Long Incomprehension Poems

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Swelling With Pride

This is a breezy and starry night,
with no strange sounds to induce its mystery;
lingering with sadness is the loneliest heart
opening the pages of an unfinished diary...
as I sit alone drinking my bitter wine,
but it should be sweet to make me feel fine!

Has anyone seen me swelling with pride,
wrapping my arms around her hips
and pressing on her soft and scented lips...
until my wild kisses would make my sweetheart fall:
wasting not a minute to convince her how I felt inside?
How could her jealousy have been the cause of imagination?  
I couldn't help being noticed by ladies of indiscretion...
if I resembled an Adonis standing on a pedestal!

Should I find anyone to explain this rage with easiness?
Would anyone be willing to stand by me
and allow me to be the kind of lover I try to be,
or let me die without ever knowing the feeling of fullness?
I still wait by the doogwood tree
where that pretty star stood still...
giving us another reason to stay longer
by the glimmering waters of the river!  

This is a peaceful and wonderful night
hearing the invisible crickets share their delight;
I lie beneath the shadows of tall trees,
and make my wish for more dreams:
hoping to never feel this cold,
being fully loved and understood...
 
Consumed by incomprehension,
somehow swelling with pride,
and yet I rest amid the dreams of incompletion;
my restless spirit has wings to soar high,
but it needs the strongest wind to lift it up...
and make it float 'till it can't stop!
Form: Ballad


Premium Member Love unveils us from borrowed faces

Love unveils us from borrowed faces,
It tears them away, fear and longing, from the depths of our defeated chests.
I call it here "love," not just an anchor between shores of intertwined pulses,
But as a being of beings, a grace that leans on hidden branches.
Not in the naive, childish sense seeking solace in empty sweets,
But in the tenacious, honest sense of traversing untrodden paths -
A journey of purpose and restlessness, of pure risk and growth.
This love does not paint a smile on your face when you sit in peace,
But it is a fluttering of restless wings, daring to fly ceaselessly.
It pushes you to the edge of self-abyss, where you are less seen,
To sanctify in momentum and in the abyss, merging with the infinite human weep.
It does not let you sleep in the down of recognition, to be swayed by reflections,
Love - that stern mistress, polishes you in waves and waves of incomprehension.
It squeezes out the last drop of childish dreaming, dripped by insatiable desires,
And throws you back to the shore, transformed, with the soul of an awakened, fearless traveler.
Under the sky of this love, the world is never complete, always in a state of becoming,
Beyond the boundaries of comfort, an ecosystem of relentless evolution.
Embracing your mask in the flutter of wind confirms the balance and enchanted surrender,
You pass through fire and ice, unaware that this is the path to true known freedom.
And perhaps the true face is often more harshly drawn, less defined,
But love, in this world, turns windows into deep mirrors;
It makes us see ourselves not as separate singularities, but as interconnected islands,
Where the mask becomes a bridge between souls, and love - an ocean in which we dive without fear of swimming,
Aware now, that although we are born alone, together we shall grow.
© Dan Enache  Create an image from this poem.

Numbers

The stars both numb and inspire,
awe either enraptures or terrifies.
The word ‘infinite’ becomes a conjectural sum
to be defined by pundits in bow ties
and star-crazed, white coated messiahs.

Tilt your head back on a cloudless night
feel the cold mathematical anesthesia
of the infinitesimal, not anything fathomable,
not even a reckoning in an unsolvable puzzle;
a nonplus that breeds only more numbers
until like a train calculations runs out of rails
to travel upon.

Each mental abacus
must be pre-set for incomprehension
and that beyond the tyranny of numbers
we can, in the end, count only ourselves in
and that is by no-means certain.

The Numbers

The night sky
is full of numbers that cannot be counted.
The stars numb then inspire,
then numb.
The word ‘infinite’ becomes a conjectural sum
to be defined by pundits in bow ties
and star-crazed, white coated messiahs.

Tilt your head back on a cloudless night
feel the burn, the cold mathematical anesthesia
of being infinitesimal, not even a reckoning
in an unsolvable puzzle,
a nonplus that breeds only more numbers
until like a train,
your brain runs out of rails to travel upon.

Perhaps an intuitive awareness will save us
- a new kind of starry abacus arise
pre-set to calculate only incomprehension,
then we may move
beyond the tyranny of such number games,
counting only ourselves in.

Premium Member Conscience of a God

Looking back on life, as I go forward
tripping over, what’s missing, 

Not love or loss, a divine exclusive experience,
Contentment mere blissful contentment 
baby suckling at mother’s teats,

Blind by ignorance now I see it,
aloof of desire, in symbiotic willfulness
Bridging a song, with choral angels
invisible transcendence, threads of virtuosity 

When reason feels the suns surface,
reason will be sustained, 
Infinite vacuums of containment,
everything else in nothingness of space, 

Immeasurable incomprehension 
supplied on tap, to our basic intelligence 
Surreal questionable answers only to be found,
they made no mistakes,

Impotence feeding omnipotence,
omnipresence giving out rain checks
Cooling off periods never happen,
a torrent of ice comets burnt them away,

Spare a thought for the mindful,
let the human burden, carry that cross 
Give them one atom, and our conscience
everything else belongs to the gods. 


PODIUM PLACING PROMISE 7
Sponsored by Brian Strand 

12/01/2021    25 lines


A Wandering Soul In Exile

My youth was too brief
and whenever I felt distraught, 
I clutched my belief:
to give faith a defined worth;
free, but not truly liberated
as a wandering soul in exile:
reminding itself of how it inwardly bled
amid thoughts that knew no minimal dire!

Freedom has the dearest prize:
I either acclaim it with excitement,
or I lose it to that folly which destroys life;
nothing about incomprehension is an efficacious attempt
which enriches a rebellious mind full of rage and enmity,
but can I comprehend its enormity?  

A disconsolate person is a wandering soul in exile,
lacking insight and enthusiasm: a self-evident liar  
who's never warned of terrible consequences, 
dispelling honor and truth, feeding on worthless pride: 
to disassemble what was built with enormous sacrifices;
always distrustful, arrogant and unappreciative of uprightness,
pleasing in discord and disunity to satisfy an arrogant ego 
without self-esteem to continually spread sorrow!

How can anyone fasten with chains a rightful spirit,
to enslave it and enforce a punitive silence?
The morning star is most beautiful before sunrise,
mortals are most admired when they inspire, captivate 
and show endearment in their true and endless emotions:
to evoke their past liberties that time has left intact!

Premium Member Consciousness

CONSCIOUSNESS
the tendency
to
assertion
in
 an alienated
 retreat
of
reasoned
 understanding

 fundamental
incomprehension
 strange
&
inaccessible
impervious
to
oneness
of
the
 inner world

between
spiritual
  in
the real
&
 the imaginative

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.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Form: Other

Descartes' Rule of Signs

I. Noise in an empty hallway:
My old leather shoes protest as I hurry down the linoleum tiles
Like I'm wearing a little piece of history older than I am.

II. Headlights on a dark road:
Speeding down narrow country roads
windows rolled down and Autumn wind rushing through the car
Ripping my hair from its tie
My arm stretching out the window, numb in the night air.

III. Ephemeral beauty:
For a moment, life is endless and incredibly brief
Stretching before me like a dusty trail at sunset
Disappearing into the trees.

IV. Origin of life:
There is this vague, unnamable incomprehension in my chest
Like euphemisms, that is the easy way out
This is the hard way: I am alive, alive, alive
When one cell became thirty trillion, I gained consciousness.

V. I am not the sum of my parts:
I don't have the faith to believe 
That all my thirty trillion cells are a fluke of nature

VI. Evidence: 
I am the proof of divinity's existence
A signpost shouting "I am alive" thirty trillion times with all the power of my lungs 
Designed for miracles

VII. Rene Descartes:
It is not 
I think; therefore, I am
It is
I think; therefore, He is.

Premium Member Stop the Clock Part 2

Looking back on life, as I go forward
tripping over, what’s missing, 

Not love or loss, a divine exclusive experience,
Contentment mere blissful contentment 
baby suckling at mother’s teats,

Blind by ignorance now I see it,
aloof of desire, in symbiotic willfulness
Bridging a song, with choral angels
invisible transcendence, threads of virtuosity 

When reason feels the suns surface,
reason will be sustained, 
Infinite vacuums of containment,
everything else in nothingness of space, 

Immeasurable incomprehension 
supplied on tap, to our basic intelligence 
Surreal questionable answers only to be found,
they made no mistakes,

Impotence feeding omnipotence,
omnipresence giving out rain checks
Cooling off periods never happen,
a torrent of ice comets burnt them away,

Spare a thought for the mindful,
let the human burden, carry that cross 
Give them one atom, and our conscience
everything else belongs to the gods.
Form: Quatrain

To Those That Don't Understand - continued part 2

(continued from Part 1)


..To those that don't comprehend

No accident or by default
- WHY the world is; 
or has become insane, 
Inevitably of course 
we see that, 
There IS a Group to Blame, 
All bewildered commentary aside, 
It IS and has been owned, controlled, by those 
that are so, desperately so.. 

To not see, nor look above your
Homes 
- the torrid and poisonous trails 
Of noxious toxic Nano particles, 
sprayed constantly over our once blue iconic skies 
Flouride, Mercury and much more besides, 
stops all cognitive reasoning
secretly contained, 
in Blood-brain barrier, 
..insipid nanobot A.I, 
An evil connectivity resides

Consider this in your mindset, 
Abused but yet - constantly accused - blinded with Trillions in Debt for You
From your idiotic, pathetic but incapable character; to despise, 
To your minute and limited worldview.. 
A love of
- official standard Lies, 
Why does this basic notion escape your innate, yet 
- subdued perception? 

To Those That Don't Understand.. 

Feign incomprehension 
all you want - the difference remains intention
It is and always was
a form of Cabaalistic
Slight of Hand Mind Control
Their 'Might is right'.. 
You may not dare to mention, 
But of course - though, 
As with everything else, 
- always Hidden in Plain Sight 

By way of complete and utter, otherwise abundantly clear

..Deception

One simple message to take onboard 

Raise the consciousness and


Awaken. 


Kurt Hubbard-Beale 
April 25th 2021
During covid 19 lockdown 

The PoetTree 
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
art

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