Unified Question-F. Elliot Siemon

We Are Beings on a Quest,
Forever Lost in Star Dust?
Thinking: Big Bang, Worm Holes, Collapsed Time and Flat Earth?

Oneness of the Universe?
The Unified Theory of Bliss?
Is it at all possible... to know the mind of the Almighty?

Philosophic anarchists
On wings dusted by rainbows,
Prophets of Doom, forever, dying for immortality.

With voluptuous abandon,
And harmony of heartbeats,
Drown their requiem of sadness and death march of despair.

Join the apes of Paradise,
Quantum leaps of grand mal joy,
Quench mutinous mediocrity in imagination.

As a shortcut with vengeance,
Break your lance on Love my friends,
And cheapen the anger with soliloquies of madness...

Behind Him-Quinn Tyler Jackson

Behind a genius stood three more souls,
And behind those three another stood yet,
And the light he cast threw shadows on walls,
And shadows formed a genius minaret.

But could he shelter his head from the rain
By taking shelter in that shadowed hall?
Could he seek bed rest for his aching brain
By passing the portcullis and the wall?

And when the dancing shadows made like birds
Could he find comfort in their empty chirping?
The light was cast upon the wall, forwards,
But the others stood behind him, casting.

"I see your images, I see your form,"
He said, "but where is flesh and blood in this?"
And since it was the shadows of the norm,
Ages passed, but no reply of genius.

"I see your measure, see your height and width,"
He said, "but cannot see your depth at all."
And so he stood and walked away, adrift,
And left the shades of greatness on their wall.

Ravings-F. Elliot Siemon

To rhyme or not to rhyme, that is the question.
A bards dilemma, quandary and painful birth,
for devotes, scholars and critics bastion;
grist for the mill, pleasure or mere refuse of worth.

But write we must and neurotic though it be,
inscribe our hearts contents and mindless ravings,
lamentations  praise, satire or prophesy,
blent with the fibers of the page's cravings.

A whirlpool of white and tiger of desire,
pages beckon, yearning for knowledge and truth.
Shroud of propensity, compulsive attire,
worn day, night, with an insomniac's vermouth,

soothing the fibers of paper and of soul.
Yet mindful of a bard's likely demise,
for no bull market awaits poetic parole,
and few take heed of madmen's prophetic cries...

Yet trapped in a wrap of eager compulsion,
words spilling faster than playmates platonic;
trying to stop, fires seismic lyric convulsion,
throes of oxymoron, non sequitur - psychotic.

But, alas, there is a tap on the shoulder.
Angel Pallas has something important to say.
Two words making my blood run a bit colder.
Searing, sharp words with the force of a stun ray.

Dread chill added to my poetic suffering.
Words not of comfort, joy, but shackled bedlam.
A conviction and a padded cell for buffering.
For she whispered the words: Poet's Asylum.


These two items are a bit dark...I'm not afraid of the dark... but one
has to be careful exploring the darkness... and things can always get
brighter...

Our lives now are
Confounded with violence,
   Of interpersonal exploitation,
   Of failed communication,
      Of racist feelings
      Harbored deep within.

Rectitude-Dr. Hirsch Silverman

In the adult we see
   That genius and stupidity
Are not unrelated;
   That virtue and promiscuity
Are ever present;
   That diary-writing is
A hedge against morality;
   That man’s pain is both
Physical and metaphysical;
   That opportunism often is
Replaced by ideology;
   That our extended allegories
Are composed of uncanny dreams;
   That our language is
A violent instrument of betrayal;
   That man’s words often lose
Their real meaning, becoming
    Weightless devoid of content.

Each happy moment
Lives forever,
Like love,
   Making happiness
Immortal,
Like a moment
A milestone.

Our Boys Look Good-Barry C. Howard

Obtuse
Men In Blues
In Blacks They Look So Formal

Wait Still
Those Grey Machines Will Fill
But Not Fully
Wakes The Sense

Here Cheers
Supposed Peers
In Black They Look Too Normal

Still Leaves
While Yet Another Weaves
But Not Soley
'Cause Linear Took The 'two pence'

Meet Me Here
If You Dare
My Mind Will Give You Sixth Sense

So When You Think You'll Come Aboard
Perhaps You'll Think Again

Cause Our Boys Look So Good In Black
And White, And Grey, Now Circumstance