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Stumbling Up On

I stumbled
Up on
What the
Gravest gravity
Could not keep
Down!

Here is a short poem about the increasing virtualization of our lives, meme-ification of our minds, and shallow aspiration of becoming “influencers” in pop culture. NOTE: The poem is shorter than this description!

Rendered

What might be
The end of humanity
Sum type
Of cataclysm
Life rendered
Pic me!
As wee awe
Turn
Into memes
Having
Gone
Viral

Neutrality and wishy-washiness can be evil. I suspect most evil in this world is under the guise of: “I’m just doing my job” or “That’s not my job.”

Guilty As

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”
–Revelations 3:15-16
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”
–Desmond Tutu

They were neither
Hot nor cold
Little was
Their own
As just
Doing their job
Or simply knot
My Jōb
As spit in image of God
They were neither
Positive nor negative
Guilty as uncharged

It seems that at some point each of us ask, “Why me?” How often have you asked yourself, “Why not me?”

Whys Guise

Who no’s the troubles
I have scene
Is it just
A madder of time
As I find myself
More than prone
In choiring mines
Why me?
Life in treating me
Grate times for awe
And still I here
Of chorus
Enjoined
By a simple quest in
Why not me?
That mortal ask
Weather ascertain as can be
Or just smite due
A countenance
Of praise or preys
The secret of whys guise
Every wear

Box-ers

There are box-ers
Who are liable
Round
After round
After round
Too box you up
Don’t swallow that red punch
No madder
The jeers and cheers
Vacate their premises
Having
Gotten
Through won’s head
Privy to the inestimable can
Scrapping
That which castes a side
Surrendering up
What could’ve been
A contender
Roped in
Buy sellout crowds
Married to the whirled view
Of rings that are square

In the 1980’s we came to terms with “greed is good.” Now, pop political science seems enamored with “disruption is good.”  I suspect this has more to do with the laziness and ease of knocking stuff down rather than building up. The ogre-in-chief peers to have perfected the club.

Trump Dump

They mistook motion for progress
In the swirl
Of a turd of a leader
In the orbit
Of a throne
White power shit-faced

Weapons offer little solace to anger, fear, grievance, and hate.

Sporting Won an Other

He had
An insufferable traction
To the blind
As long as he wanted
Looking cross
All that
He be helled
And regarding his aim
A shotgun his closest friend
His favorite plays
To be quiet and prey
In visible
Soully to himself
In what might be
A deathly subject
Just to those
Who
Say
Duck
Or posed to
If the world is deer to you

I see “random” as the most incoherent concept ever. I find “random” as the pinnacle of believing in nothing rather than anything at all. This poem is a parody of this pet peeve of mine:

Coincidence – I Think Not

On the whole
As luck would halve it
I am not superstitious at awe
None the less
I believe in random
It’s like believing
In nothing at awe

I often see patience as the mother of all virtues, though waiting can really suck! I find that trying to suck the most out of each and every moment helps a lot to pass the time wading for my larger-than-life dreams to come true…

Wait for It

Wait for it
Wait for it
Wade for it
Wait for it
Wait for it
Wait for it
Just
Remember
It happens
Though every now
And then
Knot in your lifetime

This poem deals with the theme of our increasingly virtual lives and the increasing challenge of what is close enough to reality to pass as a humane reality.

Post, Post, Post Modern

They had
Graduated from that small, small world
Modern to postmodern
Onto mirrorly post, post, post
Some fun hows
As all their dreams ricocheting
From the big, big screen to the little screen
Back
And fourth
Without place
That prevailing strategy
The modern mine virtual
As fact simile
Nay, love simile!
Though bad, bad copy
Wresting precariously on rare earth
A genuine whirled
For those who want
The most
Infinitesimal foundation
As if
A speck holed up
In tired universe
Bots purporting
As upside down
Pyramid scheme
The gravity of witch
May kill us for a spell
And awe for what
To consume
Bits and byte sized whirled
A virtual flower in the cloud
Some wear
When actually living a mist
Concrete and steal
Boxes
Of unknown mettle
That fool sell
Charged buy petrochemicals
All the wile
Know dirt
In our hands
To see passed
Planted fauxs
Weather leaves of grass
Or weed
Worshipping a semiconductor
A desert that dust nothing
Let alone
Breathe life
In a drop of water
Weather toil it
Or limpid pool
We are amor
Then animals
With feral arts
Yet we are apped
Rather living in a zoo
With maximal bars
Is it any surprise
Not being
Caught off grid
As we are awe
Soully looking
For what
A muse
Meant
As the balm
Rested for fragrancy

Often it takes time in life for things to sort out. I love being surprised with 20/20 hindsight and insights that make melodic sense after the fact.  Like Kierkegaard infamously stated: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

Making Note

She made note
Of that great
Far a weigh
And hear
And now
Next thing
She new
A sound track
Of her life
Composed