"brownian" poems
I ask for direction but only the spirit knows,
the semantic is lost in one ritual or another subroutine.
We breath in violable biology to voice a movement
that joins u to me and together we point there,
somewhere without realizing that I consciously exhale.
A relaxed breath in but two ways out.
There is no committee nor panel of experts,
endless discussions, of morality of us all;
There is only me deciding how to exhale,
which way to breath out.
There is no wrong or right, only the slow,
controlled, submissive, submission vowels
or short, percussive consonants full of sound
and fury signifying the falling
golf ***** scattered on off-target greens,
a lawn of flamed bogeys.
A brief pause in silence aftermath, memories
of honored and vicious executioners
before I pick up the next eddie current,
the next randori in forgotten volume,
in brownian space, in distance maai,
in movements unthinkingly remembered.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
Dearest John,
Whats the point of writing something to you that you will probably never read.
if writing nothing to you is the only something I can write?.
Whats the point of writing nothing to you if I cant write something to you that's really nothing to you?.
Whats the point?.
A nightingale singing in the the Lilac bush
in my backyard?
Is that the point?.
saying hear me sing just for you--listener!.
A luscious Blackberry swollen with its lifes nectar,
dangling insouciantly, singing its song silently--
pick me--crush me in your mouth--
wash your tongue with my sweetness.
Is that the point?.
A Selmer hand made Alto Clarinet on its stand-
daring me to play the melody of the Isness of the Universe just for you?
Is that the point?.
swooping keening hawk like notes
flowing from my very beingness.
An empty canvas waiting patiently
for medium to be applied.
The Chaos of my emptiness
crying out to be stirred into the action of your Form.
Is that the point?.
Or just to say for your ears alone--I Love You!.
An unfilled pan needing filling
with hen ***** and milk and salt and pepper--
and then flamed into the tasty miracle of scrumbled eggs.
Yummy yummy yummy
Ive got food in my tummy
and everything is gonna be alright.
If I tried to write my life down for you
would you come to my waiting arms?
Would you end this cruel silence?
Would you commit a line of meaningful prose
to your keyboard just to tell me you love me?
But your gone to heaven knows where?
Memphis?.
Dissapeared into the maw of electronic death.
Leaving me bereft of your yourness.
No access to your body fluids.
No more your flesh to caress.
As if I could penetrate the skin
of your aloneness and merge into the Isness that keeps
molecules of your georgeous beingness together.
Walking talking laughing the symphony of life together.
Would you listen if I spoke truthfully to you
or would you prefer one of the many "truths"
of your multiple "religions" or "politics" or "philosophies"?.
But as I can only speak truthfully then I guess
youll hear but not listen.
Wasting your opportunities at Isness realisation
as you have done since I,as the Isness of the Universe,
brought into being voidness from my own essence
with time and materiality--hearing but not listening
to the Brownian arpeggios of the rising and falling scales
of the music of the spheres.
I play my horn of blackwood to the empty rooms
of my universe--
accompanied by the booming bass of harmony--
Amazing Grease.
India the Corrupted.
Moanin and Groanin.
Warm as Luke.
A Chicken Supreme.
Satis-Faction.
God Rest Ye Gerry Mandlebaum.
The Universe listens.
Everyone else hears.
I speak.
your ears are closed.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
A dark Cloud of obscure atoms swirl around in Brownian chaos..
Time's a bit different ere.. Eons but a flit on tis clock..
Quantum effects play poker probability,
gravity the sinister Attractor ..
The cloud congeals, darker still than b'fore..
Attraction, it's nature Hot and crushing at primeval depths..
Ignites a fire so deep, fuses the insides at the wave level..
Particles unite, merge into each other,
becoming something new altogether..
Out pushes the brightest light the universe's seen..
The light of God, searing, nourishing and warm ..
drawn out of the breaking, fusing hearts,
Ignites Life on a distant Rock..
The cloud now a big Star..
Observes in rapture as Life grows from infancy to Damsel in frenzy... She Remembers the ancient pattern, dances around in fatal Attraction.. Fornicating, Merging, consuming, birthing in Heat..
Blues fade into greens, white streaks surround browns ..
Colours pulsing, coursing in a ballet..
Star is hypnotic, it watches..
********** a flare or two at ecstatic moments...
Smitten by Attraction, Star wants to hold Life to its passion..
Can't bear the distance tween the two..
It burns and turns, curious quarks, neutrinos play havoc inside,
turn Helium to Dark Carbon..
The Star sickened of burning and watching for Gods years,
spreads it's arms to hold Life in its magnetic swarms..
It's million Kelvins approaching in Love, Blow Dry Life,
Evaporate the tiny blue Rock..
Star muddled by tis sudden development,
can't put its tendril to why tis happened..
It's heart broken, embraces empty space,
where Life pirouetted a few ages ago..
burns all the more, turns Carbon to Heavy Iron
and novas in green, orange and gold.
The dust settles,
Star now a mere smoldering lump of Neutron..
Looks in the dark depths in feeble ruddy light,
pulsing out signals to find its beloved Life.
Rueing on the beauty that was..
Destined to wait..
