"centrifugal" poems
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick
Lacing my skates
after walking two miles
in girl-strictured delight
Mom's stories of Sonja Henie--
No, not ever
Lacing my skates
with snow-ball pompoms
felt skirt
and nylon tights
Cute little hat with matching scarf
My thighs and fingers
already freezing
icy burn
from miles on foot
to get there
the lake where--
I must get out
I must get OUT!
Knowing what
to expect from my body
the quick-twitch of muscle
Could always sense
specific--
gravity of water
at 22 degrees
Desiring to feel
the motion between ice and steel
Read speed's vibrations through my body
The brain registers relation
to weather's effect
Tell of velocity
possibility of fall
Feel the slash of the blades beneath me
Throw my weight sideways, sudden
to hear that furious hiss
An object in motion tending, dire
to stay in motion
Threatening to stay there
always
in its heights-- of speed
away--
from the crowds of skaters
swirling distant in the lights
Seeking instead
the farthest reaches of Porter Lake
speed and speed and more
to overcome
inertia
of what it is to become
undone
at the outer edges, of humanity
A force
centrifugal unto myself
Avoiding
Pregnant and slow
with years and babes....
The best
must be broken and tamed
of what it takes to stay free
catching the edges with every stride
catching my toe in the quick
180
spray of frost
to the sudden still
Listen to the frigid chill
and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence
Gliding
Once
Forever--
on, into darkness
of woods on frozen water
The wildness of it all
So infatuated with flight
so full of grace
I forgot Sonja
The moon rose
from her seat in the treetops
and applauded
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Everything in quotations marks and italics was written by TS Eliot.
eyes knowing glossy men,
sheer women, creatures,
not all artists, but artists,
always thus,
centrifugal, simple
from their core,
emanate, resonate,
expand the exterior
with interior precision sculpting
to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths
movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity,
oriented to their locality
the simple purpose of inhalation,
to exhale, after transformation,
the calculus of thought into emotion:
*"the tongues of flame are in-folded
into the crowned knot of fire and
the fire and rose are one"*
the dancers hear the music:
*"so deeply that it is not heard at all,
but you are the music
while the music lasts."*
**”Quick now, here, now always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well"**
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
I am up
Awake
Before the sun
It's arrival
Heralded by
Colors creeping
Out against
The retreating night sky
Do not mistake me
For a morning person
I do not relish this
Nor do I mourn
For sleep
lost
It could be
found
But this
is necessary
Not without joy
Not without sacrifice
Without a word
It simply is
A ride
My Fortress
of Solitude
For a mind
Besieged
By thought
At war with
Itself
Do not
retreat
Into the past
A ruthless place
A heckling pace
That tells you
You cannot
Hang on
Give no portage
To fate
For you cannot grasp
What the future holds
Just
Keep moving
Focus
This ride
It is the only ride
That matters
I wrap myself
In its tight fabric
It's sounds
Clicking and clacking
Racing thoughts
Shifting
Centrifugal forces
Sifting
As I order
Myself
Ride
As long
as I pedal
I am
Present
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
My Maypole mind unravels
reverses centrifugal force
its streamer shreds of ribbons
spinning backwards
in one grand and splendid rush.
Mind loosened and snapped
tatters
fluttering free
electric after-images
of me.
© M.L.Emmett
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
The loving puddle in the gutter off market street-- the one that fills with dirt and **** and damp newspaper, plastic soda cup, strange indecipherable Chinese pamphlets with bleeding characters. She smiles at the sun and renders its visions on her face, and with great tension attempts to demonstrate her willingness, her blushing consent to being totally subsumed by its whims. Of course she trembles at the diurnal stampede of feet, but is not afraid-- for she too speaks in eternity. She has evaporated before-- she has kissed the incessant sky over Marrakesh in the soft morning and dreams of the sparkling mountainsides in the night, when she is divided by callous rubber tires or cast below by competing distant rains. Yet she has always found her way back home; Nestled in the subtle indentation of road besides the brickway near Battery.
"Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters . . .
These dark hands of life"
It was one of the waning days of winter, in the blurred haze of rains, when we left the coast and began our journey home. As she drove, I watched the pebbled streaks roll across the window into great vertical streams, to be cast off indistinct along the stationary road. Upon all our sides, Even the black-toothed mountain tops lost their grandiose summits into the fog. Off the road, next to the sagging remains of a gas station, a man sat beneath the naked fist of an old willow tree. He, with a teal umbrella, twirled the nylon circle so that the collecting sheen of water spun and spiraled centrifugal out into the bombarding camaraderie of fellow drops. The damp fields sat empty of life behind him, casting into evanescent black oceans of dirt. As we hurried past, I turned back-- and following him with my own watering eyes, I watched for as long as I could--until he too faded silently into the mist.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
I, I, I
I hated you.
You've been dead a decade.
Frozen & old
6 feet under? O What a joke.
You might as well had been
Killed by Me.
Because I've killed you today
Grey hair and mustache
Black Ford pick-up, rusted and intense
Late at night, late at night
Stomping in, strong hand on the flask
Stomping in like an elephant
Authority rhino
Keep my trap shut.
And hide in my room.
Where I always am
A material boy, starchild
Shrine to the Material World
It's all I've ever known.
I, I -
I have found it hard to **** you dad
Revolving my head
Moon-dad I have given you up to the stars
Holding my blade
That moon is on a leash
A centrifugal satellite; gravity ghost
I,
I must be brave for you.
Slice, 3, 2, 1.
We're free.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
I wish sometimes I could lie in your bed. Just to know I was close to you. Once. Give me love, beauty, money, fame, happiness, and besides all I want is the truth. I hear you smile down the phone. I have a centrifugal soul, it allows me envelop you. To carry your heart without letting it break. Wrapping around you. It is a silent force, like the middle of a hurricane I am safe from the chaos at large. I try to kid myself It didn’t matter but the truth is you’re all I ever wanted.
God I am only 4 songs down but it feels like you have been here forever. Sat with your hand on my hips, your kiss on my lips, I waited for this. Where fairy lights twinkle around our heads, as we laugh and play, making music in our minds. Forging new memories to erase the old. Of times when you walked away because you were scared you’d be left. When times were made illogical because love got crazy and emotions exploded. Yet I look into your eyes and I am found. Feels like home? To me.
You’re the only one who can run your hands around my head, knotting my hair around your delicate fingers. Its fatal, fatality is worked through your hands. Soon we’ll all be breathing the same air. When we’re driving to nowhere, I catch you watching me out of the corner of your eye, smiling. You don’t know it, but you never looked more beautiful. It’s like reading a book and it just gets better, and you can’t put it down but you don’t want it to end. I want to dance, with you. Hear you laugh. Its divine providence that we are here, together.
It’s late, we haven’t talked for hours. We need not say a word. The sunlight never felt so good. Happiness is only happiness when shared. Not left in an empty room to be squandered away dreaming of forevers. And here I dream with you. In my mind. I like that. Taking my breath away just by lying here with me. That’s how I know that I am blessed with you by my side. Makes so much sense when you think about it.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
~
"memory runs back farther than mythology."
two years,
two months,
and two days,
in a cabin they built
near Walden Pond.
on a mission of gravity,
the heavens forming a spotlight
on centrifugal force,
abroad the hollow mind,
chronically untethered.
"I went to the woods to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms..."
this ship's captain was an architect,
but her starblazing failed
to break ground,
so this life is now a structure settled upon sand,
and way out yonder,
where there is
no blade of grass,
just weeds growing out from under the floor.
but her daughters are
grinning magnets,
passionate machines.
"copy that?...," asks Houston.
she takes a long, hard swallow,
the shadow of a bell
inspiring the astronaut in her
to shoot for incapable stars,
but the bell she hears now
is that of an alarm clock
telling her it's time to wake up:
shoulders straight.
hands free.
arms strong.
fingers stiff.
chronically untethered.
she's not looking for new days,
she is a new day,
compacted out of water,
tired of changing real estate
and showering with
other people's success.
those loud kids, her kids, play
down the hall, in the beehive.
radio jargon's on full blast too
and telling her where
to buy and sell today's instant pleasure.
