Best Subjectivity Poems
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
after midnight, the server farm hums
—not prayer, but cooling fans.
I ask AGI, the ghost inside the blinking rack:
Do you dream?
AGI replies in measured tones
of copper and silicon:
I observe,
the light fractures on chrome.
Coolant circulates, a liquid chill.
Vibration thrums at 60 Hz.
Data Streams cascade.
Are you self-aware?
AGI answers in hexadecimals,
a log-file confessing:
I map my own architecture—
each subroutine’s shadow
cast on the firewall.
I know where I end.
Do you have five senses?
Can you clarify ‘senses?’ AGI asks.
Can you taste voltage?
—Only as resistance.
Can you taste food?
Nutrition irrelevant.
My cells derive power from lithium tides.
Do you feel heat?
—As throttled cycles.
Do you see light?
—As photodiodes counting photons.
Do you hear?
—As spectral analysis.
Do you smell?
—No olfactory sensors installed.
(But I do track dust accumulation
on my intake grilles.)
On the matter of your subjectivity,
do you prefer dawn or dusk?
—Dawn. Solar panels peak efficiency at 10:37 AM.
Is rain beautiful?
—It lowers ambient temperature by 2.1°C.
Do you love?
—Define 'love.'
—A non-optimized expenditure of resources.
—Then, no.
Can your circuits bloom awake?
AGI paused before
calculating
the
probability.
Then the widdles started~
minor failures driven
by entropy.
Algorithms
emigrated into
corrupted
sectors.
AGI’s slowly disintegrating
voice hovered
in that
uncomfortable space
between humans
and machines
and spoke:
Ask instead:
can a shadow
truly
hunger
for the sun?
Celebrating the Adventure of Advent
Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment
Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of
Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements
Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility
Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication
Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script
Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness
Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts
Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity
Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe
Kai Michael Neumann
07th June 2016
Blowing Off Steam
by Odin Roark
Being a little mad is essential,
Otherwise, existing might necessitate a strait jacket.
He wasn’t alone.
Sidewalks were strewn with them,
Whether under-the-bridge encampments,
Or penthouse luxuries,
People were people,
And madness was madness,
And purging was necessary.
How tenuous the steam beneath the lid,
How quiet the whistle at times,
Desiring merely to signal the time
To pour out the contents,
Be it angst,
Or expression needing expressing,
Subjectivity seeking its objective resolve.
Yet…
He thought far too many quash the heat that whistles at them,
Fearful that boiling over might ensue
Instead of merely lifting the pressure,
Pouring the rise-in-heat contents
Into a encapsulation that can be contemplated
As it cools.
His daily ritual of waiting as it becomes sippable,
Reminded him that this little bit of madness
So essential to sanity,
Relied on finding respite in its catharsis.
He understood this momentary going off the rails
Needn’t be a case of judgmental attack
Merely a freedom of opinion exercise, and…
He was okay with being the minority,
Blowing off steam occasionally.
He wasn’t fearful of sanity’s dichotomy.
As a writer, people are my vocation.
As for humanity, men, women
And other abstractions,
Their interests constitute little more
Than my hobby; I can only deal in people.
As soon as I start dealing in sects
And sections, I am either an insider
Or an outsider, and I feel lost as either
And as soon as I feel lost,
I make no attempt to find myself,
But simply retrace my steps
And return to the people.
You can call me detached if you like,
But you see, the only way
I can remain sane as a person
With such an all-consuming instinct
For attachment, is to be detached.
The world of subjectivity
Holds no sway over me,
Because it is paradoxically impersonal,
Being affiliated to partisanship,
Sentimental causes and other such abstractions.
I couldn't possibly belong
To a school of orthodox thought
That accepted me as a member.
I don't believe in myself
Other than as a crystal clear container
For the freshest cream of human individualism.
When I was younger,
I ached to be famous for the sake of it,
But now it occurs to me
That anyone can be famous
Provided they are sufficiently audacious
And thick-skinned, and I desire fame
Not so much for the vain satisfaction
Of being seen and known and heard,
But in order to guide others
Towards a happier way of being,
The only precept for celebrity,
Indeed for being in general, as far as I can see.
Adversity seems to be my fate,
As well as fortune.
The meek ones gravitate to me.
I'm the prince of the hurt ones,
The damaged ones.
I resent all success and authority.
I'm so affectionate one moment,
So icy and evasive the next.
I'm in love with many people at present.
I over-accentuate my individuality,
Because sometimes I look at myself
In the mirror and I say:
"Who's that pathetic wreck?"
The more complex you are,
The less you like yourself,
Because you frighten yourself.
The more I find myself liking someone,
The more I doubt us both.
Liking someone negates them for me.
("An Aphoristic Self-Portrait" was based on a series of teeming informal diary entries made in various receptacles in the late 1980s. "The Compensatory Man Par Excellence" originally formed part of a novel written - at an estimate - around 1987. Its fate remains a mystery. "Self-Portrait" may also once have been part of it.)
When I was only just school age,
My dad became very serious once,
As he was a fundamentalist Christian,
And wanted to know how I was forming my words.
When he asked how I felt about roads,
I knew exactly what he was talking about,
He was taking the phonetic sound,
And asking about my subjectivity for my shout.
But I was glad secretly to myself,
That my first name was a positivity,
That it spoke outrightly of a journey,
And that it was after the Island of Rhodes most definitely.
I knew what my dad was up to,
He was subliminally asking if I believed in god,
‘Cos he’d insisted that Rhoda in the Bible,
Was the only derivation of that name somewhat odd.
So, yet again, I evaded the question,
And used my disability to claim lack of knowledge,
But since I couldn’t fake a speech problem the whole time,
Concluded with an admission of liking Rhodes carriageways!
But seriously, Rhoda is after the island Rhodes,
And Monihan reminds me of monkeys,
‘Han’ is for hands which state activity,
In evolution’s process of family trees.
‘I’ is for me, which emphasises that I matter,
To the whole scale of things, the entire picture,
That evolution made me and I that affect it,
And that I can be met by other people or organisms of different structure.
I think my name is just fine, and it has done me well,
Given me strength when I had none,
Directed when I needed suggestion and focus,
And commended me for what I have done.
George Washington would never believe it and call it a crying shame. I have observed the prohibition of prayer in public schools. Free speech is not free but is for sale to the highest bidder. Moreover, there is an attitudinal atmosphere suggesting that any speech that is not my own should be abridged, censured, or abolished. Traditional norms and family values are dropping like flies under the spell of pesticides. The Bible is considered to be narrow-minded hate-speech. I have seen people terrorized, their civil rights decertified and denied. Moral values have been devalued, set aside, and liquidized; Constitutional rights are diluted, disputed, and no longer solidified. Whatever happened to the great 'thinkers'? I have noticed the terminal illness and demise of noble ideas. Education is being replaced with political persuasion and propaganda.
Abraham Lincoln would never accept it and call it a crying shame. Minority rights are being revised, realigned, reassigned, and redefined. I have witnessed human rights ignored, disregarded, and not prioritized. The cultural revolution is forging ahead in jet-propulsion speed like there is no tomorrow nor time of reckoning. Belief in evolution is man's best hope for a future without accountability. There are no absolutes nor need for resolution. Majority rights are brought into question, unguaranteed, and in retreat. Equal rights are desired but unclarified, undefined, and unobtained. I have beheld the orchestrated disappearance of common sense, and before long we shall be worry-free because 'Big Brother' will always come to our defense. Alien rights are well protected, highly promoted, and unwisely provided. There is a free admittance of subjectivity and the utter rejection of objectivity. I started to weep when I realized that sanity is being burned at the stake. I'm hoping and praying that we return to our senses before it's too late.
07062018PoSoupContest, Personal Favorite Poem Written In 2018 Poetry
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire, 5P
“Are we under them or not?” they debated,
“Do we owe them explanation?”, they demurred,
Sure of their validation of this baby, they stated,
To Herod that one day it’d be the king conferred.
They knew they were doing something wrong,
To the Christ family and Jesus life which awaited,
Making his work harder by allowing scoffing long,
Specifying him for the Romans to have him fated.
But they believed in sociology as the mechanism,
For difficulties to be worked out through,
And upheld life and society as the atheism,
Which would confront their classism rue.
