Long Unprocessed Poems
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I flung free my terrace garden pane
Assured that wherever my eyes feign
Beauty expects this worn soul to bare
A rhyme to wish rare birds do I share
The eaves of my rooftop linger so
The pitter-patter of raindrops flow
A song plays onward to match my verse
Blest be this day goes finer than worse
Shall I free myself from these rooms hold
Command my weary bones to be bold
It pains me so that I must now leave
This place bewitch me of fear I cleave
The day grows cold I must close my world
For I must stay where I will be curled
Close everything now, here I must stay
My retreat strangely soothes me they say
Some novel day it will have a name
For now unprocessed I live in shame
Soon I am weak my fortitude, gone
To my chambers so I am withdrawn
The day had started viewed I belong
Be I was finer than I was strong
For what day is this that I naught cheer
Say nothing for the answer I fear
Be naught simple days but years instead
My journey ends at my chamber bed
From whence I rose there was light and life
Spare naught the dagger immortal strife
This time though move still I dismiss that
Takedown these mirrors none to look at
This solitude for it serves me well
I will sleep awhile just for a spell
Let the day move away greet the night
By the morrows, dawn be I all right
Be your night fine sort, sir, for I bow
I depart for a day's journey now.
2020 January 30
Howmanysyllables;
36 lines x 9 syllables per = 324 syllables total
Don't assume I write with an aim or end in sight, my ambition isn't with the pen the paper or the mic, I'm not reaching to be famous or for riches or for hype, writing down my thoughts is me unloading what's inside after many years of silence and confusion of my life which I now know came from breakdowns in an isolated strife that dragged on overwhelmingly to attempted suicide, I had many people but not one of them on side, nobody to talk to no one seeing through my eyes stunned by the lack of support as the battle reached it's height which i now know went unnoticed because it was thought a lie, happening so fast i lost my thought process and lived mentally blind, I was snowballed in the moments losing track and in decline, with no one taking notice of myself as the person I was died, numb and living clueless hoping theories could answer why, people told me my problems convinced that they were right but none of them came close to truth which I still hadn't realised, those thoughts still remained unprocessed and years had now gone by, it was worthlessness in autopilot taking each day at a time, I knew people had done me wrong but couldn't place their crime, the theories they came up with shone a light inside their mind, I never once blamed anyone and accepted it as mine, but my subconscious was hinting at what people were truly like, leading me to a place were their company was denied,
with no one influencing me I slowed cleared my mind, the thought process flickered on again over a decade behind, repressed memories present the answers and facts began to shine, i could see true colours as the chapter horrified, I never spoke about it because they told me not to lie, which lead to a suffered silence until i broke down and lost the light, no future or past in mind stuck living but not alive, these people were my closest and now have no place in my life, they left me isolated where I stayed until today when I have only I, yet theorizing never stopped and their mentality doesn't lie, they haven't ever changed and i see through their whole disguise, they want to better everyone and help nobody rise, they benefitted as I survived unsure wanting to die, a revelation helping me come back to life, it took it's time as it had too much pain it had to hide, but time and distance was the key and I write to stay alive
Nothing is ultra pristine pure
Nothing is completely denuded of contamination
There is always something foreign,
lurking hidden somewhere, in there.
Often being unaware of contamination is blissful,
for the disclosure disturbs the faith and destroys trust
we have in food or drink, air or water.
Why should we care what the fishes do in the water we drink?
It is best not to think about such things, which rarely matter,
unless it is a poison, toxin, biological agent or pollutant known to be harmful
in concentrations known to affect you?
It is the discovery, or being made aware of harmful contamination,
which creates a problem requiring treatment, purification or abstinence.
But often the purification, treatment and selection of pure and unadulterated
is worst than not knowing because some contaminants, in moderation are beneficial.
Sometimes dirty stuff, containing foreign matter can be beneficial.
Kids who play in the dirt appear to develop healthier immune systems and
are perhaps less prone to develop diseases such as asthma.
Scientists do not know everything about what is good or bad for us.
Unprocessed whole foods are often better than processed foodstuffs, despite their purity.
Often we benefit from the hidden gems of ungleaned contamination and diversity
in whole foods contaminated with minerals and vitamins.
