Long Beside the point Poems
Long Beside the point Poems. Below are the most popular long Beside the point by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beside the point poems by poem length and keyword.
Tom, How is the truth of reality known? then again how real is your view.?
Can you see the himalayas from your bedroom window for instance? jane, well on a computer window; yes that is so.'
So.. But that is just a representation of 'reality' ( surely ) indeed..
Jane, no not 'indeed' I have not done anything yet.'yet that is part of 'reality' such discourse'.. I have not done much.. So does that mean I am not real.?
Jane, in-deed the very air does more to prove its existence than 'I', it is quite
Invisible yet no one doubt's its 'reality' Tom, yet there is no air on Mars.?
Tom, so is that the reason people can't get any oxygen in the U K.?
Jane,no that's the reality for one; in the U K 2017, they are encouraging older people to die, that's why you.. Well some people won't be given it anyway..
So that's reality.! Tom I don't think much of that.' Jane, That's beside the point..'
Tom,what point.? Jane,the point of my finger.' Tom but that's rounded.. Well anyway I would like to express my displeasure with the way reality is accepted.' Jane, and how can you do that.? Tom, I can discuss it with people..)
Jane, but would they wan't to talk about it with you? what makes you so sure?
Tom, well you are talking to me on it, so I would guess there's a real' chance'
Jane, you will have to get your evidence together.' Tom yes I am considering.'
Jane, how are going to present your case.? Tom well I shall open it for starters.
Tom, I have it with me by the way..' Jane can I have a peek, Tom, a himalayan one? L O L)) Jane No silly; Oh a look then.' Tom ok I'll just go get it...'
Tom, right here it is, as a matter of fact you can open it while I get a coffe. Jane, good; Snick-snick..But it..Its (empty) Tom returning, you know Jane
That's the best case of all for reality, cause; after all it has nothing to prove..'
Time is a complicated concept. Truth and opinion throw me off. Some songs just have a way where they just completely embody my entire being and hold me in a hug till the end. I don't understand how any of this works and every time I try to wrap my mind around it I feel a lightness taking over. It's like I am made to let this unknown force take over for a minute. It's like some other worldly being has allowed my brain a rest. As time passes I sit and look at the air as if something is there looking back. I hear it in my head on occasion, a small response to my ever present questions. Why am I alive? Why is anyone alive? What is going on? But just as I question what is going on, a minute or so has passed, and it's no longer what is going on but what was going on. So long this has puzzled me that I've near given up on searching for a solution and now I embrace it willingly. When I feel it coming in I set my eyes in a place where one would not think anything of it. Instead of at a wall, I look towards an open book in my palms or out the window rather than at a face. I breathe deeply making sure every single cell in my body has enough oxygen to keep going. Sometimes I remind myself that I am not a single person but millions and millions of cells and because matter cannot be created or destroyed, I was always here and even after I die, I will still be here. Maybe in another form but that’s beside the point. If cells make up my entire being but none of them have autonomy or personality, how do I?
I've realized we will never truly die.
Prior To Commencing Poem, I Dreamt Contretemps Escalating fusillade...
Galvanized hotheaded idealists (jaded
locals - kindled moderates) nursed
oppressive proletarian quavering riot
spearheading triumphant utopian voice...
whether contrived right here and now,
or purportedly fragmented remnant
occuring during REM sleep
beside the point, asper conjuring atypical
bent arising within mindscape,
sans garden variety *****sapien.
he laments instantaneously forgetting
intricate webbed tapestry comprising
unconscious manifestations nearly every time
reluctantly opening eyes,
whereat realistic landscape within noggin
vanishes without any trace
try as I might to induce recall
asper impressive world within
hydroelectric powered illusory windmills,
despite non cacophonous disruption
i.e. natural awakening processes,
yet for the life of me
after effect bruited
within entire body electric,
hence envisions some contrivance
mebbe mental construct
prior to awakening
to captcha essential details.
Ah...mother lode of ore ridge and hill
elusive material could perhaps yield
adequate money order to pay one bill
alleviating penurious state, so I can chill
without succumbing L'chaim going downhill
fast, especially since monthly social security
taken in toto with more'n
one bitter medication prescription pill
(father's little helper) eases panic/anxiety attacks
plaguing yours truly since...reciting
storybook rhyme 'bout Jack and Jill
argh, how an overdose quite tempting
escaping once and for all where little doth fulfill
me, cuz thankfully individual choice of freewill,
not banned by pro life fanatics,
imagining to wrest free millstone
formerly revolutionary war gristmill
sitting idle (billy me) bidding one final goodwill
to deux daring daughters,
ditto same number twisted sisters mentally ill
papa and bro respectively
understandably justifiably, emotionally deserted
detached baby boomer whole existence a standstill
overly cautious livingsocial,
what...repeating mundanity till...
death, a tragi/comic relief.
All trees travel skyward
All leaves seek to hug sun
All flowers wish to emit scent
I too crave for the crescent
Whether sky or sun or crescent
Of course all don’t deserve
There is the order of high and low
Dews smile at the jagged judgment
Dews, those churned feelings from core
Dews, those burned candles in dark
Dews, those moments of light and dark
Dews, those pains when you closed the door
But dews are little moments trivial
Very loose molecules unstable
It’s beside the point if it smiles or frowns
High trees laugh aloud skyward
You wave your plaits and tweet
Accept the truth bitter or sweet
_______________________________________________________
July 4, 2016
Kiss me when the sun sleeps,
When the bite grows, and seeps.
Tongue no longer restrained,
As blood from your face, drained.
Our tango, twist of fate;
Wiggle of charm was bait.
Removed your crucifix,
And set up candlesticks.
Was surprised to see dark
In your eyes, like a shark.
Cape stopped you from thinking.
In a coffin, sinking.
Down onto the mattress fell.
Now in your heart, I dwell.
Your scream, beside the point;
Jugular out of joint.
When dusk penetrates, fear
Aims fangs, quick, like a spear.
His beauty was a beast;
Doe-eyed virgin, deceased.
No twilight concerto to sway not yet
as zigzag street lights pound upon
heavy fog clutching iced flakes on rooftops
like hushed matte from night's gale
pouring bitter ovules to a past in need of relief.
While in her vein is a constant downpour
of Bach's untenable requiem
as hands pound on ivory keys,
immersing in the fever of the moment
until fingers carve a solemn journey
into wiry trails of insolent rain.
How she summons the goddess of morn
to cure thistles of wait and pang,
sifting each beat, each note without interludes
until this child- woman shifts her face against breezes,
tasting madness rawness on lapping winds…
In disheveled lingering she cuddles
unspoken words, her own song
on panels of cut-glass-------with acceptance
the world could still breathe despite a torment:
just then...in a twirl of air's cadence
the night shuts off.
.............
1/18/2016
Jamie Pan's How Long Can A Poetry Go
This poetic attempt is a cross between existential expression
and stream of consciousness technique. The former highlights
contemporary man's response to anguish, isolation,uncertainty
of life in the midst of change.Thus, this poet explores
the outpouring born from inner annihilation-- being
absent from the self- YET allowing space to exhale for a new
awareness to surface.
Dovetailing this language of despair to the stream-of consciousness
technique allows the spontaneous, raw float of thoughts without
the pleasure of edit, like journaling and ' writing down the bones.'
I feel that literary devices ( from metaphors, enjambment to alliteration)
come into play , well, quite instinctively.
In my creative writing class as a college professor, I ask my students
to write with their less dominant hand to discover the 'heart of the matter.'
Then again, that's beside the point. This author will leave this piece to assault your senses, and then, softly break all defenses. Thanks!
a total news blackout
but anyone would be the same
the public never knew of it
did it matter?
they were doomed
from the start
my mate didn't care
about the FA Cup last week
the germans don't
care about the percieved
or actually non-existent
football rivalry with England
sweep the battle losses
under the steamer rug
if you win a tin cup
you'll refer to with pride
it took me a day and a
half to get over Nelson's
death
(stick the kettle on)
but that's when it came to life
Villeneuve an outstanding
time bomb
THE ENEMY IS AT SEA!
Trafalgar
like all historical events
momentous and noteworthy
immaterial and beside the point