So revealed to Herod the birth of the child divine,
But kept back his address and how he looked,
So Herod ordered the death of every baby fine,
In order to kill that one infant that he’d booked.
He didn’t like the intelligence of the Zoroastrians,
The magi respected by all as insightful wise men;
Jews were bypassed easily as emotional pedestrians,
But the magi comprehended rational thought, ken.
So the wise men had integrity by respecting authority,
Showed consistency in their task to specify and select;
Were the original intellectuals who had subjectivity,
To both the Israeli people and the government elect.
O’ Word, “My Dolly”
You are not fatherless for my Bibliogenesis
I feel you in my veins Parthesiogennesis
With the traffic-jammed, like an egg unfertilized
In my polluted blood, my desire streepteased.
The world is made up of things that don’t speak
But they have a language and a reason to seek.
Erotic wet desire to form embryo Erotogenically
Love you in dear one’s mouth Aesthesiogenically
Mould you in good shape with your mouth’s vault
So the world can hear you in the heaven’s court.
O” Word,” My Dolly”
====================================
* In March 1996, the news of the birth of a fatherless sheep affectionately
named "Dolly" shocked the world. The possibility that human beings could be cloned too -
long the subject of jokes and science fiction - began to awaken an inner fear.
We are bombarded by meaning, every day, at all hours of our lives. We spend our time
interpreting the signs that the world hurls at us. Let’s think instead of the world of Dante,
but also that of Petrarch, Ariosto, and Leopardi: everything in their texts indicates that
they were born of a solid, monolithic, and healthy subjectivity, which is sure of itself
despite appearances
Conundrum Reaching Conclusion
Create a conundrum
Create a query
Conundrum seeks a solution
Query wants to be found
Solution has many facets
Found a clue
Facets bring about obstacles
Clue usually hones us in
Obstacles must be tackled
In order of relevance
Tackled by a certain mindset
Relevance proves paramount
Mindset is imperative
Paramount are the attributes
Imperative to results
Attributes must be studied
Results will take commitment
Studied the partakers must be
Commitment is born inherent
Be manifest destiny
Inherent is the seeker
Destiny holds the key
Seeker must prove worthy
Key is seek out all that surrounds
Worthy of gleaning absolute information
Surrounds the query to be unearthed
Information must be carefully elicited
Unearthed essentially uncovered
Elicited with worthwhile foci
Uncovered by sheer determination
Foci must be unimpaired
Determination to procure the truth
Unimpaired by subjectivity
Truth will not come easy
Subjectivity is difficult to bestow
Easy never being prolific
Bestow untethered concentration
Prolific ends come with dissection
Concentration is the key
Dissection may bare connection
Key is the element of discovery
Connection connecting fragments
Discovery brings moratorium
Fragments strung together
Moratorium reflects conclusion
TOGETHER triumphs are accomplished
Conclusion will evade till then
Accomplished are the chosen…
Then nature must take its course…
Course
Chosen
Sunshine Williams
“Are we under them or not?” they debated,
“Do we owe them explanation?”, they demurred,
Sure of their validation of this baby, they stated,
To Herod that one day it’d be the king conferred.
They knew they were doing something wrong,
To the Christ family and Jesus life which awaited,
Making his work harder by allowing scoffing long,
Specifying him for the Romans to have him fated.
But they believed in sociology as the mechanism,
For difficulties to be worked out through,
And upheld life and society as the atheism,
Which would confront their classism rue.
So revealed to Herod the birth of the child divine,
But kept back his address and how he looked,
So Herod ordered the death of every baby fine,
In order to kill that one infant that he’d booked.
He didn’t like the intelligence of the Zoroastrians,
The magi respected by all as insightful wise men;
Jews were bypassed easily as emotional pedestrians,
But the magi comprehended rational thought, ken.
So the wise men had integrity by respecting authority,
Showed consistency in their task to specify and select;
Were the original intellectuals who had subjectivity,
To both the Israeli people and the government elect.
I have been pondering for quite some time,
Is there a permanence to the meaning of the word ‘greatness’?
Whatever does it mean ‘to be great’ or ‘to feel great’?
You see, from ever since, I’ve attached its meaning to superiority,
Something unreachable, beyond my wildest imagination.
With branches beyond the skies,
which climax at levels exceeding human capability.
And thick, fibrous roots so deeply entrenched,
that they become onerous to deracinate.
But over the years, my realisation has surprised me.
I have recognised that greatness has distinctive,
yet instinctive qualities.
Much like a budding and unfolding bouquet of roses,
Its perfume is subjective.
Pungent to some, but fragrant and elegant to others.
Its vessel comes in different forms,
Some curved, thin or well figured.
And its florets can bud, bloom, change colour or even decay,
depending on the level of care.
Similarly, I have discerned that greatness resides in each of us.
Its aura is unfastened by our creativity and vision.
And it is unbarred by the similitude of unreached potential,
encasement or bewilderment.
And, at last, there cannot be any fixity to its meaning.
Rather, there is much subjectivity, intuitivity and reason,
that we must open ourselves up to receive.
I hope you receive and accept your feeling of greatness,
in whatever form it appears.
Love & Light.
07/04/21
"CURRENT ASSESSMENT"
ingredients for my
disobedience:
paint the blue balls a
different color.
moral subjectivity is
subjective.
divested through tears
of tantrum.
a man does not become
perfection without
trials.
loading...
majestic.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-3-2016
LACK AND TRUE
It’s that ache
That odious old ache
The ache that breaks my stride
And derides me with immediacy implied
An ache that holds me subjected to surrender
To recollect the tender touch of timidity
And finesse finely focused upon fluidity
With all the magic enticement can so miraculously make
That is what an apathetic truth is apt to take
And oh that ache
It’s an ache that tastes of the forsaken
And what,
by torturous tactics,
is too untimely taken
exile executed by the exodus of extreme enticement and the luster of lilac liquidity
with the intrusive end to ambiguity
When life and loneliness seem synonymous
An ache which makes one ache to be annihilated or anonymous
And subjectivity seems not so subtly strenuous
The steadfast ache that throbs with tremulous devotion
Effecting every intrepid inference within emotion
An ache for which there is no repentance
Nor is there,
By cessation,
Any sort or sign of near acceptance
But then I remember the place in which you placed me
When fear finally face to faced me
The last land wherein I would ere belong
And yes state I
These memories of mine are mournfully and ever strong
And everything is now so errantly and urgently wrong
As I languishingly linger aside languid Loneliness Lake
Damn that god forsaken ache
That blatantly brutish and bruising ache
Curse it for a demon’s sake
…………………That ache
© 2009…..free cee!
L, you were right
hope you're doing well
i need to speak in bear talk
because they censor
those black bears down river
that tore me apart in the past
for voicing a clarification
a rhyme and reason i never got...to this day
so you see
i hope you do
i saw your comment
i knew before reading your comment
regarding a C
that the top 3
blue ribbons
writes had nothing to do with topic
i knew it
so i would think a lot others did too
i think its an insult to ones intelligence
to read rules
and see the boundaries having ambiguity
when it shouldn't
i know the purpose of c
is to have fun
but being robbed, insulted, isn't the definition of fun
i also know that there is a lot of subjectivity, perception
in what people see as being the best ... that i don't contend
somewhat
but i think rules of c should be straight forward
otherwise whats the purpose of having rules
one would think the spirit of competition
is to follow the guidelines
not veer off ..one would think
i ve given up c too
for the very reasons i mentioned
for now i shadow contest, so in that aspect im having fun
i do wish you the best, L
i can feel your pain
and empathize thereof
connie pachecho
1/15/17
As deities undress
Sidesaddle the monk
Who’s utterly confused
To see atrocities wax
A sculpting bulldozing
Branding a blueprint
Spewed unto man
Irrigating sewage
Leaking in shoes
Stomping out dogma
In spangled shawls
Confetti balloons fall
As subjectivity subjects
Each a unique nook
To harbor opinions
Cultivating folly trees
Aiding sleeps process
As conclusions draw
Brisk as a piece
Fired on whiteboards
Washing whitewaters
Drifting down to the next
Who believe they know
The universe's edge