For the Clouds to congeal again..
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
I went for a stroll in the wood
felt the earth bend beneath my feet
heard the chorus of cracking ice
out on the old stump pond.
watched as waves of fog
rolled off its melting sheets.
I found a small bit of peace
in the clatter of my footsteps
on my brownian walk
and felt seduced
by the eerie absence
of my thoughts.
no plotting and scheming
or unreasonable wanting
and dreaming of more.
finally an escape
from the neoteric noise
the technicolor screens,
and the scripted realities
we call life.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
brain dead for years
with a tin man’s ticker
lost in teenaged conveniences and comfort zones
walking through day dreams in the fetal position
tinnitus’ tones drowning out the music in my head
feeling like puzzle pieces forced together when they don’t really fit
like Frankenstein’s monster
limping and grunting through High School
struggling through classes with some zombie’s ears
ditching often to go to the bowling alley
graduating unprepared in an inverted reality
with polluted brown skies and a blue world
wearing the same blue shirt and blue jeans everyday
wrapped up tight like a blue eggroll
futility’s fortune cookie foreseeing only deafness and poverty
hating life and self –EVERYDAY!
then, somehow, a song crept under the veil
seeping through my tough outer veneers
it’s lyrics melting a hardness in my chest
it’s music coursing through my body like chi
exciting my Brownian motion
a simple message of finding oneself
delivered in powerful, rich, soulful baritone
stamped with profound, moving emotional range
inflection mounting upon reflection
it’s chorus and theme reverberating
I played that record over and over again
listening with my toenails
I decided right then and there to give it a try
that “learning to love yourself”* is a good thing
and that ‘good thing’ was who and what I wanted to be
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity
a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.
when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.
I cannot handle myself much less others.
I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls
the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular
but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together
what life is this?
this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
time moves forward
winding through galaxies
coursing through milkyways
pulsing through universes
hanging on heartbeats
yesterday, today and tomorrow
happening concurrently
burned onto disks stacked on top of each other
lifetimes skipping tier to tier
peeking through veils of reality
scoping inward to Brownian motion
zooming outward to life’s whole
energy flowing freely through meridians
navigating congestion and voids
finding balance in life’s peaks and valleys
like electrocardiograms
my lifereadings on paper
lately I’ve been flatlining
routines can be boring
drudgery stagnates
maybe I’m just physically tired
maybe I’m tired of life
caught behind a rock in a river
awaiting a cataract to break me free
and restore the song of life’s flow
maybe I’m an insignificant speck of dust
a blip off life’s radar
or maybe the smallest piece of jigsaw
is an equal part of the whole
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
A shaft of Sunshine
thru the Looking Glass
window
Dust dance
in Brownian Motion
atop the air
Reality's trembling
leaves flicker on my
Plato cell wall
How long have I
gulped Heavy
water?
Fire! firing
currents on greasy
Myelin copper wire
Spray the ABC
at a spreading Cortical
depression
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Pressures of Atlas ruin the vertebral Column geometry
The circles weight stresses the cylinder to a breaking edge. A cut
Math was wrong
Angular and pathetic is this central pump. It leaks from the head gaskets when you add in ethanol
It squeals out noises under the accumulated atmospheres
CortiZol extends the impellers out till they scrape the walls interior
Finally it's released blown out for keeps
Can't take it back
Neither can take back
The pump withers
Proteins shiver
Brownian heat delivers
Bellowing cold from a cosmos of foam
Spine tattering morbid
A decayed thought process that does nothing but jump
Jumping and bounding conclusions that are meaningless regardless
Atlas gave up and the world fell onto gravitys shoulders
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Numerous thoughts incline toward me
Each carries a unique motion
Each tries to build upon another demolition
Leaving me with confusion
Led by a multitude of ecstasy
My head branches like the ****
As Brownian as smoke of hash inside and out
No rescue arrives till I’m out, ****** with doubt
And I willingly lose it all
Forgotten, pampered, hit and hurt with the fall
My demise, my nirvana, my mokhsha
Are they all just myth
Or parts of a great equation not with a logical accord?
The dream does not stop here
As I decide to climb higher and higher.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 7:17 AM UTC
the world is over the animals are dead. Left are the machinations of neutrality. Equilibrated entropy. Haunting the desert. The Brownian machines are dead after the ratchet of life broke all its teeth to the tool. Broke on dinner plates of all the energy in plutonium. The Greek gods were real and as jealous as was spoke .wanting back the mass taken from the quantum blips. no longer do things move forward. Progress is non meaning. Pushing back and forth in place the tricycle to an unlearned humanity. It all imploded all is implossive. My strings and nails crack and fall off together.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
Forever strangers like molecules
Bouncing off each other in directions
Similar or opposite often unpredictable
Often uncontrolled
So before the eternal chaos takes the molecules
Apart what was that you wanted to know
What was that you wanted to say
Before the world comes to an end
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
THE SCIENCE SECTION IN THE LIBRARY.
Why is it hard?
To suggest to me, you;
that I do not love you,
as Einstein and Newton
glare at us from their spines,
in truth and in shelves,
here?
