"cone" poems
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.
If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.
Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.
If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
my blood
is like honey on bones
it drips down
like an ice cream cone
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
You shine so bright,
Blessing us with your light,
Around the sun so insignificant,
As he shadows your magnificence,
But night will cone with no electricity,
And people will flock to the city,
Begging you to flicker for them please,
But you're not at ease,
Because of the times you were forgotten in the dark,
When people didn't notice your spark,
You don't need them they need you,
Until the moon kills your mood as she replaces you.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Icecream!
Vanilla, strawberry, pistachio, chocolate, mango, orange whatever flavour,
Must have icecream,
Icecream in a tub,
Icecream in a cone,
Icecream in a cup
Icecream in a bowl,
Icecream in a spoon,
Lick them all.
Icecream in the morning,
Icecream in the afternoon,
Icecream in the evening,
Icecream at night and in the middle of the night.
"Give me a break baby,"says daddy.
18/9/2020
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 8:20 AM UTC
Out the window I saw a cat
In a bat.
Out the window I saw a man
With a can.
Out the window I saw a phone
On a cone
Out th window I saw a guy
Who lied.
Out the window I saw a dog
On a log.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Abandoned on the side walk.
Melting-
Drips slide down
Like the tears
On that poor kid's face.
Funny
How all of his problems
Boil down
To an ice cream cone
Abandoned on the side walk.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
Passages on Fatherhood
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
He is my treasure,
and by his happiness I measure
my own worth.
Four years old,
with diamonds and gold
bejeweled in his soul.
His cherubic beauty
is felicity
to simplicity and passion—
for a baseball thrown
or an ice-cream cone
or eggshell-blue skies.
...
It’s hard to be “wise”
when the years
career through our lives
and bees in their hives
test faith
and belief
while Time, the great thief,
with each falling leaf
foreshadows grief.
The wisdom of the ages
and prophets and mages
and doddering sages
is useless
unless
it encompasses this:
his kiss.
Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
the tiles that encompass me
are falling like dominos
this is blackness at its zenith and
I have a coneful
lucky me
it’s like the summer of ‘96
all over again
and my friend’s dad jumped
in front of a coal train
we ate ice cream that day
in the dank Minnesotan heat
everyone was dripping
the mosquitoes were flocking in
green cloud
*ignite
flame
ignite*
and the crunch of bones
like this water falling on my shoulders
*wash
wash
again*
the sticky syrup from my chin and
poor Dane’s pants smell and there is
**** pooling at his ankles
enjoy this chocolate-dipped cone
or possibly this one with
patriotic sprinkles
no
I think I’ll pass
I’m watching my ten-year-old figure
you see this paunch?
it is my heart
it is so fat and ugly
take it from me, god
enjoy it on top of your
sundae
I always looked better red-chested
anyway
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
I thought
I was
not just another guy
until I saw you
at the ice cream
getting a double dip
ice cream cone
with him.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
Tired of the ways of men
Desperately I turned toward nature
I watched a butterfly ascend
Yet I'm a different nomenclature
Of a solemn glacier
Standing on my own
In an arctic cone
Not protected by the ozone
So I search for a new home
But can only find loans
My venture for my own real estate
Exposed me to the realest hate
I'm the roaming gnome
With a groaning tone
All alone
With a roaming phone
So I can't call home
My will I leave
When still I see
A killer bee
Filling me
Willingly
Its invasion's
Abrasions
Left a sensation
With a duration
Of unending inflation
On a descending station
Of no impending relation
I felt the nature
Of a desolate crater
When I met a great hater
Who told me to get straighter
So I could be a steel freighter
Carrying my load on my back
Without polluting the air
I decided to cut him some slack
Forgiving his impossible dare
I must gather grace
At a faster pace
To finish this race
Of a top notch
Hot crotch
Stopwatch
Ticking down
Into the ground
Without a sound
Or warning
Of acid rain forming
Until I see myself melting
From the savage belting
Of your death sting
You called the best thing
Like a divine blessing
Only seen after **********
Like a politician deflecting
For the constituents electing
To forego dissecting
The issue at hand
By not taking a stand
My world is crumbling
Because of you
And myself stumbling
In society's glue
As the sky is tumbling
I see I'll lose
Yet instead of rumbling
It's love I choose
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Pastel paint down a gridded terrain,
square indentation in a porous grain,
snow atop the mountain melts away,
floods the chasm to crumble today,
gone in a flash, its been known,
short-lived is my ice cream cone.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 2:36 AM UTC
I
The successive suns of summers
swim in me like a balcony of heat
I glow with the sol of sols
the pine cone of lava that
makes my cheeks full, white
the sun-drop of diamonds
have petrified in my heart
and I am creation rushing down
ii
On all that is below, these stars
know me and I among them
we are like water in water
ocean creatures of great adventure
vertigoes of light, layers of softness
suns of paradise, legends of golden noons
revolutions of princely sunspots
cliff of mortality, planets revolving
iii
Around a center, galaxies revolving
around a black-hole that was once
a great sun, time has pink candle-like veins
but she knows the sun, the sparkling rocks
the matter and energy of our destinies
caught up in a seabed of lights
the successive suns of summers
swim in me like an ode to sun-religions
iv
but I am here, drinking sun-wine
in the surreal view of full eyes
with a body of silver for the kaleidoscope
and a naked face dismantled by another eclipse
another wonder, another design of day.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Fear hurts.
