God starts to pour words into the mind
Which is the start of inspiration, I find
And in the mix things start to grind
The intentions, inspiration in our mind's God-lined
And the turning into all that's combined
Then God pours into the batter freewill
Every nuance, introspection, subtlety and thrill
All whisked together, the grist for the mill
And it all mixes rapidly and yet still
There's no machinery, no A.I. to ink out our quill
[Non sequitur]
So what happened to all the notebooks
The fragments and familiar phrases, lines and hooks?
And why wasn't credit given when someone overlooks
Where the black and white is found? not in babbling brooks
But in obscurity you'll find hiding the crooks
Do you have a poetic licence
to park your pitiful purple prose
(alliteratively he wrote)
it even puts my poor feet to sleep
and gives me painful coma toes
(literally did he quote)
And have you paid your syn tax
to persist in paltry poetry
(a non sequitur perhaps)
as dabbling in sad scribbling
is how your paean 'ppears to me
(no storied scripts mere scraps)
Before paper and pen you pick up
or possibly parchment and quill
(pheasant not porcupine)
please procrastinate perchance to ponder
prior to putting out pig in a poke swill
(pearls of wisdom before swine)
When blackened at that time,
as the fate of this country,
In the Dai Nippon colonial era,
the baby was born.
Childbirth is true fate.
breastfeeding as God's gift,
laudatory nature and remarkable deeds.
Nothing for partus sequitur ventrem,
children born not to slaves.
Mom, who nine-monthed him,
happy and grateful.
The baby was exceptional.
The Colonial Army never sets claws,
unexpected obstacles,
grounding and sinking.
Where?
Who?
Naqaba, walked,
followed a narrow path.
The Guru,
Sekumpul.
he's color blind
does not find fault
or mind her picks
—————
see you in court!
she retorted
the short of it
—————
star trek parsec
wait a sec, what?
non sequitur
—————
low libido
sees her, "whoa, son!"
also rises
—————
singular pun
everyone missed
save one, of course
—————
Some first attempts at some Than-Bauk, will try again
3 lines, 4 syllables each: xxxa, xxax, xaxx
Though you’re not clear that I am dear,
still brook no fear true friends aren’t near!
Should we control who serves our soul
if there’s no toll (our gain’s their goal)?
Is it a sin to let folks in,
their insight’s win blow to our chin?
Truth’s what I’ve got? Can ‘Truth’ be bought?
Does ‘Heaven’ plot ‘Man’s Camelot?’
Self-knowing’s pride we feel inside
(or mask to hide thoughts fools abide)?
Humility is what saints see?
Does Grace ‘we own’ seal our tombs stone
Or shield from hate determined fate?
Our urge to greatness demon’s bait -
Satanic lure! Define impure?
Will to endure (non sequitur).
Long Tooth
December 10th in 2021
Another world in flux rings a
true intimate intensity floating
on fingerprint theories of colors
in mythical memory orbits. Symmetry
by orphaned skye blue exiles
never looking back beyond now--
gray matter time marches on toward
my chaste chromatic fantasy of
ghosts we never knew. In this
half awake mainframe madness a
distant shadow guides my thorny
imagination to an aquatic firestorm
lo-fi omissions, when the summer of our
love, you left me, like broken machine
keys--non sequitur. A last kiss starlight
sweet and sour--that last dance like fast
approaching trains fares paid but passengers forgotten
far, far from a homeward embrace----forget
past wrongs of verbal malice aforethought—-
nothing personal,
Kari.
The Cinematic Film Treatment as a stand alone element
in the aesthetic revolution we are now not witnessing
Non Sequitur - Script Excerpt
"Nyuk Nyuk" and "Whoop Whoop", two archetypal vagabond minstrels sing an ancient free-meter saga describing the political turmoil of the Pavlov basin Dogbone Kingdom and the pilgrimage of Bobby Molecule from oral tribalism to industrial culture in an immersive ambiance where anyone and anything can be "evidence".
N & W sing in falsetto to the rhythmic accompaniment of wooden matches being struck alight.
“He progressed clumsily unable to presume a pause
knowing that what is perceived always follows its cause”
(repeat ad nauseum)
From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon
The mind flits left to right
Like a moth to the light
Forward and back seem so simple
Appearing as immutable principle
Doubt rears its ugly head
Then we try the opposite instead
Thinking stuck in the primal abyss
Leaping out to a false premise
Landing on a non sequitur
Sillogisms flying past in a blur
The quid pro quo one can't deny
Shows logic that we all decry
Aristotle would be exasperated
While the duplicitous are vindicated
Go through two doors at the same time
Prove it's not shorter to use a straight line
Flighty creatures that we are
When we wish upon a star
Twin deceivers are zig and zag
Truth can evade like boast and brag
Some thinkers think to bend not break
Especially with crucial issues at stake
Forever we're swerving to get so far
And that's the truth of how we are
Mostly unsure of what we know
Off zigzagging we blithely go
If you need to be deceived by negative deception
Or seduced by a subtle suggestion
Just wear a belt with suspenders
Or prepare to surrender
a pair of true and solid truths.
Non sequitur--I have more than one pair of tooths.
To reinforce that double redundancy
Borrow some supreme supremacy.
It is never abhorred
Always adored.
“I regret I said that,” I said.
( On the eternal non-sequitur of Prose Poetry )
The mess on the passenger side floor of my dodge van is prose... or poetry?
The battle rages!
Are we dialectical heirs, or hairs?
"The cross or the cross hairs". Carrol said that.
"He was awake a long time before he remembered his heart was broken". That's Hemingway.
"A rose by any other name". Shakespeare, of course.
A poetic work in the making... A poetic mess!
Of all, only the half-drunk bottle of Merlot taunts me to exhume it.
The rest are content to be casts off of a crippled civility,
becoming themselves reminders, of the broken heart that names them.
As for me, I smoke life-shortening cigarettes in the sun-damaged van,
drink blasts of black Merlot in the shadows hush, and somewhere,
in midst of these confusing conspiracies, value oscillates- a shame-faced moon wanes.
Some draw to the light. Others, the flame.
the non sequitur
essentially when we defer
to what came before
which we regarded as a bit of a bore.
Ignorant
I was
I like the way I spent hours drawing, lying on my belly lying on the carpet
Undisturbed, basking in the late afternoon rays of sun through the cheap blinds.
But I was so young then, maybe five or six
And I didn't care about the way I felt in idle times.
Ignorant
I am
I hate the way I move, the way I turn away from others
I hate the way I think!
My logic feels like a game of non sequitur, and no one is declared the winner!
Aimless and desperate and dispassionate and pressed for time
I'm a living paradox, in search of a paradise that doesn't exist.
I'll admit, I throw myself at unrealistic expectations, exquisitely absurd dreams.
I'm a sucker for escapism
A lover of men and women
I'm kind and honest if I'm in the mood, haha.
I know.
I'm kind of ridiculous.
In all honesty.
Beside Every Iridescent Node Grows
Beauty, Eyeing, Instigating, Nodding Gracefully.
Bounty Energizes Inundating Nascent Growth.
Brilliant Emerald Ignites Newborn Grains.
Bathers Each In Nuance Gather.
Beyond Eternity, Infinite Night Gropes.
Beside Emerging Isotopes Nonchalantly Grasping
Bottle-necked Entities In Nature’s Great
Beneficence Engages Ideology's Non-sequitur
Givers.
Bare endings. Idols Neglected Gape.
Basking Ecclesiastic Idiosyncrasies Nascent Glow.
Because Each Idol Names Great
Beauty. Effigies, Itinerant Namesakes, Grin.
Beside Each, I Narcissus' Grow.
being being being being being being being
First Published in Femmewise Cat
Puzzle Pieces
by Odin Roark
How troublesome the process
This jigsaw puzzlement of completion
That piece of apology
Impatiently gnawing at conscience
Never uttered
Forever evading the moment
The congratulatory gesture
Ever studied for the right angle
The approach that would empower
Not merely pander to an ego
The closure unattended
Acceptance of grieving’s unfamiliar form
The not-yet-ready release from
Mistake’s stubbornly suffocating choke
Even saying I love you
Remains held in abeyance
Fearful of misjudged reaction
Forcing rejection once again
Yet…
Patience remains as always
Our least respected
And most willing protector
Might forbearance have but one goal?
The simplest move of all
Acceptance of the game
Oh how we question
Engagement of challenge
The forever-perplexing summons
The curves
Angles
Miscalculated chances
When life’s countdown only asks
We respect commitment
Without need for interlocking
For conquest
Or gain
That winning is non sequitur
To mortality’s premise
That always-alive existence
Provides tireless refinement
For the countless puzzle pieces
Yet to ponder
Rooms
by Odin Roark
How prescient that first room
The one where under the bed
Proved private the light
Where flashlight and toy soldier
Became all that was needed
Came
The room with desk
Where locked door
Gave entrance to video games
While parents assumed study
Came
SATs where drawn curtains
No boom box
Only silence
And the study focus
Made the room
Came
The dorm room
With beer-can-crushing-to-the-head roommate
Making for final exam hell
Where stolen passions
With sorority queen fantasy
Made eating
A non sequitur
Came
The office walls
The room for fortune
Made eventually corrupt
With drawn curtains
Came
Marriage’s bed-room
That place where all became prescient again
Where a child would validate a wife’s existence
While with loving acceptance
A husband’s duty would be carried out
Came…
Came…
The rooms never stop
Some their final architecture
That of nursing home green
Other’s of palm-frond-shack freedom
Still others…
Soho 3-story condo prison
Rooms
Always unknown
Until they’re not
Forever a four-wall measure
The capsule
The coffin
Chosen destiny
One way
Or another
Sub Categories
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