Comments received on poems by conradconrad



ここ / そこ
Robert Southwick Richmond said:

I copy-and-pasted pointed Hebrew (Hebrew with vowels) successfully when I posted \"Hosea\".

January 1st, 2021 18:31

ここ / そこ
L. B. Mek said:

Keat\'s wrote to Fanny Brawne: \'if I had had time\'...
as I - write to you: \'if I had had, even an iota of your seemingly endless pool of knowledge and unquestionable intellect\'...
still, we play the hands we\'re dealt, I\'ll read dear Sylvia and \'get along\' with those scribbled imitations of \'empathy rhymes\',
you dine with those poetic Olympiads of Milton and Gertrude etc.
mercifully: room enough for us all at the foot of their pantheon table...
Happy New Year dear Poet (unless you don\'t like being wished \'Happy\' anything that is, in which case: simply, stay safe)
thanks for sharing!

December 31st, 2020 05:54

ここ / そこ
Robert Southwick Richmond said:

Really interesting poem. Looks like MyPoeticSide supports kana, and in one instance, kanji. I\'ve managed to post short text in pointed Hebrew, Farsi, and Russian, and seen someone else post in Devanāgarí (probably Hindi). Looks like it\'s got Unicode fully enabled.

Looks like you had some trouble getting it to justify the kana lines correctly.

Had to look up who Rupi Kaur is. I know a couple of people on Facebook who are getting their poems read that way.

You belong to a distinct minority on MyPoeticSide who know what a poem is.

How do I contact an administrator? I want to do a revision of the bio on one of the individual poets\' pages, Aaron Southwick, who just happens to be my great-grandfather. Most of this page\'s material is cribbed from a bio I posted on the Web about 15 years ago.

December 30th, 2020 19:36

ここ / そこ
Jerry Reynolds said:

Have a Happy New Year. Feed the birds.

December 30th, 2020 15:20

sequoias in essex, england
L. B. Mek said:

\'nothing new to write so a morning
with a ms. amherst of sorts -
as you do... when nothing\'s new...
so as i see it...
i either sit here and waste a perfectly
good wintry morning...
pretending to ooze out an aflation...
clearly i\'m not: brain-fudge-fidgety
yes... custard for thought and
oozing nuggety gravy too, yes...
all that\'s missing is a rubric /
slanting linear of some verbiage
baggage (un)like a rhetorician invoking
tautology...
the air should be refreshing
since it rained all night...
yes... come to think of it...
these legs will give me more ease
by being put to use than these fingers\'
well I\'m grateful, you chose to gift us a small sample before turning to your long walks for some \'ease\',
a brilliantly - rollercoaster journey of a read!

December 15th, 2020 05:51

sequoias in essex, england
Jerry Reynolds said:

Enjoy your trees. Happy Holidays

December 11th, 2020 14:58

sequoias in essex, england
ANGELA & BRIAN said:

Brian here ~ Good Evening CONRAD ! Love the poem ! I visited COLCHESTER and one of the roads was called *REDWOODS* I couldnt believe my eyes ~ There they were the \"Sequoias in Essex* it took me back to California ! There are lots of other things in Essex ~ including Essex Girls* But I can say hand on heart ~ I have seen the *Sequoias in Essex* alive & well and *Living in Colchester* Loved the Poem ~ thanks for sharing. Please check our Poem today *THE INCARNATION* ~ Thanks A & B !

Blessings & Peace too You & Yours
Love Angela Brian & Smokey Cat ! ! !

December 11th, 2020 14:49

chemical strawberries
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'i\'ve seen further afield and turned my gaze
away from the scarred sky
of the gargantuan lung that heaves
as much life to live
as much as it tramples said life
to a mush of murk, soot,
and phlegm...

enough to take my shadow my dog
on a leash of thought
and these legs as aporte
up noak hill toward and through
ingrebourne way: a horizon of hiding,
teasing, tilting and foraging buttons
of focus for the eyes...
a canvas such that is -
a most organic england...
where ghosts of a people have
been frolicking to the demands
of pagan nudes and smoking barks
of acorn and of oak...\'

2) \'- it\'s truly amazing not knowing:
why to begin, what to begin for (which
is nothing more than a fiddling of
the first why prompt) -
with what to begin,
perhaps even: to what end?
damn and damn again: another why...
but as ever:
there\'s always this persisting how...

to reiterate: why? why?! to whine!
or at least... to pretend to not be in a whining
concert(o)...
as such: this is apparently me...
not wining and dining but...
no... there\'s a simpler why:

why no. 1: because i was never much of
a d. h. lawrence fan (by omission)
and now it is a fine hazy morning
and i\'ve just read some of his... rhymed whining...

why no. 2a: it\'s morning, and i\'m thankful
that it\'s not the afternoon,
and that\'s a why no. 2b mind you:
probably never again... nibbling on the night,
past midnight, drinking feverishly,
convincing myself of \"genius\":
as any drunk who has caught less
a flu more a bravado cough ends up doing...
which is to say:
a cocktail of bravado &
gusto...
perhaps some other time...
when unnecessary laughter out of
blue-moon imminence is that last absolutely
necessary - stomach in stitches sort of shenanigans..\'

\'- which brings me to how...
i suppose with language, on a spare...
i see no wrong with whining
like so... if one can also be whimsical about
it...
pretend one has an accent of ascent
befitting one to use such pronoun 3rd person
(i am a multitude of schizoid remains
safely mitigated in vitro)...
an accent less orientated in and around
essex or the extension of east london...
north-east loon & don...

and how else? 26 apparently necessary
tools - from which Na
is a prefix for
na- + -me
sodium / natrium /
codex graeca -
say... the alpha, beta croaking phallus junction
of p.o.w. machismo...
what war? oh... just a made up
war of words... props and grandists...
eat an E drop an I...
how... mein gott... the infinity
of hows and howls...
yet still finding only one suitably inoffensive
universal why...
as if a why isn\'t already too late
and is hardly justified...

as a student of kant might have put it:
oddly enough everything that\'s how is
a priori...
while the why is a posteriori...
- do we need to muddle the words
further with that quadratic rubric of shorthand
i.e. synthetic a priori vs. analytic a priori etc.?
i\'ve heard it somewhere...
mind you...\'

\'to never waste a good prose-esque (prosaic?) impromptu on a stuttering for rhyme: all in all - to never waste a good impromptu on a constipation of rhyme - knock-knock... no one\'s there... comes the cascade, that the impromptu has a mind of its own - that it has stolen my fingers and my hands... i\'d sooner choke on a rhyme than \"think\" it might ease the digestive process of reading - such that the eyes see first - which implies the tongue does not necessarily have to elevate itself beyond its genesis status of an oyster in the shell of a skull - plenty of riches surround it - all these pearls tightly clenched into a grin... that i would never waste a good enough impromptu on a constipation of rhyme...\'

3) \'it would be wrong to eat a strawberry
in winter... the analytical bonkers route of
imported from spain: a watery mush of
punched-up rouge...
but this... synthetic taste of strawberry...
it\'s hardly...
but it\'s its own variation
of: at best imitated - but at least not the worst
of an over-ripe original...

- as such, the day can begin with its
slouching - its miraculously stitched together
humbling - that i can find a momentary
repose - exceeding expectations i\'ll demand
of myself later - or rather later forget -
bride of amnesia - memories for rent:
a hybrid of a cameo role
and an out-of-proportion cyclopean
subjectivity that tease from
the omni- litany a needle eye\'s coercion
of concentrated blind spots.\'

***

Absolutely Brilliant!
You seem to be at your best after a brief (3 hours) walk. I admit I have read little of Lawrence\'s works but I remember this passage that might help endear him to you a little, from \'Don Juan\':
\'Here this round ball of earth
Where all the mountains sit
Solemn in groups,
And the bright rivers flit
Round them for girth.

Here the trees and troops
Darken the shining grass,
And many people pass\'

Stay safe and thank you for giving us another glimpse of your unquestionable talent.

November 26th, 2020 03:59

chemical strawberries
ANGELA & BRIAN said:

GUT MITWOK CONRAD ~ Brian here (I share this site with Angela my Wife since MARCH ) Thanks for an epic Poem ! Most Members like short poems so you will get READERS but not REPLIES which is a pity ~ because it is the ability to COMMENT & REPLY that makes MPS a Proactive Site. I am a Food Scientist so your title intrigued me *CHEMICAL STRAWBERRIES* I downloaded the Poem & read it and I have pleasure in commenting on the STRAWBERRY SECTION. There are many Srawberry Farms in Essex (its the soil & climate) and the handwritten P Y O signs are very inviting in the season. Also it give one the opportunity to eat one (or three) straight off the BUSH ! English Strawberries are UNIQUE as is their FLAVOUR & TEXTURE ! Strawberries should be eaten Uncooked in Season (they dont freeze) and as you point out Spanish Strwberries are Anathema and should be banned ! The flavour of an English Strawberry consists of over 50 chemicals in a perfect genetic proportion which is impossible to achieve synthetically ! Bush Boake Allen in their *Strawberry Essence* use about 25 compounds - and that essence is used to flavour *Strawberry Sweets* by MAYNARD etc etc. These taste far superior to Spanish Strawberries but not English ones ! Both the *Taste & Texture* of an English Strawberry are important but some of both are lost by freezing - bottling - canning - cooking etc ~ unlike some other FRUITS. The only answer for *Year-round English Strawberries* is JAM & Tiptree Jams have cracked that one and are available Worldwide. *Little Gem* is revelation !

Thanks for sharing *CHEMICAL STRAWBERRIES*
Peace & Joy to You & Yours
Love Angela Brian & Smokey Cat !!!
Please check our SITE ~ Thanks !

November 25th, 2020 07:07

neu ernst / alt blau
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'beside: i begin where i left off...
from the cinema calender of the abstract heart...
if there is sense to be made:
ex-dada it is...
it\'s not hard but it is still
a cluster-fuck of wording to have
either the cabaret voltaire in the background
while the trenches to the fore -
or the reverse -

- lately, drinking became intolerable:
an iron maiden no less, no more...
that listening to music was...
beside the sound of a crashing piano... ?
the scratching of a fork and knife
on a porcelain plate... a nail on a blackboard?

i was expecting: a bothersome sobering stiffness -
in that: a tongue more rigid and less
maniable - to the extreme of: no less rigid
than rigidity itself implies -

but: this is it, die neu es -
split second blues for some deviating
pedantry et al.: how many definite articles
are there in deutsche?
herrman hier: das die der... den -
pointing definitely at a distance
using the complexity of a telescope:
a horizon of the flattest of all possible flat:
Flanders.\'

2) \' this neu and the perfect litany
(ja, für jetzt): ernst... schlicht... nüchtern...
to play on the antonyms:
rasch! bissig!
like an aporte for a dog...

neu ernst / alt blau...

because i guess that\'s the beauty of english
and it\'s dish of the most succulent: sächsisch...
how it can be woven into a \"hiding something\"
sort of tartan -
on that unconscious
level: coming out of the trenches
for a game of foos b\'ah ah a\'loon...

it\'s this cherry: and all around this sea of
clotted cream:
or rather: what came \"borrowed\"
when mingling with the gingerbread men
of a celtic persuasion -
remains on a roman garrison -
yadda yadda blues...

- no need to reread unless... reading it like
one might read a ted berrigan sonnet,\'

3) \'it is 10:06am and i am almost
done... a coffee has been drank, a cigarette smoked
and a mince pie ate:
caffeine nicotine sugar...
and the wintry snap! of morning air...
nothing better to wake up... not even a shower...
caffeine nicotine sugar
and the wintry snap! of morning air...
even i like the sound of that: hence...
on repeat...

about 5 poems read and more importantly
ślicznie, pięknie: prozaicznie...
something prosaic... to balance the poetics...
after all: i don\'t know which would
give me more constipation and which
indigestion - the digestive system aside:
i\'m implying... that fat sponge of
spaghetti herr Brian Eez...

eine zunge
zwei zunge
drei zunge auster
ohne ein schale
auf a hölzernFußboden

one tongue
two tongue
three tongue oyster
without a shell
on a wooden floor!\'

...

hope you\'re doing better, it reads like you may be, but then who am I to read anything acutely, at best I second guess and wrap it up as \'goodwill\'s sense\' with the calculative insight uselessness of gift wrapped socks on December 25th...
though as always I\'m amazed at the pool of knowledge you have at your whim, utilised with such effortless abandon in the purposed illegibility of your ever potent commentary, of-self lately - understandably,
though if I may dare to hope, someday soon you\'ll be able to stave-off the \'alt blau\' consequences of escape through bottle lips (I admit I google shit, what choice do I have when I\'m the walking caricature of so much ignorance, lol)
stay strong, thanks for continuing to share

November 24th, 2020 06:25

neu ernst / alt blau
Michael Edwards said:

?

November 23rd, 2020 13:19

hannibal\'s wine (sire to drinking and having to, also, write with b\'ah b\'ah grammar and... orthology is non-existent in english, to be hoarding\'nest)
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'i\'m sitting drinking some wine
from several years ago:
smoking my due...
looking at an eucalyptus tree
begging for a voice / movement
with a jolsting wind...
obviously \"nothing\"...
so i guess i\'ll leave these grapes just
hanging... the leaves are \"gone\"
dropped off... or simply migrated
for the summer with the storks...
but at least the grapes are not
simply falling...\'

2) \'democracy: amassing a sulk fest
already mattering on the verge(s)
what\'s already:
whether capitalism or communism:
it\'s bureucracy one way or
the other: the status quo of tongues

suppose who owns what:
except i ail with a voice that\'s also...
an illiterate X on the ballot...
but i don\'t grate voting...
looks like when people disagree with
me they just decide to:
pretend... it\'s mutually exclusive:
i don\'t exist they don\'t exist...
but the flimsy comic book is
uber-real...\'

3) \'invalidating response:
because... the roman poets heaved rhyme...
oh sure...
rhyme was a pop phase from
those... lost pressure being kept
a continued effort...
fuck me even the ancient greek
tragedists didn\'t bother:
come the nuance or... chance
to rhyme... otherwise: what use
is rhyme and geometry and
prison... rhyme is a fucking square...
it\'s necessary pork chops
and... xeno-
prefix alone...
who brought in the Zee Zed: Zeno?
i fucking know what Xeno
scientology and william burroughs looks
like... a skeleton...\'