No matter how happy I am, there is always fear.
When it’s dark at night, there is fear.
Fear crawls underneath the blanket with your beating heart.
When you eat an ice cream cone, there is fear.
Fear slides onto your tongue, along with the sweet, frozen cream, and makes its way down your throat.
When you squeeze a pillow, fear will be there,
refusing to exit your mind.
Fear, why won’t you exit my mind?
It never leaves me..
But fear is what keeps you going everyday.
When you climb a great pine tree,
you feel glad, happy, strong, though never fearless
for fear’s there lurking in the needles right there with you.
When the sweetest pitbull licks your face with it’s oh so soft tongue,
you fear that it will leave you.
When your phone rings,
you fear of who it is.
Fear makes me fearless
When you play, you still fear.
You don’t even know what you fear but
fear is everywhere.
It doesn’t make sense.
Fear doesn’t make sense.
Fear is fear.
When fear comes along
Fear is your best friend
Fear makes me dance.
When you love something,
you fear that it will go away.
You fear of yourself.
You fear of the world.
Fear comes to make life harder,
to make you sad,
to make you scared,
but your heart is full of joy so you just sit at the kitchen table,
eating donuts with a side of fear.
You may love fear, you drink it like it’s coffee,
but you hate fear even more.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
I'm going to ask myself a question
I can do that, you know
Alright, here we go
What is happiness?
Oh well, let me think about that one
Happiness is...
Ah, I know!
Happiness is you and me
Happiness is being free
Happiness is a summer breeze
Happiness is the sun through the leaves
Happiness is ice cream cone and tater tots
Happiness is daffodils and forget-me-nots
Happiness is a well aged book
Happiness is every picture took
Happiness is how we cope
Happiness is how we fight
Happiness is an eternal strength
Happiness is what is right
In short,
Happiness is you
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
Beside his heavy-shouldered team
thirsty with drought and chilled with rain,
he weathered all the striding years
till they ran widdershins in his brain:
Till the long solitary tracks
etched deeper with each lurching load
were populous before his eyes,
and fiends and angels used his road.
All the long straining journey grew
a mad apocalyptic dream,
and he old Moses, and the slaves
his suffering and stubborn team.
Then in his evening camp beneath
the half-light pillars of the trees
he filled the steepled cone of night
with shouted prayers and prophecies.
While past the campfire's crimson ring
the star struck darkness cupped him round.
and centuries of cattle-bells
rang with their sweet uneasy sound.
Grass is across the wagon-tracks,
and plough strikes bone beneath the grass,
and vineyards cover all the slopes
where the dead teams were used to pass.
O vine, grow close upon that bone
and hold it with your rooted hand.
The prophet Moses feeds the grape,
and fruitful is the Promised Land.
4.6k
The little boy stood, with cone in hand. The ice cream on the ground.
The tears welled up in his eyes, as people stood around.
Tears fell like rain, his heart was breaking, he didn’t know what to do.
Then through the tears, saw grandpa kneeling… Saying, “Grandpa’s here for you.”
Grandpa said to the ice cream man “Another ice cream please.”
“Stack it high and pack it tight.” “We’ve got things to do and see.”
The little boy melted into his arms The sorrow turned to joy.
When grandpa’s near, all is better For grandpa’s little boy.
Oh, grandpa loves you Tony Boy Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find me waiting there.
I’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get there .
The little boy grew to a fine young man. The time went by so fast.
He learned of things not of this world. The things that will always last.
You could see grandpa and the young man, Walking side by side through life.
When things got tough they called on Him, To help them through the strife.
Oh, grandpa loves you Tony Boy Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find me waiting there.
I’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get there .
The young man cried when grandpa died. As they lowered him in the ground.
Tears welled up, in his eyes As people stood around.
Tears fell like rain, his heart was breaking. He knew just what to do.
So he looked up high to see the Father And heard “Grandpa’s here for you.”
Your, grandpa loves you Tony Boy Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Me I will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. You will find him waiting here.
He’ll be by the ice cream stand a waiting Just for you to get here
Oh, grandpa loves you Tony Boy Forever and always.
When things get tough, call on Him He will lead you through the maze.
When you get to Heaven, many years from now. Your will find me waiting here.
I’ll be kneeling right next to Jesus While I’m waiting for you to get here.
Good night sweet Prince. See you in the morning.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 10:25 PM UTC
Lick me
like an ice cream cone
Catch
my dribbled form
with your tongue
Bite
into my bones
Hear
that satisfying crunch
Savor
my sweetness
****
the sticky taste
from your fingers
Devour me,
your prey
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
We used to go down by the old dock
To wait for the boats to pass by
In Amsterdam's last nook
With our old hand gloves
That kept the last inch of our old selves attached to our bodies
And the air was fresh
Filling our lungs with aromatic daytime
The buildings leaped out of the river
Making the horizon line a thin slip above us
And we came alone
To Amsterdam
To the handsome port here
Just to get some chips in a cone
In the Afternoon when the fog had gone and the cold had warmed
We went for a long walk
Just on our own
Through the city
Along the Canals
My lord It was beautiful to see it all so clearly
The floating tops of great cathedrals
And slanted open top house boats
We even rented out bikes
Saw the streets by night
Felt the chilly winds return
But in bed felt the warm ironed sheets beneath us
And we came once a year
To Amsterdam
To The constricted Canals
Just to get some chips in a Cone
But we did go home of course
Well you did
I though, never left those days we spent
In the golden light of the canal-side winter markets
You moved on and called it a thing that we used to do when we were young
When we had more time than sense
I still remember it as if it was yesterday
Us in a peddle boat
Passing the Frank's old place
With that love of the past
And of just silence
And we came with each other
To Amsterdam
To the storm of riverside cyclists
Just to get some chips in a cone
I'll never forget them
Those chips in a cone we had
At least seven times a trip
We'd go up to the stand by the canal
And not worry about our health for once
This was more important
It was the chips in a cone that brought us together
And the taste of such a simple thing still makes me smile
I remember the last and final time we went
Just before we had our first son
It was the night before we left
And I went up to the woman in the chip in a cone stand
One more order
One last chips in a cone
It was all I had come for
So simple but such a milestone
The end to my youth
And we left with each other
From Amsterdam
With a lot more than we brought
Forgetting to finish our chips in a cone
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
next to my cup of hot bitter coffee
my bowl has a cone
an avalanche of heartache cereals
that is about to fall...
a plate of
peppered uncertainties omelet
beckons to be gulped and wiped out....
but, alas, i feel already stuffed
i can no longer swallow...
-----------
i decided to skip breakfast....
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
Hello again my piece of poo.
Sing your praises again I'll do.
You come in such a wide variety.
Your appearance sometimes surprises me.
Sometimes you plop like it just doesn't matter.
Other times you squirt and the whole bowl splatter.
Sometimes your color is a changing scheme.
Starting brown, ending tan and green.
At times you look like a soft serve cone.
At others like a log floating all alone.
Appearing as an island in the middle of my bowl.
Or like chocolate soup or a weird creole.
Sometimes you can tell what I had to eat.
Like corn or peanuts or some salad with some meat.
You are truly amazing, my precious piece of poo.
And again I say "Thank you for just being you!"
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
The splendour of glory,
Stretched beauty
Across the universe
That none could reverse.
Naturally occuring lights that leave any human mind in awe,
They're called auroras;that's not all..
Big is beautiful!when you take a look at these huge sights of divinity,
So gigantic they look like they've existed for infinity,
Located in Asia is the mount Everest,
King of the forest.
And in America;the Grand Canyon,
So grand I'd spell it in lights of neon.
The great barrier reef found in the Coral sea of Australias north eastern coast is so beautiful,
Naturally created by living organisms,its so beyond cool
More like the view of the Rio De Janeiro Harbour,
Another great sight to remember.
Talk of the beautiful,ever flowing and rainbowed Victoria falls,
How to fully describe it,only God knows,
Its location has brought its proud owners Zambia and Zimbabwe to unification,
Indeed its a great destination.
Sometimes flamey and always beautiful is the Paricutin a cinder cone volcano,
Located in Mexico.
As beautiful as they all are,
You're a better star
In the eyes of our creator.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
oh
let
me be
your sweet
ice cream cone
that
you have
always wanted
on your own
and
not melted
in
your sweet hands
but
melted in your heart
with love
because
i want
to be
the man
to marry you
that
same
ice cream cone
with
all the
colorful sprinkles
that
melted in your
sweet hands
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC