Best Chronically Poems
I watch a sunset
that I'd love to share
and nobody sees it but me
I'm scratching my head
in utter amazement
that nobody cares much to see
Things to accomplish
things to get done
a million things every day
And all of these things
have one thing in common
they manage to get in the way
"In the way of what?"
as you may well ask
"I'm doing my best to get by."
And oh, what a shame
so sad and so true
we squander our lives 'til we die
And doing their best
devoid of expression
their faces are empty and bleak
So busy, so dizzy
en masse, repetition
robotically, chronically weak
And what are they doing?
Yes, why such devotion
to this seemingly endless malaise?
They're taking a rain check
and storing up treasures
and longing for much brighter days
No time for a sunset
no walks in the park
no place for a soft ocean breeze
They march on in madness
a dutiful army
en route to their chosen disease
Aristotle, who once said, “A flatterer is a friend,
Who is your inferior, or pretends to be so.”
Magician or not, the appraisal we try to defend,
Veneer covered ready, prepare for the overthrow.
And a splint named psychology supports nowt,
Tender are the suspicions, a tourniquet gripped,
That of emotion, a trend compared with doubt,
And complacency set amongst the less equipped.
Human form takes shape of Copernican theory,
Between each other, is the central perspective
Years ahead in terms of mind, yet still we query.
Remaining wary, they’ve listened so corrective.
A glimmer of paradise from that which destined
More positive than rightful, for instance, must,
Be seen as most probable, avoiding a rescind
Of harmonies that quaver a motion. Well, just!
And the motion we speak of, like a whisper,
Eases the tension between people who feather,
The hearing sensation shall understand crisper
Torn between plusses and negatives; whether!
The flatterer is found as the darkest seclusion,
Reflection of them is the question of mystery
A misty environment that forms that illusion
Chronically synchronized a challenge to history,
To beat out the drum of intention, as constant
A theory relating to trust involving apple trees
Has a Newtonian law which shall transplant,
Gravity, attached friends upon a breeze.
In feather-like spirit, the meadow may drift
An illusion that folds from the first dew morn,
With goose bumps that wrinkle a wary shift
Trusts! Where the sugar sweet mentions are born.
That’s what friends are Law, children at heart,
Make-believe portfolios of whimsical worth,
Fasten the button on jumpers, and bonnet apart
When blue summer dye creates umber for earth.
Perceived as a coward on grass that’s not green,
Glass, not a ruby, when trust solves the riddle,
To finish this mantra this causes serene,
Convinced like a Titan’s romance of the fiddle.
Oh! Zeus, need we flutter the discord to ride
The twirls of Hyperion, who teaches the master,
To dance like an ocean and swirl like the tide,
As trust gains momentums avoid the disaster.
Am I dead or dreaming? Lightfoot and scheming.
My head is full, I’m not sure which persona is in charge.
Have taken strong opiates, many too illegal to mention.
Unleash me, woman. Give me some sort of detention.
Let me be. Leave me alone. I have to be me.
We never were a complete or lovely we.
I’m too intelligent to be fooled by your endearments or looks.
My upbringing offered sordid truths that fed others lies.
You’re the crazy one. Unleash your stifling grappling hooks.
You are insane, with those rose-colored glasses on your hazel eyes!
I was raised by wolves, posing as Catholic redeemers and upstanders.
Evil creatures hiding in parishes on Sunday, pretending to be….
People who do the right thing, live morally, caring for children.
I knew the truth of them, they were liquor whores since I was wee.
Throwing me a life line? That makes me laugh. You want to save me?
I scoff at your holy handedness, your righteousness, your prissy stupidity.
I am well above your station, and we were never a thing, never could be.
My mind is shaking my soul out of her uncaring attitude at your weird lucidity.
I have saved myself, you see. So fly away, interferer, just let me be!
There is no we, never has been, and will never be, you see.
I am always, forever, and chronically only “me”.
Raised by wolves, heading toward my own morbidity.
dialog with myself invariably involves others
we are all perceivers nobody escapes
no really and truly trust me on this
no manufacturing of childish evasions
maybe it is best to be born into a family
with family values
ablaze with comfort and sanitation
lost in a forest of memories
amusingly arrayed for shoppers
exactly like the TV version
fortunately I was in touch
with my inner juvenile delinquent
unlettered by any known normalcy
nor crazed by the expectation of gold
or even gold paint from a rattle can
our addiction to pleasure
is no Darwinian accident
we really do learn to act from movies
no really and truly trust me on this
our tune is a complicated little number
in several keys at once
upon your mother's pedestal is one
between cognition and reflex is another
in the keyhole universe
location location location
I may need an axe to free my thoughts
just so I can play dumb
when you know too much
you go for the guts
in a trail blazing effort to avoid
media suppression by the CIA
Clairvoyant Intelligence Agency
chronically in for interrogation
OK let's play who's more paranoid
if this poem is minus the above line
then it has been tampered with
754 million hand sewn Humpty Dumpty
nerve connections later
sutured like Frankenstein's test dummy
a bungee cord full of existential tension
I seem to be strapped to a microscope
plunging to new vistas and panoramas
recoil in horror from what you were
behavior can also be modified
by better info if you let it
how's that for mind warfare
pretty propaganda pretty pretty
for the young and the innocent
left screaming in a gas station toilet
wrapped in today's newspaper
comics section puzzle page
how long can the charade continue
when autonomous is still an illegal word
this is an audience participation piece
from the Federal Pencil Council
and for the terminally nostalgic
the night arched quietly above
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
WHAT. THE WORLD NEEDS IS CHRONIC CHANGE, CONCILIATION AND CONVERSATIONS ,CULMINATING IN CLIMAXED COMMUNICATION.
WHAT WE NEED IS OUTSTANDING OBVIOUS OBSERVATION.
WE NEED MORE MEDITATION, MODERATE MEDIATION AND
MAJOR MODERN MONETARY MACHINES.
WE NEED POSITIVE PROLONGED PARTICIPATION.
WHAT WE NEED IS LITERAL LIBERALISM AND A LITTLE LITIGATION
ABOVE ALL WE NEED LOADS OF LOVING LECTURES AND LASTLY,
LOTS OF LOVE.
ONE CRUCIAL CONCERN: ALL NEEDS ARE CHRONICALLY CONSTANT.
MLK's Positive Beloved Community Psychology:
The study
and mindbody experience
of positively regenerative life
as appositionally dipolar,
double-negative correlational,
Mind consciousness
and body conscience
co-arising empathy
back into endosymbiotic dissonance,
physical-ego decay
And metaphysical-ec(o)-soul irrationality
of unbalanced temporal-neural dysfunction,
growing autistic depressive-repressive anger and fear,
chronically disintegrative,
increasingly climatic degeneration,
dis-ease racing toward even further Yangry Fear
monocultural trending self/other
shame/blame,
socio-eco-political
ungrateful
unforgiving pathology
For missing out
on humanely divine
polycultural
dialectical
nondualistic mind/body
crown/root bilaterally intelligent opportunities
To choose full-health wealth investment i
n polyempathic passion/pleasures
of Beloved Woke Community
Interior within Exterior Landscaped
revolutionary content thought
contentment felt
Through Positive BiCameral EcoPsychological Conscious
body gratitude
mind positive attitude
spreading our trauma-in/ex-formative
co-passioned networking virus
ReStoring BodyEmpowering Justice
and Civil MindEnlightening Peace,
PositiveMind BodyPleasureTherapy
CoOperating beloved back
to YangFather
SunCrown enlightening
YintegralMother
EarthRooted empowerment.
I am the frightened toddler running from the demons
that I made up in my head.
I am the dark shadow of a missing character
that is tricking the deathbed.
I turn the corner of poverty into emptiness
that a step-child feels with dread.
I am the window of a mind lost in seeking
for the answer to mankind.
I am the visions of future social missions
for the chronically disinclined.
I am the memory of passing dire ships
for cargos that malign.
I am the birth of a day without sun
and a mother’s voice of guns.
I am the tainted trunk of a winter’s tree
that the midnight shuns.
I am Frankenstein with scissors of emotions
until I love someone.
Thanks for feedback.
Unquotable quotes – V
Constant dipping wears out the hardest bone.
Out of sight, out of bind.
Too many cooks spoil the school books.
Be a cuckoo and lay your eggs at the cuckold’s next door.
When lightning strikes, the fire-brigade rides.
Don’t cry over spilt tears on a tilted table.
Give a dope a long rope to escape prison and hang yourself.
Till the cows come home lone and married.
Do not teach a dog how not to bark.
A shark’s « fin » is the end of the film.
A rhinoceros’s horn makes the infidel a born again thorn.
Early to bed, early to rise makes the wife stealthy, squelchy
and clock-wise.
A lawyer is a liar/Who rides a bicycle on a live wire/Smokes a
salmon in her office oven/Slurps noodles with poor
poodles/Makes fudges out of judges/Ends up selling
divorced wives/On the internet stock archives.
A two-timing two makes fools of fours on all fours.
Go fly a kite when you’re tight out of sight.
When the garden warbler trills on oblivious, the magpies
ensemble grumble.
Patients can undo all the good doctors do.
Even cars can become chronically ill.
Children need not be seen so long as the noise they make
reminds us of them.
Authority always provides cover for cruelty.
The nation is always worthy of the most scurrilous crimes.
Religious service serves only the ritual’s hollow promise.
He serves God best who serves all creatures first.
God cannot be in need of help. Nor does He need adulation.
Is religion an attempt to bribe God ?
© T. Wignesan –Paris, 2016
Where my love goes
your mystery cannot fade.
Yet my curiosity can wilt without your active support,
contagious nourishment,
never-ending flames of wonder
that this love
you could persist with me.
How could we possibly not share our lives,
mutually disinvest of mysteries
that could dampen
more aggressive histories?
