Best Reconstructed Poems
Fractals.
Spawn of iterating quadratic functions.
Choreographers of cosmic conjunctions.
Impervious to human dysfunctions.
Makers of multiverses. Encoders of creations.
Limited only by imaginations.
Recursive. Coercive. Immensely immersive.
Purveyors of poetic creative cursive.
With formative fractals you’ll melt your mind’s shackles
and be anywhere that you may want to be.
You can form fractals to your own reality,
and make anything in the sky or the sea.
You can even repurpose them to poetry …
Yes, if
fractals were dactyls they’d flow off the page,
whirling and twirling, sublime.
Freeing us, being us, thoughts disengage,
teasing and pleasing with rhyme,
reaping the rhythms of time.
From mundane equations that yet yield complex
repetitive patterns that please and perplex,
come fractals so beautiful in all respects.
Constructors of coastlines and snowflake concerns,
foundries for forests, and feathers, and ferns,
the deeper you dive they have more twists and turns.
Generators of patterns, like veins in a leaf,
and the branches of trees, shapes of every motif.
Look around, everywhere, there are fractals, good grief!
From the large to the small and still smaller they flow,
simple patterns repeating, yet different, you'll know
that there’s just no escaping the great fractal show.
So, let’s face them, embrace them, we’ll host history.
Let us master them, plaster them, I guarantee:
merge your mind into fractals, you’ll set your soul free.
Reconstructed 3/22/2021, for the FRAGMENTS OF VERSE Poetry Contest, sponsored by John Lawless
The Brother In- Law Part II
christine asked Christian - what are we going to do now?
Christian answered - I will take care of you. I will leave you
in a safe place, while I go look for fortune. They left in the
wagon they had and went back to town. Christian found
a Convent and he talked to the Mother Superior.
He told her what had happened and asked if he could leave
his sister there, while he went to look for a new life for him and
her. The Mother Superior said yes - that they would take care
of her.
Christian left and went far away. He was twenty years old.
he was young and very handsome. he soon found a job and
worked very hard. After ten years, he became very rich. He had
a car, a home, nice clothes and money. He said to himself - now
I'll go and get my sister.
He started his journey back. When he got to the Convent, the
Mother Superior did not recongized him. He told her who he was
and why he was there. She told him - I'm sorry - she can not go
with you. He asked why? She said - because she got married
last week.
He wanted to know - who the hack, she got married to. The Mother
Superior said - she got married to JESUS. She took the vows last
week. He turned around and looked at JESUS and said - I couldn't
have picked a better Brother In - Law myself.
He went back to the place where his parents had lived and everything
was reconstructed, only better and with a bigger house. He soon found
a girl and and got married too. He went back to the convent and donated
a lot of money to help them out. Everyone was happy. His sister and him
would always stay very close. The end....
04/24/2013 Written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo
A story/poem that I hope
you enjoyed.
I found a beautiful shattered heart
Floating out in space
I gathered all the pieces
It's sadness to erase
Each piece was filled with love
That was the glue I used
How could this thing of beauty
Have been so abused
Once it was reconstructed
Each part perfectly placed
I prayed to my Father
To have the scars erased
Now it has been retuned
Healed and so much lighter
Filled with the Love of God
It now shines even brighter
Dedicated to Elizabeth O'Driscoll, after reading her poem "Shattered Glass". Please take time to read her Poem, it is beautifully written.
and in their cold
condemning eyes ~
I am forever framed
as flawed fragments
bolted to the brutal beginnings,
oblivious to the wings of an end...
yet the intrinsic ink of my soul
knows not the art
of stirring superficial stars
~ fear not my antique antlers
caressed with copper compassion,
I am not their synonym
for emotional emptiness ~
let me breathe away
from counterfeit lies
pretending to be holier
than the highest of halos,
tainting truth with
tomb tongue-twisters
I choose to follow the rain
before the rising
of opalescent light ~
I seek streaks of sleep’s
sweet silver steam
blurring the smoke
above the veiled valley
of murky melancholy ~
traveling through the mists
of memories and magic...
