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Working parts and mechanisms,
charts and graphs and mannerisms,
a table, pencil, square and mitre...
eraser marks, sweat drops, -go lighter!

A thought or two and ponderance...

Decimal here and decimal there,
-micron adjustment now we're square...
Up all night until daylight dawn
and finally I've fixed the Krong!

A thought or two and ponderance...

To the factory arrive before eight
and finished, furnished, a model late...
A handheld one and something larger,
humanity saved by my charger!

A thought or two and ponderance...

10 years long after planet saved,
They'll be parades and accolades...
Statues, tributes, my name in text-books,
but no one, never, a second look!
Never to worry on life again...

..I did it,
I reset the world; begin.

And did it all with Earth's mighty spin.
Kinetic resonance oscillating natural power (GE) (GAIA)
Raymond Johnson Nov 2013
What are we, really?
For as long as we have been able,
Humans have looked skyward and wondered.

Wondered about the timbre of our voices
About the pastel shades of our skin.
When we are cut, why do we all bleed the same red?

About our origin.
About our purpose.
About our murky past and our luminous future.

What are we, really?
As a species we are collectively stumped.
We have journeyed far.
From trepanning the ill, ventilating their skulls to drive out malevolent spirits,
To carefully calculating the oscillations of distant stars.

And yet,
Despite our ingenuity, despite our ambition, despite our progress,
The truth still escapes our inquisitive grasp.
What are we, really?

Are we god's chosen flock?
Are we simply another infinitely random arrangement of carbon atoms? Flesh and gristle and calcium deposits?
Are we overgrown simians with overgrown egos and obnoxious sense of importance?
Or are we a simulation? Ones and zeroes on the motherboard of the cosmos?

What are we,
Really?
Timothy Brown Apr 2014
She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.
A short introduction to Sweet Memory  You can find other parts of the story in my poems entitled Sweet Memory left with Bad Taste. ©April 7th, 2014 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.  P.S Thanks Letty for the inspiration
Andreas Simic Oct 2017
Ponderance©

As the waves come crashing into the shore
And the gulls fly overhead
And the sounds fill my ears

I am reminded

Of the frailty of life
Of nature’s cycle
Of destiny for all of us that inhabit this planet

Is life fair
Is life just
Is life a must

Or a journey to be endured
Or a lifetime of highs and lows
Or something to see as we go

Sometimes I do wonder why we are all here
Sometimes I am amazed of all the fear
Sometimes I can’t resist to insist

A prayer for those near and dear
A prayer for those unknown to me
A prayer for those I have yet to see

And as I dose myself to sleep
And my eyelids become heavy and deep
Another day awaits for me to greet

Andreas Simic©
…what visions before my eyes do materialize…whereas they are invoked by a small white pill I do believe….they shimmer and dance like candle flames at night…throwing shadows upon the walls…strange shadows…dancing shadows…shadows of the mind…shadows who pose no questions and make only judgments upon themselves…shadows of tomorrow that are shadows of today who were once the shadows of yesterday….a poem is born…..
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2023
“If people bring so much courage
to this world the world has to ****
them to break them, so of course
it kills them. The world breaks every
one and afterward many are

strong at the broken places."

A Farewell to Arms,
Ernest Hemingway

<>
struggling with so much,
then this scripture of writing sent
by some unfamiliar, a providential
provider; and I am realized, this man
is broken in ways you have no idea,
can~not comp~re~hend  

understanding floods, healing
required, for I too have been killed,
my trust and beliefs, trashed,
too many fools who think that
moral equivalence is a thing,
that the unspeakable is justified,
hatred makes me so broke so low,
how,
justification is not justice,
nor an excuse to do whatever

cross the street, and believe,
that drivers will honor a red,
a stop sign, but plenty think
this don’t apply to me, not me

getting on the back of a line
is for fools, people who cannot answer
the arrogant question of the insistent
“Do You Know Who I am?”

I know who I am, yet the ponderance
of evidence says that is not enough,
I
am insufficient,
I am less
than human,
I am
undeserving,
because of my
ancestry

And I will spare you the precise definitions of these statements,
for it should be unnecessary, you should be nodding in agreement, clear eyed understanding, intuitive, in your own broken bones felt!

But,
my bones are broken, and the healing needs a source, a “see here”
directive, explain me how my insane madness is not a proper
responsa to the
weight of hate
my eyes see, seen,
and that my own
eyes
are not lying,
but believed.

but intuitively understood
that my broken bones can be
healed, each in their own way,
so I will retire, perhaps return
when, even if not fully recovered,
sufficient to care enough,
ready to be rebroken, again,
for this! this! is my
true poetic ancestry

thousands of years have not broken us,
and never will, for it is not fear that will
prevent our resurrection, for we immunized,
for what unimaginable have we not known, and yet recovered,
this,
I believe,
my healing will be quiet, solitary, removed
from the distractive noises of invective infecting,

but I will be present,
for my children, and my children’s children will
look to this ancestor and learn that his blood
and bones deeds them the self-healing properties
that always has and always will defeat those
who seek to destroy your future

1) the DNA of your ancestry
inherited inherent in your bone marrow  
and bone tissue is continuously remodeled
through the concerted actions of bone marrow cells

2) Stem cells in your red bone marrow
(hematopoietic stem cells) create red and
white blood cells and platelets, all of which
are components of your whole blood.

so here is our truth:
when,
The world breaks every
one and afterward many are
strong at the broken places!*

our whole blood will replenish us
Sabbath Eve
Fri Nov 17
10:00am
in the ***** of my birth
Life is not symmetrical.
An interesting ponderance
With unforseen,
Far-reaching consequence
And the green is in the profits
For the sages and prophets
Who drop it
Telling rhymes
To capsize time

And no one's around to stop it
Open to interpretation,
A cryptic message
Whose meaning gets lost in translation
When living in a basement
With one suitcase of baggage
And it amplifies
The black-tie strife
Of societal ties.

And you figure you figures
Add up to something bigger
While I'm a ghost just trying to capture
A bigger piece of the bigger picture
But got distracted by the frame
I look familiar
But you dont know my name
I look familiar...
Like looking in a mirror
Because we both look the same

But we're different
You see,

Im a dedicated runaway
Who ran away from home
Trying to escape
A world of computers
And cell phones
Pursuing a knowledge
I always have known
But the world's greatest minds
Never predicted this...

And my happy meal
Tastes like flies and ****
Yeah, ****.
Because someone ****** in my vinegar
And if I ever see justice,
I've got something to give to her

My eyes.
And the power of sight.
To open up her mind
And redirect her fight.
But I fall back
With no one to catch me
Forced to rely upon
Linguistic ability
Because its the power of speech
Which tells you to look both ways
Before you proceed
To walk across the street

And I know its not easy
To live on adrenaline and caffiene
But I'll chainsmoke cigarettes
And drink gin from the tub
And try to destroy
Another piece of myself everyday..
Until all thats left is love...

Life is not symmetrical.
Sometimes it rains on only one side of the street.
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
in utter radiance two bodies meld,
in decadent tenderness; emanating
from one another in mindless bliss,
like silken sheets fluttering in a
midsummer day breeze; flapping out
a heart's symphony as each mellifluous
tune is carried along effortlessly of fallen
petals in an upward warm wind...alluring

when lips touch their essence is as
delicate and soft as a newborn's first
breath and visions of meadows as
burbling brooks eke out nature's
wonderous animations of life; hidden
amongst conifers naked seedling in
cones of yews procreative life...caressed

eyes gaze upon one another in trancelike
looks of longing; in ponderance of love's
accepting embrace, to feel it's enraptured
warmth; skyrocketing moans in resonating
tremors of gossamery affection...cloud nine

emerging gasps are born to undulate in
waves; awakening love's cupidity to be
forever within one another's limelight,
delighting each other's ambiance of
life's many truisms; our spirits bountiful
and serene as we live and love in our own
paradise on earth...in spirituality

becoming excited in our veracity to
understanding the complexities of
love and living in moments of bliss;
standing still vacuumed, absorbing
one another's vitality to be as one,
soulmates until heart and mind
collide in hungering want; holding
onto thoughts only we can see
within one another's eyes...heavenly love
xmxrgxncy  Jan 2017
Ponderance 1
xmxrgxncy Jan 2017
They always describe words as dripping-whoever they are.
Words drip from your lips,
drip from a microphone,
drip from the speakers of your car.

My words do not drip like the forlorn water clinging to the water faucet after their companions have ceased to flow.

My words attach. And they hold on.

To what, I can't be certain- who can be certain of anything in this mired time of our lives- but I know it keeps me going, I know not where, but that is the consolation.

You are steering me in whichever direction I am meant to go, and my words are the oars. They may have seemed ill-said, but they put me in the direction in which Fate would have me drift.

But not aimlessly.

So, darling, when my words hold onto you and attach themselves to your lips, will you leave them there?

Or will you let them drip away?
Bill MacEachern Mar 2023
Pondance Of The Past

How long
Will it last
Before
It’s the past

What must
It be
To make
History

How should
It look
To make
The big book

Will what
Is said
Share only
A shred

I just
Want to know
Who told you
So

But what
I must ask
About all
The past

Will it
repeat
If we
All don’t think…

Bill MacEachern  
03/23/23
JP Goss  Aug 2014
Aeviternus
JP Goss Aug 2014
Deep beneath a pillowed sky, there
A restful restlessness abides
Nestled in a perennial hill
Whose sentinel trees raised their hands,
White with subtle deference,
They do not usher the world flowing ‘hind,
But show me an islet high above time.
I sat there in ponderance at the stagnation of clouds
Holding on one end a gold string of a kite
My thoughts tethered to those ghosts,
Those wights, sitting amongst me, those by-gone eras
And down, on me, some vague horror weighted
To them it was the Stones that made them feel dated
I thought I could feel slippage, some loss of traction
They? They bore a whole lifetime without
Satisfaction.
The breeze smells of gossip and Jaeger on their lips;
Everything is on point: dances, romances, localist quips.
Whoever would have guessed
Memories ablur could be the most vivid?
Such, I suppose, is an art form insipid.
I had to step away from this field of time
It had overtaken, that shadow of mine
All the trees now, bow and they bend
Prostrate, like a weeping willow.
When they step out into the world,
A bath of gold in the dusk of their lives
Shall fall before their feet, denude from their shadows
To run on ahead.
My God you are everything I've long to cultivate and grow for...

Milky stem, curvy pedals, picturesque I yearn to adore...

Thoughts of growing seeds that multiple the very essence that fuses farmer and produce...

Yet your thorns draw true blood of mental conscieneness I fight to anti demonized the truth....

Can I paint your corners like Rembrandt so eloquently, the colors of time and love so intertwined in a hypothesis that escapes me...?

My antithesis, which I so love to steal, though I'm not from Pittsburgh I'd love to steel your heart encased with every mineral that's long lasting...

The Broncos run wild...the Titans gracefully sleep...to a center point of marriage of a carriage full of mustangs you hate to condem...

Fly with me, no regrets of the southern admonished relationships you will soon see...

Strocked with silver linings of our legacy only Apollo runs to see...

Shining so bright the night of Athena is thwarted by her warful existence....peacefully...

Let our love be struck by the lighting bolt of Zeus that originates the balcony you couldn't see...

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll delve in this Greek salad of ponderance like a patriot....haha Brady could aquite it's intricacies...

— The End —