"configurations" poems
**Of all known phenomena
Birth is the most wondrous
And the most miraculous
In the assortment of life’s stunners
So you always are a miracle
One readily celebrated each year
As the sparkle of your smile
Dazzles the world
Like sunshine after a dark tunnel
And the fire in your eyes is a smelter
To melt iced hearts and smelt rock faces
So dance maestro dance
And never once forget the choreography
Of the poetry in your fervent heart
Where hopes and dreams are a lovely duet
Happy birthday mover of the spirit
You who creates joy in moments of magic
When configurations of rainbow futures coax your heart
To beat intricate rhythms from life’s score sheet
Happy birthday to you, child from eternal vistas
Let your dreams carry you forward to fruition
Till life is oozing and dripping with honeyed dew
And each early morning walk is capped with shower bliss
And that promise of tomorrow and the day after the feat
Of never giving up on the business of living, no matter what
Happy birthday to you; you of stardust and moon glow**
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
~
*the peculiar sound of morning
during the long, boarded-up winter,
resonating through a cistern
set apart by thin waves
of decaying reservoir
a hint of canticle
in the unfounded wind,
impossible to ignore,
a series of collapsing oppositions
like interior and exterior,
self and other, the momentum
conveys the sublimity of being,
immersed in an unfathomable vastness,
of being part of an indivisible whole
a repeated glitch in the system,
our forever changing
constellation of feelings
and backward configurations,
slipping into a stream,
where the water precedes us,
and it will outlast us
we don't so much carry life
as allow ourselves to be carried
along by it, swept up in its current
for a little while*
~
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 2:39 PM UTC
Apon tha roll O' tha pagan's dream
As it leaps an' boun's apon tha mental stream
Flowing doon intae tha cordons o' solitaire
Near tha brigs O' tha banks O' Bonnie Ayr.
Tha whispering Hazel catches huld tha tune
Echoing tha mysteries a' tha wae tae Troon
As a glimmer O' lichtning crosses tha Sky
He, tha ancient an' grand Wizard stoans apon Carrick high.
Configurations an' transformations by god
Far ayond tha concepts o' tha blunnering sod
Catch hold Lad tha spirit as it flees past ye
Heading oot taewards Arran across tha sea.
Does no tha Seagull scream tae enchant tha ******
an' the win' blaws like some evil melody played by a Demon
An' dinnie wait tae lang tae grasp tha chain
O' life's faithful given, tha Barley, Wheat an' Grain.
But come see tha Mither apon her Earth filled seat
As tae tha wonnerous farmer She bows tae Greet
That apon tha Seasons O' echoed fate they may come tae restore
Tha True religion O' this land, O' this flaming shore.
Nue listen an' be quite till pass a' hoors break
an' bin' ye thagither tha dreams an' thouchts that ye take
an' cast it a' apon tha Fires O' Beltanes torch
Tae watch as tha flames reach higher an' higher, tha heevens tae scorch.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 1:45 PM UTC
I confront my prejudice
How will the girls in my script look?
I admit, I expect them to all be Disney Perfect
But that goes against my values
I know the damage perfect does
There is no perfect, there is only diversity
How can one genetic look always outshine the others?
Tall, thin, blonde with large breasts. Long legs and arms. Size 0.
No, there is beauty in difference
and it can be put on film
not as a side show, but the main attraction
I learned from my mother
Beauty is a mirage
An eternal struggle of pain
of hunger, the knife, the self hatred
that is never attained
A petite Scottish woman, medium *****
a dancer with a beautiful body and face
and a slasher for an inner voice, striking her at every move
It's in me, too
I learned the lessons of beauty as I learned Calculus in my high school texts
This is the formula, this is the way it is
The proof is it is all around us in the media
Body very thin, ******* very large
Size 0 without ribs, and hip bones and shoulder bones sticking out
How the stylists repel when they see that evidence of starvation
And large, engorged ******* ready to feed an army of babies
"nature doesn't make women like that" commented a model
before she had "augmentation"
If I am to create this world, my story
I must confront myself
I must accept my form, and its history
A body never born to be size 0
without ribs or bones showing
or six feet tall
or small *****
or large breasted without extra flesh everywhere
A body scarred by the affects of poverty
worry, and struggle
A resilient body, a strong body
and one that does not fit the mold
of "beauty" and never did
but at the same time, is beautiful
but not in the accepted form
like my mother
If I don't accept myself
if I can't look at myself and say this is OK
This is who I am and it is just fine
How will I accept it in my characters?
How will I look beyond appearance to the soul?
You don't make a good story with models
That is a fashion show
You make a good story with people who are unique
with their own configurations and unique qualities
even in their flesh
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
*A bittersweet mixture of agony and ecstasy
Found in the lone voice of a piano
Painting colours in harmony
That leave my senses reeling
Flying through the air like an arrow
Shot from cupids bow
An electric arc in the atmosphere
Piercing my soul with forgotten longing
Balancing in timeless beauty
Pirouetting chiffon billows elegantly through the notes
Defying gravity
Suspended in animation
Music that compels my body into
Configurations that delight and thrill my perceptions
An exquisite pain of my own making
I lose myself in abstractions
Octaves fluidly creating shapes
Resembling cursive script
The author of symmetry
I hover on the edge of a lost dream .....
I once stood on my toes
Until the day
Fate took it from me*
(C) Pixievic 2016
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
I feel it arising
that deep down inside feel
my eyes clear
the pages open
the words flow
arrange theirselves
in certain
configurations
and the paper
takes it all
like a lover you
met
long ago
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix. Beyond time displacement, space and spaceships beyond the reach of human contemplation.
I battled evil spirits when temperatures were frigid with no mittens crossed wooden bridges over rivers just so these words can be delivered.
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix beyond time displacement beyond the oasis for nothing is complete without every piece.
who's receptive to this message? The tree of life provided me the weapon inside the zodiac divided in sections, categorizing five elements if i wrote this backwards you will still understand my penmanship *****
Lets show them what I see, the letter C, the sea of tranquility, Yemeja proof read this read for me.
Pardon me but i must beacon your attention for more then 10 seconds, this effective mass burial method is so well measured. She calls it the ocean.
I started the trends must I show you again? Normal configurations are dismembered and disconnected self execution methods occur after dawn but before breakfast.
Blood red moon.
Lilith said death is the adjustment to her mood.
Timeless writes rereading keeps you updated destroying frustration **** your favorite this is not a statement but a vibration for those are who are lost but made it..
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
The first moment
Was divided by the total mass
The center of..
The moment of inertia
Rigid in body
How much more torque
Will turn this rotations
Secondary
In a moment
Notice the rotational axis
Of the earths fastest acceleration
Mass times the square
Of the perpendicular distance
To the rotation of our sphere
Can anyone else hear
Could anyone else here
Understand the scalar magnitude
Of a poets Newtonian mechanics
And the motion of macroscopic objects
Circling his metaphors
If the present state of an object is known
It is possible to predict by the laws
Of classical mechanics
How it will move
The spherical harmonics
Are a set of orthogonal functions
Yet periodic functions composed of sinusoids
Is the assumption of weighted summation
Discrete time fourier transformation
In relation to a quills synthesizing rotation
Is the explanation I'm trying to relate in
What do you think I'm saying
Need I explore the atomic orbital electron configurations
Their representation of gravitational fields geoids
Fiber reconstruction for estimation
of the path and location
Of a poems explanation
For the spin of its formation
Is just a calculation
Differing in interpretation
By the readers relation
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
An iridescent celestial being
Anarchic yet effervescent adolescent
Frolicking freely in the omnipresent forest,
Like a breeze through the leaves.
Barefoot & star gazing — native & trail blazing.
Like a clever, fearless fairy exploring the faraway night sky,
I am the fantastic bit of magic on an otherwise static planet.
Bewitched by wild wonderment;
Coloring my life with the chaos of pathos.
I am the captain of passion, & best little hippie
On the mountain — formed by a volcanic fountain
That caused a panic on our little oceanic planet.
Dancing in multidimensional secrecy,
Past an unattainable horizon
Is where you'll find me — on the Big Island in the sea.
It is a true treasures
With impeccable weather & such mystic characteristic,
It's almost unrealistic.
So forget your whimsey Hawaii five-O fantasy
Tear a hole right through the sky
Arise, & fly with me on a real odyssey
Across the mesmerizing island
Teeming with undreamed of creatures
& seemingly endless saffron sand beaches
few have ever been
up to the
Vermilion rainbow plateaus
& sacred volcano summits
Amidst cascading honey suckled waterfalls
& streams of splendiferous wildflower meadows.
We can indulge in thousands of hues of bloom
Or retreat, once more to the oasis at the shore,
To stand hand in hand before the prevailing trends
Of a turning world; scattering brightness in the dark
Fledge millennium into an unadulterated oblivion.
Enveloping what is suspend in time
with a colour compass configurations
The universe, nearly legible expresses herself
Writing constellational scribe
elucidating galaxy.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
I was so beautiful to them,
they always relished
in the sweet-place I loved,
sacred & delicious.
