Best Solipsism Poems
MUST I CALL YOU.....AGAIN?
Must I call you again, onlooker at my hurt,
Talking by the window, an inscape of wrecked
Solitude, impugned bad manners, and the curt
Commerce of refusal. Your blameless, decked
Hand of fate. Capitulation, a trade or pain
Of being alone. What mannered smile can lift
My woebegone future for the pull of rain
Making the shards of bright light shift
Away from wonderment, green-begetting magic?
An empowerment of the seeing eye inwards,
Making whole my patchwork, your solipsism so tragic,
In a smitten whorl of entire fate dragged skin-wards,
Renting with ache this sojourning material,
Glimpsing the light eternal, ethereal.
by Rosemarie Rowley
Published in IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
Unclimbed Stairways
by Odin Roark
At the base of the stairs
He lay on his back
Upon his chest
He propped his hero
Peering up through GI Joe’s
Stand-your-ground stance
All seemed climbable
Just like in the movies
But he knew
Summit of the stairs
Was the attic
That frigid place
Lures of the forbidden
With air suffocating its captivity
Like his mother warned
Such was the explanation
Penned studiously by the doctor
Connecting the dots
Of thirty years subsequent
The strategy of solipsism
Where more forbidden climbs
Ensnared him with madness
And a padded enclosure
The doctor thought he had control
But the man/boy knew
In front of him
Just a mother in a cheap suit
Warning
Always warning
Was Van Gogh warned?
Was David Foster Wallace warned?
Is the next Hoffman going to be warned?
Check your stairways
To the bathroom
Safe
To your bedroom
Probably safe
To the attic of adult life
Oh my
Caution
Or
Instinct
Here we go
Does it ever scare you that what you know is all you know?
there's always something to be learned, knowledge has no plateau,
rather than love, money, or fame, give me truth, henry david thoreau,
i'll never know everything, but i'm going to try even so,
how would you feel if everything you've been taught was incorrect?
does object create subject, or subject create object?
let me give you some time for that to sink in and reflect,
alright, times up, lets inspect,
language, numbers, and symbols were all created by someone like you and me,
they are all simply tools to help us discern reality,
but as soon as you label something it creates a dichotomy,
because true essence transcends any vocabulary,
all that's for certain are natural laws like gravity,
you better get used to the thinner air of uncertainty,
welcome to the high country of the mind,
where absolute truth is next to impossible to find,
if none of this makes sense, read about solipsism,
yourself is all you'll ever know, man, this mind is a prison
It comes not when it's wanted,
because it's never wanted--
who would choose hanging
folds of skin, a face creased
with scores of age lines, feet
speckled with spider veins, an
aging heart that could yell
'Surprise!' any time it chose.
An actress once said, 'Getting old
is not for sissies'-- she was right.
It takes guts to feel the gradual
loosening of a once proud body,
and the brain's slow softening.
There is no glory in getting old:
you are just a survivor of life's
myriad tricks, all its accidents,
illnesses, petty defeats and loss.
And old age does not carry wisdom
with it as you might expect-- there
are many tart in youth still bitter in
their slowing down decades, even
hostile to the joys they might once
have hoped to swim in, carefree....
So why must we get old? What use
is it, other than nature making room
for other beings to replace us? Still,
why can't we live for centuries like
old trees, or those big turtles found
on that island with the funny name?
Perhaps it is a way to teach us, to
cure the young of their solipsism,
to shear them of the innate vanity
that comes of taut bodies and soft
handsome faces-- then to plant the
subtle fears that come with aging:
the vulnerability of unlived dreams,
trashed hopes, perhaps the quiet,
persistent ache of a lost love...
not to mention the fear of falling!
So if you are a young reader
of this old poet, you may ask,
'What? Nothing comes good
of a long life? No hope at all?'
Oh yes, something very good
can come from a long decline,
at least for those who choose
to believe-- anticipation!
Walking along the warm sands of the shoreline
My black Belgian shepherd by my side
Sea lions barking, sea gulls flying, towards the sailboats beyond the inlet
Pondering the solipsism, amid soliloquy divisions....
While the winter sun, shines down its solace
As I glance toward the southeast, and beyond its distant horizon
Knowing, within my pulsing raspberry heart, which pounds for her, these melodies
For it is somewhere there, beneath the whispering wooded trees
Where she wakes, she creates, she believes, and, she breathes....
In this maya of a moment I can see her
White silken dress, atop her golden pristine flesh
Blowing gently in this breeze, like an Angel within a dream....
Her rubious red lips, and her glistening strawberry auburn hair, flowing
Within this deja vu premonition she smiles, this certain, glowing gleam
As her endless chocolate eyes, blink, beneath her heavenly painted lashes
While bluebirds and red breasted robins gather, with all of nature, roundabout her side....
Solomons-seal upon my palm, holding the infloressence, as the Parus bicolor begins to sing,
its lullaby
Tinnitus sounds that twinkle in time, calling, as Tinkerbell, slowly fades away ~
Beyond these tangerine skies so close, inside, these blueberry wanting scenes
Where her words chime, to a longing heart that beats, resounding, from this rising sea....
I bleed, as I fight this space which lies between us
For in my soul, today, she is all that I can see!
Dare I tell her that I love her?
Dare I ask her to join me, within my own world?
Walking along the shoreline, my shepherd by my side, boats beyond the inlet, sea gulls in
flight
Pondering the solipsism, amid soliloquy divisions....
While the winter sun, shines down its solace
And I smile, within this deja vu premonition, of what dreams, may someday be?
Tinkerbell dancing, dressed, in blueberries tangerine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Within, the deepest ocean....
by Michaelw1two
Intonate a spirited debate,
explore the subtlety of doubt;
compassionately seal one’s conjugation,
inspire pairing’s deity;
self-survivals issue mute,
its sequella, each by chance deter;
question quandary’s quenching quick,
empyreal reality’s oddity.
Convoke, thoughts sum in totality,
reveal in this your fears;
coetaneous mindsets mimic those,
all secrecy, please set free;
excitatory, proves that probe,
it profiles everyone sincere;
solipsism, revealed fantasy,
each life, reflecting in soul confrere.
Partisan secrecy, in hide laid bare,
admits its failing bent;
bluster slurries thrive,
behind thin veil, truths foment lament;
taciturnly, on wings of change,
ideal belief, impulsion illuminates;
diabrotic, one’s choice of drink,
inscience, engineered ab initio.
Thereunto, the future blind is placed,
upon censorious dais;
nonconscious essence, laced within,
every minds object of desire;
imperatives, those of nature’s own,
establish trust in broad ideas;
jeu d’espirit, exemplify these,
opposition, inflates derisory odds.
Absquatulate, this lividity,
living’s frisson spiraling enmity;
distensioned life, holds this stress,
future’s truth remains unmet;
positioned concept challenged all,
its touch does one enumerate;
propositus, friend by friend employ,
mind, most precious entity.
Jan. 2010
living in this flagitious society life becomes numb
yet we extrapolate irrespective reality till we become dumb
mental break downs and frivolous exercises of intellectual contempt
permeates a paradigmatic volition of unparsimonious content
we are axiomatic in our subjective minds as we conceptualize truths
but preconceived notions poison and impede the capacity of our fruits
berayed by the thick insulating cover of vitriolic and obligatory words
you can see with more than our eyes and hear more than whats heard
virtue and value will hurt you in battle
as expression and intention fight for domain
necessity and certainty like humans and cattle
like pride and despair both going insane
miraculous recoveries and extravagant claims
cognitive faculties misfiring as the mind refuses to aim
lost in translation as we wander our brains
a mental castration of parabolic restrains
feelings, opinions and emotions all subjective and chained
like a broken track on a bridge made for a 4,000 ton train
we refuse to abide by the laws in our hearts
as we accept solipsism in whole and in part
judgmental determinist with a maniacal skill
to violate logic and ignore the freewill
you recapitulate hate and promulgate lies
like maggots on a carcass embedded by flies
you are dead in your thoughts and dead in your walk
Trace the outline of your body with a forensic white chalk
to be dead in your mind is to be dead inside time
and if life is subjective theres no reason or rhyme
Tongue touched,
a diaphanous zephyr of ephemeral desire,
rustles the parchment of our sepulchral scripture,
where our connubial covenant is inscribed,
in the cryptographic ledger of the damned,
and the whispers of the ancients,
echo through the labyrinthine corridors,
of the underworld.
Your lips,
a vermilion velvet of hyperemic passion,
anoint our union with the haematoid blood of Elysium,
consecrating our entwined destinies,
within the cryptic cenotaph of the heart,
where the lethiferous weights of existence,
hang precariously in the balance.
Together,
we waltz,
hand in hand,
through the tenebrous tapestry of Chronos,
our love an ephemeral eclipse of solipsism.
In this eternal,
ephemeral dance,
we are the cryptic ciphers of the nocturnal,
our love a funeral pyre that illuminates the desolate,
luminous landscape of the Chthonic River of Styx.
Sirens sounded secretly securing source. Strait sacks swooshed scamps scaling sensitive sentries (simply spayed seals) surveying surrounding staked spy sotted sham semicircular slipshod shelter. Snappy, Snippy, Snoopy suited Skyhawks surprisingly swooped somnambulant senseless scriveners. Sargent Salemander slipped shiny shimmering shellacked Sheppards Shutterfly sidearms sized simulated small skyscraper slinky, soapy, spooky squarely summoned, sentenced, sacrificed see swarthy Samsonite satraps Section SpecialOps.
Sometime soon savior snuck stealthily stealing sinful schleppers. sundown syzygy saw serendipitous, surreptitious, surreptitious segue-way shuttled safely Scottish shoals. Stigmatization stayed steady. Supplication statements swatted. Sole survivor swiftly spun self shaming sesquipedalian soliloquy. Sea side serenade soon spewed solipsism saving Slim Shady.
Sayonara seminal surfer swirling scarily sans sinister serpentine silent space.
Shuffling this scope of limited perceptions; their visions..
Crossing her celestial, scintilating skies; deep inside tubular
Chimes lifting amid the breeze to these, tranquil orisons ? Subliminally
Marked emotions rising in state; bay windows dismissing chains; silvertone's rustic tides
Receding, from time's shores before my eyes; portent clarities bearing a Spirits wings
To fly beyound their breakwater whirlpools, vortex designs ? Breathtaking
Inversions encapulating this heart as solipsism flees and the eclipse of but once
Paradoxic's moon, now utters her revelations touchstone moments ? Beckoning myself
Aneath certitudes apex in parallel's reasons; these, realms about love's cloistered heavens
Wherein beauty does, so reside ? Tubular chimes lifting amid the breeze; subliminally marked
Emotions afore bay windows and her silvertones, scintilating skies; bearing, wings to fly....
Beyound His colour splashed canvas of pastels, immortal stardust ? A twenty-first century love song.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shuffling this scope of limited perceptions their visions
Crossing the celestials scintilating skies; deep inside tubular
Chimes lifting in the breeze to these tranquil orisons
Subliminally marked emotions rising in state; bay windows dismissing chains....
Silvertones rustic tides, receding from the shores before my eyes
Portent clarities bearing a Spirits wings to fly ~
Beyond the breakwater whirlpools vortex designs!?
Breathtaking inversions encapulating this heart as solipsism flees
And the eclipse of the once paradoxic moon now utters her
Revelations touchstone moments....
Beckoning myself aneath certitudes apex of parallel reasons these
Realms amid the cloistered heavens wherein, beauty does so reside ~
Tubular chimes lifting in the breeze, subliminally marked emotions afore
Bay windows in silvertones scintilating skies; bearing, wings to fly beyond
The colour splashed canvas of pastels immortal, stardust....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.."?A 21st Century, 'Love Song!'"..
I OPENED A DOOR
IN THE UNIVERSE ,
THAT DOESN'T EXIST ,
AND NEVER EXISTED.
I FOUND MYSELF STANDING ,
IN THE OCTAGON ,
OF THE IMAGINATION.
UNDERSTANDING THAT
IMAGINATION IS ESSENTIAL ,
TO UNLEASHING OUR TRUE
POTENTIAL , I UNLEASHED
MY CURIOSITY OF IMAGINATION
IN EVERY DIRECTION.
IN SEARCH OF WISDOM
AND KNOWLEDGE.
UNDERSTANDING
I AM NOT THE FATHER
OF SOLIPSISM.
I AM NOT THE CENTER
OF THE UNIVERSE NOR AM I
THE CREATOR.
IF THE ABILITY TO THINK
IS A MENTAL ABILITY ,
THE INABILITY TO THINK
BECOMES A MENTAL DISABILITY.
IF IMAGINATION IS THE SIMPLEST
FORM OF THINKING ,
THE INABILITY TO IMAGINE
MAKING A DECISION
WITHOUT THINKING FIRST ,
IS NO DIFFERENT
THAN THE INABILITY TO THINK.
CONFORMITY IS NOT
THINKING FOR YOURSELF.
