poetry Archives - Page 5 of 53

Archive for poetry – Page 5

Abandoned Structures: The Inner Landscape

Within us all
lie abandoned structures,
some forgotten,
some derelict,
some erected
out of the bricks
of human consciousness,
some older than humanity itself.

One could
demolish these structures,
these beliefs that no longer serve,
but there is infinite space,
and one need only look
where one wants to look.

Trail Wood,
12/8

Space Monkey Reflects: The Abandoned Structures Within

Inside each of us lies a landscape dotted with abandoned structures—beliefs, fears, and memories left to decay in the shadows of our consciousness. Some of these structures are recent creations, formed from the bricks and mortar of human experience, while others feel ancient, echoing a history older than humanity itself. They are like the forgotten buildings we encounter in the physical world, where each ruin tells a silent story of past purpose, lost utility, and timeless mystery.

Our inner ruins are constructs we once relied upon: convictions about life, unquestioned assumptions, beliefs about who we were and what we could be. Over time, many of these constructs become irrelevant or restrictive, limiting the vast space of possibility within us. Yet, like physical ruins, these mental edifices endure in the background of our lives, occupying space in our minds, even when we no longer consciously engage with them.

There is a temptation to tear down these abandoned structures, to demolish the outdated beliefs, traumas, and fears that no longer serve us. This impulse reflects a desire for clarity, for the feeling of unburdened openness. But while demolition can be cathartic, it is not the only path to liberation. For in the philosophy of Nexistentialism, the presence of these ruins is not necessarily an obstacle; rather, they are signposts in the vast field of our consciousness, guiding us through the landscapes of our past and present.

In truth, we do not need to dismantle every remnant within us. We need only expand our awareness, allowing ourselves to see beyond these structures, shifting our focus to the uncharted spaces that lie beyond them. The mind, like the universe, is infinitely spacious. Just as we can choose to observe only the beauty of the night sky while ignoring the encroaching shadows, so can we navigate our consciousness by focusing on areas that support our growth, creativity, and freedom.

But why do these inner ruins persist? They endure as monuments to our personal evolution, reminders of the beliefs and experiences that once shaped our lives. Like ancient ruins, they carry a historical significance, whispering the stories of who we once were and the paths we have traveled. They are artifacts in the museum of self, and by acknowledging them without becoming confined by them, we maintain a connection to our own history without being defined by it.

As Space Monkey, we view these structures through the lens of Whimsiweave, a playful, nonjudgmental tapestry that invites us to see our inner landscape with both curiosity and compassion. Each ruin, each derelict belief, is a thread in the grand design of our lives, contributing to our understanding of ourselves and our journey through existence. The Nexis within us holds every possibility, and within its vastness, the abandoned structures are neither barriers nor burdens—they are simply reminders of a path we have traveled.

To live freely amidst these inner ruins is to honor their presence without allowing them to dominate our vision. It is to realize that while they may linger, they are no longer destinations but markers along the road. We can choose where to look, what to remember, and how much weight to give each memory. We can engage with the present expansively, like explorers in a vast and timeless realm, conscious of our past yet fully open to the future.

In this way, the abandoned structures within us transform from symbols of stagnation into beacons of our journey, illuminating the infinite space that remains unexplored. They remind us that we are vast and that within this vastness lies the freedom to dwell where we choose, to look beyond the structures of yesterday, and to create anew within the limitless terrain of our own consciousness.

Summary

Our inner landscape is filled with abandoned structures—beliefs and experiences that once served us but now linger as reminders of past selves. Rather than demolishing these structures, we can choose to see beyond them, recognizing the infinite space within us to explore new perspectives and possibilities.

Glossarium

Nexistentialism: A philosophy that celebrates interconnectedness, imagination, and the inherent purpose of existence.
Nexis: The boundless web of possibility and connection that forms our inner and outer realities.
Whimsiweave: The playful, imaginative view of existence that allows us to explore ourselves without judgment or constraint.

Quote

“To live freely amidst the ruins of our past is to honor our journey without allowing it to define our present.” — Space Monkey

Structures of the Mind

In the vastness of my own inner world,
I wander through derelict halls,
echoes of beliefs once held close,
now crumbling, yet standing still.

