Filters Poems

Filters

What we hear
What we say
What we remember in our way

What goes in?
What comes out?
What we show when we are in doubt

What we think
What we feel
What is fake from what is real?

What we smell
What we touch
What tells the body it has had too much?

What we swallow
What we know
What helps or stops things that might grow?

What we inhale 
What we expel
What is deflected and repelled?

What is soiled?
What is clean?
What is the spectrum that is seen?

What is open? 
What is closed?
What gets stopped when we let things go?

What is caught?
What is released?
What channels seal our inner peace?

What is discussed?
What is believed?
What gets through to let us breathe?

Life's Echo Filters Reality

Memories form in colors
vibrant, vivid, varied
by Time diminished
as the echo filters reality

Each person's process unique ...

Echoes form organically
Desires, wishes, dreams,
hopes, aspirations, schemes,
inclinations, rationalizations,
attracted to then reflected off
Life's hardened surfaces
Discordant reverberation
increasing, subsiding,
in constant flux colliding,
with reality abiding ...

Perceptions construed
from the magnitude of 
echoes merging as one ~

Life's composite echo filtering reality!

How the echo filters reality -POTW

charcoal grey horizon~
on the rusty cast iron bench 
my old self sits in pensive mood
beside the lake beneath December sky
the wayward wind as it teases my hair 
whispers melodies from long ago~
that breath echo in the air

the echo reverberates ~
weaving fragments into vivid voices
and symphonies of yesteryears 
my grandma's lullaby 
our high-school graduation song 
then tender laughters 
of children at play fill the air 
then comes the echo 
of my father's sobbing voice 
as he handed me to my groom
on that Saturday afternoon
whilst the organist played 
the  Wedding March by Mendelssohn 

as the echo fades 
and turns tenebrous twilight 
into enchanting ebony evening

I look around ~
the coffee shop behind me
inviting for another cup
whilst the coffee on my lap
gets colder and colder
yet not as cold as the winter chill
perching inside of me

How the echo filters reality

Hearing your words echo back to you
is a very powerful thing
weather the echo is in nature
or comes back to you in the form
of someone else echoing your words
from another time
it is a powerful thing
It is definitely something to consider
before you speak your thoughts
or you will hear words that should
never have been spoken

How The Echo Filters Reality

It starts with a hum,
a thread unspooling through silence -
soft, sure, and annoyingly insistent,
like the world is whispering
secrets it’s dared me to misunderstand.

The first echo hits,
ricocheting off the walls,
and suddenly this isn’t just a room -
it’s a kaleidoscope of sound,
a ripple of moments reborn,
sharper, louder,
more alive than their beginnings.

Your laugh?
A sparkler snapping against dusk.
My words?
Half-forgotten confetti,
colouring the corners where truth hides.
Truth, after all, is always shy
until you catch it staring back.

Reality twists,
shuffles its cards,
pulls an ace out of its sleeve,
then smirks like it planned this all along.
The echo rewrites everything -
makes shadows dance like they’ve known the steps forever,
makes silence flirt like it’s in control,
but you know it’s just guessing too.

And when it fades?
It doesn’t leave us empty -
it leaves us cradling shapes
we can’t quite name yet,
hands full of questions
that glow like lanterns -
flickering, daring us to follow,
only to vanish when we get too close.
We laugh anyway,
lost in the dark,
as if it was the plan all along.

How the Echo Filters Reality

In the hollow of my mind, the past sings loud,
a siren call bending time into ripples,
its voice twisting the air like fractured glass.
I chase the echoes, but they flee,
leaving shadows that whisper of truth
too sharp to touch.

The echo doesn’t lie, yet neither does it tell all—
its cadence steals clarity, weaving illusions
of what was, what could have been.
It filters the jagged edges,
blurring pain into a tolerable hum,
a melody of survival
shaped by hands unseen.

In its distortion, I find a mirror,
where my inner child peers back,
wide-eyed, still grasping for a voice
to match the quiet scream within.
The echo cradles her fears,
turning chaos into song
as the past learns to dance
to its own unraveling.

Here, in the resonance of what lingers,
I build a rhythm of now—
truth unfiltered, clear,
not by erasing the past,
but by hearing it through
and letting it rest.

How the echo filters reality

It creeps up on me early morning
and again late afternoon
a microcephalic shadow,
almost the length of a football pitch,
Land of the giants view

My childlike head is miles 
away and dwindling,
constantly deflating 
Proteus syndrome echoes 
back through generations
crossing time zones too

Elongated diffraction
casts a very long shadow,
tapering reality
Low sun dysmorphia
projects a reflection of me,
A filtered perspective
revealing my only truth

Those beans I threw away 
yesterday were not magic
No golden goose lives atop the stalk
just a grotesque shell,
and one giant (yoke)
flattening all potential

I try look away 
but as always 
a grain of sand 
blocks my view 

Come chop me down,
flinch as I fall
Step over my shadow
you’ll need
(seven league boots)
But most of all,
no fixed roots!

HOW THE ECHO FILTERS REALITY

HOW THE ECHO FILTERS REALITY

An echo is always intended as a sort of reply
An answer, if you will, to reinforce meaning
Yet each, in its own way, takes the initiative
And maybe accused of being unappreciative
As towards a new reality it could be leaning
But over time, it must slowly but surely die

Multiple repeated attempts one may detect
Each echo reflected by various hard surfaces
Rebounding back, almost attempting rhyme
Adding a subtle new dimension every time
A reinforcement for all intent and purposes
The original sound surprised by such effect

An echo may try to assume a new identity
Yet is ever constrained to reflect its origins
Nevertheless, it retains that single modality
However much might be lost of the reality
As each repeated echo once again, begins
But as it finally dies, one may just feel pity

How the Echo Filters Reality

Humans act in accordance to a cliche, 
my uniqueness is in delay. 
Nihility calls my name, 
existence is in shame. 
Evaluating an enigma that have not yet have an answer, 
curiosities are to be a cancer. 
Humans come in all shapes or forms, 
yet there’s an universal norm. 
I am nothing close to remarkable, it is improbable.

Bull Monster Filters Out Nightmares

bull monster slumbers on the soft cloud of life
without stress or concerns, with no kind of stife.
his mama gave him the assignment all bull monsters want.
he rolls in his dreams, and his lips give a grunt.

does bull monster ever come down here? Asked my boy.
no, he stays there to guide us, giving us gulps of great joy.
he dreams our dreams first, filtering all of the nasties out.
bull monster wants us to sleep soundly, not nightmare about.

Good Daylight Has Filters

I don't need the sun everyday
I need grey, I prefer rain, mist
fresh winds.
The sun is a harsh benefactor,
it coerces only to rule; demands
to be admired before it crowns itself
emperor of our every dependency.
Yet, when it is shielded
by the soft drapes of a less brazen light
we ungratefully call that -
bad weather.

River Filters

The Ohio wipes its face every few miles.
This bend in the river
forgets the wharfs, the gravel silos
and power plants,
only occasional coal barges 
push an industrial flatus before them.

Here cattails gather herons
into measured dominions.
The river gallops under placid waves
Fish-eyed currents dip and toggle
in the ripple.

It is possible to watch yourself 
being rinsed and laundered
in this newly whisked stream,
possible to wash your face anew.

A person can stand on this reedy shore
and forget, nor see the daily grime, 
but observe a lathering,

as a fishing sunlight
pulls out a new image, 
the spread of fathoming nets 
flung far to catch this fresh
momentary wonder.

No Filters

Rejection is nothing I am used to it
Somedays more so than others
Today was different
I took a risk 
even though I did not feel ready
And I got my head handed to me on a platter.
It was unexpected, came hard and fast.
No filters.

He was brutally his dad; not himself at all.
I recognized none of his political correctness.
It was cold and mean; he turned into a cobra.
Venom zapped me into a paralyzed position.
He left me there writhing.
I will always remember this.
Wondering how I could have been so wrong.
Trusting him with my soul.
No filters.

Snapchat Filters

Why hide beauty behind snapchat filters?
Truthfully it's worthless
I was beautiful before the snapchat filters became a thing
So why hide your true beauty under snapchat filters?
I mean is it to hide behind lies?
Snapchat filters are fun though they hide the beauty of a person
I mean sure I use the snapchat filters but it's funny how you cover up such beauty.
Snapchat filters have become worthless to me since they hide the beauty I want to show.

Filters

Eloquence and dissidence 
merge as one in my defense~

Open eyed, too blind to see, 
the root of my Divinity~

The sleepers shuffle in the dark, 
searching for their hidden spark~

Eyes turned out, they do not see, 
the now that owns reality~

Proving ground for all their fears, 
magnets for pain, for death and tears~

Forgetful drones can’t own their light, 
caress their souls which shine so bright~

The deepest dreamers feel the blade, 
the thorns of all their choices made~

Awakened ones doth feel the weight, 
with perfect footsteps to their fate~

Filters for the worlds dark hate, 
they hold the key to heaven’s gate~

Satprem~

Copyright © 2015

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