Jump to content
Objectivism Online Forum

Poem I'm working on

Rate this topic


One Who Nigs

Recommended Posts

This is a poem that I just started. It is definitely the best single thing I have ever written. Here it is:

The Conversation with the Irrational Self

Upon my last due conversation with men of whims and skilled evasions

I found a man of bold convictions who supercede his stern afflictions

Upon which head I thought myself a noble gent and benevolent

but Violence queries are not my theory and hence I begun my conversation:

What whims what wits what bold evasions

Do leisure you and your mind's contusions?

Of substance theories are not religion:

Such is the realm of supersition!

Elegant was he in his response,

Ensconced his mind remained ensconced.

"No man I am no man at all

so just I am indeed unjust.

Minds are robust, they are robust

But use my mind I mustn't must!"

Then of which rinde is your great mind?

Is it but but of the human kind?

Or is it apples or is it oranges

or is it thorns or quims or wornges (which is a tentative word I made up out o' my ass, not really sure if quim is a word either but it sounds cool)

So this is as far as I am in this poem, and I just had to drive to the supermarket so I got off my roll.

I know that I have a natural talent for poetry, which is quite odd because my normal writing isn't so articulate. Perhaps I'm lazy and diuretic cuz bitch I think it is genetic (I write rap lyrics too, as of now at least). Anyhow I've unfortunately got to go do some English homework, wish me luck.

-Marcus

Link to comment
Share on other sites

For procrastrination's sake, I'm going to post a few other poems here too:

This one is a critique of academia:

Men of Science, or Men of Mars?

Those considered to be wise

have plugged their ears and shut their eyes.

For no matter the case I present,

my reasoning they circumvent.

They say "all knowledge has been created

and must simply be assimilated"

"Its pointless for us to further query,

for of what substance is your theory?"

Elegant am I in my response,

yet in their ways they stay ensconced,

"Countless hours have I invested

towards ensuring that it's well tested."

Time and time I have it proved,

yet these wise men remain unmoved.

Of what opinion does my head comprise?

That convincing them will yield some prize?

Despite my words being sublime,

I realise that I'm wasting time,

and from such men I need reprieve,

so unto them I take my leave.

That is all for now. Thanks for looking

-Marcus

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Damn I messed up my edit. Here is the poem that was supposed to post. In essence, it is the feeling that I get every time I see a beautiful woman. It also alludes to that which a painter sees when he looks at a good landscape. (Hence the references to the points and what not) If anyone wants to know what anything means, holler at your boy (me).

The Psychology of a Beautiful View, or that of a View of a Beautiful Woman

Far past the reach of the eastern roads

and the feign of logic which is some men's code,

there lies a point not yet uncovered

a point not new but long since discovered.

Beyond horse's whines and the neighs of men:

A place in which I have always been!

The place of which but not a query

exists with aim to destory my theory

This point I describe is not one geometric,

nor one supposed from reality apart:

A point is that which has no part,

and parts is art and art is parts.

The place I describe is my enduring vision,

for wit and wisdom naught cynicism.

The place I describe I do annoint,

the place I describe is Lookout Point!

And here is just one more thing:

"Good night, good night"

the patrons said,

for spine is gold

and wit is bread.

Night

Edited by One Who Nigs
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I really enjoyed those - and I don't usually take to poems.

Thank you for sharing :)

Though I hastily add, "natural talent" or "genetic" talent are not things I believe in.

Also, I disapprove of making up meaningless words in poetry.

I think that this is the subject of another debate, for I do believe that to a certain extent a man's mind has a physical process. Or in other words, a man with a greater forehead has more potential that a man without, though whether or not he utilizes his potential is a matter of his own volition. Man's mind, like his body, has physical limits, too, and as such certain men are geniuses and certain men are not. Not everyone is a Salvador Dali, Shakespeare, or Mentzer, for that matter. Also, I think that perhaps a few of my jokes are just too subtle. :lol: Perhaps you have a point, however, with meaningless words, but this next version which I currently consider "tentatively finished" I think might have one or two. For my mind's illustrative purposes, however, I use them to keep the beat going, and on occasion I actually end up abstracting real words from my past memories. Of course, I do end up correcting the ones that are wrong.

Anyhow, debating isn't what I care about. I only care about poetry. Here is the finished version. Damn is it annoying having to rebold and rehighlight.

The Conversation with the Irrational Self

Upon my last due conversation with men of whims and skilled evasions

I found a man of bold convictions who supercede his stern afflictions

Upon which head I thought myself a noble gent and benevolent

but Violence queries are not my theory and hence I begun my conversation:

What whims what wits what bold evasions

Do leisure you and your mind's contusions?

Of substance theories are not religion:

Such is the realm of supersition!

Elegant was he in his response,

Ensconced his mind remained ensconced.

"No man I am no man at all

so just I am indeed unjust.

Minds are robust, they are robust

But use my mind I mustn't must!"

Then of which rinde is your great mind?

Is it but but of the human kind?

Do apples app and oranges orn,

or in your mind is there but a thorn?

Obtuse was not his certainty,

yet such a will is undeserve'd

Patience whim is patience quim (rofl, this means vagina)

and quims is what his mind deserve'd. (Holy shit that was an And 1 quality rhyme)

"Amongst you I am unphased,

phased and praised for it is twat I desire,

Listen listen, to the choir,

'Listen listen, to the choir.' "

And hence this man was soon dispensed

to earth to liberty and to his freedom.

Seeing gleens and brilliant sheens

from his right and not his left.

He had a gun, he had a gun,

but guns are not what he desires.

Excuse me sir, but do you have a gun?

"Why indeed, I do so yes"

What is the source of that gun's power?

"It is my mind, indeed I yes"

What trickles upon your mode of evasion?

"The psychology of its good mechanism..."

If light be split from Newton's prisms,

and woes reflect from crismson wisdom,

Reflection is not telescopic;

reflection is not telescopic!

And hence is the same with moral ideas,

they too, may not be be reflected,

from each our own unto them,

volition is how they be erected!

"Excuse me sire, but I may read your mind,

patience too is not of your kind...

do you remember the brilliant theories

you once held in highest query?"

Bombast and indeed it is atrocious,

a man reads minds with wit and wisdom,

upon what hour is my circumcision, (XD)

upon what hour my own volition? (or upon what hour is my circumcision, again, not really sure which is better)

Checking my premises for for burg and burglars,

I discover a lurking lurglar,

He is I and I am him,

Him who dost desire the quim.

Excuse me, again, but what is your method?

"Evasion, sir, evasion, sir"

What is your method!?What is your method!?

"The psychology of its good mechanism..."

What mad you are, what mad you are!

"Mad I am, mad I am"

What willfull atrocity and-

"vicious dichotomy"

What bold afflictions and-

"...willful contradictions",

What are you?

"I am mad"

Who are you

"I was you"

Where are you?

"Behind you. Next time you need to check your premises

for burgs and burgs and lurking lurglars!"

I saw that this man had a gun,

a gun, a gun, and not a pun!

I saw that he had had glock, (and beside it a MASSIVE cock)

I saw that he also had a magnum (and beside a trojan condom!)

I saw that he had had some wisdom,

wisdom which he thunk it crimson,

but blood is crimson and I am not,

so punch his face I do not naught.

This lurking burglar or burging lurglar,

is the essence of man's affliction.

When you see him, punch his face

As an act of your own volition.

Next time sir, if I may kill you.

"I do hope hope that you aren't repeating"

Hope it naught, for hope it naught:

This is what I ought to ought!

And hence I took his massive glock,

and hence he took his willing magnum:

Pointed it at me, he did, he did.

But shoot me never knew I would.

"Shoot me", he said, "or you are dead."

"Shoot me", he said, "as an act of volition."

So I shot him, so I shot him.

Rid I am of contradiciton.

All the hoes in the house say "what!?"

And I'm glad that you liked it.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Well until an admin moves this I might as well keep posting in it. Here is a poem inspired by a girl in another thread who corrected my statement. It is called "I stand corrected"

I stand corrected for I never went,

into that action malevolent,

until I thought I be so bold,

that another man I could have told,

one moral lesson I have learned,

for admiration's desire I shouldst not churn.

Thank you, miss.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

Loading...
  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.
×
×
  • Create New...