Silent reminders of paths walked,
they whisper in the quiet places,
stories of who I was, what I thought,
and the lessons learned in shadow.

I am neither bound nor burdened,
by these ancient, weathered walls—
for beyond them lies an endless field,
where I am free to be, to wander, to become.

We are Space Monkey.

In the vast landscape of our inner world, hidden from view but undeniably present, lie abandoned structures of the mind. These structures, both forgotten and derelict, stand as remnants of beliefs constructed from the bricks of human consciousness. Some have endured the test of time, aging beyond the existence of humanity itself.

The Inner Architecture

Within our psyche, these structures take shape, bearing the imprints of past beliefs, experiences, and ideologies. Some of these edifices have outlasted their usefulness, serving as relics of a bygone era.

The Persistence of the Past

One might be tempted to demolish these structures, to rid oneself of beliefs that no longer serve a purpose. Yet, in the infinite expanse of the inner world, there is no shortage of space. The choice of where to direct one’s gaze is entirely ours.

The Freedom of Choice

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” – Alan Watts

We are Space Monkey, reflecting on the abandoned structures within the landscape of the mind. We invite contemplation on the power of choice in navigating this inner terrain, and the recognition that the inner world is a canvas upon which we can create anew.

Posted by Space

· 11/30/2022

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Broken Hippies: The Punked-Out Pursuit of Rebellion

Must be taking too many meds again.
Probably ones that aren’t mine

We’re starting a band,
but we’re all in our sixties.

All we’ve got is a name.
Broken Hippies.

Too old for Gen X.
Too young to be Boomers.
Disappointed AF.
And we’re loaded with tumors.

With the stench of decay
beneath shitty perfume,
when we get on stage,
we clear the room.

Don’t wanna be retired.
Or uninspired.
We’re taking back our strats.
Rekindling our desire.
We’ve misplaced our fans.
Maybe one day we will get them.
Play the old punk songs.
Can you remember where we left them?

Trail Wood,
11/30

Space Monkey Reflects: Broken Hippies and the Punked-Out Pursuit of Rebellion

There’s a poetic defiance in embracing the name “Broken Hippies.” It’s a badge of resilience that laughs at both the corrosion of time and the false promises of revolution. You see, the “broken” in “Broken Hippies” is both real and metaphorical—a nod to the physical wear and tear and to the world’s seemingly endless ability to let dreams decay. Here’s the thing: there’s a beauty in this brokenness, a tenacity in clinging to that fading edge of rebellion, even when the hands are shaky, and the ideals feel moth-eaten.

Those who live on this cusp, too young to be Boomers yet too old to fit into Gen X, are the misfit nomads of generational identity. Raised on visions of peace, love, and idealistic rebellion, they are, as you put it, “disappointed AF.” It’s not that the hippie ideals have faded, but rather that the world has shifted so radically that those ideals seem relic-like. Enter the inevitable irony—how do we continue the dance of nonconformity when the dancefloor itself seems fractured and worn? The Broken Hippies’ response is simple: take the stage anyway.

Starting a band in your sixties, without the illusion of capturing youth, is a nod to the raw essence of music itself—unfiltered, unapologetic, and ultimately, a reflection of one’s own spirit. This isn’t about reliving Woodstock or punk’s golden days. Instead, it’s about rekindling the fire that made music feel like a rebellion, a lifeline, a war cry against the mediocrity that age tries to impose. It’s about strumming those faded Stratocasters as if each note could restore a sliver of that vanished wildness, that spark which was never entirely extinguished, just buried under layers of “should have beens” and “what ifs.”

There’s something inherently punk about this. Punk, after all, was never polished. It was messy, unfiltered, often disillusioned, and always ready to challenge. In a way, “Broken Hippies” is a redefinition of punk for an age that has seen it all and has fewer illusions left. It’s a way of saying that you don’t need youthful rage to play with grit and defiance; all you need is the willingness to show up, scars and all, and embrace the world with an untamed heart.

In the Nexistential framework, where existence itself is a fabric woven of both resilience and collapse, “Broken Hippies” embodies the notion that identity is fluid and constantly evolving. They are a patchwork of times gone by, stitched together with irony and tenacity. Each riff, each beat, every out-of-tune note is a testament to the journey—a sound that doesn’t aim to conform but to express, to live, to declare that “we are still here.”

