Whispers in the dark
bound by narrow edges,
scenic vista's flicker,
sans reality.
Drifting thru passages
featured in cryptic messages,
illustrated in absurdities.
Complex abstract thoughts,
distorted impressions
and twisted meanings.
Fits of restless writhing
shackled by the depth.
By 12
By 12 I was
fully grown. My height was
the envy of
the short arses in
my classes. I wasn’t a
porker like
some ... I was
spared fat jokes. My level of
pituitary activity was, well,
excellent. Hormone increases were
too. Ejaculated more than
most. My secondary sex characteristics gave me
some respect. I was the first in
my class to
break their
voice. My thin mo caused awe in
the hairless. Deductive reasoning was
special. My systematic problem finding the answers to
things had triple the
different possibilities thought about, mulled, prior to
the answers being chosen. I was the king of
abstract thoughts, and that
riddled others with
confusion and
anger. It was easier for me to
manipulate abstract concepts than
concrete ones. Hours on
end I’d get lost in
idealistic contemplation of
hypotheticals until I was
clapped out
of it. I spent a lot of
time lost in
identity formation. I soaked in
everything. Long-term memory
ached. I praised daily the
elaboration added to
encoding strategies. I avoided happily interactions with
most. Opposite-peers I avoided
happily. I was
undateable.
Mart has almost no friends.
He is a different race than anyone at school.
His low I.Q. makes him act differently.
He is a concrete thinker.
Abstract thoughts he does not grasp.
When he gets a friend, he is super thrilled.
His exuberance overwhelms them.
He speaks in a super loud voice.
He is an incessant talker.
He needs no personal space, so he stands in your mouth.
Mart gets offended easily.
He shrieks and screams when he feels disrespected.
Easy conversation can trigger him.
He is moody and gets upset easily.
When a person tries to end a conversation, he is offended.
Of course, these are the people my mother forced me to befriend.
She thought it would help me develop empathy.
It actually made me angry and upset, like Mart.
Being his friend meant losing my other friends.
Beautiful canvas beautiful skin
arrested smiles
burgeoning love
seeping into me
oh, come on, karma talk
like a french lover:
"La vie est une fleur dont l'amour est le miel."
| Life is a flower of which love is the honey
and it is making me feel ill and cloudy. |
Is this what we lovers get? Is this what lonely
hearts feel when we mix love with art?
Oh, come on, please.
Karma is not enough
i gave it up for camera.
Remembering how i felt most intense pleasure
piercing my heart upon a figural stone shaped
as a monster's heart.
I messed objects with abstract thoughts
and lost myself which became more real.
and everything and every sense and every thought
tried to devour me within a black throat of fear
and it tried plainly ~~ i use to daydream at night
and paint colors in the darkest thoughts of my
mind; everything oh everywhere and everythis
and everythat |and it tried to eat me |
i woke up believing i was right here now.
Where i threw colors within my head
where i drew deepest fears away
when i was there when you cut me with
your words/i tried to say...i tried to say
tried to say....
Love is everywhere.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
Casting stones into rivers,
broken deep in the core.
The tide of something coming.
Rusted in hue lost in the soul.
The tv burns in its silent snow
as it drifts in quite lands
of vacant eyes lost!
In the dreams of a former glory
of others cast in light
n shadows in a box
electric and dynastic…
A fearing nation lost without
and within, single-minded think, not!
Singular in abstract thoughts of truth
or reality lost and snow blind…
Eyes staring vacantly covered in night
a fearing nation of ill will and dark dreams!
Days are sharp as memories pass
As the idle thunder attest
to storms of unsettled wrath.
They gather together on the opaque horizons.
The engines of the highway HUMM
and
the grind with the heaviness of an iron heart
…eons-long!
Full of oily thoughts and rusted parts,
in memorium when machines ran
by our hand only in the theory of history, Grand!
The city reeks of oblivion and abstract thoughts…
Infinities' echos were sharp redrawn imagery…
Antiquated days nestled in idol thunder!
of tomorrow’s memories…ALL
In the theory of memory
Now all color is
…is the color of embers
As we rust like echos that pass
into the wasted days, abstract!
In theory of memory…
Only the bitter last!
To glide with inspiration above quilted clouds
Where birds so often soar
Glimpse a sunset hued in gold
With many colors to adore
To grasp the muse that swing from creative vines
And sway from abstract thoughts
Upon the page release the lines
Which meander within the plots
Clasp the quill as the ink flows
And carefully craft each verse
Clutch the metaphors in rhyme or prose
As throughout the page they intersperse
Sometimes the ending can hold a surprise
And cause a gasp in its trail
The words flow subtly and with guise
Its meaning you then inhale
6-28-2021
Writing Prompt Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Poet's minds have abstract thoughts
emerging in waves from their hearts.
Words are unraveled and untangled,
where once their meaning was mangled.
All too often, as many readers would,
they're found baffling; misunderstood.
But oh how genuinely lucid and austere
when read aloud, to the discerning ear,
are the sentiments written by a poet's pen,
distinctly implicit enough to comprehend.
Perhaps, based on his/her life's anecdotes,
but with imagery a poet sows wild oats.
The poet's hands are tied by written words,
inking emotions in-between the lines.
Nature's creatures, like butterflies and birds,
oft get reduced to colors and outlines
only observable from the sidelines.
Poets induce feelings through abstract thoughts
trusting the reader to connect the dots,
but struggle to transcribe a smile or frown,
for the weight of fledgling words, holds them down.
Feelings untethered from reality
can cause a communications breakdown,
when a poet pens sensuality.
(Dizain)
6/08/2021
The Poet's Hands Are Tied Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
artificial smarts
are nonliving intellect
with specific goals
just programmed logic
with limited rationale
that cannot shut off
to think abstract thoughts
as the context of content
ai's a tooled toy
an arts-official
engineered dreams for control
...
ai can't grow up
stan sand
I'm primarily known for my poetry
inked in cerebral colors of abstract thoughts.
Yet, there is a complexity concealed within me.
My totality runs surprisingly deep.
You must meticulously disassemble and examine
all my puzzling parts to understand me.
I'm a dreamer, awake in a dream called life;
an optimist and a self-doubter, I know I'm not always right.
But I love to fledge my poetic thoughts,
feathering their wings with witty words.
My heart reveals hidden hurts buried deep
to appease my conscience and oblige reality!
Yet compassion underlies my every breath,
weighing life's wrongs on the scales of injustice.
Draining dreams tear by tear, year after year,
frustration has not yet emptied me of hope.
But, if I am to be defined by anything,
let it be by the gift fate endowed my muse;
and the Karma my poems have generated,
illuminating my pathway to now
and guiding me toward tomorrow.
Are you a fan of fur friend liberation,
Across our great lucky nation?
If only we had intercommunication,
Between every species on Earth,
We'd understand each other's worth,
Do you believe in what we're taught,
That animals have no abstract thought?
Indeed, how do we know this?
Is it all a load of blip?
Do dogs pass over into Puppy Heaven? I ask,
Believing it's for 'good boys', their task,
Their certain and sure hope of resurrection,
Somewhere with snacks and toys in Heaven,
Loving their owners just the same,
Abstract thoughts, is that the game?
True interspecies communication,
Dreaming on, in this lucky nation!
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
Alone, Lone Wolf,
Reticent and aloof,
Abstract thoughts,
Introspection taught,
Introvert innate,
Not a lonely plate,
Fun book friends,
Delights never end,
A pleb, for what that's worth,
On lonely Planet Earth,
Jewel of the Universe,
Cosmos, one vast church,
Life is creation,
Have we found any aliens?
Reticent and aloof,
Alone, a Lone Wolf.
I would say, Poetry is an art in verse.
From deep inside the Poet brings out
Revelations of self, nature, life.
Poet, Poetess - skilled writers in verse,
Paint for us imagery of abstract thoughts,
An art that can "move" us to the core.
We "see" what they write and reflect
On images conjured up in thought,
A master-piece created for lovers of the
craft!
Craftily, pages come alive with expressions
That emotionally move and sway,
Removing the unwanted yesterdays leaving
only the now.
The Poet captures and engages the minds of
the audience,
Whether from the platform or silently reading,
Spoken or written words echo in the stillness
of the air!
Poems can ignite passion, calm the soul, create
Thoughts and provoke eloquence in speech,
Which awakens the "sleeping" soul as the orator
reads.
Bursting with passion from within,
Love stories come alive and, O,
Climax slowly like crashing waves
dissolve upon the shore.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.