I am tied to the unarmed
acceleration of alchemy,
an ambience of adoration
where poetry is resurrected ~
reconstructed amongst the
rushing resilience of rust...
I am the maternal momentum
of the mystical movers,
an unmistaken metaphor
for what sighs within the
magnetic embers
of locomotive silence,
rapidly ringing the sounds
of the sky-draped sea ~
trace this track of serene tears...
I taste time as
the ultimate revealer
of what beautifully remains ~
deep in the depths
of delightful devotion,
no longer a grey amongst
the steel of stolen secrets…
There are many things that make me happy in life,
But a day when I can go to the art gallery is the best;
I walk the many galleries, totally lost and delighted with the art,
From room to room, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque, 18th Century;
The bright religious paintings of the Gothic era, the mythical painting of Renaissance.
I could dwell there forever, for art is life, a story painted,
And then I rest, perhaps a bit of lunch, then I begin again;
19th Century, 20th Century, and a quick visit to Impressionism,
A peek at Abstract (not my favorite) nor is Modern Art, but I view;
And in my gallery, because I am in Canada, there is the Canadian art, amazing.
And then the Aboriginal Art and the Inuit Art of Canada,
That is always very moving and beautiful to linger over;
Then after yet another rest, I go to the Water Court and Garden,
In the very heart of the gallery there is a reconstructed church;
Well as you can tell, a day at the art gallery for me is blissful with happiness.
For me art is part of life, painted of life, it tells a story of life,
and it brings me utter happiness that lingers for days and days.
______________________________
April 14, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Lost in Art
Copyright Protected, ID 16-777-976-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, What Makes You Happy
sponsor, Royal Ninja
Fifth Place
_____________________________________
Written for the contest, Happiness of Life,
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negren
Second Place
Almost always, as additional allurements arrive, ask as a Being...
By better borne behests become best Causes ?
Can causes create concise concepts Diligently ?
Do doers do decidedly dumb doldrums Ever ?
Each eek echoes egotistical efforts enduring Familiarity...
Faith fathers forgiveness for flaunting fabled Gifts.
Gasps give great grief, growing gruesome Hatreds...
Hasn't humanity had hurt hearts hung Innocently ?
Is insistence in increasing irritation inevitably incongruous Justice ?
Jimson jars...jitters...joggles...jolts...just jocose jurisprudence' Knell.
Kerfuffle kin, kickshaw kept ken, kindly knaves kneading Lamentations...
Leaving love's loaves, lordly lotharios, looking like lowlifes Made.
Marking more madmen mere moronic monsters meting mayhem Nearby.
Now, not never, nab needed nerves, nurture nasturtium near Openness !
Once only one, ordained our ostracism, outrage outdone on overwrought Plight.
Perhaps pride precludes passable patience, posing portentous prolapse Quickly !
Quiet quandaries, quarrelsome qualms, quivering quixotic quirks Resplendent...
Reaching relapse, revolving recidivism, reconstructed reflective reform Seen !
Searching secretive states, seemingly simple, sincere serenity sought Through...
Tender tears, touching together to total tympanic transformation Unjust.
Unique union...unimportant, unbending, unpopular, unless universal Veracity !
Verbose verbalism, vertical vignettes verify vital victory Won.
When written with wit...watershed words work wonderful Xerography !
Xyloid xylography, xeroxed xeno X, Yet...
Yesterday's youth, yowled yummy young yips Zanily !
Zeitgeist, zombie zealots zapping zonked zingers...Away !!
