In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected.
~Charles Dickens, 1853
For pity’s sake, Mother says,
Only you could be so inane,
Reaching for a magic ring
Turning treasure into trash,
Using up every chance
Instead of turning time
Toward a beneficial tide
Of security for your family ~
Unicorns are not real,
Silly rainbow-chasing girl!
A TOUCH OF IRONY-:-
random
open
fragmentary
inscribed
repeatedly
as A REPOSTE
through
associated
contrasts
stirring
provocation
with SIMPLE UTILITARIAN
reawakenings
deactivating
emotional
forgotten
memories
I would choose Iberian over Siberian a true culinary librarian
Epicurean yet utilitarian not barbarian don’t be a contrarian
Top picks & tricks from heady cultural mix definitely not aryan
Runaway or just the gravy train arcane but with modern refrain
Can’t restrain or contain the insane foody reign of this domain
Go like the clappers for Tapas fiesta then siesta the slow lane
Rally your pals with the gals go dullally down any hidden alley
Croquetas or Las Gambas or just Patatas Bravas in Las Ramblas
Paella the story teller paprika bestow Chorizo glow best seller
Scarlet harlots prawn p*rn dig suckling pig jig a verdant valley
Have a trenchant penchant for any merchant of the don Jamon
Svelte slivers melt tastebuds pelt flow across the Iberico rubicon
Flavour flotilla scintilla of morcilla or tortilla to savour all thriller
Rain falls mainly on the plains starter or main food reigns in Spain
I am a Tree, living historian of weather
record. Grandfather of colonial bridges
and homes. A giggle, you can hear us
when in the breeze apt to tease, fondly
tickle one another. Poetic: To Tree or not
to Tree? So content to be what we are --
man's utilitarian, your selfless furnisher
of shade and warmth. No matter Strong
Oak or mangy willow. What I answer to
is Proud Fellow, member of the Ever-wood.
So called friends in pretend
No transcend
The ratio between Friendship vs Acquaintance unbalanced
Total fail
People want a person to believe they are your friend
Not even a blend
It becomes observe and question
No suggestion
Just ingestion
No respect as a humanitarian
Acting like a utilitarian
You get more info from a Librarian
No friendship no doubt
This is what Live and Learn is about
Pick friends wisely and just observe
Let me be friends that are true and the ones you truly deserve
Observe
Wonder through obvious
Question friendship and be serious
So quick ... so easy ... even
Nutritious to those who know.
A small child, in a few heartbeats,
Can put one together to grow.
Its simplicity is utilitarian,
Both in beauty and its form.
As desire gains popularity, by
Constant requests for the snacking norm.
With great taste nearly universal,
It also quiets a hungry belly.
And that's just part of the magic,
Of the so-called, peanut butter & jelly.
I am guessing that ants
have no aesthetic concept of beauty.
Pheromones are the essence of their romance.
Many colonies have both worker
and soldier ants.
The soldier ants look like demonic dragons
and the worker ants
resemble nightmare aliens.
I figure they all have trap jaws that can crush tanks
their own size or larger.
I assume the worker ants have armored dungarees.
Mindless yet with one mind
they cultivate, pillage, and destroy.
Some love ants
for their mighty works in the insect world,
yet most would rather forget and shun them
accept of course the
Anteaters.
Umbilical underlings undulate under unified,
universal undercurrent understandings, utilizing
unequivocally ugly, unwise, unwanted, unaware,
utilitarian usurpers.
Tell him what to do
he doesn't
Tell him not to do it
he does
If that's not contrarian
then perhaps it's libertarian
Though as a septuagenerian
I think it utilitarian
They gather in their buzzard nests
clustered in dry grey frazzled wastes
steel sticks to walk upon their footsteps
humming with metallic stilts
supported grid on artificial legs
their crude utilitarian structure
hang in groves above the chainsaw stacks
Buzzing across the forests
as their cables saunter
their arms outstretched
quietly immobile lurking in the distance
frames crisscross their anti-nature
by rivet and construction artifact
through the mountains
over hills advancing stagnant
Silently is in their interference
high tension of Guglielmo Marconi
affecting some strange unfathomable sickness
distortions through auras energy
is their invisible electrical disturbance
and living with them is notoriously dangerous
Hopscotch and crossword their generator
puzzle to whom
where from
where to
follows you all the motorway home
to the click of a switch
down the side streets and back out of sight
their invisible mile and kilometer
and their arid blight
the digital clicking cash collecting of J.P. Morgans meter
connected by conductivity's twisted fiber
and living in the nightmares of Nikola Tesla
Dead works...
sown to profit with grandiose worth
midst carnal motives of utilitarian gain
lurking in the guise of selfless sacrifice
yet awaiting futility's harvest...
Woe unto me, and my vain effort!
Dead faith...
persists to please the Almighty
while vanquishing lingering angst
guilty conscience inflicts
in overcoming challenges
for mankind's advancement
yet gaining no spiritual merit...
Pity me, and my well-being!
Dead to sin...
as adversary keeps on mocking
for hell's condemnation due to iniquities
gripped with pride along covetous cravings
yet seeking redemption through divine grace and mercy...
Oh God, quicken me, and my soul!
Dead to self...
now conquered by the Saviour's love
strives to reach-out with kindness, sharing peace, compassion, hope
challenging deadness' venom with reverberating
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
But thanks be to God, which giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."*
*1Corinthians 15:55-57
August 28, 2019
Edited on September 27, 2023
1st place, "Mocking the dead" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/29/2023
Values and disvalues
absorbed through communication
of felt relationship,
absence of connection,
hopeless excommunication.
The Left bereft
Brain justified,
ratioed,
commodified,
diversified,
tooled,
weaponed for rational utilitarian consistency,
reified verbal logic
of neurological systemic Spirits,
feeling co-related events,
critical memories
epic predator/prey histories
Recalling ecologies of sensory attachment/detachment,
felt experience networks of virtual spiraling health values,
virtuously co-arising sensed re-experience ecosystems,
And viciously degenerating
unraveling disvalue cycles,
pre- and post-cycles,
recycles
Feeding healthy value feelings,
unhealthy disvalue memories
back
and back
and back to when Space first felt Earth's shift
balancing bilaterally twinned TimeFlow
for virtuous universal win/win communication
Ego in Here listening kindly
within EarthTribe's perpetually felt spirals
of revolving Now light,
Then dark...
Every layman knows that since long ago,
painting, sketching and sculpting
by those possessing valid talent
has produced art that exhilarates hearts
and/or thoughts as artistry caught.
Not all know that our modern times
paired fine arts’ aesthetics chime
with craft’s utilitarian cadence
under Visual Art's mega umbrella.
Many wish riddance to this ambivalence.
To me, the grabbing-high from creativity
comes when it moves me perceptively.
I’m not much for art particulars,
its critics, popular trends or scholars.
I have my own criteria for art to
be brought home and share my hearth;
it must spark my imagination’s girth
with a delight that bubbles forth.
Amphorae, beautifully crafted,
Delicate, exquisite, fire-glazed,
Heated in jumbo kilns,
Lovely molded necks,
Opaque pigments,
Quartzite residue-
Symbolic, timeless, utilitarian
Valued- with xanthic yellow zirconium
***
October 22, 2019
F T I series 5 beauty
Brian Strand, sponsor
***
Poetry notes:
Poetry form: ABC - In this instance, a poem in which every word begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. The first word begins with A, the second with B, etc.
Move it or lose it
Was his favourite
And he used it often
You see it fitted his lifestyle
When you meet a crowd
Negotiating your way through
It was a utilitarian saying
And it served him well.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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