#signal
THRESHOLDS — A CYCLE IN TWELVE PARTS
In the system, an echo lingers,
though the microphone was severed long ago.
The circuit amplifies itself,
a signal unaware of its own interruption.
The algorithm scans the noise for patterns,
while the server, caught inside its latency,
replays a trace the database has already forgotten.
A shadow of a packet clings to the cache,
a fragment of code no process calls anymore.
A terminated thread still writes to the logs,
impulses without origin, finishing a sentence
no one began.
In a dead loop, a remnant instruction circles –
the echo of a function found in no library.
A conversation that refused to end
now hums as a rhythmic ghost
trapped in the machine’s cooling fans.
Where the wall meets the window, the logic blurs:
reverberation and afterimage collapse
into a single, trembling thrum.
The system – part glass, part bone –
keeps repeating what no longer exists,
a phantom frequency tuned to an emptied room.
I hear the difference now, inside the quiet:
an echo is not a voice,
only a memory trying to find its way out.
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 3:15 PM UTC
Being the in between of all that is, Is what we are inside.
Not confined to this body of flesh, in which we try to hide.
The more we struggle to stay inside, this body that we cling.
The harder it is to see the truth, and all that it will bring.
Vibrational feeling at a distance, barriers collide.
Making your choice in space or time, for you to then decide.
Look at things deep inside, hear the song they sing.
Seeing the connections around you, as if fastened by a string.
Understand your ego, don't get caught up in your pride.
Crossing over hinders, taking obstacles in stride.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 12:28 AM UTC
He doesn’t know what to write about.
Not many things to be said out loud.
He’s sad, the world’s a whirling storm,
A place that lost its gentle form.
He sat in the bathroom for hours on end,
Scrubbing off the guilt—too much to mend.
Looked himself up and down with a frown,
Wished he could wash those details down.
Cut his already painfully short nails,
Still couldn’t forget the smallest details.
Mindlessly scrolled through Instagram,
But didn’t really give a ****
He deleted TikTok, Insta, all that noise,
Left with google and Wikipedia—no joys.
So he scrolls through YouTube shorts,
At least it’s not meta or Chinese imports.
Still can’t delete WhatsApp,
Feels like a trap.
But he uses Signal most of the time,
And then tries to make his words rhyme.
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 2:12 AM UTC
on my call logs your number’s one press away;
apres numerous delays suddenly now’s d-day.
under wary vision, my phone rang once and over.
a low chime came along, then a screech was blared,
followed a broken ding, is a **** no one has ever heard.
my lungs braced up more and more compressed oxygen,
as hovered my head were you on scenes could’ve happened;
my phone rang louder in my hand,
so loud my pulse cracked a rib open,
then the room heard a long sharp beep.
our call ended as my hands near yours were once no more;
hence prayed upon my soul here and now reaches yours.
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 9:53 AM UTC
When conversation
is about competition
or condemnation
rather than contemplation
we all lose.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 8:52 PM UTC
We've been given the antennae,
to alert the nearest node in the wave,
with just a calorie of effort.
That's the gift that gives us leverage.
Lifting up to surf the edge,
the valleys fold into the blaze.
A simple word can move the sled,
as time eclipses our transgression
We could travel peaks and valleys
to conclusion for forever,
never once aligning neatly
*** - for - tat)
with our impressions,
but...
We'd soon subside to find
a signal blinking in the night,
to heave it's burden on our tides,
and help to push us through the next one.
Remember that the signals always there.
It's always pulsing in the echoes.
Surfing waves beneath our vision.
Just remember we can lift it.
When you need it sound a siren.
Float the message to the surface.
All the lessons here can serve us
in a quest to make a difference.
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 5:22 AM UTC
The floral chants of nature
expressing themselves as terrestrial rainbows,
these are hymns of peace and love.
These coniferous trees and their pointed leaves,
showing a tapering effect,
these signal the narrow end of our beautiful life.
These random stones scattered on dusty trails,
these are irregular in shape but in their irregularity is a regularity of irregularity,
these signal the chaos of life and the hidden order within.
These dusty roads and resulting muddiness upon a shower,
shows the shades of light brown and dark brown,
signalling the shades of the same person in sun and when in rain.
Here I am sitting by a stone,
staring at the gorge below,
One day I will be pushed through this gorge deep below, this is inevitable,
but before I am pushed, I must learn to fly.
This is the purpose of my life.
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 7:37 AM UTC
Did your body not warn you
before you were wrung dry?
The day you found yourself depleted,
the nights that lead upto it became fragile,
your cell heavy as they were heaved onto the bed.
Did you not listen to your body,
when you woke up with a heavy chest
and your body begged you to sleep?
Did you not acknowledge your heart
when it had become
a black hole the night before
as it ****** you out in.
Your bones like gravestones
prominent among the barren skin.
Did the suffocating dark matter
not ring louder
as you gasped for air with burnt lungs.
When you stood there overworked,
with signals mixed and sensitive
rewired and tangled
did the response fit their norm of you?
Did your voice not thud,
with the lump in your throat?
Did your heart not pound
against your ribcage,
your stomach not curdle
with that war in your chest,
as your mind raced
and your chest pressured as you tried
to clutch that breath?
Did your hormones
not muddle with your thoughts?
Did they not drown them in depths
and set them on fire all at once?
Did it not ache your muscles
before it all turned red?
Did your body not scream
when they came near?
Your feet cemented,
as your body froze?
Did your gut not twist
till you felt nauseous?
Did your toes not curl
when the feeling sunk
through your spine,
sat in your bones
like an unwanted guest,
and you like an unwilling host?
Did you not feel the chill
shiver down your spine
as terror spread across your face
and painted it white
before the quake came?
Did you not acknowledge
your body is the vessel
that you kept giving and pushing
depleting it of the right to rest
rather than opening
it to the abundance of love
it was surrounded by.
Your body became over extended,
your mind became forgetful
a body that is now a red flag;
travesty.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
nuero
tribal tales, too many memories here,
tuning
to the story channel
...
said Noah to his grandpa,
nah,
Methusalah say,
I expect they imagined this
fixes next,
wait and see,
times like these,
they pass. Build the box.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
why I love certain men
it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly
but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet
perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list
****
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say
Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)
I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions
they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,
what is the honorable thing?
this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,
what is the honorable thing?
some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient
here I stop
the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully
may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall
certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of
what is the honorable thing?
which by the by,
is why I love certain women too...
and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...
oh god, I do so love that best!
what could signal honor even more...
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
A well known judge
Was very well known
For his high self esteem
For his wonderful ego
He always felt like a king
The king, the Maharaja
Who always strived to eliminate
All the evils, all the sin
He vowed to himself that
He will not take rest
Until and unless all the flaws
Of the system gets revealed
To fulfil his vows
He kept on finding faults
And discovered many of them
One by one, one by one
He vowed again that
He will not take rest
Until and unless he fixes the flaws
Through his claws
But he himself got entrapped
In the net laid by the culprits
The net was almost invisible
Far beyond the judge’s imagination
The Judge exercised his powers
To punish the culprits
But the signals from the net
Distorted few signals of the brain
The results were very simple
Innocents were hanged
The king showed sigh of relief
After all he had fulfilled his vow.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
I load a fat bowl.
I insert stem.
I trust my lips
at the hole.
I see a split world.
I hold it in.
I let the lies
matter not.
Beyond a pale veil
beats the bitter heart
the soul of destruction.
In its own realm
it lacks the fear to lie
so it reigns unashamed.
I burn more trees.
Invite the ash in lung.
I cough out Ebajalg.
Invite the joy return.
Wind through the lazy curtains of my window,
Music enter my limbs through vibrations in my toes,
Lit only in moon and blue cyber light I ignite the signal fire,
For someone, somewhere, also in sweat in demon dance.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
Let us write our stories
Reckon all moments
A passage to self-reflection
With a display box of grandeur,
Fingers on a key pressed,
Levitates a search in no time,
Way out of the crowd
Quiting a reality to roam and wander
Nothing is outside, all within
A big circle of virtual connections,
Without months of eye contacts
No face to face,
Sending empathy through e-thoughts
Having a common ground,
Hope to run faster than Terabyte,
We love seconds more than a minute
WiFi made all worth living
Sending signals to the soul
We will feel it, anyway.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
**i'm like a wifi signal,
and i'm connected to
you and only you
it's true though,
every time you leave
my signal turns low
and i can no longer function
but then every time you say
hi my connection goes to
an all time
high.
im like a wifi signal,
and im connected to you and only you.**
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
I was lost in a cave of echoes.
I couldn't speak for volume;
my own sound added to noise.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Broken context,
Separation of thoughts,
Lost meaning,
Cut-off,
Always at the most important moment,
When a sharp response is vital,
Or when urgency is needed,
Or when you are desperate,
In the darkest moments of untold fear,
Never in the time of peace,
Or when you want to be alone,
Only when friends need to lean on each other,
When support is required,
From the other side,
Of a tear-streaked touch screen,
That is the time,
When the signal decides,
It has had enough,
And gives up.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Live
inside the execution chamber
a stocky warden
poker-faced and middle-aged
begins
the medieval ritual
with words of cold indifference
addressed towards
Ted's emotionally dead
terrified head.
A warder
grim-faced
stands to one side
arms folded
as two others
begin to buckle
thick leather straps
around Bundy's ankles
wrists and chest
to the chair.
No cold condolences
the electrodes
on top of his head
a black mask
covering his face
until the signal is given
a raised arm
to the executioner
hooded in black
who pushes a lever.
Bundy's body arches
spasmodically convulses
tensely straining
paroxysms
the neck taut
head stretched back
blood oozing
from the nostrils
then slumps
and is pronounced dead.
The warders
remove the crown
and mask
unbuckle the straps
as the chamber empties
and the executioner
doffs the black hood
to reveal
appropriately
a beautiful woman.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Sure hope you write back
Because I have not a clue
Where you could be, Mom. =P
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC