"centrum" poems
"...Ut si globi duo ad datam ab invicem distantiam filo intercedente connexi, revolverentur ur circa commune gravitatis centrum..."
D. Isaaci Newtoni.
From the level of the sea with its worlds of similarity and wonders of nature attracting beautiful birds, these ships fled to find the swirl reaching through to the floor. The ocean bed was dampened with the tears seen by the floating machine.
{ [ ( r - 3 ) d d u d t t ( f ) x ] / [ ( x , P ) ] } =
tau pi g ( y ; hyp N , par Z ) d w d x .
Observation created a self reflection, whereby the cosmic engineers projected the video like winds from outer forests. Engines became magical reverberation arising, if a correct answer could be presented to exist, as quality persistence like pieces of candy. Glittering, colored fragments of glass were scattered along the shore, they all liked as much as they admired the inventor.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
SPORT'N SPICY stod der i SMS'en, SPORT'N SPICY blev hendes mål.
*** smurte rød læbestift på sine sprukne læber,
og strøg mascara-børsten på korte lyse vipper.
Strøg de lange spaltede spidser tilbage med kammen,
og skjulte strækmærkernes historier med Bio Oil.
*** Opstrammede bækkenbunden med knibeøvelser.
Trak i åleslanke dybblå netstrømpebukser,
Så kurverne blev fremhævet og alderen blev glemt
Alt sammen for én aften på madklubben.
Med en latterlig fyr, fra midten af Centrum.
Som kun ville lege.
med følelser og sexlegetøj.
Ikke far-mor-og-børn
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
The days when I met you had been 5 nights,
Seeing all stars and sun moves,
I tilted around your centrum,
Forcing me to get dragged down by your gravity,
Leaving me spinning around your orbit.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Adding minutes to a lifetime (saying magic words)
**”And you, dear poet, friend of many years,
have given me so many inspirations, birthed within
us words,so oft, and so well, that your pithy observations,
manufacture time, add minutes to lifetimes**”
<>
wrote these words without thinking,
they’re sweet and neat, trivial but incomplete
but upon rear mirror review, Mr Poet
re-thinks, perhaps deserved of another serving,
curvy white, soft-to-the-lips, a moist vanilla kiss,
excellent ice cream in a sugar cone, words irresistible
for the sweetest poem sparks multi-coloration-explosion
of sprinkles ‘pon a skin’s surface,
uprisings of what lurks in the centrum of your
embodied universe and disembodied soul,
shockingly uprising from an internal fulcrum,
sea~tossed flotsam of a jagged life, now, all recovered
words sprinkling, beach treasures, and yet,
adding minutes to a lifetime…
*reliving old reels, is time recaptured, creating a
certain robust additive to thine cranking and
cranky engine, that’s logged much more than
a picayune hundred thousand miles on a voyage
of e i g h t decades, you employ ten fingers to
calculate your fugue of multi-voiced numerations!*
*can it be? it cannot be! millions upon millions of
minutes, possess and passed, yet highlight feature
films, enabling reliving so real that by watching,
seeing, believing, re-reading it is as if one is earning
life extensions…*adding minutes to a lifetime…
*‘tis true, rereading every small scrip, every poem,
returns one to prior-places, each a datum,
a particular spot, a point upon a schema of integrity & integration,
that rule the visions, a message of individualism
in the largest context of a true vision(arie)*
“chacun un point dans une peinture pointilliste…”
“each a point within a pointillistic painting…”
*in a few years, a stumbling upon shall here return me here,
and I will smile with great gratitude for the life extended,
accepting with gratitude,*
these few seconds, a last lasting chance,
to say some magic words
with a great vanilla whispering
adding minutes to you life as well
nml
May 7, 2024
May 7, 2024 at 3:56 PM UTC
Tager toget den forkerte vej
så vi kan snakke syv minutter mere
men du er en snyder
og pludselig står jeg i centrum
bliver et lille bymenneske
der køber mad og kaffe
jeg gemmer mig
blandt byens ansigter
kører over langebro i bus
aftensolen er min svaghed
jeg ønkser at bussen vil blive ved
med at køre
skrive
føre mig
men med et skal jeg af
og jeg er efterlandt med mindet
om de syv lange sekunder
du fastholde mit blik
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
får du kolde fødder? sikke et varmt hjerte
indvendig blæst, hul
rusker bladende af træerne,
efterladt på gaderne
tomme, snørklede blodårer leder til et støvet midtpunkt; centrum
forladt, drænet for mennesker, for energi
overgangen til vinter, livsløst, koldt, nøgne træer
cementen med mærker fra alle fodgængere; alle dem, du omgås
sætter præg på dig
som en krakeleret glasrude, der kun
mangler ét prik
for at brase sammen
så alle omkring vinduet kan skære sig på fragmenterne, mindes
dit sammenbrud
din modtagelighed
skrøbelig
årstiden reflekterer dit kollaps
min næsetip fryser og jeg mindes din konstant kolde tilstand
at gå gennem en kold og ensom gade
november kommer, dernæst de koldeste måneder
må hellere skaffe en vinterjakke
og håbe på forår
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Hvordan kan det være at jeg kaster mit lys på andre
Men jeg bringer ikke liv
Jeg dræber kæledyr og bryder forhold
Rundt rundt rundt,
Men jeg er der bare.
Det er umuligt for mig at bringe uheld
Men det samme gælder når jeg skal trøste nogen
Eller bare kunne se andre som personer
Rundt rundt rundt,
Og jeg er der bare
Hvorfor har jeg det som om at jeg er solen
At alle planeter snurrer rundt om mig
Jeg sidder bare og ser andre gå
Rundt rundt rundt,
Og jeg er der bare.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Som natten dog buldre i mørket.
Gadelygternes eneste funktion er at skabe kontrast mellem mørke og MØRKE.
Mere og mere mørkt bliver der, jo lysere lys der skæres igennem på fortovskanten midt inde i centrum af ingenting.
Minusgraderne flår mit hjerte ud af takt
med det formål at imødekomme en hjerteskærende blindgyde, for ikke at pointere mit tankevækkende opspind, der danner grund nok til at elske mindre.
En brustensbarriere, og en mur af sten og cement, bygges i mellem min uvirkelige virkelighed, blot et sort hul som rummer natten, stilheden, mørket og kærligheden.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 6:47 PM UTC
Life’s all phases are boredom
Except the youth – the handsome.
The only stage full of chasm
Is none than of Soldier’s column.
Here we are full of sound strum
Which separate us from ****
Our experience is a bit bantam;
Diminutive are we as an atom;
Teensy proficiency takes us bottom;
But Youth is centre of centrum
Centrum – the stages of life’s sum.
Hence, live ye youth with drum
And play a happy music album.
Youth is overwhelmingly awesome
So don’t be like a lamb dumb;
To live like a lively bird, come.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
A tear
as sparrows
rite of
song only
begotten in
flight mode
to clutch
here coins
in van
their duet
with mere
delight upon
their limb
in coverlet
twill alight
centrum again
indeed tonight.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC