I. Judgment

the sentiment and standards of taste

discerned by sensory discriminations.


II. Existence is

Beauteous and elegant to one’s eyes,

a bother and contemptible to an others.

This is the Phenomenon of Perception.


III. Predilection.

Like the piquancy of fine wine.

Is it agreeable to sheep?

No, but it is agreeable to meep.

People’s palates have individual

writs of what is whizzes or wasn’t.


IIII. Fixed Dice.

Bags of gobs aim to proclaim existence;

crave the carbon conformity catches;

judge not for their self but for others;

blab of beauty as if it were a property.

All the while, they’re playing monopoly!


V. The Cheese.

I detect all ingredients in a beverage,

One’s barley, another’s rice,

One’s pain, another’s pleasure.

It crops up from the dirt like grapes,

ferments into sensations, enjoyment,

and an ephemeral escape from apes,

engaging in thoughts of reflective rumination,

emotional ‘n’ intellectual all at once.


Personified by Pavlovian opinions

like facial expressions and if appalling,

the retch reflex, in cahoots within stinks.

View an august stretch of vineyard. Pulse paces.

Eyes widen. Subconscious races, breathes deeply.


A vintage once disliked is liked.

Like a sculpture once ugly, beautiful.

It’s now desirable, even sexual.

Its price-tag has gone up.

It’s a political statement.

Our morals have changed.


The expensive booze still offends me.

Though like hops, judgment is fine-grained,

cerebrally contradictory considering I want some.


VIII. Make conscious decisions.

Sociological schools study sloof:

The mishmash in the hodgepodge is disgusting, yet

neither the mishmash nor the hodgepodge is disgusting.


Savanna surmises it is hereditary human habits.

Are hippie’s happier humping trees or non-trees?

Are harpies happier looking at different colors?

It could be true, certain things calm me but imbued?


Man will flap,

“How do you conceive matter’s perceived

beautiful without shared characteristics?”

The air-conditioned cooler is curved into cultures,

frozen across many forms. Not congenital.


VIIII. Wart.

Outcomes creativity, glues clues to craft. Man asks,

“Should its planes be parallel? Is that the aim?” No.

Ergo end-annihilation would not be the art of war.

There are zero indubitable definitions anymore.


X. The vase.

I boo the institutional restrictions;

mount a urinal in an artifact asylum.

Ask, “Do you suppose this is poesy poetry?

It is known as a poem hence the stanzas

but only if gnomes acknowledge it as such.


They’ll talk-back whether or not it counts.

Ask, “What function does it play?”

Say, “Well there’s wine in it so it’s just a vase!”

So I put it in a display case and now it is art

held in a cartel of beautiful beverage holders.


It’s a tricky vase in this case, to art cists

on metaphysical and ontological levels.

We’ll watch wastefully: “Who shall we judge?

How much Moohoo is being experienced,

Moohoo as a whole, How about Moohoo himself,

each Moohoo that disappears ‘n’ reappears

smudging the glass with the fingers of standards.


XII. Brillo Boxes

The cock-clicks are pricklier

on a blind-date with Brillo Boxes.

Ordinary non-discriminatory Brillo Boxes

plopped in an artifact asylum. Why?


It makes a statement mentally.

It’s an abstract object, physically

an event in history. Uber, ultimately,

unique, purified of expression, abets

the destruction of a Bette noire social order

once abandoned to the hands of bandits.

Swept and cleaned by Brillo Pads.


XIII. Aesthetics.

Picture what plum tarts should do now.

Look at it upside down. What’s it to you?

Is it giving some kind of knowledge

Insight to the human condition,

Relating Science or Religion,

Entertainment, Exitainment?

Is it a tool of education?

See a new clear fusion?


XIIII. Assassinate Assimilation

Bags of Gobs aim for indoctrination, enculturation,

to make more morals, fascists. Drive us spiritually.

Pass religious views. That is the value of sharing.

And it varies form, from artists to audiences.


XV. Style.

Style’s the principal aspect. Yaw

got to flash the tenure. Custom cut the carriage.

Get new bags. Groove’s the word. Yaw heard?

Got to satis-fy! Rule the composition whereas

yaws make wizard-incisions, got to make revisions-n

listen to critic’s prick-stick-yaw for the winnings.


XVI. Reality is itty.

Some Sims simulates them real things;

imitations with bona-fide limitations.

I prefer carts set outside of waking life

still dramatically rolled full of experience

to hypothetical worlds in the battlefields

of imaginations like labyrinth civilizations.

Enigmatic, balanced between light and dark.

Immediate impacts away from the norm

transcending debates of time and space,

language, culture, creeds and race.

No themes anathema or forbidden lore.


XVII. Going back.

The retired farts of theology go back to

the old mold. Highly religious locusts

funded en masse by basilicas and pompous

pew-pew-pews, stealthy wealthy onliest souls

who deem figurative investigation disposable.

“It has to be religiously uplifting to be art!”


XVIII. Antiques.

I find, ‘hearts made the best art at the start,’

opposed to chauvinistic smokestack designs.

Trade-dressed and branded by bagmen handles

that barter appreciation with sassy slogans and

catchy jingles, lotion notions of experience

to bring madness that they would not have otherwise,

human curiosity for self-gain, hypnotic false-hope.


XVIIII. The Rose Revolution.

Slow revolutions spin us to the future, lead by edges.

Now beauty is the tone component of enterprises

with perception being the younger sister of logic.

Her perception is the perfection of knowledge.


I still say that is a subjective yet universal truth

since everyone should sense the rose is beautiful.

It cannot be reduced to a certain set of features,

appreciated in perfect reconciliation of rationality.

Manifests stage by stage in revelations as it grows.

Free from intellect, dictated by the light of the Sun.

Perfectly imperfect without a worldly agenda.

No point in existence except to be beautiful.


It fits into an infinite variety of designs,

and preserves its character,

simple yet distinct.

Enjoyed by the eye with ease

yet intricately leading into

a ‘wanton chase’ of admiration;

central to the way that it is central.


XX. Ethereal Disguises.

Art makes visible, the guises;

to see what is impossible to see.

Pleases and causes pain,

Combines diverse disciplines,

Intensifies, colors and lighting,

Edits itself, the timing, rhythm

progresses to ultimate composition.

Executes special effects with vision

perceived spatially in different dimensions

with unperceived abstract impressions.

Pushing and pulling on the depths of life.


 This poem originally appeared in Volume 3 of The Ampersand Review.





James Jason Dye is a 25 years old college student from Dubuque Iowa. He is a new writer whose poetry can be found on various publications such as The Clockwise Cat, Aphelion, Public Republic,  and 10k Poets. He can be reached at jamesjdye@hotmail.com or check out his blog at http://jamesjdye.blogspot.com. You can also download his free poetry e-book at www.poemhunter.com.

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Editor-in-Chief: Jason Cook
Poetry Editor: Corey Zeller


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