Enjoy the hunt.
Savour the kill.
Sinew and bone.
Blood let to spill.
Such little flesh.
Least have your fill.
Was not to live.
Only the thrill.
These woods are mine.
I stalk this place.
Of twisted mind.
Outwitting pace.
Driven to hide.
Drunken on chase.
You think me lost.
Drawn to your trace.
Skin my cover.
As be yours soon.
Beguiling trickster.
Lyre or loon.
Quick to tire.
In heat of noon.
Your final darkness.
Night without moon.
Pluck out the heart.
Remove the arrow.
Destroy the cortical.
Suck out the marrow.
With victims broad.
And focus narrow.
Resume the hunt.
Intent to harrow.
Categories:
cortical, death, people,
Form: Rhyme
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The fattening of the dough
the tummy expectant, the tummy expanding
Cocooned in its nest
its stretchiness, its pleasant scents
Like an infant in a swaddle
the soothing towel, slightly moist
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
The ascent complete
lungs exhaustively expanded, waiting to exhale
The arousing response
bright light, hands stimulate dough
The pushback of palms
elasticity released, globular rest
The rise, like an inhale
breathe slowly, breathe longingly
After shaping the dough
blanket over sleeping creation, one final rest
Our daily bread
of prayer produced, from suffering loosed
The “fourth man” in the oven graced
inner softness, cortical strength
Categories:
cortical, christian, food,
Form: Verse
The man wondered, "What is hope?"
Metacognition defined, it's nothing but a dope.
The heart objected to the proposition.
And told it's an ambiguous anticipation.
The prefrontal cortex made the reasoning disentwine.
And equated hope with the level of dopamine.
The enterochromaffin cells rejected the cortical rationality.
And signified serotonin's vitality.
Posterior pituitary smiled sarcastically.
And illustrated oxytocin's role affectionately.
The man woke up out of this exasperation.
Though dream, but intrigued by the imagination.
He asked," Is hope just a chemical state?"
Consciousness whispered it's not that straight.
Categories:
cortical, hope, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Reading my own mind
keeping score of all those weird moments
that come and go like ghost trains.
Watching dendritic branches
grow fat purple plums
and hard green grapes on tangled vines.
Cortical cells working overtime.
There's a sort of poem here,
its sunning itself in an afterglow
and won't appear until I look away.
A neurotic cat uses an unused patch
of grey matter for a litter box,
damp dribbles run down my spine.
Now mind flaps gossamer wings
and breaks the tension with a brain fart.
Brain and mind dance a jig together
in a comic parody of an unhinged intellect.
Enough of this reading!
Got to splash words
onto white-water once more.
Got to.
Categories:
cortical, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Most laboratory mischievous
was a petri dish birth of the patent soulless
Retrograde thought waves,
cold stream of computer code consciousness
Clone algorithm doppelgänger breathe
into a body of artificial intelligence theory
Hollow cranial cavity
filled with synthetic mitochondria propagation —
Grey matter reversal movement,
Neanderthal cortical activity cybernetic
Experimental genome project,
primeval opaque was the ethical manifest
Microchip implants
rooted in Pleistocene motive —
Darwinian conquest: Amygdala tool
was nano technological,
at its terabyte best
Cerebrum devolution was a scientific success!
Test tube pre-cogs
predict a quark-y future gray
Matter of terminal importance
on a backward timer delay
Mesozoic void was the synaptic quantum leapfrog
Cerebral core of humanity drifting away
on a data entry log
Into the primordial fog
of a deity devoid day
10-28-21
Categories:
cortical, allegory, humanity, science, visionary,
Form: Dramatic Verse
a small tremor
in middle america
not enough to scare the cat
but the cat knew
a mess on the desk
the thin vase with its lone chrysanthemum
toppled
spilled water printing a figure
smudged
— moth shaped
in the middle
a cortical cortex
sliced for microscopic examination
in the middle a moth
when tremors threaten
all things run to the middle
across the mid-point of the rug
the cat has fallen asleep
the ink-image crawls away
its wet wings drooping
that night
a dream -
flying through my own head
a small light
in an endless dark
only i
in the middle
Categories:
cortical, poetry,
Form: Free verse
In the middle night,
in middle America — a small tremor,
not enough to scare the cat,
but the cat knew, and it told the mice
who lived in the walls.