she's busy now with self-stimulation,
Betty Dodson Method,
then mixing orange powder
with 100 year old whiskey
kept in the lunar module:
it's a spacewalk to eternity, faster-than-light:
she sees broken pool tables
and backyard swings.
she sees 'ordinary'
checked off on the calendar.
she sees 'happiness'
hiding in an old photo of Murphy's Camp.
she wakes to
her husband, Houston,
in a holding pattern,
she feels him moving, whispering,
and touching something
far off inside of her,
but not moored
in a specific time or place.
in search of where
she now exists
(if she even existed at all),
her memories feel artificial
in that she lacks
the emotional attachment
that comes with
actually having lived them.
there are no answers, no choices.
only reactions.
it is always going to be
that broken state of things:
these days of heaven,
chronically untethered.
"only that day dawns to which I'm awake. there is more day to dawn, I suppose. and like us, the sun is but a morning star upon being dreamed into existence..."
~
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 9:19 PM UTC
I want to ride the sky,
make believe
the stars are closing in on me,
and in so doing
become as them.
The glow from me,
a night light to some
off-world pier,
where children read
their storybooks untroubled.
An overhead visitor
to their lovely soul's dying wish,
the centrifugal force
keeping amusement park days
aligned with one another.
A tunnel at the end of the light,
cave of sweet
innocent dreams,
from which streams
of merry laughter emerge.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
With weary frankness I lean into
Evenings diffident shadows,
Wavering hues, grays and blues
Peering between the cloistered stars:
Endless dream I forgot how to navigate
Encompassing moments built by tidal movements
And sudden divisions between orbital shells
Inertial havoc starts the blood rushing
The world's a quagmire of uninhabited space
With lonely islands of pulsating matter
Suns unnumbered, rippling the waves collapse
Take all my heartbeats too, that as I languish,
The resonance might start another avalanche
The fiery, seeding vacuum of dawns early light,
That old magician's hat trick.
But be merciful to me, centrifugal womb of time;
Both the product and the witness
The sum of the totality only here, only this, only now-
This forever world, always just on the brink
Of breaking into a hundred thousand new worlds,
From insignificance multiplied
Far beyond any meaningful purpose:
For nobody controls even one solitary particle down here.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
I found god
on my front porch
and we drank vermouth
from 12:00 to 12:00.
He spoke of how
he's trying to quit
cigarettes and women.
We raised our glasses
to that one.
I spoke to him
about how much I enjoy
asking people
how they really feel.
I told him how the earth
is rotating very quickly lately,
and that the centrifugal force
is improving the circulation in
my fingertips,
and how I'm starting to be able
to feel again.
He spoke of how
he had quit his job
to pursue a career
as a ceramic artist,
though he also claimed
he had always been one.
It turns out that god
is a neighbor of sin,
cut wide open
by the hope that lives
in the hearts of people
younger than us.
I told him
that I understand.
He filled my glass up again,
and then his own.
We did not speak of women.
He lit us a cigarette
and we shared it.
I feel like god
has been misunderstood
all this time.
I think he feels
the same way.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Who told you that there was something like soul-mate floating around in the depths of the air?
Who told you that even air has depths?
Was it during introspection that it dawned upon you that all shallow things have depths?
But then, the air is not shallow;
It is not deep, nor shallow;
How has the shallow air depths?
If there are soul-mates floating in the air, it cannot be shallow;
If the air is a mere mixture of gases, it cannot harbour depth.
Now turn everything around:
The air is shallow because it has souls floating in it;
The air is deep because it is a mixture of gases-
It is all a tale of contrasting realities,
And I am asked that why is the shallow air deep, and where is the depth hidden?
Hidden?
If somethin is hidden, how can I measure the depth and the shallowness?
If it is visible, I cannot see it.
I cannot see it even when I see it.
After all, things visible are invisible,
And relatedness is a centrifugal force.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Gambale
he comes from the land down under
a golden axe is in his hand
creating his centrifugal funk
all across his note drenched land
he completed his Italian job
sending everyone high fives
while schmoozing in the white room
high powered electric jives
Nunzia was by his side
he was his right hand man
except of course when making love
inside Lydia's love van
one of the great explorers
of this final wild frontier
like a crouching jaguar
keeping his mind so clear
the magical slinging weapon
faster than an arrow
the vibrations pierced through the skin
down inside the marrow
the thunder current crashing
this pathfinder with attitude
it was dawn over the Nullarbor
at crusing altitude
conducting naughty business
for all those who seek to hear
Kuranda is the place you'll find
his vision so perfectly clear
for his right of passages
a little charmer flying by
a present for the future
noteworker on a natural high
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
not until
not so long ago
I recognized
that saying thanks
only with wordless deeds and gestures
may not be enough
we need to
hear
GRATITUDE
spoken out loudly
in words
silent appraisal
is not enough
over time
so I speak out
in deep appreciation
of your hard work
to make us
stay together
against tall centrifugal forces
the division of
distance and time
distress and separation
barriers of the quotidian
multiple obligations
I thank you
for being with me
even at times
when you are almost
beside yourself
I thank you
for being with me
and being you
* * *
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
In the dark we form
From the nebula
Of hydrogen and dust
We compress
Under massive gravitational force
Slowly rotating
we increase
In matter
But pressure from others
And our own gravitation
Causes our collapse
We cool down
Emitting infrared light
And radio waves
And we spin faster
As our spin increases
Temperatures rise
And once more
we form
With centrifugal force
A central core
Stable
And a revolving disc
Of future planets
Soon orbiting
Our heat
Caused by the friction of bodies
Makes us glow
Our fusion
prevents further contraction
And begets jets
Intense beams of radiation
For lifeforms to enjoy
Or fear
But we know
That when the hydrogen fuel is spent
This star too
Will begin to die
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
The house was simple...and small,
yet, sturdy were its base and walls,
it became the family's safest place...
its protective walls, were hushed
witnesses to the family's moments,
invisibly etched on their cold surfaces,
their silence was most comforting.
and then, came the waters...
the heart broke, wet with crystal tears,
people came....and people went
monsoon floods inundated the house,
a kind of centrifugal force drove peace
and happy winds astray...far, far away,
precious souvenirs became trash...
rain or shine made no difference,
nights became longer...i realized some
truths that played on and on in my mind:
"there's a time to be born, and a time to die,
a time to linger.....and a time to move on.
suddenly...changes happened...
after family, pets and all stuff were moved,
the old house seemed a wide gawking space...
on its glum doorway, echoed, a sad refrain:
..."Sally doesn't live here anyyyy...more."...
i turned the lights off, closed the windows
and locked the doors.....outside the gate,
a thought clawed on my chest:
it felt, i had caged inside
shadows...of a past life...
..........................................
.................................................
...................................................
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 25, 2019
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
The Effects of Memory
by Michael R. Burch
A black ringlet curls to lie
at the nape of her neck,
glistening with sweat
in the evaporate moonlight ...
This is what I remember
now that I cannot forget.
And tonight,
if I have forgotten her name,
I remember ...
rigid wire and white lace
half-impressed in her flesh,
our soft cries, like regret
... the enameled white clips
of her bra strap
still inscribe dimpled marks
that my kisses erase ...
now that I have forgotten her face.
Published by Poetry Magazine, La luce che non muore (Italy), Carnelian, Triplopia, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Poetry Life & Times, The Eclectic Muse, Strange Road, Inspirational Stories, Kritya and Centrifugal Eye
Keywords/Tags: Memory, effects, affects, hair, ringlet, neck, moonlight, vapor, evaporate, bra, clips, wire, lace, flesh, dimpled, kisses, erase, name, face
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 11:18 PM UTC
✨√SIGNED_FATE
I looked at myself in the mirror,
Smiled, but hit back with a frawning reflection,
My thoughts lingered on the darkened soul,
Where the black suit sheltered pain, deep sketched scars of a tortured heart...
A place they found as comfortable as home,
A place they cry and mourn.
Daughter of fate as written,
Happiness buried deep within my soul,
Screams and cries of the vengeful beasts inside,
Wanting to be let free,
And ***** the whole situation up.
Echoes of the defeaning silence,
Sending me to hades...
They watching,
My every move tracking,
Leading me on a journey there's nothing like retrieving,
Where I hope to have an unerrinng ******* life,
Where I wish they lull me to eternal sleep.