My Cousin Chaos
What cousin incest I am my own chaos
too much unpredictable prediction not to be cosmic
comical maybe the anarchy the drive for comprehension
and so much honest serious hilarious enjoyment
I am related to myself brother in arms mind and legs
on the journey to what where and because of
which fallacious fragmentation reconstructed
polar posited complementing contradictions
She or he who searches seeks the clown jester uncertain certainty
father mother sibling offspring un-othering completion
takes domination pseudo-science’s conjectures
concatenating refutations of the blinding path and vision
The butterfly who flaps the wings the roots to fly
propels the grounded theories of places times
in foresight hindsight blind-sight sentinel sensation
full of telling meaning narrative enlivened imperceptibility
Embraces cuddles rejects rejection rediscovers lost
and lonely loving horizontal longitude the lateral
collateral imprisonment of iron cages rational irrational
emotional confinement liberation freedom from and of
Enshrines in effervescent transcendental condensation
of what perspires inspires transpires in the illuminated
darkness boxes ignorant lamenting shallow high rise entities
makes love to sensual cognition consensual chaos
Or is it co-sin cuisine havoc’s Karma dishy chaperone
and chastised illusion disordered fusion fission
elemental monument harmonious disintegration musky
tall minuscule order rising falling standing firm
When thereafter now again before and yet again I loose
the plotting pot containing potty madness sane insanity
I ask my cousin and the loopy loops and square shaped circles
question the Universe that stays aloof precise and altogether mine
02nd June
Back in 1887, The Convent Of Our Lady was built,
It was part of a school for girls run by grey nuns;
1971- demolish, sad that tilt,
Art gallery wanted it and offered big sums.
It was part of a school for girls- run by grey nuns,
Reconstructed in the heart of the gallery;
Art Gallery wanted it- and offered big sums,
After ten years, rebuilt with skill and mastery.
Reconstructed- in the heart of the gallery,
Yes, all the various components stored for years;
After ten years- rebuilt with skill and mastery,
Oh, beautiful the interior, it brings tears.
Yes- all the various components stored for years,
Marble columns, windows, alter, soaring fan vaults;
Oh, beautiful the interior- it brings tears,
Huge open space, it would make a good place to waltz.
Marble columns, windows, alter- soaring fan vaults,
1971 demolish- sad that tilt;
Huge open space it would make a good place- to waltz,
Back in 1887- The Covent of Our Lady was built.
_________________________
March 22, 2016
Poetry/Pantoum/The Chapel
Copyright Protected, ID 16-770-953-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, A Pantoum- A Poet's Choice,
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
There are many things that make me happy in life,
but a day when I can go to the art gallery is the best;
I walk the many rooms totally lost and delighted with the art,
from room to room I view, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque;
how, I love the religious paintings, the gothic, and the mythical painting.
I adore art for it is like a beautiful story painted,
then I rest, have a bit of lunch, and after I begin again;
oh, the 19th Century, 20th Century, and a visit to Impressionism,
a peek at Abstract and Modern Art, and all the sculptors along the way;
and the amazing Canadian artists, always so very interesting and so colorful.
I linger with the Aboriginal Art and the Inuit Art,
for this art touches my heart the most and I dwell with it;
I take another rest at a lovely, tranquil water court and garden,
and in the very heart of the gallery there is a reconstructed church;
oh, there is a whole story about how it got there, but I am blissful tired now.
______________________________
April 14, 2016 (Edit)
Poetry/Verse/Narrative/Lost in Art
Copyright Protected, ID 16-1104-769-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspiration - The National Gallery of Canada
Down in the Dumps
Fog everywhere I’m walking on a mass of corpses
sludge of soft rotting soil. Sinking deeper, arms
and legs embracing me as I should be one of them.
In a lake of loss I swam ashore, a soup of death,
banks of bones, a woman in white helped me up...
she too was the haze and disappeared. I totter in
a desert of nothingness. I heard footsteps behind
me the death wanted me to return to the lagoon of
reconstructed dreams. Heart pounding, but there,
by a horizon, dawn and sun of life warmed my face,
but only briefly. The sky rained blood of the evicted.
