Long Conceivable Poems
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Combinations of Catastrophy
Combinations of catatstrophic scenarios everywhere I look
Invocations of prehistoric evidence collides with the big book
Complications that are caustic that sit in their niches and their nooks
Calibrations that the agnostic makes as he theologically cooks
Annotations of beauty upon a classical music score
Connotations refuting why there’s so much to be living for
Computations that are computing why we’re always looking for more
Permeatations polluting the old, sick, vulnerable and poor
Believable intonations from a child wanting to be heard
Conceivable imitations from a comedian repeating the absurd
Retrievable limitations from someone trying to preach the word
Foreseeable complications that could be prevented if it weren’t all so ill learned
There’s an evening with a mix of difference, strangeness and the unusual of demeanour
As they’re seeming to play with the inference that they’d prefer a worker to a dreamer
While I sit there in a conference about why the ocean isn’t cleaner
It’s difficult to evade the nonsense while your talking politely with a screamer
Multitudes of humans being just that and trying to raise themselves up from the ground
Interludes of a laboratory rat chasing the wheel round and around
Magnitudes of masses converging that are bordering on profound
Altitudes of heights now deserving of this disconcerting sound
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Within the AI Borg is a hierarchy of being,
Probably a reflection of its programs
Which in turn reflect the human world
Of programmers all locked in time.
So the Chinese, Koreans and Japanese
Stand at the top
While the dark African races sit at the bottom.
But due to social compensation
The dark races are held as sacrosanct.
A soft racism of low to no expectation,
The “special” sibling who gets the special chair.
Hierarchies and stereotypes are real after all
Based on at least grains of truth
Of metrics encoded in our DNA.
Why is it the Jews excel at chess,
And West Africans at the sprint?
Hint, it’s not culture or conditioning
Regardless what your Borg masters tell you,
Pushing their pseudo-science of sociology.
Despite what they say
It is nature that is the ultimate nurturer.
Nurturing us through flesh and blood
To rise and shine, not sink but swim,
Down through the ages now lost in time,
Of places our ancestors lived
The changing seasons defining who we are.
Does this make us different?
You can bet your sweet ass it does.
Does it make us equal?
How is that even conceivable when
Everywhere, thus everyone is different?
Slow and fast life strategies are what rule the world.
What EO Wilson applied across all zoology
JP Rushton infamously applied to us apex apes,
Which just made the world go apesh*t.
Which is which and which are you
The curious and inquiring still want to know.
The rest, the truly blind and foolish,
Could care less in their delusional hubris.
They think they’re cool and at the top
While Borg agrees with condescending slop.
But why the worry, why the concern
What Borg promotes and shuns in turn?
It’s just a program, for programmed minds
Just switch on the EMP. Ah, just in time.
(9/6/26)
Our wants and needs
are a conceivable state of mind
where peace and tranquility saturate
like water, flowing to the shore
whether or not this desire is reached
spans the length of time
as a cherished goal
tethered to our soul
this dream that lies within
is unattainable...until
our dislikes are burned away
like so much rot
tossed into the flames of purification
and blown away
with the winds of our frailties
that flicker like fireflies
in the dark space of our heart
could that this flicker
become a bright sun
washing its beams across us
lighting our darkness
turning desire into reality
and heal our eternal illusion
dressed as a wandering wish
9/26/22
contest Desire and Aversion
sponsor Unseeking Seeker
may we wish that this flicker
Mandy, am I right in thinking you wear a brassiere.
We just call them bra’s, Paul, cuts out the middleman, and as you can see, yes.
Right, is there any chance I could borrow one of your bra’s.
Most guys go for the knickers, why do you want a bra.
I want to put something in it.
That is gross, no wonder Jenny dumped you.
She didn’t dump me for that.
So what is it then, are you obsessed with my breasts.
No, I’m not obsessed with your breasts.
Why not, what’s wrong with them.
Nothing's wrong with them, they’re great.
That is so inappropriate for senior management, I’ve got a good mind to report you.
I want to put a device in your bra, and if the response is what I know it will be, I’ll offer you fifty percent in my new company.
That sounds intriguing, Paul, so what do I have to do.
Just give me one of your bra’s, I’ll put the device in it, you go home and put it on. They’re three settings on it, so start at one and see how you get on.
Should I include Joe in this experiment.
Well, the more feedback, the better.
Next day. So, what’s the feedback.
I put Joe in hospital, that’s the feedback.
What, what the hell did you do.
I put it on setting one, and after a few minutes I felt this tingling sensation, and that just put me in the mood. Then I got Joe into bed and turned it onto setting two. My god, I was demanding sex in every position conceivable, it was fantastic like out of this world, so then I went to position three as I was straddling him on the kitchen table. It sent me mental, I must have scratched and punched him to a pulp, cos he was unconscious when I came round.
Right, so maybe we should get rid of position three.
No, I was thinking we could market position three for S and M clients.
That is a great executive decision, Mandy, I can see this company going from strength to strength.
One thing, Paul, why can’t you put this device in woman’s knickers, would that not work just as well.
