Limited Linguistics

Word complex

 

A word or few can hold within its qualms

Entire universes of mysteries and miseries

From that initial jog into view down to

That final extirpation out of entropy’s final thrust.

Lives, of course are more than words, contain

Wonder and pain, love and disgust in configurations

Well beyond the noun or adjective or even verb.

One must contain a throat to scream, a mind

To dream, that sense immense cannot condense

Existence into the formalities of utterable sound

Or even scribbles symbolizing oddly the lightning of life,

That flash of clash that streaks through every now

May echo in linguistic thunder to trace the wonder

Of reality but there is no way that actuality can be trapped

Into the tangles out of the consonants and vowels enwrapped.

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Informational Intent

question marks

 

There are these thoughts

Of genes and memes that posses

Desires of their own,

That inspire, examine to inquire

With an intellect to collect that uses us

And not we of them.

 

Does one plus one utilize, in fun,

A handy human mechanism to create two?

Does all of humanity, within its clear insanity,

Subdue itself to perform necessities, not for itself,

But to respond to ideas whose ends and means

Have goals we cannot know?

 

Concepts and alien conclusions exert odd powers

To empower odd gods, really strange economies

And the most mysterious behaviors to create doubts

That a sensible humanity could not inspire or desire.

 

There seems to be something else in control

That could wreck the entire planet for us,

But prepare it for something else.

A complex of arcane knowledge out of

Their central fibers of unknown destinations.

We have become the tools

Of the unknown.

 

 

 

There Are Eyes

eyes

 

In the jungle of the mind

There are eyes that bring demise,

With Ideas, you-deas, they-deas, random ideasing

That  clearly seem  diseasing.

Some have claws, some have jaws that gobble,

Some just make you hobble.

And some can kill. destroy the will,

Make you ill, or

Just watch

From a windowsill.

FB-eyes can be aggressive,

See eye ayes can be excessive

And barmy Google eyes, most invasive,

Commercial eyes in ways disgracive.

Peeking can be wreaking into leaking ways of seeking

Impulsive strong repulsives that are simply sneaking

Methodical mythodicals through excessive geeking.

Surprisingly devising the informative

Is frequently quite stinkingly subnormative.

So it becomes quite clear that sanity is near

Where eyes that do not think

Do better to just blink.

Demons

violin

 

Does a mind have a thought?

Or does a thought have a mind?

There are patterns out of possibilities

To send enchanting messages

That snap across a synapse,

Flash through glial cells like ringing bells,

Signal to the world something strange.

 

Does a flower have a scent or

Does a scent have a flower?

Can a scent with intent say hello to a bee

Meaningfully,

To captivate the urge to pollinate,

Instigate the spread of multitudes of flowers

Bent to flood the world with clouds of scent?

 

Does a violin have a melody

Or does a melody capture a violin

Along with its musician

With the magic of its delight?

The flow of notes connotes

A mystery of dance that enchants.

 

What is that power that drives together

Woman and man?

Some secret compact amongst the chemicals

Well informed to devise an enterprise

Of that genie called life, or

An intelligence, an idea out of ancient days?

 

Patterns of information,

Like formulas out of mathematics

Have this strange arcane Platonics,

Materializing to enslave us all.

Hate, love, configurations of curiosity,

Demons out of dreams.

 

 

 

 

.

A Whisper Of Regret

Jewel in space

 

To gently touch this world,

With fingertips of delight,

Which still glistens with a red rose,

Still hums in quotidian industries

Of bees and other serious folk

To maintain the functions of existence,

Is to capture a fragile momentary dream. .

I have stopped by for a few years

To awaken into this glorious fantasy

And then return to the eternal night.

I am most grateful to this exotic interim.

The end is near, is clear, in  destructive bombast,

In the extremes of solar anger and the dead frigidities

Of interstellar space.

This wondrous interim of life

Is a precious jewel

That glowed and will die

Within the endless

Dominions of death,

Something most odd

Amongst the fury of the stars.

Introduction To Potentials

fly

 

Unegged we gyre to inquire where our spectrum of possibility

Might apply, engage opportunity into potentials,

Empower what might conform to survivability.

 

Were I beetle, bird or butterfly I would comply with directives

Effective in directions far afield of monkeyshines where I’m inclined,

Since protoplasms are specified to modify within genetic preselectives.

 

Seagulls glide through cloudy skies and even horseflies enjoy

Atmospheric aerobatics, whereas I am limited and grounded.

Like some supersized flea, I can only leap up and down a tree.

 

But fleas and butterflies are mute while I am agreeably astute

To converse, dabble into verse, or babble on the universe on occasion,

Persuasions integral to my interval within our social situation.

 

So I am condemned to live and die with no potentials to fly or soar,

A lack I abhor and instead range those insane infinities in my head

To dream of Peter Pan and Superman, take a crack at The Army Air Corps.

 

 

 

 

 

The Question

dust

 

I remember, as a small child, a crystal moment

Lying on the polished wooden floor of my bedroom

In a warm morning summer day.

I was on my stomach propped up on my elbows

Fascinated by the particles of dust

Caught in a beam of bright sunlight, slowly swirling.

A minor cosmos of brilliant sparks.

This happened over ninety years ago

But that wonderful sight remains still quite clear.

 

I was less than one year old, couldn’t walk or talk,

Or even stand, but that precious image remains

And still encapsulates my entirety in question

Of who and what and why I am here and what is that

That shines in sunlight?

 

Admittedly I have never  found a way to become human

As others seem to manage quite easily.

The older I have become, the less I have understood

Of what this world is about and why we do what we do.

 

Spiders and grasshoppers, squirrels and sparrows

Dromenon quite well in context but there is a sense,

In humanity, of sharp corners that don’t fit in –

Aliens from another dimension set that must destroy

To make their way.

 

By this time, by this life, I should understand.

I still do not.

Knots Of Nots And Yeses

black hole

 

Humanity in totality does not photograph in clarity.

Disparities of inclinations, intimations, sensitivities

To vector destinations contradict to tangle

Every angle of perception, tumble all analyses

To stumble stabilities, foil agilities of introspection

And warp all understandings into fickle insignificance.

 

Nature does not approve the latest moves of this wild child

That devastates itself in wonder to reveal cruel disrespect

For complexities of integrative matrixes that required

Many million years to attain refined workability.

This is not a case of mere necessity to punishment violation,

The damages go far deeper, knock askew all basis of existence.

 

The kaleidoscope of time does not tumble with moralities.

Neither good nor bad intervenes in possibility to explore

What might appear or vanish out of incompatibility.

Nature is not any God to permit or to forbid.

The twistings of the witcheries of exploration are mechanical,

Not demonic nor providential. mere idle amusements

That slip and slide in lubrications out of the curiosities of time.

 

Admittedly each phase can possess distress on impermanence.

But a million years has negligible significance in time’s terrain

And those particles of dust we crown as planetoidal are myriad.

They carousel around their suns for games to play until

That central black hole drains away the galaxy to incomputable demise

So that, at end, that final destiny that takes us all becomes complete.

No surprise.