Best Irrationally Poems
"The Theory of Positivism"
It’s criminal
all theories tie that life
in neat tight black bows
the presents under
that tree of life
wide spread
arms once wide open
now closed
are presence of mind
essence embedded
in a heart shut tight
pumping blood cold steel
silver bullets
tutorial delivers the student
an exercise exorcised
in a class room
all glass barriers
broken
revealed in sharp shards
by observer
with scientific mind
articulated
strings
unravel irrationally
Love is the Key
that opens
and locks all doors
Irrevocably
no tears shed at weddings
future turns it back
on past tensed
were there
weddings
question mark
in time
sealed
official
red wax
stopped
Survival
reflex
temporal
hushed
yet
revealed
Pull the Trigger
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Remember Us” / Aqualung feat. Sara Bareilles
https://youtu.be/J5Ecrt96ojo
Assessment, 2.
How can we “cure” deviance when psychological positivism has many
distinct and conflicting theories?
https://openoregon.pressbooks.pub/ccj230/chapter/4-6-positivist-criminology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positivist_school_(criminology)
https://www.bartleby.com/essay/The-Psychological-Positivism-Theory-On-All-Of-F3EBSL9CPLL5
trigger.
https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/psychpedia/trigger
LYRICS/ "Remember Us", Aqualung feat. Sarah Bareilles
https://genius.com/Aqualung-remember-us-lyrics
I hold you ...
tight to my chest
but with a concerned tenderness,
as if you are an infant
that I am shielding from a storm ...
or an angel of Valhalla -
her last breath given, ear-to-heart
for the soft-thrumming rhythm of life ...
(what my tympans now ache for)
your flesh is warm next to mine as
I rock us forth-and-back in
the bright midday sun
making the foxglove and Queen Ann's lace
wave to the hazy meadow about us -
honeys and bumbles prance
like pollen pixies,
unconcerned with tragedy ...
(blue steel peeks from the weeds
beside you - the diabolical serpent)
our favorite spot, this -
where we always came to make up -
oh, how sweet those reconciliations among
the rippling pasture grasses
on countless days such as this
but NOT this ...
there is not a puff of breeze -
and faint, shadowy, gray-blue wisps with a
tinge of sulfur swirl around us like
phantom arms, threatening -
a demon of death that you have released
(from its brass casing)
I swat it away with anger -
INTENSE anger ...
sweat pouring off my brow to sting my face
(I ran as fast as I could, you see ...
as fast and as hard as I could, after your note)
washing tears away that drip on
your cheek from my chin -
that precious porcelain cheek that I
have kissed so often - sometimes with intent
other times for its sake alone ...
and such eyes above -
those once dazzling, burnt umber eyes -
staring right through me as if an apparition ...
or some shimmering gem just
beyond holds your gaze ...
as if you are in another world -
another existence where I can not follow
(which, of course, you ARE)
I try to shut your eyes like they do in movies
but they will not close ... not at all
still quite warm and supple, but they won't shut
and I think, maybe ...
(irrationally)
that you WANT them open -
that perhaps you wish to witness my grief
perhaps - from that other realm -
you're still watching
counting my tears as they fall
each one a briny christening of your horrid act -
your awful, deadly, horrid act
that I was but a moment too late ...
to prevent.
We act.
Rationally or irrationally,
logically or at random,
often intuitively.
Wise is he who considers first
the consequences of his actions.
For we do fashion our destiny,
like it or not. Then we complain,
a futility of whining,
nitpicking trivialities
fashioned by our own hand.
We oft do wrong:
For which we pay.
Then
we blame our God,
we blame our devil,
we never blame ourselves.
Society loves immorality,
it is food for the ingenious,
served so well by a mediocre media.
The gift of wisdom,
the discerning of what is right
is trampled underfoot,
much to our later dismay.