Yet without active curiosity
mystery fails hopeless to know more,
even though love’s thirst for internal sufficiency
and self-creation stories
becomes too easily quenched
by cooperative post-climatic adjustments,
aging continental plates
earth-quaking our chronically mutual myths,
and their before logos and after mythos shocks.
Where my love goes
your history could not shade,
yet dark fading curiosity of aging eyes and ears
and minds
can blend these my well-deserved contentment
feeding flame’s remorseless desire
to continue this co-blind mystery
of love’s deep and blissful well-fed curiosity.
In this chronically ill world, He stands as the Doctor
so that out of the ruins of human corruption, there can be a victor.
His wisdom and understanding is beyond any human politics,
His wondrous maneuvers and doings, beyond the laws of physics.
He has put in you a great potential since when you’re zero
so go through His instructions to be a hero
with all He has done, you’ll no longer stand an outcast
as His grace will be the main meal to your every breakfast.
His word will be your light and path through the dark
to lead you on the journey as He gives you that spark.
He’s ever ready to establish something strong and private
to enrich and prosper you beyond any estimate.
His son has labored on the cross to craft the steel
accept His wonderful adoption and ride the wheel.
Cleansing and washing, erasing the bad paint
walking gloriously in the light, you’ll be a saint.
Maintaining such distinction as a divine salt
makes you valuable and worthy of staying in his vault.
I’m a living testimony, He’s made all His inheritance mine
that’s why His love commands my celebration of a daily valentine.
Bitter Pill of Big Pharma
Big pharma hype that they cure
But they really don’t, profits are too dear.
If they have alternate choices to pick
A pill that cures or one keeping you chronically sick
They choose the latter, more profits for all
Especially for executives who get the biggest haul.
This is why health care fails when profit driven
Becomes not curing or making you well, that is a given.
Variations on a Punishing Theme
When people are hungry and at risk of homelessness
despair
chronic depression
and climatic extinction
Is it because their leaders
and community developers,
learning incubators
and technical assistance providers,
grantors and lenders,
representatives
and public sector service providers
absorb too many investments and nutrients
for their own mouths and mortgages?
sleeping soundly at night
unaware of how their Continuous Quality Improvement intentions
economically and ecologically miss their mark
of solidarity and mutual subsidiarity,
of recreating the comfort and nutrients
they intended to invest in those with greater need.
Perhaps the self-blaming unruliness of hungry homeless people
Is due to oversight interference of well-intended practitioners
expert administrators
senior consultants
expertly dominating fragile margins of poverty
feeding dissonant anger and fear
and mistrust.
Chronically at-risk species fear living death's dissonance
and entropic non-thrival trends,
Because we are anxious to survive,
to build life; not so much death and perpetual advent.
Wilting personal lives
have no bandwidth left
for righting macrosystemic death trends.
It is mutual-mentors who co-invest in cooperative thriving,
That incarnate wise evolution of deep ecologically balancing lives.
Self-composting toilets
have surprisingly greater nurturing value
to people without a pot to pee in
than community-composting banks
and governments.
Frame To image painful
sorrows planted
Inside hearts
Awake Seeds of the fear
With hiding of horror fact
Capped...
wear of silence Dress
Planted sorrows of the Day
It was...
sign on grave
dub to...
Death of man
* * *
silence is not a picture of them
Without a paint
Accepted you die like Anonymous
Although you’re at the dream
Truth
Although your heart in desert
Carry of home
Although your age was right
To home country
* * *
Accepted you die like Anonymous
Like Zia glory... When extinguished
Such spirit bring
And disappear
Like a beautiful dream
Accepted you die like Anonymous
* * *
too Houses died
Doors backed the walls
Mourned her
streets Withered
of night came leaving body chronically
loved shiny star
longer his songs to the moon
Rumored for the last beats from your heart.
You felt
And announced absence
* * *
Passed Faces like dreams
Printed on the plate-blooded
Board regrets the eye
Which saw of leaving
At mystery
It was not is inspiring
Frame
To image aching
A whirlpool is stirring in my half empty cup
Until I’m intoxicated on my wavering path
I tumble from dizzying heights halfway up
My life is a nuclear winter in the aftermath
All I’m gifted are signs of a dead-end ahead
The light in the tunnel is a mushroom cloud
How I love the euphoria as I storm ahead
My lungs implode as I scream out loud!!!
I sip a mood through a road of absolution
But I’m chronically thirsty for peace and truth
My skeleton was not built for this exhibition
But my lies are buried deep within the earth
My memories dance with galvanized ecstasy
I toast beyond recognition to a life half lived
The mushroom cloud is a perpetual furnace
The fireworks mocking all that I’m bereaved
09-15-2015
Tbang
Hatred is a sort of colonisation
It governs the heart
Like colonisation governs a colony
Where freedom is restricted
Love exhausted
Hegemony impudent
And the mind becomes a slave
Chronically angry and frustrated
And so a spiritual release is needed
Maybe through a religion
Or a blessing from God