searching for truth in distorted echoes ~
mind speculates whilst our heart simply knows
What Is It, Part II
The mind, a cloud of neurons
Packed snug within the deep grooves of the skull
Tiny worlds reaching out to all their neighbors
Across great gulfs of the brain
Communicates ceaselessly via little bolts of lightning
Adding to a sum far exceeding the whole;
The miracle of consciousness reborn every millisecond
Within the storm.
It knows what it is,
Has named itself,
Taken note there are other like storms roaming about.
Has contacted them and joined with them
Building knowledge, history, civilizations
Searching for more, evermore like itself
To find meaning in the fearful Vastness
It knows it is suspended in.
All this it does
Managing its frail,complicated Self.
It knows the body it inhabits dies,
Beyond which, it knows not.
But it speculates.
half of me is delirious
half of me just speculates
I'm all romance
Life is full of pain
Until he performs something to attain
Each day responds the same
Till the time, is not wakening up to improve the game
Time is flying
Neglecting the fact, remains rented, relying on lying
Aspiring internal peace
Though the truth comes up at fatal fees
Earning enemies each day
As if all are associates enjoying at bay
Unsatisfactory has he become!
Eliminating & Excreting the agonies with rum
The entire day he discusses How is She?
Satirically, sitting solely speculates on Why is he?
More than cleverness
He needs kindness
The obstacle is not society
It arises when he inaugurates him above almighty
Seeking his redemption
While ignoring integrity amidst inappropriate intervention(s)
Hard Work forever pays
Just he shouldn't forget to self-screening his days
From the sun to the moon, she entered his voyage as a boon
From the moon to the sun, he always made her fun
Everywhere exists the poetry,
In all the bits of vast universe,
Some words not considered,
And enigma not revealed.
Thrives in the heartbeats,
Rhythm ameliorates the soul,
Bestows an exemplary life,
Purpose of what one endures.
Mesmerizing shiny reflection,
Of the alluring celestial sky,
Imprinted on the calm water,
One composes, one speculates.
The subsistence of the petals,
When detached, they wither,
Analogous to a written piece
And distinction it conveys.
What about China?
When they compel you to stay home,
imposing cloaks on nature's beauty
as a fellow friend becomes a foe
and the media unhorsed propaganda
Can we all all ask
what about china?
When old Brit's prime minister
masked tyranny by orders
confining millions to solitude
for the fear of his fickle frame
susceptible to the Wuhan's scourge
can we all ask,
what about China?
When confused men make projections
to feed the greed of the tech giants
or to maintain the cult of the pharmacy
as the media control our lives
as we surrender our freedom to fear
can we all ask
what about China?
So fast was the manipulations
so wide did it spread
so gullible were we all without reasons
to ascent to the communist schemes
who will ask my questions?
Are they clear of the scourge, and we are not?
Can we all ask
what about China?
Communism mocks you all
Perestroika and glasnost seeks revenge
so while your media makes the rouse
as ignorant men speculates,
turning humans to masked animals
obfuscating nature's beauty
can we all ask,
what about China?
In this era of experimentation,
unforeseen boulders form
in the road of progress.
Low interest rates
encourage the right hand to invest,
while the left speculates unnoticed.
Governments spend money before the ink dries,
purchasing assets, forcing lines on economic charts,
following virgin protocols.
Skewed markets seem normal,
kurtosis no longer matters
in this 21st century laboratory.
Social scientists join the parade
with shutdown demands
to end a pandemic.
Boulders become barriers,
traffic crawls,
and anxiety replaces speed.
Fuel runs low,
compensated by steep descent
into a mist blocking the destination.
No one knows where this new turnpike,
with untested exits and unmarked lanes goes,
but drivers follow large road signs overhead.
A strange, eerie, black feeling of despair,
I am lost, alone, no one seems to care
except the Moon who appears and prepares.
He throws me a long rope, yelling, "Catch hold!"
Noticing my doubt, "Have no fear!" he scolds -
"Believe!" I beam as unknown scheme unfolds.
Watching down below as upwards we soar,
I see Daddy and his friends - and Moon roars,
"Look, they're searching!." as my hope I restore.
Gently rocking mid air, the sky, my bed,
Moon covers me with clouds' blanket, my spread.
He lays me down on the path up ahead.
I awake as my head they elevate
"What's this long rope for?" one friend speculates.
Starting to tell them, yet I hesitate...
"I found it ... while playing down by the creek
and followed it up to where this hill peaks."
Begging, "Can I keep it?" my tale I tweak.
February 18, 2020
Edward Ibeh's contest: Pick a Title 14, Tristitch
In a literary context, the term felix culpa can describe how a series of unfortunate events will eventually lead to a happier outcome. fortunate fault.
Hang in the den
When lions roam in wait
To snatch your serenity from Eden
Where the Devil’s threat
Roams to pounce
On the dignity you espouse
In more bounce per ounce
To rouse and arouse
The Devil’s desire
Jealousy and envy
Fire, mire and ire
In a bevy of grit gravy and scurvy
Sent with venom
Into the home
You strive so hard to form, reform, inform and roam
Free of the comb
That your lair dishevels
Your gondola destabilizes
Your plan bedevils
Cauterizes and neutralizes
Effective, efficient efforts
To consolidate family
In ports and forts
When a hiatus homily
Predicts doom
Speculates gloom
In the living room, in the bed room
With no zoom
On the Way-maker’s plan
To breathe new life
To plan and scan
New initiatives to eradicate strife
From the midst
Where vision diminished
By a strange twist
Assumes family fission and friction fished
Without the Way-makers approval
No win, queen
As the Way-maker’s disapproval
Refuses to grant growth to a puny pin and sin tin.
Deep in the forgotten ruins it lies,
An old rusty key,
Where does this key go?
Nobody Knows,
A wise man speculates,
The key belongs to a heart,
A heart as rusty as the key,
A heart untouched by love,
For a great long time,
Will we ever find,
The heart that matches the key?
Lionise longing love,
Sprawling supercilious stuff,
Crystalline compatible craving,
Romantic rapturous revealing,
Inevitable intrepid iridescent,
Memorable mystic magnificent,
Vibrant vivacious vitiates,
Salubrious succour speculates !
Written on 5/7/14
Sponsor- Dr Ram Mehta
Contest- Alliteration
Her legacy, a carnage littered place.
A crassness hidden by a comely face.
How many roles she played to such acclaim
The naive lovers crushed with cool disdain.
Such cruelty, in order to succeed,
Disguised by gifted wit to mask her greed.
When front doors opened, back doors quietly closed,
A sense of flawless timing, one supposed.
When those betrayed per-chance began to meet,
Comparing scars and tales of her deceit,
She sensed a coming rage was bearing down
And disappeared to bless another town.
One speculates her looks began to fade;
An ending of the money-men parade.
The crushing weight of countless dues unpaid;
A pauper's grave, the toll of evil ways.
Gene Bourne.
06-14-13.
An ambition engaged in every root of our hearts,
Blue and brown irises' voyage soon departs . . .
Caressing each other's serene souls to slowly decompress;
Admiration speculates a versatile we never suppress,
Adoration mesmerizes the tranquility of the night,
Affection reflected infinitely like two mirrors nearby,
Attachment is as vital as respiring when whispering goodbye--
Calling out to you this lullaby . . .
Behind our closed eyelids entering the fifth-stage door,
A dream deep in our coexisting core.
While the agreeable bond we venture in,
teams with influential speculates',
its treasure is the sacred vow of worth
that yours is, and forever will be;
In accordance with this lively outcome
A generous and jovial ascertain hovers,
the electrifying paranormals you bring
lead splendid aphrodisiacs to my soul.
They benefit internally, pleading parts
that nether regions claim are lesser whole.
Uniting more than life itself can give,
The subtefuge, or lack of it prepares
A dream from stark dementias, only one,
That I ever need to care about has won.
How martyrdom initiates response,
freedom that surrounds existing vibes
our understanding feeds on nonchalance
providing us a love no-one describes.
It sequels in seclusions open stanza,
A free verse masquerade of plentitude
that love shall follow this extravaganza
making waves the motions now include.
How buoyancy defines the dance for us
with surface tension beautifying grace
movements which are spiritual are thus
complete as souls enamoured in embrace.