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OC Apr 27
Keep sanity close during this

when the path from the bed to the couch
took the shape of shuffling feet
like trodden animal trail through the grass
from the lair, to the waterhole, and back

when the hand reaching towards the fridge
knows the full weight of the door
better than the arms of nurses know
the weight of the newly born

when the pots, and table, and sink
fill up, and empty out, and fill up
just as waves and tides follow
the periodic pulling of the moon

when day and night, and night and day
and night and night and day too
and not today, and is tonight and
not

and you
the backbone of existence
a hidden picture on display
you are,
there
when all the dishes stack to dry
and the refrigerator sighs
and the couch cool down
and the bed is full
and the hug is warm
and sanity
kept close
was not meant to be a love poem. but yeah...
OC Jan 8
You told me then
that in your dream
my belly was a dark cave
made of niches and crevices
with walls overcrowded with
cages of bent wires
and inside those, cold and still
the corpses of dead roosters

We sit at the same table
but not together
Sharing a meal as though
it was bequeathed by a dead relative
present from the corner of the eye
uttering short words
that circle us like vultures
playing chess
not willing to spare the pieces

I stuff my plate with hunger
chew on my resent
swallow down the truth
and have the leftover silence for dessert
all go down the hatch
melding into me
fermenting, swelling
making my stomach bloat
and my insides turmoil
and my guts rumble
and from my pitch black abyss rises
a foreboding omen
a wake up call
Some points lost in translation:

The word for 'rooster' can also mean 'man' in original language
The word for 'sharing' can be interpreted as 'splitting'
The word for 'chess pieces' also means 'dishes'
'my guts rumble' is a translation of 'my stomach makes chicken sounds' in the original language
  Nov 2019 OC
Donall Dempsey
LOST BALLOON

crawling from the crash
I couldn't have died
if I tried

I had a son to save
laughed
spat in death's face

pulled him from the flames
I forbade him to die
he disobeyed

the car exploded
burning the edges
of the night

I survive
without him
a death in itself

my reflection
does all the talking
I just stare in the mirror

Christmas now
I feel like a lost balloon
sticking to the ceiling
OC Nov 2019
What’s small, is small
what’s big, is big
and all that’s in-between
is also, either small, or big
never both

But isn’t it strange?
for a louse that strolls our head
the scalp kisses the horizon
whilst for us, each brow is arched
and the earth we travel, is flat
but not for Atlas, which from above
see’s that it is curved, while his shoulders
carry the infinite plane that is, ironically
a celestial sphere
which pushes this conundrum
all the way up to god
and possibly beyond

And all things are small
and all things are big
always both thing
never in-between

Thus, we should strive to remember
when the world is heavy on our shoulders
how small, it really is
and how the universe is hidden
in the tiniest of details

And then there’s us, amidst
duality of no, and every, thing
a cusp
of zero, and infinity
20th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This is also the last poem in this series, as 20 is the goal I set to myself when starting this project. I am pleased to say that I indeed manged to bind all of those as a small book (containing both the english, and my native tongue versions of these poems) which I intend to give as a present to my scientific mentor.
This has been a long journey, and quite a project to accomplish since it was mainly done on my spare time. I hope that you, the readers, got to share some of my enthusiasm for the field of physics - and that it sparked the curiosity for at least some of you.

Thoughts and comments are as always welcome
OC Nov 2019
I
am the sum of my parts
and my parts
some add to myself
others remove
some too narrow to contain
others as broad as daylight
common
or rare
salient
or silent
my ups, my downs
all lines that coalesce
to form my image

You
are the sum of your parts
but those are, after all
the same parts
different only in
frequency and amplitude
details, and elements of character
that infinitely accumulate

Same lines
and still
you are more fine
19th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. Absolutely love this one actually. The Fourier transform is a very general, very powerful mathematical tool in physics.
For further reading see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourier_transform
And a beautiful video by 3blue1brown: www.youtube.com/watch?v=spUNpyF58BY

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Nov 2019
The world is speckled
pairs and pairs of soulmates
those torn from one another
even before they first encountered

Some are separated by a single step
others share daylight
only when the sun rise or set
yet each one calls the other
and their lament is carried on
a somber song
thickening the air
rising, falling, interfering
diluted and again reformed
into a cacophony of desperation
like Cicadas bustling at dusk
like flocks of birds that greet the dawn

Poor them
wondering to and fro
in this pining thicket
searching for a common song
blinded by longing
lying awake at night
aching the insulating gap
encompassed by the constant murmur
singing
singing
18th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. Not particularly pleased with this one, but whatever.
For further reading on the physics:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Debye–Hückel_theory

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Oct 2019
I sometimes ponder
of a phone call that will never be
of silence stretching between two receivers
of a heavy sigh that exhales
years’ worth of air caged in the lungs

Yes, I’m still here
How have you been?
How is life?
How many laugh-lines did the corner of your eye accumulated?
How many past mistakes still drag around your tongue?
How many days since than have drained onto your windowsill?
How many nights were spent sleeping at the foot open front-gates?

Am I as you remember?
Are we where you imagined us to be
back then, some years ago
when both our paths diverged
when all we left behind
was dust and a sense of waste,
and a pair of phantom us, gazing onward
that shared the same time and space

Yes, I am here, but different
which may describe you too
no wonder, since passing time
kept kneading us like clay
and all our efforts to keep straight
were all for naught, we are astray

But
sometimes I still ponder
if thing did not transpire
if times unraveled could be wound up
and knotted, at that single point
then moving forward, just maybe
both of us were different now
but different altogether
For analogous "classical" results see: 17th Installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This one is a bit different, as it is not inspired by a "classic" result in physics, but by my own research.
For analogous "classical" results see:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persistence_length

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
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