Long Minimalistic Poems
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What are mental aberrations when in a deep state of meditation by focusing on rejecting all thoughts and senses, and allowing the body to exist autonomously?
To call them visions is to purely describe the minimalistic tangible visual evidence of the experience without regard to meaning and other sensual possibilities. In Genesis 40 of the Bible, Joseph was able to extract meaning from the visions of the baker and cupbearer while they share the same prison. The two men were unable to understand, as they were passively experiencing the visions.
However, to be your own Joseph would require an active experience of these visions. Is this possible? It is if you are actively receiving while in a state of nothingness.
All conflicts must be removed, including the anticipation and understanding of the origin of such experiences. Only when you profoundly receive clarity of understanding may you know their origin. Is the experience from God, Satan, you, someone, or something?
Theologists call this activity being in a state of prayer, or is it? What would you call it?
Now that you are on the Path of Kabir, what truths will you find?
Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
—?Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020
Though predictability prevails
pertaining to my life,
nonetheless a pronounceable zeal
bestirred from writing,
and reading (no surprise),
which literary leaning, inspiring,
fueling cognitive pastimes
elicit unending appeasement
within mine private weal
without doubt (I intimate), and
predicated on an
adequately comprehensible, hypothetical
sampling of the population,
would probably accurately concur,
that hallmarks majority of
quotidian, weekly, monthly...activities
would NOT re: veil
dramatic seat of
the pants, nail biting, unreal
high wire, death
defying ironic steel
lee cliff hanging,
bare knuckle adventure squeal,
ling small hairs some deal
of the spine raising goosebumps,
sky diving with
out a parachute,
intercourse without a condom,
et cetera gasping
for breath, before sidereal
red giant stage
obliterates flora and fauna doth seal
verdict - case closed,
and legitimate reason to repeal,
thus this sketchy
pictured exhibition sedentary
cerebral efforts for real
marginally quiet natured unvaried
repertoire applying
thee measure piecemeal
asper wilderness trekking, exotic
excursions globe trotting,
(sans criteria as well spent
purpose driven existence),
mine unmasked,
minimalistic patrilineal
lovely bare bones (hollow winning)
by thee above arbitrary fictitious ordeal
figuratively hypothetical measures,
this generic guy, viz zero
less exciting even eating oatmeal
as resultant measurement,
cuz his feeble minuscule variation,
thinner than lean gruel
would NOT even
constitute living, ideal
as...a fly, thus accept this message
as plea whisking me
cerulean heights ethereal!
Unshakeable groggy state
plagues mein kampf
impossible mission to awaken
this comatose zombie
drugged horror - by potent
self manufactured narcotic -
oppressive tantalizing
nightmares indistinguishable
when supposedly conscious,
eyes cannot differentiate
dusky "reality" from
twilit zoned lifelike slumbers
confused with medication
induced hallucinations ferrying
me to lands unknown
lack proper visa to allow
this migrant citizenship,
cannot escape tangled web
spun since birth
threads tensile strength
beyond realm of destruction
incredibly dynamic force
defies sophisticated
contraption to measure
even against most
powerful dynamometer,
no contest when utmost might,
sans primal scream
regarding non anesthetized excruciating
spinal tap daily visited
on this beastie boy,
no matter summoning every last ounce
of mine (billeted) willpower
foregone conclusion collusion
effectually ranked less
than lame duck effort
defeated, jackknifed, stymied...
every step of the weigh
I loathe forlorn doomed curse,
a worse fate than death,
no life worth living when bereft
of interpersonal, "normal",
relational... trappings,
yet death not available
for this walled in hostage
imprisoned within inescapable Alcatraz
every blinkered instant nsync
with pseudo fictional
realistic psychedelic dreams
mocking (this bird – dodo)
man cave existence, a mere
abysmal charade, facade, jade
did minimalistic functionality,
where suicide an irrevocable
unfair punishment to Shana Punim
precious daughter, whose caterwauling...
would wake grateful dead!
in the absence of a soundtrack to life,
we walk silently,
yelling, screaming, spitting, fighting & dragging each other
through this “nasty, brutish & short”
existence,
without the all-encompassing symphonies of dramatic films,
the eerie minimalistic piano & acute
industrial beats of horror flicks,
our relationships churn whitewater rock-filled rivers,
chaotic & self-destructive,
with no death metal or hardcore to
accompany---
our depressing, slobber-ridden sob-stories,
lay face-down-drunk at the bar carrying no minor chords or
cigarette-laden blues to support us,
and if we are lucky enough,
ever since our hormones began to run rampant,
we dance a spontaneous idiosyncratic jazz but
neither bird or coltrane are able to come with us in our melancholy---
instead, we take each punch wielded,
upside the face
quietly, holding not the gritty reality of our entropy found in the frank poetic rhyme of
rap,
no,
it does not form a backdrop of strength behind us when a climatic moment hits,
when we could all really use it.
in the absence of a soundtrack,
our own actions, be them compassionate or
murderous,
they pound us back into the granules of stardust just as quickly as we came---
the words that come as supplementary
do not weave an actual melody,
one which we all might try & hum together---
our individual lives are silent movies
shelved & hardly watched by anyone but the characters found within---
alone, irrelevant & disappearing rapidly as the credits start to climb,
we fade out as curbed mimes
persistently trying to make rhythms with the tapping of our
tormented
fingers.
slither
dither
wither
~~~~~~~~S~~~l~~~i~~~t~~~h~~~e~~~R~~~~~~~
wither
dither
slither
~~~~~~~~R~~~e~~~h~~~t~~~i~~~l~~~S~~~~~~~
~~~>>>s~s~slitherditherwither~r~r>>>~~~
~>~>~>~>>~>~>~>~>>~>~>~>~>>~>~>~>~>>~>~>~>~>>~>~
i n
s
d
l
h
t r
g
e
You are a sustained landscape
one that changes only when you smile or frown,
a fermata, an endless note
something akin to love strung-out,
pulled thin
until it vibrates at the same tone
as does love, but
not deep,
just the tension of a chord made to sing
as a vibration
upon an unvarying reiterative.
The landscape is in you,
the one holds the other in place.
it forms your stance and mien. From a distance
of years
I see you smile or frown, wave or turn your back
from my outreaching arms.
The sounding wire is continuous,
only those minor wincing fractals
upon lips,
the corners of your eyes,
the bandwidth of a memory never changing.
The landscape does not build a thing,
not a brick or a leaf just
this constriction in my throat while I echo
the atonality of a mood,
and given the small modulations, your perpetual
disengagement,
and my need for this vision to change
even so, am I kept listening
to this
ever e x t e n d i n g
minimalistic curtain-call,
a thralldom
to a reenactment that draws near to love
while rebounding away.
PARPHERNALIA
retrospective
of
an
uexpected
sophistication
risen
to
prominence
in
a
burgeoning
atmosphere
a
generic
happening
in
improvised
fragments
of
instantaneous
action
yet
unexpected
linear
&
minimalistic
in
simplicity
fascinating
exterior
of
concentrations
collaborative
innovative
pursuits
of
transformation
confronting
the surreal
so strange
yet
a
transient
impetus
accessible
conceptions
of
floating
sensibilities
in
a
rarerified
outrage
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
Be not blind
Open your eyes
And see this world for that
Which it is,
A temporary stop upon
A journey through the cosmos
Be not selfish
Open your palms and let the colours
Of good vibes flow
Let them reach everyone else,
Even your enemy
For the unpredictability of this world
Can end up being so harsh
That you may lose your heart
Within the passing off of a second
Be not greedy
As to snatch off everything that comes
Across your path
As this world had initially made sure
That everyone who walks its paths would
Have their due
Remember, rather,
That a minimalistic lifestyle
Leads to healthy state of inner peace
Be not blind
See the invisible sparkles
Hear the silent drums
Bow to subtle mystical powers
Be sure not to be blind
As if you do,
Someday, the weight of regret
Shall grind you under it!
I try to open myself up some
But then I learn they are not really there
I tell all I feel inside only to recieve an aura of cold air
Loneliness builds inside me,
I'm numb but somehow I still care
People take advantage of me then talk bad of me like im not even there
Friends, family, exes, religion
I forsake them all now because,
What good did it do me? Makes me pull out my hair
Riddle me this feeling of isolation, God
If you are even really here
You answered my prayers with twisted jokes
And you know I dont think it's fair
But you know all about all
My opinion is like a thud down the stairs
Fallen from grace I feel, because creation seems minimalistic
A shot in the dark when I was yet a ball of idiotic light
Dimed down now, as my sight becomes sensitive
And my feelings for people become evermore rare
Fashion, the fresco of generational passion
keeps pace with the sprint of rushing times.
Like an art-form it makes cleaved impression,
modernity worn even if body contours don’t rhyme.
Vision blank, she cat-walks the fashion track,
dormant desire turns her to an exhibit called style.
A bedecked sheep trailing the peer pack,
proud of floating on current of vogue all the while.
Travelling backward on minimalistic pathway,
a derivative image she carves for people to adore.
In sweeping winds of time present she likes to sway,
thinking fashionably, less is more.
November 16, 2019
Contest : Fashion
Sponsor : Julia Ward