"asymmetry" poems
You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
*with a discovery
of symmetrical
elegance..
beauty in pattern
fresh from asymmetry..
Astonishment of simplicity
Why had discovery
not leaped before..?
then in elation
discoverer declares
proof is irrelevant
Elegance is
all sufficient
imperative Truth...*
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
You know that I want you. I'm sure of it.
But still the little tortures come.
Your cheshire smile glowing brightly.
Your hand holding mine to your side.
Your unbridled compliments and playful digs
Each with their subtle symptom of love.
But you don't love me. You just love being loved.
And I'm tired of writing poems about you
And screaming to the heavens that I am yours.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I look inside my skeleton
Love-hate bulging
eyes out of my face
Two warts of ambivalence
I want to hug my skeleton
Heart twitching in a rib-cage
Admire the asymmetry
of every piece broken
Dear beautiful skeleton
In veins runs the river
In a stream of excitement
I flood in disappointment
I talk to my skeleton
I tell it that I love it
Rub my head against it
Lungs violently sighing
I believe in you, skeleton
in the blood of your tongue
A kick in the stomach
Everything is working
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me
Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically
Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit
Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes
We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
In my fruit bag,
a gift:
a love mutation,
two grapes,
each to the other,
dissymetric,
but together fused
-- heart-shaped asymmetry!
I want so to hold,
to keep,
to make last,
but know decay.
So into my mouth
the heart pop
and sweet entropy
consume.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
when i write about other people
frantically scribbling words on a page
to express love
or hate
or something at all
why can't i write the same way for myself
the intense verses and elaborate wording
all used to express a feeling that no combination of words will
ever explain
perhaps if i stare in the mirror long enough
my body will begin to feel like my own,
my face won't distort to a disfigured mess
i'll learn to love my long golden hair
my eyes that look like the earth from outer space
the soft jawline i've always hated
asymmetry embodied
maybe then i'll realize that even scribbles are beautiful too.
Nov 7, 2022
Nov 7, 2022 at 11:40 PM UTC
Deeper
(breath)
Deep Purr
(breath)
Per-fect?
(breath)
Im-per-fect
(breath)
Asymmetric
(breath)
(breath)
(breath)
Asymmetry
(breath)
African Textile Lines
(breath)
Tree Stump Rings
(breath)
Finger Prints
(breath)
Connected.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
I struggle to stay balanced
my asymmetry is well established
my to-do list is longer than my hair
which I need to cut, by the way
So many dead ends, so little day
So many tasks, my schedule cannot sway
the gears are moving, the thoughts invasive
the fears are proving to be quite abrasive
too much, cannot face it
so I meticulously place my crystals north
so I ridiculously colour coordinate my clothes
anything to escape myself mischievously
I struggle to stay in one place
I struggle every day
Aug 25, 2021
Aug 25, 2021 at 3:51 PM UTC
A
Not No Logos, Klein.
What about anti-logo
Using the figure as the foci
But leaving the message in the medium
Both in the back and foreground
Then we yell fore and the foreground becomes the background
2
Always remembering hierarchy but always forgetting Plutarch
Is this is a disambiguation?
Did I confuse Parallel Lives with Plutarchy?
3
So we grid it out.
GOTO Vitruvio ...
4
Trying hard to balance can create imbalance this we rationalize through irrationality.
3.14159265359 ...
5
Symmetry ... .. . ~ . .. ... assymetrY
Stressing the *** in asymmetry
And what about the meeting of Apollo and Dionysus and the Apollonian/Dionysian duality?
6
Rhythm:
3:3 ; 4:4 ; 7:4 ; salt peanuts . .. ... windtalkers
7
White space is an access point for flow, Tao, source .... this is where my batteries recharge
8
Every element is mindfully placed; an element of gestalt ism "shape form", is this analogous to timespace?
Is the whole other than the sum of its parts? GOTO Miller-Urey II nested inside Babylon Falling
Both are self organizing, none the less. Such wholesome folk we are.
9
The patterns found in isolation parallel both linear and crossing elements and the instructions always coming from a double helix. GOTO The Dance of the Double Helix
... and always adding depth and motion ... kinematic to the statics. GOTO Introducing Happiness
10
Type faces are interfaces so be consistent ... you Paranoid Android!
