Long Stream of consciousness Poems
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Ordinarily, a discriminatory
guardedness factors large what I air
in close confidential quarters
within therapist office bare
ring pocked marked soul
of this feigned cheer
full contemplative, introspective,
and ruminative despair
ring fellow, whose unfettered
stream of consciousness
(oxbow lakes included) doth endear
me, asper when posting private
psychological scars fair
lee calloused now, during mine
placid lake state of being oblivious
if online readers scowl and/or glare
at how emotional
exposure seems cavalier,
yet the medium of cyberspace
deafens me against hear
ring objectionable outbursts,
thus not impair
ring ambition to reveal
much more about myself unaware
if some gal or guy
smolders with jeer
ring refulsion, not care
ring in the least about
regarding my dear
re licked existence, more so,
when bane of adolescence
as a nerd with longhair
internalized verbal assaults,
I let fester and roil
beating a path to air
tight impenetrable redoubt,
now demolition paid for by medicare
expunging angst, which
severely bruised ego, a nightmare
courtesy being nay say,
non braying "scapegoat" ne'er dare
ring to fight back, no...
never went nuclear
well...eons ago
admit swiped at spouse
altercations (often) triggered,
when the missus did swear
at me anger brewed
from her own overbear
ring similar saga (wallflower)
silently suffering scare
tactics loosed from anti semitic barbs
both our lineage of Jewish here
reddit tee, though near
re a jot, sans religion
Haim Ginott bore ye,
foyer hall ready aware
tummy, and no qualms declare
ring atheism asthma prayer
full leitmotif dog bless ya mud ear!
Since time began, most humans had the sense-
inside each soul lives God's Divinity;
a force that elevates us to dispense
we all are joined through this affinity.
Divinity inhabits every soul-
for God has fashioned us from His own will;
to live a life with blessedness our goal-
and inborn wish to spread gifts of goodwill.
No matter what the culture on this Earth-
awareness of Divinity is sound.
Our stream of consciousness exists from birth-
connection with our God remains profound.
Deep prayer and acts of kindness foster goals-
share that Divinity within our souls.
February 9, 2023
Contest: Writing Challenge - D Word
Sponsor: Constance La France
Word Chosen 5 - Divinity
*** MUSINGS ***
I have grown old,
thankfully,
dragging along all my ailments,
unavoidably, it seems, but endured ~ and
graced by the frequent
florets of wisdom
adorning the rounds of circumspect musings
— those streams of sub-conscious pondering —
which then course (perhaps too much)
into my rambling soeech —
and occasionally my babbling on about dreams —
throughout whose passages, I have found
I believe
in dimensions upon dimensions of reality
wherein our thick, surrounding present
come
the symbols; geatures; motions; keys; spirits
and intuited messages —
meant to expand
any narrow notice of this life.
————————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/18/2023
Thanks be to God
To ponder why,
In deep dismay
To Daydreaming in the stream of consciousness
Mixed in mind and heart desires
That detaches from current task and test,
Don’t quit your daydream
Trance aid fantasy
Intervision encapsulates me
Hallucination musing
Don’t quit your daydream
Imagining inattention gathers
Inattentiveness woolgathering preoccupation
Don’t quit your daydream
Emotional brooding
Obliviousness engrossment
absentmindedness Self-absorption
absence of mind
staring into space
abstraction
Don’t quit your daydream
lack of concentration lack of application
figment of the imagination
unrealizable dream Home is castle in the air
Wishful thinking fond hopes Self-absorption
Wishing upon…
Whatever it is Don’t quit your daydream
11/22/2022
For Don't Quit Your Daydream Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Whit dat tight till - say
yes, aye wool thank ewe
mooch at least for today
hoof fully (this Joe kerr)
can easily bide his time weigh
beef hoar rammy cows come home.
