Short Synapse Poems

pulsing transit synapse
morse code of open mind
instigator internal

bring forward the glow of heavenly Light...

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The winter turns
completely upside down 
When we go mind to mind
In an elevated round
Of cyber synapse.

Perhaps....

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Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated...

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NEURON

Nerves all end in junctions
Not just any synapse
Never just point to point
None of the nerve signals
Needing reinforcement
Nature’s evolution
Now better understood...

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Poetry…
Conduit
Of the truth

Speaker
Of the almighty
Silence

Last synapse 
Of a feeling
Lost

Nerve ending
Of a forgotten
Dream

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)...

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Poetry…
Conduit
Of the truth

Speaker
Of the almighty
Silence

Last synapse 
Of a feeling
Lost

Nerve ending
Of a forgotten
Dream

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)...

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Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated

Fred Jagenberg – June 4, 2019...

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Multiple fractures of my skull
Makes my thoughts void and null
Motor neurons now shut down
Synapse connections now unwound
Muscles jerk
All thought burned away
But oddly enough
This was my finest day....

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Sparks and white wires
holding electric glow hands
flash the darkened gulf.

Rusty stars still shine
against the indigo night
sky wishes tattooed.

I taste each sky wish
White glitter in synapse strings
rusty, but brilliant....

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in a rapid wing
hovering even
slow motion
needs to be
slowed down

even the beating
needs to be set
from prestissimo
to larghissimo
Rimsky-Korsakov

tried to capture
the hummelflug
but this poem is
for the caliber of
the angelic colibri...

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somewhere lost behind my musings
one two three
let's count them all
while all rhyme and comprehension
swan dive spirals
as it falls
somewhere in the secret synapse
four five six
negotiate
while all thoughts and disposition
still remind me
I was late....

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I can feel my dreams collapse
into a single vibrant image--neural blast--
brief synapse--

of you, above,
as I now exhale my life’s last
true love.

My death,
a final gasped
breath--

I can feel my dreams collapse
as I now exhale my life’s last
breath....

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I flap, remembered
through treacherous gusts:
freedom dismembered
by old bloodline trusts

assuring collapse
with floods of treaties
prompting a relapse
of diabetes

bursting the synapse
in chemical sway,
tightening those bootstraps
till trust fades away....

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all the wheels
are still 
so no 
lights light 
my darkness

this must be
sleep for a
circus finds
me when i'm
awake so i must

make but 
with only a few 
to power a turntable
to start turning churning 
out Proud Mary but would

need thousands with
a thousand wheels
squeaking to try to
have at least just
one synapse 

spark...

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The blood calls;
though ether, cross burren;
o’er rolling sea.
The blood calls,
It calls to me.

Womb chant,
rent from cavern deep;
crying from a mountain peak.
The blood calls,
It calls to me.

As I grew and grown should be,
Still, ancient memories call to me.
Though cell and synapse, wild and free,
The blood calls,
It calls to me....

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Frequent expressions of wonder,
Onto those whom seek,
Distant and foreign lands to most,
In this awoken dream,

Hands perched beside rising conscious,
Invert direction of thought,
Submerged, the pineal opens,
Mystery forever brought,

Inside, I find we do collide,
Confine; only a choice,
Connected as the synapse bridge,
Speaking, without a voice....

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the constant
music in my mind
melodic loops
and melodies

transposed lines
juxtapose the left
brain video that
could be a photo

of you
for you
to me

your face filling
the screen but only
your eyes blink
as your silver smile

stays the same
all the while
my soundtrack
plays back around

again and again
the electric guitar
synapse riff of
Crazy Train...

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god muscles up

raw emotions bristle

neurons synapse and spark

she hesitates

learning to fly


the hair stands up

on the back of my

neck I shiver

remember to breath

learning to fly


her statue is as hard

as marble but she’s

as soft as vulerability

and so a woman

she’s learning to fly


with every day she

reinvents her future

she knows what she wants

she doesn’t hesitate

she’s learning to fly...

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You’re not listening 
You’re not LISTENING.
It walks it wends it winds it
Sighs.

I tried to taste the glistening light
I tried to suck in the sweet simple sadness
I tried to swallow the smashing waves
But instead
They swallowed me.

Will it stay with me?
This sticky poison, clinging to my throat.
Stinging in my lungs.
Bringing down my heart,
Beat by beat
Until all I have left is the neuron synapse
That makes pupils dilate, and eyelids blink.

Empty....

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They say its impossible to have both a pleasant and foul
thought simultaneously   that may or may not be true..
but It seems that the foul ones are much stickier 
adhering to the soft underbelly of the mind
a toxic build up of blue times
engulfing all light   eventually.
Pleasant thoughts are hummingbird like
flitting from synapse to synapse
disappearing into the seam of the unknown
coming back the next time with a
tinge of blue on the tongue...

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I once knew a boy,
without guile and innocent.
We milked the cow
 and goats together,
and as we worked,
we made up stories
of the secret life
of the cow,
and how
she was a sort of
super hero,
a bovine 007,
world traveler,
when we weren't
watching her.
Then one day,
the boy disappeared.
Perhaps,
some synapse
short circuited,
or some
unspoken incident.
Some one else
was in his place.
Abducted, possessed?
I never saw the boy
again....

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Restlessness, impulsiveness,
loquaciousness, compulsiveness,
distracted inattentiveness 
and tangent railway tracks.

Complexities, anxieties 
and dopamine deficiencies.
Instant gratification please,
relief for my synapse.

Procrastination, wired sensation,
biochemical frustration,
forget to take my medication. 
Frontal lobe relapse.

Rapid heartbeat, fidgety feet,
hypervigilant, unable to sleep,
central nervous system freak.
Neurological cracks....

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At the edges of synapse
The now of the being
Is a flame of thought
Some chemical dream
Drawing on physics
To divine understanding
A semblance of self
Formed slanted recantings
That are then broadcast
Through the spaces around
And remisinterpreted
By witness and crown
But the mind is quantum
And straddles the bounds
Of the 3rd and the 4th
In dimensional grounds
It’s best to not look
Or they will look back
These beings of light
Defined by the black...

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they live now
in layers of motion and stillness

a fret sawing wind
a chaffing river
have shaped them

limbless bodies
turned upon
a lathe of time

glints of starlight are in them
eyes blinded by too much
of light
or dark

blue veins leach from granite pores
synapse
with bloods tingling clamor
with fingerprints

a molten world
drips green algae
upheavals whisper
from an unending past

a stone thrown back
finding a voice
in an uttering splash...

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Today, a screech from a hawk reminded me 
Of being in a car wreck years ago, like
The synapse door to my remembrance room opened
And the memory came down the conveyor belt
Into the window of my mind to arrive unannounced
Who’s in control up there?  Some little sprite?
Why can’t it work as smooth when I lose my keys?
The memory room operator could use some training


Written:  7-16-2019
Mini Verse Poetry Contest     2nd Place
Sponsor:  Nina Parmenter

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