I licked the dew off lotus petals
& they yelled to god,
actually screamed my name
in reverance,
talked about love
& the way I moved my tongue,
used my body in such
wonderful configurations,
meant to meet their wanton demands.
I was beautiful to them at least once,
but what white lies they did speak,
and sadly I'm a sucker,
a fall guy for liars,
who lie underneath,
spread themselves all over,
like smooth creamy butter.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Moirai
sits
with
the
cat's
cradle
of your
life
in
her
supple
hands
and
never
still
fingers
she
threads
kismet
karma
fortune
and
potluck
into
wonderous
configurations
and in
order
to
keep
the
threads
pliable
yielding
and
graceful
she
dips
them
in
puddles
and
oceans
of...
lust
laughter
love
joy
hope
and
sorrow
fear
anger
and
everyday
madness
all
of
life's
fibres
and
oils
scents
and
tastes
mingled
together
deftly
worked
and
reworked
as she
deems
fit
and
in
this
thread
a
knot
that
joins
birth
and
death
Moirai
sits
forever
patient
and
twiddling
until
knot
is
let
unravel
and
you
are
left
to
hang
dangling
at the
end
of
fate's
frayed
and
ever
fraying
thread.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
My boat is broken.
Pieced together from shipwrecks I've caused
Pieced together with the wretched lives I've taken.
Ancient decrepit wood
nailed on in disjointed configurations.
Puzzle pieces that don't quite fit right.
My flags are tattered and torn
black, and ghostlike
barely strung together
and hanging from mangled masts.
On the bow is a twisted Stygian crow
holding an ancient quill pen
bleeding obsidian black ink into the ocean
surrounding my boat
Turning the water as black as the death I cause
The air surrounding my ship is an icy cold blue air
almost too thin and cold to breath.
I am Cap'n Ghost Lee Waters.
long black tangled beard
hollow sunken eyes rimmed with aching death.
I move in frozen desecrations and icy darkness
I move towards you with murderous intent
And soon you will be within my grip
And you will feed my ship.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
April 2, 2012.
The only thing I am capable of drawing
is a city skyline.
Anonymous configurations
buildings I've never actually seen before.
Everytime I was handed a writing utensil
and a smooth wriing surface
my hand would flow into the careful rhythm
of drawing parallel lines
some buildings were topped off with triangular party hats
others remained flat
a place for the horizion to rest upon
This started at a young age.
Somewhere between eight and twelve.
My body began to itch for a city
that was overcrowded with the heat
of dream driven bodies
A constant ticking of an alarm clock
that would never understand
the word snooze
Tonight, I am reminded of this feeling.
The worn out, drugged feeling
unsatiated with drawing the familiar pattern
A feeling I've constantly felt
but a skyline I've never seen
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
You think you can define me
Your name must be Webster
Blanket statements
I have more than one gear
Multiple settings
Complex configurations
They are not for you to
Tamper and tinker
With
They’d be simple
If you asked
They’d be simple
If I told
You assume much
Based on
No observation
No study
No inquiry
You assume much
Based on
Someone else
I continue to
Do and be
Me
While you remain confused
Surprised by my actions
Baffled by my words
Perplex by my expression
Since you won’t ask
Since you assume you already know
Ill only say
You never saw me
You only assumed you did
You never heard me
You only assumed you did
You never knew me
You only assumed you did
©Christopher F. Brown 2012
Technorati Tags: I was never here,you assumed I was,poetry,Christopher F. Brown,cfbrown.com
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
for Brendan,
because you asked me to,
I wrote a love poem for the machinery.
an ode to the efficiency,
of well scheduled maintenance.
they only hummed in response,
but I imagined it was in appreciation
so I continued,
I wrote sonnets concerning,
proper wiring configurations,
and stand alone power grids.
things that seemed important,
to things that could never feel.
they only hummed in response,
but I imagined it was in appreciation
so I continued,
I looked them over, and over again.
neat little rows of grey metal boxes
computers from the days of old.
I wanted to tell them about Sherman Alexie.
I wanted to tell them about Flannery O'Connor.
I wanted to tell them about Ray Bradbury.
Instead I cried, & tried to cut the building's power.
they only hummed in response.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Deteriorated configurations that are
neither of consecutive methods
or contorted reflections,
it's upon the eye line of those who look perplexed.
For what is slumped like tired unimportance,
is neither an inflexible road,
for nothing is
either invariable or contorted
It's just a view that each takes.
Me I'm like the reed,
both woven in a paradox
of motions.
For who sees a contortionist
that's neither of each
or the other.
Riffling upon the aspects of my decisive
displacement that catches
nither the truth or the lie.
You may catch the second,
or minute,
but beyond the mirco filaments
that linger between variable glimpse
that pass.
Is more than constructive tendrils
of a lifetime of consequential
amendments or defaming the
consequential understanding
that nothing plays by the rules..
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
The facts lay
Like dried- up leaves on
Bloodied the Earth
From every man made war
Law
Has names
But struggles
To remember
The one's they effect
I envy lust
Desire
Agression
Greed
Trust and
Self-confidence
These are vices
Of the regular man
Yet I see no need
For the big shindig
The after party
And all the dates before
Did I dream this life?
Was I brought here from sleep?
If I ***** this skin,
Will I sooner bleed or wake?
To what land then will I be transported?
Cobblestone configurations peddling
Beneath me as oars of the past once did
A father carries his son as far as He can
Until He must forget Him, so then to begin
Peace requires the blood of the worthy
The obstacles of man, the chances that God gives
Each structure needs its supports
For without, the structure will be weak
So son's and daughter's witness defeat
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
She has a keen eye,
understands the use of color,
the configurations of Asian furniture,
how candles & art look in a room.
She decorates wearing holey-leggings
& loose fitting embroidered blouses
‘cause she knows
what they do to me.
And she’s constantly
moving things around,
is visiting me in my study,
the place where the futon lies,
where we lay together
& I playfully
remove her loose-fitting attire
to quench my
own decorating ya-ya’s,
this burning heart.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
Some were born onto the shoulders of monuments
Eternal configurations pristine and untouched by the years
Whose prow waits for a map of pathways to mark their porcelain facade
Some were born onto the shoulders of crumbling statues
Preeminent figures decaying from weight of problems suppressed
Whose cracks like pathways trace maps across their surface
We were born onto the shoulders of giants
Immortal beings whose arms welcome us in
Whose wrinkles like pathways trace maps across their skin
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
We worry about the way people perceive us;
Pounding makeup into our overworked pores
Claiming the raunchy clothing makes us happy
And praying to God we don't embarrass ourselves.
It's as if societies configurations of who we are holds the immense power to truly define each and every one of us,
That their words, their intense language, controls our destiny.
Unfortunately, only you hold that power
You can opt to listen to the voices of those who wish only to see you crumble,
Or you can decide for yourself, that you will be much more than that.
Choose wisely.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
we are the wizards of this fairytale
contrived of stardust
With lunar pieces
woven into
our anatomical configurations in such a way
that it makes no other sense
than to dance
in the rain
to dance
with love
To Dance
for all its worth
until we feel father sun
kiss rainbows into our souls
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
Policies defined by the police, homosexuality, corruption by employees. Abuse of the pharmacy - Mom comes from ****** and demons of Azaz. This is the city that the dogs of Moab **** and the land; The accessories are security tools for terrorism. Homosexuality, to the doctor's particular conviction. After the outbreak of the Alhambra. The symptoms of the disease are established and paralysis begins. There are also changes in the city. Female mafia and other ****** Backup copies are protected. Such homosexuality, security device. Emergency options, algebra licenses, favorite editions, Moab city records. Local configurations to protect these devices. The dangers of homosexuality are important. Military circles won: after the wars. In the environment, cancel it. Other Country Country Country Morcha ***** and countries Country Suspicious patterns. Police, employees, prostitutes, merchants, depression, night, the devil says that wine is a city; Average gay, prostitution, prostitution and country. More security improvements. The police of this device protected the fear of homosexuality, the weakness of the faith; hospitals; The post-traumatic problems of the destruction of the devil by the Algerians. Positive changes in the cities ****** and visitors. Young mafia couple. ******* and country The police stopped to ask questions about the police. The danger of decadence, homosexuality, depends on the disease; Common drugs Post-traumatic and air-conditioned problems. Algebra, the evolution of the ********** friends and repairs; Mafia area. Country of prostitution and ****** Additional benefits for the police, homosexuality, veterans protection. Impact drugs after the alsemeera. Satanism after the event. Change of disabled and rebuilt city. Fornicadoresputo and adulterers; The police killed the police, more security. these drugs, corruption, psychology; Alzeihmer is a problem of post-traumatic Satanism. Gypsy Depression The intriguing private attraction that attracts gypsies is like two blind gypsy guards who seek the best possible entertainment in the future. The foundations of the mafia, other police and security forces. Applications, terrorism, homosexuality, faith. Hospitals after his death,
The Alhambra had withdrawn from the brothers.
