“What is Poetry?”

poetry-in-motion1

I enjoy the poetics of language. The way words may laugh, taunt, or tease. The silvery sound slight- and slant-rhyme expound on the page, on the lips — order issued by human air. The Word wielded through verse or rant {lacking form}, carries meaning, capturing our experiences. Poetry experiences the essence of life.

Click HERE and check out DavyD’s  original post that prompted my answer.

#WorldPoetryDay

 

“To: R…”

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To: R…

 

All-seeing, the Eye blinks perspective.

Housed in the head, heated by the heart,

the Eye pulses with life.

 

Called “evil” as in warding off,

but… what is evil if not the reordering

of that which was once perceived as good?

 

The illumed see Truth

— sculpt reason, taste creation.

The Grand Observer, the Eye stares

into faces of untold struggles.

 

Woken, the “I” gazes universality,

relating theory as land-bridges,

building cities the blind cannot see.

 

The Woke are loathe to wait —

hurry the herd towards enlightenment.

But, the Eye knows: change is gradual,

not everyone is an “I”… not yet.

 

A. Shaffer July 2016

Hello Dear Readers and Fellow Writers…

I’m sharing “To:  R….” today, an electronic copy of my most recent works. We are fortunate to know R… and value his judgement and subjective outlook. That he also is on the Path of Optimism surely is not coincidence but maybe Quantum<>. For the original piece I invested more effort as the poem was a gift to my husband’s current closest friend. Their companionship is one of those unique connections that stand out in life. I created a “Thank You” card on the coolest textured paper, we’re going with pressed-bamboo. I wish I would have taken a pic of the card. I think it turned out well, even though I am not a “crafter.” The man, the myth, the legend, lol, is kinda a big deal because he is raising awareness right here in Wild n Wonderful — directly for Husband, it seems. Also, for me …not often enough do I encounter another “seeker,” and I value the philosophical hanglooses our friend endures. He has made the comment that he can understand how it is difficult for people to talk with me, in a sense that I am “too aware.”

He has a point, I come on very strong and lead with unsettling thoughts. Not many enjoy my thoughts, but… I will tell you a secret — I am not here for society’s enjoyment. My mission is to seek, find, question, contemplate, and create. There are plenty of others that may fill the role of performer. I am not here for amusement. I am looking for more. Entertainment is only entertaining if taken in proper doses. A life of constant amusement lacks substance. I am one that is more for substance. I take my amusement as a condiment, not a main course.

However, I sense a universal message:  “Use language as the communication that it is, but if none understand what is said then meaning is lost.”

The process of Awakening varies per subjective individual. I feel both of our ways could be correct — the value lay in effort. There are many people who will understand our friend as his charisma carries his intentions, he speaks words the majority of people comprehend. His works are good. I am not speaking to the same audience or through the same media. I will work at improving my interactions with others, but I do not intend on shifting my audience. I am here for those already Woke. I am ready for progression into higher depths. My concern is not for the herd but for the other shepherds. These minds are not shattered by my words, they already see similar truths.

The best way for my mind’s continued growth is through further contemplation and creation. Others who think like me are surely out there; the journey, then, is the leading together of like minds. O Philosophy! think of the thoughts formed by a society of seekers. This is the companionship I crave.

MmePhilosopher

Dr. Faustus in 2016: Twisted Lyrics

“I Took a Pill in Ibiza” by Mike Posner from At Night, Alone.:

Looking for Meaning…

Song Interpretation:

I am so busy with research, but I cannot get this song out of my head. Nor, can I think of anything else until I unburden my mind of this flexing metaphor. There’s not time for a lyrical breakdown, but I’ll return to expound.

Philosophical Bend:

I feel Faustus lurking. Once one knows too much, they can never go back. Posner says, “You don’t wanna be high like me, never really knowing why, like me. You don’t wanna step off that roller coaster and be alone. You don’t wanna ride the bus like this, never knowing who to trust like this…” University and individual research presents more, and often conflicting, information as to what a person learned during their childhood and adolescence. Learning can enlighten the mind, but one must lose their innocent understanding in the process.

Sure, he’s referring to singing and his life devotion to music. Same concept applies to diverse artistic expression. High Philosophical Art questions and prods at reality, consciousness, meaning, and purpose. What happens when the “rules” are really figments meant to ensure group delusion? Philosophy demonstrates subjective and objective truth, reaching for but rarely attaining universal implication. Break that down:

nothing is real, nothing is true

amounts to feels, what can one do?

Well…once you kneel, then you must stew.

{read that last line in a deep baritone, just for snickers}

Posner’s chorus:  “All I know are sad songs…” – When one has searched for knowledge, toyed around with epistemology, learned to bend fact to one’s purpose, innocence is lost. Not sexual innocence, deeper than that – fundamental understanding. All that is left of personal experience is “sad songs” or a seriously hollow existence. Philosophically, there is a sense of false comfort that cushions the harshness of reality for those who accept “belief” or conform to society. Once one “knows” the rampant delusions, meaning is lost.

Man, the meaning…it has to come back. See…I feel that we can create meaning. Mount up, Artists. Lady World, she needs creative spin.

Poetic Evolution: Milking Coal

Milking Coal

 

You were not enough,

– warped genes on mass destruction.

I took bits of you that glimmered,

left the hull to wither.

Your best parts shined unique,

– wasted in you but infusing in me.

When I don your flair every eye

stares. Rolling your flow, bobbing your

track, the words just go – cruel attack.

Despair not, I will carry your good.

– nurture perspective wrapped in thunder.

This part of you I immortalize

while you siphon poison –

rotting the physical, losing grip.

 

 

Picture c/o:  https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/96/18/1f/96181f4358a1eedf38aa095621a2e388.jpg

Friday Fictioneers: Morning-After Vertigo

Friday Fictioneers * Rochelle Wisoff-Fields * Photo by Maria Gail Stratford *
Morning-After Vertigo * 85 words * Angela Shaffer * 1 Apr 2016

mg-buildings

Morning-After Vertigo

Wind whipped tangled locks,

traces of late-night havoc still

clinging to the skin. Seeping

regret tinged red and green –

jealous as an itch on missed flesh.

 

The edge altered reality, tilting

the grip, slipping the step, blurring

the hold – slighting gravity.

 

Double the trip and let the mind

dip farther past matter. Stretch out,

reaching, grasping, swiping –

pregnant as a pause on hushed lips.

 

If tottered too far up the steep sweeping

stoop – binge on delusion in last fleeting

moments. Until the bottom comes quick.

 

~ Hello dear Readers and Writers …

Thank you, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for fun Friday fiction. Thank you, Maria Gale Stratford for the photo.

Since April is Poetry Month, I crafted a few lines inspired by how dizzy I got thinking how high up the building was – and how much further the Marriott stretches. I saw a party-girl waking up disoriented and curious, foolishly teetering on the edge – the edge of the building and the edge of decency.

 

Click the Frog to read diverse interpretations of this photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers writers.

Thank you for reading!

@MmePhilosopher

 

Poetic Glance at Thesis

Condense Theory

Unaccountable amounts of energy surge through theory,

Reduce, it is still too big.

Ideas rattle like odd, unfitting puzzle-pieces,

Find the connective thread.

Conjecture cannot battle empirical data,

Develop your own research.

…but the concepts I capture refuse reason.

Slippery, they escape my grasp.

…boiled down:  nothing is real, nothing is true.

How to convince the world that they create their own reality<>…

maybe its not a thesis, after all, but an entire philosophy for living.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4IRMYuE1hI

{unsure why this file isn’t supported}

Hello dear Readers ~

My Capstone is nearing, two weeks away, and it is becoming my sole thought and function. The above is labeled “poetic” – but if that’s the case, it is a rather lackluster effort. My head is full of diverse concepts and ideas – a positive, it is good to have many thoughts. However, wrestling said idea into a proper proposal is bogging me down. It really is way too big, but I have not figured out how to let my brain accept that and reduce. I cannot bring my entire library to a poetry recital – I must choose one. So true for the thesis – it needs be ONE idea, with ONE clear message, ONE clear purpose.

Maybe this is not a poem at all, just a mad attempt to get control of my mind – make her understand the brevity expected. This will not be the only paper I write, it will not be the end – but the beginning of expository creation. My thesis is not the last breath of my academic career but more an initial scream to let the academic world know that I am here. I have unusual ideas and a cultivated perspective. I have the spark of curiosity. Artists see semblance and seize sublimity to media, sharing revelations. Writers know they speak to an audience; this audience will only hear of ONE method. I must write for my audience, not for myself. {old lesson still difficult to accept} I must not take this personal; this is larger than me.

Now, I have to make it small. So small that it is only ONE idea. ONE piece of a larger puzzle that I may approach later, after years of researching has guided me instead of my inventive hunches. Just ONE. Let it be a sub-chapter, a short path on the road of theory.

 

Picture c/o:  http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/08/0f/f1/080ff1af3362547cdc947e6718704a77.jpg

Really…?

My MacBook, Archimedes, ate all my categories. And now it is self-selecting for this post. {gnashing of teeth} Trying to fix, hope it works.

ARGH…now…duplicity.