‘It wasn’t us’, they said.
A mess on my desk.
The thin vase with its lone chrysanthemum
toppled.
Spilled water printing a figure,
smudged ink on my poem fragment
— moth shaped,
and in the middle
a human form - man-moth?
I saw my cortical cortex
sliced for microscopic examination.
I envisioned giant wings landing
on a tiny earth planet.
I thought of ripple effects,
how all things run to the middle
when tremors threaten.
Across the midpoint of the rug
the cat has fallen asleep.
The ink-image crawls away.
its wet wings drooping.
I push it back to the
middle.
Fragmented poetry
should stay where I abandon it.
One night I dreamt of flying
through my own head –
I was a small light
in the middle of an endless blackness.
Strangely I was glad to be the center of nothing at all.
Then from my small light a deep voice intoned
as if it were a large mouse in a full moon:
it said:
middle,
middle,
middle.
Categories:
cortical, poetry,
Form: Free verse
By Parizo Van Thulare
The echo of my rhyming
Making waves from the calcaneus up the nerve of auditory
Cleansing all which was blocked in tympanic membrane
This is poetry 's Lambast
The beauty of wisdom making Blast
This how i Cast
Hear them throb through the cortical cells
Storming and stomping as the dozer of Bells
The words through my lyics
The bond of my syllables
The fonts of the collabo
This is me the Commando
Parizo De Lá Poerto
Categories:
cortical, dedication, me, passion,
Form: Rhyme
Become Unglued
It is probably possible and presumably
What you found was best part of me
And many things people may often need
Like great poems of mine for them to read.
In back is part which they call cortical
Which will become old and quite historical
And with proper people should consult
You should stand up straight for best result.
Old age is such a deleterious dilemma
When enlarged may require a magnificent enema
And why is it when old people become unglued
They end up finding themselves in a family feud.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Categories:
cortical, humorous,
Form: Couplet
In.sane in the membrane of my brain
or sane in the insanity of this game...
Row row, I'm rowing, between synapses
I'm flowing, silent rivers I'm riding
like a train...
Rollercoaster rollin' faster, in a flash
synaptic laughter, as these neurons
remain.in the lane...
"Hey you and you two,
Me too? Yeah dude, her too..."
Synaps the chatter in my brain.
"Nervous sister? We're not kidding
it's a system living, listen, we're
the hear in the sphere of your sane.
Checkin' time in between and
between the membrane."
10 billion cortical pyramidals,
passing signals, giggles, riddles,
checking time against a rhyme
from the outer layer to middle.
~core.text you say codexes delay,
it's a logical process.ical, theoretical way
crazy spelling these a'daze.....Codices.
Breathe... and don't mess with our cortex
messages..."
Inner wind, blowing high, gears shift
moving this ride, hand wiggles the
scribbling scribe as I write.
Memories into the light, but who
in the train remains tonight.
As I look about with my candlelight,
in the night, there's One.
Am I in.Sane?
Categories:
cortical, imagination, mystery, space, timetime,
Form: I do not know?
Lapis Lazuli
a cortical jolt,
lips love you truly,
like lightning,
a bolt
out of the blue
of the eyes
of your dreams,
bursting your bubble
and tearing the seams
sewn by the hand
of a mother with care,
in hopes that
Saint Nicolas,
soon would be there.
Categories:
cortical, lost love, nostalgia,
Form: Couplet
Clickety-clack! sang the wheels on the track
slowing into a dead end shunting yard;
crawling aboard as the baggage gets stored
amidst groans from the red-faced station guard.
Scored by the nasal growl of the tannoy,
indecipherable instructions relayed to the blind;
framed by diesel fumes, tears gently dripping
into the void with clatter and whistle fading behind.
Echo and boom, career and carom
about the cortical fast track;
off steel and cement howls a chilling lament
for those leaving home to never come back.
Upon this evil stretch of line all is wrong and amiss,
the wrong type of leaves, the wrong type of snow,
wrong sense of direction, wrong love, wrong kiss,
wrong reasons to stay, no reason not to go.
Cursing this place, the look on her face
reduced life to perpetual travel;
alone in a carriage the dark side of marriage
made love's fragile tapestry slowly unravel
right to the end of the line...
Categories:
cortical, life, loss, lost love,
Form: Rhyme