Why can't I be free
Everyone is living life except me
Is it that my brain won't let me be
Or is it because I'm acting irrationally
Why can't I be free
I used to remember my past history
I never would have thought that this would be me
My brain is shutting down this is a catastrophe
Why can't I be free
I can see everyone, but their no memory
Everybody I love is a glare to me
I can't even recognize my on family
Why can't I be free
To be stuck in a house, no more walking around freely
Lock doors and sticky notes are everywhere for me to read
I'm really getting mad at this life because of this difficulty
Why can't I be free
I'm stuck in a prison of my own reality
I'm trying to remember, but it's hurting me
I'm really scared because this is deadly
Why can't I be free
This disease has taken away my sanity
There's no cure for this illness. It's not even a possibility
You just fade away for eternity
WHEN All I WANT TO DO IS BE FREE
BUT I'VE LOST MY Memory AND NO ONE CAN HELP ME!!!
A.K.A. Love
faith, hope, charity
which one of these
seeks not vanity
does not behave irrationally
will not intentionally hurt another
endures pain
gives, gives and gives because of its kindness
a bottomless well of patience
acceptance and courage
will die for another?
charity
a.k.a. love
10/23/19
1st Corinthians 13:13
STRAND SPECIAL 2 any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Lightning and thunder did clash
In ventricles within my heart
Vying whether to lash
At every part
That feels emotions
In hearts of dames
Whose love motions and portions
Laid claims
To the indifference my heart felt
When Hazel Fidelia ended our engagement
In July nineteen seventy seven to melt
The betrothal arrangement
I thought made in Heaven
Until my polychrome
World came undone
In a moment of total madness and sadness whose home
I ransacked painting all women black
Cos their kind acted irrationally in spirit
As Fidelia in a rubbish pack
Dumped the love writ
We’d so carefully crafted over several years spanning back to college
Days where I first spied the svelte gazelle
I desired in marriage
But of course a spell
Cast by an invisible hand
Made sure I ate humble pie
Of the most humiliating brand
Giving my heart no space to sigh as though I was condemned alive to die
Humiliated
Empty handed
Denunciated
Loveless landed
Fearing for the heart torn into
Whose emotional system though frail
Determined to go on without breaking into two
Or going off the love rail
Or separating body from mind
In a scenario thrown into disarray
Wondering if as legend has it love truly blind couldn’t find
Room in my aching heart to shine a beam of limpid light without further delay.
Teachers, Teachers.
Teachers Teach us.
They give us speeches and praise us like Jesus
But they're not holy, swag.
They cater solely, for themselves; So selfish.
Some are rude and crabby; So shellfish.
There are fat teachers, black teachers white teachers, nice teachers mean teachers, Chinese teachers short teachers, tall teachers real teachers, fraud teachers They all have one thing of mutuality It's the reality that their mentality is somewhat less of a formality
But in actuality an amorality to separate individuality and callously cause a casualty within the academy!
This insanity is why humanity can embarrass me because instead of practicalities teachers search for cavities, abnormalities, incapacities and irrationally devise a strategy to tactfully act valiantly.
But will still unhappily fail students for what they see is blasphemy its fallacy!
This rhapsody I tragically quote rapidly will acidly still be viewed as a travesty
And I'll still disastrously speak profanity to the faculty And keep my centre of gravity up like I'm on a balance beam.
I aim to be satisfactory, not great or any better
This madness will fractionally cause my fatality but ill happily see every person that ever doubted me praising me surrounding me clouding me with a comradely like I Just saved the galaxy
And naturally I'm a hero nationally for upstaging our teachers vanity
This Veracity for becoming an anomaly has fuelled my heart with audacity and now I sit lavishly lacking the spirituality to gallantly care about this municipality that we live in
And teachers teach in so I guess my speech ends with a brief description of some frequent fiction Teachers, if we speak up Will you freakin listen? Because this cheap conviction of you I speak is different.
Tanka/ Haiku
Dionysian’s
Drunken Roman Bacchante (1) footnotes
God of the Maenads' (2)
Female appreciation
Tainted murderous servants
Maniacal twist
Hold each- a sensuous kiss
Trained not by hubris
Phalli held in revere
His spirit flows through rapture
Beloved Bacchus
Honors Ancient Helena
Amathia(3) scorns-
Succubus eat them alive
Gynarchy apothesized
Bacchanalians' (4)
Hold wild dances- Worship
Drunken honored god
Children and men torn apart
In a sensuous moment
Oh! Oh how we sing!
