting down the rail lines like moving pictures before my eyes speared to the reels in a fervent heat which redden my skin protecting me from the naked blue sun.

poem by Jerome Moore
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Shakin' The Jinx

written by Marv Ross
It's just too easy to hide in these trees
Rust in this water up to your knees
Not many dreamers ever get out alive
Some kind of sickness sleeps in this town
I barely got out, but so many drown
The more you struggle,
The faster you're gonna sink
You're shakin', you're shakin' the jinx
You're beating the odds by the skin of your teeth
Baby, baby, it's a long way down
They want to be there when you hit the ground
You gotta shake it right in their face and smile
And when you've got 'em right in the palm of your hand
You don't need 'em 'cause you understand
So you turn slowly and you give the boys one last wink
And then...
You're shakin', you're shakin' the jinx
You're beating the odds by the skin of your teeth
You gotta face the fools who put sand in the gears
You gotta shake a fist at a thousand different fears
You gotta break it, fake it
But never let 'em know what you think
While...
You're shakin', you're shakin' the jinx
You're beating the odds by the skin of your teeth

song performed by by Quarterflash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visual Snow

My sight fills with television static.
I disconnect as my vision impairs.
The blue field debris becomes erratic.
Faint, shaking particles stipple the air.
They grow heavier as my breathing thins,
And my bones melt, osmosing through my skin.
I feel my muscles slowly liquefy.
Sweat bathes my brow. I sink to petrify
Where I stand—where the sound has panned away.
I hear a muffled chorus hum beside me.
A high-pitched tone drones almost endlessly.
My thoughts as they were scramble and decay.
I'm disoriented, and my loss grows
Beneath falling mounds of visual snow.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Heads Are Gonna Roll

You can look to the left and
Look to the right
But you will live in danger tonite
When the enemy comes he will
Never be heard
Hell blow your mind and not say a word
Blinding lights--flashing colors
Sleepless nights
If the man with the power
Cant keep it under control
Some heads are gonna roll
Some heads are gonna roll
(repeat)
The power-mad freaks who are
Ruling the earth
Will show how little they think youre worth
With animal lust theyll
Devour your life
And slice your word to bits like a knife
One last day burning hell fire
Youre blown away
If the man with the power
Cant keep it under control
Some heads are gonna roll
Some heads are gonna roll
(repeat)
Know what its like
When youre taken for granted
There goes your life
Its so underhanded
If the man with the power
Cant keep it under control
Some heads are gonna roll
Some heads are gonna roll

song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rust

Rust
Brown.
Cracked,
Chipped.
Burnt,
Orange.
Nothing
Is
Rust,
But
Dust.

© 2012

poem by Nick Strong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Given To Those They See Fit

People take from others...
And tell them what is theirs,
And what is not!

Promote fear they do,
In the hearts of descendents of crooks.
Who have been taught to receive,
And protect their ill gains with weapons.

But those 'deities' unseen,
Aren't pleased by the demeaning!
This thief of treasures all belong to them.
Given to those they see fit.
Those loyal in their 'faith'...
And yet victims of this greed that exists.

Unknown to us but 'they' are all knowing.
Those 'souls' invisible observing this!
From dimensions about to blend...
To end actions of misfits!

We are now in the midst...
Of a shift in consciousness.
And those with eyes open wide,
Will have nothing to decide.
Or divide between them.
Or pride to recapture waning myths...
On failed foundations splitting to bits.

This will be witnessed,
In unique transitions!
To seal lips of falsified claims.
And a ceasing comes...
To dismiss oppositions!
There will be no exchange,
Of medals to award to those of valor,
Or standing ovations...
Applauding those of shame with fame!

A crushing of values,
Maintained on shaking ground...
Comes!
And will not sustain those exposed,
Holding onto worthless treasures they prize.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shift

Check out the chick with the new dress on
(wearin a shift and it looks real fine)
The call it a shift and it comes on strong
(wearin a shift and it looks real fine)
When shes got it on, well she cant do no wrong
(wearin a shift, wearin a shift)
You may think a dress cant do very much
(wearin a shift really turns me on)
With the slit up the side, you cant resist that touch
(wearin a shift really turns me on)
Its tighter than a moo-moo and its just too much
(wearin a shift, wearin a shift)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(cant go wrong now) (go wrong now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (turns me on now)
Get your girl a shift and shell look real fine
(wearin a shift and its just too much)
It fits like a glove and drives you outta your mind
(wearin a shift and its just too much)
Shell ball it with her shift on and well have a good time
(wearin a shift, wearin a shift)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)
(turns me on now) (get a shift now)

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching For Pa

Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!

Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!

Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!

poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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