"arithmetical" poems - Hello Poetry

Through the serendipity of a naive act, A mere rumour of the bygone tale. Perceived by a small offense, Was the story of Riverdale. A machine of parts and ***** Built for an arithmetical crusade, Channeled with high voltage, The tool for every complex barricade. For science has toyed with his destiny, For his life was a written code, For his face was made of metal alloy, For his troubles laid on the same road. For his calculations were neat as heaven, As his binary numbers were perfectly synch, Like the sun rising on an early day, Like the rain falling on the same clay. But the story took a seismic turn, His mind was on a number's high, When like lightning came she, A thunderstorm from a clear sky A mermaid out of the blue sea, She touched his metal face, For she had seen none of like him. But that touch created a little spark, In the metal heart out of chances that slim. As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave, For the metal mind felt the aura, For the metal body moved to dance, For Riverdale loved that girl, For she was his fading chance. But do the humans understand love? I doubt they do, for the metal heart, Was driven out from the lands. For his story never had a start. The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain, For his metal heart rusted in vain. Over his kingdom of broken dreams, Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign. As his metal body rusted away, In the aura of an insane world, Where love is a jewellery reserved, For this misery has now unfurled, He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.

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Dec 13, 2015

Dec 13, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC

kunal-kar

Riverdale

Through the serendipity of a naive act, A mere rumour of the bygone tale. Perceived by a small offense, Was the story of Riverdale. A machine of parts and ***** Built for an arithmetical crusade, Channeled with high voltage, The tool for every complex barricade. For science has toyed with his destiny, For his life was a written code, For his face was made of metal alloy, For his troubles laid on the same road. For his calculations were neat as heaven, As his binary numbers were perfectly synch, Like the sun rising on an early day, Like the rain falling on the same clay. But the story took a seismic turn, His mind was on a number's high, When like lightning came she, A thunderstorm from a clear sky A mermaid out of the blue sea, She touched his metal face, For she had seen none of like him. But that touch created a little spark, In the metal heart out of chances that slim. As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave, For the metal mind felt the aura, For the metal body moved to dance, For Riverdale loved that girl, For she was his fading chance. But do the humans understand love? I doubt they do, for the metal heart, Was driven out from the lands. For his story never had a start. The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain, For his metal heart rusted in vain. Over his kingdom of broken dreams, Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign. As his metal body rusted away, In the aura of an insane world, Where love is a jewellery reserved, For this misery has now unfurled, He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.

43

forget not words, body thy soul is and hair fantastically ; more unsquare than an angle measurable. Not A number , a S H a pE divisble or an exact adding of some subtracted arithmetical wholeless singular substitution. (your mouth is a quiet groove of darkest earth )where innumerably grows the destroying colour of infinite flower

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Feb 16, 2014

Feb 16, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

Untitled

forget not words, body thy soul is and hair fantastically ; more unsquare than an angle measurable. Not A number , a S H a pE divisble or an exact adding of some subtracted arithmetical wholeless singular substitution. (your mouth is a quiet groove of darkest earth )where innumerably grows the destroying colour of infinite flower

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Tryouts starring musical prodigies and/or an attendant conductor attempt to approach ambient chorus divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork heavenly invoking kapellmeister's magnificent nonchalant outlook piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity engineered from groundswell harmony juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin, manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world. Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations formulating fractal glinting highlighting ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling, la la land legerdemain lifting logic lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.   Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme teetering upended venerated wise with acumen arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot chasing far-fetched ideas lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully wrapt yawning youngsters warfare written wrought yanking zestfully crushing environmental family granting Herculean instant karma malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage yikyaks apemen cleft Earth. ************************************************* Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.

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Aug 21, 2017

Aug 21, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Symphonic Quiescent Overture – Maestro Kant Imitate

Tryouts starring musical prodigies and/or an attendant conductor attempt to approach ambient chorus divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork heavenly invoking kapellmeister's magnificent nonchalant outlook piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity engineered from groundswell harmony juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin, manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world. Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations formulating fractal glinting highlighting ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling, la la land legerdemain lifting logic lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.   Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme teetering upended venerated wise with acumen arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot chasing far-fetched ideas lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully wrapt yawning youngsters warfare written wrought yanking zestfully crushing environmental family granting Herculean instant karma malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage yikyaks apemen cleft Earth. ************************************************* Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.

