Corporeally Poems | Examples


Corporeal Manifestation

We are the visible manifestation of a much deeper design.
Like the tip of an iceberg most of what we are is out of view.
Science tells us that only four percent of what makes up the Universe is visible to us, ninety six percent is unseen and unknown.
Science calls the ninety six percent unseen, dark matter and dark energy. They call it dark because they have no clue what either is.
Like the tip of a sharks fin if viewed by the unknowing would give no hint of what's below. Our lives, rules and being are ruled by the tip we see. All that we think we know comes from the visible four percent! A deeper dive would 
illuminate ultimate reality, and all that we are and know would change.
It's the blind leading the blind in the world of the visible, and, we can only see a fraction of the visible. What then, in fact, do we really know at all?
When the corporeal turns to dust, when the four percent ceases to exist the ninety six simply ruminates and corporeally manifest itself some time/place else.
This is all just postulation you see, unlike the word of others who'll tell you how things must certainly be.

Becomings

There are times when the body
is as numinous as words – Robert Hass

Others, however, when it declares forcefully
its sheer bodiness;
your stomach tightens the waistband
of jeans you bought just last month
in the style of a ‘boyfriend’ you don’t have,
and no jumper’s baggy enough.

Physicality forces outwards, running.
Hills are the quickest route to redemption.
You recall Gethsemane as muscles flame,
fuelled by guilty glycogen from last night’s binge.
The world contracts corporeally.
Each stride increases the laxative effect
of emotions you don’t pretend to understand.

And yet there’s no catharsis
and escape from the self is absurd.
It’s the process of translation,
ritual purging through corporeal philosophy,
pounding the Will with rhythmic strides.
Forget those cloud-dwelling thinkers,
living in dualist minds of ascetic detachment.
Ask any runner: there is no destination.
It’s the shift, the constant becoming.
We’re all just atoms and stardust.


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