Posted in poems, tagged internet, prose poem, science-based on July 25, 2012| Leave a Comment »
©Umansky 2012
Posted in poems, tagged fruit, mankind, science-based on December 9, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Out of that small naked, that small, very small, naked space, came a charm of feature; a charmed-feature; at a bare-brokened bough.
The wormed balm of pity, the sail being now past, now was closed in the four; closed as a door is closed when left slightly ajar. This must make. Must make; must-must make it: best. This must make it: good.
This tang? This tuft? That tuft? This curdled snare and hair? This golded sweetness so plain in the palm and plump in the midwaist.
‘Eat of us,’ said the moonlit thing.
We swallowed and the swallowing went on and on and on.
The swallowing went on for eternities. Centuries. Time zones.
The moans slid through time. Into the depths of the deadweight. Beyond the beyond and to what doesn’t compete with the dark; and what doesn’t compete with the stars.
(c) Umansky 2011
Posted in poems, tagged books, science-based, technology on November 10, 2011| 1 Comment »
You know language is complicated and felth. And, artificially speaking, intelligence can be learned; so who knows what you’re really like. Look at what’s happened to dating.
Look at the spuddled mess of our beloved messenger: Cupid. [ uh huh, ok. Sure, you’re trying ]
Messages are so compact, but not mine. I teeter on. I keep it rambling, baby, yea!
No forswunking here. I mean what I say. I don’t need emoticons, though I like them. I like showing you what I’m going to tell and why the hell not?
So what if we’re all feeding into a societal porn or societal norm online– memory gets replayed now. We alter it. Create your own scenes. Miswire. Use words to mean different
words, but don’t darg the intent. The intent should be golden, purposeful and proud. The reference to them never appears because I don’t want it to. Here, I’ll try not to moffle:
I speak from the heart. Always will. The screen-size doesn’t matter. Size doesn’t, too. I have restraint. Now, I feel dirty in my rambles. In my brambles. and gambles. Oh well, my personage is crystal clear.
© Umansky 2011
Posted in poems, tagged books, dating, science-based, technology on November 4, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Turning Over Phrases: key to joy
Listen and listen good, I clicked [add to spell-check] when I saw that your name turned red. I blushed and thought: How romantic! That’s the beauty of this felthed time. I can spuddle with what I deem romantic; with what I deem to be romance. Tug it, tweek it, tune it til it’s just-right. Each digital act is darged by a display of affection or gratitude;
attitude or charm. There is a bit of me, here, between bone and heart-bone. A bit moffled but still plush. It has been too long; too gone, since I’ve felt this kench. An interior kvetching, here, beneath the breast. I am looking at the digital for something heart-felt; something coded: HEART! Something worth-worth [sharing]. Something worthy of an investment. But then again,
I am a salesman. (My father’s daughter ). My words, a financial gesture between myself and my word-bank. I am selling you an aesthetic experience. I touch-type [x][x][x][x] and a word is now forswunk and forswinkled. I am so endearing; so enduring. Can’t you see I’m being genuine? This is potentially profitable. Don’t you want to cash-in? The heart is a loaded weapon.
[Did I say weapon; I meant, investment.]
© Umansky 2011
Posted in poems, tagged dating, freud, men, science-based, sex, technology, women on October 16, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Every Thing Possible
To be believed is an image of truth & not-truth. Thinking outside the box. The function of [space] rests on your fingers. How we categorize the thinking of functions is like immigrating across time. Even cockeyed gibberish translates into some vernacular. Into bits of alpha-male flanked on the screen.
It is sensational. It is artisanal. It is extra sensory that
everything at once still ends up in someone’s mailbox:
electronic or not.
It would be an insult to the possible to succumb to it. If the box you lie in makes you ill; sod it. A theory or grams uncritically ties the page to the mast; the mast to the page. Pitch a sail and traverse the intellectual field: find a lover.
From the erotic to the neurotic; an alternative explanation is:
do –it yourself.
Is: annex what is potent and ride it out at your desk
[everyone’s doing it]
So, men will continue; with their dirtiness. He didn’t dislike you – it’s the porn.. It’s the digital SHE that represents the real (if you’re delusional). The menaced-men investigate what is reached: they take their political past and their psychosexual flair and auctioneer their best traits to the highest bidder:
A startling departure: the electronified woman. [ Surely Darwin didn’t see that] What baffled naiveté we own, to stand in the midst of such beauty and desensitize it. To come through so perfected through a screen. To do-it-myself with myself as if waiting for the phone to ring. A call not made. Disconnected. Disdained. The lazy days. The lazy ways. The lazy phrase. So urgent is that– that immediate gratification; immediate satisfaction; immediate attraction that it Kings your life. Stirrings resonate in the mind. The physical is unified. The need to be held becomes disembodied –as SHE is disembodied when you hit [power off]. Did she lie?
Her treats are too sticky. Her sap is too tricky. Her figure is jerried-up just so to speak [or peak] before it sours. These [little] questions are all harrowing; or all narrowing.
Go back to the mind, and feed it. [REFRESH]
The soul: the original electric.
Posted in poems, tagged books, science-based, technology on October 6, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Forget what you already know.
Get caught up in it.
Alphabetically not electronically
Be pastoral with language.
Feel the grain.
Phish, but remember where the bait is.
Count your chickens
before they go viral.
I could be bringing this to the masses in hard copy
[Forget the hardware.]
I prefer the printed word.
[Not pressed.]
No links required!
Use your noggin.
Not your smartphone.
Use your smarts.
Handle the page &
Cradle that word.
blog of poet, leah umansky 