4) \'i am allowing myself an interlude
via this... ha ha... makeshift...
populis vox:
voice of the people...

hush hush: cowardrice for the sake
of: \"someone\'s looking\"!...
probably a neighbour...
who... one will... never
relate to... beside the already presribed...
guillotine of bullshit...
how does one... guillotine... a turd
the worth of a centipede?
all pretend wriggly like
an orgy of parasites?!
just asking: i wasn\'t avilabble for you
to imagine how...
maggots sold for adventures
in fishing tend to...
to: zenith with...\'

5) \'i\'m the same fucking toad-see
of voyeurism... baseless

yes... here come the \"incredibles\"
of the half-wits... halving-of-knotting...
barrel bounty of laughs...
some swedish existential feast of a movie...

a society overtly saturated with tits
and irish prancing luck: four leaf clover?
this? this is all i...
oasis from a stone when suckling toward
a deadening end...
for the ink that\'s my mine...
and me walking off a beach
toward the bosom of the sea...\'

6) \'this was supposed to be a conversation
without the demands

a variation of: i told you so...
it\'s not like i didn\'t know...
up in that acorn tree...
oh i knew:
i would have kneeled but i forgot
my knees...

that \"they\" stop apparently speaking...
when you ears are too eager to quest
for hearing...

i knew that i could\'t prescribe myself
what could have been allowed...
how much of faking it...
leaves me with habitually promising
a sentencing of reality...
without an -ism...

come to think of it...
co-conspirator... in a time of authentic grief?
and later: a time...
how such an ingregious act, most,
subjective... untested...
will come back and haunt...
oh but i have something else
to heave: to borrow...
but... will it become apparent...
how... unlikely!

who isn\'t tired... \"these days\"...\'

7) \'i was going to make some wine...
now i\'m not going to make \"some\" wine...

joke: ante \"contra\" ad...
which implies hannibal...
portas: and there are seven tiers
of hell...
hannibal /before/ the gates
hannibal /at the/ gates...
no definite articles weaving with english
back into latin...
.
.
.
i drink some vodka i\'m tasting plum:
it\'s still that cosmopolitan hangover...
it\'s beside giving me the blues...
the nostalgia surrounding the 1950s...
but there\'s a sylvia plath and i know:
someone was giggling with
being unhappy...\'


November 10th, 2020 03:56

to have been cheated so
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'less of what\'s to be done
and more of what\'s to be...
how i imagine myself being (a) man
rather than doing the expected
manly-\"thing\"...

there\'s no reality of a gaping hole
or: ex nihil stalking me:
no: born of death....
latin! latin!
natus ex mors...
we went fishing and how we bicycled
around a never-ending stupidity
how i extended my youth
while you preserved your old age...\'

2) \'well... there\'s no unthinking this one
through: i\'m the better drunk than
you will ever be: i fathom a need to
write some odd doodle while you
were exhausting the last remains
of memory cinema...

i\'m gaining friction from people who
have started to notice:
i am not using english
with any orthodoxy, catholicism or
the sushi entree of protestantism...
looks like this language
i alone must own:
i will not be among the throng
of false prophets speaking
to the natives for corrections...

i own all that is readily available...
the natives can go burn
wickers and churches: in all honesty!

TUMANY...

it\'s theirs? they loosely(,)
just disguised themselves:
as... hinter...
and the lapsing of aggrieved:
solo quests...
their native language doesn\'t translate
back...
it\'s theirs or is it simply mine?
how much this integration will allow...
i need more heads decapitated
saluting lazy tongues on pikes:
i am sure!
before the zombies will start sleeping: again!\'

3) \'and we complied to the details
of the herd...

but not this, not now...
i can get a haircut i also can:
sure as hell wait for an irritating death
from a toothache!
sooner the pains from
a bad-hair-day...
i\'m waiting for my teeth to
grow into fangs...
into elephant-esque tusks...
since my mouth will be unable
to impossibly keep them...
but my hair is more prompted
as: kept attention of \"detail\"...

suicide never made more sense:
all the excuses are in situ:
on the ready...
and i wouldn\'t even want
to blame these explorers...\'

4) \'i was debriefed by happiness
once...
i left the same sullen & sulk
signature as i ever might...\'

5) \'death didn\'t rob me of what
you had already stressed:
the mortal feign...
i had 3 months to spare...
detail for me the breaking
of the riddle of conscience...
i have to heave this last
salvage pin-point...

you were a drunk:
i\'m a better drunk of the whole lot
of us two: twinned...

this unrelenting presence:
to have been allowed witness of your body
so well fashioned for
a funeral: mr. navy...
mr. now...

i suppose a thank you is in order...
81 years in waiting is
the only way to die...
there\'s no need to tease turtles
with envy that extends into
a century...

now i want to remember edinburgh
through 2004 to 2007...
it could have been manchester...
it could have been an itch
like southampton...
pressure me... creases of
a Penzance... reverse the tide i probably
couldn\'t...

perhaps i want to chase learning
a game of chess...
perhaps i want to relive those summers
i lay on the balcony and read
the books i read..
in your abrahamic bosom...
cheap-chow-mein-of-wording...
here\'s me... better clued-in...
better suited to sniffing the porno-feel
of 1980s pop music...
.
.
.
after all... i was born into a land-mass
that once claimed pride...
from sea to sea:
the baltic and the black sea
was, \"in question\"...

land-locked manoeuvres -
too many fucking vowels!

we went fishing, we went cycling...
the best years
circa 2002 through to some other
circa...
we went to forever distant places...
we allowed ourselves to
stomach heights of mountains...
now come to \"think\" of it...
i have tabloid and graffiti where
bow-ties and mourning should be...
the world just preserves
this insistence to continue:
with or without a status quo...\'




November 5th, 2020 04:47

to have been cheated so
Stephenwbd said:

Just read your poem and a few others on this site. I like your poem; I think it is the only poem of those I have just read that is not sentimental tosh or a product of a lifetime having pop music shovelled in your ear. I enjoy this kind of mobility:
i itch with skin i tease
myself over an asset that\'s these eyes...
i sip a glass of water,
And this, the way you switch images and the humour, great:
if it was oh so simple
that we were all born turtles...
with knowledge of plumbing apparatus....
I imagine you sitting, drinking: the poem mixing your life and geo-politics, Baltic history thrown in, more alcohol, more fragmentary. Edit it: short verses, stabs of phrases 5-10 lines, don’t try to make a point, the point will happen. Keep it tight – the verses; keep it loose the verse content. Good Poem. I wish you luck.


November 4th, 2020 17:29

imperial purple (łysy)
L. B. Mek said:

1) and language is no longer
a freedom:
it\'s no more a quest
for solace as it is:
squatting over a pit
of grammar-shizzo...

i have to thank you
for the grief: i drink less!
but now that you\'re dead:
here\'s me looking
for a full stop,
or blame myself to
make strategy with
a semi-colon...

new paragraph?
new chapter - or altogether
just a different book...\'

2) \' my affluent counterpart
you\'re a dead-op
and why was it
ever a word salad
and not a word-spaghetti?

to eat? quiet impossible...
then again: my mouth is bogus enough
to shelter the concept of
tongue...

every time i\'ll want to un-pretend
to grieve... i\'ll probably end up
slicing and dicing an onion...
to erase a need for teeth
i\'ll such-and-such i.e. suck a lemon...

3) 3 months to spare i tell myself...
from now until her death
***Grandma, my life\'s pillar of Polish Babka:***

i\'ll be playing poker...
i\'ll nuance truth
because there\'s no need to play
that horrid game of
teasing a nibbling layer
of the same ol\' dwarfian lie...

our fishing trips... our cycling trips...
here\'s me: writing
inconveniences
on your chin, cheeks,
forehead... telling myself:
it is very possible to starve
bewildered looking
at your corpse...
i will use your spine as a staff
to make dicta parallels
for the quest of eyes:
should i forget to eat
enough carrots...

truly: i\'m relearning the spectrum
of lethargy upon the arrival of
sorrow -
it\'s not an essential \"laziness\"
it\'s just this: custard-brain-freeze:
for a brain expected there\'s
this heavily soaped piece
of clay-alla-sponge...

i test my teeth against
a \"riddle\" of ice for my whiskey
and: i\'m looking for onions!
how can i turn my heart
back into a lazarus...

my dear \"father\" the fog!
my dear grandiosity: the moon,
the fog and your shadow!
how seemingly cowardly
it must be attesting:
that i too will follow down your
route...

..........................................................
..........................................................

*** (added a line at start of section 3 to provide context) ***

stay strong!
one breath, one blink, one step:
taste each individually, marvel and savour them collectively, then let that sigh seep-out slowly,
\'you are alive - you are free, at least physically!\'
when that time comes inevitably,
try - to go easy, no - never gently
but sip these last remnants of life greedily,
and let that be your legacy...




November 3rd, 2020 06:48

imperial purple (łysy)
Doggerel Dave said:

I have absolutely no idea what you are saying: You produce one of these nearly every day?
Please - both vocalisation and written script are about communication. So what exactly is it that you are communicating?
Perhaps some background in your profile would be of assistance.....
Regards Dave

November 2nd, 2020 23:37

the world is and continues, my grandfather died
jarcher54 said:

This is priceless . . . so many stunning and haunting recollections, impressions, and observations. Thanks so much.