Dionysus flows his wine
How we rhyme and chime-
Frenzied ****ing in circle
Prove to Him our Miracle
"Your desires speak-
My beloved enchantress
Sweat, dance, Love for Me
Use My phallice, drink My wine-
Worship Me till end of Time"
(Haiku)
Merry speak, Father
As life sprouts forth within spring-
Priapic flower.
Mythical Treasure
Is the lie of unbelief
Common man’s relief
Under torch in deepest wood
Ladies did dance unrestrained
In religious ecstasy.
1. Bacchante- Greek & Roman Mythology A priestess or female votary of Bacchus
2. Maenads-Greek Mythology A woman member of the orgiastic cult of Dionysus.. A frenzied woman.
3 Amanthia-Myth & Legend / Classical Myth & Legend) (often capital) of or relating to the orgiastic rites associated with Bacchus
it is roughly wisdom's opposite. It means recklessness, deep ignorance about oneself and the nature of the universe. It leads to
excess, impatience. He irrationally rejects Dionysus and the new religion; his unthinking and uncompromising scorn for popular
piety and the new teachings is neither rational nor open-minded. But he is also very young, and his youth in part excuses his crimes
4 Bacchanalian (Myth & Legend / Classical Myth & Legend) (often capital) of or relating to the orgiastic rites associated with Bacchus
Mania sits.
Depression walks.
Moody fits.
Aggression talks.
My mania ticks and my depression tocks,
Dissociation breaks and I fall to my knees,
Time is split between two separate clocks,
I beg my innate sanity, “free me please!”
Antisocial with a mouth talking too much,
Catatonic with legs walking into the street,
Needy for attention, “please don’t touch”,
Although, antipsychotics never did help me.
Multiplying two and coming up with one,
Disorder unknown to all doctors in town,
Disturbing realities have made me shun,
For now, I am the demented one around.
Irrationally thinking clear, seems to help,
Alternating chemicals stream in my brain,
Since I was born I’ve never felt myself,
I was only three when diagnosed insane.
Two personalities rage in my essence,
Three more if you count last night,
My pride will never learn her lessons,
And no matter how wrong, I am right.
How many identities will I keep carrying?
How many lights turn off in the morning?
How many instances have I been too daring?
Why do my moods show up with no warning?
I’m here, then I’m there and lost in between,
I said goodbye to life many eons ago,
So many different tempers my family has seen,
You’d think by now my mind would blow.
Mania sits.
Depression walks.
Moody fits.
Aggression talks.
Date Written: May 21, 2016
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.
Every time I see your face somber
And your tone unhappy
Any day that passes without us talking
My heart grows wrinkles
For your pain also pains me
And I question if I’ve done anything wrong to hurt you.
I know times when I’m moody-
Hurtful words may slip from my tongue.
Or I may act irrationally.
But it’s not that I ever want to hurt you.
And I know I rarely show you…
But my heart beats faster every time you’re not home on time.
I know I rarely show you…
But a million questions spin my mind every time you don’t pick my calls.
I know I rarely show you…
But every time I say goodbye, I always wish I’d stay there by your side.
I know I rarely show you,
But my heart smiles from end to end every time I see you happy.
I know I rarely show you…
But my concern for you runs far much deeper.
My care for you climbs far much higher.
And my love for you is unexplainable through words.
So anytime I’m moody don’t judge me harshly-
Just like you, I’m not perfect.
And though my reactions are out of the line at times…
It’s not that I ever want to hurt you.
©GraceM Composition
Wood sapped Energy succudancing up gnarling roots
grasping trees of life
erupt to full parasitic bloom
within millennial Great Transition
blaring autumnal winnowing of karmic stamina.
Fire brings full-flaming confidence
derived from summer's thirsty rain of seed-
recessing roots
plunging and emerging
rich deep regenetic learning:
Communing forests blanket mythic understories.
Keep going back, back further down,
before space emerged from tempered Voice
to once within our EarthTribe Time
when Trees of Life pushed out
from gravitas of boldly hidden
coincidental embrace.
Villages incarnate from fire-lit stories shared,
and love of Other
bursting nature notes
dancing Earth's Permacultured Opera.
My chords and chorus sing through ears
I hope to synchronize with gratitude,
sight with sound
becoming with being
longing with belonging
bi-rooted functions
uncovering emergent Tao
co-engraving information of Positive Teleology.