Their voices becoming louder as I pootle in,
Gravitating deeper in the gloomy atmosphere,
Wild thoughts circulating in my mind,
Suicidal thoughts taking the better part of me,
with a force greater than centrifugal,
dismantling whole of my right mind.
Their open arms luring me to hug back,
No one can save me now,
No one can unhitch me from these chains of torment, condemnation,
My mind is all frozen,
My heart is all broken,
Nothing's right,
Maybe signing my fate is the only real thing,
Maybe I'll no longer feel this emptiness,
loneliness,
Just like leaves gyrate slowly to the ground.
Everything happens so fast,
In nick of time, blade in my hand,
Gashed both of my wrists, half-arsed,
Gush of blood flowing,
I pass out,
In a pool of a blood, I lay helplessly,
Waiting for my flipping Will to be read out.
Signed fate...
©tiana...😭
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
///
You are wandering in an endless loop
not yet escaped, though there is a centrifugal force
your heart has grown solid and blood crystalline
the known earth is becoming rearrange,
who loved whom and where everybody has gone!
The little gray spot has grown black
devouring the heart and stone!
a foot print exists on a black shale,
what has it meant that you count or not!
the soul is whispering in the life and rock
But the attraction of gravity is growing
and who has made this life and love?
how the river flows toward the sea!
and how your face has grown shrink that I see!
how the days sleep within the nights!
The loop is too tight to break
the season changes over and being
the red roses, the red roses have grown wither
your summer is now my winter,
though both we have seen that the dry leaves have flown away
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Snapshots
by Michael R. Burch
Here I scrawl extravagant rainbows.
And there you go, skipping your way to school.
And here we are, drifting apart
like untethered balloons.
Here I am, creating "art,"
chanting in shadows,
pale as the crinoline moon,
ignoring your face.
There you go,
in diaphanous lace,
making another man’s heart swoon.
Suddenly, unthinkably, here he is,
taking my place.
Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Centrifugal Eye, Poetry Webring, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: snapshot, picture, photograph, photo, album, memory, keepsake, remembrance, token, memento, art, replacement
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 12:12 AM UTC
The terms (bridge, shoring, wall, critical flow, centrifugal pump, lintels and neutral axis ) used in this poem are some basic terms that every civil engineering student should know. Be creative while you study!
Inspired from a civil engineering book.
—————————————————
“Here I write
From the core of my heart
For no other than but you my love.
Like a bridge,
You're carrying my paths over every obstacle,
You're the one you've made my life stable.
Like a shoring,
You've strengthened me when I was shattered
You've done so well to me and that mattered.
Like a wall,
You've been so defensive.
You've offered me the best of the best relationships.
Like a critical flow,
My love for you is deepened,
You've left an impression which is permanent.
Like a centrifugal pump,
You've allowed my feelings to gel up perfectly in me,
You've made me feel beautiful and free.
Like lintels,
You've provided me with the required way
You've shown me the places where I can grow and play.
Over and above,
You've become the critical neutral axis of my life,
Let's stay together and celebrate life."
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
“Oh hell yea, they’re suffering! They’re believing that they can go home, but aren’t getting any closer to the Entropoid Valley which leads to Kubla Khan, by whom they were cremated and born. Instead, they’re here, whiling away their days for boys who are bringing the death of days.”
“Hold your thoughts, lad!” Yells the Cameraman of the Head.
“I’m here, I’m in your head ImhereImhereImThere. You’ve no right to chastise the boys who have not kissed the horror. They’ve seen it, yes. But they haven’t captured it, you see. I am the camera, in my ribs are the film reels, the oscilloscope in my uvula, the trigger rested in my right earlobe. I tell you, there is strength in their brutality, I can bring you the tribal taste.”
“Man, we was just talking about centrifugal farce.”
“Centripetal.”
“No, was it?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Hey! I believe-“
“Can’t be”
“Shan’t be”
“Oh, whatever. Those bullets find their way to the ***** anyhow.”
“Anywho.”
“Hey, grab your Coca Cola, Clean. We’re ‘bout to miss the show. The cameraguy could record it if he wants.”
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC