Best Speculating Poems
I thought I saw your curious eye starring through the key hole
of my old cedar door
it was confirmed when I opened it and saw your lipstick painted cigarette still smoking
on the floor
I hope you weren’t trying to take a look into my unspoken thoughts
of speculating sorrow
because they will not be revealed until they scatter about my dreams that will
deliver me to tomorrow
and no you’re not invited to watch the slideshow that will projected onto the closed lids
of my amber eyes
that viewing is reserved for those who have removed their vale to show who they are
and extinguish their disguise
but for you to do that you would have to be true to yourself and that’s impossible
with your partly cloudy personality
because as a casualty of conformity you have sacrificed your hopes and dreams
that once accompanied your originality
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Written: October 15, 2023
_______________________________________
Hanging precariously on the landline pole,
The sun's beams dance, yet no heat console.
Akin to power wires in homes spread and sway,
But it seems friendly warmth has gone astray.
Sun rays are vanishing behind the fog cover,
Placing the world through a frost to discover.
Nonetheless, it still clings to the phone cable,
A sign of hope is when light and cheer are stable.
Phone broadband towers above the keen sky.
It manages the call akin to a coordinator of a tie.
Yet it feels empty without the rays of the sun.
A mystery gap, an unviable-to-cram void, began.
Our bones are gently dying as we sit in silence.
Warmth may induce a shift in people's reliance.
But the phone's broadband remains unmoved.
By embracing all our goals, we stay unimproved.
We dearth the sun to engulf us with its coziness.
To devote us comfort, we struggle for prosiness.
But forthwith, we're out in the cold, yearning.
For the radiation from the sun to start burning.
Acoustically, we fix our gaze on the phone wire,
Speculating around when it will uplift us higher.
Will it ever convey to us the warmth we desire?
Or will it ditch us eternally in this icy quagmire?
However, a hyperlink grows inside the wire.
A flickering ember of faith that will not tire.
So there is a secret power within the cord.
A convenient network that hinders the record
Each house, each heart, a node in this scheme,
An array of linkages where comfort can gleam.
And though the sun may not shine with its might,
Each of us is able to produce our proper light.
So let us sit quietly in the cold embrace.
And bear changes at our proper pace.
The phone, a device, or a wire may hang above
Yet it is up to us to descry the embrace of love.
Today, I choose to smile
At the things that don’t make sense
Maybe they will stop me from speculating
Maybe it will distract me from my worrying thoughts
My smile might just make you smile too
Imagine the possibilities
If we can remember to smile at the things
We can’t change
If we take the time and deal with things as they happen
Instead of wasting time on tomorrow’s questions
I sometimes catch myself in a trapped space
Things are not always in our control
Irrespective the stress attached to it -
It will not alter tomorrow
Until tomorrow starts
Today, I choose to smile
At the things that don’t make sense
Who knows about tomorrow?
Maybe the things I am speculating
About might not materialize
Then I would have wasted today’s joy
So today, I choose to smile
©135505072013
Your name is the Way,
My path rolling, my pictures are scrolling
Colored or black and white,
My screen darkens, my audience crying
I may not know all corners,
My navigation compassing, mapping
I may not know how to be holy and spirit,
My faith hoping, sinking
Your name is the Way, my way narrowing,
My tears rolling, sobbing
You name is the Way,
My name is changing,
Shocking; my name is Worship
Your name is the Truth,
My leaders promising, my followers are waiting
Laws or decrees and procedures,
My calling questioned, my audition smiling
I may not speak like all of them,
My accent confusing, suspect
I must not adore their idols and divinities,
My covenant standing, sacrificing
Your name is the Truth,
My truth is far from their reality,
My vision steering
Your name is the Truth, my titles speculating,
Shaking, my name is divinity
Your name is Life, my opposers networking,
Crafting my disappearance
Mistakes and faults or vice,
My sentences are cut and passed to their convenience
I may not know how to save the world,
My faith is to live in your presence
I might be found guilty for being different,
My mission is to make the difference
Your name is life; you came to heal to grow,
You came to grow to heal, reverence
Your name is Life, death doesn’t have the last say,
Living, my name means smile
I wonder what you're thinking
while you are standing there
chewing cud so placidly
I wonder if you care.
What do you think about the sky
when stormy gray or blue
how do you feel about the rain
falling down on you?
What are your thoughts about the field
the grass beneath your feet?
Is it seen as something wonderful
or just wonderful to eat?
Do you ever question why you are
or why you're standing there
or is it just that you accept
the fact that you are here?
Are you speculating why
I watch you standing there
chewing cud so placidly?
I wonder if you care.
There are a lot of farms in the area where I live, especially dairy farms
which was the source of my inspiration for this. RG
Schrodinger’s Cat Isn’t Both Dead and Alive
By Elton Camp
Physics claimed a particle exists in all states until you see it
Dr. Erwin Schrodinger, from such an inane error, did free it
In a box is radioactive sample, Geiger Counter, poison, cat
If the Geiger Counter sees radioactive decay, what about that?
