I woke up this morning, feeling great.
I thought to myself, I'll self-inflate,
and proceeded to exponentiate.
I sure was the man.
Just as I was hitting my rhythm,
in a gesture of antagonism,
sheriff John Brown took my logarithm.
I was back where I began.
The blackest hole
of poetic intent
Light spinning inward
no chance of escape
Eluding the eyes
collapsing the meaning
Time in dilation
direction opposed
Energy waning
one word is emitted
Superpositioned
—the last dying star
(Dreamsleep: July, 2023)
The blue
it's not heaven
for those who are hungry...
The yellow one,
it's not gold when
the all is black...
The green,
it's not so green,
for those who live
in darkness...
the red,
not so much blood,
for those who live
bloodless...
The White,
does not hold peace
for those who lose
the color...
The black,
becomes stubborn
for those who live
in sin...
Poetry has no color,
for those who don't
feel her...!
Two heads live in hot and cold
Caramel sky melts, defy the horizon to sleep
Grass swings in melody of wind, yet, forbearing to hear a story of inverse pole
Through some scenery, we try to dip
My days hostaged by summer and heat
The caramel sky melts, defy the horizon to sleep
Sweats and manual fan are my daily treat
Having your icy picture lend me some air to feel
My days hostaged by summer and heat
Longing for a fresh air, my paradigm thirst to reel
Having your words of poem tickling my poet side
Having your icy picture lend me some air to feel
My paradise and your paradise are collide
We simply envy eachother for something which not better
Having your words of poem tickling my poet side
Piling up some inspirations which randomly scatter
We simply envy eachother for something which not better
Two heads live in hot and cold
Grass swings in melody of wind, yet, forbearing to hear a story of inverse pole
a shattered, inverting heart
a bleeding platter, raw with emotion
coveting (yearn to possess)
my whole soul
will heal and mend
what a contemptible serving
of sad hopeful things to say
to one's soul
when one is, all alone
do I, believe?
will I, believe ?
can I believe?
I lie to one's self
I lie!
I lie?
I cry!?
i (I) don't believe!
The image, at a fourth remove, recalls a Rorschach test with inverse rule because instead of spotted ink on paper simulating flowers and/or butterflies here we have flowers and butterflies simulating spots in a sort of blurred space. My mind is puzzled by this strange test recalling times at school when I had to solve problems without understanding why.
I want the horse of fantasy to ride
To unravel this inverse Rorschach test
And win the art and poetry contest
By showing of my spirit the best side.
Were the image colors made just from ink
Dispersed on the paper at random way?
This origin of shapes is hard to say,
So we must find for them another link.
Why a butterfly white on that flower?
I think is there to make me much confused
About the way its shape was there produced
Giving the Rorschach test inverse power.
Disgust despair mislead for insanity almighty.
Submissive hate seals the pact of the deathly converse.
There's a lyric on your lips
and you're dying to sing
But you're sewn like a puppet
bound by a dream
Walking on a high wire
on the edge of insane
So high above the world
so buried by their pain
You're the bullet and the trigger
a product of how you're sold
Invention-less and plain
made up in gold
The inverse of the operation
for photographic beauty
Cracked beneath the skin
where no one else can see
Leg of lamb with rosemary
Herb sauce and berries
Mouth-watering aroma
Blend of paprika
Get a plate in haste
Such a great
Taste!
Nice!
Easter crust
Slice of delicious
Tasty gingerbread
Baked with touch a Easter wine
Going to my head
Ready to royally dine!
© Joseph, March 19, 2008
© All Rights Reserved
This poem about a delicious dish starts with the regular format of seven
syllables in the first line, and it progresses down to one syllable in the seventh
and last line. However, the second section starts with an inverse of the first
section, whereby the poem starts with the seventh and last line of one syllable
and ends with the first line of seven syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1/ and
inverse 1/3/5/5/7/5/7. This form was created by Joseph S. Spence, Sr.
Sweet potato whipped with cream
Butter and sugar
Nutmeg blend with marshmallows
Baked in acorn squash
Aroma rising
Taste so yum—
my!
Sweet!
So charming
Mouth water flowing
Give me this baked squash
Accented with cranberry
Sprinkled with walnuts
Filled with baked sweeeet potato
© Joseph, 12/12/07
© All Rights Reserved
The poem starts with the regular format of seven syllables in the first line and
progress down to one syllable in the seventh and last line. However, the second
section starts with an inverse of the first section, whereby the poem starts with
the seventh and last line of one syllable and ends with the first line of seven
syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1/ and inverse 1/3/5/5/7/5/7. This form was
invented by Joseph S. Spence, Sr.
Nice turkey for Thanksgiving
Flavorful tasting
Dressing aroma rising
Temperature on low
Sage wings, breast and thighs
Like a rose
Sweet!
Ahhh!
Chardonnay
Fine cranberry sauce
Well seasoned gravy
Succulent taste such splendor
Cornish hen—it’s last!
Turkey on my plate—gone fast!
© Joseph, 11/1/07
© All Rights Reserved
The poem starts with the regular format of seven syllables in the first line and
progress down to one syllable in the seventh and last line. However, the second
section starts with an inverse of the first section, whereby the poem starts with
the seventh and last line of one syllable and ends with the first line of seven
syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1/ and inverse 1/3/5/5/7/5/7. This form was
invented by Joseph S. Spence, Sr.
falling
one feather at a time
raven black quills
swept from full wings.
if it's for mass they're amassing,
this demon wont disappoint.
dagger in hand,
the damage is done
but what is can always be un-