Drops were rubies and in each one the nucleolus of
my lies and delusion engraved. Inundated I stopped
could not go on, how do I get free of barbed wire of
melancholy?” Whispering voices: “You ****ing loser.”
shot down and abused
misled and used
shed blood and felt pain
lose more than i gain
turned mad green and so sad blue
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
malnourished and underfed
followed blindly and been misled
drank from the wrong cup
went down but could not get up
put on my clothes inside out and on each foot the wrong shoe
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
been called a dingbat
kicked like an alley cat
two seconds from getting laid
solo silhouette on the shade
i am considered a 'man' only by a chosen few
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
rip van winkle old
igloo eskimo cold
oblivious and forgotten
vagabond and downtrodden
i am a hundred miles away from reconstructed brand new
i can't help myself, so how can i help you
SORRY
(ETCETERA ETCETERA)
In my world a word of genuine emotion,
today in this battlefield for far right,
far left and all those in between,
a word reconstructed,
for those wrong doers caught,
and only when they are,
a buzz word for a last chance grovel,
for a population conditioned to except the insincerity
and false tears that evaporate as quickly,
as one’s memory of their misdemeanour.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Beyond the gates,
Where the old bakery stood,
Was a memory of cold hands and
The saving glittering gems of the jelly doughnut.
Then late for practice and asthmatic from suicides.
My mother's voice calling in the wind.
When is it all reconstructed the right way?
Under what gray moon do things flutter with meaning
As deep as our bones?
Bitter old lady,
Where is your absolute?
Beneath the graveyard,
As you start to execute.
For no one who possesses life,
Can catch your foul taste,
And whoever follows you,
Most certainly will be replaced.
And as I begin to inquire,
My core turns to black charcoal,
The fear in your embrace,
You are my constant armhole.
Irreversibility disengaged,
Forever I am severely detached,
Completely irreversible,
Neglected and dropped in the cratch.
Suffering in the dry land,
Quenching never abducted,
I've seen the hell above the earth,
Distorted and reconstructed.
And as I roam the forsaken desert,
I begin my journey something fierce,
Defaulted in the binding agreement,
Rejected for a thousand years.
Bitter old lady,
Where is your absolute?
No longer in your possession,
Bewildered and irresolute.
-Laura
10-14-2015
"The idea of building something once to last
tends to occur to...practical people later in life,
after they have reconstructed a few things
they thought were good enough
at the time."
David Holmgren, "Permaculture Principles and Pathways"
There is only
integrity
of each moment's potential.
We are yintegrity flow
of yang's x promise.
Where "x" equals:
Ecology, in Earth sciences
Biology, in life sciences
CoOperativity, in economic trans-actional evolutionary/devolutionary sciences
Democracy, in political sciences
Creolization, in evolutionary linguistics
Synergy, in Bucky Fuller's 0-prime fractal geometrics
Syncretism, in religious and cultural studies
Deep Learning, in pedagogical theory
Consilience, in E.O. Wilson
Bilateral Processing, in Edward DeBono
Bicameral Balance, in Julian Jaynes' ethology of anthropological history
Wisdom, in literature
Deduction, in-duction diction
ExFormation, in-formation
Reversion, in spacetime
3D causal space, in reverse temporal 4D image reflection
spiraling waves, in reiterative communication theory
feedback looping space, in two-dimensional pace
fractal bilaterals, in regenerative RNA/DNA systems
WinWin 0-sum harmony-seeking reiterations, in Game Theory
double-bindary, in digital polynomial strings of theory
double-negative thesis, in positive hypothesis
zero, in appositional dipolarity
notice, in understanding progress
value, in calculating qualitative quantities of symmetry
Golden Ratios, in Golden FlowRules
positive, in notnot
Yang, in YinSquared
Eulerian prime 0 relation, in speed of light fractal correlation, apposition
EcoLogos, in Earth's creolizing ego democratizations of YangYin Center
"See the [impatient egocentric] dark,
recognize its power,
but do not feed it."
Robin Wall Kimmerer, "Braiding Sweetgrass"
And certainly don't vote for it.
Don't even nominate it
for further self-infested powers.