Circular logic, circular worlds

human race

In a universe of options we are this.

In a universe of similarities and limited possible combinations of elements we are this.

In a universe of expanse beyond expanse we are this.

We are stars, millions of them - billions of them, trillions of them. colliding in us, vibrating at just the right speeds, humming our own celestial tune...

We are bits of bits. Tiny specks of information that collect, gather, assemble, amass and come to a point where the data set can be more than the bits.

Greater than the sum of the parts. Greater than the sum of these AMAZING parts...

What I say (...what I think...)

Sightless, lacking vision

The Siren of Icarus

CureCurseCause

it's not always easy to write to express to emote.

it's a struggle to be honest and open and direct.

Without visual

In an instant there is forever
There is the long pause
There is the strungtogetherthought
There is the rising and falling

Action

There is plot and filler
There is star and supporter
There is tragedy and vice

Comedy and farce

All within an instant

Copy and Paste poetry

I copied some information from the web, a news site to be more precise.

I pasted it into Microsoft Word.

Below is the result of that Copy and the Paste:

 

It took my breath away when I saw it, and I wanted to share it with you.

To please you

 

Sometimes I look at what I write - and I see my optimism shining through.

And that is good.

And sometimes I set about to write, and something a little less sparkly comes out.

And that, also, is good

what is

To You.

Field of Blue

The Forest For The Trees

Be

The Clearing

Do you know how hard it is to get that reflective metal look?

On an iPhone?

During your lunch break?

I may never be a genius, nor a renowned poet for whom the critics cry....

But I am totally going to hang my hat on getting that metal look in this post!

Fool Crow Seer

Find a path in this that is your own......

Start with a line from one of the top three boxes.

Then go to one of the middle three boxes and select a line.

Finish with a selection from the bottom boxes.

The path is the poem, not the words... The path is the poet, not the writer.

In this chaos...

 

What is said
is said
is said
is said
is said
and said again...
spiral of word and sentiment and thought and deed and power and control
(and the lack thereof
thereof
thereof
thereof
thereof
is not permission to be...)

the secret is in the circle, closed and safe
the secret is in the square, equal all sides
the secret is in the triangle, each side up.

the secret is in the unnamed shapes
swirl and swirl and never be defined
the secret is in the unnamed words
swirl and swirl and never be refined

Stream of consciousness

 

Ugh..... Every time I read this I hate it more. This is exactly the type of crap that makes every one else on the plnet think that poetry sucks. I will leave it here as a reminder to all that just because you wrote it, doesn't mean that it has any worth...

So I made the smallest of changes to this - I think it's a total of 5 words that were changed, and - of course - the form... The form of the poem has changed the create appropriate flow and emphasis. So here is what I have done to try to undo the insipid tripe that I had originally posted:

 

So... Is it better? Yeah - I would say that it is better. By far.

Is it good? No. I don't think that you can polish dung and call it poetry. You can't say a bad string of words with JUST a few e.e. cummings tricks, but you can pretty it up enough that it can trick the eye into thinking it sees something that isn't there.

In this case, what isn't there is heart. It's a dispassionate piece of writing, and it has no goal. It isn't going anywhere, nor can it take you anywhere. It is aimless, and lost.

Sad, really.....

How I respond to compliments...

You are very kind.

I have words for you

 

Tell me that you feel beautiful. Tell me that you feel worthy. Tell me that you feel amazing.

The voice in my head tells me so many things, and rarely is it a positive perspective - it is critical, to put it lightly... But it is a voice that I have learned a thing or two about -

That voice is a liar. That voice whispers half truths, at best. That voice wants to drag me down. That voice believes that there are no survivors in this game. That voice is despicable and vile.

So I say to that voice, and to those who also have one:

I am stronger than you.

I am not what you want me to believe.

I am who I can be.

The Seed of Madness

 

Read it the other way...

This one was inspired by the legacy of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, Mentor of Madness...

Dance Dance Dance

Are we just words?

are we just words
and a pause or two
are we just characters in a line
to be read and forgotten

are we just words
said spoken recited
like a child who takes his turn
reading aloud the words of The Bard

robotic stammering on the cold read
frigid and unfeeling

lacking cadence and time

are we just words
whispered but not felt
promises not kept
lies told to your eye

are we just words
that will echo for a moment
and slip away, swallowed
by the chasm that is time

vast and unyielding before us
so far above and below us

are we just words, after all

What I see

And I hope to use them all

An open letter to you...

There are clouds and pitfalls
there are struggles and challenges
that seem insurmountable -

In. The. Moment.

And then we overcome.
Perhaps it is a partial victory,
or a half of a loss...

But we are still there to learn and grow and progress and smile and sigh and weep and dream and plan and live.

Poetry...

M'Lady Winter

The way of things;

Facing Mortality

10 Words

Face Reality

In the span of seconds
We see ourselves
Be ourselves

Destroy ourselves...

In the span of a lifetime
We must make
We must justify

We must elevate...

In the time between actions
In the time between reactions

We must face what we

Are.
Will be.
Must be.
Always were.

Be.

Horizon break

(Live Journal Post)

Much of the poetry that I post here is dependent on the visual - or at least tied tightly to the graphic element of the overall piece.

But occasionally (not often) words will happen in ways that stand without an image - these tend to be longer form pieces, and probably more accurately fit the "poetry" descriptor that folks might choose to plunk down.

Here is one such post:

http://cannibaljp.livejournal.com/89042.html

Lost in the forest of reaction

Sin deep

 

The key to this is in the phrase "if you believe it"  -  sin is a concept that is tied to SO many things - so many lies and half truths...

/H0r1z0n.s1gh7//

Friendships, like flowers...

 

[edit: changed the image. better is better.]

Where sun shines...

I want better

Greatness

RootsStemFlower

The gift of anger

Into (fathom)

The gift.

 

A cycle, a circle, a bead, a seed
From ground to green
And yellow appears...

A cycle, a circle, a bead, a seed
A field of wonder
A gift to behold...

A cycle, a circle, a bead, a seed
Endless in scope

Endless in option...
A cycle,
Moving forward as the past always does.

A circle,
Turning one to another for the sake of the turn.

A bead,
One and then one, they make something more.

A seed,
From small things grow the great and humbling...

is there a cure?

I have questions...

 

I have some thoughts that I will share...

Romance - This is the feeling that draws you close. Makes something like holding hands feel like more than it is... Makes music, places, foods, and memories something that can bring joy and tears.

Love - Love is intangible, and yet you feel it. I cannot say what love is for you - but I know what it is for me. It is that thing that makes you think that maybe there's more to the universe than math, random happenstance, and the laws of physics.

Hope - Is a double edged sword. It heals, and can slay you. Hold it steady, and know what peril (and serenity) it can bring to you.

Fate - Is a feeling of inevitability. It requires trust, and it speaks to a belief that there is a plan... Fate is a concept that closely resembles religion. They may be sibling concepts / or some sort of interrelated parasitic relationship.

Burn On

 

In the heart of every poem, there is a flame - a desire to light the world... A desire to be read, and then understood, by some kindred spirit.

In the heart of every poet there is a flame - a desire to be the light... A desire to hold dear someone who also knows what weight that there is in doubt... The real meaning of a pause that lingers too long, unanswered...

And I say - burn on, little flame.

Burn On...