Prostitution and violence have changed.
Who and the changes in the city. queen
of the Mafia, health and the land; Next device.
Police wish these catastrophic, catastrophic
protections, Homosexuality, security. ************
Emergency situations, algebra, change.
Pants and communication of municipal
books. Tips - The spaces of prostitution.
****** and Moabitas in the front coverage
For diseases and the guards of prostitutes.
So Danger the dangers of homosexuality.
they are motivated by corruption; The illness
Hospital, parasites, other directed products.
Employment Women and the gods.
of Mordecai. For the moment, we propose.
The next source. Of services, homosexuality,
Due to corruption to the harmful effects
of Come. Of the ****** of Azaz and the
demons. This is the city where Moab
is located. Love with the ground and other
policemen are lost. Improvements, security
tools for homosexuality. Of the terrorists,
a condemnation especially to the doctor.
After the beginning of the Alhambra the
relationship between the rooster ***** and
paralysis. Start With changes in the city.
Mafia female and other copy. The security zones
are protected Such A device of the security
of homosexuality. Emergency license options,
algebraic acceptance. The change that is changing
in the city - Moab. It is cut for the protection
of these devices. The dangers of homosexuality
They are important. The victories won:
after the effects Environmental drinks, revoke.
Another city of Morcha and his suspicious
Country Blood, ****** Cars, and more.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
Subtle winds flow, threading through his extended hands.
It’s almost as if there is a ghost of silk, being pulled in and around each finger.
Strands of hair tussle, tangling each lock down to the root, like the long tendrils of grass that dance and sway down in the valley below.
Life in entirety moves to the smooth rhythm of the winds.
Sloping from a plane, the hill crawls upwards.
Going up their is mostly small red rock, getting bulky and stopping at a vertical cliff.
It looks as if it were shot in explosion of rock and jagged edges.
There is a trail leading around the back to get to the top.
He meanders up, indulging in his surroundings.
He reaches the top.
The boy stands aloof upon the cliff edge.
A bare Black Oak tree set beside him.
Creaking, groaning, and singing along with the hymns of the earth’s wind around.
Pebbles bounce and clack at each movement.
Even a twitch from the youth sends tiny boulders tumbling down, causing others to fall with it.
Facing the north, he looks up.
Stars splatter the sky like drips of paint.
Illuminating drops sent out in no particular direction or pattern.
He makes out constellations he was taught by his father.
Eager to create configurations of his own from imagination.
Looking around he finds the moon, moments away from being engulfed by mauve clouds.
A silhouette captured by the moonlight.
The boy looks down and sits at the edge of the canyon cliff.
He dangles his feet over the ridge, kicking them back and forth.
Hitting one heel on the back of the rock wall and kicking the other out.
Suddenly he stops.
His eyes close.
He takes a deep inhale.
He sets his hands down at his sides, one hand gripping the sand and the other a small patch of grass.
Then gently, he loosens his grip, leaving his self to be carried by the embrace of the breeze.
The air pulsates.
Drafts pushing the boy hard with its invisible hands.
The child putting complete trust on the earth he sat above.
One gust pushes him forward.
Another carrying him back.
Other winds a variation of each direction.
Now balancing on the weight of a fractured ridge and a rooted tree, he exhales.
Gently leaning forward to look down at the rock descend below.
He looks up, sets his hands back to his hips, and the crest gives way.
Bringing the boy along...
The wind was still heavy.
The gravel was still loose.
And the tree still stood.
The cliff will continue to be a silhouetted in the backdrop of the moon.
Only now, it is his breath that is being exhaled upon the earth’s soils.
He will coordinate with the fields of bronze grass, and the trees will sing to the tunes of his melodies.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 8:20 AM UTC
I’m trapped in the constellations
Because I tried to grab the stars
But the moon screamed
I screamed
Echoing across the celestial
So the city of lights awoke
And the extroverts below
Cry out at us
To force us to remain mute
As if they control the solar system
But the moon ignores them
Thus, I ignore them too
The rays liquify me
As I try to connect the dots
But the images I arrange
Are mocking me
Laughing through the sky
Teasing the Milky Way
And the sun scoffs our feud
Too galactic to engage
Only observing
As I bounce between the fiery lines
Surging into boundaries
Too torched to care
But for the introverts beneath
There’s only a catalina void
Where the established figures
Are marginally vitiated
Dim flickers
Lost in the distance
So I’m overshadowed
By this lunar eclipse
Helplessly cornered
Inside the myriad configurations
I scream
Because I tried to grab the stars.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC