Long Metaphysical Poems
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Metaphysics is - a division of philosophy that is concerned with
the fundamental nature of reality and being.
It includes ontology, cosmology, and often epistemology.
THE METAPHYSICS OF MY MUSE
While my muse dances a minuet,
She sings of doctors in trip-o-let
Her metaphysicians dress in white,
a bit off-key but the rhythm’s right.
Is ontology the medical term
for that doctor who treat cancers?
fundamental, they find answers.
Is cosmology those whose focus
is working face, skin and hair beauty?
fixing nature’s flaws, their duty.
Is epistemology that surgical
procedure, an easy cut
for big baby’s head and butt.
Physicians, practicians my muse’s need
for good health and beauty indeed.
Metaphysicians cannot compare
when the body is her major care.
METAPHYSICS EXPLAINED
Let’s be sure we have minds all set;
I got all this off the Internet
Metaphysicians don’t dress in white
Hope I got the meanings right?
Ontology - how metaphysicians
explain the univeral categories
and relationships between entitites.
Cosmology – a metaphysical
study of the origin, creation and growth
of the universe, but NOT how we knoweth..
Epistemology – metaphysics
theory of knowledge, think it through
how we come to learn what is true
Metaphysician, philosopher
The mind is that which they prefer
to explain the universe and being
admittedly with some disagreeing.
Author’s Notes: With my apology to oncology, cosmetology, and episotomy.
March 16, 2020
Once in a blue moon, in the circuit of the cryptic sky appears the transcendental fusion,
when the acquiescence of the sky emerges to display two heavenly bodies most exotic phases of union.
On those, mesmerizing venerated nights, the new moon and the wolf moon in juxtaposition,
supercede the perceived notion of eclipses; when the earth's shadow devours the pearly moon, its unparalleled companion!
Contrary to the credence, they recline and mingle, into one in secret paranormal amalgamation!
At that spectacular moment, the blood of the luna oozes, turns scarlet,
and the venerated Full Moon turns into Blood Moon in unison:
when the earth's umbra covers the moon in its arms, passionately to hide pains of her bunion!
They have clandestine agreement, beyond the mortal comprehension to fathom their cabalistic union!
Although, once in a blue moon, even the cynical corporals,
turn fortunate to witness the epochal communion!
Deluded and hypnotised, they come out with their finite, shallow persuasions!
Even waning, the luna in all her immaculate purity, maneuvers the blue planet, her matchless companion
in various alluring phases, in exuberant magnificent manifestations!
Those rarest phases in rotation connotes their cryptic indulgences in culmination!
The momentum of the earth-moon collision forms curious rarefied condensation,
causes in its beloved's bosom, the tidal ridges, the ebb and flow, a unique phenomenon!
When the luna grows from New Moon to Waxing Crescent, whispering the earth to cast its beams for illumination
in diverse evolving phases from Crescent, First Quarter Waxing Gibbous, Full Moon, Waning Gibbous, Last Quarter, Waning Crescent to the New Moon,
both the celestial- bodies embrace each other
in variant robes of orientations!
Their hide and seek, merging enigma, provokes the lunatics for musing bardic explorations;
as once in a blue moon merges the peerless pens to extol,
the unfathomed metamorphosis of earth-luna's metaphysical communion!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
My beloved poet - a Victorian bard,
who took my breath away with his fascinating works,
when as a teenager I fell in love with poetry,
romantic and passionate.
a poet from Victorian era
who hypnotized me
with a very different kind of gripping poetry -
dramatic, subtle, philosophical, and metaphysical,
an exploration in the complex and turbulent minds!
I admired the story of a captivating Duchess who was gone,
but smiled an intriguing smile from a portrait -
envied forever by her resentful husband!
a dark side of mysterious love for Porphyria,
a stunningly beautiful woman, purely in love,
shockingly strangled by her psychotic lover,
who after this heinous act,
asks for forgiveness from merciful God!
and I got completely carried away by the way,
using plain children's vocabulary,
the outstanding poet narrated the powerful legend of a Piper,
who using his magically bewitching pipe,
took revenge on the deceiving townfolks -
who didn't keep their promises.
dramatic monologue -
the creative form of psychological portraiture
I fell in love with, along with the creator -
Robert Browning!
January 18, 2023
Inspired by "My Beloved Poet" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Macintosh
Relationships,
like resonance,
feel sacred to me
in a way that individual things,
like trucks
and guns
do not
survive long
without significant depreciation
Despite impressive commercial value
when first assembled.
Feelings seem organic
to neurosystemic me
in ways that thoughts,
metaphysical
verbal
rhetorical dogma does not
free us from static
closed
elitist
LeftBrain anthropocentric dominance
Not rooted in co-empathic embodied win/win
bi-hemispheric balance
Blending resonant
compassionate peak experience
throughout multisensory
bipartisan history
Of EarthTribe's organic
synergetic
sacred relationships
Facing
FatherSun enlightened mountains
and feeling
EarthMother empowering
deep valleys
sacred listening.
by fingers 1
tactile traces
three dimensional
2
visual joy
imagination illumed
displayed forever
in stilled life
to touch a dream
&be touched
by
poses for posterity
human forms
in creative postures
displaying
the beauty
that resides
in us all
from finger
toe to torso
a visual close-up
3
life-size
sensuous & tactile
a journey
for the eyes
to dwell
& meditate
consider & respond
to an invitation
to kiss to think
to applaud
the inherent spontaneous
4
sculptured
reality
5
stark
ingrained
statues
6
prosaic
inexplicable
simplicity
unsettling
perspectives
confusion ...
the
metaphysical ...
made
known
thought
pauses
gathered
in
the
readymade
created
7
or found
8
GOTO LINK AT HEAD OF POETIC TO SEE VISUAL FUSION
1 Coloured hand print
2 Crushed paper presse
3 Sculpture paper mache (front)
4 Coloured cut-outs
5 String installation
6 Sculpture paper mache (back)
7 Dada style safety pins
8 Hanging found object trouve
How glue me: On lacking sticktoitiveness
Most of my iv + Lix spittle existence
found me figuratively
(primarily academically, emotionally,
psychologically, sexually, socially...) adrift,
and malfunctioning blinker
analogous to a boat
without courtesy picture
an appalling Cap'n Ahab
ankh caws away!
aimlessly bobbing - treading water
analogous to drowning sailor akin
to a besotted drinker
just out of rest to be
rescued by Mister Rinker
sea ming lee without
any hook, line and sinker
despite being gifted with
an above average thinker
from without, where two
myopic ocular
orbs did winker.
All thru academia
just barely passing grades
metaphorically suffered from anemia,
and at my nadir,
thy prepubescent psyche
plummeted lovely bones
into grave state,
sans anorexia minus bulimia
mental health also linkedin
shot thru through with
healthy dose of dysthymia
cap (tinned em man hint mettle)
kept awake with insomnia
peppering cerebral
cortex with monomania
buzzfeeding earthlinked somnambulant
zombified condition
with a burning
desire toward pyromania
(nearly burned down the house
at 324 Level Road)
nsync with unmanageable
raging (red dee
and bull lush) testosterone
spawning satyromania
the above particularly
accentuated, and cresting
with accursed triskaidekaphobia
most agonizing, when
orbitz around Earth
accompanied by 756 full moons)
demarcated ten plus three
on a Friday the thirteenth,
according to Gregorian Calendar,
hence death be not proud
(originally titled
a fourteen-line poem,
or sonnet, by English poet
John Donne, one leading figure
in the metaphysical poets group
of seventeenth-century English literature)
sought after utopia
pleading, longing, and hooping
if I Willoughby
able to sprinkle
cremated ashes across Xenia.
When I was eight
I knew Paradise could not be merely secular humane
and yet be kind
and omnipotently divine
when a Great Horned Owl
breathed her last sacred breath toward me,
left alone
while she flew away
to where I would poorly follow
in my robust adult time.
It took me eight cycles of octave eight
to realize why
Paradise must include safe nests for diverse fowl,
politically
and ecologically cooperative seas
flowing complex schools of graceful fish
and surf's bilateral co-gravity
flowing out here
and ebbing in now
breathing Earth's healthy paradise past
and wealth-empowering future
polyamorous eternity.
Because an anthropocentric Paradise
would be monolithically,
and monotonously,
and monotheistically oxymoronic,
a scientifically and religiously ridiculous
metaphysical nightmare,
not ecologically sustainable,
not psychologically palatable
not even harmonically healthy potential paradise
because not synergetically
polyphonically
polypathically
polyculturally
or polytheistically healthy
wealth of peak co-empathic experience
regeneratively compelling
and degeneratively disspelling
economically enlightened
and politically empowering
co-intelligent empathic/dyspeptic
polytheistically inclusive
indigenous wisdom design.
Every polyvagal body knows
Heaven begins and ends
in an organically holistic
and politically democratic
globally healthy Earth Garden
with zero-balanced waste wealth stream
and nonzero-soul kind-kin potential
panentheistic elegant integrity,
yes?
So how does denying our naturally embodied climate
and unkind mind-wasting spiritual pathologies
help us become the perpetually ReStorative Paradise
we might synergetically peace together
Healing decadently autocratic Hell
monotheistically against sacredly wealthy
organically healthy Gaia Earth.
Meta science
Neither chemical nor physical
.................... metaphysical...
Rotation
turn around in action
..................rotation...
Liar
Who is fake, mostly
it always ends only!
IN THE FOREST,...
In the forest, the flower rests
.................. Forest !
THIEF
At the time thief does function
...........................dysfunction
CONTRAST
Enemy haste of perfection
...................imperfection
does
a poem need
to touch the
reader
with great pain
or can
we just
love
it's
moments
and whispers
it's tears
falling
from each word
should we
fathom
or
grasp
the
pain
drifting
in the
corridors
of our thoughts
or just
hold it
to our souls
for
a moment in time
then
let it go
drifting
on
wings
of poetry . . .
_______________________
January 24, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/whispers and moments
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1219-151-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for FGI Blog Series Special - Metaphysical
Brian Strand
Podium Place One
Artists are not so different,
at times glossing over truth,
hiding beneath a sheen --
some extra linseed goes
a long way...
What is this cry for realism?!
Picasso sought deeper meaning
via grotesque breasts~ elongated
elephant snout limbs -- perhaps believing that
the human tale needed elevation, himself
turned off by surface vistas; his squares and
points dulled by well turned chips, projected
missile-scraps flying from Leonardo's festive lathe of
tantalizing symmetries --
We marvel equally at
Dali's vaulted extremes, teetering balance --
a bleeding martyr of old Faith; despite all his
fiend distortions, imagined glorification~
dear, yet mere echoes, stills from the sable of
an unrequited Christian brush --
So...is the poet so different?
The Metaphysical digs, tunnels,
(anthropomorphic God)
chambers and catacombs to romp
about -- secretly displacing what
would otherwise be a straightforward
pleasant lyrical walk -- We
confound paint and words
presenting two types of portrait
of the same elusive image
the greater decipher, if there is
one to be had, will never be the
product of personal tribulation,
but the spirit behind, within, carefully
feathering, dotting and dashing
each of man's extended biographies --
a dance of human veils....