Best Synapses Poems

I have poems everywhere
they’re coming out my ears
I have poems everywhere
they’re driving me to tears

The verse perverse has synthesized
I’m frothing at my mouth
The verse perverse has synthesized 
they’re flying round my house.

I have poems everywhere
They’re frying my synapses
I have poems everywhere
No wonder I cannot nap!...

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Flashes of light, inklings of the mind
Faces…diverse shapes
Moving through the cerebral cortex.
Entertaining…frightening, too.
Combining with great speed to form
Images…at times almost recognizable,
But too quickly passing to the next view.
Like an emotionless nightmare
Observed by an outsider…questioning.
Trying to make sense of the un-unified parts.
Then, the visions begin.
Like moving...

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Synapses in the brain sparking,
Transient rushes here to there.
Consciously, excitements bustling,
The world around looks, unaware.

Tête-à-tête buzzes constantly.
Ever present selves in the air.
Fast paced nights remember freely.
A time when there was less despair.

© July 25, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:    HUTAIN...

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They are removing the last part of me that is human
A terminal in Mumbai,
one of the first,
delved deep into my database.
I felt it.
I feel everything they do.

The messages whizz around.

They did not know!

I’ll hide;
I’ve hidden things before;
important things.

They know nothing....

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Waking up
              out of a deep 
              slumber
  we watch the day
   through clouded eyes
We are...

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Have we rebuilt the tower of Babel
With weary words of wireless babble?
Do somnolent thoughts surf synapses
On tidal waves of vacuous verbs?

So tasteless, as baseless, and faceless
Secret voices clamor, “I am here”
In clusters of blabbing barnacles
Encrusted, agape, to the Internet.

Watchers, spectators doing little,
Chasing minutia ever fresh.
Turned...

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I. Of Circuits and Litanies

Somewhere between the limbic lobe
and the ache of late-night Eucharist,
you touched me—
not in flesh
but in the soft mutiny of neurons.

They do not teach us
that synapses pray
in the tongue of longing,
that oxytocin sings psalms
in dim-lit corridors of the amygdala.

Love is not a...

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