40

Once one crosses the forbidden line on the wrong side of sixty. Not to venture further into the next arithmetical digit. There begins the journey to another world, even where the angels fear to tread. All on a sudden one comes under uncountable whammies. A jinxed land you stray into, full of a craggy jagged reef. Razor sharp rocks you feel at every step and bleed. Another shell shock I devalued you are as a condemned jalopy. Looks of all you love, speak a strange lingo: you get a creep. It is anything but the old warm vibes of those years golden., Rather an overdose of pity and compassion over-laid with mushy emotion. A good enough gesture to an infirm or a ******* or one in dotage. A man past his prime and relevance like a mast broken of a boat sunken. Written off the priority roster, stowed in a corner, Dusted, sprayed and showcased as a piece of curio rare. mothballed with care in medicine on rationed air. Lest unseen germs of umpteen infections catch them unaware. An appendage fit to be dumped in old age home. A social cure-all, as they say, concerned so unwillingly, A haven as safe as God’s Elysium for progenitors. To be lionized as the epitome of pride and wisdom. So adored they are but shunned cannily by every social connection. A persona-non-grata in all spheres save for gratuitous complimentary doles. Being in the jinxed circle of seventy is the sin only committed. A few blessed ones manage to wiggle into the favoured positions. A few ministerial ballasts, a lottery coup, or a few sine cure slots, a safety net of power & pelf. The rest for a wallow in the morass of delusive expectations. Oodles of stale dry sympathy, deceptive tears and bogus bonhomie. Old raw sores get abraised-the world turns deaf. ………. It’s a poetry by late Mr S M Ghosh, my late father An educationist, history teacher and retired principal of Central Schools, in India.

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Nov 2, 2018

Nov 2, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC

utpal-ghosh

Seventy’s Woes

Once one crosses the forbidden line on the wrong side of sixty. Not to venture further into the next arithmetical digit. There begins the journey to another world, even where the angels fear to tread. All on a sudden one comes under uncountable whammies. A jinxed land you stray into, full of a craggy jagged reef. Razor sharp rocks you feel at every step and bleed. Another shell shock I devalued you are as a condemned jalopy. Looks of all you love, speak a strange lingo: you get a creep. It is anything but the old warm vibes of those years golden., Rather an overdose of pity and compassion over-laid with mushy emotion. A good enough gesture to an infirm or a ******* or one in dotage. A man past his prime and relevance like a mast broken of a boat sunken. Written off the priority roster, stowed in a corner, Dusted, sprayed and showcased as a piece of curio rare. mothballed with care in medicine on rationed air. Lest unseen germs of umpteen infections catch them unaware. An appendage fit to be dumped in old age home. A social cure-all, as they say, concerned so unwillingly, A haven as safe as God’s Elysium for progenitors. To be lionized as the epitome of pride and wisdom. So adored they are but shunned cannily by every social connection. A persona-non-grata in all spheres save for gratuitous complimentary doles. Being in the jinxed circle of seventy is the sin only committed. A few blessed ones manage to wiggle into the favoured positions. A few ministerial ballasts, a lottery coup, or a few sine cure slots, a safety net of power & pelf. The rest for a wallow in the morass of delusive expectations. Oodles of stale dry sympathy, deceptive tears and bogus bonhomie. Old raw sores get abraised-the world turns deaf. ………. It’s a poetry by late Mr S M Ghosh, my late father An educationist, history teacher and retired principal of Central Schools, in India.

31

body haul in slouching orbit. x sight. jesus christ in staccato running through desolate pews, bicycle on sinews of blood scraping macadamized walls rearing pains everybody's a stranger in the celestial hall. what part of this do you not understand? i will say it without saying it. everybody's a stranger. arithmetical concatenation of stringed lies, chalk faces smile at me through heads of tacks; midnight's passover: before dawn, its eyes squinting at something named demolition - this evidence of stolen-into-place.

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Sep 14, 2015

Sep 14, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Rambling (Induced by C)

body haul in slouching orbit. x sight. jesus christ in staccato running through desolate pews, bicycle on sinews of blood scraping macadamized walls rearing pains everybody's a stranger in the celestial hall. what part of this do you not understand? i will say it without saying it. everybody's a stranger. arithmetical concatenation of stringed lies, chalk faces smile at me through heads of tacks; midnight's passover: before dawn, its eyes squinting at something named demolition - this evidence of stolen-into-place.

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