TABLE OF
CONTENTS
I Wish I Were A Little Boy - Trivik Bhavnani
To the ends of time
Ryan Crooks
My mind has tried
F. Elliot Siemon
Night
delirium Maria Claudia Faverio
Cyclic
Panorama - Joel Gehrke
Alone in
Gas Light Square Lee Price
Still-Point Thom Hadley
"Three
Variations on The First Day of My Life" John Schiano
Junkmail
Serenade Jonathan Marin
Whisper
Craig Harvey
The Ocean
Rachel
Raleigh
Back to
Basics
Paul Nachbar
Bug on the
blade - Daniel J. Phillips
Fresh Underwear
Mark
Norman
They're
Only Playing Survivor Jonathan Marin
Motel Room
Molly Jonathan Marin
Fifty Squared
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
All -
Daniel J. Phillips
Aumniverse
John Russell Sweeney
She Knows
How Jonathan Marin
S'more poems (sans
marshmallows and graham crackers) C.L. Frost
On a United Nations
Demographics Report
Jonathan Marin
To a June
Graduate
Jonathan Marin
Boardwalk
Afternoon
Jonathan
Marin
Emptiness Maria Claudia Faverio
The defeat
of desire Maria Claudia Faverio
Unanswered
questions Maria Claudia Faverio
The
Mermaids Song John Schiano
The Wall
John Schiano
A Bright
New Day {dedicated to M.B. (always)} Paul Nachbar
Homecoming
Thom Hadley
Capsule
Political Autobiography of "A Jew" Paul Nachbar
Polonaise Sauce
on Eggs Derelict
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Lust amid
the dendrites Paul Nachbar
One Day
One Day The Night Will Fall Paul Nachbar
The Moon
in June
Paul
Nachbar
Sonnet ( 2 minutes 15 seconds)
Paul Nachbar
In A Profoundly Tainted World
Paul Nachbar
Us and Them
Paul Nachbar
Tender Foxes
Paul Nachbar
The Enemy
Paul Nachbar
Shadow Lives
Paul Nachbar
Algorithm Paul Nachbar
Production Line
Paul Nachbar
All The
World's A Cage Paul Nachbar
"Invitation"
- Paul Nachbar
I Shall Prevail -
Paul Nachbar
Questions
John Russell Sweeney
On Genius
John Russell Sweeney
Judicium
Dei John Russell Sweeney
Sonic Dreams 1
John
Russell Sweeney
Sonic Dreams 2
John
Russell Sweeney
Is It Day
yet? - Neeraj Shaw
Beetle -
Daniel J. Phillips
Pill bug -
Daniel J. Phillips
Creatures
of the sky - Daniel J. Phillips
From here
I can see - Daniel J. Phillips
Mea Sure
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Lament of the Architect of
Babel
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Coming Full Circle
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Philosopher's Tone
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Purple Rose
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Test Taker
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Quatrain 1 through 6
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Sonnet
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Poem
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
100 Watts
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Artists
Quinn Tyler Jackson
for J
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Mind Castles
Quinn
Tyler Jackson
Misery Chord
Quinn Tyler Jackson
On Yahoo Group Ads
1 through 5-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Playing the devils advocate: -
Mark Norman
Clone Me -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
The Greatest Puzzle
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Couldn't Resist -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
cOde to aMuse -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Artists
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Freak Out
(That's The Way It Goes)
A. J. Nordstrφm
Darling Dana
F. Elliot Siemon
Signage Future - F. Elliot Siemon
"A Poetic Infinite Loop"
Paul Kisak
A Bug's Life
Mark Norman
patter pitter pat
Trivik Bhavnani
Persian Pundits and Siamese
Sages C.L. Frost
Now, Socrates C.L. Frost
Werewolf C.L. Frost
Venus begat Penis C.L. Frost
Junkmail Serenade by Jonathan Marin
It is
awful to be homeless
Shut-in elderly miss meals
Send me money
How I grieve for all injustice
Watch, I'll weep for baby seals
Send me money
What could be more vile or putrid
Than a bigot's shameless hatred?
The mere thought of it just makes me gush with tears.
Woe the poor endangered langur.
Woe
crass ignorance and anger:
They have horrified my soul for many years.
Think
of grocers' crooked scales,
Cruel
Norwegians hunting whales,
And
harmless innocents in jails,
Then
send me money.
If
politicos who pander
Raise
your hackles and your dander
Send me money, send me money, send me money.
I have empathy
I care
About the evils in the world
I have sympathy
To spare
For priest-molested boys and girls
I am passionate
I swear
'Bout orphaned Africans with AIDS
I'm undauntable
I dare
The cause of lesbians and gays.
I've got lots and lots more issues,
Best get out your box of tissues.
Send me money, send me money, send me money.
Send me money, send me money, send me money.
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They're Only Playing Survivor by Jonathan Marin
I.
Production's missing inventory
Memos turn inflammatory
H - R files derogatory
Someone missed a bet.
It's poker in the corner suite
As VeePees swerve to dodge the heat
And set each other up as errant driver.
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
II.
Balanced on a narrow ledge
Pressed ever closer to the edge
The firm self-dealt itself a hedge
How desperate they get!
Midst waffling, fibs, and caviling
The company's unraveling.
The Chair in vain tries gaveling:
(Who pawned the company jet?)
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
BREAK 1
All day they dictate memos
That they study in their limos
Each obliged to read what all the others wrote.
Next morning they're discussed
Each honcho dances as he must
Through a gauntlet of distrust
To escape being saddled as the goat.
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
They're only playing survivor
III.
Investments chances naked calls
Controllers' starts to climb the walls
The Boss grabs Audit by the balls:
It ain't over yet.
Sales grabs Plant around the neck
But Plant says Finance caused the wreck
While Legal tags the Boss as chief conniver.
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
IV.
The common stock's not worth a dime
They all could end up doing time
Which friend will turn state's evidence at trial?
The new bond issue failed to float
The bankers move to call their note
There's no way left to right the boat
Its time to fashion plausible denial.
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
BREAK 2
All day they dictate memos
That they study in their limos
Each pondering what all the others think.
All the filings were illicit
Every
one of them's complicit
Criminality's explicit
Now
its curtains for the first exec to blink.
Don't fret
Don't be upset
They're only playing survivor
They're only playing survivor
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Motel Room Molly Jonathan Marin
I
I worried when they called you Motel Room Molly;
Ya know that for a time they really had me psyched.
But now we've it goin', baby, I'm not sorry;
I'll bet you've never met a bed you did not like.
We've taken makin' love up to a new dimension;
Where hormones morph right into electricity.
My limbs and joints are way beyond their full extension;
Defying Newton's Laws and relativity.
CHORUS
Don't come any nearer
I really need the mirror
-- To see.
Positions we are taking
My back is really breaking
-- My knee.
II
I think that we've discovered sev'ral brand new angles;
These twists 'n' turns would stump a team of engineers.
I don't see how were ever gonna get untangled;
By God, we've moved geometry to new frontiers.
We oughta package what you know for high school science;
We'll shoot attendance up to ninety-nine percent.
We'll bolster creativity and self-reliance,
Then publish full reports of kids' experiments.
CHORUS
Don't come any nearer
I really need the mirror
-- To see.
Positions we are taking
My back is really breaking
-- My knee.
III.
You coulda let me know that you were double jointed;
I wish I was a gymnast or an acrobat.
No way without a compass to know where I'm pointed;
Those dents up on the ceiling - say, did we do that?
Imagination's revvin' up with each new tactic;
My spirit's in renewal and my mind is free.
The rest of me is gonna need some chiropractic,
And acupuncture-pins and phys'cal therapy.
CHORUS
Don't come any nearer
I really need the mirror
-- To see.
Positions we are taking
My back is really breaking
-- My knee.
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She Knows How by Jonathan Marin
I
She ain't some glitzy kitten-queen
That runs on coke and vaseline
And turns the innocent obscene
. . . But she knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
II
She don't pick you up then let you down
Or make you out to be a clown
Tell her your troubles -- they don't get around
. . . She knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
BREAK 1
She ain't into the nightlife scene
Or vintage wine or haute cuisine
. . . She just makes you feel human
She don't do drugs or drink to excess
Or do dumb things she just has to confess
. . . She knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
III
She don't turn on to fads and trends
Or pick dumb fights or trash your friends
She'll always let you make amends
. . . She knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
IV
She's game if a quarrel's got to start
She'll hold her ground and play her part
'Cause makin' up's her highest art
. . . Yes, she knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
BREAK 2
She senses when you're under stress
Then a gentle word and a soft caress
And magically you're human.
She's never moody and never mean,
Still fresh as the day she turned eighteen
. . . But she knows how - mmm hmm -
To be a woman
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On a
United Nations Demographics Report by Jonathan
Marin
The UN's discovered
a horrid secret
About how our world
Treats little girls.
The secret's a pustule
-- oozing and dirty
A hundred million
missing women
Most under thirty.
Most of the missing
were killed at birth
But some kept alive
For the den and the
dive.
Kept alive to build
their worth
Then sold to be whores
Into sewers of AIDS
In numbers exceeding a
hundred wars.
Sugar and spice
Clothed in sores.
Sugar and spice
Eaten by lice.
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Emptiness Maria Claudia Faverio
The night exhales its nimbus
like a limerick -
it pokes fun at me.
It unfolds into nothingness,
chaos of black and blue,
dump of clouds,
and solitudes that slink
through the virginal spaces
of the skull.
Words have drained
into these crippled images
like change
into a beggar's hat,
helpless,
indifferent.
I am confused.
I don't remember.
I don't know what to say.
My soul is cramped on vacuity
like a supernova,
ignis fatuus
inebriated with silence.
It empties its solitude
into the black vault of the sky
and stares,
perched on the circumvolutions of anguish
like a sick owl.
Its sunken song
is louder than crash of thunder.
It unlocks the universe.
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The defeat of desire by Maria Claudia Faverio
The epic of desire
has faded to a faint
utterance,
a confusion of syllables
unable to join
into trickery of words.
Speaking their parts
as in a trance of thought,
the personae of life
stand on the stage
and stare,
waiting for the grand finale
that doesn't come.
They are tired.
They are not in search
of an author,
but of a prompter.
They don't remember the words,
they don't know why
they are dressed as Pierrots,
make-up blurred
by real tears
and sweats of life
and fiction
and life again.
But the prompter
doesn't speak the word,
and they ramble on
like drunken sailors,
laughing at themselves
in the tacit hysteria
of despair.
And the grand finale doesn't come.
Not even a shabby finale.
The perfection of the circle
is the consummation
of sufferance,
the consumption of hope.
The prompter is dead
as the personae.
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Unanswered questions by Maria Claudia Faverio
Unanswered questions
fester
in amnesic sky
like dead moths,
barren as misers.
What is the use of questioning,
if questions don't beget answers,
but doubt?
Flatness is less disquieting
than height,
towering, towering, towering
without ever reaching
the apocryphal comfort
of the top.
Beyond the illusory horizon
of planeness
are consummation of peace,
encompassing visions,
pillars of innuendoes
shaping themselves
into noesis.
Beyond the horizon
there are no answers
because there are
no questions.
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Night delirium by Maria Claudia Faverio
Clouds, not the ordinary moon,
manifest and lonely
in the dense scopes of dark,
clouds accompany the polymathic delirium
of this night.
Aggravated by the black vacuum
of the sky,
pallid perceptions of distances
crumble to blindness
like a tired eye,
and madness of colours
effaces itself
in the intricate evasions
of imagination.
The untuned reticences
of desire
transfix the ego
like a fake light,
enhancing its delirium,
while palaver of lips
discovers the sacred spaces
of silence.
Cautiously,
like old tune or voice,
the black load of fear
becomes tangible
in the capricious colours
of morning,
in the Phoenician sky
spreading over a reality
uncertain as faith.
There is a sense of panic
in the renewal of life.
The outrage of the years
is a swan song,
a remote surprise.
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The Mermaids Song by John Schiano
Sitting in my weathered chair,
sheltered in the warming sun
on my gray, half-shaded porch,
I look into the tideland.
The sea has quieted today,
lifting meekly, sequined by sunlight.
At lands end seabirds quarrel over coveted vanities.
The wind, keening in the whiskered dunes,
is salted with their cries.
It is, for me, the mermaids song
that haunts me almost everywhere,
though I dont travel anymore.
I live here now, beside this great uncaring
whose boundary is the grasping waves.
The grass is gilded with October
and sea winds have brought a chill
to my shadowed sleeping porch.
My ancient chair creaks softly
as I pull my sweater closer,
though the sun still brings some warmth.
At times, with care, I walk the shore,
aware of the oceans mindless treachery.
When I least expect it
the rising sea might touch me with its numbing fingers
becoming wretched company.
The shade has reached my chair again.
I will move my old gray friend
back into the sunlight
and its warmth.
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The Wall by John Schiano
On a recent journey
through a fierce and wolfish wood,
I came upon a stonework wall
that stood high as my heart.
Crossing brutish nature
and its fearful violence,
the wall reached out to either side
to set the wood apart.
Some unknown masons hand
had improvised this keep,
had used an ancient strategy,
to interjoin so carefully,
these motley, jagged stones
the ages to withstand.
Had some savage elemental
provoked such sacrifice?
Or had a form more spectral
inspired this device?
Perhaps a simpler answer stood:
a wall made to deny the wood.
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"Three Variations on The First Day of My Life" by John Schiano
I
The haggard world spins uncontrolled,
First light defines a truth grown old.
Day brings darkness, dusk a veil
Of dreams that leave one weak and pale.
My heart asks, "Why go on this way?"
Life answers with spontaneous day.
II
The debut was much less than auspicious,
If you see where Im coming from.
First warm, then cold and naked in the
Daylight for all to see.
Of course I cried.
My humiliation was an undivine revelation:
Life is the road from warm to cold, and
all we have is the occasional comforter.
III
The night, from sunlight, is dying.
First greens of springtime are vying.
Days of longing rise ahead,
Of summer kisses coveted.
My love awaits me in our bed.
Life is self-justifying.
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A Bright New Day by Paul Nachbar
dedicated to M.B. (always)
I would talk and talk and talk at length
All subjects of dismay
I would rant about these miseries
And somehow hope to sway
Your average thinking feeling self
To thoughts of death, despair, disease;
I would probe the heart of darkness
To nadir of despair
I would reach into your trembling guts
And make you clutch your hair
Turn your face towards some mirror held
And show you no one there;
I would bash the bright naive cliche
To shudder in it's room
I would turn your lipsticked silly smile
To rotten cave of gloom
Behind the rows of product stuff
I indicate your tomb;
But I cannot produce such stuff
The sun it is too bright
It shines like gold through window panes
This morning WAS the night
And love warms up my cold, cold heart
Beyond all chill and fright.
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Alone in Gas Light Square by Lee Price
The trumpet
dripped blue tears,
past the pool table
and out into the street,
down the black and wrinkled cheek
of a New Orleans night.
A lonely sorrow,
like beer spilt on cracked pavement
it trickled
and wound and found its way.
Strange how one can touch another.
How wet things seep so deep,
How blue can soak your soul.
It rained that night in Gas Light Square,
And feeling wet and lonely
I lit another smoke
and stepped inside.
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Still-Point by Thom Hadley
Imagine Light
So white, so intensely bright
When you look away
You see spots
Like stars exploding
This lights not only in Space-Times cosmic fabric;
It is temporarily encapsulated
In this four dimensional Body
Whose fingers nimbly weave
Or are hopelessly entangled
Whose minds eye can clearly see
Or is cocooned in dreams, deception
This mind that can conceive of Eden
Then plot its very annihilation
This corporeal Light caught in your
Parents eyes and put in a jar of clay
Shall also be broken some day
When that light escapes to shine again
In Nights sky or dance upon a sparkling bay
To glance upon the apples red or glow a cherry blossom
Shall we honour that one day
It shone from your eyes to another
That it shone from sister to brother
That it was Life, a wife, a father?
Shall we see that it still does shin
In a childs laughter, or a storm of temper?
Perhaps tis better yet if we recall
As we metamorphosize from one form to another
That, yes, our light did shine
Our love was received by at least
One another.
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Homecoming by Thom Hadley
My Home is wherever
You are
Your Heart is my refuge
Your eyes my solace, my inspiration
When we travel far
Roaming to explore
I am wholly Present
By compliment of your spirits
Field of Energy
As mine empowers Yours
Now, I understand better
That this has always been so
Between us/within Us
As though, indeed,
twas meant to Be:
We are Blessed
We are Home
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Capsule Political Autobiography of "A Jew" by Paul Nachbar
Boredom and the Will to Power
Are Things no one denies
Yet Nothing Human can refuse
These beautiful green Eyes.
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Sonnet ( 2 minutes 15 seconds) by Paul Nachbar
My poor guitar- a
string has snapped
And now have five instead of six;
I cannot play a decent tune
Without some fancy set of tricks.
My poor guitar- it is deformed
By virtue of this missing part
I play it now this crippled thing
And seek to make a greater art;
I run my fingers on its strings
And think of sad and drastic stuff
Of souls which fell into despair
Angelic minds with shattered wings:
I aim my malformed formed art
An arrow through the human heart.
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In
A Profoundly Tainted World by Paul Nachbar
It is alas a world
profoundly tainted
Let us blame it on the Catholics
Let us blame it on the Protestants
Let us blame it on the Muslims
Let us blame it on the Hindus
Let us blame it on atheists
Let us blame it on Jews.
It is alas a profoundly tainted world
Let us blame it on the Americans
Let us blame it on the Europeans
Let us blame it on the Asians
Let us blame it on the South Americans
Let us blame it on the Africans.
Let us too blame for what it's worth
Australians and Antarticans.
It is for long a foul and tainted world
Let us blame it on the businessmen
Let us blame it on the laborers
Let us blame it on the immigrants
Let us blame it on inheritors
Let us blame it on the indigent.
It is you know a dark and tainted world
Let us blame it on the democrats
Let us blame it on the monarchists
Let us blame it on republicans
Let us blame it on the communists
Let us blame it on the socialists
Let us blame it on the anarchists
Let us blame it on the nihilists.
It is so long a greatly tainted world
Alas, shall we, so innocent
Go mad and blame it on ourselves?
Alas, shall we, so competent
Go mad and blame it on ourselves?
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Us
and Them by Paul Nachbar
Are
you really one of us?
Or are you really one of them?
If one of us, then you are good
There is no need to make a fuss
If one of them then let us test
If you are good for us or not
We'll put you through some misery
If you're like us that's good if not
Your whole existence is forgot.
Are you really one of us?
It seems you favor different rules
Perhaps you are just one of them:
We'll check your background and your schools.
If you're like us you must conform
To some unstated social norm
Well, not that we this norm obey
But who is left to cry dismay?
The rules are meant for folks like us.
Are you really one of us?
Or maybe just a charming fraud?
We've known folks who evade the rules
Then cry out to their different Lord.
Well, we're all good- now must discuss
The merits of your private case
Be careful with your every word
And even if you lose your face
It's best to muffle your own cries:
Who cares if all of this is lies?
Are you really one of us?
Or are you really one of them?
We all believe in what we see
We all believe in what we know
Though if we like your charming ways
We'll say in private 'that's not so'
We'll say in private 'oh boohoo'
'We're just as lost as poor old you.'
But what is one to really do?
Don't rock the boat and you'll be fine:
What's yours is yours, what's mine is mine.
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Tender Foxes by Paul Nachbar
note: a Skinner box
was or is a tool of American behavioristic psychology, a way of adapting
so called "behaviors" via stimulus and response. Am of course applying
this in a larger sense, though might change it as a perhaps too obscure
reference.
In and out the Skinner Boxes
Leap the sly but tender foxes
From one nation to another
Will this boring world recover?
Societal and business status
Bow before their fine afflatus;
Daring in their quick decision
Unbelief , perhaps religion;
Leaping through the hoops of gender-
Return all nonsense to its sender;
In and out each box of theory
Running quick and never dreary:
In and out the Skinner Boxes
Leap the sly and lovely foxes.
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The Enemy
by Paul Nachbar
Let us reduce our enemy
See him not as a creature of two arms, two legs,
A head and facial features, organs, blood, sweat, tears
But as a monster unlike ourselves
Who sinks below our commonality or rises above it
And endangers us by cruel, unfair superiority.
Let us reduce our enemy
See him not as a being with a family, friends, fantasies
And fallabilities
Let us see him through a microscope, upon a slide
Let us see him through the viewers of our rifles
As something not quite human
Something which has no justification
Who deserves no shelter.
Let us reduce our enemy
And emphasize our own warm, good and just humanity
Which of course we cannot quite believe in
Without the 'enemy' who is not part of us.
Let us imagine some happy future for us
Brothers and sisters warring all
Possible only with the elimination of this enemy:
Let us raise a toast to our own happy, healthy lie..
Let us reduce our enemy
As we imagine he would reduce us
Let us attribute to each human description of him
The malignant influence which he secretly obtained
Let us not imagine him in his working day, his loving day
But as the Satan, the conspirer
Against our own natural goodness.
Let us reduce our enemy
Let us not defend him when he is ill or fallen
Let us turn our backs upon him in gentlemanly politeness
Let us teach the ladies to still their human sentiments:
He is not of us, he is alien, he is a threat.
So easy to do, is it not? Oh so easy?
And who could not say here
That this is not the way of the world?
Let us reduce our enemy
And then alas only the wise do know
That we will find another enemy
That we need to find such an enemy
That we will be "creative" with the facts
That we will be "creative" with the silences.
And then alas only the wise will know
How much of this is simply repetition.
Alas, they know, we have met the enemy...
Time and time again .. and that he is us...
And has always been.
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Shadow Lives
by Paul Nachbar
Don't rock the boat
You must conform
Must ever heed
The social norm;
Don't cause distress
In folks who judge
Clean up your mess
Life is a drudge.
Don't speak your mind
You must obey
Just still your tongue
Life is that way.
Best to be wise
Fools do jump in
Caution is normal
Rashness is sin.
Best to believe
Best to be good
Clean up your act
Clean up the hood.
Best to obey
Best to play safe
Doom is the fate
Of the angry naif.
Best to think small
Best to blend in
Difference is always
The start of a sin.
Best to be meek
Best to be good
Best not to seek
In the outside world.
Best to be tame
Best not be wild
Best not to speak
Unlike a child.
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Algorithm
by Paul Nachbar
Contained herein you'll find
My life, my loves, my works
My war, my peace, my arguments
With all that is termed common sense
And finally my dream, my sleep.
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Production Line by Paul Nachbar
A pohem udderly
davoid of what we might reefer to as Shyle and Forum, but does this matter
in the perticulars of such a case? In any event, the idealism of the
peace, undowdedly offensive in some other context, here does not
dispulease, despite the doggerel" - J. Richard Ferretsnoop, Literary
Critic-at-Large
You did not want
You could not think
You did not know
You did not choose
You could not feel
You can't refuse.
All just the production line
All just the production line
Stay in step and you'll be fine
All just the production line.
They claim the world
You will not change
They all adhere
Don't you feel strange?
From factory to office clerk
They keep you busy with this work.
From manager to CEO
There is no other place to go.
You could not dream
You could not grasp
You could not be
You merely gasp
I have no time
No time for this
I have no time
No time for that.
You sought control
You could not have
Oh brother
You have dug your grave.
Production line, production
Is it all just production line?
You do your part
You pay your dues
Goods and services
You can't refuse
Just do your part
You can't refuse.
Oh what to do?
Did you go mad?
Or marry mom
Or murder dad?
Or marry dad
Or murder mom?
Just keep in line
Behind the Bomb.
Production line, production line
Be kind to me for I am blind
Production line, production line
You go so fast I lose my mind
Production line, production line
I haven't haven't any time.
I work; you work;
He works; she works;
We work; they work;
It's all just the production line.
Just stay in step and you'll be fine
So fine, so fine, production line.
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All The World's A Cage by Paul Nachbar
All the world's a
cage
Though it has many levels
The ones above are seldom fine
The ones below oft devils;
All the world's a cage
We wait in vain for angels
Alas we cling to 'little things'
Amid the many strangers;
All the world's a cage
We're born, then live , then leave it
And you might dream you found The Good
Though no one will believe it;
All the world's a cage
And most are guards or felons
The judge most times to justice blind
Enmeshed with worldly dealings;
All the world's a cage
So don't complain of such
For wisdom is to simply know
Too little from too much;
All the world's a cage
Though skies seem noble visions
On earth the strange parade of man
Below the grave quite common
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Capsule Political
Autobiography of "A Jew"
- Paul
Nachbar
Boredom and the Will to Power
Are Things no one denies
Yet Nothing Human can refuse
These beautiful green Eyes.
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I Shall Prevail -
Paul Nachbar
I did not ever claim to you
That I could do it all alone
I did not ever say to you
That I would fight and never fail
But here I say one true and simple thing:
In all herein that can be done
In all hereof which can be won
I shall one day prevail.
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Artists by Quinn Tyler Jackson
Some end their careers lost in bhang,
Others write until they drop from their years,
Still others retire from it with a bang,
While some make pretty gifts of hacked off ears.
Some you would not know just to see them,
Others you can tell by the hole-pocked pants,
Some you can find in the city's museum,
Though most were never given glory's chance.
And though artists all, they are quite unique,
No two of worth are quite the same, you see,
So to know when you find one, here's the trick:
Look at what they've done for the artistry.
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Questions by John Russell Sweeney
From whence come love; morals; emotions; law
if atom; molecule; proton; quark
is all that ultimately, is of us?
Do electrons think? - a nucleon laugh?
Anaximander once declared:'We came from fish'-
Well, those with surname 'McGill' are blessed -
they need not trouble with ancestral mystery!
They say a promethian bolt, from noble Thor
once came to stir the primal soup -
then, hubble and bubble, toil and trouble:
forth came microbes; trilobites; crustaceans;
ichthyians; amphibians; birds; rodents; monkeys and -
fanfare please - MAN!!
Come, now -
To think that bickering gods of random chaos
could produce delightsome treats as these!
After all,'tis true that broth
is spoilt by too many cooks?
Ah, but just as city,designed by architect, one-
displays consistent, ordered pattern
than a city built by many;
then surely it takes less faith to believe
that from one Divine Womb, Mother Nature was born.
Palace of majestic baroque; a gothic cathedral;
Mona Lisa's soft, enigmatic face;
a Mandelbrot, replicating nature's internal fabric;
- arising from blind, haphazard chance?
Are governments; Law; Economic systems;
the sense of Justice and equity, ultimately spawned
from internal, roiling cauldrons of the quantum world?
Quest yourself as to the Ultimate Reality -
for the answer that one decides upon,
will shape and determine the individual,
then family; community; society; the world; our future!
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On Genius by John Russell Sweeney
The all-too common icon
of the least common amongst all minds;
The shaggy white hair, and the eyes,
solemn and aged, time-weathered,
penetrate with focus of undiminished sharpness,
a sharpness, dividing warp from woof
of the cosmic space-time fabric;
the threads of space and of time, interwoven
by Fiat of greater Mind than he
of broad and wizened, moustachio'd face.
Is genius to be equated with hyperborean labrynths
of inaccessable complexity? - Nay -
for ' to divide and choose between' ,
is the meaning of Intellectus;
thus the power to penetrate through complexity,
to underlying simplicity and from thence,
with tools of that same simplicity,
build upon more solid bedrock
of enlightened understanding and wisdom.
After all, is not the most advanced yet
of information technology,
constructed from the simplest binary
and the smallest cosmological T.O.E.,
be, not the fundamental forces, four,
but instead the simplest Planckian unit?
Yea, and all the ebb and flow of human striving;
as in manipulations of economies,
and in political contrivances;
be traced, in context of human nature,
to simply this; To be as if we are God;
prideful claims to deity, usurped.
Thus purloining of power and resource,
at the price of the weak.
Why must minds of genius build,
with simplicity, unearthed,
towers of exalted, finite reason,
from which to assail
a redundant Deity, as so assumed;
from Whom alone, their powers are given?
Indeed, the summing of this life,
is that man shall reap from what he sows.
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Aumniverse by John Russell Sweeney
I dreamed a dream
and in this dream, I found myself
within an auditorium,
spacious and vast.
People, people everywhere,
in concentric circles, seated facing
centre stage where there, the orchestra,
seated facing lone conductor;
his waving motion of arm and hand,
nobly directing the symphonic dance.
The multifarious instrumental sound
resonating through air, walls and in the ears
of the audience, silent and in awe.
The scene before my visionary eyes,
transforming - the symphony, softer now,
quieter, melting into gentle sea of silence.
The conductor, now a dot, a miniscule dot
of infinitesimal size,
in the centre of, not an auditorium
but a vast and beautiful mandala,
of intricate patterns of every spectral hue.
I now approach this central dot
and there, I enter within, I know not how;
I hear, though not with mortal ear,
total silence, yet of wondrous harmonies
and I see, though not with mortal eye
a multi-dimensional infinitude
of ever-unfolding energy.
So awestruck indeed am I,
to here, behold and deeply penetrate
the supreme and fundamental Tone,
on which the symphonious fabric
of entire and living cosmic mandala,
resonates it's energies and sings. ---
It is the AUM. (OM)
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Judicium Dei John Russell Sweeney
And they sang- Alleluia! they sang;
and her smoke ascendeth up
for aye and for aye.
Tartarus, seductress!
Who, in Gaia's finery adorned,
ignited the flame
of deviant curiosity
with the fruit of enticement
in her hand, so alluring.
Ah, she who spawned
the titans of darkness,
who with stygian hearts;
this world with vice
had blackened.
With the same, must she now
her belly fill,
while that flame,
that very same flame,
shall consume with unending end,
her corpse, once an edifice
of God-defiant pride;
to the paeans of loud acclaim
from the hosts a-gathered
around the empyrian Throne
and from souls a-myriad,
in salvation, clothed.
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Sonic Dreams 1
John Russell Sweeney
The
multitudinous hiss
of
leaves, oscillating in myriad,
to
the rise and fall of Aeolian wind that breathes;
while from afar, O'Er hill and dale,
a-ringing carillon of bells a-swinging;
a
sound, the amplitude of which
is
as undulating as the rolling pastures.
The
soft, occasional, interspersing chant
of
monks, in Gregorian style, their mellow voice,
interweaving with the doppler'd monotone
of
receding aircraft, homeward flying,
to
where earth and sky do kiss;
to
be absorbed into sonorous hiss
of
leaves, oscillating.
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Sonic Dreams 2
John
Russell Sweeney
Seated am I;
mine eyes, in contemplation,closed.
The
hum of whirling fan blades
in
endless revolution behind me.
The
monotonic tone thereof,
in
stereophonic aura
surrounding me.
Yet, it is more than monotone that I hear,
for
my ears perceive also,
harmonic offsprings in varied hues,
engendered by the Father tone;
each cadencing in pentatonic waltz
upon the laddered scale.
So
intricate and beautiful, precise;
a
sonic microcosm
of
the cosmic language,
that, when time was born,
did
speak the Seed-Word, Divine -
LET
THERE BE...
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Is It Day yet? - by Neeraj Shaw
Is it day yet?
I ask my self,
Is it day yet,
Or is the Sun still set?
Tired and emaciated from the 3-day
Bus journey, across over a thousand miles,
Huddled up in a corner of a tent I lay,
Reminiscing my past laughs and smiles.
The chilling, cold breeze stings me,
Me, this infinite darkness scares;
I don't understand, how it could be
That brother kills brother and no one cares.
I see people altercate for space,
I see them, for food, main each other;
I don't know how I fit into this race,
I just know, I must fetch water for mother;
But how, my inner-self could I face,
How could I hurt one like my brother.
But, these brothers do not care for anyone,
All they want is their own fill,
So as usual, I get none
And none gets he who stays still.
Is this what God intended us to be
Or is tolerance in such great paucity;
Maybe Gandhi you can see
Where today is non-violence and humanity.
So, Is it day yet?
Someone tell me.
Is it day yet,
Or is the Sun still set?
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Beetle - by Daniel J. Phillips
beetle beetle
on the ground
with your effervescent frown
how I envy your simplicity of life
creeping crawling
slowly passing
time and space are but for sassing
the in all end all
and be all is no concern at all
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All - by Daniel J. Phillips
sky sky
tree tree
grass grass
flower flower
here there is no power
only what was and what is
come over and see
come here and listen
Talk not, speak not
Feel the all
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Bug on the blade - by Daniel J. Phillips
bug on the blade
jade, auburn, browny
the wind passes
still you cling
you have not moved
how do you feel
nature's production line
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Pill bug - by Daniel J. Phillips
pill bug
how did you get your name
did you used to get swallowed a lot
was that your part in the game
or were you but framed
y that which you are named
when touched you curl
just like a pearl
is that the origin
of the mystery
or but another dead end
maybe I should ask my friend
or would he think it but a jest
and toss me a hornet's nest
perhaps it is in a book
of bugs that can be cooked
nay it shall not be
for I shall answer this mimicry
mayhap the bug of pill will answer me
but it seems not inclined
the bribe it was offered
but the thing merely did curl
oh well
think I'll go find a girl
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Creatures of the sky - by Daniel J.
Phillips
falcon, hawk, eagle
creatures of the sky
if I could but fly
I would be willing to then die
flight for a mere mortal
to achieve unattainable height
gliding on the wind
current of air
ultimate of all dreams
and lowest of despairs
up above the wild so high
how I would like to fly the sky
watching the creatures below
the aviators did constantly bellow
a mouse, a snake, a fish
all could be prey
with their keen eye
and swiftness approaching night
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From here I can see - by Daniel J.
Phillips
from here I can see
not one thing but plenty
the specter of the past
blinks silently on
the burning lemon going
to the other side of town
the ebony tanker glinters by
from here I can see
this and more
I can see the figures
on the shore
I can see the dehydrated
river moving along
but there is something
I cannot see
it is not under or beneath
it is here and there
it causes the grass to shake
and the trees to ache
it is always here
but not always there
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Cyclic Panorama - by Joel Gehrke
Too soon the crescent lady came
To interrupt the sun's warm ray.
She spread her shroud across the sky
And smiled a shining, silver sigh.
The gold haired man is growing old.
His countenance will soon be cold.
To west horizon he will go
Pursued by wind and wintry snow.
Green summer leaves tween earth and sky
Soon will yellow, fall, and die
And lie in a despondent pile.
I see the cycle, and I smile.
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I Wish I Were A Little Boy - by
Trivik Bhavnani
i wish i were
a little boy
i wish i were
happy
i wish i were
a little boy
i wish i were
not me
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Lust amid the dendrites by Paul
Nachbar
Lust
amid the dendrites
Passions between standard deviations
Agonies of bar graphs
Madness in its derivations;
Longings deep in neuron-land
Fears surrounding cut-off points
Terror in the norms..abnorms
Ecstasy which, well...disappoints.
Hearts that are aching
Breath held till one turns blue
Sighs beneath the formal logic:
Yes...I have a high IQ.
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One Day One Day The Night
Will Fall by Paul Nachbar
One
day one day the night will fall
I know - though birds still chirp and sing
Unknowing of their paths I guess
One day one day the night will fall;
One day one day the night will fall
I know - though actors on the screen pretend
Oh do they ever think of this?
One day one day the night will fall;
One day one day the night will fall
As soldiers endlessly dispute
They think that they will one day win?!
One day one day the night will fall;
One day one day the night will fall
Though here in darkness of the screen
I think we said what we both mean?
One day one day the night will fall;
One day one day the night will fall
To what else could we both pretend?
Though here is candlelight, my friend.
A moment that will soften all...
One day one day the night will fall...
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The Moon in June
Paul
Nachbar
The
not-very-good-poet
Id
met in the madhouse
Proclaimed in high
And
piercing voice his love
beneath
the moon in June.
I
winced back then
And
almost fell
Into some cruel sarcastic turn
Though anyone and everyone
Knew him as
The
not-very-good-poet
From the madhouse place.
I
sort of laughed
Hearing his accents in my brain
Though Im sure in his
Mine sounded just as strange:
He
screamed amidst indifferent folks
I
am the Vorlds greatest poet!!
I
sort of grinned
And
thought of him
Can
just imagine what he thought of me
Though every madman has his day..
That much I give to him and then
What else one really say?
And
here among catastrophes
Theres little left of anything
But
the moon in June
And
the billion or so ways of saying that
Despite the crushing weight of Things
Despite prevailing evidence
One
is, yes one really REALLY is
The
Vorlds Greatest Poet.
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"Invitation"
- by Paul Nachbar
Where are you?
Where have you been?
Where are you going?
Where are you not going?
Why not come back to where you belong?
Of course if you don't want to, that's fine too..
you can't please everybody and it's foolish to try.
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Mea Sure
Quinn Tyler
Jackson
In
all my living, in all my breathing,
Ten
thousand introspects well considered,
In
my promises now undelivered,
What is the answer I have been seeking?
I
gave the reign of all my Worth to Thought,
I
handed my Self-Esteem to Reason,
Against my Kingdom committed treason,
And
now I ask myself, and all for what?
A
palace is indeed an empty home,
It's carefully placed stones are not a hearth,
The
falling plumb measures depth, but not girth,
And
fingers are too awkward for a sum.
In
calculations, manipulated,
What null hypothesis am I testing,
Just who is it I am best at besting,
As
I become so damn complicated?
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Lament of the Architect
of Babel
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I
wandered from the path He laid,
And
placed my gait in youthful pride,
And
though His gentle nudge was made
More than once, I took my own stride.
I
spoke not His word, but my own,
And
found it tickled my ears more,
I
delighted at my proud tone,
Thinking I knew what was in store.
I
built towers into the sky,
Mortared the stones with my orgeuil,
And
didn't stop to ask Him why,
Or
where, or when, I seized the day.
And
when my tower touched His trim,
And
with His Host I readied trade,
I
found that I had angered Him
With all this nonsense I had made.
When I came down to loud' declare,
"Look, see what I have done," my mouth
Moved fast, but to an empty stare,
As
if none understood this truth.
If
I had listened to my heart,
Instead of my ability,
And
not have practiced empty art,
No
nonsense would spring forth from me.
I
could have touched His trim from here,
Not
by climbing to His great height,
By
bending to the ground in fear,
Lowly, broken, but full in light.
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Fifty Squared
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Cannot riddle me under wood
or
should or think me into corner
capabilities on two forked arch
recall through recollect, I won't
pretend to fathom.
But
if I meet a phantom,
near that burgling fount,
through every even march,
trying to play the ever loner,
lift my, remove my, pull my hood.
Call my ego if it bothers you,
near that burgeoning hill
of
hewn hubris unrepentant,
some undoing grass spring,
and
maybe genuflect.
But
if you project
on
lines along the human song,
and
find it too pleasant,
not
the expected Hell,
fall and follow through.
Paradox me with your tape,
with arguments well-lipped,
so
when I hear their denouement,
there will be no doubt
of
their brazen brilliance.
But, if by some off chance,
you're figured out
before you say the chant,
consider it a coin flipped
and
don't stand all agape.
