"constants" poems
You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
And I know that.
But I can't rediscover it every ******* day.
I can't return to that epiphany
every time my alarm clock goes off.
It's unnatural.
But what I can do, and do quite naturally,
is become jaded and unimpressed by it.
I can see your beauty as normal,
as one of my life's many constants.
I can climb atop its shoulders and travel about,
rolling my eyes at sunsets and rainbows,
dismissing all the beauty of the world as
less than average.
And I complain to you about it.
And you can deduce your beauty from that.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending
When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening
to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable
and yet!
cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,
it has yet
to arrive
When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed
When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction
creation of creativity
<>
she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
in sentry reentry orbit,
to
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot
When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after
death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
the God
I worship,
of course,
he is invisible!
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
I commit myself to the homicide
of my thought-flowers.
I indulge in the **** -
Killing my darlings
for the sake of art and sanity.
What a paradox.
I have bloodied my hands
with it even so.
No more love-lite poetry!
No more adolescent chinks of the
pseudo-heart!
No more infantile fork-stabs
at the plate of kid-intellectualism!
No more Wikipedia pages
on thoughts
that can swallow computers
whole!
I'm killing my darlings
for the sake of art,
for the sake of sanity -
what a paradox.
Blood is flowing.
I'm a murderer of ideas tonight -
today I will write
about many of life's very few truths.
Like trees.
Like soil.
These are the only constants in mathematics.
These are the identities.
In my garden, I reach out
to crush an
almost-crimson hibiscus.
Petals squelching with skin and nectar -
no perfume.
The hibiscus roils, unliving.
Red pulpy mess;
heart out of chest.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
for vicki who loves this poem for the best reason ever: just does...
<•>
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance that is the only concert
the imbalance that is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know, recall of these matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner;
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move off
begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked.
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
---
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
Things will start
and things will end,
but the world will continue to turn.
For there's always spring after winter
and winter will come again.
And even as our days on earth shorten
and we love our loves no more.
The days on the calendar will continue to fall,
and we will move on
and we will continue to live.
And even when our laughs seem to stop time,
and this moment doesn't seem to end.
The clock on the wall will continue to tick.
And our hearts will continue to beat,
until death.
But it's funny!
Even after death
and birth
and love
and hate, all in our hearts,
the sun will continue to rise.
And the world will turn
and the stars will shine
and the seasons will change
and our child's play will never change our constants.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
The Brute in me is a gleeful beast.
The Trog is older now and mellow.Yet. Pull up a chair.
Just a minute of your time if you will. Sometimes,
I watch him ooze through the pores of my skin and he stands there.
Myself and he apart
He always walks down to the river's edge where I always find
him skipping stones. skipping stones and staring at the far bank.
He does not see me or it seems so. This never changed for years.
After some time in reverie,he turns and walks by me.
I can smell the potent odor of his sweat.
The brute is me at twenty three.
Later still he returns to his dimension
deep within my past,
Wordless, yes until one day.
The beast looked over his shoulder mid toss
A stone skipped and tipped the universal
constants.
Pulling a pistol from thin air he shot me at point blank.
Two head, one heart. A bit of a start not mention
That was a bit rude but not out of character for me
at that age. No no don't get me wrong.The impulsive side
Not the homicide
Suicide. Hellofa ride.
Well. Well without further discussion, we casually
Walked back to the house an split a bottle of Stoli's
And. Watched MMA bloodletting on cable T.V.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
Everything was going according to plan
Highschool. Pre-Med. Med. Specialization.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think
That you would add up to this equation
Never did I think that things would end up
Like how it is at this moment.
*You never were meant for this equation
And yet, you fit in so perfectly*
I was expecting nothing, and yet.. You
Never did I think that you, once a variable, would become a constant. That you would succeed euler's number or the symbol for radians, pi, as important constants in my life, you're as important but as confusing as i.
I mean, at times you're really confusing me
like rationalizing the negative square root of 3, but it's simply, really how I thought it would be to make sense of irrationality. Things like this would make sense mathematically, but not in reality. In reality, you're more simple, yet oh-so filled with insanity. But it still boggles my mind, on how a lovely variable like you becomes a constant in my life.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
i would hate to be built a brick wall
linear as immovable constants
and the wristwatch hands i fear
weave me around callouses
like a spring, double helix,
and i will shrug in content
nucleotides formed of consciousness
hydrogen and karmic bonds together
jacob's ladder extending to liberation
and sincerity for all the moments
i was missing from the jigsaw tangle
of pillows and down and sprawl
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Ghost Relics
Downtown,
where Main intersects Main
you'll see the last living tissue
of a breathing bazaar.
They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders.
It's a wonder she breathes at all.
-
Wander too far in any direction
and you're sure to see the husks
of once proud and bustling businesses.
Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty.
Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind.
Dusty and silent since the cradle.
-
The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts
who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee.
Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours
to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start.
Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol.
Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering.
-
Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught.
They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo
advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation.
It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted.
They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to
the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between.
-
Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet
we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled.
So many stray cats in the civilian savanna,
aimlessly seeking names and second chances.
"This premises is under police video surveillance" -
hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles.
-
Guarding the gates
of a dwindling dominion,
as the armies of Union and Grand
wait in their camps
for the rust to take hold
of her iron veins.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
*I see Time in the shadows
Texture paints on ceilings.
Slowly flowing, I stare for
A second. She shifts, the
Current of moments has
Changed. I no longer see
In constants; instead I
Constantly see. She has
Shown my eyes yet seem
To mirror my perception.*
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Reflected, an iris of colored contexts that once had reception without spectacles. I signed voluntarily the letters to a name that I sincerely wanted to keep. I tried to limit the lines that divided the print of a written statement of deliverance; a sealed inner sanctum that has remained defunct while displaced of force all along devout of a substance, my words strived to be read ingrained on paper placed in constants among summations of variables clearly he scribed drafts maintaining a patterned complex of metaphors only to contradict the expressions layered, confusing this thinker so that the reader may interpret a plausible audibility for thought looking beyond spectrums of what is to be foreseen
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,
all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as opera singers;
counted the stars, my little campaigners,
my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love
on the night green side of it and cried
my heart to the eastbound cars and cried
my heart to the westbound cars and took
my truth across a small ****** bridge
and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home
and hoarded these constants into morning
only to find them gone.
2.5k
.
• p-
eople do
not see past
her makeover•
•only traded snea-
kers for heels beyond
her years• starkness of
change, her before and
•••after•only constants
•••are her darkness and
•••••fears•happily ever
••• after is a dream so
••• far•when sickness
••• consumed her caregi-
••• vers old•hides these away
••• as she approaches the stationary
••• car • only her stilettos know... of her
••• ••••••••••••••••••••••••••
••• ••••••••••••••••••••••••
story untold•
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
I look in the mirror at a person I don’t recognize anymore. Prodding and pulling at my skin just to make sure this is who I am I only cake on so much makeup because this is the me I don’t want them to see.
So they don’t
They don’t see me and time is just running away and what if I can’t make them see me before time is up?
It’s not that I’m invisible, I know they can hear me and they tell me that really, I’m fine, and I’ve never been an issue but then why do I feel so out of place in my own day to day routines?
In fact nothing is routine anymore I have no constants. Eating, sleeping, it’s all ireggular and sometimes I can’t remember doing any of it at all.
I have pictures filling my camera roll of happiness in a moment that I can’t bring back, why do I keep them for happy if all they do is make me sad?
The clock is ticking and I can hear it but they can hear me so I can’t scream, they don’t see me but I’m tearing at my mouth trying to get out the words that I really want them to hear.
And they tell me, that it’s okay to be yourself.
But only around certain people. Because society wants you to have curves but never in the wrong places. They want you to feel free to speak your mind as long as it’s something that they want to hear. If you keep your secrets to yourself you’re hiding something and if you share them you’re being too open.
But time is passing.
I need time, I need routine, and I need to remember happy so that I don’t fall in love with sad because far too many do.
