"bosons" poems
i hope, i try to hope
--to believe--
believe me, i try
to trust in trust i think i feel, or think or know
there isn't any code that satisfies
though maybe there's an uber-uber-ultra-meta code beyond what even codes can mean?
meh.
i enjoy the hypothetical,
Paris in a bottle, fairness for all sentient beings, faith in nothing comprehensible,
an English teapot circles Jove from afar
or all that's uncontrollable, for some all-purpose good to decorate the brackish, ocean truth.
and uncertain science is another case,
mistrusting all, testing daring thoughts with razor sight,
to sharpen speech and challenge all
to flex the truth into a fitness ground on which to stand, objective stern
and method doubt to peer and scan the detail bare, denude minutiae
into ever smaller parts, expanse of raw and empty space attuned,
to vibrant nothingness rebound
muons, gluons, tauons, quarks and bosons --Higgs the boon for popular appeal,
to bridge or monumentalize the science-mystic gap
appall the ghosts that Galileo keeps for company
i enjoy the fantasy,
dragons in a flask, perfect love for all, dancing in the dark in joy regardless of the shutter thicken dust
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
Some wise men have said,
That the universe
Is made of strings, tiny,
Which vibrate in dimensions ten.
Six extra dimensions than
The usual three of space
And the fourth, which is assessed
Using a pendulum
Oscillating in nothingness.
Strings, like the ones of a guitar,
Playing different notes
And different symphonies
Bosons, fermions, electrons
And gravitons to name a few.
This annuls racism among sub-atomics
Since ultimately they're all threads.
Or do you think, a boson
Is superior to a fermion
'cause it swings in a different plane
Or because one of them is called
The God Particle?
Strings, oscillating like
The alternation of seasons
Strings, like the thread of relationship
Which stretches and swings
Between its highs and lows
Strings, oscillating like
The advancing and receding waves
All we could be is a painting,
A hologram, simple 3D information
On a two dimensional plane
Living our lives and executing functions
As the painter intended us to.
All we are, are threads
Arranged in a particular fashion
All we are is a bunch of strings!
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
One of my year long sophomore subjects will be physics. At first, physics seems to be a menagerie of big, boring universal ideas and immutable laws rendered practically unimportant by their scale.
Peter, ok, let’s call him my boyfriend - just as a place-holder - is working on his “Doctorate in Applied Physics,” degree. “Will you help me with my physics homework?” I asked, hopefully.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” he assures me, wiggling his eyebrows suspiciously.
Peter got to visit the Hadron Collider, in Geneva, this summer. When I FaceTimed him he was as animated as a girl at drama camp. He was all, “proton collisions, Higgs bosons, top quarks and massive particles, bla, bla, bla..”
“That’s ok, I said, “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
Seriously though, I get it. Physics teaches critical thinking and problem solving. Fluid dynamics and pressure-volume-resistance relationships apply to the circulatory system. Pressure-volume curves can apply to lung function, heat transfer is applicable to frostbite, hypothermia and fevers - nuclear physics applies to nuclear medicine (SPECT, PET scans and radiation therapy and lasers) - yatta, yatta yatta.
But why ME, oh, lord?
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 12:41 PM UTC
Tetragrams and anagrams
Pseudonyms and sleight-of-hands
Betwixt the lines lie crooked spines
Textured, gestured, shamed and shrined
Functions, Factions, fabled fiction
Starred and Crossed, they're scored and stitched in
Faeries, furies, funded theories
Quantum physics, quarks and queries
Embers bright, a red clad knight
Winged cats with cubic heights
Flux your lux, set down your labels
Time entwines both swine and angels
Mumbled murmurs, lazy learners
Beacons, bosons, carbon burners
Codecs keyed for hertz and bytes
Ancient tones 'n pheremonones
Reflect,
Refract,
Retract...
Ignite.
Our shadow selves toll ghostly bells
Building walls, erecting shelves
Saviours, slaves, enchanted knaves,
'Tis man, himself, 'creates these Hells...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
I am 14.6 billion years old. I am energy traveling at the speed of light,
I am a single proton with one orbiting electron, perfectly balanced
With quarks and bosons and higgs inside
And pieces of matter yet to be understood by man.
I am every star, every atom of Hydrogen fused to Helium.
I am a massive object of molten rock, cooling and fusing.
I am trilobite knee and dinosaur tooth,
Wooly mammoth hair fiber.
I am Permian Extinction, I am Ice Age, I am all surviving species.
I am most distant brothers of man, I am first language and first songs.
I am Bubonic Plague and Death
And life out of new molecules from old.
I am the Industrial Revolution,
I am Depression and Holocaust and oppression.
I am titanium and assembly line.
I am Perseid meteor shower and Halley ’s Comet.
I am every black hole,
Inside, another whole universe of me.
