"chim" poems
quanta is better understood outside of physics,
on a grander scale -
quantum is a quality suggestion that
makes two (to, too) things auto-suggestive
as pertaining in the matter -
never mind - take the concept of quanta
out of physics and you get
a man readying himself for a controlled
coma having his wisdom teeth removed,
with the anaesθetician asking about
the readers' digest, the patient replying
quo vadis? / dokąd idziesz? then
the great sleep plateau - 'where are you going?'
puts any man off, whether boxer,
or paediatrician - ****** lays dead floored
for a minute, plays the dog game: play dead,
tongue hanging ready for a guillotine.
CHOP! and there goes the tail of a Doberman
(jamnik / dachshund on stilts)
and a ρoττł-
y
woo woo woo chim chimney
cha cha cha ooh
the rotting wail - rottweiler -
-ειλερ;
you never mention the u with the v due to
the chisel ease, then again, you don't
say double-o'h but say double u -
too shay frowning at a shave;
****** i'll make your language my playground
given all these post-colonial ***** aiming
for a signature and credentials,
this **** could pass the London brigade,
but take it to York, it would be a massacre
of a bureaucratic lapse of credentials...
a viking invasion more-or-less;
oh **** quantum physics, Charles Dickens
and the Victorian Era - Jack the Ripper the antonym,
both are the desired cages of energy requiring expression
to make testimony that such an age existed,
a particular congregate of expression, never universal,
boxes and pockets, however much inside one
is a question of your dietary requirement,
quantum physics is better explained with history
than hard science, and atoms, or the craze of subs,
people need a bigger picture, not everyone own
a ******* microscope or a telescope,
teach quantum physics using history:
Philippe Augustus of France mattered,
at the Battle of Bouvines - Otto IV? not so much.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Sometimes we are made aware of beacons in the rest of the dark.
Like stars littered across the attics we trap ourselves in.
Sometimes we chase rainbows with beggars eyes and wishes like children.
Some people are like soup soaked bread crumbs and wool mittens with the fingers cut out.
The rest of us are chimney soot.
And they are ‘chim chim cheree‘.
They are song filling every corner of the antique shop.
Silver under tarnish and weights and measures
balancing on the hands of the scale
suspended from the spear of a woman in white robes
with blue eyes that match the sky when we stare at it
and it usurps the corners of our eyes
and we are made aware of how small we are
as we get lost in how complete it is when it is with out clouds
with silver linings that never seem to follow through to rain.
And some of us?
Some of us are rain.
And thunder that shakes your soul.
And images of gods in black and white that burn themselves onto our minds
for us to study with our eyes closed.
And some of us are doing the best we can.
And some of us are not us.
But are the others.
And we would be lost without them
to point beyond red sails on sundown ocean horizons,
just before the world turns blue.
And some are the pops and cracks between the notes of Coltrane on Vinyl.
And you.
You smell of confessional walls and a nursery.
You smell of camp fire blankets and bruised roses.
You move like corner of the eye shadows
and windshield wipers with no chance of beating the rain.
You write like stone tablets and feathers.
Blown bubbles and spun webs.
And you feel like chance.
And love.
And strength.
You change like ropes on ship decks and tarot meanings from gypsy to gypsy.
And you are beautiful.
And beautiful.
And beautiful.
And everything.
And everything.
And everything.
Strong like ropes on yard arms of old ships in ancient seas.
And you go and you take us there.
And we go, because we want to see too.
And we want to be full on wild flowers and raspberries.
And we want you to show us the line on our palm
that separates the dark from the light.
And we want bed time stories and lullabies.
And with my eyes.
And with your own too.
And more importantly.
You.
You are the place where there is hardly no day time and hardly night. Things half in shadow and things half in light. On the roof tops of forever. Coo. What a sight…
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
Santa came to our house, down the chim-a-ney,
Leaving presents all around, he didn't forget me.
I am just a poor boy, other children laugh at me,
Saying Santa won't go to your house,
Because you haven't a Christmas Tree.
Mom and Dad say that's not true, wait and you will see,
No matter if your rich or poor, Santa he can see.
Children from the mountains and children by the sea,
At Christmas time there all the same, just like you and me.
Santa came to our house, down the chim-a-ney,
Leaving presents all around he didn't forget me.
I may be a poor boy, but I'm as rich as I can be,
Because Santa came to our house, he didn't forget me.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Chim chimery,
Chim chimery,
Chim chim cheroo,
My ***** gets hard when I'm taking a poo.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
as someone once said (žižek - sharpened gee for the ž,
i.e. gee jee zee assembled together, somehow,
like je suis, kinda, almost, but higher tier of g,
more like jay-z, but in one unit - in polish simpler: ź),
'why be happy when you can be interesting?'
fair enough, but premature
depression just isn't on,
i don't get that after mankind's
darkest hour (the holocaust),
the light ought to be sadness in
youth, and not natural sadness
in old age, when everything has
been achieved...
my neighbour is burning tires
as i speak, or some other rubber /
if not some plastic... i don't get it...
why would depression attack youth?
i guess because old age cannot
succumb to melancholy but instead
dementia... and since old age
can't succumb to depression it must succumb
to something, leaving a gap, allowing
depression to creep up and curse youth.
it's still odd for me to trust people who
don't enjoy thinking like music, and music like
breathing.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC