Convolutions Poems | Examples

Playing Pinball

Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.

My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.

The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.

But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.


Japan, 1968


Previous version published in Outposts, England

Isolation

Isolated redemption
tempting fates addiction
to sampling a selection 
of seasoned dreams of perfection
Hushed whispers of deception
silencing the voices of inception
leaving barren the fields of conception
Slighted hope falling to misconceptions
of what it means to find, a forgotten vision of corruption
Standing on our hands in abstraction 
trying to pass as part of this grand contraption
Yet lost are we to our own convolutions
and alone we stand in our own situation
Alone we fall due to our own desperation
Afraid to take a hand of desperation
Reaching to pull us from destitution
we let go of our own constitution
And sleep deeply through our own destruction.

EVOLUTIONS CONVOLUTIONS

Thus, shall I ponder the convolutions
Of our present state of devolution
While consuming a new solution
To the contradictions of evolution

Surrounded by the walking dead
Earphones screaming in their head
Blue light failure their sole dread
While others fight for green edged bread

Perhaps we’re in a downward spiral
With our destruction going viral
Condemned it seems by judgeless trial
Because our thoughts are now on file

Thus, do the mad men mock each other
Enslave their cousin’s sisters brother

Koala Brains

(For MTG, LB and their ilk)

Give a koala
A fistful of eucalyptus leaves; their only food,
They won't know what to do with it. 
Gotta pick it themselves, or starve.

That's because their brains are smooth,
Like chicken breasts.
No convolutions, small surface area, few connections.
What you see is what you get;
Pretty damned dumb for a mammal.

It seems to me, my dears,
You bear a striking resemblance
To these creatures.
Hand you a concept outside of your bubble -
You know, the food of higher thoughts - You just stare at it,
Reject it as undigestible.

This renders your very thoughts smooth,
No convolutions, small surface area, few connections.
What you see is what you get;
Pretty damned dumb for mammals.

I Vomit Poems

I’m a modern poet.
Pyromaniac.
Psychotic.
And schizophrenic.

Living in emptiness,
I walk in the convolutions of absurdity.
Idiocy spreads over me like the sky.
My poetry storms between cozy shelters and rocky waves,
while the world rushes toward suicide.
Suffocated, I lift my head
but I’m dragged down by viscous triviality.

My tongue is burned
with the acid of loathing
I gawk at the world.
Crawling through the madness,
I welcome the garb of another day.
My life measured by pale, gray days.
A stray dog at a butcher’s shop
that stays all the day without chains,
and yowls others for leftovers.

I learned to worship agony.
I’m a commodity made in a cheap factory,
an item in a grocery list.
My heart a broken shell.
I don’t write; I vomit poems.

Kc's Byrdnest

Keeping flippant thoughts in check 
Convolutions make a schizophrenic toss
blind paranoia into the catatonic tomb
yelling whispers caught in mind cacophony
Rest the head in a drugged-out succor!
Deafen the sententious words – dead -
Nuke the firing adversary neuron!
No aesthetic can anesthetize the thinking demon
expounding beyond the bliss of ignorance
Stewards imagined become abominable ghouls!
Tangles exorbitant unravel contemplation’s nest…


(3/9/2021)

Still Time

Life's so abundant with misery,
nature's practicing metamorphosis,
generously tense and uptight, lifts
no lightness, steady with its frost.
Gray is the Sun, trenchant clouds,
rustles of trees reveal the night, 
entering but dispossessed. I hear
strange voices cry, shadows cross the path
close press us unaware, a silhouette
salutes the eye, its curtain drawn. 
Let there be darkness, darkness illuminating
darkness, we cannot aid or mitigate, ask
no beauty to intercede. This cramped moment
is not mine to give, though far apart from
worshiper's time, Spring's spirit. Still
is the time,  its folded garment by no motion
stirred, fabricated remnants fled to sky,
no thunder peels through the absence,
life was once so abundant, sustained
in open fortitude, spirit flowing, hopes flying,
the raindrops loitering like domes of pink and purple,
their buffet gone, fraught with pain, quicker than
breath indrawn. Spirit alone can regenerate a
safe haven, lessen the convolutions vast, 
lift up again hope's incapacitated body, reeling
under the torrent.

Convolutions

convolutions
of cerebral gymnastics
entangled musings




Submitted on March 7, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (MAR 9) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  RANKED 1ST

Originally posted on October 5, 2018

Homer Brunett 1879-1912

Homer Brunett
1879-1912

You didn’t think it would be easy? Did you? 
Life squirms incessantly, 
As with the molting snake,
Turning and squeezing into mortal convolutions, 
With myriad forgotten episodes
Of  human triumph and tragedy, 
Of endless drama in the slatted houses;
Life is constantly lurching and lunging, ever forward,
Under those silent indifferent clouds, up there!
But time is the ultimate mind master,
He knows where the switches to the stop gates are.
He knows when to open the field sluices awash!
We foolish human beings inevitably 
Get taken by the rushing flood waters,
Get completely swept away by the undertow,
Helpless against the madding confluence,
Ending up as tears on the faces of the bereaved.
This is my final testament and statement!
That of an intelligent dead man!

Julie the Midnight Queen

Every night, the same damned chain
After the show she is looking for some love
An unwebed girl with innocent eyes
A princess with a craving lubricating between her legs
Voluptuous raven-haired beauty in need of romance
Sentencing out honest human emotions
Swaying on her dark stage
Swallowed up by the invitation
Sending you with a burning smile
Sweet little darling Julie looking for her Romeo
Lewd thoughts with a perverted appetite
In a black light room racking her desire with the delight of flesh
Succumbing to the glee
Going into convolutions releasing her love nector
Exclaiming her heartfelt screams
She feels fervent as you kiss her neck
Lick down on her ornament
Warm sweat dripping down her caramel skin
Her flushed flesh with blush
An orgasmic sensation on leaves her flustered
Happy to please Julie the midnight queen

Amaranthine Skeletons

Therein, laying dormant,
    veils of darkly reposed
          secrecy 'neath
       foamy seascapes' 
              frenetic passages,
languishing below
   sunken treasures'
     false facades of
        reticently rolling
            shrouded bluffs,
 shaded blood obscurely hued 
        of impetuous intensity in
          unceremoniously bound
             covert convolutions, 
a million ancient 
     undisclosed shadows hidden,
       notwithstanding combative
           rumblings of death's 
         unwelcome sycophancy, 
depths of centuries' 
         old unparalleled stories,
 whence hush-hush
       undulatory influx 
          of defiant upsurges
            and turbulence reside,
     that which only the 
          winds of indiscretion, 
                 clandestine spirits
                      & gods could surmise

 ...whilst privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons

Shrouded Bluffs

Herein, laying dormant,
    veils of reposed
      secrecy 'neath
       foamy seascapes' 
              frenetic passages,
languishing below
   sunken treasures'
     false facades of
        reticently rolling
            shrouded bluffs,
 shaded of darkly impetuous 
        hued blood in
          unceremoniously
             bound convolutions, 
a million ancient 
     undisclosed shadows hidden,
     notwithstanding combative
        rumblings of death's 
         unwelcome sycophancy, 
depths of centuries' 
         old unparalleled stories,
 whence hush-hush
       undulatory influx 
          of defiant upsurges
            and turbulence reside,
     that of which only the 
          winds of indiscretion, 
                 clandestine spirits
                      & gods could surmise


        ...whilst  privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons

Life

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Life
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan 
written:  January/2016



Life has 
its 
Convolutions 

 (    (      )    (    (     (           (     )      (    
 )     )    (     )     )    )           )     (      )   
 (    (      )    (    (     (           (     )      (    
                   )    )     )           )     (      )   
                   (    (     (           (     )      (     
                   )    )     (           )      (     )    
                   (    (     )           (      )     (     )    (    )
                   )     )    (           )      (     )    (     )    (
                   (     (    )           )      )     (    )     (    )

Coils and Twist -

The Grief of Stayed Continuance

I’ve seen them: humungous stumps of once gigantic trees
 that made a forest sacred-
knowing it was men that lopped off such magnificence

Stealers of beauty and promise:
these amputations leave their scars
 on  the convolutions of mankind’s
collective brain

Where, if I could 
I would venture back in dreams to stay the axe
Let nature take her time  with this living, biggest, hugest.
Into forever let these branches spread their prettiness
Let generations stand in awe at their continuance.
Suzanne Delaney

Mere Straw

He stands in the middle of this year's crop;
a body of straw, stuffed into the clothes
of a beggar-man.
In the field's center, arms stretched wide,
with the implied discipline
of deterring robber birds; birds that mocked the wires,
strung with strips of cloth.
He has no conspiracy with winds; just stares
into the distance, seeing in lucid moments
the changing skyline; scaffolding around the church spire,
the lovely patch of green in the center of town
Involved in the convolutions of clouds, anything
that can bouy his spirits

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