Long Abstruse Poems
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(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.
Strange lovers :(poem)
How strange it is to fall in love, with a complete stranger.
But how even more strange, it is the moment you feel them as
If you have known them your entire life.
There is a strange girl and boy in my real life.
Is both of them a fake dream, a reality or a story?
Both crazy people hasn't changed at all
They both are the same old strange crazy lovers.
Both of them have strong faith on their real love.
These strange lovers knew that from the very first day
They met with each other
Has a meaningful starting of their real love.
They know God set their fate on Heaven with each other.
They made for each other.
As a everlasting Real Halal Nikkah Life partner.
The thought of being different,
Unique with words,
Best amongst equals
The thought of being the light amidst the dark
Invading all chasms
Shining forth
The thought of being strange,
Like a talisman abstruse
Strong, yet soft in approach
Tall, yet bend when the wind blows,
Cold, yet melt with emotions,
Better by far
Best amongst equals
The strange boy was lonesome even in a crowd.
She were forever in his memory.
He always think with fear if someone stops him right now
His heart will brim over with his true love feelings for her
The girl felt that if she gave her dreams.
She will neither awake nor sleeps
Something strange happens in her heart.
Her walk is also very unsteady now
she wanted to hold the hands of this strange boy
With full confidence, blind trust, sincerity, love and care for him.
Then after all he holds her hands with love,
With his eyes wide open, choosing to take
Every step along the way.
There destiny and fate met with each other.
And he would choose her in a hundred lifetimes,
In a hundred worlds ,in any version of reality.
He would find her and
He would choose her.
life is too short to wake up In the morning with regrets.
So, Love the people who treat you right.
And forgets about the ones who don’t.
And believe
Everything happens for a reason.
If you get a chance. take it
If it changes your life-let it.
Nobody said that it would be easy.
They just promised
It would be worth it.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
https://youtu.be/WlWlGlvN4L4
>>>>> every way devised to deflect an asteroid
relatively small space rocks could wipe millions of people off
our planet, so what can we do for our Moon base, to do, also avoid
unsettlingly asteroid passing close by Earth or a near fly by, tragic
crash on our moon base should be made ready with cyborgs, A.I. Robots
hundreds of them, fiberglass, heat resistant, spiderweb fabric...
With dual 'JETPACKS' on their backs to do asteroid combat...
for strength, one hand made of magnetized alloy, another sticky like a tar glove...
Rocket-propelled arm attachments are both, used to reach, grab imposing asteroid...
Laser, solar, radar collectors attached to 'AI Robot', new A.I. Robot Cyborg...
function of our cyborg AI Robots controlled to use
their Jetpacks to proceed with launch off moon on to
approaching Asteroid also accurate maneuvers abstruse...
around said Asteroid while Arm Rockets...
are fired to attach AI Robots to a suitable spot,
one suitable to a position, too push against Asteriod rock...
onto a direction of deflection from Earth or moon,
rockets attached to robot legs two of them, when fired...
will bend knees to press against asteroid, abstrudere real soon
also, radio controlling signals that direct; to move rocks to be deflected away
from Earth or our moon, space station, last chance, 'one year' in advance...
so that humanity has a chance too, live, exist another day.
"Do as you must, also to save Earth you must support all space efforts NOW"
Perry Campanella submits his method, for review, also a New Theory
" This Poem was inspired by Nostradamus Predictions "
NOTE: abstrudere - To push away
A Murder of Crows, A Pantheon of Gods!
Monotheism, we’re told, is the way it should be.
But the Heavenly Court doesn’t make it agree.
Similar to the pantheons of many a belief.
All kinds of beings with a head guy as chief.
Whether Zeus or Odin, whatever their name,
The behaviors and hierarchies are always the same.
(The heavenly court or angels in this dictation.
Where do they fall in the story of creation?
Nowhere mentioned in the seven days.
So what do we make of this obvious daze?)
Within the Courts we find all kinds of entities,
With differing functions of various complexities.
Hermes was the messenger for the Olympian Zeus.
And the word angel, means messenger, not really abstruse.
And then there are maidens the gods choose to take,
And often in them, babies they make.
These girls never have a choice in events.
The gods never asked for their consents.
And famous these children did become.
Not hard to imagine, with whom they came from.
So once again, mimesis comes to play.
God impregnates Mary without her say.
And a baby is born and when an adult,
Becomes famous for his actions as a result,
Of being part god as well as part human,
And able to do things, superhuman.
So in the end, we have this god,
In a book which clearly shows a facade,
Of a single deity who reigns alone,
But seems too similar to another’s thrown.
Angels, archangels, principalities and thrones,
Powers, virtues, dominions, all clones,
Of other pantheons in the region.
Really no different in its legion.
So monotheism? Not exactly true.
It doesn’t matter what they tell you.
The truth is there, it’s again, mimetic,
It just keeps repeating as if synergetic.
A Murder of Crows, A Pantheon of Gods!
Monotheism, we’re told, is the way it should be.
But the Heavenly Court doesn’t make it agree.
Similar to the pantheons of many a belief.
All kinds of beings with a head guy as chief.
Whether Zeus or Odin, whatever their name,
The behaviors and hierarchies are always the same.
(The heavenly court or angels in this dictation.
Where do they fall in the story of creation?
Nowhere mentioned in the seven days.
So what do we make of this obvious daze?)
Within the Courts we find all kinds of entities,
With differing functions of various complexities.
Hermes was the messenger for the Olympian Zeus.
And the word angel, means messenger, not really abstruse.
And then there are maidens the gods choose to take,
And often in them, babies they make.
These girls never have a choice in events.
The gods never asked for their consents.
And famous these children did become.
Not hard to imagine, with whom they came from.
So once again, mimesis comes to play.
God impregnates Mary without her say.
And a baby is born and when an adult,
Becomes famous for his actions as a result,
Of being part god as well as part human,
And able to do things, superhuman.
So in the end, we have this god,
In a book which clearly shows a facade,
Of a single deity who reigns alone,
But seems too similar to another’s thrown.
Angels, archangels, principalities and thrones,
Powers, virtues, dominions, all clones,
Of other pantheons in the region.
Really no different in its legion.
So monotheism? Not exactly true.
It doesn’t matter what they tell you.
The truth is there, it’s again, mimetic,
It just keeps repeating as if synergetic.
We were on a 2nd floor garden terrace. The three-quarter moon was doing its best to set a romantic, gin-mood, pouring a soft pastel-blue on the world, that softened hard edges.
A cool breeze wafted jasmine scents from a nearby tea-olive tree. We were alone, the only sounds were far off footsteps and my pounding heart. Wasn’t this romantic?
Fueled twice by desire I had dressed carefully and modestly, with just a subtle, but fancy, hint of sluttiness. My costume, carefully vetted by a company of five, calculating, non-virgins, was designed to be both alluring and as abstruse as Kleenex. I was a doll dressed, painted and scented to seduce. Wasn’t I romantic?
We’d never kissed before, and I wanted him to kiss me with an almost moaning force of will. I brushed my skirt down and checked that my hair was in place with quick, fleeting hand motions that could have been butterflies in the reflected light.
We were sitting close together, I could feel his warmth, but nothing was happening and then, as nothing continued to happen, I began to fret, to sag, what was the glitch? Maybe..
I felt a warmth, his breath, I looked up and he kissed me, gently, then moved back a little. I smiled. I wanted to laugh, to shout, to jump around like my team had won the Superbowl, but I was very still, lest I scare him off. Oh, there were butterflies somewhere.
He’s smart. His mind probes the infinite but sometimes neglects the immediate. I wasn’t expecting a smooth move from someone who’s all knees, thumbs and elbows but, hey, I’m capable, and willing, to learn.
Into what wisp of cloud or clod did my poem flee?
Into what minuscular pinch of diaphanous, free-floating empyreal, stratospheric air did my figurative furled parchment disappear?
Where are those poignant yet comic, yet weird and allusive and furtive and outrageous and oddly touching and haunting and charming and outlandish and wonderfully lame words that I wrote?
Why did I not, as I wilt with this, assay to make some few or sundry copies of them?
Why did not my cursor flick and flit over them, and my highlighter underscore and envelop them in its oddly circumvallatory way?
Why did I not behave upon these things, to actuate them, to do my bidding-
The only way I might have safeguarded and given due survival to these, my "children"? Children of an oddly misshapen, half-formed sort, but lovable all the same: Loved with the authorial yet kindly and parental love of the writer,
The poet, the author...
They are missing, they are gone-and who but I, in my callow, thoughtless reckless irresponsibility; who but I mourns them?
I, who unwittingly made their death happen?
(Yet, 'twasn't another, other than me, another agency, also blameworthy and complicit in these "deaths" and disappearances? In these inverse deletions and erasures? Wasn't some draconian governing body passing equally draconian and abstruse, unknown and unknowable, laws...were they not also to blame?
Where is the justice and the mercy and the forgiveness and the pity for the ignorant? For, in this case, myself? I, who almost was a victim, myself?)
He sits hunched in his room, regular twilights,
tries to erase the precarious voices telling him to leave,
“Leave, my boy. This world is cruel.”
So, he assents as there is no one to be bereaved.
Hitherto had he never felt the zephyr he does now,
it hovered over, flew and fondled as a Roehm.
And its strange touch all of a sudden,
to him felt more and more like home.
A prod, a poke, as he looks abstruse around the room,
there’s just him, the walls and the voice’s abet.
As pressure lingered on his skin unwilling to vacate,
By and by he turned around facing two silhouettes.
Faces smeared with black as the darkness engulfs,
Autumn saw him, empty at the fluster.
“Come, my boy, we’ll take you to the avenue.”
A, “Yes” was all he could muster.
The hands grazed and oh, was he shackled.
Shackled into the trap of the voices, where all fall.
He scuffles, brawls, fights as the bondages tighten.
Pitches deeper into darkness prepared to be mauled.
The silent whispers say, “On three.”
And they're tearing his wings, wrenching, snatching.
Swished away, were they ever so delicate.
Trepidation overcomes him, where he sits hurting.
Lights flicker and he sees traces of the shadows.
The sight jolts him back to reality.
As he watches his parents coquet with his wings.
“It’s just a phase. Get out of this mentality.”
And no, the silhouettes weren’t the voices.
They weren’t the ones that treat him like a toy.
They were the dissuading and the prejudiced.
when all he wanted to do was love a boy.
Form:
This might not be a pleasant flow of appropriate language
A somewhat complicated and abstruse diction
Maybe, a puerile illusion…
You think so?
Imagine and picture that clearly
Because if in our quest to achieve greatness and becoming self actualized
With an acute sensibility coupled with quickness of intellect
Adhering to forms and modes
Like an admirable mastery of technique
Then we rise and fall, most times, kick the bucket
Know it that the truth was sold and not told
Many of us want to go home
To see the smiles of our lovely mothers and hope in our fathers eyes
Share our joys and pains with siblings at home
But it seem almost impossible when the environment is too rigid, killing us all
We are exploited, underrated, neglected and marginalized
Daily, we lack money, food, guide, formal education and the dividends of true democracy
Hard to remove – toxins of hard drugs and frustrations in our heart’s arteries
Chiefly speaking to our minds
And that’s what we have been listening to
A voice as soft as cotton and soothingly amazing
Already, we have faulted religions and politics
None got the true ethics and codes to a fulfilled life
That was yesterday
Today, the politicians are speaking through the media
With their promises of white elephants
Hoping we rise and vote during election
While they will later ignore and abandon us
And that will be during job appointments, employments and selections
We meant nothing to them initially.
A Stewart Annie Everestus's poem © 2019
I can not believe that in our United States
A country known for the best debates
A country known for equal rights
A country that fairly wins our fights
I can not believe this and neither should you
There must be something we can do
First, they began changing toys, I couldn't believe what I read
There was nothing biased about Mr. Potato Head
Barbie was built as a blonde skinny babe but that wasn't too made kids feels bad or afraid
Now this next part is completely abstruse
These idiots want to ban Dr. Seuss
Six books are offensive and some say anti-Semitic
I am Jewish from birth and just don't get it
Others say he portrays races in a bad way
Six of his books are going away
Our children suffer can't go out to play
The virus has taken so much away
and now beloved books and toys
what's next no music
cause it makes noise?
Dr. Seuss had children learning to rhyme
I read to my patients all the time
Dr. Seuss's characters are cartoon-like and funny
they don't depict racial slurs or money
I'm ashamed of our stupid generation
will they omit history from education
can't study wars of north and south
no more Fred Flinstone with his big mouth
society is truly becoming scary
read what they say bout Little House on the Prarie
and the elephant our beloved Babar
this censorship has gone too far
first the masks next what? Cages?
we are returning to the dark ages
I think all lives matter yay fight for that
But you DO NOT MESS WITH CAT IN THE HAT!!!