Long Synaptic Poems
Long Synaptic Poems. Below are the most popular long Synaptic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Synaptic poems by poem length and keyword.
I said to my son,
He said back to me,
To be honest with us,
I'm worried
We want to be happy
while bypassing disciplines of left-brain healthy
is not too right-brain cooperatively sappy.
But, after my ancient lifetime of trying
directly for prosperous happy
that may or may not lead to left-brain healthy,
that may or may not lead to right-brain wealthy,
I hope you can benefit
from what we redundantly say,
more than what I've actually done
in front of you
and behind your back,
confronted you,
denied,
and what I've failed to take left-with-right back.
We want to be happy
and to win wealthy left-brain ego-fame
however flashingly synaptic
even at the price of ignoring natural/spiritual resilient healthy
is not all that win/win polyanna maniacally sappy
nor lose/lose despairingly immoral crappy
So I have done
and we long to be done
with such lose-happy and lose-wealthy self-prophetic life confusion
profusion
contusion,
Of unhappy cognitive left
and disaffected unwealthy right
dissonance
provokes short-term wounded choices for mere satiation
because long-term resiliently healthy happiness
feels too right-brain prominent sappiness
suffering left-brain crappiness
Both un-together remaining mutually blind
to integrity of global win/win GoldenRule manners,
uncrappy and unsappy,
too remotely not experienced on our shared big mainframe
but maybe flimmery-glimmers of light emerge
in more everyday lighter healthy,
wealthy,
and wise here/now
space/timeless moments.
To be honest with you,
I'm worried
we want to know abundant happiness
without accepting and committing to our win/win integrity
as ego/eco-systemic
left/right cooperatively integral
Red/BlueGreen
yang-fire/yin-water
holistic nonsectarian
non-partisan
non-violently communicating health vulcanizers,
optimizers,
re-creators,
transubstantiators,
creolizers,
With happy inter-hemispheric ego/eco-logicality
speaking dipolar bi-loyally
in cooperatively resilient
health/wealth solidarity
Which I think everyone would regeneratively agree
is not too sappy
nor too degeneratively crappy
to remain responsibly happy
despite all our co-arising snappy facts
without contextual slappy feelings.
MuddyFingers
I shall write in catchy thoughts
encased in phrases
lead you through a maze
of pussywillowedhazes,
in search of ducks that bark
and dogs that croak.
Snippets of mind strings
all cut too short
braided into knotted
terse retort
leaping the synaptic
sentence gap
two footed landing in
apresprungtrap.
Stream of consciousness
or babbling brook
searching for the stones
already took
seeping through the dams
of mud’s dismay
children in the midst
ofmudpieplay.
Sloppily creating
works of art
eager hands at work
in willowed haze
ducks that bark
in sunshine left to glaze
thoughts allowed to wander
through the maze.
Cats with wings
on tree limbs with the crows
childrensmuddyfingers
up their nose.
John G. Lawless
1/13/2016
the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that Hitler and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his ass to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,
Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee
As I pound down that first cup of coffee
And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies
Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals
I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear
I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair
Lying through their perfect blazing white teeth
about the great success the government is having
Following the great leader’s latest pronouncements
I want to scream
and shoot the TV
and run out side
Shouting
Stop the world!
I want to get
off this ing crazy planet”
The earth does not care a whit
about my attitude problem
It merely shrugs
and moves around the Sun
In its appointed daily run
the universe whispers
in my ear
time to drink more coffee
for an attitude adjustment
And I sit down
The madness dissipating a bit
And enjoy my second cup
Of heaven and hell
In my morning cup of Joe
Nuthin’…..
I do it all the time…
been doin’ it all my life
y’know….nuthin’
Started early – as a kid
during Mom’s interrogations
“Where were you?”
“OUT.”
“Who were you with?”
“NO ONE.”
“Where did you go?”
“NOWHERE.”
“What did you do?”
“NUTHIN’”
As I aged doing NUTHIN’
became an art form.
For with age comes the pretense
of always “doing ‘SUMTHIN’”.
Oftentimes I have been asked
“what are you doing?”
My answer – “NUTHIN’”
Some people have a difficult time
grasping the beauty of “NUTHIN’-NESS”
I read recently that the Dalai Lama
meditates for five hours each morning.
He has achieved the highest level
of doing “NUTHIN’”
When I am “meditating” people ask
“What are you thinking about?”
I tell them – “NUTHIN’”.
They voice their doubts
saying it is impossible
to think about “NUTHIN’”
I tell them that it is possible –
to think about “NUTHIN’”
even while doin’ “SUMTHIN”.
AH – the art of “NUTHIN’-NESS”!!
To rest, unfocused, un-entangled,
in the spidery synaptic web.
So, next time you feel compelled
to strive for the peak of the mountain,
ask the guy sitting at the bottom
quietly contemplating his navel
what he is doing……
drop the backpack of life
and join him
in doing…..“NUTHIN’”
John G. Lawless
9/15/2015
You will say something mundane
then a sudden potency
will scratch my skin.
I mention an ordinary thing
and you show me where
my words
are fine silk or a brief abrasion.
An invisible tissue
connects a common language
into questing passions.
I imagine the tympanic bones
of our ears as they converse,
the contrary vibrations
form chess pieces
that tango briefly in our eyes.
You say an odd thing
which I cannot translate.
I comment upon something
you have no knowledge of.
In-between the words
campfires burst into flame.
Meanwhile the passion
keeps pouring the heat of sight
into synaptic junctions.
What we see is a haunting
of words not said,
there’s only this deep listening
in the clamoring flesh.
Shall we be carried away like fish,
or a bird scooped up from a pond of sky?
Will winged creatures of mythical belief assemble
at one synaptic point, just for each sudden death?
Will we go hot and heavy,
or coolly into the flowing bright,
or into both darkness and light
carried by one nose or ear hair,
or a blood drained toe,
baldly bawling or sweetly serene?
Perhaps departing tethered to a rippling back,
between silver moth wings singed
with a fiery transcendence
as we scorch through astral drapes?
The cold side of the moon may open
as a pure Day-Lily; a clerking ghost
busily writing our years of last words.
At pieces or peace among the white satin lining
of funeral flowers we will either appear or disappear,
once more boxed snugly in
against infinity.
Lifted lightly from familiarity
Sleep's gesture caresses cells
Taken to nearby bewilderment
Where stagnancy busily dwells
Liquid lambent shooting star forms fragment
Vapid vexations vanquished in fantasy's fire
Mist masked span transcends measurement
Vision's fusion surpasses language quagmire
Imprisoned waking cognition
held in category's secure structure
Dispelled impediments crash cascade
preceding sleep's redeeming tenure
Ignited sizzling spiral whimsical continuum
Themes undulate with kiss and chase thrill
Trauma's feather sinks, treasure 's stone floats
Detached components reconcile at will
Dream chariot leaps easily
Obliges unassuming passenger
uncover unique anecdote
Intriguing as a stranger
Driven chivalrously soaring splendidly, lured enticingly
Revelling in brain' s carried captivation sole function
Travelling happens spontaneously without momentum
Contented centre offers converging clock hands junction
Revelations ripple, expanding truth
Roller coaster riding outside reality
Symbol's eventual meaningful messages
rise as a halo, impartial to gravity
Reason's region, sensible staid evades taboo
Indetectibly dilating pineal stillness vibrates
Untouched pastures in sleep domain permit oblivious
From fences of accepted, dream's newborn liberates
Catapulted!
Conscious corners sent as envelope ratified
deliver obvious, wafting surreal's torment
Clumsy clambering of mind identified
hankers for hibernation's brief dormant
Harvest of Mind
by Odin Roark
Acres of mirrors
Reflecting yesterdays upon today
Refracting wisdom’s tundra of experience
Into regret's abstract lessons.
How flexible
This mind of bendable energy,
Linking limbotic senses
Into a synaptic playground
Where one’s child-like recess plays perpetual.
Discovery beckons,
Hoeing brain’s porous marl
Bearing not the sweat of work,
Rather seedling’s preparation,
The cultivation of pain and sorrow’s rich compost,
The irrigation of past years’ yield,
That foundation of trial and error’s natural reward.
As each day's light finds horizon’s solace,
We slumber into mind’s picturesque growth,
Participating in collage-dreams,
Challenging synaptic connections
Smiling or crying,
Winning or losing,
We either concede as spectator
Or become a player,
A harvester of continuance,
The perpetuation of cognition’s daily bread.
Yes
‘Tis wondrous property we carry about.
Respected, it thrives.
Neglected, it weeds.
Rejected…
But a fossil-in-the-making.
An expedition back into the dark jungle,
a rain forest shrouded in the haze of history,
brought about by hidden enterprises.
Lost and Found
Mandy
Battle weary am I, war warn.
To shreds has my heart been, torn.
From my middle Daughter, only scorn.
Mouthing hateful words, my soul doth morn.
My heart laden heavy by the icy coldness
from adolescent, peer mimicry, its boldness.
Living with fear of love lost, of lost intimacy.
I feel I have no more, as a father, legitimacy.
My heart, my soul tortured by all the pain.
Echoing off the barren, jagged walls, of my terrain.
Monsoons battering these walls, with heavy rain
saturating every synaptic cleft of my shattered brain
with the death of my tears, as they become lost
in the quagmire of life, what a disastrous cost.
Does it come from her head, I might have a chance.
From her heart, it will destroy this parent’s dance.
All this dread, drenches the trenches in my head.
Does all of this mean, to her, in her mind, I am dead.
It seems, as her parent, her father, I have lost any chance.
The price I have to pay for standing up, taking a stance.
All the lies culminate with the loss of belief.
Deceptions, con games, from them no relief.
Lost faith, loss of trust only offer one, grief.
Respite from all of this heart ache is so brief.
These hateful, mean spirited words resonate
disrespect, rebellion, verbal abuse that state,
this war I wage, with such rage, will go on and on
until a light comes on, on a new day it will dawn.
B. J. “A” 2
May 8th, 1998
Epilog
Twenty three years have slipped by.
The Daughter, once the apple of my eye,
I no longer hear from or get to see.
Phobias, anxieties, that is all she be.
Revisited, Revised
November 1st, 2021
An enchanting damsel 'Maya' *
diamonds shine in her ephemeral eyes
roses adorn dreamlike moments
and peacock feathers float in space.
opulence of this goddess soothes,
Yet tremors in mind reverberates
diving deep within to decipher the arcane
An ineffable world, is only a projection
with million fine strands of attachment,
combining synaptic neurons in epochs.
In immanent beauty of wide sensations
everyone and everything is wrapped in 'Me'
But beyond the cognitive darkness,
in the neon of nocturnal mist,
thoughts no longer are made of words,
things no longer have any name.
Our existence detached from cycles
resonates in hallways of consciousness.
When our eyes close, the mind opens.
As an illumination within transcends
higher and higher to an unblocked sky,
surpassing all boundaries till infinitum.
Profound sentience pirouetting to eternity,
an omnificent enigma of boundless ecstasy.
*'Maya' is a Sanskrit word means “that which is not” (i.e. illusion)