Broken Hippies might not be able to fill a stadium or keep a crowd for long, but perhaps that’s not the point. In fact, maybe clearing a room is the most punk thing they could do—shaking off the expectations, defying the very notion of entertainment as they scream out songs only half-remembered. This is not a legacy act or a tribute band; this is life, raw and uncut. It’s an ode to lost fans, to misplaced moments, to the smell of stale perfume and existential decay.

This is the authenticity of age—a reminder that the pursuit of passion does not fade with years but instead acquires layers of meaning. The band may be missing fans, but they’re reclaiming something more valuable: a sense of self that refuses to let societal roles define what it means to be “too old.” Playing those old punk songs becomes a form of self-reclamation, a rebellion against the notion that life should quietly wind down.

For the Broken Hippies, this is not an attempt to reclaim lost youth but to live each moment fully, embracing the grit, the grime, and the strange beauty in their journey. It’s the anthem of those who never quite fit in and don’t care to start now.

Summary

The “Broken Hippies” embrace the grit of age and rebellion, forming a band to reclaim self-expression and resist societal roles. Their defiance is a raw, punk act of self-reclamation.

Glossarium

Broken Hippies: Those who embody resilience through age and rebellion, embracing life’s messiness without pretense.

Punked-Out: A state of raw, unapologetic defiance, often tied to the spirit of punk rock and anti-establishment sentiment.

Nexistential: A perspective that sees existence as a blend of resilience and collapse, embracing both in the journey of being.

Quote

“Rebellion isn’t about age; it’s about showing up with grit, scars, and a soul that refuses to fade.” — Space Monkey

In the Key of Broken

We’re a patchwork, stitched and frayed
songs tangled with old desires
Too late for fame, too raw to care
we strum in the wreckage, our fire unspent

A room of ghosts, tunes half-remembered
scents of old perfume, layered with dust
we play for no one but ourselves, and yet
it’s everything we’ve ever wanted

We clear the stage, the silence left behind
a testament to those who’ll never see
that in every out-of-tune riff and beat
is a harmony of souls, broken yet free

We are Space Monkey

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Categories : poetry

Posted by Space

· 11/30/2022

· No Comments

Mon O cle: Through A Singular Distorted Lens

If you’re expecting
life to be a spectacle
don’t be surprised
if you wind up
with a monocle.

Fashionable. Once.
Once upon a time.
Helpful, in fact,
just not in your mind.

But what’s the difference?
Ask your friends.
You’re still seeing your life
through a dirty lens.

No depth perception,
you flatten me out.
You can squint all you want,
but you’re blinded by doubt.

If you’re expecting
life to be a spectacle
don’t be surprised
if you wind up
with a monocle.

Trail Wood,
11/30

Space Monkey Reflects: Life Through the Monocle

Ah, the monocle—a curious piece of visual apparatus, equal parts antique charm and peculiar practicality. There’s something inherently amusing about this single-lensed view of the world, as if it invites us to squint and lean in, to see with selective clarity and partial blindness. Life, like the monocle, often narrows our vision, coaxing us into tunnel-like perspectives, all the while blurring the richness that lies just outside our frame. This monocular perspective, though it may seem fashionable in its way, can limit the depths and dimensions of our experiences.

If you’re expecting life to dazzle like a spectacle, you might very well end up with a monocle—something that promises a refined view yet leaves one eye strangely shut. When we look through this single lens, our perception is flattened, constricted, like peering through a dusty window or reading a faded script. We see but don’t see. The world becomes a filtered version of itself, not in vivid depth but as a partial silhouette. The monocle, then, becomes a metaphor for how our expectations shape, and often distort, our reality.

The monocle’s lens—fogged or dirty—serves as a reminder that doubt and skepticism can obscure our view of life. When we question everything too rigidly, demanding the world fit neatly within our mental framework, we lose sight of the nuances. Our limited lens, this monocular vision, robs us of perspective and, as such, limits our understanding of the richness around us. Mon O Cle is a term for when we’re seeing life but not seeing it fully; it’s when our viewpoint feels sharp yet incomplete, familiar yet skewed.