Meantime India interim
lemme clover - reaching
far out on dam moost precarious limb,
bot do nut inspect me tub bark prim
and proper, nor procrastinate for tim
marrow, cause spontaneous whim
will lose heft, no matter how inane
poetic palaver could by then
elude ding me noggin to explain
nebulous jibber jabber hokey folderol
even confusing to a Great Dane
a dog (of course)
man's/woman's beast friend,
not hounding visa vis discovering
you improperly verb (bait him)
bone a fied with noun (sense)
barking up wrong tree
dangling modifier as gerund
faux paws and inquisitive,
nonetheless countenance do lend
sincere cachet gnome hatter compared
to average superficial *****sapien
said former doggone creature just thru
facial expression can mend
"broken" heart and soul,
which rhyming tangent did send
yours truly off scent, asper initial trend
actually truth be told, no paw tickle har
matter, I sought to sink teeth into,
but let babbling stream of consciousness wend,
where petty full extemporaneous tooting
oh my didgeridoo, which initially scares
the dickens out gills of hooting
blowfish until they recognize
this bloke juiced pooting
air thru a long wooden tube, be yule
then their piousness piqued to pisces,
gather together as if attending school
always mindful to follow
the goldenfish rule
i.e. aldi tom not erring,
floundering, and getting
tricked, royally suckered, and
hooked becoming gruel
resulting within tummy higher
up the feeding chain,
survival of dragnets cruel.
fission expedition for
salmon to hope fillet
enjoys almost done hook,
line and sinker - hooray,
sans to steal mental energy,
and precious time may
king another reason to be
persnickety and every ray
zen to be guarded, when
wading in cyber seas tay
king precautions, once
I return from Uruguay.
If we humans were to create the vast nature in a dream life,
A sky like a sponge would absorb the pollution spreading around,
Each day heavy with clouds that hide the divine brilliance,
The vastness of the sky would pale before our weary minds.
Perhaps we wouldn't invent birds, but silent drones for purposes
That wouldn't know the morning song, the free and unbounded flight,
Our preference for straight and uniform paths would flourish,
Where stops are already fixed, and the unknown becomes fear.
A monotonous gray sky would reflect our ashen thoughts,
And diversity would be a forgotten dream in the corners of closed minds,
For uncertainty is an unannounced storm that unsettles us,
And humanized nature would wear a veil of dark fog.
Perhaps Mother Nature would no longer wear rivers in her gentle hair,
Without the greenery that envelops her like a gentle cloak, without flowers,
Without the textures of mountains and valleys on her sun-kissed skin,
Only a robot would remain, functioning for our benefit.
In place of her warm smile, a cold plastic mask would reign,
And the ultimate goal would be serving a humanity lost in itself,
A mechanical world, devoid of the mystery and beauty of life,
Where nature would be just a tool, not a source of miracles.
Thus, in this world created by us, the magic would disappear,
Leaving behind only a melancholic longing for what we've lost,
In a stream of consciousness flowing like a river forgotten by time,
For we have forgotten to see beauty in divine imperfection.
Shirring quirks
There is a hollow in my complex poet’s soul
ambivalence and contradictions a vagary maybe
a vagrant’s search for meaning roots expression
a void and a fill just the same a need to be heard
Stream of consciousness at best with sudden
abrupt twists and turns between flexible moldings
derived from schema files impressions of context origin
contingency and sometimes seeming incoherence
Incontinence it may appear and yet a gathering
when fragmentation on the fabric of my tapestry
feeds an inner need to reveal all clarity and still
remains in mystery of mellow capricious constancy
Is it weird and odd idiosyncratic in peculiar eccentricity
does it disguise more than it reveals am I too secretive
or shy when I play with words ad infinitum and on that
matter is it not absurd when scribbles are fixed in verse
Is it strength conferred or foible fancy sneaky meaning
when the open book that I am remains closed in view
of polar opposites becomes a gathering in the theatre
of mind with a puzzled audience on ranks and sidelines
My twirling on this planet used to be clear and absolute
with no conscious orbits left infallible of strong delusion
I am now free to dither to have more question than there
are answers and need to understand myself before such
Quirk dissolves and exclusivity becomes open inclusion
No bestsellers yet or never but at the moment I cannot
sell my soul to the highest bidder and remain just there
in tender reconciliation in what in where and when today
03rd February 2018
Women are our greater cats,
Slipping through shadows of old memories,
With silken steps, wrapped in secrets,
Gazing through the windows of our souls,
With emerald eyes and hidden mysteries.
