Clarity is pivotal i affirm,
when sowing seeds of knowledge,
grey clouds of blurred waffle,
confuse and confound,
urgent student quest,
so frustrated by slovenly,
speech and incoherence,
verbose rambling is anthema,
the scourge of earnest erudition,
teachers, parents, tutors,
hark my heartfelt pleading,
simple words, sentences, stanzas,
demystify intricate tangled webs,
please extol simplicity’s rich heritage
**You know, when you distanced me from your vibration,
I felt you threw me into an endless abyss,
for I had strived so much to see your lovely smile
that I even sinned with incoherence.
And today I don’t know how to handle
the desires of my infinite love,
since you awakened a narrow shyness
in which I see no way out of this crossword of love.
I hope you reconsider,
for now I understand through you
how painful falls can be,
and I would never wish the same for you.
Better be my ally,
let us build our love,
so you realize the grave mistake you made with me
when you cast me into that void,
without your sweet kisses and embraces!**
— Lraularguellesmtz
On a life-boat passing through Time, making its way to the island of timely order(s).
Surrounded by death/decay and birth/unmanifested on the other side.
Surfing/Suffering on the waves of Time.
Maybe tonight.
The meaning of words change all the Time.
Unable to find meaning if not rooted in Time.
Counting up or counting down either way you are keeping Time.
Yet taking the Time to Time Time.
If Life is a zero sum game, what's the shortest interval that you have achieved this at?
Millennia, centuries, years, days or seconds ? M-C-IIIVIV-i-d?
Letting go generates space and time thus centering oneself in the present moment.
With precision and ease as in any clockmaker's watch.
The Sands of Time scatter as the hourglass shatters, turning to sand over Time.
Yet Time will keep its own Time.
Unless blocked by these very particles of sand.
Even though the books in the library are buried.
My spoken words will echo throughout Time.
Yet keep running out of sync in this fast changing world.
Acceptable losses by aiding incoherence.
As I await my Trial by Numbers.
I knew that the water I saw was a mirage.
Unfathomable depths seemed shallow when measured.
This is a world where facts and fancies camouflage
Within wombs of empty tombs, riches are treasured.
The sketch that looked like a wall was, in truth, a pole.
Beasts that dined on guavas at night weren't crows but bats.
My crammed glance makes the earth resemble a ball
I pause and cut short my tours, confronting black cats.
Peeping through the holes of Qutab Minar, I faint.
Shouldn't I reach the top? Should I simply go back?
With colours of likes and dislikes my walls I paint.
With burdens of pessimism, my corridors crack.
Are these angels I find herein mere illusions?
Are these candours that have been tested, delusions?
The rich are getting richer,
the poor are getting poorer...
they call this meritocracy
and they still ask for and win votes...!
Citrus hints of lemon and lime
Chewing on endless nuisance
Depth of a refillable hole dug
Mountain of trance unscalable
Footsteps dissolve into echoes
Swallowed by sharp currents
Through mist of fractured days
Incoherence sways in the breeze
Hands reach but never interlock
Notes fading over looping time
A story written but half baked
Lost in space between moments
Uncle Eugene’s breaking down.
Murmurs come from the room down the hall -
Surgery. Blood clot. A third kind of cancer.
“It’s just a matter of time.”
But for now, I’m laying by the fire,
warmth seeping into my bones.
My grandparents are alive,
one falling into incoherence,
but not bad yet.
My mother is here.
My father is upstairs.
We are under one roof.
And I am escaping into a written world
by the warmth of the fire.
The world outside is cold,
and eventually I must face the chill
for the sake of my dog
and because time marches forever forward
with graceless strides.
But for once, my mind is calm,
and I will drape myself with this moment
when the wind picks back up.
Into the deep, green-hearted forest.
Far removed from man's raucous tangle.
There are only herbivores and carnivores.
Doing their thing in primal time harmony.
Nesters weave the incoherence together.
Miraculously, everything is spaced evenly.
I'm given a wide berth and am tolerated to a degree.
Even the gray gill of silence keeps its distance from me.
Thick humidity of memories clog a small girls heart
That pitter-patter like soft, insignificant rain
Such a lonely life was just an urban myth
But I knew the truth of it all
Soaked to the bone, or rather the soul, I took a troubled breath
And I spoke my deep blue feelings to a stagnant sea
The shivered incoherence of my desperate pleas
Went, in tortured time, unanswered
17, forcing out a pained smile
Feigned and faded, frustrated and fated
Destiny leaped and hollered at a touch of weakness
Scribing plans in stone that scare me more than anything
Years went blurry and disoriented, surviving on withering hope
Yet eventually my feet moved slowly, again and again and again
23, I speak my light blue feelings to tricking streams
23 and my god I hope, I know, forever and ever on
and a switch flicks
who are you he asks
it should be me
asking who are you
until the switch
flicks back to . . .
fuddled hours
gone are the simplest things
a crayon in a box of pens
then that switch
and it’s who are you
I want to go home
but in truth
it’s who are you
as now a foreign clarity of sorts
no more mumbling incoherence
no shuffling walk
now it’s clear, sure
and behold
a different person emerges
occupying my father
secretly all this time
now stepping out
through the non-dominance
and slowly
becoming the dominant part
a battle of the hemispheres
dementia – an uprising
of hidden people
from somewhere ago
At the edge of the crossroads
in the ignorance of incoherence,
on the ethereal border
between good and evil,
In the hypocrisy of violence
, in the malevolent of boasting,
borderline of being or not being,
Cry, complain and exclaim
this poor speck of God,
The man... !
SCENARIOS
diverse
distinctions
in dislocations
incoherence
interacting
within
parallel
thought
conventional
expressions
with
boundaries
sentiment
in fresh
beginnings
sophisticated
visuals
collide
in the sophisticated
elegant
energy
of
the everyday
prominent
representation
in
moments
of reflection
appropriate
&
position
perfectly
in
a
mosaics
to enhance
the facade
mingling
incognito
in
a
splendid
confluence
so
distinctive
aIn an information culture,
evocation is more important;than
explicit saying counts against us.
People need to be well
into believing
being educated is more
than information:
the incoherencies
what they’re saying,
the musicality
of people’s voices
and intonations;
would get more
from them.
Effectively, psychoanalysis is
something other, not the coherences;
it listens for words
that are saying more
It’s got something to do with being;
it’s a form of listening,
not distracted by incoherence
but evoked by it.
Because it hears what’s underneath
Within or hiding.
Wanting to be found
But unable to get the words
Nothing
Is right
Or wrong
About any story..
Each and every
Is a collection
Of words..
Claiming
Coherence
Of silent
Incoherence...
No inspiration or divine intervention.
It’s just another night filled with apprehension.
All these straight black lines
Burn into my mind.
And I’ve no new ideas to break the tension.
My poor imagination just lies there, dormant.
My brain is screaming and my soul in torment.
And this blank white page
Filling me with rage.
And I feel sweat pouring off me in a torrent.
What do I say? And how do I say it?
It's in my guitar, how do I play it?
I fear that it's gone... I'll never write again...
I am told to just hold on to perseverance.
But I keep drifting back into incoherence.
I pick up the pen
Try to start again.
But my imagination makes no appearance.
My body is so tired but my mind is frantic.
I want to give up, I want to yell, scream and kick.
I should go to bed
My poor aching head
Don't let me hear you say writing is romantic.
This is my art! I fear I betray it!
My head’s a blank slate, I but obey it…
I fear that it’s gone… I’ll never write again…
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry contest
2/10/2023 Blank Slate
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
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