Personal Poetry

[AmbivalentEye]

I asked if it would be ok, to post poetry here. I recall Ayn Rand adressing her readers in the introduction and as always, she mean her writting to be read, if by any at all, then for it to be objectivists. I don't exavtly know who my audience is or whether I have one. I don't write for people. I write for myself and therefore I am constantly called arrogant. Let it be so. I know I want great minds to see the things I write and recall what was possible to the human existence: "The ability to perceive and feel". I've convinced myself to a certain extent, that if I could sustain the quite powerful criticism I have witnessed on this site, maybe it won't feel so bad if I ever decide to publish anything. I appreciate your comments. Whatever they may be.

I'm not going to start in any specific order. I'm simply going to post stuff and will stop if you beleive the material is inappropriate for the purpose of this site. I respect that. I do wish more emotion could be expressed here in some way. Ayn always offered it in her books, they were both intellectually and emotionally powerful, thus I loved them. I think "emotion" too, in some way should be an ideal. It is for me.

[AmbivalentEye]

Move....

It is the tool that is wrong

Not my mind...

Let me just say that and continue the struggle willingly,

Masked beneath the lie.

Why do your eyes fall upon me so insistently?

Let me go from the grip of your glance

That locks me in a hold of denial behind my guilt.

What have I granted by signing off my identity on these acts?

To whom or what am I due to as a result of my acknowledgement?

"I am my own"

I'll tell myself,

and wonder what made me say something so stupid and senseless.

Yet, "I am my own"

shall fall beneath a breath, and I'll ponder upon

Whether or not I beleive it.

"It's not true!"

Yells a voice that fades into the darkness.

It shrieks and then dies as I watch the many paths

that string out from the base of my feet.

"You have to move", I'll say

"You have to make a choice"

And I'll be frozen there within some form of asphyxiating confusion.

"I could just die..."

"I could just die right here

and forget about what happened or what I did"

The only problem is that:

You can be dead but for so long

before you are forced to come back.

And however long it took you,

Is how much farther you'll be held back.

"Always have to go back to real life"

To the same point of corrupting pandemonium you tried to flee from.

"It.. is.. possible.. to.. die"

The voice whispers as it lays buried in my flesh.

"It is possible..." -and fades away

Never did I realize the saying was:

"It is possible to die, but you always have to live"

Life isn't the question.

Not within the limits of my mind.

It is the question...

The undaunting question of your mind...

Move...

Stay...

But in the end... you have to make the choice.

-J

[AmbivalentEye]

Earth and Soul (essentially locked)

Come.

Speak.

What is thy will?

Your imprints lay veiled

on the surface of flooded lands.

Sweep the earth once more

with your solemn tear.

Waning descent of the angel

Silences revealed

Constant beat of vibrating rhythms and thoughts.

You are here…

Stirring restlessness of my heart.

You are there…

and the voids complete my silent sorrow.

Flickering images from your trembling skin

Life.

Swift drink of life in which I’m consumed by thee

Nature utters its divine glory

Unwitnessed prosperity of the soul

Stunning deception

Left convinced that I’d be destroyed;

The wounding tremors of your unrelenting pulse

Ever-constant necessity for blaspheme serenity

Gleaming silence that weeps from forgotten dreams.

After frost…there will be light.

Shocking burst of piercing bright!

To be later resigned to consuming silence

And the earth shall once again surrender to the energies that bore it

Unyielding force of your lips

Sound of your lips

The words that destroy me

Soft mist of a dissipating substance

Shattered pieces of you and me

Our pleas rise and are forced to subside.

Receding breeze that steals away cries.

Single touches rouse thee from your dream

And I’m left seized here,

torn away from thee.

-Jason

[AmbivalentEye]

The Sea

Keep still.

So still and perfect.

The skin is smooth.

Smooth like warm pristine waves at sea on a day of spiced sunlight and wind.

Washing past me.

Washing through me.

Submerging me beneath your hold

as the currents beat my sweltering limbs.

Take this as my devotion,

or merely my surrender.

My body is yours,

The will is mine.

Drag me to shore

restless and battered by your frenzied pulse within me.

Your blood as mine.

Your skin, my sacred tenple.

Carry me away and set me down on somber shore.

Deserted island.

To lay there draped in moist velveteen sands.

Tis you,

this feeble grip of life

A fulfilling, liquid flow over my dessicated skin.

Keep still.

