Long Incoherence Poems
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Stars, remote and wondrous,
try to console another wretched soul...
not mine, that one which bore a tremendous loss;
and no song being sung by me would add to the tone!
My wine isn't as sweet as honey,
begone are those delightful nights of intimate embraces,
enhanced by wild and sensational kisses;
but spring, with all the dainty flowers,
withheld the true passion from me: to defy my reality...
vanishing quicker than shadows!
And gazing at a starless night with a lifeless breath,
a banishing doubt can bring on sadness...
watching no shooting stars cross the awesome Universe;
only reviving hope with some significant verse!
Why do you wait for morning, betrayed lover? Her fidelity
wasn't as infinite as your profound certainty!
Shallow and disillusioned...assuring no existence,
contemplating instant death to substitute incoherence...
to let a starless night empty itself of desire,
but combating a dubious feeling adds more to your dire!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
a small position given in a place of chaos
perfect place to flourish and gain
hiding behind unhealed trauma and pain
playing a role as a trusted confidant
observing and collecting information
using deception as a comeuppance
leashing out unseen horrid inflictions
cashed out from many schemes
wanting to be center of attention
had no control of self or home
bullied words with strong tone
stole and hacked others devices
threw weight around literally
loud and over talking anyone
treating others as incompetent
deceiving self as a church girl
quoting bible scriptures with glee
book smart only no sense of self
dark magic were your only tools
creeping into dreams of others
playing out your sick fantasies
outer world was your inner world
spiritual incoherence left you empty
facing every insecurity harbored
your life was mirrored to you
others were fragments of yourself
instead of healing you overlooked
pointing out who you deemed weak
delivering out wrath as a judgement
hello you are not A GOD/GODDESS
not knowing you was destroying yourself
in the end you dug your own grave
May you befriend your shadow while the ego surrender
death and rebirth
Self love is the most beautiful way of life
Written: June 08, 2025, contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon.
Quote "Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder." By RUMI
******************
As the soft fingers of dawn spread light,
And dusk fades, in a hollow sight.
A mumbling incoherence stirs within my soul,
My muddled mind benumbed, lacking control.
It hums quietly in the glow of the moon,
A wave that goes unseen under the flow of noon.
Proles of spasmodic gait lead me to a chaotic tide,
Where anxieties ease, and concerns subside.
No passing fancy, no shallow sound,
But wisdom is weaved, madly wound.
A beacon illuminated by love's lance,
A strong blaze that endures time's dance.
It whispers a soft but asinine song,
A mesalliance whispers right and wrong.
Red coral compass made by a cosmic hand,
To keep me secure, against the macabre's stand.
Once silenced by clairsentience fears,
Fumbled under jugged crushing years.
But embers sparked and cacophony revived,
A child's voice— a robotic drone thrived!
Now in a rhythm of bliss, hand in hand,
We dance where quiet whimsy musing stands.
No longer achingly chained, fog, or fright,
Only mirrors of ecstasy carved in gold light.
So I sail the swell, in harmony and trust,
No need for clamor or whimsical must.
For my unencumbered voice, free to rejoice,
Has always known—this is the right choice.
when correct spelling eludes you write a different word
stay true to the anarchy poetry form make it up as you go
a haiku is just a Japanese limerick and a tad bit shorter
conceived on delicate sake rather than a stout Guinness
once the tongue is loosened and the audience plastered
any syllable count deceives what is meant to be voiced
at the end of a pub crawl harp and zither sound quite alike
shamisen and all strings attached resonate just the same
true to the nature of art what pleases with passionate sound
sometimes refuses to be squeezed into reverend lines
if one looks at some ever so famous writing one wonders
what kind of mushrooms inaugurated such magic outpour
on a more sober matter poetry is in the eye of beholders
dysphonia on steroids is a natural remedy for logophobia
one man’s incoherence is another one’s mythical calling
but courage is bravery however you wish to pronounce it
there was once a young man it Haikushima
illiterate is what he was called by Mama
who’s whiskey lacked lime
did not give a dime
when he spent a penny someone stole his thunder and drama
green fields and butterscotch clover
fragrance of Irish Oak blossoms -
lost for words the weather staid speechless
in case of any doubt in the mind of the affectionate reader
this poetry form is part of the extended self-critical monologue
style currently still in its experimental encrypted stage which
in its naive but raw and expressionate timbre is meant to confuse
03rd March 2021
A Multitude of Notions
Subsonic phonic interference with my ailing mind
Bubonic pneumonic incoherence at the passing of these times
Hedonic tonic maladherence to the rules of constructed rhyme
Neurotic moronic disappearance of the complex and defined
Palentology and mysogony make for an unpleasant combination
Archeology and phenomenology predate the current conversation
Numerology and autonomy form a starstruck invocation
Epistemology and ideology culminate in complex connotations
Radiant cosmological constellations inspire wonder and awe
Gradient chronological extrapolations graphing out what all of this is for
Salient anatomical combinations leave the post surgical patient raw
Valiant ethological consternations distinguish the greedy from the poor
Astounded by the notion of another concept to illustrate
Confounded by the commotion of the latest political debate
Impounded by devotion to the church, leaders and state
Resounded by emotion as it begins to culminate
Anthropomorphic projections by an unusual mind
Isomorphic reflections on the state of all mankind
Nonmetaphoric infections that keep you humble and refined
Heteromorphic injections that leave you perpetually unkind
Illuminated thought forms streaming down from a twighlight sky
Communicated societal norms leaves the question firmly stated as why?
Automated technological reforms leaves the humans passing by
Captivated innocence is reborn as each man prepares to die
Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
Your eyes spring forth flowers from my soul.
You come to me in dreams,
And as the jogger on the street.
You haunt me as the moon haunts the night sky.
You are the ghostly promise of pure love.
A woman cries against a brick wall,
A man anxiously changes lanes in traffic,
While others kiss on the beach.
While I in dreams feel the lightness of love:
The heavy warming wonder
Slipping out from my mind and
Reaching out through
The jalousies of my bedroom.
I arise to the incoherence
Of grogged and lumbering passions.
And then I slow down,
My feet on the carpet…
The cruel, cold fabric of the world.
The warm, softened fibers of the world.
The mind’s range and scope
And bounce against the light.
Times like these I seem to burn with no purpose.
My solar space, those silvery irises,
Skin as spirit,
Love the wandering ghost.
With fishnets and convertible spaceships:
I will catch you!
All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
Isaiah 64:6 NIV
God by your grace, we have been given all.
That , one shall need, but yet we stumble and fall
To worried about the outside of the cups appearance
While the inside is corrupted by incoherence
For our own works to be tossed like filthy rags
Oh, how many seek glory of man as they brag
Unknowingly, the leaf has lost its source
Of life to be blown away by wind of force.
Shall ,one seek to rid these clothes of stain
To receive a new robe from the death of a grain
Then will the inside begin to glow
With a newfound love and joy to show
No longer in division of ones skin
But birthed into a new family of kin
To become in unity in the I AM
That provided a path by His pure Lamb
That we might become One flock
And be known as one of His stock
So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.
Galatians 3:26?-?29 NIV
**You know, when you distanced me from your vibration,
I felt you threw me into an endless abyss,
for I had strived so much to see your lovely smile
that I even sinned with incoherence.
And today I don’t know how to handle
the desires of my infinite love,
since you awakened a narrow shyness
in which I see no way out of this crossword of love.
I hope you reconsider,
for now I understand through you
how painful falls can be,
and I would never wish the same for you.
Better be my ally,
let us build our love,
so you realize the grave mistake you made with me
when you cast me into that void,
without your sweet kisses and embraces!**
— Lraularguellesmtz
and a switch flicks
who are you he asks
it should be me
asking who are you
until the switch
flicks back to . . .
fuddled hours
gone are the simplest things
a crayon in a box of pens
then that switch
and it’s who are you
I want to go home
but in truth
it’s who are you
as now a foreign clarity of sorts
no more mumbling incoherence
no shuffling walk
now it’s clear, sure
and behold
a different person emerges
occupying my father
secretly all this time
now stepping out
through the non-dominance
and slowly
becoming the dominant part
a battle of the hemispheres
dementia – an uprising
of hidden people
from somewhere ago
On a life-boat passing through Time, making its way to the island of timely order(s).
Surrounded by death/decay and birth/unmanifested on the other side.
Surfing/Suffering on the waves of Time.
Maybe tonight.
The meaning of words change all the Time.
Unable to find meaning if not rooted in Time.
Counting up or counting down either way you are keeping Time.
Yet taking the Time to Time Time.
If Life is a zero sum game, what's the shortest interval that you have achieved this at?
Millennia, centuries, years, days or seconds ? M-C-IIIVIV-i-d?
Letting go generates space and time thus centering oneself in the present moment.
With precision and ease as in any clockmaker's watch.
The Sands of Time scatter as the hourglass shatters, turning to sand over Time.
Yet Time will keep its own Time.
Unless blocked by these very particles of sand.
Even though the books in the library are buried.
My spoken words will echo throughout Time.
Yet keep running out of sync in this fast changing world.
Acceptable losses by aiding incoherence.
As I await my Trial by Numbers.