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Because I Meant To Bow Before You

( An experiment, because of an idea Gertrude Stein had about the musicality, or poetic polyphonetics of repeat·ed/ing ( fleeting, depleting, reexcreating? ) words or phrases. I only hope God's not listening... well, not too closely. Searching phantom-phoneme's phantasms. ) _____________________________ because I meant to bow before you god and pray but just this one finger obey'd only pink survives this screen because it's human because death alone is my gift because you deserve nothing less this holy dust amen and once upon no time god died and only a fly like me on this broken wind screen my truth alone streak'd red fingers across heaven's round rust given a life ends to end a savage reign as bright days mark gift's of summer passing and only hope survives a just god only knows __________________________________________ "..., because in this universe, effect follows cause. I've complained about it, but... ". - Dr. House - fr. T.V. Show: "House MD"

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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Date: 7/30/2023 1:58:00 AM
"only hope survives". Your poem is light on words, but packed with meaning... Loved it. Russian proverb: “Hope is the last to die.”
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Robert Warlov
Date: 7/30/2023 7:52:00 AM
The guiding principle was polyphonetics. The form; meter, rhyme, verse, and other "normal" poetic consideration were excluded. Thanks for your interest.
Date: 7/28/2023 4:03:00 PM
Now I know why I can't grow intelligence. My understanding level is almost zero. Anyway I really appreciate you dropping by my poetry recently, Robert
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Robert Warlov
Date: 7/29/2023 9:15:00 AM
But if I tell you that our collective intelligence or "Cultural Mythos" is founded upon our personal acquiescence and adherence to a persistent or perpetuating reverie then you might choose to understand it.
Date: 7/15/2023 3:42:00 AM
Poetry's purpose in England was educational; that rhyming allowed information to be more easily retained and recalled (context ), but content, without understanding, can't "grow" intelligence. See my nonsense poem: "sHIP" ~ an inquiry into form.
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