Long Abstract Poems
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Written October 7, 2012
My soul burns inside
And it comes comes out to hide
When its so shocked to hear
That the darkness is here
Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I just want to change the world
Is it too much to ask
Too abstract to grasp
This idea that's been running
I promise there's good change coming
With a bullet and a gun
You'll get any man to run
But it takes diplomacy
To get a real man to see
Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I could really change the world
Is it too hard to be
The man I want to see
When I look in the mirror
Lord I pray it was clearer
With a permanent marker
I color in darker
The world that I see
Ain't what it should be
Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I am going to change the world
Death is one of those abstract things
That is impossible to actually meet
We may imagine we will meet him
Some day in our future
Imagine him lurking now perhaps
Waiting patiently
Like a friend or foe
But the truth is we will never know
Because if this material life is all there is
Then our last moment of it
Is our last moment, period
And so there will be no moment
Of death for us
And if we are an eternal spiritual soul
Then our last moment of this life
Is just the last step
Before our next
And in that step
There is no death
To even pass over or beyond
Death is the ultimate illusion
Appearing larger than life
Until we are there at its door
And we are left
With only a clear light
On all that has and will ever be
Forever more
(3/9/26)
Canopy’s of Emotion and Consecrations of Reality
A botanical canopy of human emotion
The preservation of the wildlife inside the ocean
A consecration of sacred vows that culminate your devotion
The invitation to contemplate as you consider abstract notions
Turquoise reflections beneath an enlightened sky
The pain of the dejections that protected you from a lie
The rain clouds of perception that pierce your heart to make you cry
The unbelievable interjections of thought that constantly question why
Supernatural gifts pushing the boundaries of what we know
Factual shifts in how we represent the information we want on show
A lover lifts his head in the melted light of the afterglow
A state of constant dread as we interrupt the natural flow
Firmaments of shimmering beauty raining down from a sunlit morning
Wonderments of time unfolding before your eyes as a vision is forming
Achievements of unheard of refine only to serve as a constant warning
Of the imminent decline we’re facing when confronted with Global Warming
Divisive opinions colliding on the parliamentary floor
Incisive decisions deriding as we wonder what all this conflict is really for?
Indecisive teenagers contriving their image while they’re constantly seeking more
Derisive divisions forming at the Presidents front door
A culmination of considerations that challenge the status quo
An invocation of alliteration as we express more than we think we know
A consummation of deliberation as we form conclusions that just won’t go
A formation of imitations as we reveere those who rose above the low
Don’t perpetuate the societal state of heirarchical exclusion
Or deliberate on what we venerate to reduce the mass confusion
While we consummate the virtues we rate that break through the universal delusion
We invigorate the fierce debate that seeks to eviscerate illusion
Sunbeams scamper over the tops of trees,
causing ebony shadows to slip-slide.
And subject to the whim of each brisk breeze
scurry to find better places to hide.
The ground is dappled with patches of light
that evolve into works of abstract art.
And watching them shapeshift is a delight,
as Nature tugs on the strings of my heart.
The effect is a magical display
of shifting shadows, tethered to the sun.
And like in a choreographed ballet,
they twirl, swirl, and dance about, one by one.
Shadow and light flicker in perfect sync
on and off, in the time it takes to blink.
The first thing we learned is beauty is in
The eye of the beholder.
Paintings or pictures can be done in
Oils, watercolors, pen,
Charcoal, pencil, marker,
Crayons, and chalk.
The place was so quiet it was like bein
In church. We saw walls and walls of old
As well as new paintings in frames
With names
That were bold,
Historical,
Modernist,
Filled with simplicity,
Inspirational,
Comical,
Illogical,
And abstract works of art.
We found some that were hypnotic,
Rythmic,
Had personality,
Morality,
And were naturalistic.
We did explore,
Took notes galore,
And we learned it is hard to be critical
In describing some one else's work.
Art is attainable
Even explainable.
It is universal
And at times controversial
Yet, the day we spent at the art museum
Was sensational
And memorable.
The three disembodied heads on top of a heap of dolls of whom only one is recognizable as a face have very curiously looking deep-set eyes,
On fire with curiosity and intent on finding out what’s to be discovered in this tub.
—Rinsing off, three children wash themselves—that’s the noise made by two old men who don’t know each other— As they creep out of the stall and escape from the flood of hot water. They strip off their white night clothes, and don’t know why that their naked breasts seem to glow.
So the clear pale skin, broken by narrow white slits, folds into the two white globes so that they’re held un a most pleasing manner; the dark nipples become large and pendulous, and in a flash the scarlet eyes—the one about five and one on top of the other—Snap open, and fill with intelligence and a glint of laughter and mischief. The other has a slightly different appearance—large white globe with a dark under eye—and his neck is bent, and his throat is thinner and shorter and his nostrils a bit flatter—in a flash the tiny face golds a curious thing, and then, suddenly, the nose us curled up—and you can see something on the top of his head—
The last victim, the youngest, I’m sure, is best described: A pale pink globe, pale ivory, transparent, lashes like silver wings, loose curls of dark hair around
her face; and, whilst the mother is resting, playing with the child, the little lady looks at you with a real face like a child and wants to play.
You will have the impression that the facial skin is loose and very clear.
:: 08.07.2022 ::
Handle my book, and read me ...
Who intends to understand me,
wish to experience my soul,
how does it do ...!?
I am a shut enigma book,
but I can be unfold ...
I'm a rough poem,
but illustrated ...
I'm a painting, not from Picasso,
but I have my details ...
I'm made of doodles,
Somewhat abstract but sincere ...
I'm weird, but not that much ...
I am peaceful, but I am warrior,
no one puts me halters,
I'm towering ...
I do not fear death, but I fear
not living life ...
Who desires to capture
my essence, come ...
Read the book, read me ...
In my inner book, I'm even further
thrilling...!
The ovens sigh, the knives confess,
we season sin with gentleness.
Each soul, when carved, reveals a taste—
the butcher’s art, the baker’s waste.
The world’s our larder, stocked with schemes,
its saints are sweeter than they seem;
the sinners, tough—but well-marbled,
faith rendered down, ambition garbled.
O mercy, what a menu night!
The moon a lid, the stars alight—
each heart a roast of mortal heat,
each dream a spice too rare to eat.
So lift the cleaver, kiss the flame,
for hunger never dies of shame;
and whisper, as the bones release,
It isn’t m-rder—only peace.
:: 02.04.2026 ::
cuz...well...this cerebral cortex lacks
ability to comprehend anything
more complex than playing jacks
aware his severe cognitive ability hacks
away at such juvenile gibberish
and most likely exacts
a prediction my intelligence
on par with bracts
very much aware that
without recourse to contrivances
delineating the passage of time,
wherever said out
standing invisible essence
which moments lapse just now ago
Now!
no just a moment ago Yaw
that, this or another instant
did without so much as a wow
lapse, and lucky
21st *****Sapiens to vow
and lay claim thee or thou
aware the amorphous ether
one can reefer as a sow
or any other animate or
inanimate direct or indirect object re:
yule lie zing
any analogy, metaphor, simile,
et cetera a poor substitute to pre
sent every second, minute,
hour...that doth nee
dull our attention akin
to banshees, or comparison
to something else
totally tubularly off the wall lee
ving without a trace
only prompt a feeble yet apropos je
ne sais quois, yet even then any primate a he
than (if individual couched in this free
to believe in any religion country, and cre
may shun versus burial predicated
adherence to idea of a soul aie...aye
how write with frustration struggle to affix bye
and bye, some nebulous notion, that doth defy
tis a futile effort to codify, fortify,
identify abstract concepts, whose high
arc key eludes pinpointing a per jai
guru dev, place or thing (ha)...
Affliction with comprehension,
now plain as day
predisposition to experience
(particularly abstract) cognitive
acquisition assailed at bay
posits me to suspect mental
deficiency within gray
matter of yours truly, whose
academic track record lay
in abyssal ruins, and
as three score orbitz round
the sun, yours truly doth pay
a hefty emotional price oy vey,
the voluminous, onerous,
horrendous, and analogous
moribund Atlas I cannot pray
tell shrug off from me
mental jackknifed fountainhead,
especially asper today
mainly cuz this figurative
albatross doth weigh
heavily (increasing unbearable
suffocating burden) greater quay
king pronounced effort particularly
with every passing birthday
concomitant impossibility atoll
reef used breakaway
ramping up emotional agony
willpower to live doth decay
dichotomy crashes against livingsocial
Manichean struggle pronouncedly
evincing increased dark shadowed dismay
overarching edge of night evokes doomsday
seeping into every neurological estuary
paralyzing ability to function hamstrung
hidebound hundredfold salvation faraway
sinking me deeper within troubles
steeply suffocating restricting headway,
wherein convoluted corral like gray
matter signals distress call, sans mayday
with futility, whereby
this buoy anchored away
long since being marooned,
mired, and moored since screenplay
starring yours truly launch debut,
asper this lamentable genetic craft
bereft, forlorn, and luckless fey
e'er bulwark permanently
stationed at sickbay!