You feel their presence in the quiet of the night,
When stars dance on the darkened sky,
And the moon spills its silver light,
Over the sleeping, dreaming earth,
Just like a cat that prowls through dreams.
They know how to soothe with a simple touch,
To purr silence into restless hearts,
To bring comfort on rainy days,
To be the eternal enigma changing shape,
An endless puzzle not seeking to be solved.
Women are our greater cats,
With their feline grace and hidden courage,
They are the rustle of the forest on a summer day,
They are the waves of the sea, dancing under the sun,
They are the longing born from a sunset.
Through the stream of consciousness, flowing without bounds,
My thoughts weave like threads of wool,
Into a tapestry of feelings and experiences,
Where every thread is an untold story,
Where every knot is a bittersweet memory.
Melancholy settles like a fine mist,
Over the vast fields of my soul,
And I wander through the gardens of forgotten dreams,
Seeking those cats, those women,
Who can show me the path to the light.
God’s is the realm beyond man’s understanding.
Underway is rapid and rabid deforestation of God’s domain.
As science expands, so does the chasm
between God and men.
Men think.
Thinking gives men science.
Men love science.
Men love themselves.
So they push God back.
They love God less.
They need God less.
They think.
By countless prayers
God would provide bountiful harvests
or terrible famines.
Science provides pesticides, fertilizers
and genetically amplified crops.
So the chasm expands.
By unquestioning trust
God would heal the sick and lame
or forgive the sinner.
Science provides vaccines and medicines,
it explains that genetics determine behavior - there is no sin.
So the chasm expands.
By candlelight,
monks and scholars would study scripture and
draw nearer to God.
Science provides electricity and the internet
where religion is a mocked antiquity.
So the chasm expands.
The width of the chasm is the reach of the Hubble
--and still--
God dwells beyond the realm of man’s understanding
across the chasm of man’s pride,
in the realm of faith.
Waiting eagerly and sorrowful in the silence
for a prayer,
for some trust,
for some lost soul
to find Him.
For when science fails a man,
he looks across the chasm for God
and a perfect love bridges the gap,
provides bounty,
heals wounds,
forgives sins, and
grants light still.
Despite what
men think.
06/12/15
*this was more like a stream of consciousness/free-write than a poem.
In the depths of silence, when shadows merge with thoughts,
I apologize for my silence, for I have been lost in the chaos of my mind.
The pressure building up at work is more than tasks and deadlines,
It's a heavy burden that presses down, a constant noise that won't quiet.
Sometimes, I wish to run, not from life, but from this version of it,
I know there are loved ones at home, but this burden is mine alone.
They have already given me more than I should ever have asked for,
Now they deserve only peace, the quiet of a love without weight.
I'm sorry if you see me falling apart, piece by piece,
If I disappear mid-sentence or stay silent for days in the shadows,
If I wither like a flower that no one ever bothered to water,
I never meant for my pain to spill into your clear sky.
But some storms do not ask permission; they come and tear apart the silence,
I tried to be the strong one, the silent wall that doesn't falter,
But I crumble in hidden places where no one can see.
It's not life I'm tired of, but the war of pretending I'm okay,
When I'm not.
In this stream of consciousness, we search for meaning in the chaos of the world,
The underground river of thoughts carries us to the depths of the soul.
In every flowing verse, there is born an incantation of rediscovery,
A dance of shadows and light, a call toward the infinite.