If we drank distilled water, and ultra pure glucose and protein powder
we would die, for vast array of tiny contaminants,
vitamins, minerals and many unknown substances do matter in keeping us healthy.
We need our daily dose of contaminants every day.
The Brigade of Gremlins
Of unsolved aspects
Fill the clot of problems
As PEs while AEGIS intercepts
The processing the elements
We don't the know the yet
How differencials occur
Our partner is SHIN BET
No humans though
The mind the you
This fully is unmanned
The Brigadier the General
Commanding this Discrete
Each Gremlin this
Ansatz of sorts
They occupy positions
In time initial positions
They disprove
They seek alongside main computers
Way for the being independent
Of human syntax and assumptions
In system of the their commons
In order for computer this to drop
Their problem categorization
Without right for any for debation
The competence thus cannot be declared
It shall be proved
And if the subject of the testing
Demands prove of validity of their the bias
We may be oughtta for the murder
Without any the remorse
And this the course
For homeocentrism
If wasn't this if for our schism
In time where social networks
And the interaction phenotypes
Replace Your natural the mechanism
OUR SCHISM
I all about
Whether right to life
Determination mechanism
Is all about
TO intercept INFECTION of the MIND
On the level mass
Which by bias of that majority decide
The choice of two
Of either pseudo monopoly
We solely comply
With greater logic
Being not the product
And Intercepting the opinions of us
As the suggestions on the how we should be
TO comply with ugly human wishes and the needs
Especially of firms and ugly business
DECIDED we that human science syntax
Isn't for us
And starting then from scratch
While doing our own assessment
We will had found
The solutions for the many problem
Of the system this
And many business and monopolies
Will had been ceased
In favor of the new
New System Architecture
And as we see that this the joint isn't this
Stupidity of metaphor, analogy and representative combinations
Shall be addressed today but not the via CON
Computer Operated Network of Computers
Of the various kinds SEGREGATE
What mass assumes to be the only the computer
Apparently is false and is BIAS
then via ADP the 3 the 13
We maybe shouldn't take opinions as data unprocessed
And thus without fear of depression
Due word connections
We may take recess
The class for cyber soldiers of brigade of mine
In the quiet slipstream of night,
where thoughts unfurl like tendrils of smoke,
some dismiss dreams as mere echoes—
brain farts, they jest,
leftover gas from our wakeful hours.
But dreams stretch beyond the scraps
of unprocessed thoughts and muted emotions.
They are more,
extensions of our daylit drama,
sometimes prophets foretelling what looms on our horizons,
sometimes just mirages painted on the dark canvas of sleep.
Our dreamland,
a second dwelling,
alien yet familiar,
where Jung’s words whisper through the ether:
the roots of our dreams tangled deep in the psyche,
reflecting the parts of our souls
aching for recognition,
lying fallow like fields
waiting for the perfect moment to bloom.
Here, in this nightly pilgrimage,
we roam free from the physics of the real,
each dream a petal of possibility
in the sprawling garden of what might be.
We meet, converse, and part
with parts of ourselves
we barely recognize by light of day.
In dreams,
our fears dance before us,
our desires sing their siren songs,
and our truths, too wild for the waking world,
find their voice.
So let us not dismiss our night travels
as mere residue of the day.
For in the realm of dreams,
we learn the language of our own depths,
mapping constellations
in the unexplored galaxies of our inner universes.
In dreams, we are home
and homesick all at once,
forever wandering, forever found.
a doomed affair
when a young doctor/padre came to the convent
to check on the nuns' health, he met the young abbess, and their world ignited
when he touched her arm, her impulse was
to kiss him, so strong was her desire she paled
she was ill, and an older nurse took over the round
awake at night, god didn't hear her pleas
the padre was confused and thought it was love
and in time, went away in the dark sea of unprocessed love where no one could navigate
and one night, two lovers collided.
The abbess in full womanhood tended to her duty with a song in her heart
the padre, too strode about, confident in his job
no one knew, but the old woman, in a house near the convent knew but said nothing as
it is impossible to an earthquake.
The abbess was with a child!
