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jude forese

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· air-borne ashes

· climbing (revised)

· roar of voices

· in honor of

· reevaluation

· larger voice

· unraveling

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· a signal yet learned

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  Misplaced Ideals
by jude forese
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent poems by jude forese
•  air-borne ashes
•  climbing (revised)
•  fettered footprints
•  roar of voices
•  in honor of
           >> View all 915


Some people create their own illusions
Deliberately or unintentionally
It really does not matter

Then rationalize and justify
The quintessence of these assumptions
With what feels good to keep their minds alive

Sometimes they speculate on solutions
Purging ahead
Into the hopeful horizons of these conclusions

But any significant acknowledgment
Is only a predilection to what really matters

The only factor they are really concerned with
Is the chatter in their heads
And the gratification of personal agenda

Some people like to validate perceptions
With a colorful array of spectral dimensions

Designed to intentionally reveal
The intrinsic nature of their preferences

Yet to me, they are like an enduring erection
Throbbing inside a womb of mislaid ideals

Or a kiss I can't wait to end

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Reviewed by Mark Rockeymoore 1/25/2005
man. you wrote that like i wish i could, with word economy and direct imagery, and yet you got so much across by implication, rather than by explicit statement. very skillful, very concise, and cutting, too! i'd hate to be on the other end of one of your writes! ha.
Reviewed by ~Indigo~ Elga 1/23/2005
Dear Jude,

Stupendous write ! so philosophical, penned with graciouness !

"The only factor they are really concerned with
Is the chatter in their heads
And the gratification of personal agenda" --->>how say when one can't hear anything other than your own voice :(

"Or a kiss I can't wait to end" --->> What a superb barometer !

You are always able to make me walk away with my heard swirling with thoughts Jude, Thank You :)

warm hugs
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 1/23/2005
"Purging ahead" I like the way you say it into some Viagra driven bit of nothing. Now, where did I put my idols? Bush, Farve, where are you? ;-).

Reviewed by Dawn Richerson 1/23/2005
and then, sometimes, you just plain crack me up. and, even when you do, you make me think.
Reviewed by Paul Williams 1/22/2005
Angst filled philosophy delivered superbly...

'an enduring erection
Throbbing inside a womb of mislaid ideals'

so much truth in an allusion.
Reviewed by A. Gagné (Reader) 1/22/2005
Aaah, what a fine simile - that one caught me off guard - "like an enduring erection..." !

I think all people create their own illusions and most of us do it, most of the time, unconsciously. That way, we get really caught up in it, believe it, and it feels more real. But most of what we call "life" and "real" is an illusion, and most of us are deluding ourselves about all kinds of things on an everyday basis.

When we become conscious to of these facts of human behavior, as Hermann Hesse expressed perfectly in his story of Siddhartha (1951), we are untouchable, isolated observers. Siddhartha chose to get lost in the illusions, to immerse himself into the world of woes, of highs and lows, of emotional attachments - that world where the mind invents the meaning and significance of each and every facet of one's experience, environment, being, doing, and having.

When we are on the outside, aware of the illusion - aware that it doesn't mean anything, that that person is making it mean something it really doesn't, and we let them, we sit back slightly amused at their story and their intense attachment to it - we get bored after a while. Everybody's story sounds the same, because we are conscious that all stories are merely stories - made up to, as you point out, justify one's actions and fortify one's attachments.

Notice how hard we cling to our stories, our versions... why? Because to wake up and be conscious that we are the ones making things significant, giving things meaning, deriving purpose and perpetuating ourselves is as much fun as waking up on Monday morning. We have to do it all over again. We know we do, and even if we can find a way to be content as detached observers, we know we will choose at some point to lose ourselves in the game again. It is our nature. It is the human condition. Consciousness is boring. And so we choose over and over again to passionately believe in the illusions that best set the stage for us to perpetuate who we are and what we choose to make of ourselves.

I like what John Lennon sang in "You Know It Ain't Easy" - "oh, boy, when you're dead, you can't take nothin with you but your soul."

Whatever that means...

Reviewed by Carole Mathys 1/22/2005
Reviewed by Marilyn Seray 1/22/2005
Each line is fantastic and holds so much truth
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes 1/22/2005
Most fascinating ending!!

Love Tinka
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 1/22/2005
"Yet to me, they are like an enduring erection
Throbbing inside a womb of mislaid ideals "
I love this and the whole poem speaks much truth. Thank you, Jude.
Love and peace to you. Regis
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik 1/22/2005
Robert, I'm often stunned at how you can do commentary without the anger, without the spite... it's effective, universally true and accessible for my own thoughts.

Perhaps you are that illusive proof that words have power and can lead without pushing. I climbed right inside this one. Yes! katy xox.
Reviewed by Aberjhani 1/22/2005
Very smooth, direct, philosophically penetrating, and, despite the soulful angst, apparently somewhat hot:-)
Reviewed by Kate Clifford 1/22/2005
No one knows for sure who's playing with the right marbles, we can only guess :-) Excellent message and ending.
Reviewed by E T Waldron 1/22/2005
This is a splendid work because of it's clarity, not couched in supposition or innuendo. Now if only those whom the shoe fits would get the message that would perfect this exceptiona piece!

Last few lines are vintage Judeace;-)

Reviewed by Sherry Heim 1/22/2005
It is an interesting web that is woven when one assumes someone elses position, thoughts or intent; from that point forward, it all seems like raging lunacy. Some people just think too much and create mountains from mole hills. Often, I believe this comes from one party believing that the other party is keeping something from them, or not being totally honest and so begins the fabrication. Truth being, if you don't trust, the relationship, whatever it was, is over...cut your losses and move on. Excellent write, Robert. I have been on both sides of this situation before, I will sadly admit.
Take care,
Reviewed by Judy Lloyd (Reader) 1/22/2005
Well Robert you have written this one with a deep perception that it reaches out and touches you. And I agree with Felix.
Reviewed by George Jackson 1/22/2005
Perceptive, well written observations.
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 1/22/2005
Thats it, no more kisses for you...;) ED
Reviewed by Felix Perry 1/22/2005
Love the ending. Great piece Robert.

Reviewed by George Carroll 1/22/2005
Your last stanza really stands out.
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader) 1/22/2005
Kates just thinking of the enduring erection.

Sounds like members of parliament to me.

Is very true, and well observered.
Reviewed by Sandie Angel 1/22/2005
The fact is that many people suffer from their own illusions of how their friends should be.

Your last two lines described these people very well.

Sandie Angel a.k.a. Sandie May Angel :o)

Reviewed by Janet Parker 1/22/2005
And all of this comes out of their own private suffering. Good write, Jude.
Reviewed by Mr. Ed 1/22/2005
I think many create their own illusions - and then can't understand why no one else sees them. A fascinating poem, Robert.
Reviewed by Michael Charles Messineo 1/22/2005
Ace, I see you have been watching "The Apprentice." LOL. Good write as you have nailed corporate management on the head!!!

Reviewed by Kate Burnside 1/22/2005
You make this kind of madness seem rather appealing! Ah, who knows to and from where the winds that fan the flames of creativity blow, or from what they may be sourced. The result may be pleasing enough, though, irrespective of the intial intention. As with all art, once it is conceived it takes on a life of its own in the hearts and minds of those who will receive it - regardless of the author's ideals - whether well- or mis-placed! Quelle joie de vivre! You are good at combining the existential with the rather more visceral... Or perhaps I've just been chewing on too many Leaves! :)) This reminds me of your more classical RJ(A)F- stuff. Tis good. TY Kate xx
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