So I will scream into the wind where they cannot hear me.
And paste on my paper facade.
Someday, they will see me.
Now you don’t.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
Bookends with fatty livers and bad backs
squinting at instructions
for another **** fool distraction
and the laughing, thankfully
On the walk, bees, butterflies,
catkin reminders of time and loops
and irregular pooping
as constants
Thankfully, laughing
requires just enough muscles
from those that still work,
but I’ll feel it tomorrow
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 9:23 AM UTC
One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
Come the auroras and infinite landscapes –
Tangents wrought outright constants,
Parallels perched perpendicular outrights,
So to call your ellipse,
When the orbit’s outstretched
Landing meetings where we’d at least
Learn to alter tomorrow.
It’s stellar silly, and paths primordial,
Leaving my layovers for the trials
And abandoned, the moon’s to forever follow you;
So to composed and formulae proofed
Come the time you mother said,
"He’s just a coma
And dust best left forgotten."
Quit draggin’ me to space baby.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance is the only concert
the imbalance is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know of these matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred
thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move
off
and begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired.
all in, beat, bored, burned out,
bushed, done in, drained, drooping,
exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging,
just about had it, indifferent, knocked out,
out of gas, pooped, punchy,
ready to drop, spent, taxed,
wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out
plain old zonked.
there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms.
To mind, they flash instantly,
For they are the constants in the equation of life.
**Love
Responsibility**
Man, can they make you tired!
But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves
To accept them both with
Equanimity.
5:45am
August 24th 2013
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
Life is full of Constants
and Variables
Constant Romance
Variable Choices
Constant Lessons
Variable Pains
Constant Joys and High
Variable Vices
Constant Maintenance of we Love
Variable ways of Winning Them
Constant Effort
Variable Options
Love is constant
what we do with it is variables
You are my constant
and I’m yours
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
#*Go write your own history
Learn the geography well
To compass the feelings
Do your geometry
The value of pi does not change
Variables and constants
Algebraic expressions
Do many experiments in the chemistry lab
Observation and inferences
Experience gained
Make sure you do your math
Be Calculative
You ought to make calculations and come to decisions
Learning languages for special skills
Expression is an art
And creative you must be*#
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance is the only concert
the imbalance is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know of this matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred
thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move
off
and begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
The art of knitting will never be taught,
Humans are not yet ready to knit life out of their thoughts.
Patience led me here, people suffer because of their greed but i'm in no position to speak
I might be called a hypocrite yet i can not stand still
You need two constants and a variable
disclose the knowledge, the truth is inevitable.
The wind is a constant , we need its presence
The moon is a constant , we need its presence
I've been around long enough to claim your reverence
Integrate the information through me
ignorance is not a bliss, knitting preceded technology, try to be open to this.
Words Of Harfouchism
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 12:27 AM UTC
*Photochromatic Sanity & Fluorescent Visions,
Metallic Vanity Initiating Phosphorescent Collisions,
Luminescent Effervescence In Her Iridescent Constants,
Convalescent Spells Of Her Tumescent Transplants,
Auroral Apertures & Acronycal Fractals,
Floral Kisses Of Her Quintessential Portals,
Velvet Transitions & Twilight Transmissions,
Reverberating Vocal Inhibitions Of Her Satellite Renditions,
Razor Rivers & Rogue Delights,
Shining Laser Echoes On Vogue Nights,
Molecular Suicides In Abysmal Desires,
Drowning In Atomic Oceans Of Her Ethereal Reprisals,
Static Pulses Of Her Prurient Delights,
Amorous Impulses With Hymens Of The Night,
Shaded Whispers & Livid Overtunes,
Serenaded Ceilings In Her Vivid Offtunes.
Condensed Rainbows Over Her Silk Citadels,
Slithering With Oblivious Love Of His Ghostline Vessels.
Extinct Hemispheres Of Her Tender Tracings,
Broadcasting Distinct Light-Years In Spiritual Casings.
- 03:50 AM -*
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC