Tag Archives: National Poetry Writing Month

“TO BE … OR NOT TO BE ….”

Acculturation, the modification of the original culture of individuals
or groups through prolonged contact with different cultures
has, up until recently, been a rare phenomenon. The internet’s potential
to acculturate … surely … is treasure.

Acculturation’s a natural process, not readily appreciated in the absence
of an expansive perspective, as, for example,
from the Creator’s point of view. In His view, irrelevant is difference,
but indifference … is … abominable.

Time for Global Truth and Reconciliation; surreally, whether you think we
can, or whether you think we can’t, you’re right, absolutely!
And so, The Wine and Cheese Miracles; prose, poetry, tragedy and comedy;
nonfiction … posing as fiction … ironically.

In poems melding Ovid’s and Emily’s about change and a letter, visionaries
ask of you: Of what good are borders and nationalities?
From a nonfictional dream, a poetic and prosaic tragi-comedy,
and prophesy too … for prediction … is prophesy.

Arthur prayed to his deity, He of the Jews, Christians and Muslims;
praying he’ll find … the missing Bohemians.
Allah/Jehovah/God/Yahweh as if answered in dreams: “Tweet to the denizens,
a blog and a book …. Write, to your global … co-citizens”.

Let’s take shortcuts in this surreal reality to peace and prosperity. Alchemically
speaking, the internet is the Philosopher’s Stone. We are … but one … only.
Let’s take shortcuts to peace and prosperity. Abnegate nationality. Accent humanity,
and upon what others have built … build atop it … opportunity.

And so, inspired by Ovid and Emily, Arthur wrote a fiction, non-fictionally.
This tribal nation-state thing is untenable … undeniably.
“To be … or not to be ….” So wrote the great Willy. It’s past time we
take a page from that play and ponder its implications … sagely.

ON OBLIVIOUSNESS

Seven billion global citizens; all but oblivious to one another. But to the extent that any
two or more share … in #twitterfiction … space-time-continuity …

… i.e., but when we touch, see, hear, smell, taste or otherwise surreally perceive another,
we are oblivious … in #twitterfiction … to our brother.

The internet is, in #twitterfiction, the God-given conduit whereby we might alchemically
transcend … to global peace … and global … prosperity.

In #twitterfiction, we’ll need do the only seemingly impossible; the abnegation of surrealities,
like nationality, in favor of the exaltation … of our humanity.

Time, in #twitterfiction,for Truth and Reconciliation; whether you think we can get it done
or you think we can’t … you’re absolutely … right … on.

See @chachomanopapa on Twitter, and chachomanopapa.wordpress.com., its blog-log analog,
for poetry, in #twitterfiction, about history, from tweets and a blog.

Poems melding Ovid’s and Emily’s; in poems to (wo)men about change, otherworldly visionaries
#twitterfiction-ally ask: Of what good are borders … and nationalities?

ON THE RIGHT … QUESTIONS

Arthur, the intestate layman, turned lawyer, turned lush … turned lyrical philosopher,
has learned invaluable truths … not in school … but asleep.
In an otherworldly realm between life and death, answered has been Arthur’s plaintive prayer:
What if … from “what if” … rich harvests … we reap?

And what if from the corollary “to be or not to be” … untold benefits, we similarly … reap?
And what if, come an inaugural ‘global citizenship day’,
wide awake, we await the transcendence, that may then take place? What if awake, not asleep,
we cast away … tried … and tired … old ways?

THE PARADIGM … MATRIX

Seven billion are effectively oblivious to one another. To wit, except to the extent that at any
particular moment, two or more of us may share space-time continuity
whenever we physically touch, see, hear, smell, taste or otherwise perceive another sensorily,
with few exceptions, we are oblivious to one another … totally.

A notable exception: when one senses the transmitted words of another … vicariously.
Drum beats, smoke signals and parcel post aside, words posted electronically,
are virtually (pun intended), (wo)mankind’s best and possibly, its last chance, to timely
meet … the challenge presented … by the paradigm … matrices.

ON A #TWITTERFICTIONAL … NONFICTION

#Twitterfiction: Allah-God-Jehovah-Yahweh is The One Almighty Author of the Qu’ran,
and the Testaments … (The Old and The New) … pluralistic … amens.

#Twitterfiction: The pluralistic spirit of chachomanopapa@wordpress.com is in its
evangelism sans proselytism; every (wo)man free to do, as (s)he deems fit.

#Twitterfiction: Come to chachomanopapa@wordpress.com, and to its pluralistic analog
@chachomanopapa … on Twitter …. A book … from tweets … and a blog.

A LUPITA LOOK ALIKE … UNLIKE … NYONG’O

In surreal nonfiction, a young, beautiful, face; a Lupita Nyong’o look-alike; but beware,
for in #twitterfiction … any similarity … ends … there.

See news.msn.com/world/girl-left-in-forest-in-c-African-republic-chaos#tscptmt. The oh so
heart-wrenching story of Hamamatou Harouna contrasts in #twitterfiction … Nyong’o’s.

A silver lining to this poignant story; that, via #twitterfiction,
social media inject hope, where there’s been … none.

And so Arthur hopes and prays, and, in #twitterfiction … writes; for it’s not about him
… nor us … but solely … about Him …

… or Her. Oh what a specious species are we! Woe upon us whom glorify Lupita
in nonfiction but look away, in #twitterfiction … from Harouna.

See then https://www.chachomanopapa.wordpress.com and @chachomanopapa on Twitter.
In #twitterfiction … His or Her Way … is better.

ALLAH/GOD/JEHOVAH/YAHWEH’S … RIVER … OF TIME

She loved me once. Then … she loved me not. The former, I often heard; the latter … not ever.
But actions … and omissions to act … speak volumes … deafeningly.
And so my sick heart now hurts less; for romantic declarations aside, aside from our Creator,
nothing’s forever … but Him … or Her; and that’s comforting … most definitely.

That (S)he is forever is most comforting; but there have been other comforts … since she
loved me not. That a heart is mended is, largely, an inconsequential one;
but knowing that beyond actions speaking loudly, that inaction speaks volumes … deafeningly,
is altogether, another. That latter slice of wisdom ought matter … to everyone.

Art’s life’s been more dissolute than resolute. He’s lost much held dear, especially a child whom
would have turned twenty-one years young, this Autumn’s October.
But Arthur’s losses; of parents, child, wife and life oft pale next to that of others, whom
struggle in … Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh’s … time river.

Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh’s river of time is a river, unfathomable. But fear not for ye
need not fathom its breadth. Ye need only believe; the Scriptures are ALL
subject to misinterpretation. Just do to others as ye would have them do unto thee.
And so Arthur writes … like Emily before him … to all.

SINCE … SHE LOVED ME NOT

She loved me once. Then … she loved me not. The former, I often heard; the latter … not ever.
But actions … and omissions to act … speak volumes … deafeningly.
And so my sick heart now hurts less; for romantic declarations aside, aside from our Creator,
nothing’s forever … but Him … or Her; and that’s comforting … most definitely.

That (S)he is forever is most comforting; but there have been other comforts … since she
loved me not. That a heart is mended is, largely, an inconsequential one;
but knowing that beyond actions speaking loudly, that inaction speaks volumes … deafeningly,
is altogether, another. That latter slice of wisdom ought matter … to everyone.

Art’s life’s been more dissolute than resolute. He’s lost much held dear, especially a child whom
would have turned twenty-one years young, this Autumn’s October.
But Arthur’s losses; of parents, child, wife and life oft pale next to that of others, whom
struggle in … Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh’s … time river.

SHE LOVED ME … NOT

She loved me once. Then … she loved me not. The former, I often heard; the latter … not ever.
But actions … and omissions to act speak volumes … deafeningly.
And so my sick heart now hurts less; for romantic declarations aside, aside from our Creator,
nothing’s forever … but Him … or Her; and that’s comforting … most definitely.

ON HUMANITY … NATIONALITY … AND SPIRITUALITY

Poetry, albeit belatedly, resonates within Arthur’s soul. His memories, and the poetically
rendered memories of others, profoundly reverberate within him, loudly,
albeit, inaudibly. Wordsmiths, (wo)men of peace, are his heroes and heroines; Ovid, Willy,
Emily, Khalil and Maya, et. al., eloquently teach us, albeit … sublimely.

Oh, what a specious species are we! We relegate our very real humanity to a status effectively
below that of abstractly surreal identities of nationality and spirituality.
Wordsmiths, (wo)men of peace, ought be our heroes and heroines; Ovid, Willy, Emily,
Khalil and Maya, via their poetry … might teach us … albeit, sublimely.