Irony of non-existence (new title and edit)

[tectak]

As I thought, it seems we are not  here at all;
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine, the thrill of falling, pounding headaches,
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality. Reality?

Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,
of what we think we hold; the very hand that tender cups
a breast, can steer a blind man, safe across the road.
The solid thump of glass upon the ale-house bar
or sharp, cold ice that points and drops from guttered rooves;
all is stark illusion like hard wind...the same that tuneless blows
in  trees yet carries from the string a melody, music most profound.

Surely writ, a vibratory score, becomes a tear induced to fall;
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....it must be real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage of voracious, vectored time.
We war and love in equal measure, kill and cure, comfort and hurt,
we make-believe and fantasise, see our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet...

We think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here.

Where, though, is here?

And am I in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the...

tectak2016

[billy]

captured in the...pigpen

after a quick shufti, you have some spacing problems. for me it also felt there was an amount of excess. the first line could be stronger in order to draw the reader in; we are not really here at all; i found that after a few reads it improved. making early xmas dinner so rushing here. over all i enjoyed the questioning of the piece, for me it states we are more than "we are not" and it's one of the reasons i like it.

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all;
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrills of falling, pounding headaches, i like the use of falling and pounding next to each other.
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality.Reality?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,
of what we thinkwe hold. A hand, a cupping
of a massy breast,a gentle hand to steer us does massy mean big or large?
when we cross a road;the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house baror cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves. should it be roofs, i know it used to be rooves which i find more pleasing
All this is but illusion like the wind; that blows in  trees,
that carries from the string a melody, music most profound. lovely line, why is it lovely, it's lovely because it's a bit tingly when read.
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall, and another.
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage or the vectored time.
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt,
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the...

tectak2016

[Sparkydashforth]

I so like this poem.
It grabs me and takes me on a many layered journey.

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all;
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.  ....I kinda don't feel great about your opening lines,
 maybe it's their philosophical head-space.  It's nihilistic premise.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrills of falling, pounding headaches,.........love the juxtapositions
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality.Reality? .............maybe the orgasm is the only reality...the dying moment?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,
of what we thinkwe hold. A hand, a cupping.............Who betrays who? I don't like the God/me/Universe victim thing. The concept is done to death.
of a massy breast, a gentle hand to steer us
when we cross a road; the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house bar or cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves..................wonderful tactile imagery! 'rooves'?
All this is but illusion like the wind; that blows in  trees,............the premise and conclusion here is a non-sequitur surely?
that carries from the string a melody, music most profound.
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall,
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?................Getting a little talky and rhetorical.
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage of the vectored time.
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt,
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,  .....I'm a glass half full person myself, but I get where you're going with this.
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the...  this is too ...........like your last line, but feel you need more subjective visual clues for the reader to feel he/she is not just being told.

tectak2016

Some great picturing and interesting musing going on here. My niggles are considerably less than my praise.

[tectak]

captured in the...pigpen  

after a quick shufti, you have some spacing problems. for me it also felt there was an amount of excess. the first line could be stronger in order to draw the reader in; we are not really here at all; i found that after a few reads it improved. making early xmas dinner so rushing here. over all i enjoyed the questioning of the piece, for me it states we are more than "we are not" and it's one of the reasons i like it.

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all;
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrills of falling, pounding headaches, i like the use of falling and pounding next to each other.
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality.Reality?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,
of what we thinkwe hold. A hand, a cupping
of a massy breast,a gentle hand to steer us does massy mean big or large?
when we cross a road;the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house baror cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves. should it be roofs, i know it used to be rooves which i find more pleasing
All this is but illusion like the wind; that blows in  trees,
that carries from the string a melody, music most profound. lovely line, why is it lovely, it's lovely because it's a bit tingly when read.
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall, and another.
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage or the vectored time.
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt,
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the...

tectak2016

Thanks billy...this one is constipatory. I have made a few changes...difficult when once again my cursor keys have failed ...it happened about a year ago last time. "Massy" gone as it emphasised size rather than sensuality. Some grammatical correction, too. Roofs/rooves? Should be roofs, I know, but like you I like rooves and it is still correct though outdated. This one is year ender for me. I will tinker with it, though, as I hope it could be for any year end.
Very best to you and yours...and a great new year. Onwards ever onwards

---

I so like this poem.
It grabs me and takes me on a many layered journey.

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all;
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.  ....I kinda don't feel great about your opening lines,
 maybe it's their philosophical head-space.  It's nihilistic premise.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrills of falling, pounding headaches,.........love the juxtapositions
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality.Reality? .............maybe the orgasm is the only reality...the dying moment?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,
of what we thinkwe hold. A hand, a cupping.............Who betrays who? I don't like the God/me/Universe victim thing. The concept is done to death.
of a massy breast, a gentle hand to steer us
when we cross a road; the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house bar or cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves..................wonderful tactile imagery! 'rooves'?
All this is but illusion like the wind; that blows in  trees,............the premise and conclusion here is a non-sequitur surely?
that carries from the string a melody, music most profound.
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall,
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?................Getting a little talky and rhetorical.
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage of the vectored time.
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt,
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,  .....I'm a glass half full person myself, but I get where you're going with this.
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the... ..this is too like your last line, but feel you need more subjective visual clues for the reader to feel he/she is not just being told.

tectak2016

Some great picturing and interesting musing going on here. My niggles are considerably less than my praise.

Thanks sparky,
I hear you. See the small edits. Only issue which  is of critical importance to me is the god delusion. I didn't see his mythical form in the piece and that certainly was intentional. I don't do god and hope he won't do me.
very best,
tectak

[Brownlie]

I think you need to prune this baby.

quote='tectak' pid='222114' dateline='1482452620']

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all; MS word always underlines really as redundant or wrong. Also what's "it" referring to? Also, I thought and it seems are sort of synonymous.
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are. If you have and connecting two adjectives (ephemeral and empty), there's a good chance you were still deciding on the right adjective and now have an extra one in there.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrill of falling, pounding headaches,
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality. For some reason, the cheese served with wine is usually kind of gross. Too goaty or something. Orgasmic breath equal work and pissed off neighbors.

 Reality?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode "there is" = sloppy language.
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then, --Pardon my american, but is this line about busting a nut? If so, fleshy fold sounds gross.
of what we think we hold. A hand, a tender cupping
of a breast, a gentle hand to steer us - Tender cupping sounds gross, like a lusty probing.
when we cross a road; the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house bar or cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves.
All this is stark illusion like hard wind; the same that blows -- the same refers to all, but I had to retread and stop to figure it out.
in  trees yet carries from the string a melody, music most profound. Wouldn't profound melody be more concise?
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall,  Tear induced to fall?
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little-- I like what you're saying here. Not sure about matter mattering.
as to not disturb the passage of the vectored time. Now you've lost me because you're smarter and talking about vectors. 
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt, Too many ands!
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams. Of course we dream dreams. Why do you need the verb and noun of the same thing?
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share -- Need not share= super sloppy.
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,  
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am I in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the... Ending with ellipses? You jokin' right? 

tectak2016
[/quote]

Hey I think I admire what your trying to say, but I think the language has to be clean and precise for this poem to work. Enjoyed reading.  Just kidding around with some comments and actually think you're trying to express something cool.

[tectak]

I think you need to prune this baby.

quote='tectak' pid='222114' dateline='1482452620']

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all; MS word always underlines really as redundant or wrong. Also what's "it" referring to? Also, I thought and it seems are sort of synonymous.
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are. If you have and connecting two adjectives (ephemeral and empty), there's a good chance you were still deciding on the right adjective and now have an extra one in there.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrill of falling, pounding headaches,
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality. For some reason, the cheese served with wine is usually kind of gross. Too goaty or something. Orgasmic breath equal work and pissed off neighbors.

 Reality?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode "there is" = sloppy language.
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then, --Pardon my american, but is this line about busting a nut? If so, fleshy fold sounds gross.
of what we think we hold. A hand, a tender cupping
of a breast, a gentle hand to steer us - Tender cupping sounds gross, like a lusty probing.
when we cross a road; the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house bar or cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves.
All this is stark illusion like hard wind; the same that blows -- the same refers to all, but I had to retread and stop to figure it out.
in  trees yet carries from the string a melody, music most profound. Wouldn't profound melody be more concise?
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall,  Tear induced to fall?
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little-- I like what you're saying here. Not sure about matter mattering.
as to not disturb the passage of the vectored time. Now you've lost me because you're smarter and talking about vectors. 
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt, Too many ands!
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams. Of course we dream dreams. Why do you need the verb and noun of the same thing?
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share -- Need not share= super sloppy.
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,  
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am I in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the... Ending with ellipses? You jokin' right? 

tectak2016

Hey I think I admire what your trying to say, but I think the language has to be clean and precise for this poem to work. Enjoyed reading.  Just kidding around with some comments and actually think you're trying to express something cool.
[/quote]

---

I think you need to prune this baby.

quote='tectak' pid='222114' dateline='1482452620']

As I thought, it seems we are not really here at all; MS word always underlines really as redundant or wrong. Also what's "it" referring to? Also, I thought and it seems are sort of synonymous.
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are. If you have and connecting two adjectives (ephemeral and empty), there's a good chance you were still deciding on the right adjective and now have an extra one in there.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine and thrill of falling, pounding headaches,
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality. For some reason, the cheese served with wine is usually kind of gross. Too goaty or something. Orgasmic breath equal work and pissed off neighbors.

 Reality?
Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode "there is" = sloppy language.
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then, --Pardon my american, but is this line about busting a nut? If so, fleshy fold sounds gross.
of what we think we hold. A hand, a tender cupping
of a breast, a gentle hand to steer us - Tender cupping sounds gross, like a lusty probing.
when we cross a road; the solid thump of glass
upon the ale-house bar or cold, cold ice
that points and drops from guttered rooves.
All this is stark illusion like hard wind; the same that blows -- the same refers to all, but I had to retread and stop to figure it out.
in  trees yet carries from the string a melody, music most profound. Wouldn't profound melody be more concise?
Surely this, this vibratory score, this tear induced to fall,  Tear induced to fall?
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....is real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little-- I like what you're saying here. Not sure about matter mattering.
as to not disturb the passage of the vectored time. Now you've lost me because you're smarter and talking about vectors. 
We war and love and kill and thrill and die and hurt, Too many ands!
we make-believe and fantasise, we dream our dreams. Of course we dream dreams. Why do you need the verb and noun of the same thing?
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share -- Need not share= super sloppy.
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet,
we think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,  
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here. Where, though, is here?
And am I in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the... Ending with ellipses? You jokin' right? 

tectak2016

Hey I think I admire what your trying to say, but I think the language has to be clean and precise for this poem to work. Enjoyed reading.  Just kidding around with some comments and actually think you're trying to express something cool.

[/quote]

Hi brownlie,
as always, an honest assessment so no polemics. The ephemeral/empty pairing was a huge part of the irony now in the title. A good call from others. Recent physics ( spelled physucks) tells me I am a near nonentity...I thought as much, but who is doing the thinking?
I am afraid that gross may be an easily misinterpreted americanism as I cannot get gross from "a tender cupping" no matter how I try...but if you say so Exploding in to the fleshy fold...now that IS gross...but intentional. Andyness and dreams diminished, thank you.
Best,
tectak

[vagabond]

As I thought, it seems we are not  here at all;                        i would leave "as i thought" out, but can´t think of any words what would fill out the first line then.
phantoms, ephemeral and empty of all we think we are.
The loves we have, the music in our lives,
cheese, wine, the thrill of falling, pounding headaches,
sensuality...even orgasmic breath is not reality. Reality?

Perhaps there is no word, no reason to explode       
in to the fleshy fold...betrayal, then,                       "no reason to explode into the fleshy fold", I like that (reason as a metaphor for reality?)
of what we think we hold; the very hand that tender cups
a breast, can steer a blind man, safe across the road.
The solid thump of glass upon the ale-house bar
or sharp, cold ice that points and drops from guttered rooves;
all is stark illusion like hard wind...the same that tuneless blows
in  trees yet carries from the string a melody, music most profound.

Surely writ, a vibratory score, becomes a tear induced to fall;
this heightened sense of what it is to feel....it must be real?
But no...we are a quantum field. Matter mattering so little
as to not disturb the passage of voracious, vectored time.
We war and love in equal measure, kill and cure, comfort and hurt,          i d love to know why you wrote that and if you really meant that those antagonizing concepts are somehow always equally present in our actions.
we make-believe and fantasise, see our dreams
inside another self; not sharing what we need not share
nor caring when we need not care, not loving
when we have no need to love...and yet, and yet...        ... there is a need (to share, care, love) comes to my mind      


We think ourselves in to a world, a time and space continuum,
a framework where such wild beliefs support the thought
that we are here.

Where, though, is here?

And am I in or out  of you, as you are but a part of me...
a timeless, tangled, twisting string
that holds the phantoms in a ring,
captured in the...               where are the wild beliefs captured in, or what are they supported by? can´t quite guess what your answer is but the question is sure intriguing.          

this seems a trail of thoughts as to wether the experience of reality is real, and the mystery of it all.
and the path is pleasant to follow for the reader.



Tektak: “Recent physics ( spelled physucks) tells me I am a near nonentity..”

could you tell me which theory (or aspect of it) does that?