IT'S ALLOWING OTHERS
TO THINK FOR YOU.
AS IF YOU DO NOT HAVE
THE ABILITY TO THINK
FOR YOURSELF.
SO THE REAL DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN THE SO CALLED
HAVES AND THE HAVE NOTS ,
GOES BEYOND THE
BARRICADES OF IMAGINATION
WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT.
BEWARE THE IMAGINATION
DISGUISED AS FANTASY
LIVING A LIFE OF VISUALIZATION
IN A REALITY THAT DOES NOT
EXIST.
Michael E. Harris
03222022
Could chronic stress,
like sleep deprivation,
noise and light and air pollution
also derive
by avoiding barely still alive
high-risk trauma messes?
Sometimes sadly beginning
prior to economic and political puberty
Including multi-generational suppression
misogynistic sex tensions
and monotheistic depression
and homophobic repression,
hateful Othering paranoid impressions,
chronic monocultural climate despair,
uncivil disinvested oppressions
Endarkened
by a popular FirstWorld
anthro-privileged
secularizing, dividing, dissociating
evolutionary theory
of mutual assured predation
damnation
degenerating ecosystemic deflation,
ecocidal extinction
of once sacred synergetic EarthLove
elation
Or at least
co-empowering messianic missions
for restoring EarthJustice
mental ego-health is physical eco-wealth
co-relations.
So, go on
all RightWing
WrongHeaded;
service yourself!
But
I doubt you will find
your God's RightHand solipsism
resiliently satisfying
much less sacredly edifying.
Uncovering ecofeminists
and recovering peace mediators
are done being your ***** punishing bag!
Your indigenous justice
community resonance hag!
Did I hear that out loud?
Oh, any polypathic way,
Does chronic lifetime-anxiety disorder,
win/lose competitive stress,
contribute to multi-generational high-risk trauma histories?
Sometimes beginning long before adult maturing transition
from Either/Or fundamentalist childlike conditions
not Both/And exploring inside/outside
neuro-sensory double-boundaries
in-between healthy, mature win/win resonance
and lose/lose despairing dissonance,
positively and negatively
therapeutically and traumatically
correlated
In older adults
sometimes producing increased market risks
and opportunities of dementia,
with unfortunate paranoid demise
Rather than fortunate co-invested
peaceful
pleasured
mindbody post-traumatic surprise
of warm unconditional outcomes
in win/win Paradise.
A relapse into solipsism sparks inside my soul;
An emptiness that ne'er before lay unconsumed is whole.
Is it blood or life now dripping from my lips;
Blood or life that's felt within a kiss?
If pain can purify
Who am I to deny?
If love is not regret
Then who am I to let it die,
To drown a sorrow in a lie
That never could belie the Truth
I can sigh, I can cry
Who am I?
I can try, I can die
Who am I?
There is something to see in this night
There is darkness here still to my sight
There is something to be
But it isn't quite free
The shackles of the boundless soul
But shackles to that selfsame hole
The storm of thought lets loose its rain
And who am I to claim that I could ever be the same?
Down
Down
Down
Down
Dissolved within the hollow sound
Let loose within my boundless sea,
The soul that ever would be free,
The one last spark still left of me
Has
Drowned
Yes,
Drowned within the sea
Yea,
Drowned within the soul of all that I will ever be
I
In that small moment dream takes
to fly from memory and become
the nagging image of forgetfulness
the muted clank of psyche's hold
I can turn too well in bed
and learn the pains of comfort.
II
Whenever these rivers of the night
Dry hard into red scorched beds
Depression takes over my daily self
Like the avenging angel of time.
Scouring winds rub out the image
Leaving behind the carcase of summer.
III
Suppose thought gave way to dream.
Bridges would collapse. Our simple talk
Would become a spree of metaphor
Not even poets could afford.
Self would reign over all meaning
And again the tower would fall.
IV
But why do these solitary creations
reveal their meaning first to others
as if the dreaming tongue betrayed
its beloved solipsism? Eyes wrapped
in fabrics of truth and lies,
the dream asks its interlocutor: who?
V
A tree springs from my stomach.
Nebuchadnezzar's madness overcomes time and reason
to plant itself in my soil
to come alive again as if
all history is compressed by night
into an image none can forget.
VI
This drowning boat, this fish river,
this medusa returning as a bowl
of squirming snakes which I eat:
these dreams lie like abandoned gifts
but still share their secret being
with listeners to my night's echo.