J
Always K.I.S.S.ing
Q
And in motion means modularity is a must
K
Peaks and valleys can be better understood at the Red Onion or maybe just by peeling back the layers (of life)
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
A lover pulled night toward me
Obscuring blind monotony
Those too-harsh rays,
The day-to-day malaise of living
As her silver, moon-lake body haplessly suppressed
My initial force of life
The seeds I kept hidden from view
Were strewn among her faulty self, where
They began to crop up thickly
Splitting rocks
In her center’s harsh asymmetry
They marred that once delightful face
If inconsequentially
But as her orbit wanes ahead,
Like a crashing moon with star tattoos
Her beauty will veer and fall away,
Then
I’ll be moist and will not wither in the heat always
Instead I’ll shiver and I’ll wonder
Why the sun is gone today
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 11:14 AM UTC
I'm digging your geometry
All of your beautiful asymmetry
Measuring out all of your curves
You are more then I deserve
Obtuse, acute and right
You are stunning tonight
Your perpetually moving lines
In the moonlight; you shine
Your an ever changing equation
I wish to find your every unknown variable
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
*A romantic grace that ebb and flows
A wilting palour, or gleaming candour.
Dressed in the most splendid melancholy
Dost thou, Yesteryears, again bloom and wreathe
Piercing the fibres of succoring apathy
Unyielding, haunting asymmetry
Ghost of my Roisin Dubh vent thy effrontry*
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
And I am a Woman
who so knows herself
my inner power
alive and kicking
more as each
Blessed year
passes by
My light growing
my blood flowing
into the Universe
as it speaks through me
I have strength
that could electrify
a thousand stars
gathered over many years
of my life's battles
and wars
Mine is a quiet sort
Of fortitude
unstoppable with tears
I am my own warrioress
When it comes to my fears
I have my guides
and they know me well
goddesses and angels…
old friends
wielding
magic spells
But nevertheless
I have
A vulnerable side
Underneath the layers
Of protection and pride
an enchanted forest
of moss and green
a sacred space
that only few will see
Inside this inner sanctum
I am as soft as
fine silk
I let down my guard
as emotions flow
like milk
I am an unlikely
desert flower
Who just wants to
open up to you
to be opened
petal by petal
to receive the waters
of your tender care
most vulnerable
with her
stamen exposed
to be cherished
in the cool night air
I am delicate
as tiny spring buds
caught in the
harshest winter
storms
yet who persists
despite the odds
to keep her
cold spots warm
There is a rumor
In the foreign lands.
Some say
(especially in the East)
I have the elixirs
to tame
the most savage
kind of beasts
(Indeed,
Sometimes
as they come for a
sweet, well deserved rest
lay their huge, furry heads
upon my tender breast)
As for you, my Wild One
I think I hold the potion
to the key to your heart
to your beautiful soul….
Yes, poetry in motion
I want to bring it such light
Ignite your embers
To a spark
I could fill you up
So much
You just might not
feel your inner
Dark
But there is something
important to remember
The One who finds my key
Is the one
Who will be crowned
Defender
Of my tender soul
In all its hues
And asymmetry
Oh, Please, my love
Use it wisely
With the most loving
Of discretion
For under the armor
My heart beats raw
Laid bare
To love and passion
Otherwise
My pain will have no end
And I will have to go
Into battle once again
Now
Inside my
sacred cave
I rest
Need to re-charge
For the next
Battle cry
Lift up
Your heart,
To me, my love
Release it
Let it
fly
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
Splashes among the splatter of hot water and shampoo.
A speck of the tear-free latter, lathered in thin grey flecks,
slips through
his receding hair.
Preceding their retreat into the air,
countless droplets of the former had waited
- heated, squeezed, and leaking through pipes,
bound together, flowing
causing groaning -
the pipes growing
then
briefly reigning over the dirt and sweat burrowed
in the furrows of his ever-increasing brow,
grey water falls from grace,
diving down into the drain.
It leaves behind a trace,
filling up the place with a cloud.
now
the curtain's flicked open,
I hear him step out, a towel drying
and his subtle sighing at the humidity,
or is it humility toward our conversation?
(I can never recall what we ever discussed, just that the door didn't keep us apart)
He reached for the handle
the door creaked open a crack
I looked up at the mirror
his crooked smile looking back
then
I caught sight of the sleight'd man
trapped in the glass
now
wiped clear by his hand
A fearful idea passed into my thoughts:
The image he's got of himself's slightly altered.
My words faltered watching his switched, stubbled chin
*His lips' starboard grin won't sit right with him,
and he's left unaware of just where his cleft crannies
though he's sure his reflection's his face, it's uncanny -
he is different to me -
the himself that he sees*
Asymmetry revealed to me
all he has known he has even been
is not the man his son has seen
until -
I averted my eyes, as he walked to his bedroom
heard the noise of TV as he watched
and he changed
behind closed doors
...later...
More doors close
distance grows between us,
though our intravenous love keeps us reaching
ever outward toward each other
teaching our open arms to also grow
create a closeness
while letting go
It is an indulgent weakness,
our shared blood is pumped
through slumped shrugging shoulders
the years make us older
/
the tears keep us young
as flexed muscles holding us together bulge
in a great show of strength
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
It is Sunday morning
The light leaking from the curtains lands on my eyelids
Upon just waking up I feel I am being blinded so I turn over
Warm breath kisses the tip of my nose and I see you lying there next to me completely at peace with in your gentle unconsciousness
I pull my hand from under the covers and glide my fingers down your cheekbone
You smirk and open your eyes
I have never wanted to go swimming in the mornings but when I look in your eyes the desire swallows me whole
Their shades blue green drowning my words
I know exactly what love is when you look at me
And there's something about the way you kiss so lazily in the mornings
Like last night's dream is spilling out of your mouth
You whisper to me good morning and my stomach takes flight with butterfly wings tickling my insides
Because your voice sounds a lot like a love song
Once, I could not think of love without thinking of a plane crash
Trained myself to keep distance from romance
When a friend would introduce me to a boy I learned resist making a memory of his cologne
Because sometimes you don't see, the best thing that has ever happened to you is sitting right there under your nose
There will be hell to pay for the way we love
Disjoining ever love story resting in antique ambience
We kiss with our mouths open
We have kept it complicated
We have kept it impossible
It's that hushed conversation that happens when you love someone and it's reckless, when you watch them life up their shirt and die
I want you unfolded
I want to untie you
I want to touch you like pen to paper
I want to brush the knots out of your hair
And work the knots out of your back
I am interested in the way you take your coffee, what makes you laugh, what makes your pupils dilate, what keeps you going on
Love is not just made up of syllables or words that sound nice
Love is more than clandestine love letters and sharing umbrellas in the rain
Love is Sunday mornings waking up next to you
Love is the feeling of your lips curving into a smile when they are on my skin
Love can heal your asymmetry, it can piece you back together
It is Sunday morning
And I am in love as I'd always hoped I'd be
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Shall you discover that,
Her eyes are not as big as the moon,
Skin not golden but a tanned pink,
You could never tell woe and her apart.
By the passenger seat of her jaw,
A chipped tooth hidden behind a laugh,
The oddest tint of awe,
The asymmetry of the softest flesh.
As she strips off one by one,
The realisation of obscurity,
An alien to what you have perceived,
To be just another mediocre heart.
For she lingers around death,
And you are terrified of the dark,
A girl far from pretty,
The girl who radiates like the Sun.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
A mysterious asymmetry
for a mirror.
A passing fancy-
maybe
I should jump in
and risk silver shadows of glass
in my throat or drowning in the tepid
pool which never was
a mirror.
One wonders at the Other.
Too timid to reach out
and hold the Other's hand.
The dread of grey disappointment
is too heavy to stir, but the
canary in One's throat longs
to test the air. Patience
was never One's virtue. One feels
more prone to
anguish.
Extend your hand and I will not
let you fall.
A grasp of relief.
One and the Other both
free from marble waiting and
free also from the
emotiondeath of
the mirror.
andsowewait
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Those beautiful men and women
On your TV screens
And in those magazines,
Legs like creamy marble pillars,
Chests and *******
Of sculpted, smoothest bronze,
They, too, are unprotected,
And gaze at each other, comparing, agonising
Defeated, out-competed.
Perfection is unerotic,
It's reality that drives those flares of lust.
Protect your imperfections,
Nurture and embrace them,
They are beautiful, alluring,
The story of you.
Someone is dreaming
right now,
Of wide hips, scarred arms,
Bitten nails,
Asymmetry,
Dimpled thighs,
Crinkled eyes,
Captivated by 'flaws',
Mine, their own, and yours.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Minotaur man,
marries
mermaid beauty;
marvelous
asymmetry,
of spectacular
proportions.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:20 PM UTC
There are two philosophical terms
that come from Zen and Japanese Ceramics:
**Wabi,
and
Sabi.**
'Wabi' refers to the flaws of a thing that give it the character it has;
the distinctive feature that makes it what it is.
It could be asymmetry, it could be a crack formed during the creation process.
It could be the thing made by your kid in art class, or by you, even;
those things are crammed with Wabi.
Wabi: Flaws created that individualize, identify and make possible sentimental attachment.
'Sabi' refers to the effects of Time on a thing, showing it's age;
the erosion and change that are inexorable through Time.
It could be the landscape of a foreign planet, or the holes in your jeans.
It could be your tattoos, scars, or psychology.
It could be the scratches on your truck, or the rusting paint you think looks cool.
Sabi: Flaws resulting from being so lucky as to survive long enough to endure things.
Both wabi and sabi lend to a thing Character.
They provide a foundation for relation as well as identity.
They are matters of perspective and thus are subjective.
A perfectionist denies the existence of these,
A romantic says they are all that there is.
As One becomes more open to these notions,
everything becomes a thousand-fold more beautiful.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.
I don’t know, I.
There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates, but that asymmetry set off my alarms.
He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.
Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognized, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.
Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.
Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.
I don’t know, 2.
I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.
My GOSSIP-dar Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I hummed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.
Apr 10, 2023
Apr 10, 2023 at 2:38 PM UTC