SYMBOLIZED SUBJECTS-:-
colourful
palpably
distinct
abstract
impressions
of MEMORIES
identified
remembered
recorded
haphazard
happenings
now BURDENED WITH MEANING
particular
concerns
explored
expositional
exaggerations
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Freshening
of the chair-wherewithal
I sit and meet
the stewing news
with hearty meat and veg
The idleness
unspoken here -
here I right
no wrongs
I just belong
to the sect
that sits upon
the court that no one hears
I write
of unimportant
matters that are detained
chained to a box
a talking box
How strange
our ancestors
would find the lies
between the perfect
teeth
of time
though linked
to an intersectional ginormous behind
5/7/2022
Are lost
Objects are found
They lie in dirty boxes
In everyone's town.
Each one is unique...
Not one is the same...
They all have there own colour.
Some rusty
Some filthy
Most are insane
Many gather dust...
They all have there individual taste and touch.
Each one has a name
They may lay buried for some time
At a pace...but not as rest.
They may run strong and deep...
Everyone has their own.
Some right
Some wrong
They brake or bloom...
But old objects are never found
Images forever remain
And lie deep in musty rusty boxes
In the heart of everyone's Town.
It’s bitter
Negative
In Sociology
Both bitter and sweet
Positive and negative
In physics
Sweet now
Positive
In Biology
From my bathroom throne
I overlook heads of trees
men for all seasons
who sway and still
like felt and feathered burghers
dependent on his lordship’s
words.
In glowering times
they cloak themselves in mist,
hiding like fleshless nerves
from courts and kings
and the kings’ best choristers
the birds.
Our most humane possible objective
has become Earth's most sacred healing subject.
We feel better
after listening more holistically
and less defensively
less conservatively bought and sold
during rapaciously disinvested non-conversations,
against healing cooperative integrity subjects
Humane vocations invite
therapeutic whole-system thinkers
and doers
and polypathic fluent ambidextrous feelers.
My most humane political objective
is Earth's most sacred ecological health
and economic wealthy subject.
Photography
I used to have a dark room.
Trigonometry.
No reference, the word causes anxiety though.
Anthropology
I used to live for this subject, imagining myself in Egypt on a dig.
Art.
I dabble, four hundred paintings later, I have no idea what I am doing.
English.
Worst 7th grade teacher ever, but I like it in spite of that ridiculous time.
PreAlgebra
No memory of this whatsoever, and glad of it.
Homemaking.
The only parts I liked were the sewing and the eating after the cooking.
Reading.
I can sit in a treehouse all day long, devouring a stack of books happily while
Choking down my favorite sandwich – peanut butter, Miracle Whip and lettuce.
Poetry.
Love the cadence of it. Never have understood it. Apparently I do not have to.
Omg! What to write
Science, math wanna fight
You are world to many
But in you I am fazy
Science was favorite
"Was" not "is"
I don't know why
Science, math wanna fight
Welcome math
Trap of formulas
Can't remember even one
Omg! I wrote so much
Sorry my dear subjects
We cannot live together
The day will come
When I'll be in 11
We'll leave each other
I'll remember 2018
Our break-up year.
Subjects Of Time
As a fine clock
Run by motion of the earth,
We are masters of
Gears and lubrication
Though remain
The subjects of time….
... to my wife
I do not ask for an invaluable love;
I do not ask you to love me
unlimited;
I do not ask a boundless love.
I wish you loved me
in the short space of our steps,
in the narrow horizon
of the mutual glances and sighs;
I wish you loved me
in the intimate fief of ourselves,
in the small kingdom wherein we are
subjects and sovereigns;
I wish you loved me
in the strip of Heaven and Earth
where we live the moment,
in the gentle breeze that envelops us
in every now
in which you and I
exist.
Marco
There are certain subjects that are taboo
When it comes to writing poetry
But I try my darndest to ignore them all
I guess I really didn't need to tell you that
It's fairly obvious I would imagine
Writing about apes with pink butts
But trust me I'm quite a sophisticated gentleman
Though sometimes these evil spirits inhabit my body
And I'm not responsible for what I write
I thought I needed to explain
Some of these recent over-the-edge presentations
What I'm trying to say is I'm getting help
But the doctors say I'm quite an anomaly
But again, I am getting help
Wish me luck!
© Jack Ellison 2014
subjects are few
but some are new
chemistry is full of chemicals..
history has kings,
maths has numerals
civics is made of politics...
In geography we fly across "mars"
physics can measure distance of "stars"
English and hindi has stories
Ghost,magic and of mysteries..
biology has cells and animals.
what can we do if they don't have "skell"
REad one by one and learn it..
read it once more and make great fun of it.
However life is to begin
We shall start to find things to do
Older to semblance that a dream
Did we age to become more a fool?
Cautious and careful... those menial trials
Meaningless yet necessary... perhaps not?
Hidden agendas inevitably kept in vials
Secreted to never again spare a thought
And we do things as deem
A need if not for yourself but the rest of the world
Is there that logic for things done to mean?
Yet a vortex we remain within... simply to swirl
We have to keep things going
Whence subjects we became since birth
Ways of this world to find me laughing
Given a comparison to millions... am I worth?
Of life to only begin
Need we find things to do?
Younger if only to dream
How did I become a fool?
The breakwater protected bay
This mole of rock please hold
Mole on my face bid you goodday
Not welcome_ you I've told
Hugh mole bored through massive mountain
Vehicles travel straight
While I travel real fast again
To dermatologist
Decision to end job as mole
For new mole malignant
As a woman somewhere dies I'm told
From mole mass alterant
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