November 2nd, 2020 15:19

a date with death
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'seems like: perhaps i was a boy then...
and the beloved dog of the family died
and one were allowed to weep over so much
animation and nuance in a bark:
but soulless the essence died... nonetheless...
even then... the man who is about
to die ventured to restrain himself in giving
me the news when i was having a sleepover
since: boys don\'t cry...
it\'s funny-numb: it\'s teasing tears that
are not supposed to be shed...
in the last years of his dementia he would still
remember... that same dog...
a mongrel-esque tease of an alsatian
by the name of Bella\'

2) \'it is unimportant for the lineage
of this man to have survived:
after all... i have not \"bothered\" to keep
it... rejuvenated... i had no... lineage
quest... no family name...
although... if i invoked my mother\'s
maiden name: Batuk... almost resonates
like Bathory... origins in the Czech sphere:
- and he implored me to call him
once a month to talk any sort of crap
with him - i hardly ever did:
we came to an understanding that
to talk... a conversation would require
facial features contorting, eyes...
probably some hands too...
is that a regret?
it could very well... but not really...\'

3) \'i have to \"man up\"... there\'s the wait:
from the hospice to the shallows:
grave being the riddle and as he stressed
countless times: death the great leveller -
the only democratic auto- prefix:
that no one can \"just\" veto...
and by all standards of mortality -
born 1939: herr! bite bonbon! circling
around 82 isn\'t bad for a man...\'

4) \'next up on the chop-a-block of: inevitable...
my grandmother...
and isn\'t that going to be a woozy...
a new definition of division...
my mother a daddy\'s girl...
my uncle a momma\'s boy...
my father? abandoned by his parents
is beside stoicism:
i\'d pinch a suggestion
at psychopathy - now news of death:
just this... working up to cul de sac certainties...
hours from now and i\'ll be
bed-side at the hospice talking
to a vision of a corpse not yet formalised...\'

5) \'let me join the ranks of those
already sentenced to the base reality
conundrum:
that death is a liberty and that...
i have no fear of dreams per se...

otherwise: thank whoever it is i have
to thank for the least of my talent being
exposed:
there is no: go gently into that good night...
blindness for one...
is not the cobweb of smoke
and mirrors of dementia: the latter...
i have to cherish the exactness of my
gargoyle face to keep these last remaining
tremors of life being gifted with:
an old curiosity...

i will not rhyme what\'s already
a technical matter...
that i want to wed my eyes my breath
with that of death impeding
and find him there: old joseph batuk...\'

6) \'ol\' grandfather and me...
i liked to test horses for a gallop...
he would... tease some others with
an apple and a sugar-cube...

a life so completed but having
to leave one so fucking empty...
i don\'t care if death is so benevolent in her
praises of justice:
as blind as deaf and as tongueless as
she wants to stress herself to be...
i will not dare to cry...
perhaps... a year from now...
when my own presence in this world
is gravitating toward a new assemblance
of anonymity:
when... already...
my neighbours are hollow ushers...
imps and diabolical idling...

at the hospice i want to see death
give birth...
.
.
.
how the death of my grandfather
is less than
the grief already testified by his daughter:
my mother...
and how my father is this...
fucking limbo rubix cube of cipher
decipher cipher decipher...
numb...
when i supposedly burry
my father i will have to borrow burrying
someone else...

but before all that:
i want to chase death and laugh:
you\'s one siding antithesis shadow!
you\'s a shadow!
ha ha! i want to become this
inglorious... fester...
as to how death is defeated...
it\'s appreciated too literally...
it needs to be...
i can\'t allow death its grandiosity of
metaphors and church / clerical whimsical churns...
death is death is...
the beauty of the scents of autumn...\'


October 24th, 2020 03:59

the black cracovite & the three sisters amber (adventures in paragraph)
L. B. Mek said:

firstly, be wary of all the SA(ist\'s) - who equate using rulers to matchmake timeframes then hurl their achievement raping \'theories\' as justifiable factoids. I recently read a theory proposing that Shakespeare must have utilised a lady ghost writer, why: because of the abundance of empathy in those lines and characters bequeathed...
For what end do \'they\' strive to besmirch all these geniuses, surely its not purely because \'they\' -themselves couldn\'t cultivate a shadow to hold-up in the face of such wordsmith masters, with what feeble effort\'s they could muster...
what does it really matter where the \'inspiration\' is derived from, most of the stories we weave are regurgitated from 2nd hand accounts of inaccurate experiences, you can argue even Zarathustra \'stole his idea\' from those elements of life that help curate our mind\'s...
cancel culture meet\'s time travel is all that these poisonous SA(ist\'s) represent.
All stemming from our unending fascination with context: \'see, if I demonstrate my understanding of why or how this writer was influenced by the circumstantial timeline of events circulating around the date the writing was conceived, then clearly if I had been there and been under those same influences = I would have easily penned this exact same classic - most assuredly, I guarantee with my logic\'s assembly-line Degree of sanctified certainty...\'
pffffffffffffffttttttttttt!!!

why not just show us, by utilising all the abundant potential for inspiration at your disposal (world wibe web, anyone?) to create something even similar in quality, instead of wasting your life throwing mud at those corpses: because you know - reassuringly they can\'t throw it back, I guess... This BS is worse than the games those Political kindergartener\'s play, at least they have the ability to throw it back at each other!

😤 ahem... excuse me for \'going off\' in your comments section, but I own both these books and each have their own unique merit! Just so tired of the endless character assassinations aimed at marginalising Classic literature, because we can\'t come up with anything better ourselves: reduced to belittling greatness to wade in our muddy waters of inferiority complexes...

1) \'i was going to enjoy the pickwick papers to the end but then the disclaimer that it\'s an imitation don quixote tale... and suddenly the fire - of eagerness... became a stalemate of cinders and stealthy coals... no, clearly the milan kundera essay didn\'t help either: who would want to reread don quixote: i know some people do reread books... i don\'t understand my grandmother in that respect... or... i remember when it school we were governed by repetitions of rubric... i hope: prose is where allowances for voyeurism / exhibitionism come to the fore... third party details summoned... that sort of \"thing\"... but of course i wanted something original to come to the fore... a proverb... it might be persian but it might be absolutely original from circa the baltic region: in between all that\'s west and russia... a corridor of peoples and nations that... given the greenwich mean time would have to incorporate Greece... and most probably Egypt... and Israel... it reads: all in capital to escape this myopia claustrophobia fudge of paragraph: BETTER A SPARROW IN YOUR HAND, THAN A DOVE UPON YOUR ROOF...\'

October 22nd, 2020 05:59

at a hospilatier\'s request
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'ask them...
to drink alone...
and tell them: would you
please be inclined
to listen to templar chants?
\'le chant des templiers -
organum marcel peres - harmonia mundi:
salve regina...
da pacem domine...
nunc dimittis...\'

i have been here before: dear hospitalier...
i have... i have seen
diamonds be fathomed
in waterfalls -
i have been here: gnashing my teeth with an agony from the aesthetic!
i was here: tortured by beauty,
once...\'

\'tempt them into this agony
of beauty...
no Bach no Beethoven...
forget all the polyphonic composition
complexity of classical music:
to the bellowing guts
of angus dei...

i don\'t want intelligent music:
i want music that replicates
the herded animal: for the chant of the choir!\'

2) \' give them an hour
to concern themselves with conjunctions...
give them the scissors of
atheism: notably in english
the only dimension this explanation
works in...
a- (indefinite)
and -the- (definite) -
an -ism is an -ism is an -ism...
is perhaps a variation of shorthand
explanations: as any decency of
an -ology...

indefinitely but most assured: definitely
this lingering phantom
of a tongue that had to remain
in talk and was never allowed
to sing...\'

\'and i have been accused of
sociopathy and psychopathy...
lies have dwarf-esque legs to sprint on...
2007: my descent...
it has been oh so... coincidental...
i have a testimony of Abel...
the earth doesn\'t cry out for me:
i\'m still laughing upon it...
it\'s so impossibly just to have
not disturbed a finger of evil
that always points with accusation
at its own tongue...

i\'m a big boy now: i can allow
myself metaphors of evil
i can allow myself metaphors of good...
i want these templar chants
to be aesthetic torture chambers...
i want men to be baptised by
the tears they shed...
expecting results...\'

3) \'augure of either sigh or the forlorn...
with my tears i wed myself
to the lakes and the rivers...
beside spite:
from an authenticity basis:
i was made lacklustre i was made
hindered...
if i were merely trampled on:
tampered with:
that i feel more than i think
i might have been egregiously taken
advantage of...
it\'s oh so...
synchronised...
as if an Abel: but this new-Abel
would not die from a wounding
of a stabbing sensation:
if would require covert
murderous mechanisms...
an ingenuity of chemical employment...

let the world rot to appease the bloodthirst
of the demiurge...
i will only serve to laugh...
as laugh i did:
so many years prior...
come! share my universal attention
to detail!
let the teuton sing!\'

\'guess i just spoiled a \"poem\":
there i was also looking for... a rhyme...
to also look for geometric antics...
yes...
it has come to my attention
to be clumsy enough...
i too would have liked
to have spent the better part
of my yet to be: envisioned
life in buenos cyres...

if i were more than the name
prescribed unto me:
i were more darius than matteo...
if i were a xerxes and
athena was my bride...
i like questioning being
given a name:
with such hightened expectation...
.
.
.
i\'m wondering: how will \"they\" ever...
multiply us to their assured
presence of number...
and weaken us intellectually
to fraction out a count of the celebrated
counter count of 1..

we must be
so impossibly - \'unquantifiable\':
to conquer!\'

(*forgive me I couldn\'t resist reworking that last line a little*)


October 19th, 2020 02:48

walking, \"again\"
L. B. Mek said:

1) \'that painting is all eye
that poetry is all ear and perhaps
the tongue too...
oculus per oculus: eye for an eye...

i allow myself to drink to excess
tonight,
because what i really want to write
is what i gathered from this
afternoon...

autumnal promenade...
these trees and the sunlight raising
them... to trans-natural realism\'s heights...
it does \'elp to merely take
a stroll...

it\'s beyond comparison:
i dared to think: and if i took a photograph...
no... a photograph would
make me sulk...
i would keep it as something
both horrid and both saddening -
mind you: my memory bank
is running dry and i much prefer
to take photographs with
a blinking of an eye
to expand my memory hoard(ing)...\'

2) \'it was never an intended piccadilly circus
bulwark of rape neon...
insomnia neon and incognito -
the middle of this drab
of london bothers me from time to time...
from: time to time...\'
\'i\'ve already chosen anecdotal
points of familiarity...
celebrity trees -
trees like signatures like:
everything else that is also a tree
but is so generic it can\'t stand alone...
it needs a canvas a window or a view...

then those trees that... i swear they are
so: unto themselves that
i wouldn\'t require a mirror to peer
at myself...

sure... upon reaching a pinnacle
of cubism... painting new abstract:
a best a verbiage and forever this extension
of psychoanalysis -
at best this verbiage and...
what is it that they called it:
base: introspection of the self...
well... that\'s already a doubling of
the act...\'

3) \'i want this orgy of verbiage...
to impress details of fracture
and \"fiction\"...
i want to return to the ancient
vernacular...
for all i want i must not never
hope to conceive as: outright will...
to hell with a freedom
so ill-advised...

in these pastures where old
ergonomics: horses - graze...
i heave a thumb... a fattening
of it... i experience creases best known
to the advent of the corruption of paper...
but i am not using any of it (i.e. paper)...\'
.
.
.
\'this: greviaous mud...
this... horrid first pretender!\'

October 16th, 2020 04:09

i am here by some irritating conjunction of bad jokes
L. B. Mek said:

I\'ll highlight what you try to hide:
1) \'my new earned pleasure:
to walk is better than to talk...
yet even i found myself talking
to the wind:\'
2) \'words architecture,
words architecture...
word... ugh... architecture...
words grammar architecture...
it\'s not that it\'s ugly...
it\'s just so well-arrived-at...
it\'s pristine... unshakeable...
words, grammar... architecture...\'
3) \'it\'s not merely... impossible...
this of the fewest least...
it\'s this rugged tease of
an avalanche...
a stampede...
when in fact... it was merely
a wriggling of a centipede.\'
4) and sex has become one of those: metaphors...
drawing water from a stone...
i\'m too tired of wanting what isn\'t readily available...
in the availability of a harem...
i\'m too tired to want
what i must, most necessarily
never have...\'

October 15th, 2020 03:28

an afternoon with edvard estlin c.
L. B. Mek said:

you will scare away a lot of readers by the simple scope of your ambitious efforts and the bold authenticity of your brave - self-defining remarks,
still though: it is their loss, for you hide unquestionable gems amongst the rough aesthetic of your writes,
brilliant effort!

October 8th, 2020 04:19

familiar bench scenarios (пицбургэр)
L. B. Mek said:

oh my, what a talent you\'ve let us glimpse with this monumental effort!
yes this work is raw, yes it is four or five subjects - themes worth of poetic content stuffed unceremoniously into one unravelling and (at times) ramblingly opinionated work, BUT!
just purely by its poetic ambition alone, this is a great read, if we then take the time to break-down and highlight some of its brilliant sections, this is some of the best poetry I have ever read!
Please, please continue to write and fine-tune your skills so that you can let the world sample more of your enormous talent...
(1) \'passed from one sentiment (ladder) to the next gluttonous serpent... as much as there was a \"search\" and a... \"lost time\"... missing the train...\'
(2) \'there\'s the same sterile prone to state brick: beside those that crease plumbing gifts and grit...\'
(3) \'there is no shape for rummage among dough of stone sorrow settled for the eternity of rain: and rhyming...
a borrowed journalism of sort:
an extract at best...\'

October 8th, 2020 02:40

familiar bench scenarios (пицбургэр)
dusk arising said:

Very confused and far too long a rant. Where is the art? Poetry?

October 7th, 2020 20:46

an afternoon with edvard estlin c.
Trenz Pruca said:

Wow. Loved the bits they shine like the sun striking crystal.
e.g.,
this exile of primo ego...
this grief this first tongue learned...
this harnessed last of all
possible tenures...
how i wished to escape
this gravity prone soviet -
this magdeburgian oath...
this late berliner to the party...
my macbeth my tired sorrow...
a song of ditched woe to have wed:
assorted choice of gowns!

I will need several reads to parse the wonder of the whole adventure through history. Good job.

October 6th, 2020 19:41