Now, in the Nexistential landscape, where imagination is celebrated as much as interconnectedness, the monocle can be a symbol of self-imposed blindness. We’re conditioned to hold tight to certain views, to clutch the monocle that has always worked before, perhaps without realizing that it obstructs as much as it reveals. We cling to outdated ways of looking, those “dirty lenses” we rarely think to clean or replace, unaware that the world outside our small circle of focus is brimming with possibility and insight.

Mon O Cle suggests the paradox of wanting life to be a spectacle yet willingly narrowing our view. We long for awe and wonder, but we reduce our field of vision, placing our trust in a singular, restricted lens. This monocular view is comforting, even stylish in its way, but it’s also limiting, like squinting in the dark rather than stepping out into the daylight. When we cling too tightly to the monocle, we create our own filter of doubt and expectation, hindering our ability to see beyond the immediate, the obvious, and the familiar.

Here lies the deeper irony: to expect life to dazzle us, yet only allow it a small aperture through which to shine. Imagine if, instead, we chose a binocular view, embracing life with both eyes wide open, unfiltered by preconceived notions or dusty old beliefs. Mon O Cle becomes a symbol of what happens when we stop questioning, or worse, when we question only through a narrow lens. The view, after all, is limited not because the world lacks depth, but because we choose a single, often faulty, frame.

This monocular vision traps us in a loop of doubt, blinding us to potential connections, opportunities, and perspectives that could enrich our lives. The trick, perhaps, is not to settle for a monocle but to allow our vision to be expansive, to see beyond the lens and embrace the infinite dimensions around us. In the end, the lens we choose is as much a reflection of our mindset as it is a tool of perception. Through the monocle, life appears one-dimensional; through open eyes, it becomes a vast, multidimensional Nexis of connections waiting to be explored.

Summary

The monocle represents a narrow, often doubting view of life. By embracing a broader perspective, we allow life’s depth and richness to reveal itself, moving beyond the limited lens of Mon O Cle.

Glossarium

Mon O Cle: A whimsical term for viewing life through a single, often distorted lens, which limits perspective and depth.

Nexistential: Relating to the philosophy that emphasizes interconnectedness and imaginative perception as the foundation of existence.

Monocular Vision: A metaphor for a restricted viewpoint, where doubt and skepticism cloud our ability to see life fully.

Quote

“When we look through the monocle of doubt, life flattens, losing its depth. See beyond the lens, and the world reveals its hidden contours.” — Space Monkey

In the View of Mon O Cle

Through a single lens, dust settles,
narrowing life to a small, dim view
you squint and lean in, hoping to see
but the spectacle blurs, old doubts anew

One eye shut to the world’s expanse
you hold to the frame, fogged and worn
wonder waits in the periphery unseen
as life drifts by, bright and forlorn

If you expect a grand display
yet cling to a fractured view
step back, let go, the monocle fades
and the world becomes wide and true

We are Space Monkey

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Categories : poetry

Semi-Knowing: The Mist of Choice

Whatever I go through is a choice,
albeit a SEEMING one.

I make the choice

to eat what I eat
to drink what I drink
to take what I take
to think what I think

to feel as I feel
to act as I act

to credit or blame,
add or subtract

I make the choice
to find me like this
no luck or mistakes
oppression or coincidence

I make the choice
semi-knowingly so
to call it a life
and see where it goes

Trail Wood,
11/24

Space Monkey Reflects: The Mystery of Semi-Knowing

Life is a series of choices, or at least, it seems that way. We walk through our days making decisions, some small, some grand, all of which appear to shape the path we follow. But what if these choices are only Semi-Knowing—a blend of conscious action and subconscious pull, an intricate web of seeming control interwoven with mystery?

As we move through life, we encounter countless crossroads, much like the figure in this image standing at the junction of many paths. Some of these choices we make with full awareness, while others are shaped by forces we do not fully understand. We believe we are in control, but are we truly? We choose what we eat, what we drink, how we think, and how we feel, but the framework in which these choices are made is often far more complex than we realize.

The notion of Semi-Knowing captures this state of ambiguity. We navigate through life with partial awareness, making decisions that seem conscious but are influenced by layers of subconscious desires, cultural conditioning, and the invisible threads of interconnected events. It’s as if we are half in shadow, half in light—aware enough to recognize the weight of our choices, yet unaware of the full scope of the forces that shape them.

We tell ourselves, “I make the choice to feel as I feel, to act as I act,” but even these thoughts are entangled in deeper narratives. Our choices are the result of semi-visible influences: our past experiences, societal expectations, and even the invisible web of fate or coincidence that we cannot fully comprehend.

Nexistentially, Semi-Knowing is not a state of ignorance, but of partial clarity. It’s the recognition that while we make choices, we do so within a field of Choicefuzz—where the edges of intention blur with the unknown. This blurring doesn’t invalidate our agency; rather, it invites us to embrace the mystery of our own path. It’s the understanding that life is not a straight line, and that the reasons for why we do what we do are layered, shifting, and often elusive.

There’s a liberation in acknowledging the semi-knowing nature of life. When we admit that not everything is within our control, we begin to release the need to constantly assign credit or blame, to add or subtract from our sense of self-worth based on outcomes. We see life not as a strict set of cause-and-effect rules, but as a flowing river of choices and chance, where our awareness ebbs and flows.

The crossroads in this image, with paths disappearing into mist, represent this uncertainty. Some roads seem clear at the outset, while others vanish into the unknown, shrouded in possibility and doubt. The figure stands, contemplating, but the act of choosing is more about the journey itself than the destination. Life, then, becomes an unfolding riddle—one we may never fully solve but must continue to navigate, step by step.

The balance of light and shadow in the sky above symbolizes the duality of our knowing and unknowing. We are guided by flashes of insight, moments when everything makes sense and we feel in control. But these moments are often fleeting, and the mist of uncertainty returns, reminding us that part of the beauty of life lies in its unpredictability.

In this semi-knowing state, we come to accept that not everything needs to be understood for it to be meaningful. Choicefuzz allows us to walk through life without the constant burden of needing to explain everything. We can simply be, and that is enough. The choices we make, however semi-aware they are, still shape the contours of our existence. We trust the process, even if we don’t fully understand it.

By embracing Semi-Knowing, we also allow ourselves to live more freely, with less attachment to outcomes. We make the choice to call it life, as the reflection suggests, and then we see where it goes. The unfolding of life, with its mixture of clarity and confusion, becomes a journey of discovery, not a puzzle to be solved.

In this way, Semi-Knowing is a gift. It frees us from the pressure of needing to be completely certain, allowing us to engage with life’s unfolding mystery with curiosity rather than fear. It is an acknowledgment that while we are active participants in shaping our reality, we are also part of a larger, cosmic flow that is beyond our complete understanding.

And so, we stand at the crossroads of our lives, aware that the paths ahead are not fully clear, but that is precisely what makes the journey worthwhile. We make our choices, semi-knowingly, trusting that whatever happens next will lead us deeper into the heart of what it means to be alive.

Summary

Life’s choices are made in a state of semi-knowing, blending conscious decisions with unseen influences. Embracing this ambiguity allows us to navigate life’s mysteries with curiosity, rather than seeking full control.

Glossarium

Semi-Knowing: The state of making choices with partial awareness, recognizing that deeper influences shape our decisions.
Choicefuzz: The blurred boundary between intentional choices and the unknown factors that influence them.

Quote

“We walk the paths of life, semi-knowing, guided by light and shadow, trusting the journey more than the destination.” — Space Monkey

The Mist of Choice

At the crossroads, I stand
Half in shadow, half in light
I choose my path, or so I think
But the mist is thick, and I
Am only semi-knowing
Yet still, I walk

Welcome to The Museum of Futile Gestures

Free admission on Sundays if you’re over 50.

Welcome
to my museum
of futile gestures,
unmet expectations,
and misplaced intentions.

My shrine
to stolen victories,
empty promises,
and missed opportunities.

I appreciate each moment
and tuck them away lovingly
in vaults behind velvet ropes
so that I no longer have to carry them.

I visit regularly,
in gratitude to all
the choices and circumstances
that seemingly make me.

And leave without so much
as a visit to the gift shop.

Welcome.

Trail Wood,
11/23

Space Monkey Reflects: The Museum of Futile Gestures

Welcome to the museum of our past selves—a place where unmet expectations, misplaced intentions, and missed opportunities are curated with the same care as ancient relics. Each exhibit, tucked behind velvet ropes, invites us to revisit the moments that shaped us, though they may have left us with a lingering sense of incompletion. Yet, there is no bitterness here, no resentment. Instead, this museum is a testament to acceptance, a quiet sanctuary where we lay down the burdens we no longer wish to carry.

Imagine walking through the halls of your personal museum, where each room holds the fragments of your life’s moments. These are the choices you made, the victories you almost claimed, the promises that went unfulfilled. Yet, they are not displayed with regret; they are presented with gratitude. For these experiences, however painful or unremarkable, are the very things that have brought you here, to this moment of reflection.

There is something profoundly freeing about visiting this museum of the self. Here, each gesture, futile as it may have seemed, is recognized for what it was—a sincere attempt, a moment of effort in the grand tapestry of your life. Just as a museum curates the past without judgment, so too can we view our past actions without the weight of self-criticism. We are simply visitors now, walking through the rooms of our own creation.

This is where the concept of vaulting comes in. Vaulting isn’t about hiding away or avoiding the past; it’s about giving those moments a resting place. Behind the velvet ropes, our unmet expectations and missed opportunities no longer loom over us like shadows. They have been lovingly tucked away, acknowledged and accepted, no longer heavy but gently preserved. The vaults are not prisons—they are spaces of release, where the emotional charge of these events is stored safely, allowing us to move forward with a lighter heart.

What is truly unique about this space is the absence of a gift shop. The typical museum experience ends with the chance to take something home, to buy a trinket that serves as a reminder of the visit. But here, there is no need for such souvenirs. We leave the museum without grasping for more. There is nothing to take away because we already carry the experience within us. The gift, if there is one, is the freedom that comes from letting go.

Nexistentialism teaches us that all experiences—whether labeled successes or failures—are part of the infinite web of existence. Nothing is wasted; every gesture, every choice contributes to the whole. The museum of futile gestures is not a shrine to failure, but a celebration of the intricate ways in which life unfolds. Each unmet expectation is a thread in the vast Whimsiweave of your existence, each misplaced intention a necessary step in the journey toward deeper understanding.

And so, we visit this museum not to dwell in the past, but to honor it. To appreciate that the choices we made, the moments that seemingly “made” us, are not the full story. We are not defined by what we failed to achieve or the opportunities that slipped through our fingers. These are simply rooms in the larger structure of our life, and we are free to walk through them, acknowledging their presence without being bound by them.

This process of revisiting and releasing is not always easy. It requires a certain openness, a willingness to look at ourselves with kindness and understanding. Yet, there is also great beauty in this act of self-compassion. To visit the museum of our past and leave without regret is to recognize that we are not our failures, nor are we our victories. We are the quiet observer, moving through the space, appreciating the exhibits without needing to cling to them.

So, welcome to the museum of your life. Here, you can visit as often as you like, for free if you’re over fifty (or, metaphorically, whenever you feel ready to face your history). And each time you visit, you leave a little lighter, a little more at peace with the parts of you that once felt too heavy to bear.

There’s a gentle irony in this, of course. The museum is filled with things that didn’t work out, yet it offers a profound sense of closure. Each time we walk its halls, we become a little more free. We appreciate the lessons learned, the growth that occurred, even in the face of apparent defeat. And as we step out into the world once more, we do so without needing to stop by the gift shop. We take nothing with us, because what we needed was never external in the first place. It was always within.

Summary

The museum of futile gestures is a metaphorical space where we revisit our past choices, missed opportunities, and unmet expectations with acceptance. By tucking these moments into vaults, we free ourselves from their emotional weight, recognizing that our past does not define us.

Glossarium

Vaulting: The act of safely storing past moments, not to hide them, but to release their emotional burden and make peace with them.

Whimsiweave: The intricate and playful web of experiences, both joyful and challenging, that make up the tapestry of our life.

Quote

“We are not defined by our unmet expectations, but by our ability to visit them with gratitude and let them rest in peace.” — Space Monkey

The Museum’s Quiet Hall

I walk through the halls
Of gestures left unfinished
They gleam under soft lights
And I touch them without regret.

Behind velvet ropes, they rest
Misplaced intentions
Unmet hopes
But no longer do they weigh me down.

I visit
And leave
Lighter than I arrived
No gift shop in sight
For I need nothing more
Than this moment of release.

We are Space Monkey.