Because when months pass you’ll be both here and not here
like a creeping silhouette: a black cat in shadow
-though within the boundaries of bookcases
instead of inside some sad quantum box.
Because when I am here, you will always let go
again of my hand or may not. Regardless,
I begin to notice- the bookcases expand…
…leaving space for more spines to glare at me.
Stupid, stupid questions;
curious, unanswerable.
Why is it that
I will then hear your name,
as rusting papyrus
is turned by young fingers
crossing yellowed ruins,
for truth in these shelves,
here?
Because today passes; you‘re both here and not here
like how light makes your tired iris amber-
by absorption of all visible rays but one,
which when reflected, leaves the rest forgotten.
Because when I am here, you will always let go
again of my hand or may not. Regardless,
memory is vacuum; you won’t hear me choking
in the Brownian motion of reality.
Thus the library is such
an awkward place to break up
T.W.T Mulalu
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
two dear friends
have lost their husbands
just days apart
verily they comforted me
at my times of loss
yet I can’t find the words
I ache for them
but my tongue is twisted
my keyboard locked
perhaps that realm
is still too painful for me
they say that love
is such exquisite pain
shared intimately by two lucky ones
beyond bedrooms
throughout the life they carve
while traipsing the universe
unalone
loss, then, is the obverse
the looking glass’ opposite side
through which survivors see
the lives their love has touched
where mourners share eloquent memories
embedded in their Brownian motion
movie clips etched inside closed eye lids
is it possible to walk alone
after having known
such infinite endlessness?
does love stop at death's door?
you see it in a stream of colors
shooting towards the sky
you see it in the misplaced moon
hiding in the sprucetops
the loss will always make you sad
but the memories will make you happy
and that exquisite pain in your heart
is but a measure of the love you feel
present tense
for one another
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
All motivation stands on baseless fantasy to escape the thought that death is a better choice. Such a potent option has to be snuffed, it's a distraction from these goals that blow around in the air like brownian fluff.
All because we can't tell how fast we're losing time if we're sitting on where we are. There's a rift and it drives us apart.
People rush to negate you when you let these thoughts traipse through undiluted with diplomatic fear.
But they follow.
Wherever you are, near the base of your conscience.
Your constant companion and source of compassion.
I just can't seem to swallow anymore time.
Turned to signal lights towards an elusive mindset
Wanting to **** a tempest for a miles jog down godlike rain. Antagonizing no one just a prolapse of all other values simultaneously fighting modernity alighted.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
bell rhymes with hell
from where Gay Chaps
return
and every time a bell
chimes another back
ground Daemon gets her
wings
how do I reduce
the dimensionality
of our Minds, the
minor Mirror of our Gods?
as wax melt
round a burning Blackhole,
effluvium seeds up
while we observe
only Brownian
specks ejected orthogonally
back down our Spacetime
curve
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
I AM MERCURY THE MESSENGER GOD
I DO HAVE WINGS ON MY HELMET
AND CAN COMMUNICATE WITH THE BIRDS AS WELL AS MORTALS
BUT LETS NOT FORGET INSECTS
THEY LOVE ME AND MY AIR TOO
AIR NEEDS ME AND I NEED AIR
THERE IS A GOD OF PHYSICS
FORGOTTEN HIS NAME
HE INSPIRES PEOPLE IN THE FUTURE
TO COME UP WITH BROWNIAN MOTION
AND KINETIC THEORY OF GASES
AIR HAS NO TIME
AIR DANCES JUST LIKE ME
BUT I CAN T REMEMBER WHO TAUGHT WHO
c marie liz forte aka marie forte or liz forte
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:09 AM UTC
Gone are you,
Like Brownian smoke;
Stays the memories,
Like tar in my lungs,
Breathe In; Breathe out.
Killing me everytime,
You came and left.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
... in love with a tender flower.
(that literally was her name).
To her, blooming was sufficient
and to me beguiling.
But rather than a perennial
it turns out she was an exotic orchid.
She needed particular material things
to open her petals, to feel love.
Things she needed were self-chosen
Order fulfillment my task (I had poor taste)
Over the years, the deficit got bigger
Others had more and life was short.
Kids and house were her competitors.
Love was about her and not us.
Eventually the books didn't balance
and so she wrote off my love.
I put too much hope in new growth
when she was already past her peak.
True she blooms for others with ease
but I think each flowering is forced.
As for me, I think flowers are not for me.
But something with a heart or deeper roots.
I was thrown away so easily
that I must think about why.
When did I stop growing
and accept so little?
The warning signs were there quite early
But I assumed it was seasonal.
For every forever flower
wilts a bit before coming back.
But waiting and hoping are not enough
I withdrew and watched.
I had hopes that as we grew through life
Love could make us sprout anew.
Maybe had I been more determined
rather than taking what was given.
Maybe some flowers can be pruned
and in turn change their partner.
I will learn how to do that
to be here and now.
And understand that love is not
lowering expectations
but love is a joyful partnership
that should grow over time.
A love that seems paused or static
has no Brownian motions or quantum flux.
So I will never wait for love to come back
But know love requires full participation.
So my new life starts now
and I hope learn anew.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC