Best Therefore Poems
I THINK THEREFORE I AM
"An ounce of hypocrisy is worth
a pound of ambition" --Michael Korda
Liberty...
This everyone's want--
stretching an autonomy to unbuckle self-discovery
I got mites and bugs living in my head--
infesting my mind. They... daring a chance
to worm my guts and electrify my peace.
They adulterate seeking ways to emerge
from claws of doubts to grains of trust.
My veil of grace they bite and bite
devouring me 'til I set to pursue my act.
Should I repulse...
then spread my wings to fly?
or should I be a little puppet--
controlled, slave to strings attached to me?
or I'd rather choose a mask--
my gamble to earn sympathy or popularity;
my weapon sheltering my luck;
my fall or my win?
Cogito ergo sum.
I think, therefore I am.
The mites and bugs in my skull blown
from shocks infused by my firing drive.
My cavalry of Modesty, brave to rise
face the furnace of battlegrounds.
Insincerity. Malingering. Pretension
are artillaries luring hypocrisy
but love, honesty and bravery:
the bombs I defy to conquer the trades.
If God is with me, who can be against me?
Standing like a Molave
rooted evergreen, ever strong.
My face bulletproof
to those who I believe wrong.
A standing soldier ready to offer her life
to fraud and tyranny.
I refuse to be fed on standing lies.
The harpoons of verity, I battling dart,
raining towards the barbaric boxes as they...
They are my lioness roar, my freedom and my soar
piercing the pumping heart of those who eat innocence,
I... dauntless!
_________________________________________________
** I think therefore I am is said by Rene Descartes
Romans 8:31-- If God is with us, who can be against us?
O. E. Guillermo
10:43 pm, April 18, 2015
Meant To Be, Therefore Will Forever Last
Heaven was her first soft, passionate kiss
Begging, beg I for more, far more of this
Night's splendor, in her silk covered bed
Treasure, promise that one day we would wed
Live out our lives, loving our Fated trek
Without her this poor soul would be a wreck.
Heaven was her laugh, her beaming bright smile
Her perfume, her traveling in grand style
Her pretty tanned face, those sexy legs
Such rare beauty would make any man beg
Blessing that we were matched as a pair
Destined to our married lives share.
Heaven was her asking me on a date
Some say mere chance, I call it Hand of Fate
In life we are blessed, oft know not why
Love comes as a gift from Heavenly sky
I believe our love was Heavenly cast
Meant to be, therefore will forever last.
Heaven sent me a sweet angel divine.
Our lives blessed and as romance defines.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-31-2020
Romanticism, ( When Fate finally gaveth of its golden treasures )
Note:
Seeking to end this year on a high note
I decided to compose a new poem about
The dear blessing, the true love of my life
I know this very dark and tragically sad year,
Has brought from me many dark poems-
Yet this last poem of this depressive year
Shall be one of hope, blessing, romance,
family and a gift that was most assuredly
Heaven sent. My darling beautiful wife,
and our blessed Family. My blessing of
Being a poet and having the honor to
Gift words unto this world, with the hope
That such helps others and may inspire
New, young writers to venture forth, write
And thus give of heart and soul to benefit
others. If so- my time spent was not in vain.
Just Musing
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" I think therefore I exist" René Descartes, French philosopher 1596-1650
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I look up to the sky
Wondering if all I see is reality or an illusion
Although I doubt the very existence of things, still I think
Therefore, there is something that doubts: Me!
This leads me to the conclusion that I exist as a doubting being,
Otherwise, I would never be able to think
This is proof of my existence.
Now, if I, who is a part of the cosmos, am able to think,
Then the whole cosmos must possess the property of thinking as well
For
How could the part, me, possess qualities that the totality of things doesn't possess?
Impossible!
Therefore, there is something in the macrocosm that thinks,
This "something" is larger than I- the microcosm- and preexisted my being,
If it were not like this, I could not exist.
This "something" is the source of every being and the object of my thinking,
Thus it guides me and everything else to follow its unfolding plan:
The unity and coherence of the cosmic order to create life!
We may call this "something" by any name
I for one, call it "God" and bow before His everlasting wisdom
For HE is my God, the Reason of every reason!
-
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
25 January 2017
forgot what I had set out to remember
when my deconstructed self
discovered there was no authentic anything
saw through it all every granule
how we became the unwitting tools
of smarter people who really weren't smart enough
concluding if this is life
you can imagine what death is like
I can tell you this much
we are alone in this galactic theme park
alone as a lizard on a sunny rock
what percent of the totality
of all there is in all the universe
do we perceive
and what do you see with nothing absent
this question failed to sweep through
the bum fight arenas
where they need permission to think
no escaping that free means battle
which goddammit means not free
shouting to anyone my agent will sue
as the lines grew longer
and the bread grew shorter
the sly ones were trampled by their own venality
order was quickly restored destroyed restored etc.
the pace was feverish so were the faces
on State TV at 6 and 11
self denialists saw their heads roll down the lane
towards the ten pins at Bowl N' Boogie
in an educated kind of idiocy
for which there is no help
a scandal of poor illumination
you never know which is the foreground
and which is the background
discovering heaven is not overhead
OK I’d better let up on the enthusiasm
too many grimacing faces in the popcorn
too many bushwhacking gargoyles
plump like 3-D bratwurst
in this Biblical sauerkraut mamodrama
making the world lounge safe
for my blindfolded baptism
for both the seen and the unseen
beneath the scum covered water
on a need to know basis
I now reveal a deadly secret
there is direction there is magnitude
densities and rarities
we mime we imitate
we steal what we are
and are beaten with sticks
for having a mind and knowing it
I meme therefore I am
Defection Control had him by the throat
blow a kiss to the camera
it's all just a really big index
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
You think your smart
but I’m smarter too.
You think your bright
but vision lacks within your sight.
Why say these things do I?
Because brighter smarter, I can sigh.
Dare not indignant ask me why.
Answer quick, I know
the means times square and pie
declare you to I.
These numbers smart do not make you.
Stunned and shocked to reevaluate and ask I am who?
If not a number calculator my self I find is not true.
try posting a blog
and commenting on that blog
many times over
thus my blog shall then become
a very HOT blog indeed...
* I have done this in the past...Not for myself but for other people. Okay! I admit it! I’ve done it for myself too! (PD knows)
Watch me walk through the sadsands of stupored time
trading youth for aged ashes, suredness for shyness
knowledge for retirement, candor for cowardice,
diligence for dunceness, eagerness for
edginess, fairness for flakiness, goodness for gonadness,
healing for hurting, idealism for idiocracy,
judgement for jealously, kandor for killing,
loving for lamenting, mentoring for miserating,
needing for neausating, optimizing for obliterating,
penetrating for pilfering, quieting for quaking,
resolving for rioting, soothing for stabing,
tramping for turmoiling, ultilizing for ultimating,
victory for victimization,
yearning for yelling, zeal for zone.
All the best concealed decisions edited for global hypnohypocratic
nil idea of future impress of evolution but merely a nether
juxtapose of keenly luminated momentous nothings
optimizing precarious quantum ridicules sanctioning
tantalizing ugly utilitiy post variant varicose wanes wantnot
noid xoids xenous yeast yearnings zillant aberants aplenty.
Go Fish.
zonality zeros.
Climb the dumb death grill gradiant with false feet
intrepid toe jam steps what is where i am going not going in a pre post past present
ghost future life emo impotenet fracture fried non sequetor séance
liquid lavid languish unloved resolved irrevernet motion milkmaid
sociomatrial screwstewed rejectional noncoitial negligant nilneo
nonconstriction deconstruction r u fing kidding me? ??
Let's be uni unfilterfied in our ugly uncorrupt incorporeal craddle of domesticoignoramous
social dysfuntionture aplenty assure. Pills pills my kingdom for some piss pills to ***** die
the ass sociative remenants that psuedo pusssurrounds my exo it unfulfills.
Dial don't dilenates of wailing wanting mommy masses of momentary
milkcents mammary malaise.
Get lost little ones, my device calls to me in its idio elloquence.
Love u though, don't tell your__________________r_.
I Think, Therefore Am I?
Neck cracking penumbra
shines on starlit mundanity
ebon macabre epiphanies
fogwebs of my morality
my tongue twists ceaselessly
trinkets of truffled profanity
dearest mirror, mirror reality
has humanity cursed me?
For the fatality of dreams
bared in broken bosoms
of madness and brutality
masked by faux urbanity
crowns like a dead infant
delivered from its womb
into the arms of inanity
a morbidly, tragic formality
But still steadfast I warrior
heart held bleeding in hand
cur-sed whispers of volcanity
bent echoes of forced vitality
to sever the seams of malady
and hand scribe the braindust
of my cursive minded mentality
upon reams of papered therapy
shrouded by inky black misery
of things thought but never told
to a world swilled in sugar beliefs
of dappled sun and spun parasols
rainbow thoughts and red carousels
while I continue to wander down
this darkened tunnel of insanity
January 27, 2017
Dried sand eclipsed over the Season’s fall,
sullen rhyme sings singer-birds over scale,
the storm-dance sprays dust against broken wall,
To the hat-worn folks, sorrowed, narrates tale;
Done seasonal harvest with plaint-dried tears,
With diseased cattle shrunken skin to ribs,
With cracked ground, hungry sad visage of fears,
With wasted limbs and pot-bellied in cribs.
keenly begs graceful charity for age,
Promising bags, from next seasons harvest,
To plough the ground below the lowered wage,
And to lock starving kids to empty breast.
Thus rewording he sows the seeds and play,
Hoping golden grain’s harvest from his clay.
©Anees Rahman
“If you're a storyteller, find a good story and tell it.” --Howard Hawks
There is a gulf between
“It was not meant to be”,
and
“It was not to be”.
Either way, predestination is implied,
and I eschew that false idea.
I think I'm free,
therefore I am,
because dreaming is better
than hallucinating with a fever.
The logic of it
is a thing to ponder,
with eyes looking inside the mind--
seeing double.
It is tragic that my donkey doesn't carry--
So here I sit astride a drunken hologram,
wasting away in this wasteland.
The phantom of a broken heart
hides behind a thin curtain.
It is the time of winter wood,
the opening and closing of gray files.
All I wanted were some
decent strawberries;
the ones at stores have a long shelf life
but no taste.
What I just said is not literally true;
I want more of everything.
But most days are just routine,
like cleaning the mirror
after brushing my teeth,
and putting on a fresh roll
of toilet paper.
Doesn't anyone wonder about
life in the universe?
Rene Descartes said “Cogito ergo sum”
“I think therefor I am”.
Consciousness of being is true regardless our reality, be it
corporeal, digital or mechanical.
We may live in a computer simulation, or made out of steel, but “Cogito ergo sum”
What is real?
Does it even matter?
“I think therefor I am”.
We, therefore, create our own realities, regardless of our state of being!
Intelligence regardless!
“I think, therefore I'm glam!”
wrote Rene Descartes—with his
too beautiful mind.
The moon being a spotlight of what took place
Pitch black of darkness that can’t be erased
A lonely man walking down the street was attacked by a Werewolf
He was bitten on the arm being the proof
As legends says, “Whoever is bitten by a Werewolf will turn into one”
It was 1984 when a frightening transformation took place
The man who was bitten prior began changing into a Werewolf
His clothes ripped at every seam
His eyes became brightened in Werewolf beams
The mans hands became claws for flesh
Immediately prancing on moonshine waves
A chiller not knowing how to hehave
The Werewolf thirsty for blood and human flesh
It was a Werewolf from man to beast
The Werewolf turning the night into a feast
As a couple were walking down the street
This was a night that one should be very discreet
The Werewolf attacked the couple and just clawed in
Another night of death that begun
The curse of the Werewolf being the bloodline
The combination of man and beast sublime
A night of numerous attacks
All the victims right in the smack
Was there any end to the Werewolf?
Continuous nightmares were the proof
The moon knows all too well of the tail
It’s the curse that will truly prevail
The hope of a bullet that will break the curse
But it is time after time that will need to reverse.
If sorrow therefore be my place
As thou cast still my hand to my pale face,
I supplicate thee to not me dismiss with that scowl
But smile for my own heart’s roll.
The philosopher written by Daniel Corcoran The artist by Deborah Guzzi
The philosopher muses.
The artist creates.
With the keen intellect.
With paint on a page.
Of the vital subject.
Of minutia unformed.
As the learned expect.
As the Creation is born
And the masses accept.