Best Fluxes Poems
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
When you get bored
Go at the edge of the Seine
Be the friend of swans
Divide some bread into pieces
To throw to them!
Don't be in charge of shippers
Letters remain in consciousness
By dancing northward
Consider bottles
Carried away by fluxes...
Never present yourself
Instead of others
Don't conform to others either
Rest as you are...
The art that is contained in you develops
I cannot say to you 'rest in the night'.
Impose your existence
Like a rose
On the pages of society
In the mirror of a page
And in the middle of a mirror
I cannot say to you 'rest in the night'.
Pretend not to see
The cold winds which pass
Near to you
Drink the sun
Dispel your sadness
Burn griefs one after another...
I cannot say to you " rest in the night ".
Hardly believe what you hear
Weigh all that you see
Review all that you learn
Speak of your feelings
only to those you like
I cannot say to you 'rest in the night'.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Bruxelles, le 05.11.2005
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick, 06.03.2006
Hands awaken! Speak out! Answer to sacred shouts,
subterranean whispering, to stars above rooftops—
thread sunlit branches with the chattering of a thousand leaves.
If fluxes and urgencies of confusion or death
should drawn you into your self-box, I say,
remember when one constructed self-prison fell away.
However you helped this forward,
do more of the same.
Be rain-hands, weeping, steeped in earth fragrance.
Be fingers in blossom, faces turning upward,
loves innumerable, rough-cut bedazzled—
unafraid to be splayed open.
Be pocketed hands, released to the welcoming wind—
multiplying there in mid-air,
riding the four directions.
Be hands of smoke and fire, descending and ascending like ragged bird-song—
effulgent, double-charged with surprise
and now even with mock surprises.
Start at the beginning, where you are.
Don’t be satiate with loll-lolling
recede wave’s tide, retreat back and back
into yourselves, until grown utterly intellectual and lumpish!
Now, you Human Being—you come awake also!
Sweep the furnishings from table. Upend the table lawlessly.
Bring the muscular, fleshy, feminine against the masculine and muscular.
Bring the masculine to the feminine. Bring friend to enemy,
estranged neighbor to the confidant. In a dance of pressing hands,
let subtle conversation play.
Ring all the tiny bells.
Stir the King and Queen of Remembrance.
In over-arching restraint, holding back one iota, so pure notes sound—
bring sunburst, sphere and harmony.
Make your entire body a listening board
forming therein—tender shape around which love
seed unfolds infinite spaces and then…
Spring awake! All to better dreaming
where hope and faith are undashed, not this dying.
O, hear me now! Hands, every which one of you,
with every human—never again sleep,
never abandon!
Ways of Taiwan….
Open and upright are oracle minds.
Wisdoms are fluxes and thoughts are coils.
Valid truths are drive as forces.
Taiwan needs a exact ways.
Fighht the china commie and get their righrs.
Laws are ready and some are crucial.
Have what you wish as list to list.
If worse come to happen then some had to fight.
China bosses redemptions comes as beyond ways so ever.
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
Softly and silently you begot my heart’s love hope when there was none,
Securely you glided into my laxly life when destiny had me indolently undone.
Into my life you filled love when my fate on a platter offered me bliss trifling,
Niftly you surreptitiously left my antedated heart airless and stifling,
Gusts of malevolence vent out with arcane sprite, oh! these esoteric rifling.
Your comely face now seems to me an abhorrative visage,
Our bonds of love bleed venom from the punctured heart, painful seepage.
Urns of sorrow, my eyes grieve tormented, wailing tears toil to turn a new page.
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
Volcanic emotions erupt, as evoke memories of making scalding love,
Ecstatic desires drive me insane, but I live on like a lonesome mourning dove,
Reminisce your fond caress….very much…..my love ………..I miss you………….
2/3/2012
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
Softly and silently you begot my heart’s love hope when there was none,
Securely you glided into my laxly life when destiny had me indolently undone.
Into my life you filled love when my fate on a platter offered me bliss trifling,
Niftly you surreptitiously left my antedated heart airless and stifling,
Gusts of malevolence vent out with arcane sprite, oh! these esoteric rifling.
Your comely face now seems to me an abhorrative visage,
Our bonds of love bleed venom from the punctured heart, painful seepage.
Urns of sorrow, my eyes grieve tormented, wailing tears toil to turn a new page.
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
Volcanic emotions erupt, as evoke memories of making scalding love,
Ecstatic desires drive me insane, but I live on like a lonesome mourning dove.>
Buzz…
Get a buzz and real as come.
Deaths with fouls will play as claim.
Words of buzz are argots piles.
Tyrants boxed our life as times.
Words that rude are swear that bad.
Bleeding souls are all so wet.
Oh must you a dirty mouth.
I am clean and good at mounts.
So I am clean and noting harm.
Dirty mouths you dip by arts.
Keep my stick and you must down.
Alpha male is me that calm.
Goals and horns are champagne flutes.
Fluxes that change are killing fools.
Made excited are Towns to goals.
Me is me are hot or cold.
I can love the basely P.L.A. goals.
Pick her goalie cherry close.
China double agent strips.
Smooth and tender all are lips.
Kiss is kiss and still we can.
Dip and flee are moist with lands.
Venus mounts have camel toes.
Read her contour all are poems.
--------------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3------------
I objestigate between arabesques and sleep,
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps.
I'm indifferent to the misanthropic mocking,
that welltering inflection that I call plockingism.
It's their cheeky syncopated schisms that I rebut,
and yet they slantathunt for the right to boff.
Well, blanderluse I refuse, so let them scoff!
I derogate their impultritude and arrogance.
Drapple their smirking repudiation of my dance
for they know nothing of the dark decoctions
spating rapidly through my vendacious veins,
nor of the mastacular alter assemblage
of the miscelany grey and white matter in my brain.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking, perhaps,
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
their hate. I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
Mayhap writing in this style is as tedious a method
of torture as it would be to dispropart a heart!
After reading this ranting of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I present my ischemic side as a dimwitted addlepate.
I'm a conflagration of animation or maybe I'm just lazy.
I'm not of the artificial intelligence variety,
but there's more than just one kind of crazy.
Vogonese is a language that few will applaud.
I see it as a form of whimsical words, without a reward.
If this is the third worst type of poetry in the world...
keep the first two ridiculous rooskits in sails unfurled!
Insanity is bred in flompous fields of clantigendice clover.
Moreover, before I drop my plasmergent pen on the floor
I find myself crossing the threshold of depravities' door.
*Don't ask for an interpretation. I have no clue.
once aboard the desert submarine
anchored by the golden sundial
outlandish and phosphorescent
we crossed the greatness
of many drowned landscapes
fluxes of algae and shrewish freesias
cloistering up
dans le château à la lune
where the ragman’s lantern announces
the arrival of the fearful butter knight
he’s tattered and salted
the endangered specimen
straight from the cabinet of Walter Potter
the missing piece of a lifeless diorama
the granite giant of bronze ages
walking at the speed of light
he’s an itinerant vendor
and with his grand dexterity
he’ll get us before we
summon the witnesses
his crime forgotten
his crime simply victimless
once aboard the desert submarine
we’re outlandish and phosphorescent
and we’ll have our moon Halloween
and honeymoon of adolescence
Her crimson lipstick stains my innocent skin
Her perfect aura bleeds upon me and it seeps within
And this carnal flame has ignited
The night thickens and I get more excited...
Blood fluxes through my thermal veins
Concrete pulsations inside of my turbulent brain
Unabated sweat oozes out of ajar pores
She screams like she's penetrating a portal through open doors...
Her flesh compressed adjacent mine
Until it deteriorates and the demon begins to define
Extracting her fangs she can sense my fear
With fire on her tongue she can taste my every tear...
She devours my body and soul
We're in free fall down a pitch black hole
She picks apart form the bone and masticates my innards
She abandons the remains for her fellow demons' dinners.
