Long Indefinable Poems
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Devilish life, oh what does this notion? Hmm, maybe evil life, or a diabolical life of bad human
I am this human, but no one thinks me a dark figure, because my style is great and my aura is bright
But this bright aura is a super shield, a perfect force field, a supernatural power of my mind, soul, and heart
Yes, it’s that, that’s why I am a famous witch, oh my life, oh, Christian life, my life is full of black magic and Wicca, black diamond and fire star
Evil life, my life is terrifying horror, dark soul, deep black space, even scarier than a black hole, indefinable cosmic world, but life
I am bad, I am wrong, I am satanic, I am demonic, I am horrific but peaceful as a lamb, I needed to be that, a Bible teacher, but my Gospel is my present life
Hmm, I wanted to be a Bible teacher, but psychologists here in London destroyed my life, because I didn’t accept their ideologies and “interesting” lives
Hmm, I sat in my room. Suffering and depression were my lifemates. Then a deep and kind male voice spoke to me. He said, I help you, just give your life
Satan spoke to me, he is the Master in my life. He lives in my heart, in my soul, in my mind.
Oh, my dear Satan, thank you for saving my life, I fly with you in space, in the sky
We are always together in the eternal, I work for you in your army, I am your man, demonic-like, can we do great things in the world, in the universe? Great games, worlds, power, and life, oh Satan! give me this life! Give me this life!
The astral eye of my astral body is red like yours and see everything, my mind becomes like yours, and will know everything, oh Master!
I want to live your life, but not alone, with another life, with my love, and we will be the first pair of people in hell, oh Master! Please, please, give us this life!
I see this woman in my dark soul. She is a bright flower, white like a bellflower, oh, Satan! Do you hear the ringing of bells in my heart? Can you feel my heart?
Please, give us this life, my life is yours, a lone soul in the infinite universe, a suffering spirit,
I have no family, and I have no stable home, please, oh Satan, give us this life!
I define myself
without false immodesty
as definable and
indefinable. I'm friend
of beauty, defender
of love guardian
of friendship...
I'm metaphor, I'm carbon
of organic links
I'm quantum physics
and I'm a mystery...
I'm a burning coal black
to light brotherhood fires
chains that link human to divine...
I am light of many lights
and abyss of deep recesses
but always in search of knowledge...
I am the synthesis of all that
inhabited me and inhabit
thanks to the Superior... !
By this grace I am today
POET!
PS Immodesty as long as i AM sure OF what i AM... A SON OF GOD
that makes me feel strong AND brave to face adversities OF the world
She's my neighbor; we study, from childhood, in the same school.
When we were younger, we regarded ourselves as best friends.
As she grows, she starts to be stern, though within she is cool.
To her friends' bids, she's stiff, while to her parents, she bends!
I like her friendship, though she feels too shy to contain me.
Rain is a mere cause; I wait for a chance to walk with her.
The stitch in the steel poke of the umbrella has gone free.
Is this why, as a girl growing up, there's a mental stir...?
She has given me very little space; it's enough, yet.
Though we don't, somehow, dare to gaze at each other's faces,
To our childhood contentment, we do not feel any threat.
Amidst lasting silence, there are indefinable graces...
Though only a monsoon glimpse, with glassy drizzling around,
May this pave paths to a new life with much merriments crowned...
picture 2. You are the little girl or boy
As a child I was never afraid of the dark.
My big brother was and he would wait
for me to lead the way each night to the attic
bedroom we shared. (If irked by him
that day, I would linger downstairs,
making him wait for his night's repose.)
And in bed I would lie awake for a time,
watching with a child's wonder the shadows
flickering across the ceiling, made by the cars driving by
in the street 3 stories below. The way they moved so swift,
I thought those dark reflections of light might be alive,
grey soldiers of the night passing over me....
I had no fear of death either, for I knew if it came,
I would go back to a very beautiful place, feeling
heaven I had come from, so to heaven I would return
(but then, I was still innocent). No, I feared only one thing,
but it was a huge, mighty thing: I feared eternity.
I saw, in my child's mind, a road that went on forever,
never ending, without an horizon to mark the journey's end.
--And I quaked at its infinity.
Now I no longer fear the endless, for my soul told me once,
quickly and quietly: I am here, without begin, without end,
forever--then I understood-- my soul reflected my mortal mind,
my brain that can't recall its own birth and really cannot fathom
its own death, for it exists only and always in the moment,
the indefinable, eternal now....
The whole room tumbles.
Turning upside down.
So that I am on the ceiling.
And forced to analyze the space around me once again.
I blink again.
Then everything is right side up…
Then I blink again.
All the furniture is shifted just enough…
So I am confused in some indefinable way.
She walks in.
Which causes me to blink once more.
She asks if I’m ok.
It’s just the room spinning again.
It’s just that I’ve been in this empty room all day.
I can’t explain what’s wrong.
She tells me to get some sleep.
I am scared for the door to close behind her.
As if she is locking me in a cage.
Maybe if I can just close my eyes…
I can pretend I’m asleep until morning.
And hope the evil furniture will leave me alone.
Intro: ×4
I've got something in my head
(In my head)
Rap:
feeling you're winning is a feeling you're losing
and winning is the feeling losing is missing
taking undertaking is the bidding and trailing
we're making and grooming, processing our motive
feeling you're living is a feeling you're dieing
and dieing is the feeling living is pruning
wailing and crying are products of our making
feeling what I'm saying?
Black lives matter?
You're white, black, purple, indigo, violet or
racism monger
trained by wiles, shame pain or poverty, you should see
much better
what defines man: tribe, clan, languages or what such
can offer
in your world, home, town, places of worship
or cafeteria!
Here's myopia: Folly's godfather
what were you thinking, that you're better?
you've got oxygen, and he's got fire?
you feel blood surging, but he feels nada?
cos you're stupid, and have gone brainless
that when you 'em, you become restless
insecurity then becomes your crest
hunger to kill 'em then becomes your bread
Y'all are supposed to be all these:
indestructible, inevitable, indivisible, indescribable, indefinable,
inexpressible, imperishable, indissoluble, inevasible, incorruptible
(not)
unapproachable, unappealable, unappeasable, inaccessible, impracticable,
insurmountable, unavailable, unobtainable, inexorable, indomitable
(Out-of-the-way)
~Freestyle~
'20:06:25:10:45
Watch here: https://youtu.be/yznUow5wW1E
The logical possibility to jump over the moon,
make sense when considered its cheese eaten with a spoon.
The same cheese became famous by Mozart composing Cinderella,
melted in on bread called Mozzarella.
The milks fat has its meaning by matter of form,
as one can pull it gently in its use to be torn.
The essence of man by Plato is conceptual confusion,
Aristotle’s answer was the rational animal conclusion.
The death is one of two things and metaphysical,
hypothetic nature in grammarless forms of being radical.
Abstract concepts to the point of phrase,
indefinable logic to stay confused in philosophical pace.
Nothing divided by nothing to multiply the zero,
trading and selling golden mirrors portraying the hero.
The hypnotic ability of linear verbal communication,
overwritten melodrama and its cultured sensation.
Caffeine clicking clocks in commercial wars,
to safe the astounding audience aspiration from taws.
Intensified intuitive balloons matching the color of the eye,
illustrative animated slices with the cherry on top pie.
Vulnerable velocity by vanity loosing lips largely,
absurdity with distinction established ambiguity fiercely.
Falsity and truth before sense and nonsense,
thinking one knows what is not known in essence.
Philosophical poetry may be with or without rhyme,
but it is never without reasons of confession in time.
I am not the magic of the Sorcerer's scepter
I am the luminance of certainty
The truth in all, the element's nectar
Carbon - iron - oxygen
Helium - nitrogen - hydrogen
Cast to burn in life's timeless trilogy
I am, I was and will forever be
Fixed in the vastness of time and solitude
An endless void among an indefinable multitude
A blazing point of light to see
In the silent loneliness of space I wane and swell
The immortal icon of all that is and will be
The fire of life's burning legacy to dwell
As the flame of all eternity
July 4, 2020
Musings on Space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Stilled again across the canals broadening
Girth;
Mesh cages of rock-filled Gabions
Reinforcing patches of exposed and arid earth,
Reflecting the glints that gleefully
Twist and dance in the hot glare of the sun...
Provoking images and stirring indefinable feelings
That begin to irrevocably up and run;
Pictures and voices crowding into my mind:
Immersing me in the flooding moments
To which i am briefly resigned.
Now momentarily staid by the shimmering
Instance
In which i find myself inextricably caught,
Perplexed by something rather intangible,
Seeming almost to tease and laugh
Whilst confounding upon my evasive and
Fleeting thoughts;
As glancing across at the opposite bank
Where drawn up a line of densely packed trees..
I swore...I heard the reel of a high squealing
Fiddle -
Playing ever so briefly alongside a tricky little
Breeze.
For stood there I, wondering,
On a grey painted swing-bridge:
Of brightly painted Steamers, dirty Trampers
And of double masted white canvassed Brigs.
Oh! The everlasting glory of a New World order
Redefined:
Entrusted to those instructed in her Majesties
Construction of sprawling Victorian sublimes!
The men who heroically dug, picked, blasted and
Strove:
To securely fasten an Iron cast girdle around
An ever diminishing blue globe.
Dreaming of long ago, dutiful, Golden-Age days
Rigorously pursued down, what are now,
Weed strewn, abandoned byways.
Faustian clothing and a Velveteens cap;
The thick buckled leather gaiters held about
By the strap.
Many the word spoken in a soft southern brogue:
All hail the glorious navigators -
The navvies of old!
Staunch and desperate men forced to resign
Their native Gaelic shores
And burden unto themselves with
Mattocks, shovels and garishly painted-up whores.
Under the high flaming beacons
And over the obscure little brow -
They carved out the new waterways
To float the laden down prow.
Yes! Men of the Emerald Isles
I salute you and your kinsfolk
From lands cast westwards afar:
The magnificent "Paddies" from the verdant island -
Of Erin-Go-Bragh!
I start off being optimistic
With my big saucepan
Only as a last resort will I ever
Eat soup from a can.
I assemble all the ingredients
From a list I’ve not written down
Caremelise the onions.
Until they’re nice and brown.
Slice up some items
Dice all the rest
Cut the mushroom small
I think that’s best.
I slow cooked a Ham to
Provide a liquid base
Carefully and slowly
I stir this into place.
I crumble in a cube, flavour
Depending on what I’ve got
Bring it slowly to the boil and
Keep it simmer hot.
I use a hand held blender
To get rid of all the lumps
Get it smooth and even
Get rid of all the clumps.
I taste it in anticipation.
Always a potential waste
It’s hot smooth and digestible
But has such a bland taste.
indeterminate and indefinable
And no matter how I’ve tried
The supposed soup’s variety
Just can’t be identified
So it’s down to my reviver
I alway need to use to fix it
Worcester, Soy, and Balsamic,
And then I liberally mic it.
Sling in some lazy garlic
Just for good measure
Amazingly these Ingredients
Just add to the palate’s pleasure
It’s a hotchpotch of flavours
With a lot of spicy heat
Not the sort of thing a gourmet
Would willingly choose to eat
But we consume every last drop
We just can’t stand any waste
And hope springs eternal one day
It will conform to conventional taste.