Keep me beneath water.

Arctic breezes chill my lungs when I breathe.

Undo the knitting of my gills with your intrepid tounge.

Rid me of my need.

The need to live.

To keep you by my side.

Intrinsic longings of my being.

Why must you come so close?

So close that I lose sense of myself.

So near that you engulf me with your essence

While my hands are tied, and my lips sealed shut

I cannot have you.

Your power lies in the fact that I want you,

and in admitting it I become subdued to that tangible yet unattainable figure before my eyes....

Within my mind...

So silent.

So pure...

But oh how agreeable.

This need shall kill me.

Shall burn me inside.

But let it be so..

For I cannot forsake you.

Let it be done...

For I cannot forget you.

-Jason

[AmbivalentEye]

Purpose

Words.

Just words.

A signature of one's existence;

Of a rational creature that could perceive

and take in the wonders of this universe

and have them be remembered

through a compilation of adjectives and verbs.

Imprints of such overwhelming sentiments as do exist.

For it is in such words that has been intricately depicted:

The truth...

The value...

The reason...

Fluent are the verses from your lips.

Like cooling waters to my weary limbs.

Serenity to the frantic confusion of my conscience.

So powerful can be the single phrase.

A mere fragment born from the movements of your pen,

leaving you satisfied to die in peace.

I beckon you to scribe your sonnet, young maiden.

Murdered by a single sentence able to define me.

An absolution I had not beleived.

My spirit melts through my hand as I conclude each page.

Drain me of all I posses as I mark my ending to another poem.

Is this my death?

For my palm seems to grip this receding lead with each word,

wearing away the tool of my escape.

Offer me a play...some stanza

Verses ripped from the soul and wept by the desperate.

Holding on to life.

Hanging on to hope.

Protect the imprints of my mind.

The pages, I, at some point... wrote.

-J

[AmbivalentEye]

......perhaps I'll just end it there. There's something about my writting that scares me sometimes and I wonder if I am in some way linked to that detached entity. A part of me....fights the struggle of the rational mind. Always reaching for something beyond. Purposeful to the end. The other side....it wonders if LIFE, is really something one is capable of saving. Life as I have felt it. As it was felt once...

[AMERICONORMAN]

You’re poetry certainly expresses your intelligence. If you want my personal opinion, I’ll give it. I like poetry that rhymes. And though I love many poets like, Kipling, Tennyson, Byron, Shelley, Browning, Schiller, etc., I am bothered by the minority of poems with benevolent themes. These poets and others are geniuses but too many times their theme is desperate. Your poetry gives me the image of someone walking alone through the forest and allowing his mind to just flow. But the poetic process is bigger than that. If it’s any consolation, your poetry reminds me of Nietzsche’s poetry, I think they are called Dithyrambs of Dionysus. I don’t think your poetry was great but you have potential. Keep on writing. I didn’t study the poetry, I just read through them quickly but if a poem doesn’t grab me immediately then I move on: this is the importance of rhyme and rhythm. Your poetry I can’t say is Objectivism: there’s too much disappointment, longing for the impossible, sadness, uncertainty, lack of confidence, i.e., malevolence.

Americo.

[AmbivalentEye]

Americo,

Thank you for your comment.

I'd like to state, that I've sort of had a change in my way of being. I can't pinpoint the cause of it, but to summarize. I found a problem in my writting, the moment I began to post them here, actually, in the moment of choosing what to post. I don't know if it is valid to say that I hadn't been aware of a system of rationalizations I had created years ago, thinking it was my only resort to survival. My writtings proved my error. I'm sure there may be slight glimpses of it in the things here. I found a stash of it in some of my other material and it really bothered me. Bottomline, "I'm checking my premises", for the sake of my mind, and mostly, my Life. I'd like to begin correcting my error by means of reason, as I have seen here and I express my gratitude to all of you that showed me that. That got me to ask some of the fundamental questions I needed. I don't expect anything for what I may have written here. A lot of it bothers me, because I know the nature of those writtings and those thoughts. I'd like to continue voicing my opinion and bring an end to the philosophical fallacies that led me here. I'm so glad I found it now that I'm 14 and not as an adult. I may have some other questions later, so I'll be back.

Thank you.

[AMERICONORMAN]

Wow! You’re only 14! Then, you have remarkable potential. Take the opportunity of your youth to master rhythm and rhyme from the English masters. I wish I would have 11 years ago.

Americo.