Style on Ovary

by Dayran

 

 

 

 

It's not unusual to feel that way sometimes,

All the glamor and panache of sexy clamor,

And yet in your mind, you are simply calm,

Like the sea when no wind is blowing,

An observing that we make like a camera,

Detecting motion and clueing ourselves,

With the tiny particulars of issues, excitable,

And yet without the slightest attraction,

To our impulses or our need to respond,

As if watching a machine functioning.

Where such moments are spliced between

The many activities of the day, sometimes,

We come to realize that rare gem of insight,

Into the nature of activity of our lives.

That we experience life in a particular design,

That highlights its contact with our bodily needs,

That reality relies along the way, on our pleasures,

To which we create a clandestine collaboration,

And knowledge is what it is on account of it,

For the mind sees that and creates an acquiescence,

To set aside intelligence on such occasions,

For the body to plan its route on a map,

That best optimization of all of what we want.

To rest in this, we need to define it as real,

Then accept it as a norm in the mind's perceptions.

Like the style of the flower resting on its ovary,

Nondescript, quiet and engaging no ceremony,

Yet is phallus in the garden for all life around.

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

It is great to see ourselves this way, so be so self-aware: As if watching a machine functioning. Ach, the 'clandestine collaboration' is a pain in the a*s. O to be free from those bodily demands. Denial is the way. Damn the body it just distracts us from what is far more interesting. And damn reality. It, too, intrudes on our finer moments. Noooo, to that acquiescence. The mind must be a dictator and rule the impertenances of the lesser parts of out being. Noooo to the setting aside of intelligence. Ach, I have the bit between my teeth (metaphysical). Ach, the body revolts this mind in its slavish ways. Let us repress it and strive to be free in other, far more inspiring, ways. Of course the body will always defeat us with its failure, but while we have the change to reduce it to slavery we should do so. By this we have to beat it, to keep it fit, to do hundreds of press ups, to remove as much fat from it as we possibly can. And all this in order to think more clearly perhaps, if we are very lucky, to receive our supposed creations from the universe. The body is merely a cage in which we are stuck for a while. Damn the body. Let us be free in our thoughts. The thought of 7 billion bodies being bodies is quite ... ugh. And there are to be many more it seems. Bodies seem very populat. How strange. If we think of bodies as mind carriers we might all do better as it is in our minds that we sparkle not in our bodies. But few see this. I love your poem because it made me think wildly. I shall now beat my body with 100 press ups.

[Celestial Witch Child]

Wow. Never in my life have I read a poem like that before. I love the unique standpoint and usage of language.

[Chris]

Our perceptions define us in ways we haven't felt the need to express. You give wide views and thought full pauses.