Mirror, mirror on the wall
in front of you I stand tall,
evergreen with virgin air,
confident without a care.
In prime of life and freshness,
in state of juvenescence.
I look at my reflection,
my body such perfection.
I'm a mirror in the hall,
tall as hung upon this wall,
show only what's true and fair
self-importance I don't share.
With this ego you possess
I don't see your youthfulness,
disrobing your pretension
reveals your true reflection.
ETHEREAL
To explain the unseen without pretention
The aether was once a scientific concept
But recently it’s attracting greater respect
The medium in which memes can connect
Yet it still remains very difficult to detect
Now it’s the province of a mystical adept
A term applied to the spiritual dimension
The ether is where signals pass through
Probably a vacuum or even dark energy
Ethereal can suggest something mystical
With elusive proof not readily statistical
And spiritual exponents being ever fickle
Underneath it all, it is a kind of synergy
But may leave us wondering, if it is true
"We appreciate the popular democratic intention,"
began the Drag Queen Ball proclamation,
'Equity for All'
We would even more appreciate
a more specific lack of pretention:
'Equity for All Victims'
of Straight
White
Patriarchal Privileged
Trauma.
The masculine hotness we admire,
and gladly serve,
is a renewed ecofeminist face
to replace past Patriarchal
Capitalist
unfortunate RightWing embrace.
Ecocide,
like Transgender Matricide,
devolves from Patriarchal-Capitalist
self-fulfilling dark prophecies
win/lose zero-sum survivalist economies
fueled by hellish
anthro-privileged
dis-rapturous
anti-health for all
anti-living Earth becoming All
monotheistically desperate
demonic despair
Of a Straight White FatherGod
incapable of ecocidal repair
while continuing to invest
in punishing deviance
from Straight White Male
cosmic monotheistic glare.
Most if not always
my consequences rest
in lamentation of spirit.
End if not means,
that crime is a call break
of thought bearing geniuses
I guess, if not pretention
That I am a man.
That everything I bare is an ordeal.
And every ordeal is quite alarming,
Wither we may loss or won,
Is a drawback in His time.
Happens Everyday
As the lobby door inhale fresh air
They walk in puffing the indoor
Hoping it will multiply their dwindling puffs
A limit imposed by the illness
Pretension turns into wish, hoping,
Mask may come off, turning into need for
A cane, a wheelchair or merely a crutch of concern
Search for hope becomes a primary concern
Door revolves all day long.
Similar exchanges similar masks
Years teach whether to peer behind the mask
Or to let the curtain stay
Their gypsy eyes searching clues
From my entry into the room, my posture,
My looks, position of my eyebrows–
Piercing every pretention
I ruminate facts and figures and
Use stomach full of experience
At times emotions escape from the vault
Expose lies of love.
Splitting Hairs
David J Walker
If you only knew
How often
I do just that
Splitting hairs to enter
Another dimension
Leaving me both here
And there, driving the streets
Of abstract convention
Where traffic lights are blue
And the tomorrows are
No longer new and are known
For abstruse pretention
Everyone seems to know my name
When they think they see me in
This other form
And then I’m gone again
In the split of a thoughts
Distension
Splitting Hairs
David J Walker
If you only knew
How often
I do just that
Splitting hairs to enter
Another dimension
Leaving me both here
And there, driving the streets
Of abstract convention
Where traffic lights are blue
And the tomorrows are
No longer new and are known
For abstruse pretention
Everyone seems to know my name
When they think they see me in
This other form
And then I’m gone again
In the split of a thoughts
Distension
And they asked of her,
said unto her:
Why do you write these words,
this ink on an invisible whiteness,
these corruptible scratching’s
as mutable as sand and water?
Surely poetry is but a reverie,
an untried pretention of truth.
By who’s authority do you speak?
She answered them saying:
Who called me poet?
I am that nothing from which
all manner of nothings come from.
The white page comes after me;
words come after me, not from me.
What you see as words and poetry
I see as the Holy Ghost
speaking through a skull.
Making Time For Jesus
Written: by Miracle Man
2-19-2019
Like so many, I had no time for Jesus, until,
On one routine day life became a bitter pill.
No avenue was apparent for me to place trust,
So my profound reasoning, made Jesus a must.
He was reaching out, while I was yet debating,
No longer could I ignore Him, with heart pulsating.
I suddenly believed, that only He was my answer,
He forgave my sins and took away my cancer.
He had allowed this thing just to get my attention,
My heart was now lighter with no false pretention.
Facing something from which, I alone, could not flee,
In my time of deep despair Jesus had touched me.
Pretention is a claim or an assertion
of a claim to or about something.
Use of affection to impress; ostentatiousness.
Maybe he had made another pretention;
When done was with much apprehension;
Rather obscure,
Not very sure,
And all of this did depend upon intention.
Jim Horn
I owe no apology for me being me
I owe no "i'm sorry" if I offended thee
I will never apologize for speaking my truth
Being sorrowful is uncalled for, for words spoke in youth
Any plea for forgiveness will fall on deaf ears
I was thoughtful in every vowel I spoke in my years
I have no justification, if it reduced you to tears
I somehow found joy in exploiting your fears
I was what I was, that fact remains true
But instead I can tell you just what I will do
I will assure you to help bring out your best
Can guarantee that I will try to help and invest
In bringing you closer to a better place of mind
I solemly swear, No words of unkind
With a vow somehow, change hearts on this planet
The covenent I explore is deep, I don't fully understand it
My obligation to mankind runs deep in my veins
I pledge to help relieve all the pains and the strains
The intention, with no pretention, is be who I was
Without the selfishness, or need for applause
A gust of shower
On the way to Bhubaneswar
In the midst of spring
And a window seat
After lots of request
To witness soothing views
Alas! Shockingly a broken window.
After rain
The shimmering fool moon
Like a steady but curious seer
Shower blessings on dhak flowers
To give them a look brighter and deeper.
Shivering were the leaves outside
And the lips and body of mine too
Amidst wind so chill
Blanketing the earth to still
Lulled me amidst silent dales and hills
Flowers and twigs
Rivers and streams, clouds and mist
Earth and heaven.
The raindrops on leaves
To be dew drops pretend
Carrying miniature suns in each
Steadfast like quiescence sages contemplating
Changes many as if they bring
The prediction of scorching summer
In silent echoes are spreading rumours.
To the shock of my matured pretention
Language learning kid of mine states in quest
‘The winter returns’.
In the pit, deep and hollow
Burning furnace, cried of sorrow
Cried his veins, but unyielding
Before the punishment unleashed
In countenance to arrogate His power
Heaven this day turned to hell
When in challenge of His kingdom
As a horse in a hot chase to furnace
Abrupt it stopped and the fling
The middle of furnace he was thrown
Punishment for Lucifer but he lives
To Him, His kingdom was in contention
In lore of creation he was in pretention
To bow to Him the creation he knew
In heaven rancour did rain
When Michael gorged his ribs
This furnace man must void
Before attainment of His chamber
But kingdom of Him in division
The one he holds, the one He owns
The earth, Lucifer in reign
But heaven, Lucifer in lost
Here Lucifer was choked with rakes
Slit it tore his brows to flakes
Dull blades pierced in rages
The eyes he raised to His Grace
Like Michael, my mind in fury
To Dante, furnace for man is puree
When furnace will turn to black
Before a man will kiss His feet
But accursed Lucifer still in reign
I want to go to Dismaland!
I'll thcweem until I'm thick!
I have blisters on my fingers
From the endless futile click
There'll be secretaries on it
Pulling non-existent strings
There'll be rumours of a con
On social media and things
I want to go to Dismaland
And see the horrid stuff!
How come I can't buy tickets
And my money's not enough?
In the shadows Banksy chuckles
He's got the Art World in his hand
He has turned pretention on itself
As planned
by Gail
I don't have the same stamina as a young man,
some girls look away and others say, " Sir! "
Is that because I am aging and losing my hair;
lately I've been wearing a cap, but they still grin!
Is Rogain the solution and the end to my frustration?
Will it be worthwhile to grow a full head of hair
and fool myself that I defy age and receive flair?
Why hate myself...instead of getting rid of pretention?
I can feel better accepting myself reaching maturity
without those silly attempts of turning the clock back;
I had my glory: memorable days full of laughter and vitality,
let others begin their journey and not end up a lonely Jack!
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
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