It will then break the poison bottle and the cat thus dies
But without such decay, the cat won’t meet its demise
Those in error said decay had and had not taken place
So the cat is both dead and alive until you see its face
Common sense tells us this cannot be true
No matter how much speculating you do
The cat is either dead or preserved
Well before it has been observed
The Copenhagen view had a serious flaw
And that’s what Schrodinger wisely saw
The other physicists thus were bested
When by this thought experiment tested
(Note: This will be incomprehensible to anyone not already familiar with the subject. A basic knowledge of physics is needed to understand it.)
this will be good and slippery
in a whistling fall from grace
feel free to edit in a picture of your choice
the more grotesque the more accurate
while glancing at your wrist watch
over and over when you knew
your 30 seconds was up centuries ago
we agree to be controlled
he said speaking in archetypes
here then is my plan for world conquest
say Bob that was some intro
right you are Nick
and just what the tired evacuated
non combatants at home needed
you know Bob our audience should be issued guns
right you are Bill the results would be immediate
h-h-h-howdy there f-f-fans
g-g-glad to see you all p-p-packin
ha ha ha ha ha good one Bill
who does your thinking for you by the way
OK you've been briefed
if I wrote as few words as possible
the page would be blank
and useless as a postmodern hit man
speculating on the utility of spectacles
driven by a fear of the ordinary
in an ideological trance
at this point it could go either way
even reality is an approximation of reality
but there is no question of stopping
onward he plunged sarcastically
into a semiotic twilight of the gods
everything red shifted in a bar stool curse
too many crevasses on this ice berg
blinded by white phosphorous
receptors wide open overt and undeniable
incorrect labeling why is it a necessity
would you know your number
if your number was up
he stood before his firing squad
snickering and giggling and rolling his eyes
got a last cigarette
I have to smoke I'm a witch
the squad broke up with laughter
pissed their pants
and shot the lieutenant
if I'm in this much trouble now
God help me tomorrow
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The Groom of the Stool
(Two meditations on an ancient post: see below)
I.
The Groom of the Stool needs some time
To commit his experience to rhyme.
This commodious peer
Detests diarrhoea
But thinks constipation sublime
II.
See where the philosophic King
Sits Rodinesque upon his “throne”.
The patient Groom stands wondering
And draws conclusions of his own.
As often at such times as these,
He thinks of Plato, Locke and Kant
And their epistemologies —
And of his own ingenious slant:
“His Majesty – though no-one’s fool,
A veritable Marc Aurel –
Rises still wiser from his stool.
From which it’s possible to tell
That wisdom comes not only a priori,
But also, sometimes, a posteriori.”
Note: These two tasteless pieces were prompted by a colleague’s discovery of the post of “Groom of the Stool”.
This was a highly-placed courtier in 16th Century England, whose prestigious task it was – I regret to say, gentle reader – to wipe the Royal Bottom, at least according to some sources:
* https://www.tudorsociety.com/groom-stool-sarah-bryson/;
* http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/king-toilet-attendant-england?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=atlas-page
We fell – as one would – to speculating about the philosophical and poetic potential of this post....
A small study lamb,
a tea cup with sharpened lead pencils
(number two),
polished wooden panels:
walls dressed in masks
(African vodun mugs).
An old stone fireplace with
portrait of a colored girl
dancing above stained hardwood mantel.
Mimi, with a mind as dull as the room,
hung her thoughts out for scrutiny.
Shadows waltz in the faint glow,
and smell send eyes searching
and minds speculating
about the smudges on worn carpet.
From the door,
dark antique table stood smug,
on lion’s paws, in a corner to the left.
Grandfather clock with pendulum,
a tongue that utters time.
A gem tells of certainty,
and minds were compelled and led captives,
but Mimi and her tactless wit
could never fathom why gwampa run.
Grandfather ran when liberty summoned,
and this room expresses a life
that is far too deep for her to clutch.
It's when aristocracy begins to feel like a mid-uphill battle
It's when the armageddon features evil on both sides
and,
the good are speculating from the auditorium
It's when a 10year old is ducking depleted uranium in Benghazi
It's the bicentennial brainwash that is rapidly depopulating the black community,
It's the fake pastors leading the blind
It's the bloodshed in Raqqa that features berserk jihadists
It's the human traffickings increasing the traffic on the offramp to hell
It's that uno blunder that results in millions bearing a thunder
It's the bogeyman in a tuxedo you voted for stealing away dreams that he sold you.
It's when your future is decided in a one page boustrophedon
It's the bushveld your forefathers were massacred for that you don't have the papers to occupy that continues enriching the man you're working for
Another piece of land sold!
It can't be a rainbow nation with a camouflaged sincerity shaking hands with the devil that's pleading for your votes momentarily
It's another puppet in the whitehouse raising hell and forfeiting heaven.
I had to analyze it properly to see who the "holy bible" really benefits
It's the difference between a peacekeeper and a peacemaker,
It takes peace being present to keep it but little children are starving and homeless because of an American airstrike claiming to fight terrorism that they birthed
It's being an illegal human being because that's the true definition of an African American,
It's the young teenager popping xanax for a deadbeat euphoria
It's the disintegrated city of Mosul and obliterated future for millions of infants
When evil is an obligation they program your mind into denying intuition
It's all about control!
It's an Mk ultra anniversary
It's the disinclination to grant you freedom
Because you can't be free if you aren't a free thinker
It's the trend they sponsor that further demoralizes the black youth that you see your idols promoting
It's the creative freedom you lose once you become a marketing plan.
It's the literature they don't promote the reason you think this is too long to read that actually educates you
I'm offering you this disillusion to share with those in the same dungeon of thought you just escaped from after reading this.
Peace!
The long glade rolls the lingering tongue a licking fire who can tame it the talk of the town fame the gossip of the new birth speaking on a speculating specter do you see what I am saying as words quiz by your head glossing over to see fiery darts substances of thing not see on edifying myself not alone the Word quenching the enemy the promise kept older than the sandy grit perfect before and not of the same karma He uttered Light gave rise it was so there is only One who shears the shrewd driving out the wicked tongue in life or death no more babel they heard the wonderful works of God
Oh, my name is Ian Phillips
And I'll quickly tell the tale
Of a few men chasing shadows
And their wealth that flows in pails,
There isn't any reason
That explains their boundless greed,
But we've bought and paid for every lie
And swallowed every seed.
These people take their living
From we, who never knew
That that, which they have told us
Could be anything but true,
They sit and count their money
In buckets piled high,
While from the corner of their mouths
Escapes another lie.
They stand all day in an empty field
Watching the sun until it sets,
Speaking with their forked tongues,
Casting lots and placing bets:
"Five dollars, here, if my shadow
Reaches out past younder tree!"
"I'll put down ten!" "And so will I!"
(For "Gimme!"is their plea).
So, they chase eachother's shadows,
Speculating each position,
Winning every lottery,
For its terms are their own vollition,
Sometimes, too, they stand to benefit
Much more if they loose,
So every 'Great Disaster'
Is something that they choose.
Although I speak in riddles,
These men really do exist-
Off of the strength of others
These parasites subsist:
The men, whom I have so described
With pails trailing in each hand
Are the bankers, brokers and politicians
Of this here ruined land!
The moral of my story is simple
And almost funny:
The state of our economy
Is just as real as money!
You can live the lies these men purport
And hold them close to heart,
But if you do, the future's hope
Forever, will depart.
I listen with my precious eyes alert
Spring now on my mind - I hear you chirp
Each new born day - the ears they chime
Another day of joy it brings - birds she sings
I wake - I breathe the morning air
I seek the beat of each note with care
And speaking out - I enjoy my tunes
Endeavoring the outside - I wander through
Life- speculating - I too see
The robins- they glow - singing to me
Still - I'm listening - with the sun beaming bright
I am astounded - chirp- chirp - chirp
Musta been you - musta been me woken today
And I sit smelling the roses with the birds flying about
They blossom in my heart - my day a new start
Today I listen - today I wake - today I see
Opportunity really surrounding thus - me
I climb the mountains - I cross the bridges
I overcome calamity - I feel the wind
On ,my face , the breeze - It never ceases to amaze me
Chirp - chirp- chirp - still musta been you awakening thee
I listen it's like music to my ears
I see spring - my breath - it overwhelms me
And my roses that I love - a gift from God up above
Enlighten me! I am this in love with the birds
Singing in my ears - shedding tunes to time
If only life would keep blessing my day
And the roses as they bloom - I really adore you
I 'm going to tell it to the whole wide world - I love you
You fly into my life - you flourish me with blossoms
I wake - I listen evermore - blessed
I am tuned - I listen - I see visions in my head
With God I wake - loving the chirp in spring instead
And now that I found this beauty - I listen
And smell the roses in my mind- I find
That the notes I listen to they glisten
Yet too the birds bring beauty to the soul
Appreciating God's beauteous eyes on thee
No weeping sorrow - I am with glee...
Three days late,
and a dollar of truth short
No condemnation of neo-Nazi hate,
no negative KKK report
Only tweet silence was heard ...
didn’t hear a peep, not one word
Domestic terrorists
were Tiki torching a church
late that night
Shouting ethnic and racial slurs
Aryan imperialists,
proud patrons of John Birch
causing heavy fright
They weren’t rebuffed by any tweet words
The Trump was silent ...
didn’t hear a toot, not one sound was heard
Two days late,
and a couple silver dollars of truth shy
No reproof of white supremacy hate,
everyone’s speculating as to the reason why
Only tweet silence was heard ...
didn’t hear a peep, not one word
Marching through Charlottesville town,
chanting crude, bigoted Nazi slogans
Wearing the “Blood and Soil” hate song crown,
brawling like drunken ancient Romans
Innocent blood got spilled on the ground,
yet my ears heard no shrill tweet sound
Still no angry replies were ever given voice;
the sound of silence was deafening,
waves of nothingness heard crashing
Not blowing the trump was the wrong choice
Hate had it’s way unabated,
violence was randomly meted
But there were no words heard
castigating any of that despicable hate
Only the sound of silence chirped late,
where flew the little tweety bird?