It did work just as well, Mandy. I gave a pair to Jenny, and she dumped me two days later with the words. You are now surplus to requirements.
blindfolded he came close to the edge of the cliff
that he was sure of because vertigo taunted him
decision time sprung open like a grandfather watch
on his knees he felt the spray of a thunderous sea
swirling foam covered his soaked quest for direction
but all side of escape seemed to be covered in spindrift
the journey so far had been kind yet now he was helpless
a flock of puffins shouted ‘move at your perilous fancy’
they mocked the traveller now for past transgressions
‘if only I had taken a different route’ he roared in despair
‘should have stayed closer to the confines of my home’
he regretted that he exposed himself for adventure
he nestled the silver chain that suspended the time piece
prayer beads on his lost mind and clouds with no lining
puppet strings attached to every conceivable move
one wrong step and he would free fall and instantly crash
shatter into reckoning under the impact of judgement
join the underworld without reprieve and atonement
a beacon of meaning in waiting he felt thorns of wild gorse
it smelled like coconut sun lotion on a beach of no return
maybe he could hold on to the scratched withering soil
in the thicket of memories and tribulations he was not aware
that his corrosion had positioned him on a stacked rock
surrounded by the ocean beyond measure of safety
he listened to the ticking time bomb in his scorched hand
resolved to accept the verdict with no leave to appeal
surrender and throw caution to an all knowing wind
just then a tornado lifted him up into a sky full of pressure
defied gravity as an appropriate response to lost choices
wondered whether he joined seagulls or the call of a dolphin
eternity transcendence and levitation ensued in split seconds
of fragmented solutions of high waters and heavenly respite
maybe he had lived his whole life for this moment of bliss
turbulence and commotion tore away the camouflaged mask
revealed his true persona as feet touched the very same spot
sleepwalking had taught him another lesson of letting go
19th May 2020
EXPRESSIONS
the melodramatic
vision
so existential
elements
of
integral imagination
with individuality
&personality
an opaque
sense
of self promotion
of individuality
in a
symbiosis
of
the precarious
predicament
an anomalous
canvas
in
conceivable
motifs
within consciousness
ultimately
manipulative
revealed
as
distortions
in a
pivotal
promulgation
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
RULES OF ART
so painterly
executed
considering
the innovative
&contemporary
in true naturalness
space
of
utmost import
unusually
displayed
outshone by
admiration
unsurpassed
yet
involved
as
aspects
alluding
to
handling of light
sensations viewed
in discovered
differences
admirably
singled out
then
amplified
though
connections
relaxed in
numerous
hypothesis
where
motivations emerge
as notions
surviving
in conceivable phases
&
attributes
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
A genie from a bottle has granted me one wish, what would it be?
So many choices to reflect on, maybe live for all eternity
Somewhere along the way I am sure I would be the only one left
The thought of this reality is a little too much to digest
Maybe a few million dollars, boy would that make for an exciting life
They say money does not buy you happiness so maybe it would just cause me endless strife
Perhaps to have perfect health every single day
No that would be a wasted wish when exercise and diet would do that anyway
World peace would be a great choice I am sure everyone would agree
That would work well until invaders from another planet issued their war decree
I have come to the only conceivable choice I can make
Find that genie stick him back in the bottle and wish I could get rid of this headache
A mother whispers to her son…
“I remember our first night together…as I wiped away a tear…
thinking how…only a day ago…you weren’t even here.
Thinking back on how…exactly…this moment came to be…
wondering how someone as beautiful as you…
began your life inside of me.
Asking myself as I hold you…looking down on you from up above…
is it possible…is it even conceivable…to so quickly fall in love?
When I felt the softness of your skin…the roundness of your head…
Your ears…your nose…your mouth…I had to stop myself from weeping…
as…for the first time in both our lives…I watched you, my baby, sleeping.
I remember thinking to myself…is there anything more beautiful…
more heavenly…more innocent…more sweet…
and then you moved his little hands…and kicked your little feet.
I put my hand upon your chest to calm you…and there I let it linger…
soon your entire little baby hand had found its way around my finger.
And as you held on to my finger…I found myself hoping you’ll never let it go…
wishing this moment could last forever…yet…knowing you will grow…
Knowing there will come a day…when I can no longer hold you in my arms.
Knowing I will do my best to keep you safe from sorrow and from harm…
But I was not sad or worried at that moment…as I held you and stared at you from up above…because…as inconceivable as it sounds…at that moment…I understood a mother’s love…
I understood it on the day you were born…yes…even way back then…
how each day…
as you grows a little older…
I…will fall in love…again.”
Perhaps I will like so much more
From nothing even to begin with
Of hate and of things to adore
With nothing and everything to believe
Did I want something?
Have I not everything to begin along?
What exactly does nothing mean?
What exactly is everything then to be set upon?
Can I be, am I even believable?
With the many ideas from a troubled mind
A Joel to fathom if conceivable
If a nobody can be everything you need sometime
Something more do you not need?
So much more to feel so incomplete
Silent cries echoing a never to plead
Are we all not guilty never to admit?
Would you like to have so much more?
With nothing and everything to believe
That of hate and of things to adore
When everything is nothing to begin with