Best Incoherence Poems
What is life?
Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies
Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime
Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between.
Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.
The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.
In limited struggle, the moments unspent
Become the result of a living lament.
In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb
Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.
From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar
For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear
We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.
A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.
To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'
SYNOPSIS
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us. As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture. This poem is meant to reflect the myriad of disjointed thoughts that have run through my mind throughout the years. The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.
CAK 8-18-2013
Diversified, she sat upon the page
a tiny dot of incoherence brushed into the ink
She wondered how she got so small
and stretched to reach an "A",
the brink
which started the sentence of her life,
a thousand words to hide away.
While she studied the paper rift
she noticed the fibrous weave
of every white of every letter
to chalky dust inhaled to breathe
She split herself into twenty times two
and walked the page a struggle
So tired and broken of breath and lung
she scattered and sunk to ink
to sleep, to weep, to wallow and keep
every thought that she dared yet to think
And while the wind caught up the page
and settled it into a pond
she gathered herself in her incoherence
and wrote herself into beyond.
and a switch flicks
who are you he asks
it should be me
asking who are you
until the switch
flicks back to . . .
fuddled hours
gone are the simplest things
a crayon in a box of pens
then that switch
and it’s who are you
I want to go home
but in truth
it’s who are you
as now a foreign clarity of sorts
no more mumbling incoherence
no shuffling walk
now it’s clear, sure
and behold
a different person emerges
occupying my father
secretly all this time
now stepping out
through the non-dominance
and slowly
becoming the dominant part
a battle of the hemispheres
dementia – an uprising
of hidden people
from somewhere ago
Trying to understand:
in an information culture,
evocation is more important;
explicit saying counts against us.
People need to be well
into believing
being educated is more
than information:
less hypnotized
the incoherencies and
what they’re saying,
the musicality
of people’s voices
and intonations;
would get more
from them.
Effectively, psychoanalysis is
something other, not the coherences;
it listens for words
that are saying more,
It’s got something to do with being;
it’s a form of listening,
not distracted by incoherence
but evoked by it.
Her curves are rinsing their endless constellation
beneath hot rainfalls of white shower steam,
which is why I stand quiet, sinfully agape even
and willfully paralyzed by an ambrosia of slender echoes.
A drunken prize fighter, dazed by countless punches I spin
from the twirling parasol of her sexy, fitted hips-- when finally,
as the winds of lust muffle in her bath towel, she chuckles
her red-petal lips contour the silent words.. “I love you”
I'm hit by the crack of thunder that that stops everything
dizzied by the just-popped blossom that steals all the newborn light,
the kind that even moribund butterflies take drifting detours to see
before their wings lose all starlit desires to fly above the soil.
Here.. somehow.. in the question mark of my good fortune
she stands like a bouquet of lightning, catching, and natural.
Her light tips over a glass of my words, spilling incoherence everywhere
my senses scramble to pick up scattered bits of tongue-tied sweet talk
but I admit defeat, I admit hilarious defeat.
I turn ten shades of red, still-- after six years of marriage
I am the thorn-- she is the rose-- and together we make love.
August 23, 2016
MY TWILIGHT
PT. 1
INTRO:
~Torn~
Mid of life’s clammy grasp
One~ cold but always there
The other~ warm at heart,
But can’t be bound
Pt. one: the un-boundable
~Forgotten~
Years have passed
Since last I seen your face
Your heart wanted purity
But you background lifestyle one that race
Led you to digrace…
…me
~Unhinged~
By our love, one you didn’t expect
You doused it out with water,
Before our fire could even spread
You couldn’t confront your hearts desire
Instead, left love shattered and dead
~Poisoned~
Loves pure blood
By escaping enticing bliss
Then you blind in your appearance
When you find out, I’m small and meek
longing to be my rock, when my heart fell incoherence
~What do you want from me?~
© Miranda Lambert
5/17/11 3:26pm
Stay tuned for part two:
The stone cold
Today I accomplished after a sustained effort
I wanted to set my mind free of all its dirt
I got rid of all, that's redundant
The baggage of experience that's abundant
Anger, hate, envy and jealousy
Myths, confusion, illusion and fallacy
Laxity, mess, incoherence and insanity
Chaos, clutter, dishevel and obscurity
Dogmas, tenets, maxims and rules
Traditions and conventions that the present ridicules
Desire, ambition, hunger and greed
I removed all that I didn't need
Only to realise now, there ain't left anything
My anxiety to set it free meant there's nothing.
suddenly the beauty fades
and the masquerade becomes a crimson deluge
somewhere out of nowhere, incoherence reveals her uglier side
the stone soup of badly timed revelation is pure poison
the rocks thrown at my routine dream bloodies the strength of the center and blockades the solidity of my little world
suddenly enough is a microorganism growing impatient via the knowledge within the maturation
i become a victim of your black confetti surprise party
i want you to taste the bloody black jello of my misery
however you get the flavor of my personal version of icy cold detachment
all the ladders are now worn and badly damage
all the attics are infested and offend with the stench of incompleteness and indecisiveness
suddenly my brain goes in circles in endless speeds like a defiant spinning top
i wish i could give my own brain a hassan chop
maybe then all sense within me will finally come together
however my journey will still never really have a true blue definition
Shirring quirks
There is a hollow in my complex poet’s soul
ambivalence and contradictions a vagary maybe
a vagrant’s search for meaning roots expression
a void and a fill just the same a need to be heard
Stream of consciousness at best with sudden
abrupt twists and turns between flexible moldings
derived from schema files impressions of context origin
contingency and sometimes seeming incoherence
Incontinence it may appear and yet a gathering
when fragmentation on the fabric of my tapestry
feeds an inner need to reveal all clarity and still
remains in mystery of mellow capricious constancy
Is it weird and odd idiosyncratic in peculiar eccentricity
does it disguise more than it reveals am I too secretive
or shy when I play with words ad infinitum and on that
matter is it not absurd when scribbles are fixed in verse
Is it strength conferred or foible fancy sneaky meaning
when the open book that I am remains closed in view
of polar opposites becomes a gathering in the theatre
of mind with a puzzled audience on ranks and sidelines
My twirling on this planet used to be clear and absolute
with no conscious orbits left infallible of strong delusion
I am now free to dither to have more question than there
are answers and need to understand myself before such
Quirk dissolves and exclusivity becomes open inclusion
No bestsellers yet or never but at the moment I cannot
sell my soul to the highest bidder and remain just there
in tender reconciliation in what in where and when today
03rd February 2018
All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
Isaiah 64:6 NIV
God by your grace, we have been given all.
That , one shall need, but yet we stumble and fall
To worried about the outside of the cups appearance
While the inside is corrupted by incoherence
For our own works to be tossed like filthy rags
Oh, how many seek glory of man as they brag
Unknowingly, the leaf has lost its source
Of life to be blown away by wind of force.
Shall ,one seek to rid these clothes of stain
To receive a new robe from the death of a grain
Then will the inside begin to glow
With a newfound love and joy to show
No longer in division of ones skin
But birthed into a new family of kin
To become in unity in the I AM
That provided a path by His pure Lamb
That we might become One flock
And be known as one of His stock
So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.
Galatians 3:26?-?29 NIV
Citrus hints of lemon and lime
Chewing on endless nuisance
Depth of a refillable hole dug
Mountain of trance unscalable
Footsteps dissolve into echoes
Swallowed by sharp currents
Through mist of fractured days
Incoherence sways in the breeze
Hands reach but never interlock
Notes fading over looping time
A story written but half baked
Lost in space between moments
Deafening silence screams with rage
Unrivaled violence, no need to engage
Here inside I remain abstained
While Inside, you remain constrained
Tainted tongues our words are choked
Blood stained hands cannot be cloaked
Internal solitude remains ignored
Incoherence love cannot afford
Isolation triumphs, as affection shatters
Frustration devours everything that matters
I wish my identity was independent of those I can surround
More people need to tear up the madness in me
Because I may lose myself within the faceless crowd
A warm outlook on your life but inwards I’m frigid
Invert this introvert just to see what it may breed
Otherwise I’m stuck stumbling ‘round my inner hazy jungle
Distant vicinity throws thought through the window
Prefrontal cortex malfunctions do not represent my intelligence
And my GPA isn’t entirely telling of my character
But recognize that my thought patterns are often inconsistent
Like the flow of my hair
It’s always different
My incoherence reflects on my appearance
And I’m a zany kid but I’m afraid of it
I can easily read body language but I write it in an alien dialect
I want to construct my ideal self, for now I’m busy laying countless tracks
I’m losing more of this self with each train of thought that departs
My heart is aching and I’m waiting for senseless daydreams to pass
I wonder what kind of a splash I will make in this world
I’m a blooming flower ready for a social butterfly to take me under their wing
I thought I would rise this spring but yet again I’m caught pretending
I guess spring will come again, oh, never mind, this is my last chance
A passing glance never meant a thing to anyone but me
Uncle Eugene’s breaking down.
Murmurs come from the room down the hall -
Surgery. Blood clot. A third kind of cancer.
“It’s just a matter of time.”
But for now, I’m laying by the fire,
warmth seeping into my bones.
My grandparents are alive,
one falling into incoherence,
but not bad yet.
My mother is here.
My father is upstairs.
We are under one roof.
And I am escaping into a written world
by the warmth of the fire.
The world outside is cold,
and eventually I must face the chill
for the sake of my dog
and because time marches forever forward
with graceless strides.
But for once, my mind is calm,
and I will drape myself with this moment
when the wind picks back up.
Written: June 08, 2025, contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon.
Quote "Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder." By RUMI
******************
As the soft fingers of dawn spread light,
And dusk fades, in a hollow sight.
A mumbling incoherence stirs within my soul,
My muddled mind benumbed, lacking control.
It hums quietly in the glow of the moon,
A wave that goes unseen under the flow of noon.
Proles of spasmodic gait lead me to a chaotic tide,
Where anxieties ease, and concerns subside.
No passing fancy, no shallow sound,
But wisdom is weaved, madly wound.
A beacon illuminated by love's lance,
A strong blaze that endures time's dance.
It whispers a soft but asinine song,
A mesalliance whispers right and wrong.
Red coral compass made by a cosmic hand,
To keep me secure, against the macabre's stand.
Once silenced by clairsentience fears,
Fumbled under jugged crushing years.
But embers sparked and cacophony revived,
A child's voice— a robotic drone thrived!
Now in a rhythm of bliss, hand in hand,
We dance where quiet whimsy musing stands.
No longer achingly chained, fog, or fright,
Only mirrors of ecstasy carved in gold light.
So I sail the swell, in harmony and trust,
No need for clamor or whimsical must.
For my unencumbered voice, free to rejoice,
Has always known—this is the right choice.