Kafka re-trial - poetry
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a shiny alien craft, And at the same time as he is wondering what to do He is asked to show his pass Or pay an minute one off fine At a cash distributor of his choice And they are inspection all the time On his irises face and voice.
And of classes they find that he is not, They detect he just cannot be there, Although he seems as if he is visible, And has hands and toes and hair, If he is not on the Great Data Bank, He plainly and cleanly cannot be, He is not planned and he is not ranked He is certainly not like you and me.
So they cant capture him in custody But they do not have to let him go He never ever happened, period So who can ever tell, or know. So on a lonely bench in quiet shade He sits alone and unremarked, Wondering what games they play, Against the conditions of the park.
And so, are we just the opposite, Are we all consigned to concealed files, Are equipment deciding who we are, Where we live, and when we smile, Is nonentity a a few and real fact, Unless laptop interconnected true, And must your file go into error, How can you prove, you are actually you.
How do you verify physically for a loan, If your grade gets compromised, How do you abolish all their data, Making you a recluse in others eyes, You may hold calligraphy of validity, They may diffidently know its you, Unless their approach grants absolution, There is nonentity they can say or do.
So if not we are confirmable as sound, And our image assuages Superhal, No one will ever trust us again, No one will ever want to be our pal, But this is not like yesteryear, When a quick query empty your name, Your questions are just registered, And you just get told how to complain.
Complaints are collated and quantified, They are cross filed and referenced, You must never lose this number, And you must never take offence, You are frequently adjourned, Or moved to yet a further floor, In the hope that you will falter, From all that has gone before.
Meanwhile youre mugged, not statistically, Contract MRSA, but its not on file, Your brood cannot read or write, But their qualifications raise a smile, You constantly hit potholes that dont exist, To save before you on trains that dont arrive, But whose flexitimes prove you missed, The only one late out of fifty five.
You cry out to be heard aloud, But the echoes mock your voice, You cannot allow the telephone, Cant bypass enforced menus of choice, Cannot commerce a lone human being, By department, name or reason, All this evolved like a dripping tap, Season upon big brother season.
Then one day under your own steam in solitude, Your will to try almost quenched, There is the quiet of the shady park, There is the man upon the bench, Who looks at you knowingly, And asks you if you ever read, And says Then I am Kafka, You Must Tell Me What You Need.
So He went up to their doors, The Nameless Man with Mysterious Face, And bearded them in their blessed den, Their plush admired and holy place, And caused complete consternation, As he each was not actually there, Or as a matter of fact in point of fact physically existed, Solidly meeting silent in his chair.
So they asked him what he would want, If he were real and not mere illusion, For his advent was so inopportune, His face and skin causing confusion, His DNA was an embarrassment, Never born, nor listed, nor created, Never taxed, treated, nor arrested, Never being paid a non education.
So he stood up to his full height, And drew up his deepest breath, That made him seem immortal, And made them all fear death, And his mighty voice resounded, So much the walls retained his words, We want to be persons again We want to speak and to be heard, We want our voice to certainly matter, And we want to hear no more lies, We want illusion swept away, Replaced by association of the wise, We want collective sense to prevail, And not algebraic subterfuge, Which tries to tell us its all ok, When we know it must improve, We want you to hand over and take, Your apparatus and Mandarins away, And we want it done immediately, Oh Yes, we want it done today.
Or else I will shine in prime time, And then all will see its me, The man who is not Kafka, The man who austerely cannot be, Then where will your credibility go, Will they ever snoop to your pleas. No, far change for the better for you to go now, And leave actuality to me.
And they went away in disarray, Whilst he heralded a new era, No one knew who the hell he was, But yet the whole thing seemed clearer, Everything was as it appeared, Nothing hidden, no more of the lies, And no one filed his disappearance, When he as a final point left our skies.
They can media us its constantly fine, Statistic prove what cannot be true, They can try to defend their lies, Attempt to airbrush annals in two, They may perceive us all as fools, Force fed on false soap opera goals, But cannot eternally check our minds, Nor believe they own our souls, For Long term lies have multiplied, And now are ringing empty and hollow, What seemed so cheap yesterday Will be disproved upon the morrow, And with these endless lies surfacing, Just Like The Man Who Could Not Be, The truth will bit by bit develop into visible, And the truth will set us free.
Ex systems programmer breathing in England
Chan Chan and The Gorriones (Two Poems in English and Spanish)
The next two poems, one in English, the other in English and Spanish were done at some point in this ongoing trip in Peru, while in Lima, though the poem concerning: Chan Chan was oriinally ongoing last year,while at the antediluvian site in Northern Peru, it was just completed recently.The Gorriones of LimaIt is fall all about me-The Gorriones are swimming in the air Underneath the Lima skyAs if-, if fish could fly?Summer has gone its wayIt is fall again I say! The birds-, they just walk on byLooking, as if, if on parade-AndThe world keeps spinning;They just do not see it Until the hour comes?When the sun goes down!?When,Things get a hardly dim;Yet the Gorriones keep on swimming Gracefully, swimming, in the wind-Under the Lima sky? .
Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron's break elegy to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The break lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a decent match for his poem about a woman who possesses easy grace and beauty.
The Art of In receipt of Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your hardly journalism fingers to use in an endeavor to refine your craft. What does it especially mean when a big shot who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he uttered an appeal in religion and later in life Kamalakanta conventional admittance into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
Anne Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband, A Discussion
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was in black and white by America's first female poet, the Puritan, Anne Bradstreet. In fact, Anne Bradstreet is one of only a handful of female American poets at some point in the first 200 years of America's history.
Three Poems: Liberty, Death, and a Frog [with Commentary on Liberty]
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for the New-blooded frogs; The bugs are thin, yet the Frogs stay fat, young and sassy. In these palsy times-they Only listen, as we become weak away.
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to clothes you've known and done to clothes you required to do. Growing heals sometimes the devastated dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new awareness of yourself.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible except you come too close, And then you hit them.You awe what happened.
Tsunami -a Poem Dyed-in-the-wool To Help Aid and Awareness and Advance Hope Harmony. Make Peace Not War
Real Power.One Tsunami, and all our armies, Seem belittled by their wars, What Animals fled, and tribesmen read, Finally Arrives with crushing roar, Wholesale slaughter, completely by water, Makes us seem an irrelevance, Concepts of power, adjust by the hour, Faced with ancient elements.
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing angrily It never left for a minute Bursts of fury I found it challenging to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one harmonious jiffy I could not now disguise it From for my part Some clever air Manifested itself Then the existing drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an articulated announcement It made my head swim I noticed it kept-step With my exultation!?#761 7/14/2005Notes: There are mysteries to the sea, at times it seems as to have its own mind, its own character; as if character was plugged into all that exist. Earth itself being an creature with its own lively soul.
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps Ride by house and farm City and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, hopeful to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their big legs are dirty From heartrending dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like affecting clouds caught In the shrubbery of the woods? They never slow down a ting They have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live- In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
A Ship to Remember
It Was Not Me
It was not me as I am now. It was not me as I was then.
Poetry in a Nutshell
Poetry is more than just rhyming and prose that is in meters and verse. It is an art form.
now is not the time to open open that great door again not the time to be more tolerant not the time to play to winnow is not the time for justice evolution mercy choices not the time to pet the puppies yipping with pathetic voicesnow is not the time for kindness not the time for compromise not the time for loving blindness not the time to close my eyesnow for one too many people not that i have gained no good heart has sown but flesh is reaping tears to mind and atrophied bloodnow my inner wolf seeks equals only those whose chords can howl deadly whether lone or social defending young or on the prowltell me not that you would die upon the spines of my displeasure live for me and for you will i cherish each cell as if a treasureput me not exclusive a cage but roam with me all the way through snow and sun be by my side or breathe my dust for i shall bleed again for noneNiki Lasher Artist, Writer, and Webmatron http://www.kthulah.
The Crusader: A Examination for the Advantage Exclusive (an extract of an Epic Poem)
On all through the darkness she searches the bones Seeking the hand of her love; Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on, Petitioning help from above. Onward she gropes all through the flesh and the blood Of the warriors stained and maimed; She carries no hope for the life of her love - For not anything but his body she came.
Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is ambassador of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by stiff heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey by means of poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and economic accomplishment can be identified by all Scots and customary men the world over.
Do not be fearful to shine. This world needs what you have to give.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what draw back art hid?-Where declining mountains groan In shadow and amongThe white water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the path of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
|home | site map|
|goldenarticles.net © 2018|