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Coming Full Circle
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I
met a lost traveler once,
wandering on the road,
letting his direction fall to Chance,
his
steps not all that bold.
When I asked his destination,
he
could not tell me where;
of
whence, he said, "Consternation!
Don't we all begin there?"
I
offered to walk a while with him,
and
for some time, we talked
and
shared our stories, grand and grim,
as
we two lightly walked.
When it came the time to depart
his
gentle company,
I
knew at once, with sudden start:
that traveler was me.
I
do not know where I shall end
this trek along life's path,
or
e'en begin to comprehend
the
sum of marching's math.
But
if I e'er meet him again
along this random way
perhaps I'll know where I have been
and
have much more to say.
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Polonaise Sauce on Eggs
Derelict
Quinn Tyler
Jackson
To
thine own self
tattoo, for it holds
as
knights parade the day
that if thou art
truly tattooed,
you
are true
to
every spanned clan,
and
no clan canst thou then
befall.
Neither a wallower nor
a
pretender be, and thou
shalt see, that I have
found the very cause
of
crumpets' lunacy.
Affectation? Pooh!
You
speak like a green
curl! Do you careen his
benders, as you sprawl
over them?
They doubt is other than
the
pain of his bother's breath
and
their o'erhasty carriage,
but
in the eggs, ham let them
may
be, is the rub.
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Philosopher's Tone
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I
did not come knowing, but learned;
The
world was cold to touch, but burned
Me
when I reached to its
Gossamer reality. Fits
And
starts of understanding flew,
Gentle visitors and rare, through
Me,
into me, around me, right
Before meI sometimes saw light,
And
other times, nothing at all,
But
always sought with wherewithal
And
ever stubborn nonetheless,
Thinking not to the great distress
That would come upon the finding,
Praying, rather, for the blinding.
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Purple Rose
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Oh,
how she saunters, in her Elfin, delicate way,
towards me with my cafe au lait,
dainty fingers grasping what is my cup,
that elixir that will shut me up.
And
lord, what perfect pearly teeth adorn her smile,
that I would sit here yet a little while,
and
lose my angst in all that feathery hair,
as
I sit and stare.
That wrist, so fragile, and yet strong,
that voice, that dulcimer song,
comes forth, across those unambiguous lips,
saying:
"That'll be a buck fifty."
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Test Taker
Quinn Tyler Jackson
He
took a Test so that, once and for all,
His
magic brain would find some dimension --
A
test beyond others' comprehension,
With questions calculated to enthrall.
He
figured figures with his Mighty Call,
And
called upon all his mind's invention,
Conquering his hidden apprehension,
One
at a time, until he had done them all.
And
when the Angles of his mind were known
To
all the world, he proudly wore his score;
Among the Mighty was he counted then,
And
with an ego mightily o'erblown,
He
entered past every heavy door,
So
much Smarter than he had ever been.
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Quatrain
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I
battled hubris and it won the fight --
I
chased it to the dimming of the light --
Were I as great as all I thought myself,
Surely hubris would have lost that night.
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Quatrain2
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Dust knows no station
as it whites the bone,
This man's stature, known to the man alone;
What hollow femur has to dust returned?
This king, that beggar, all the same to hone.
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Quatrain3
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Logic, I tried it, and
was ever bound
To
this or that small truth, but was never found
Any
truth larger than the axiom,
But
in illogic was my path unbound!
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Quatrain4
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I do not recall ever
more knowing
Than when I listen to the wind's blowing;
I
tried to distill through philosophy,
But
heard more truth in the morn cock's crowing.
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Quatrain5
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Through reason I formed
my strong alliance
To
that concept known to Men as Science,
But
conjecture, hypothesis, and proof
Were shattered by poetry reliance.
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Quatrain6
- Quinn Tyler Jackson
I don't believe in sanity, he said,
I believe in wine, poetry and bread,
And if I go dry and hungry, well then,
At least I'll have poetry's
binding thread.
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Sonnet
Quinn Tyler Jackson
In penning the line, I
am now undone,
For
I have never penned all came to say,
The
words I came to ink forth, flown away
Before I can transcribe so much as one.
In
sketching souls, the paper has been torn,
For
this, my cryptic pencil, now does weigh
More than simple fingers can find a way
To
tend towards the line I see. I learn
By
accident that nothing I can write
Or
draw can represent the inner thought,
But
still I push the tool to its mute chore,
As
if through my staring into the light,
Some greater, wordless truth I've somehow sought,
And
now must watch in silence evermore.
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Poem
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Quo Vadis, My Lover,
and Fare Thee Well
Quo
vadis, my lover, in such fine dress?
Quo
vadis, my lover, at such late hour?
I'm
heading for London, so don't distress,
To
London I'm heading, so don't turn sour.
To
London, my lover, for what, pray tell?
Why
London, my lover, and why this late?
Thy
promises on sincerest ears fell,
And
never upon thee did I berate,
Yet
still, when we're loving, I sense thy cold,
So
to London I'm heading, bid me well.
Well would I bid thee, were bidding my way,
But
thine is the bidding, my love, God Bless.
God
shan't have me now that thou hast taken,
And
Hell is for those who have greater stain,
But
well is for water, and from all this pain,
I
could fill a whole well, so fare me well.
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100
Watts
Quinn Tyler Jackson
He
came seeking
immeasurable light
and
found a world
measured against
100
Watt bulbs.
Asked, "How bright
are
you?"
He
replied, simply,
"I
burn my candle
at
both ends."
Back To Top
for J
Quinn Tyler Jackson
There is no lighter feather
to
tumble
into the well
and
forever
we
mumble
with full swell
our
sweetest oh whatever.
There is no brighter aspire
than a wish
for
our release
yet
we conspire
our
childish
pretty please
and
watch it go up in fire.
You
told me that forever
and, humble,
I
surely fell
for
the matter;
that stumble
felt like hell,
when I understood never.
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Mind Castles
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I
made a castle of my mind;
the
stones were held with thought,
the
portcullis was lifted when
a
Similar drew near,
Yet
even though I tried to find
the
sum of all I'd wrought,
I
had shut out so many men
that no such sum came clear.
No
anxious men, no silly folk,
and
ne'er a simpleton,
no
men who did not know their way,
nor
men who knew too well.
And
then the weight of my own yoke
fell like a bloody ton:
by
keeping Difference at bay,
I'd
built myself a Hell.
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Misery Chord
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Mercy, show me misery's
chord three fingered like
on
the tripod balance until
never west or east or
inter patter of the feet
upon the lawn with weeds
and
Morning Glory,
Glory excelsior through
introspection.
Show me undertaking,
standing, not faking for
a
moment that you
understand how to listen
when I haven't even yet
dared to pass silence and
utter complete nonsense's
wholly merciful utterance.
Misty record revolving around
a
centrifuge, each resolution
another revolution through
interruption and repeated
replete corruption, where no
vines grow, no mist flows on
the
chord, unheard word,
under the dew of Bach.
Harpsichord keys, mercy please,
unease, Liszt sting, band playing
beat the cloven hoof on long
ivory, passing through unsavory
too
miserly to afford
eighths, sixteenths, thirsty
seconds, thirds, fourths,
for
what it's worth playing
under the bough, wine in flask
and
reading books full of
Mercy.
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On Yahoo Group Ads -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
The ads that piss me
off the most:
The ones that
suggest, like a ghost,
I spy on others, but
unseen
Those tiny cameras,
those I mean.
Expect the
unexpected, pish!
As if this spying
were my wish
To put an eye in
someone's room
And then apply the
proper zoom.
Big Brother doesn't
scare me, friend,
A simple vote will
his ways mend,
It's the effing dolt
with his cam,
And all this effing
Yahoo spam.
I want to scratch my
ass in peace,
So turn that cam
off, if you please;
If I bend over, give
a show,
Parts of me you
don't want to know!
So for voyeurs who
buy these Eyes,
And for all the
wanna-be spies,
I bend my fingers
into word:
You know the one: I
flip the bird.
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On Yahoo Group Ads1 -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I hope thou won't
find me unkind
If I don't care
what's in thy mind,
Thine ifs, thine
ands, thine ors, thy buts,
The clutters or thy
so well-puts ....
It's not that I am
cold at heart
To know thy most
intimate part,
It's just that I am
overgrown
With all the weeds
of thoughts mine own.
They occupy me day
and night,
So what care have I
of thy plight?
I shan't ask to know
all thy pain,
What thou find'st
glorious or plain,
If thou decid'st to
open up,
I'll surely my ear
offer up,
But 't would be my
Damnation
To offer such
invitation,
For I would hear, if
I would pry,
Thy where, thy how,
thy when, thy why,
And these are surely
better spent
On someone of more
social bent.
So please do not
think that I scoff
As I so gingerly
stand off,
It's nothing
personal, you see,
Or that I am
ignoring thee ...
Were I to become so
engaged
That at thy pains I
were enraged
I'd clutter up my
own full shelf
And have no time to
know myself.
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On Yahoo Group Ads2 -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Oh, don't worry that
you have fallen short,
Either by six inches
or a third yard,
Just try our
product, just a little squirt,
You will grow in
bounds and be ever hard.
You cannot afford
it? Well, don't relent,
You're
pre-guaranteed the Beggar's Visa,
And all of this at
twenty-six percent,
Compounded daily,
what could be easya?
You don't like
credit? Just feel free to say!
We have a way you
won't feel all the sting:
Auction off half
your liver on E-Bay,
There's surely
someone who needs half that thing.
Once you buy into
our sweet wonder fix,
What shall you do
with this stiff, new found tool?
Use our minicam to
take lots of pics,
And post them on the
Net for all to drool.
If you get lonely
with this lengthy stiff,
No worries there,
there is a site for that,
You shall find some
use for this modern gif',
In your own new
home, in your VR hat.
There ain't nothing
we cannot do for you,
So don't delay, pay
us a visit now,
And we will change
you, my friend, through and through,
All no cash down,
pay tomorrow -- and how!
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On Yahoo Group Ads3 -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
only hope they
aren't actually selling millions of these damned cameras.
What in tarnation
are people thinking,
That when they leave
home, their socks all stinking,
And go to work in
their beat up old bug,
Some young vixen
will jump on their old rug?
That she'll wander
into their empty house,
In a string bikini
or see-through blouse,
Smile for a camera
she knows nothing of,
And offer some total
stranger her love?
And when the poor
sap returns to his home,
He'll turn on his
VCR, all alone,
And watch what this
fine beauty did for him:
It just doesn't
happen, nil chance, not slim.
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Clone Me
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Clone me, clone me, I just can't stand to die,
Though I was brought to form by chance,
I
just can't let Luck roll its bouncing die
And
risk my child to circumstance.
Clone me, clone me, I want to see my face,
Not
just in cold looking glasses,
But
in the whole potential human race,
In
every face amidst the masses.
Clone me, clone me, and quash this dismal fear,
That I should pass away one day,
And
none should note that I did disappear --
If
there are more of me, I stay.
Clone me, clone me, the world can't do without
A
brain like this, a face like mine,
And
this weak vessel here is running out
Of
its encoded breathing time.
Clone me, lest you should lose the likes of me
But
with just another Baker's dozen
Or
so, that fate would never have to be --
Put
my Me in Science's oven.
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On
Yahoo Group Ads4 -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
My sweet pass-times
are supported
By ads and spammy
residue,
And if profits are
reported,
I shall my
pass-times continue.
But if the sales of
junk fall off,
And no one buys the
trash they hock,
My pass-times lose
their sponsors -- POOF! --
So God Bless spam
and buy their stock!
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Playing the devils advocate -
Mark Norman
All
those little cameras,
a
voyeuristic delight, will
you
deny this base instinct
or
plead it an Orwellian plight.
Did
you read sister's diary,
browse Daddy's dresser drawer
or
perhaps eavesdrop on a conversation
through any closed door.
Maybe that little spark
of
seeing without being known
is
reflected in the high rise
glints from telescopes unknown.
The
"Invisible Man" was quite a hit.
As
well as the telescope in "10".
Lets not forget "Sienfeld"
or
the guy across the street in "Friends"
There is a little voyeur in all of us.
It
is embarrassing a bit
It's fueled by base emotions,
though quite common, you'll have to admit.
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On
Yahoo Group Ads5 -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
But
at least when I go camera-less,
I give the object of
my quick eye
A fighting chance to
modestly undress
Without the chance
that I might spy,
For all the modest
person has to do
Just this, and
nothing really more:
Pull the blinds
shut, draw the drapes, not see-through,
Or close the
swinging bedroom door.
But if I mount this
bold technology
In some unfair,
forbidden place,
That's *more* than a
"peek" -- honestly --
That's a bold faced
spying disgrace.
A side-look here, a
quick glance there, pshaw,
Or e'en perhaps an
eves to drop,
But not a bloody
mini-camera
Bought from the
Amateur Spook Shop.
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The
Greatest Puzzle
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Some will work on series,
And
such cold mysteries,
Hoping that some number
They will thus uncover,
While others play at graphs
And
obscure empty maths
Not
for the consequence
Or
for great recompense
But
for the thrill of solve,
As
if it will absolve,
To
do what others can't,
Thus makes them a Giant.
It
makes their blood flow fast
To
be the very best
At
piecing pieces so,
At
being in the know.
I
don't much care for sport
Or
giants of that sort
Here is my mission: Solve
The
Human Condition.
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Couldn't
Resist
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Because
I took a different route,
Some think me the lesser,
But
here's the rub, a great big toot:
I'm
now a Professor.
I
dreamed it as a suckling child,
To
fill an ivy hall
With words of teaching, theories wild,
Of
findings big and small.
And
as of now, despite my quirks,
I've landed such a post,
And
my detractors, mindless jerks,
Can
fade like Hamlet's ghost.
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cOde to aMuse
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
O, upon thy quick silvered filament,
Whose BASIC charm and grace, and Perl for smile,
Upon thy phospor'd tints I find content,
And rest my recursive function a while:
Sing songs, and sing them ever so gently,
That in thy sweet, encapsulated tone,
All pointers, dereferenced in the C,
Find me not ever again so alone.
And if my drive should fumble in its spin,
Let thine arm fall gently on the matter,
For somewhere its wry revolution,
There is yet some good data on my platter.
Good thanks to thee, whom I have tendered so,
Caressing keys into the still of night,
Thine images and symbols, all burnt through,
In my fond mind's eye, e'en after the light.
Thy paradigm and diagram have found
A place within my gentle memory,
And though the random access doth abound,
Know this, my Muse, thy cOde be sure with me.
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Artists
-
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Some
end their careers lost in bhang,
Others write until they drop from their years,
Still others retire from it with a bang,
While some make pretty gifts of hacked off ears.
Some
you would not know just to see them,
Others you can tell by the hole-pocked pants,
Some you can find in the city's museum,
Though most were never given glory's chance.
And
though artists all, they are quite unique,
No two of worth are quite the same, you see,
So to know when you find one, here's the trick:
Look at what they've done for the artistry.
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To a June Graduate
Jonathan
Marin
If
all you build
Through years of care and patient toil,
Falls in a careless moment, smashed to shards...
If
loyal friends,
You've leant upon for warmth and love
Turn in a bitter instant cold and hard...
If
you should need a respite from adventure
--
A time to grieve the loss and heal the blow --
There's comfort here,
And
cushion for your sorrow:
Wherever you've been,
Whatever you've done,
We'll love you still.
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Boardwalk Afternoon
Jonathan Marin
Sea
mist,
Slow sun.
Hot
beach,
Dull sand.
Figures,
Outlines,
Vendor voices.
Towels,
Trowels,
Plastic pails.
Colors slack,
Clotted heat,
Faded air.
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The
Ocean
Rachel
Raleigh
Surrounded by the blue
I
miss the clarity of the emptiness
It's easy to forget
When you're alone
Look down - really you're looking inside
A
giant mirror to your soul - see yourself
Watch the tears drop
And
the rings expand on themselves
A
model of the universe
Right in front of your eyes
This world really isn't so big
Just one person
Liberate yourself
Realize that you're never alone
Let
it all out and scream
The
stars will listen to your cry
The
waves wish you well
As
you say goodbye
And
drop your chains
It's time to let them go
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Freak Out (That's The Way It
Goes)
A. J. Nordstrφm
with crazy hair in crazy times
mc
boots and ringed bony nicotine fingers
hes bleeding poems with no rhyme
punching dark lines with a theater voice that lingers
and
we came to play, in dead silent rows
to
hear him say: thats the way it goes
we
were stars on his night sky
orbs of phosphorus, fluorescent by brilliancy
a
black candle burning shy
in
the twilight where were closing our eyes to see
where shadows play, galanty shows
still hear him say: thats the way it goes
freak out
freak out
freak out
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Back to Basics
by Paul Nachbar
One average-sized
Naked man
Usually in clothing;
Humanity
With its artifacts;
Nature
And
God.
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Darling Dana
F. Elliot Siemon
Your Sunday morning vibes
Were too much to handle.
Unique among the tribes
You
have lit my candle.
Mind tapes are wonderful
Too
wonderful they seem.
To
your dream be faithful
Yet, surely live your dream.
Oh,
are paths are winding
And
they may never meet,
But
with life so grinding
Let
us yield to the heat
It's Summer anyway.
Who
knows when paths diverge.
Like closing of a play
Or
to a funeral dirge
Life is short, lonely girl.
Among kindred feather,
What's life without a whirl-
And
at least to have something together.
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My mind has tried
F. Elliot Siemon
My mind has tried to
think poetry but comes up dry.
Perhaps the summer heat and humidity of July.
Maybe the outdoor activities of warm weather,
Or
drying of the sun turning my skin to leather.
But
whatever a poet does from the beach to lair,
Be
certain, bank on it; there's a poem in there somewhere.
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Signage Future - F. Elliot Siemon
Those ugly signs all along the way,
On
walls, or growing on a stem.
They direct our lives day by day.
How
nice it would be to change them.
It
would be much more considerate;
To
me, much more of a lark,
To
change them to something more literate;
Consider: Never Never Park.
Whether in ghettos or at Yale,
To
see signage more of an art;
Perhaps: Smoke, But Thou Shant Exhale;
Or:
Loiter, Only In Thine Heart.
But
to me one I'd like to see the most,
By
road construction, to be sure,
Something much more of a boast,
Orange arrows saying: Free Tour.
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Whisper
Craig Harvey
Whisper down the backside;
carry on the dream;
quarter time to train the minds
prolific ponderings.
Wake me when its over;
carry on the dream;
value most the others least
in
vain imaginings.
Whisper up the backside;
carry on the dream;
hold me firmly to your breasts
while I am pondering.
Whisper in the middle;
carry on the dream;
catch me while Im falling
or
just imagining.
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To the ends of time
Ryan Crooks
To
the ends of time I will love you my friend
You're gone; Tearful nights I have to spend
Friendship cannot be found in such kind
You
listened, you cared, always on my mind
In
dreams your smiles and tears replayed
Loving you so much, wished I could have stayed
But
we have parted ways, for how long I know not
Its
a shame, remembering now what I was taught
Things come and things go, its only life
Why
worry over such pointless strife?
Happiness is ephemeral, nothing lasts
We
all wish our futures came from our pasts
But
if such is fact, then why must I send
All
of my love, everything I felt for a friend
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"A
Poetic Infinite Loop"
Paul Kisak
Read
this poem
when
all alone
it is
a poem
and
that is known
it
rhymes in time
and
that is fine
when
you are done
redo
the fun.
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Fresh Underwear
Mark Norman
Peaches, pears, and fresh underwear
the
non-sequitur laughter shared.
Children of happiness when the laughter starts.
Funny bone, funny bone, too soon torn apart.
Wives, sons, and 401's
with tears, beers, and Russian roulette guns,
the
mundane knocks and laughter drops,
soon the shunts, pumps, and defibrillator shocks.
Jell-O, pillows, and Depends,
the
sequitur terror from within.
Child of mind, certificate signed,
feed me, change me, in the end
peaches, pears and fresh underwear
so
that I can laugh once again.
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A
Bug's Life
Mark Norman
Just buzzing along
Such a short life span
I'm
fighting for survival
Just like you, called man
Soon to be a yellow bug splat
And
traveling much faster
Yep, dead on a windshield
Welcome to the here-after
It
can blind side you anytime
Life is just like that
Alive one moment
Next you're a splat
Just another little nuisance
A
splotch in His view
Baptized and damned
Before the wiper blades smear you
Never to break through
To
the region behind
A
windshield called Faith
With my soft body, but hard mind
That truck called religion
Supposedly carries the blood of salvation
Man
pretends with his wine
For
us, man is our libation
I
plan my bug's life
Long and quite decadent
Before wiper blade judgment
My
message will be sent
Delivered in person
A
big, ugly, loud splat
He'll sit up to take notice
"Jesus Christ, who was that?"
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patter pitter pat Trivik Bhavnani
patter pitter pat
pat
pat
pat
pat pat
go
on then throw up
atta boy
every last dram
every last one of them
i
love
every moment
those yet to come
and
those yet to come
yet
again
squish the fly
slap the dog
weep
kiss the girl
loosey loo
smile
greedy
greedy
greedy
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Persian Pundits and Siamese
Sages C.L. Frost
A
mathematically mischievious cat, Mephistopheles,
Could square the hypoteneuse and meiow hypotheses
About the world's origin in 3 seconds round or flat
While Socrates, no simple syllogist, was customarily curious
How
dogs could yap and yip in yelps sufficiently furious
To
appall any meditatively mannerly, self respecting cat
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Now, Socrates C.L. Frost
Now,
Socrates was a wise old cat,
Could elude prying humans, out-think any rat;
More pensive than bloodhounds of brooding brow,
He'd paw his whiskers like a white moustache,
Meiow every doubt in a high what or how.
Now
Ceasar, however much he'd try to fool us,
Was
a lounging Tom, not conquering Julius;
Though, when dreaming of mouse-lands in a milk sea,
He
paraded, tail bannerlike and ears high
And
ruled his rodent realm with gourmet glee
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S'more poems (sans
marshmallows and graham crackers) C.L. Frost
S'more doggeral from
the
list jester.....
Feel free
to
pubish
any
of this
nonsense in
Apotheosis
(or
to delete
it
summarily
as
garbage,
rash trash,
rubbish,
a
littering of letters,
refuse to refuse....
(OK, we're probably past the darn ad by now...)
So:
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Werewolf
C.L.
Frost
Were wolf here,
Was
wolf bare?
Do
we care,
Werewolf is here?
If
wolf were bear,
We
would care.
Were wolf bare,
Spare, minus hair,
He
wouldn't dare
And
we'd not care...
If
bare wolf were bear
And
here, not there,
And
bare grew hair,
Then we'd beware
The
daring werebear
Who
was once bare.
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Venus begat Penis
C.L. Frost
Venus begat Penis,
Brat of uncertain genus.
Aphrodite stripped of nightie
Was
such a sight; she
Lured gods and guzzler when unclad.
Any
Dick could be the Dad.
But
that his mama was a hussy
Never bothered Priapussy.
He'd stand firm, almost upright,
However Mama worked the night.
The
only sign of mother's game:
The
unsureness of surname.
Priapus, had he had his pick,
Would rather be a dapper Dick
Than a cute and cuddly Cupid -
Flabby, fumbling and too stupid.
Cupid's arrows hummed and hissed,
Strayed away and often missed.
The
boy blimp, if only faster,
Might study with a shooting master.
But, alas, he was too daft
To
learn from those who knew their craft.
And
his magic arrows, forevermore,
Would seek the pure but find the whore.
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