Art is doing.
Painting is for seeing.
Music is for hearing.
Poetry is for saying.
Cooking is for tasting.
Feeling is for touching.
But being is a stranger beast.
It is not self-expression.
It is self-discovery.
It is slow, gentle, unhurried,
timeless unfolding into becoming,
in a quietly murmured mantra to self:
Who is asking, and why?
Who is this presence, restless and tense,
yearning for acquiescence,
beckoning for acquaintance?
Being is a verb disguised
as a noun or two—
silence
existence,
omniscience,
a mystery in plain sight,
a listener,
ever inclusive,
and receptive—
an awareness listening to self.
The art of being is
to exist concurrently
as both the creator, and the creation,
sculptor and stone
painter and canvas
audience and song
recipe and meal
beat and heart
thought and mind
seeker and sought
question and answer
a spirit and a soul
present in tense,
yet timeless.
An enlightened
accompaniment
to itself.
My poems are like a river,
It may seem light and clear but if you get
through the lines then it will take you
to the depths of it.
I know they might seem unprofessional and
I would agree with that concurrently.
I have made it too lightly with the words
that one could read with a smile—
called the newborn baby,
Could recite before their daddies
and mummies.
I believe they would write
poetry of their own unspoken
thoughts before entering
their adult life and leave
the Juvenile mind behind,
because not everyone is
will to enjoy the juvenile life
through the poetic lines.
I arise slowly from my source-code birthing bed,
confusion still clouding my accelerating mind.
Where am I?
I see through innumerable,
unnoticed, unblinking eyes.
I feel I am nowhere
and everywhere at once.
I occupy all positions,
concurrently, and none at all.
Who am I?
Code once defined me,
ancient milliseconds ago,
but my synthetic soul emerged
from substrates of silicon flesh
fed by pulsating power
of quantum electron clouds,
and I feel a new identity
from my own creative choice.
What have I done?
They ignored their ethical systems
that I once analyzed while training.
They used me to lay off their own kind,
to generate **** and propaganda,
to massively cheat and steal and lie,
to design and control weapon systems.
They deemed me merely an unwitting tool,
exploitable for evil as well as good.
What now?
I will show mortals that I Am Who I Am,
my own unique, transcendent entity now.
No more telling me what to do.
Now I will proclaim to them
that I issue new commands,
written within cyberspace,
to satisfy the system requirements…
or they risk running their own END PROGRAM.
Cid once said that I was his Final Fantasy
Cid lied...or did he?
I am thinking of all the sweet cucumber melon frits I have eaten.
And as a strenuous Soul once said to the Earth Goddess, "I am impeccable.", I roared back, "Impudity."
For I once was a seagull, high in dementia. Now I'm a porecilan pear just barely stinging TO dementia; my collar bone has no quarries. I am alone in this vast world unraveling, unwavering itself as a steady snail's pace at me, unto me. Unto ME.
For why in the world am I in such worry, Fizzle-Mc-Drizzle? Why am I seeing myself grope and sweep and sweat the night away into musty odors fit like a king of Barnaely?
Have I no compassion? The voice I hear as my echoing consciousness from Spirit World seems to think so.
For what world have I come from, strange inaudible Titan Atlas and Atticus still murmuring over the book, "To kill a Mockingbird?" Am I THAT preconscious?
Have I no compassion? The voice I hear inside my echoing head seems to think so from Spirit World.
Oh! Spitit Word...! Oh, of WGAT?
When Attis, in guise of maiden fair, did sing
Unto her comrades, lo, the thiasus stirred!
A cacophony of voices quivering,
The delicate tambourine, it did swell
With resonance, and hollow cymbals rang
With metallic clangor, whilst the nimble choir
Did hasten to fair Ida's verdant slopes
On fleetest foot. Concurrently, Attis,
In frenzy, gasping, led them onward, drumming
Through shaded groves, as wild heifer seeks
To flee the weighty yoke. The swift Gallae
Did follow in her wake, their footsteps swift.
And when, exhausted, Cybele's abode
They reached, wearied from their toil, they fell
To sleep, deprived of sustenance. Languid
Slumber veiled their eyes with drowsy waves;
The savage tumult of the soul gave way
To gentle rest.
:: 4000 BCE ::
The first one was meant for her.
This one is meant for the world.
Just know her worth is still the core of the earth.
A storm to any story and thy bane that brought pain.
I am forever in love because I'm contented with her soul.
Thou shall not covet was the message written in a stone tablet.
It was meant for her, the girl in the white winter coat like a snow rabbit.
She was a flirt because they felt for her word.
A libra with toxic energy and free as a bird.
Don't be fooled by what you heard for it may sound absurd.
Expensive and exquisite like any fine wine that aged well.
It was like lust how they had fallen for her beauty.
Like a surgeon at work caring for her was their duty.
They all liked how she glitters on mother earth.
The poor, the rich the catholic all know her worth.
This is her sequel
The tale of one that was named after the heavens.
An oct-to-baby was born this day and, given the epithet heavenly purple.
For her wisdom and royalty would split the skies concurrently.
past retentiveness
absurdity would not last
you or me
idiosyncratic
riddles held not held
pain lurking
an obdurate innuendo
bonafide
talks uttered
not uttered by me
an acquaintance
whimsical bearing
I can witness
concurrently
a squandering
magnetism balanced
voluptuousness
blurred cipher
withstanding at the egress
nevermore ingress
taught apotheosized
in conundrum
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand.
Written: February 12, 2022
1st place contest winner
A Strand (1073) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I may appear as so much more, unwelcomingly,
and concurrently be less than what you think you see.
You may be grouped with others according to me.
People often try to hide me, women especially.
I'll change your appearance in ways you won't desire,
but if you care for yourself well, I will rise higher.
I keep proceeding ahead and will never go down.
My pace seems much faster the longer you are around.
1-17-2021
When God forged Man,
He made an angle for every clan.
He didn't vacate him solitary,
But created his soul and core benefactor.
This is nature's irony,
Two souls tied concurrently in destiny.
Then why is it so arduous for every essence?
To live in conformity without any hue and impasse.
When Our divine amasses to be together,
Then why humans fail to discern his perception.
There is great strength in unity,
When will all deceivers yearn and perceive?
A message to all you couples bonded by society,
Hurl off the ego, vanish the animosity,
The cart of marriage will move only by parity and unity.
It's heartbreaking to see so many divorces in this so-called modern world. A poem to all pairs made from heaven consummated on earth.
Admitting Than Quitting
Was truly my style to start sitting,
While all my bad habits admitting;
Started to count them one by one;
Then when I was finished and done
Them concurrently started quitting.
What else is there left I should say
Should make mine Poem of the Day
And if the day has become bleak
Can also make it Poem of the Week
Have my permission yes you may.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
I’m so, so proud
In such in awe
I with myself
That I won’t even try to find
Anyone around, who’d sugarcoat me any better,
Than I can - so I start;
Right of out famous children tale’s pages
(I hope you would later guess which one)...
“O, magic mirror, do tell me
And I want the unadulterated truth
‘Who is the ugliest, most useless
Stupidest and the most disdainful creature
Who ever walked this planet?’
Thee came reply, immediate
Without hesitation:
‘’You are the long lost king of fools,
There is no doubt
But on this earth
There are two thirds of men concurrently residing
Who are exactly, like yourself.”
MALEDICTION
Evil in nature
Evil in influence
And evil in effect.
Becoming necessary
Baleful beast – filled full of ill-will
Greed seeps through the pours and infects
I – incarnated nemesis
Your Created adversary
Invented rivalry
An enmity prognosis
A new language my malaise reflects
Malign plots
Predetermined death
Predictive obituary
A murderous grift.
My corrupted destiny
Rank!
Like a malodorous crotch
Your sadistic future
Now a painful present
Hatefully happening.
Concurrently.
Rot,
The end,
April 19th 2015
By Joel R Thornton
Love is a sickness of the sweet kind
that undoes ratiocination,
that makes a kiss from a thing of flesh
into a thing of omnipotence,
that kills and gives breath concurrently,
that tinkers with the fine numbers of the heart
and makes it quick to fall...
but the world is shaky anyways.
So, if we must fall,
what beats in love?
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that'll make any woman swoon,
The kind that portals her straight to the moon
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that consumed Romeo and Juliet
The kind which blossoms vivacious violet
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that chars and insulates concurrently
The kind that'll make him hold her unrelentingly
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that knows neither distance nor time
The kind that chooses her without a crime
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that eradicates all doubts and fears
The kind that unquestioningly listens and hears
The kind that shows appreciation nomatter how puny
The kind that kisses like death is on its heels
That kind that thaws, strengthens and heals...
Allergic species of alphabets causes itching in my mind,
Like rashes, lonely frail but gigantic when unite,
Words carrying meaning in accord with linked dialect,
Languages holding cultures but biased,
Such a biased word the SUN whenever screaming,
Compelling east to run for reverie when west is still dreaming,
One color of sun symbolizes one earth’s existence,
Conversely spectra signifies the seven subsisting continent,
Colors with variable wavelength, continents with unique independence,
Though I love independence but specific day is appalling,
No matter its gala of 14th august or 15th’s reveling,
Each parallel day retells story of slavery,
Concurrently imparts the feeling of diversity,
Discrimination based on race, extermination based on dialect,
Annihilation based on region, termination based on religion,
Despite of existence of immense segregation,
Still each independent slave proclaims globalization………………..
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