The Rubiks cube is round, observed at atomic size
To see reality you must enter, take a peep inside
I’m not saying pull it apart, searching out a pivot
But rather a microscopic journey, for our tiny visit
Photons on its surface, weaving around in circles
Can pass through with ease, external to internal
You see rotating squares, cuboid annoying design
Yet molecules in blank space, spiral together blind
Mosaic patchwork colors, atop firmaments of skin
Projections of light appear, as matrixes flow within
Pictels turning relentlessly, of indiscernible pattern
Interior fluxes created, hexagonal poles on Saturn
Poppycock you say, it’s merely a frustrating puzzle
Millions of us have tried, and most of us struggled
In truth that’s kind of right, solutions are in dearth
Lessons from history, of our once flat planet earth.
If the Rubik's cube was round Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
04/01/2021
emotions................my feelings..........
They float aimlessly inside me and outside me on the languid wings of air,
To the home of the maiden that is far yonder and there........
How can my feelings, they reach,
without the valleys and mountains of emotions they crudely breach..
Alas! now I have awoken from my dream,
my feelings will flow likenever ending time and the gushing stream...............
Morning thaws into feverous noon, dusk fluxes and night dimly fades away,
Into a lonesome diurnal, nocturnal rhythm all woozy and gray.
You are unique and a dream’s reality,
Beauty and passion collides for your sensuality.
So sensuous you’re seeking stare,
Blinds me like the suns glare..
Oh friend of mine...
how many moons will have to pass for me to meet you and by the candle light dine......... ?
So sweet your face such comely grace
a maiden so dazzling and serene i have never seen..............
hope that stays that way.........
mystic glow will radiate it and i pray to god for it to on your face always stay....
Moan for you ever, my throbbing heart and forlorn soul,
Youth of my life spent with blood shot eyes akin burning charcoal.
Lost in fond love without you beside me, now and hear,
Over and over again teeming with your thoughts I shed many a tear.
emotions................my feelings..........
Can you see the flow, dancing above you now?
Close your eyes,
let yourself drift back to a time before you were born,
still inside your mother’s womb,
while you were being carefully woven together,
bit by bit, strand by strand,
stitch by stitch, fold by fold,
guided by flowing fluxes of energy and
gradients of ions,
orchestrated by the loving rhythms,
switching on and off, fading in and out,
in a timeless march,
singing the tunes of those who came before you,
recalling the notes they have chosen,
so that you could be,
who you are,
in this moment,
HERE,
NOW.
Have you forgotten so soon?
Close your eyes,
see yourself as you are,
suspended in time,
hanging between heartbeats,
in your perfection,
waiting to awaken,
or trying not to sleep,
in order to perceive,
the wonder that surges through you,
from the edges of the universe,
to the end of time.
Inner Tides and Outer Moons
Just like Earth and her moon
Our own body-mind fluxes
With and within the cycle of tides.
Up-down, strong-weak, high-low
We swell and contract in a rhythm
That effects if not controls us all.
Maybe it’s even what makes us care
About others and what others think of us
Since without the flux
We’d be more consistent
And so more confident, less needy
And thus more independent.
But at a certain point,
Maybe what we call mid-life
We should have learned that no matter
The flux is ours and not up to others
To verify, confirm or even acknowledge
Who we are, our successes and failures.
A body-mind in flux
After all is a mystery
In the process of becoming
But after at least fifty years of becoming
We should have become familiar enough
To know what is and what’s ahead.
At least to know
That there will always be
Change and more change,
And that the key to a mature
If not always happy body-mind
Is a measure of self reliance.
(3/23/25)
enthralled forr noww
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the.traces
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unkept /pigging cleaning,every quarter
on all times many many many-/cut/ _so forth
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melting/rims
& (&the-rites)&the/rebuttallgeriane
soo free _-- b itt itt is still a bett
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numbs mi is wett/where eevr
she is is _she sheputts mi minus you
carryon men cause the ferry is free finallyy
/slips/ozzes / door to door/door to door/manyy made more
burntt /stomped swaps a swop/look/
vacate again all