I am seconds young, and I have much to learn of
The multitudes of the universe, myself.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Words, like photons,
are packets of energy,
capsules that carry more
than mere letters or associations,
rather vessels, filled with bits of
comprehensible essence;
everything else we are
*escapes us
eludes us*
to the dark of caves
and depths of shallow flumes,
thick misty fogs
and a refractive glass lens.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
*A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection
**PAPERS! PAPERS EVERYWHERE...
AND NOT A* THING TO READ!**
The thing I remember most about being in the Sea Organization at the Hollywood Org were all the PAPERS! Directives as I was to find. That's what they called memos. We were in a branch of L Ron Hubbard's private little army don'tcha know. Everything, therefore, had a military bent. More specifically we were in the navy. There were personnel who were labeled "bosons". And there were people with the rank of "Supercargo". And Commanding Officers. Actually, LRH would have liked us to be thought of as MARINES. Navy Seals!
He was really THAT egotistical. HIS title was COMMODORE. Yep. His overweening pride took him THAT FAR.
ANYWAY. So there was a storm of paper. Directives EVERYWHERE! Piled on desks. In inbaskets. In boxes. On filing cabinets, which were woefully insufficient for the veritable blizzard of PAPERS! I was forced to read these. DULL AS DITCHWATER. But I was given my own little pile, and a dictionary. Any words I didn't understand could be found in there. I was to look them up. And an extensive memo about the meaning of the Scientogeese which I was to learn. There was an entire LEXICON of THAT, let me tell you! More on that later on. AND we we didn't have TIME to read anything ELSE! Our day was filled with CHORES.... or reading of said PAPERS.
Then I began to notice the other "personnel" around me. NONE of whom appeared to be HAPPY. They were a grayish sort. Looked like the sun very seldom glanced their skin. Glum, yet (for all appearances), VERY dedicated. Then there were folk who seemed to be separate from the other workers. They wore filthy dark blue or black clothing, appeared to run everywhere, and address everyone as "Sir". They were called the RPF. Rehabilitation Project Force. Remember that unit and its abbreviation. For they are to loom large later in my narrative.
But there WAS one person who brought sunshine into my otherwise dreary world...
MARILYN.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 9:32 PM UTC
My dreams are drugs;
my hopes are dope
–the joie de vivre
of old so-so–
from waning eyes
to waxing grace
my spirit seeks
another place
And rhythmically
on pain of death
from newborn cry
to my last breath
with rancid teeth
and rheumy eye
around the globe
cutting soft sky
filling the stars
with water high
to flood and pour
to light and soar
to anger each
contented *****
But not so boiled
nor never baked
swathed transcendence
of all mistakes
melancholy left un-churned
around young danseur
crapping wealth unearned
fueling no immortal work,
marching still
against the dark;
Freshest grass-scent
Lingers long
past broken tractor
at break of dawn
as crumpled shrapnel
and sticks of oak
remain wedged throughout
the auger's blades,
refusing to reap
or shadow wheat;
Therefore, this vision
pulls and holds
on wisest minds,
with fools endures;
musty marble crumbles too
all garish gold
rusts through and through...
spinning slower
then Bosons are gone...
sunny sleep stops
mowing lawn
(All things must break
when left untouched
but touching wears toucher
oh so so much!)
Arrows fly,
inertly tickle
all that's evil
whatever's wicked;
But nothing so so much
as hope
fades quietly
oh so so much.
Slumping shoulders
warring forward
searching ever
for temperate porridge,
concluding all
to dust from dust
Inciting all
from lust to lust
But rarely ever
dreaming truths
science mangling
interstellar flight
because nothing good
rhymes with truths
devoid of pretense
and heckling youths
After crops have rotted
that fed our needs
One contemplates
tending the weeds.
I've lost you now
(I surely hope)
Because at last,
here is the dope:
Riddling madness
is a cancer.
Reading answers
is disaster.
We're much too late
to break the tractor.
Grapes left on vine
do not make wine,
so smiling scythe
will give me mine.
And in the end
it's not defeat:
For Beauty Grew,
And Many Ate.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
These atoms hold reason.
These quarks hold love.
These photons hold freedom.
These bosons hold life.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Conway’s game of life,
e^(iπ) + 1 is zero,
Just four base pairs in our DNA,
And still, we play the hero.
Twelve fermions, five bosons,
Compose our world and sky,
In every star and falling leaf,
In every brain that questions why.
I’d love to dive into the depths
Of quantum's mystic plan,
And watch the clockwork tick and hum,
To glimpse the beating heart of all.
Perhaps it’s all so simple,
Too simple to perceive,
A truth so bare and elegant,
Our minds refuse to believe.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
Someone once said to me, “It’s the little things that drive you crazy!”
It’s not.
It’s the little things that drive you sane — pills, pats and pets.
All honor for what is small: dollops and gobs and dabs, the edges of pie crusts, chocolate shavings.
Hail micro-sacredness of life, tiny flotsam and mini-jetsam — veins, mists, creeks, fogs.
Is it not life’s micro-detail, womp and woof of wondrous world, that moves us to gratitude?
Drops, pinches, dashes, rain, cinnamon, lotion; fermions, flounces, hadrons, hats, bosons, bacon bits, antiquarks — there is a breath-taking thereness in the smallest things.
And then at last there is the weight and force of slivered, severed time.
The massive power of one, tiny, single “was.”
The mighty microsity of one “will be.”
And the astonishing force of this quickly, quarky, snarky second’s “is.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC