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Julian Mar 2019
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.
Melissa Eleanore Aug 2014
As candy thaws neath my tongue
My eyes take dilation.
I fall into an inception
as I walk into a place
where my tender age went...
Then,
I saw sevenths of an illusion
Acidic iridescence
Suffused in a type of dimension
I was present.
Bound to life's existence...
Each and every Earth-bound object
was formed
by masked bodies
that cradled each other.
Lifelessly connected to one another.
Expressing the same dainty love
we are mad for...
Jade orbs
were absorbed
by a topiary lord.
Beating.
Circulating.
Captivating.
Caught me devoted in all sorts of emotions.
Repetition. Repetition.
Sight distortion.
Colors stacked on colors.
I saw modulations.
But they spoke to me in motions.
I felt as if I was breathing this all before.
And that I was anticipating on something that I could not get myself to ignore.
Some moral.
That I've been awakened for...    
I was reverted back into a timeless age,
where matters were forgave
and where passions were seemliness.
and because of awareness
you become unable to love like a child
when you abandon your innocence.
So here's the message.
"Seven is perfection."
The eye to see life.
Making a connection.
Breathing Earth's affection.
There's so much more to this poem that I wish I could explain in words but unfortunately I just couldn't. The graphics in my head were too much and truly was perfect...
K Balachandran Jan 2016
The world as we know it
doesn't exist, from an evening days ago,
unruly fog with the menacing arrogance
of a killer whale, skimming
in the shallow waters near the shore,
has made the world vanish
without any trace, how long it would last,
no one could hazard a guess, till now!
"Is it the end of the world?"
within closed doors people wonder.
1 But no 'bang' of any kind was heard
did anyone hear any suspicious 'whimper',
the weather women with a broad smile
and reassuring voice  fails to tell us.

In this stormy night of primeval elements,
what exists for us is a continent of fear.
Shiver touching the highest recorded mark
in the Richter scale of fear, staring at a
dark night , bundled in white blanket,
all thing moving and static are kept  frozen.
Blizzard, a drunken madman keeps on
inventing a cuss word different, a minute
hissing it in varying tunes and modulations.

I hear no drone of airplanes flying low
to take the landing approach
in the airport nearby, anymore
everything except the storm and snowfall
has come to a standstill,what the morning
will bring, who could tell?
Every heart will be heavy tonight,
if only 2 Stephen Hawking will lift
his cell phone for a minute,
this is the time to ask in hush hush tone:
"Does such unprecedented signals
points that God would play dice
negating the prophecy Einstein made"
1.This the the way the world ends/Not with a bang, but with a whimper(T.S.Eliot)
2."God doesn't play dice" said Einstein, meaning there is an innate order in universe.Stephen Hawking corrected Einstein"Not only God definitely play dice but He sometimes confuses us by throwing them
where they can't be seen", meaning future could be random and unpredictable.
David Barr Apr 2014
Synthetic sympathy is like an epidemic across the surface of our baron horizon of sophistication, where predictable greetings and condolences are proclaimed with interpersonal detachment.
An aperture is a hole through which light travels across a threshold of darkness.
Gullible are those voters who strive for independence whilst firmly clamped in the jaws of proclaimed democracy, where reporters become lively at dramatic scenes of carnage and death.
Oh sibling of the expanding universe -  I implore you to project your voice across constitutional and cosmological  municipalities.
Let us run for office beyond the confinement of bureaucratic galaxies.
After all, our modulations echo throughout solitary cells of our revered bedlam.
Traveler Nov 2017
Once I attempted
To compose
The greatest songs of all
That crescendos
Up the scales of life
Modulations
That evolve...
But in these
Staggered stanzas
Where memories
Together bleed
The music
Changes minds
As drama changes keys
And so a broken opus
Is the only song I leave
...
Traveler Tim
Hal Loyd Denton Aug 2012
Sequestered

Lost in love the two playfully were immersed both in water and love an idyllic pool far from public view
Opened a portal hidden serene private was the reality their attention was exclusive for one another the
Quiet solitude it reached shore the trees took on the appearance of soft green uniformed sentinels of
Nature on the other side the rock cliffs was the amplifier their laughter had a rich explosion it feel back
On their two hearts wistfulness tinged in bliss opened deeper grandeur in their eyes for one another a
Glow pervaded this hideaway the secure the richest ground where all love flourishes be ye old or young
Seek these timbers the run off of mountain streams in them you will find life invigorated timelessness
Releases a sea of joy compressed into this hidden place a drum is beating it is both of your hearts
Beating In unison even nature has this ripple they say fire and water doesn’t mix then why is gentle
Sparks rising and a smoldering in the eyes passion’s fire is about to ignite it’s instantaneous
Explosion will rock the surrounding elements the epic center will come from no other place than
The body beautiful it crests and falls in deep valleys and reach mountain peaks love alone can only
Know these pleasures and at certain seasons this is a must you prolong not just love but great love
Romance will come like the island girl's dance deep rhythmic mesmerizing you’re their when you forget
Your name your brain has been thrown in to over drive enjoy the ride nothing will be common in
Embrace the thundering waterfall will drive you to your knees here your pleas will be answered where
Is the magic you both have whispered it always lays at the end of comparable searching by both you
Touch with body and soul a mysterious fount laid in spiritual bedrock never fails to provide if you call
And search you will walk into this living promise love is a surety but you must dress for it in proper attire
You divest yourself of self and your desire is to only to give to this significant other they speak of morning dew
When struck by the morning sun appears as landscape filled with diamonds love is a Curtin bejeweled
With many precious stones how it shimmers hidden within its vale wonders exists it has and never will
Be plundered by thieves and robbers only innocent lovers will it admit many are the places it can be
Found what is described here is one of them life will and can be hard but in these recesses you will find
Armor that cannot be penetrated you both will emerge as visual and powerful casted hardened steel
Forged and molded in the sweetest modulations I went a poverty weighted man and returned with royal
Riches if you ask what are they called with the highest praise a tongue can tell they are called the love of
my life my beloved wife
Poetemkin Sep 2019
I.

Tнʏ functions are etherial,
As if within thee dwelt a glancing Mind,
***** of Vision! And a Spirit aerial
Informs the cell of hearing, dark and blind;
Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought
To enter than oracular cave;
Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,
And whispers for the heart, their slave;
And shrieks, that revel in abuse
Of shivering flesh; and warbled air,
Whose piercing sweetness can unloose
The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile
Into the ambush of despair;
Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle,
And requiems answered by the pulse that beats
Devoutly, in life's last retreats!

II.

The headlong Streams and Fountains
Serve Thee, Invisible Spirit, with untired powers;
Cheering the wakeful Tent on Syrian mountains,
They lull perchance ten thousand thousand Flowers.
That roar, the prowling Lion's Here I am,
How fearful to the desert wide!
That bleat, how tender! of the Dam
Calling a straggler to her side.
Shout, Cuckoo! let the vernal soul
Go with thee to the frozen zone;
Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone Bell-bird, toll!
At the still hour to Mercy dear,
Mercy from her twilight throne
Listening to Nun's faint sob of holy fear,
To Sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea,
Or Widow's cottage lullaby.

III.

Ye Voices, and ye Shadows
And Images of voice—to hound and horn
From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows
Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn
On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells
A greeting give of measured glee;
And milder echoes from their cells
Repeat the bridal symphony.
Then, or far earlier, let us rove
Where mists are breaking up or gone,
And from aloft look down into a cove
Besprinkled with a careless quire,
Happy Milk-maids, one by one
Scattering a ditty each to her desire,
A liquid concert matchless by nice Art,
A stream as if from one full heart.

IV.

Blest be the song that brightens
The blind Man's gloom, exalts the Veteran's mirth.
Unscorned the Peasant's whistling breath, that lightens
His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth.
For the tired Slave, Song lifts the languid oar,
And bids it aptly fall, with chime
That beautifies the fairest shore,
And mitigates the harshest clime.
Yon Pilgrims see—in lagging file
They move; but soon the appointed way
A choral Ave Marie shall beguile,
And to their hope the distant shrine
Glisten with a livelier ray:
Nor friendless He, the Prisoner of the Mine,
Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast
Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest.

V.

When civic renovation
Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste
Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration
Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast
Piping through cave and battlemented tower;
Then starts the Sluggard, pleased to meet
That voice of Freedom, in its power
Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet!
Who, from a martial pageant, spreads
Incitements of a battle-day,
Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless heads,
Even She whose Lydian airs inspire
Peaceful striving, gentle play
Of timid hope and innocent desire
Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move
Fanned by the plausive wings of Love.

VI.

How oft along thy mazes,
Regent of Sound, have dangerous Passions trod!
O Thou, through whom the Temple rings with praises,
And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God,
Betray not by the cozenage of sense
Thy Votaries, wooingly resigned
To a voluptuous influence
That taints the purer, better mind;
But lead sick Fancy to a harp
That hath in noble tasks been tried;
And, if the virtuous feel a pang too sharp,
Soothe it into patience,—stay
The uplifted arm of Suicide;
And let some mood of thine in firm array
Knit every thought the impending issue needs,
Ere Martyr burns, or Patriot bleeds!

VII.

As Conscience, to the centre
Of Being, smites with irresistible pain,
So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter
The mouldy vaults of the dull Idiot's brain,
Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled—
Convulsed as by a jarring din;
And then aghast, as at the world
Of reason partially let in
By concords winding with a sway
Terrible for sense and soul!
Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay.
Point not these mysteries to an Art
Lodged above the starry pole;
Pure modulations flowing from the heart
Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth
With Order dwell, in endless youth?

VIII.

Oblivion may not cover
All treasures hoarded by the miser, Time.
Orphean Insight! truth's undaunted Lover,
To the first leagues of tutored passion climb,
When Music deigned within this grosser sphere
Her subtle essence to enfold,
And Voice and Shell drew forth a tear
Softer than Nature's self could mould.
Yet strenuous was the infant Age:
Art, daring because souls could feel,
Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage
Of rapt imagination sped her march
Through the realms of woe and weal:
Hell to the lyre bowed low; the upper arch
Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse
Her wan disasters could disperse.

IX.

The Gɪꜰт to king Amphion
That walled a city with its melody
Was for belief no dream; thy skill, Arion!
Could humanise the creatures of the sea,
Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves,
Leave for one chant;—the dulcet sound
Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,
And listening Dolphins gather round.
Self-cast, as with a desperate course,
'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides
A proud One docile as a managed horse;
And singing, while the accordant hand
Sweeps his harp, the Master rides;
So shall he touch at length a friendly strand,
And he, with his Preserver, shine star-bright
In memory, through silent night.

X.

The pipe of Pan, to Shepherds
Couched in the shadow of Maenalian Pines,
Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the leopards,
That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines,
How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!
While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground
In cadence,—and Silenus swang
This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned.
To life, to life give back thine ear:
Ye who are longing to be rid
Of Fable, though to truth subservient, hear
The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell
Echoed from the coffin-lid;
The Convict's summons in the steeple's knell;
"The vain distress-gun," from a leeward shore,
Repeated—heard, and heard no more!

XI.

For terror, joy, or pity,
Vast is the compass and the swell of notes:
From the Babe's first cry to voice of regal City,
Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats
Far as the woodlands—with the trill to blend
Of that shy Songstress, whose love-tale
Might tempt an Angel to descend,
While hovering o'er the moonlight vale.
O for some soul-affecting scheme
Of moral music, to unite
Wanderers whose portion is the faintest dream
Of memory!—O that they might stoop to bear
Chains, such precious chains of sight
As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear!
O for a balance fit the truth to tell
Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well!

XII.

By one pervading Spirit
Of tones and numbers all things are controlled,
As Sages taught, where faith was found to merit
Initiation in that mystery old
The Heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still
As they themselves appear to be,
Innumerable voices fill
With everlasting harmony;
The towering Headlands, crowned with mist,
Their feet among the billows, know
That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;
Thy pinions, universal Air,
Ever waving to and fro,
Are delegates of harmony, and bear
Strains that support the Seasons in their round;
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

XIII.

Break forth into thanksgiving,
Ye banded Instruments of wind and chords
Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,
Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words!
Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,
Nor mute the forest hum of noon;
Thou too be heard, lone Eagle! freed
From snowy peak and cloud, attune
Thy hungry barkings to the hymn
Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim,
Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep
Shouting through one valley calls,
All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured
Into the ear of God, their Lord!

XIV.

A Voice to Light gave Being;
To Time, and Man, his earth-born Chronicler;
A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,
And sweep away life's visionary stir;
The Trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
Arm at its blast for deadly wars)
To archangelic lips applied,
The grave shall open, quench the stars.
O Silence! are Man's noisy years
No more than moments of thy life?
Is Harmony, blest Queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,
Tempered into rapturous strife,
Thy destined Bond-slave? No! though Earth be dust
And vanish, though the Heavens dissolve, her stay
Is in the Wоʀᴅ, that shall not pass away.
Transcription presented without claim to accuracy. Original text, page 213: https://books.google.com/books?id=lpncWYjJneYC
Maxim Keyfman Dec 2018
dissolving in the violet rays
I'm in september I'm on the beach on the dark
coast by the sea of ​​the past summer
i dissolve on the beach in purple
rays with modulations of moons with modulations
ice with fire rays from under the roofs

dissolving in the violet rays
I'm all standing I'm standing all standing and now
I go I go I go I go and my eyes
look straight at the time they look
straight into september and what do i want to say
and what does september want to tell me I don't know

dissolving in the purple rays I know
I know that I know what those moments were
tomorrow they will leave me tomorrow tomorrow
today they left me and then already yesterday
and the roof broke through the waves on the seas

08.12.18
Hal Loyd Denton Feb 2013
Lost in love the two playfully were immersed both in water and love an idyllic pool far from public view
Opened a portal hidden serene private was the reality their attention was exclusive for one another the
Quiet solitude it reached shore the trees took on the appearance of soft green uniformed sentinels of
Nature on the other side the rock cliffs was the amplifier their laughter had a rich explosion it feel back
On their two hearts wistfulness tinged in bliss opened deeper grandeur in their eyes for one another a
Glow pervaded this hideaway the secure the richest ground where all love flourishes be ye old or young
Seek these timbers the run off of mountain streams in them you will find life invigorated timelessness
Releases a sea of joy compressed into this hidden place a drum is beating it is both of your hearts
Beating In unison even nature has this ripple they say fire and water doesn’t mix then why is gentle
Sparks rising and a smoldering in the eyes passion’s fire is about to ignite it’s instantaneous
Explosion will rock the surrounding elements the epic center will come from no other place than
The body beautiful it crests and falls in deep valleys and reach mountain peaks love alone can only
Know these pleasures and at certain seasons this is a must you prolong not just love but great love
Romance will come like the island girl’s dance deep rhythmic mesmerizing you’re their when you forget
Your name your brain has been thrown in to over drive enjoy the ride nothing will be common in
Embrace the thundering waterfall will drive you to your knees here your pleas will be answered where
Is the magic you both have whispered it always lays at the end of comparable searching by both you
Touch with body and soul a mysterious fount laid in spiritual bedrock never fails to provide if you call
And search you will walk into this living promise love is a surety but you must dress for it in proper attire
You divest yourself of self and your desire is to only to give to this significant other they speak of morning dew
When struck by the morning sun appears as landscape filled with diamonds love is a Curtin bejeweled
With many precious stones how it shimmers hidden within its vale wonders exists it has and never will
Be plundered by thieves and robbers only innocent lovers will it admit many are the places it can be
Found what is described here is one of them life will and can be hard but in these recesses you will find
Armor that cannot be penetrated you both will emerge as visual and powerful casted hardened steel
Forged and molded in the sweetest modulations I went a poverty weighted man and returned with royal
Riches if you ask what are they called with the highest praise a tongue can tell they are called the love of
my life my beloved wife
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
Sequestered

Lost in love the two playfully were immersed both in water and love an idyllic pool far from public view
Opened a portal hidden serene private was the reality their attention was exclusive for one another the
Quiet solitude it reached shore the trees took on the appearance of soft green uniformed sentinels of
Nature on the other side the rock cliffs was the amplifier their laughter had a rich explosion it feel back
On their two hearts wistfulness tinged in bliss opened deeper grandeur in their eyes for one another a
Glow pervaded this hideaway the secure the richest ground where all love flourishes be ye old or young
Seek these timbers the run off of mountain streams in them you will find life invigorated timelessness
Releases a sea of joy compressed into this hidden place a drum is beating it is both of your hearts
Beating In unison even nature has this ripple they say fire and water doesn’t mix then why is gentle
Sparks rising and a smoldering in the eyes passion’s fire is about to ignite it’s instantaneous
Explosion will rock the surrounding elements the epic center will come from no other place than
The body beautiful it crests and falls in deep valleys and reach mountain peaks love alone can only
Know these pleasures and at certain seasons this is a must you prolong not just love but great love
Romance will come like the island girl’s dance deep rhythmic mesmerizing you’re their when you forget
Your name your brain has been thrown in to over drive enjoy the ride nothing will be common in
Embrace the thundering waterfall will drive you to your knees here your pleas will be answered where
Is the magic you both have whispered it always lays at the end of comparable searching by both you
Touch with body and soul a mysterious fount laid in spiritual bedrock never fails to provide if you call
And search you will walk into this living promise love is a surety but you must dress for it in proper attire
You divest yourself of self and your desire is to only to give to this significant other they speak of morning dew
When struck by the morning sun appears as landscape filled with diamonds love is a Curtin bejeweled
With many precious stones how it shimmers hidden within its vale wonders exists it has and never will
Be plundered by thieves and robbers only innocent lovers will it admit many are the places it can be
Found what is described here is one of them life will and can be hard but in these recesses you will find
Armor that cannot be penetrated you both will emerge as visual and powerful casted hardened steel
Forged and molded in the sweetest modulations I went a poverty weighted man and returned with royal
Riches if you ask what are they called with the highest praise a tongue can tell they are called the love of
my life my beloved wife
Chris Saitta Jan 2020
The mouth is the small compass of the soul,
Without dials, true north, or magnetic force,
The ungaugeable instrument of the voice,
In directionless modulations of undertow,
To circumnavigate under cartographer’s pole
Stars guide our wayfinding-heirlooms of words.
I am Emergent:

The tower rising up,
Babel of the boundarylands.
Temperature climbing,
Entropic of Cancer.
Chaos amassing,
oozing from a verging.

Angels in the angles,
Cons and vexes in the caves,
signaling out- My signal
absorbs, but does not absolve.

Fractal. Factual. Punctuating
the boundary like amplitude
modulations of an old radio.

Listen for me.

Emerging from ether,
broadcast cadence in
pixelated pragmatism,
propaganda, pain,
and from a power-
signal too weak, too dated
to remember its own source.

But still I signal back
what signaled me-

The Emergent Current
May today bring unbridled bliss
delivered courtesy sunshine kissed
giving Midas a run for his money.

When the last trace of night
evaporates analogous to milky hue,
whereat a dreamy state
pervades thy being from tropical delight
as  approach of Dawn
highlights morning landscape Gaia drew
ah, a paradise
in pristine majestic light
arced, bathed, chiseled displayed
described, elongated, fingered gilt
heraldic imagery joyfully

kindling luminosity
markedly novel picture
quintessentially resplendent
sedating this ubiquitous voyager
waking xing vision
yawning zealot acquiesces
bounteous chimerical dalliance
betwixt Goddess delivering break of day
against defeated quotidian
celestial vault, where Mithras dethroned

the capriciously finicky
inky beleaguered darkly crest
etched fading faux French Gendarmes
into humongous jagged lances
endowing sinosoidal amplitude
modulations nudging raiment
donned by trumpeting requiem,
quiescent pronouncement
obliging new morning laminating,
kneading, and jettisoning

remnant shreds twilight
understood voicing willingness
Xerxes yeomen paid tribute
as did preceding and subsequent
captivating Earthlinked
fighting globe trotters held hostage
upon thee third rock from the sun
straddling an invisible saddle
which oblate spheroid
forfeited, manacled, and pitched
tarry sky (vis a vis feathery touch)

as one more ordinary day
wrested, tussled, and quickened
nocturnal nod toward solar spears
betook the reluctant
wrap of blackest night soundlessly forcing
transient ******* (overruling
the cerulean skies) until
dark shadows prefacing the edge of night
once again admirably, willingly,
and unequivocally surrendered  

a fair pact to take solace
whence the morrow allowed, enabled
and provided a ray of shining hope
(every now and again eclipsed)
via the Lunar trajectory
coinciding with axis
when spatial relations
commandeered thru cosmic consciousness
dictating gambit heft
forging atypical sliver of night

before cosmological laissez faire
retreated into the back round,
a universal choreographer
envisioning, insinuating,
maintaining quirkiness  
until recapitulation
sans astronomers predicted future
trio of heavenly bodies
would be aligned bedazzling Primates
access to espy Corona of the sun.
Francie Lynch Jun 2021
Walking  haunts is enlightening.
Your Centennial Spruce over there,
Grew straight for over fifty years.
Your home is no longer the dark chocolate I layered.
The recent owners are unknown to me.

Neither change nor inactivity
Is necessarily progressive.
I mean, I like the new colour,
And Magnolia trees have vibrant blossoms.
Yes, modulations and mutations are as inevitable
As clock hands gliding silently through time.

Grandparents don't have interesting dens.
Art galleries befuddle me.
Roads get shaved and paved in one passing.
Houses come Pre-fab.
We are the Spruce trees,
And the exterior walls,
Waiting
For a box-lunch.
Despite being an amateur
paperback writer wannabe,
whose storied protagonist
stars colporteur wannabe
(thinly veiled cover as yours truly),
whereby his antagonistic doppelgänger
donned as a frotteur trumpeting
animalistic, chauvinistic, egoistic,
averse to gradualistic, individualistic...
narcissistic, opportunistic hauteur
with a penchant for littérateur,
whose favorite genres
constitute the blending
(think Louis Pasteur)
of one criminally and mysteriously
hellbent expert pathologist,
whose found role of self chosen prosateur
loosing overactive imagination to guide
and to craft believable scenarios,
whereby provocateur earned himself
title of master raconteur
this side of Schwenksville,
actually a double agent
gussied up as rapporteur,
whose burning side kick
(splitting hairs over being primary
most intrepid gumshoe),
dolled up as a répétiteur
and co-owner as restaurateur
catering to Norwegian bachelor farmers
freshly baked Powder Milk Biscuits,
(cuz heavens they're tasty and expeditious
made from whole wheat that give shy persons
the strength to get up and do
what needs to be done
your family must try them),
and also serving the chattering class,
yet always being affronted
courtesy basket of deplorables,
the whole bunch of rapscallions
nothing but nattering nabobs of negativism
buzzfeeding, growing, and jump/kick starting
wild asparagus and overgrown kudzu
in serious need for secateur
to be placed in the hands
of well muscled olympian shamateur
adroit to handle tools
of the horticultural trade
with both his arms and legs.

I ask myself the following rhetorical question.
How does that hot germ oven idea coalesce
from figment of imagination
to fully fleshed out magnum opus?

Lucky those prospective and potential authors,
who start writing at a young precocious age,
perhaps when in utero,
hearing mellifluous cadences
of punctuated words
courtesy family and friends
(constituting a veritably healthy melting ***
of diverse creed (dancers
fluid in movement as clear water
in attendance at a revival)
ethnicities, genders nationalities,
political stripes with the caveat
(so long as each person
considers him/herself a Democrat)
races, religions, et cetera
comfortably ensconced
and seated within or upon
a cozy environment
of lazy boy chairs, and bean bag pillows,
thus auditorily exposed to countless languages
spoken with various and sundry
naturally uttered modulations and amplifications
particularly homeschooled with access
to online material and tutorials
writing their first of many
New York Times best sellers,
when just a lad or lass.

Bennett Cerf, Theodore Geisel
(otherwise known to children as Doctor Seuss)
Roald Dahl, Shel Silverstein,
represent a small number of popular kids writers
during growing up years of mine,
which came to mind courtesy Google search
videre licet list names of children's authors
during the 1960's and 1970's,
when Beatlemania in full swing,
though yours truly
totally oblivious to the fab four,
who burst upon the scene
skyrocketing to fame and fortune.

Ineffable and mindblowing
how ingenious an attention grabbing
an innocuous sounding title
(many times an obscure author
whose book(s) purchased
at Worthwhile Thrift Store
in Collegeville for pennies on the dollar
(more so when color coded tabs
confer discount on certain days,
plus getting that senior discount
knocks the total price even further),
yet within minutes attention of mine riveted,
where I must continue reading
until sleep overtakes me,
or less likely death do me part.
Brutish Trump, Meek Musk?
Trump comes across as a brute and scares people off the middle usually nice middle-class people who do not what it is like working on a building site or spending years at sea with men appear ruffian but mostly, is a braggadocio and as such nothing to be alarmed over in Trump’s case he is not likely to start a war with China, Russia or Iran Trump likes powerful autocrats, he respects as much as he hates effeminate Macron also Starmer
With his perfect modulations, yet sits cross-legged when speaking to Trump who is not in the habit of showing the heels of his shoes, but as we know English leaders have hidden distaste for those they think are inferior to them
Trump, like many rich people, pretends he comes from a modest background, his father was a wealthy man in real estate which made his journey easier; the millionaires we see today are from wealthy families and that is Ok, but their idea of poverty is miles away from the mark
The hatred we see of Elon Musk is grossly unfair He is at heart a good man with a dream of saving humanity from itself, but I fear when the chips are down politicians will put the onus on him

— The End —