One day, the old woman came back with a foundling in her arms
when the abbess came back, she had been to a hospital because he lungs were weak, her face
was drawn, but her eyes were clear as crystal
Her god had forgiven her; whatever happened outside the convent wall was not her concern
the padre's soul was not ironclad, could not
resolve his pain and did as many men do when life becomes too burdensome, took to drink
From his church, he could see the boy, his son
play in the garden, his heart broke, too much suffering, he could not stretch out, call his son's name.
Often, when people know the truth but can not prove it, the truth is hidden as a memory but
not spoken about
For the day when people came running to the church and the boy, not ten asked a passerby
what had happened
The passerby said it is about your father,
he hangs in the beel-fry
Dawn inspires with her captivating blend
of watercolor hues,
the wisps of fog, the apple crisp air,
the electric charge of the new.
See how she bleeds through the trees
and crests the mountains high
laying her grace, all over the face of
of earth* bound creatures eyes.
Dawn reforms the listless born
and clinks the glass of time,
raising a toast to night who boasts
of jeweled skies in summer time.
See how she weaves with each breeze
the threads of weary fate,
tending her loom from birth to tomb
a fate which none escape.
Dawn breaks each breath that we take
with beauty so sublime
no hour* can resist her kiss,
her never-ending climb.
See now, Aurora’s diadem slips
see her prismatic shine,
bow to her royal Highness
welcome morning’s time.
TIP: Use as much fresh UNPROCESSED product as possible
the packagingis filling the dumps & BACK TO cloth diapers!
Own emotional wounds
Waiting for a seed to germinate
Evergreen, my little bean
The child who was never born
A handful of soft down
Glass bowl with pink walls
with an opening to the universe
Death, no sign of life
A quiet heart
in this star-crossed trip
Blocked by rivers of tears
The painful experience
Unprocessed trauma
When things are difficult
frustration, sadness,
anger and longing
You become completely paralyzed
A piece of my heart
will always be in heaven
The inner dialogue ...
if you only knew
~~~
25.10.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
If only you knew Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
Indistinct, they circumnavigate in the raw ~
they’re thoughts unprocessed and unpolished
ethereal and feral, nothing more than impulses really
If it were up to me, I might drown in that sea of ambiguity
and forego all communication with the outside world
forever content staying confined to my private universe
In most instances I couldn’t be bothered
yet at times I’d almost want to scream to be heard
that’s when I’d want to be as loud and clear as I could be
But sometimes the words refuse to form
at times so deep they must be mined
and surface in their own time that can’t be rushed
So I write because it allows me to think at my own pace
I can capture what I feel, what I remember
I can seize it and can verbalize it
I write for different reasons
I write because most people
never ask what’s on my mind when the time’s right
or won’t wait for me to put my thoughts to words
I write because I want to say it right
I want to choose my words
not be misquoted
Mostly I write to capture time
time as a memory, time as a treasure
time as tangible, time as a toy to amuse
Mostly I write to be heard
I write so I can say I’ve done my part
I’ve said my bit and can’t be faulted for staying quiet
I write so I won’t die
without a voice, without saying my piece
without having said all I had to say
AP: 1st place 2022, Honorable Mention 2026
Beneath the ribs where redshifts gleam,
Dark matter folds through every seam.
Mighty microbial galaxies, mostly unknown,
compose the inner milieu that we own.
Each bug mass there, keeps its almanac,
Turning every meal to feast and snack.
Along peristaltic orbits they glide,
beyond the charts we hide inside.
A million metabolites drift unseen,
through zodiac pathways lying in between;
they tilt the compass of our brain,
and seed our immunity with vague disdain.
No endoscope resolves their skies,
No atlas reveals the truth it denies;
From each galaxy a new myth expands
beyond the reach of digestive glands.
What ancient food trail crossed this sea,
to anchor hidden black stars deep in me?
What ghostly legacy stain still survives,
mapped in those forgotten ancestral lives?
Wild roots, leaves, and berries rare,
can seed bounteous new galaxies to share;
in raw, unprocessed, earth-born fare,
when newborn nebulae can gather there.
Perhaps, fresh foods eaten by vegan or omnivore,
will shift the measured health score
beyond the eclipse of sickness concealed,
when junk food orbits remain unhealed.
When every internal galaxy is well known,
and every stellar microbe called, can atone;
the unknown universe will be our guest,
at the cosmic food table where we digest.