Swindlers and charlatans
strut the world’s stage
Decent folk beat a hasty retreat
‘tis the era’s outrage
'Time' and 'Death' are the only axioms.
Things you cannot manipulate.
Together, they eventually destroy everything.
Then, breathe life into the ashes.
Forgotten concepts, even gods who don't bleed.
I smile in Annihilation's face.
Life is an abattoir hymnal written as a Jisei.
A poem that always ends with a question/mark.
The mortician finishes your storyline, not you.
Punctuation through confrontation with both.
My job is important, I bring closure.
And I create monsters to negate certain fates.
How dare society treat me like a freak...
Every single time I ask for coffin options...
Each time I ask for lipstick preference...
Everyone reacts how you'd expect...
Now, ask yourselves, why do I write splatterpunk?
a 'mega' - seen...
of ideas called
a 'full - loss - of - why - now'
be where-in...
'free - will' is versus
endless 'deter - minisms'
stan
untamed masters, tame
their subjects, until they're tame
enough to follow.
Writing poetry is never easy.
Starting has always been hard.
Ideas rarely flow smoothly
Distractions leave the paper marred.
Thoughts confuse the writing
And never let me think.
Contradictions result from this
And drive me to the brink.
Meter and tone must be perfectly right
And rhyme must be even better.
“Proper Form” should be used,
On down to every letter.
The most difficult part of all
As some may quickly see,
Comes when trying to finish.
It is to end my poetry.
Jumping quickly
out
of known security
into
animation, suspended
above
hard reality
in
momentless time.
Gliding smoothly
through
unknown thoughts
past
unlimited dreams
near
unlived fantasy.
Landing finally
midst
broken dreams
of
desired wishes.
Reflecting quickly
upon
what could have been.
Knowing it never was.
(“The Longest Journey”, 2020, original encaustic)
All That We Dream
When George Harrison sang,
“Yesterday, today was tomorrow
And tomorrow, today will be yesterday”
He was making a simple observation
On the nature of Life as a flow
We attach our momentary labels of time.
But he could also have said this applies
To all of us simultaneously in the flow
While attaching those labels as if outside,
And that this simple shift in perspective
Is the key to liberation, at least
From the burdens of this Life’s stress and strains.
Each day we do things
And when they are done, tomorrow or the next,
We are not the same person who did them.
The beauty of this is the one planning
Is never the same as the one executing
Nor the one enjoying the result.
So plan away, aim for the stars
Take that step, take the baton
On the endless journey
The endless stream of doing
As time and being flow together
Effortlessly accomplishing all that we dream.
(9/5/25)
The core tenant of the far right
Is simply
That everyone is treated equally
Simply because
Everyone is just another individual.
(9/5/25)
Do the leaves of our cups also turn yellow ?
The rooms of green grass collect cobwebs
From the Kafkaesque vermin, fly away cuckoos
Questions galore in the river's tide and ebb
____________________
September 5, 2025
Let me tell you what I know
about Piet Mondrian and Mark Rothko,
two painters so rectangular and square,
you'd swear there is no life there,
till you look with a little more precision,
a little bit more care.
I sit, legs crossed, typing away
Doing homework, my hair uncombed
Listening to songs I don’t love but don’t hate
And I stare out the window and wonder,
Is there something more than this?
And my fingers type away
In a never-ending game
It’s raining. I feel nothing
Writing bad poems in the dark, and I wonder,
Is there more to me than this?
Procrastination, adrenaline, headphones,
Cell phones, whiteboards, deodorant,
Romance, hardback books, college, drama,
Movies, concerts, lectures, hormones,
And I wonder,
Is there more to youth than this?
My thoughts are scattered, my eyes unfocused
My brain stretched in five directions
And I don’t know who to be
Because we’re pebbles in a muddy stream
And in a world of distractions, 8 billion voices ask,
Is there more to life than this?
looking under
flowing waters of truth
finding my own
A place, a planet, a particle in the Universe,
This is where I was born, but oh I know
Things can often sometimes become worse
As I struggle every day and reap what I sow.
A place, a planet, nothing but a speck
And yet we are all left to suffer forever
In a neverending cycle even after we wreck
Forms that were sometimes not in our favor.
A place, a planet, just ants in grand scheme,
As we continue living on meaninglessly,
We're always slowly dying, so it would seem,
So enjoy all the wholesome things lovingly.
A place, a planet, though a prison, is home.
All our souls want is true freedom,
The ability to go far, explore, and roam
Despite this Hellish world's many a qualm.
Like a song we all like to improvise as we all go along.
Like a stageplay we like to have reasons to pretend and play.
Like a semblance we like to be with whom bring us balance.
I reincarnated into this life to calmly observe.
I am also here to experience what I deserve.
I am still on this journey learning just whom and how I shall serve.
Specific Types of Philosophy Poems
Definition | What is Philosophy in Poetry?
Poems Related to Philosophy
system, thought, outlook, theory, viewpoint, thinking, idea, wisdom, ideology, attitude, truth, doctrine, logic, tenet, reasoning, view, conception, axiom, reason, values, aesthetics, beliefs, rationalism, ontology, convictions, metaphysics,