What grows primal
feels irrationally magical
crystal-fractal;
green-leafed anonymously silent saplings
waving from and for ancient cliffs of paradigmatic rock.
Stoned paradigms of ancient Orthodox
sing echoing synchronicity,
dancing rocks within my rolling mind
learning how to rhyme with age,
unfold color fragrant grace-carnating
Great Transition Time.
At three a.m. the annoying telephone rings
“Hurricane Kate will soon be making landfall;
Drive to Panama City, start collecting your things”
Microphones and tape recorders, I pack them all
Just one week till the end of hurricane season
“Thanksgiving’s coming,” I grouse as I hit the road
Scrub pines twist furiously; I know the reason
Five months of calm weather, but now the motherload
A drive that is usually two hours now takes five
Lightning strikes everywhere, brightening the night sky
Approaching the beach, I’m lucky to be alive
I sit in fascination; the waves are so high
The fisherman’s pier collapses into the sea
A spin-off tornado tears the roof off a school
Disoriented, a man wades through the debris
I invite him to my car so we can seek safety
A vivid bolt of lightning sends him to his knees
He covers his ears as thunder roars ominously
I toss my raincoat over him, watching him freeze
He can’t tune out the noise and acts irrationally
When we arrive at the emergency center
People gather round him and I ask who he is
“We call him Crazy Mazy,” says the director,
“He served in Vietnam, many medals are his.”
With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, he’s homeless
Living on the streets, Captain Jim Mazy seemed strange
The locals knew him well and offered him kindness
But to outsiders like me, he appeared deranged
For seventy-two hours, I stayed on the air
Talking to officials and those who assisted
As death reports came in, we bowed our heads in prayer
When I tried to talk to Mazy, he resisted
It was he I remembered most when I drove home
Members of the Capital Press Corps united
No longer on the street would this veteran roam
Compassion for a war hero had been ignited
Habitat for Humanity gladly pitched in
As did the public, when Mazy’s story was broadcast
Never again would he writhe in a hurricane’s din
Storms were behind him, Mazy had a home at last
*True account, written June 28, 2014
Dear mom,
Tonight I went to a party, and I followed your advice.
About how drinking and driving was naughty, and definitely unwise.
So I opted for soda instead mom, because I knew that you were right.
Tonight I felt amazing, because I followed your advice.
Maybe my friends planned on getting hammered, but I decided to think twice.
I followed your words of wisdom mom, and couldn't help but feel accomplished.
Because even if my friends were drinking, my morals wouldn't be demolished.
Tonight I decided to leave mom, as quickly as I could.
To make it back before midnight, just like you said I should.
Other people left too mom, but didn't listen like I did.
Everything was fine mom, until that driver came about.
Swerving and sliding, and hitting me like I was nothing more than a cloud.
The shattering sound of glass was distant, but I knew that we had crashed.
All because another driver decided it was okay to drive smashed.
I'm halfway through the windshield, the smell of blood is potent.
There are voices all around, mom, but I just can't seem to focus.
My life just flashed before me, a whirlwind of scenes and thoughts.
But the biggest thing I can think of now is how the driver knew 'x' marked the spot.
I hear the officers talking, they don't try to be quiet at all.
They say what a pity it is, because I'm the one who will take the fall.
I don't understand mom, exactly where I failed?
I listened, obeyed, yet here I am; halfway through and impaled.
They're saying he was drunk mom, too drunk to understand.
And maybe when he wakes up, he'll become a different man.
They're saying I probably won't make it. That my chances are very slight.
My eyes are growing heavy mom, I'm going to lose this fight.
I just can't comprehend it mom, why do I have to pay?
He's the one who drank and drove and decided to irrationally behave.
My eyes are starting to close, and the world is turning grey.
But before I go mom, there are some things I need to say:
First off mom, you were right, about driving while impaired.
All rational thoughts go out the window, all lives impacted by despair.
I love you more than anything, and I'm sorry this is how it ends.
Tell them all my story mom, make them think again.
I once told a lie
as I looked her in the eyes
LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL
I just smashed a bowl
CB is a troll
In both sense
Wandering through minds of the unforgiven
As they irrationally spill their metaphorical hearts