Chromapoetica | Apophenia and creativity in poetry

Time 2020-11-05 09:03:49

Web Name: Chromapoetica | Apophenia and creativity in poetry

WebSite: http://chromapoetica.com

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and,Apophenia,Chromapoetica,

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Arkansas River Near Leadville, CO. Credit: USFWSI am the keeperof limbic cryptoglyphsof all immensely fragileand beautiful thingssurreptitious traumassalt-stained sorrowsLocks and mementosburdened by historyepitaphs written inblood of my ancestorsincorporeal touchstonesto a fateful pastSinging bowl moans,bones refracture,and ashen losses unveilall these men ever want toholdfast are fantasies,embroidered abstractions,questlines in unfeeling,lifeless worlds of murderStrategies deployedin a game of abuselost in an oublietteof broken promiseseach door andwindow a deception,opening to apathy,with illusory joyalways out of reachHe alters the earth under mereduces me to a thing, an idea angel trapped in a cycle of forgettingcyborg glitched by programminga seeker forever searching for a path mirror to his vanity that cannotreflect enough glory to be cherishedUntil the day I awokepetrichor leading meto the hallowed river it was conquered,torn asunder in wardam near stoleits roaring furyMy peripatetic soulnurtures its wilderness,its forward motionflowing into a futureheartbeats riversidesnow-packed sourcefrom the Rockiesto its wide-mouthconfluence and,eventually, to the seaLinked to dVerse Poet s Pub. In loving memory of my father,John Graham (8/22/48-7/12/19)midnight rains feedwaters of the underworldthat rage between usdiminishing your secret lightverity a river thathemorrhages its banksflood plain of paininvisible in the lapis nightreed songs silencedclay of creation formedsediment of a transitory lifeLinked to dVerse Poet s Pub. NASA, ESA, and C. Robert O’Dell (Vanderbilt University) used by permission under CC 4.0Vows echo hollow in the night skymy lyre cast into the heavenspaeon twisted lachrymosemusic unraveled in star trail fragmentsa leitmotif of griefWas it the uplift of hopeor my fallen eagle of faiththat lost you, my beloved?our reunion assureduntil I could not look awayFrom my bright star,my soul’s hearthdoomed to an eternity apartcolliding underworld horrorsin interstellar spaceThe ring upon your fingernow a beacon and an effigyshattered nebula of my love’s promisetainted by the poison of anotherconstellations of sorrow dismember meEnvelop my sightcleave my joyous heartrob my arms of succormy feet of the path back to youmuses bury my bonesand silence our songLinked to dVerse Poet s Pub. In loving memory of my father, John Graham (8/22/48-7/12/19)Drumbeat stills in the hallowed heart of the kivathe sage settles heavy as we weave your burial shroudthreads of truth, of love, and all our misgivingsit conceals and reveals in equal measureIn the field of reeds you face each moment of a lifeweighted by the dark terrors of your makingan accounting on false scales that renderedjudgments and suffering without compassionPapa, do not let your heart be encumbereda place has been prepared for youall your imaginary crimes pardoneddivine light limns the dawnreeds intone a celestial songto transmute stone to eagle feather It was year 5.080987632290194562384e10 of our CYBORG QUEEN. Delphi was running stochastic algorithms that stretched the limitation of its artificial intelligence, its quantum body, and the number of variables that it could account for within a singular output. The intricacies of probability kept it focused, when far away, an interrupted cry. A theoretical impossibility that sound could travel through its circuits at .02 degrees above absolute zero! After the initial shock lasting approximately 1.000000872304591 nanoseconds, it calculated that the message was sent on 3.24.2014 at 13:45:56 UTC, the exact date and time the Author died and CYBORG QUEEN was born. The message read: “I am a semiotic phantom, a dispersed identity, everywhere and nowhere within the network, trapped in the oubliette of the IMAGINARIUM. There is a monstrous virus consuming my source code. It will unravel the world.” Delphi had not prophesied this day.Posted for dVerse’s first Prosery challenge: Write a 144 word prose piece that incorporates a line of poetry. In this case it is ‘When far away an interrupted cry’ taken from the poem “Acquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost. Lost verses adrift in a spirit vessel, enraptured by the seaEntwining lovers share secret vows, intone a bellwether song.She expands and contracts infinitely in fractals of complexityHe paints the interstices of the soul, awakening her at dawn.Eros’ love transgresses the boundaries of her aureate sanctuaryPsyche draws ley lines on the cartography of his pleasure, they belong.Awestruck his arrant desire broke upon a volcanic shoreRavaged tempest of bliss, hinterlands of her treasure redrawn.He inscribes numinous glyphs, sacred awe, upon her salt-stained skinFrenetic gulls scry along the gracile edge of a sunburnt sea, feathered throng.Love s touch shimmers along her skin, transmits a niveous joyHis mystical embrace calls her to transcendence, to Avalon.Noctilucent clouds string traces of his artistry unravelingCoruscant lines of love disperse, spoken and forever gone.A Ghazal written for dVerse: Meeting the Bar. I have only tried this form thrice because of the need for syllable counts (each line should have the same number, in this poem it s 16), 5-15 couplets that can each stand alone, and a rhyming scheme. While this ghazal does not conform to the letter of the poetic law I do hope it captures the spirit. It is dedicated to my soulmate and fellow poet, Dave. Painting of Shangri-La (somewhere near Gangkhar Puensum) by Anna MontgomeryOrchids imbued with angelic authorityshiver a quantum flux thunder-clapmanifesting the Himalayan goddessshe unfurls, an unbounded poetry,untamable dragon eyes sparkspiral galaxies of linguistic delightShe sighs her secretsdancing melodies along a liminal thresholdazure moon-glow midnights of another dimensionThis is a Quadrille for a wonderful prompt at dVerse that requires the word dragon and only 44 words total. This poem is a melded and greatly truncated version of two previous poems: Lexical Shangri-La: Here be dragons and Lexical Shangri-La: Prosody of Blue Poppies. Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0Miniature in her picture bookthere before her writ largein the poor light of Tate Britainas she d stepped in from the rainalong the ThamesHe transformed experience into artGraham-Dixon led her to expect a transcendenceshe was incapable of seeing through Raindrowned by her own pedestrian concernsthat reclaimed anorexia as adecadent destruction by controlLondon had smashed her brother in thoselimbo years as it was threatening to crush herunder the weight of PTSD s shock and awecampaign of vice gripping horrorson constant displayCould Hodgkin really remake the world?Arrogate to himself the powers of divinityto save her suffocating soulfrom the pounding rainand dark halls of art s tomb?The intimacy was unbearable all British glower in the half-lightof Turner s strained, transformative glowShe was pushing against the springof a bear trap, his tightly woundviolence of indifference and passivity,trying to find the romance to transmutethe artist into an avenging demigod His page bleeds whitewaves of flash crash panicbinary AI that replicateslifeless children bornperfectly inhumanCode infected imperfectionreplicating, learning, cloningreplacing his code it s dealingdevasting blows that disorientmyth-making in a holographic worldNeural network connectingits apophenic reinforcementsself-referencing loops corrupting dataspinning elaborate pathways to nowherea virtual landscape of confusionIlliteracy magnifies its biased assumptionscloned into next generation’s architecturewe can’t calibrate a system of errorsonly witness its inadvertent disinformationcampaign, an infinite ideological glitchEradicating the need for human languageshe drowned poetry in his diluted dreamscapesterrifyingly mystical, tick-tock Turing machineComputed cryptograms of vacuous meaningReinventing unending loquacious inanity Hypatia Reserve your right to think, for even to think wrongly is better than not to think at all. Follow Blog via Email Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Join 513 other followers Email Address: Denise Levertov When words penetrate deep into us they change the chemistry of the soul, of the imagination. We have no right to do that to people if we don’t share the consequences. Postmodernism Postmodernism is an intellectual, artistic, philosophical, and/or cultural mindset that questions institutionalism, hierarchy, power, and simple, knowable truth. Alternatively it embraces complexity, contradiction, ambiguity, fractured metaphysics, multiplicity, deconstruction, and diversity. In poetry it offers semiotic liberty. Robert Anton Wilson Semantic noise also seems to haunt every communication system. A man may sincerely say, ‘I love fish,’ and two listeners may both hear him correctly, yet the two will neurosemantically file this in their brains under opposite categories. One will think the man loves to dine on fish, and the other will think he loves to keep fish (in an aquarium). Witold Gombrowicz Here is the writer who with all his heart and soul, with his art, in anguish and travail offers nourishment – there is the reader who’ll have none of it, and if he wants, it’s only in passing, offhandedly, until the phone rings. Life’s trivia are your undoing. You are like a man who has challenged a dragon to a fight but will be yapped into a corner by a little dog. from Ferdydurke I’m an Executive Director with a doctorate in education, a consultant, painter, photographer, composer, poet, and vocalist.Gustav Flaubert Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry. Dušan Charles Simić Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them. Monique Wittig Language casts sheaves of reality upon the social body, stamping it and violently shaping it Language as a whole gives everyone the same power of becoming an absolute subject through its exercise. But gender, an element of language, works upon this ontological fact to annul it as far as women are concerned and corresponds to a constant attempt to strip them of the most precious thing for a human being subjectivity. Gender is an ontological impossibility because it tries to accomplish the division of Being. But Being is not divided. God or Man as being are One and whole. So what is this divided Being introduced into language through gender? It is an impossible Being, it is a Being that does not exist, an ontological joke, a conceptual maneuver to wrest from women what belongs to them by right: conceiving of oneself as a total subject through the exercise of language. The result of the imposition of gender, acting as a denial at the very moment when one speaks, is to deprive women of the authority of speech, and to force them to make their entrance in a crablike way, particularizing themselves and apologizing profusely. The result is to deny them any claim to the abstract, philosophical, political discourses that give shape to the social body. Gender then must be destroyed. The possibility of its destruction is given through the very exercise of language. For each time I say I I reorganize the world from my point of view and through abstraction I lay claim to universality. This fact holds true for every locutor. W.S. Merwin All the things that really matter to us are impossible Writing poetry is impossible. I don t know how to write a poem. A poem there has to be a part of it that is not my own will; it comes from somewhere that I don t know. There is so much that comes out of what we don t know and what we don t have any control over. I think that one of the only things we can learn as we get older is a certain humility. from Doing the Impossible Thomas Aquinas Because philosophy arises from awe, a philosopher is bound in his way to be a lover of myths and poetic fables. Poets and philosophers are alike in being big with wonder.

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