"determining" poems
Like flipped coin midair
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle
Two ends of a spectrum, Möbius strip
In a room together,
Maxwell’s demon, revolving door
Cancer and chemo
Like life and death
Only one can be
The next is inevitable
Like an election
Only one figurehead may speak for a governing body
Like the seasons
Change is expected
Like a cat left to its own devices
Guaranteed to scare itself after a given time
Man tries to conquer for comforts sake
Mercurial reactions
Like elements under catalyst
Electron orbitals
Exchange positive core
Theory of relativity
A choice of determining
Accuracy of position or velocity
Hermes, deity of mine
Masculine and feminine
Ruler of I
Relieve the war of the immortal twins
Gemini
Battling my heart and mind
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
A true semantic literary meaning
awakening to curate
my being
or throw away it all and question
the delivery of
the ics and isms
determining not by me but by the reader
what is true
like Montague
proposing a new system
I propose a meaningful regimen,
one where words are either felt
, make me halt and listen,
to what they truly meant.
Or they don't.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
I am tired of my grades determining my worth
I am tired of negativity stealing my happiness
I am tired of ******** slicing through my inner peace
I am tired of fixing something when someone always messing with it
I am tired of thinking but still asking
I am tired of looking but still searching
I am tired of sleeping but still dreaming
I am tired of reminiscing but still remembering
I am tired of loving but still wondering
I am tired of admiring but still idolizing
I am tired of everything but still hoping
I am tired of expecting but still waiting
I am tired of living but afraid of dying
I am tired of crying
I am tired of yelling
I am tired of being sad
I am tired of pretending
I am tired of being alone
I am tired of feeling crazy
I am tired of feeling stuck
I am tired of needing help
I am tired of missing things
I am tired of being different
I am tired of missing people
I am tired of feeling worthless
I am tired of feeling empty inside
I am tired of not being able to just let go
I am tired of wishing i could start all over
I am tired of dreaming of a life i will never have
I'm tired of it
I'm so tired
but most of all
I'm just tired of being tired
I know i'm tired
I know i'm physically and emotionally drained
but I have to keep going
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
Yes, everything stabbed me in the heart,
gut
core
Everywhere.
It's so ****** painful
I'm not nattering away
No
I will not and
am not
a nuisance who talks tosh.
You killed me.
It killed me.
A bunch of scrawled numbers killed me.
Everything
every ****** thing
is killing me.
Did I not try?
Did I not place my full brain and heart into it?
And why am I getting ready to get my brain chopped off under the falling axe?
Why, oh why
the sullen faces
blood-sworn glares
the rising temperatures in my body
the cold tears
that pierce the very layer of my cheek
What did I do to deserve **** like this?
Came Monday.
Monday blues
with the very lovely scores indeed ?!!
that kicked me out of the list.
Came Tuesday.
Far worse sight.
More numbers.
Numbers determining my barren life
And so will tomorrow come
with much angst
And so do I now cry or die?
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
In Gothic architecture, light is considered
the most beautiful revelation of God;
Beauty is a characteristic of an animal,
an idea, object, person or place that provides
an experience of pleasure, or satisfaction;
Beauty is studied as part of aesthetics, [culture],
social psychology, philosophy & sociology;
An ideal beauty is an entity;
admired; possessing features
widely attributed to beauty in a particular culture;
to perfection:
Ugliness [commonness], [ ] commonly considered to be the opposite
of beauty,
annihilated as an intellectual concept,
no longer exists;
The experience of beauty is often
involved in an interpretation of some
entity [being in balance & harmony];
the experience of nature may lead to feelings
of attraction & emotional well-being;
Because perception is a purely subjective experience,
it was once said that beauty
is in the eye of the beholder;
a sentiment long debunked;
There is evidence that hypothetical perceptions
of beauty involve determining
aspects of things, people & landscapes;
beauty is typically found
in situations likely to enhance the survival
of the perceiving collection
[of chromosomes]
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
I should probably box away your things
And burn the photos and my ring
But I'm having trouble determining
If this is really real.
I should probably delete your number too
So I don't find myself calling you
I've found I'm not sure what to do
Is this really real?
After your words are said and it's done
And your feelings have set along with the Sun
I'll step back from the battle you've clearly won
Wow, I guess it's real.
Please don't come back at your dismay
You don't get to choose when I leave and stay
This is your doing this was your way
One day YOU'LL wish it wasn't real.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
With a cursory press of a key and arco of the strings,
They look at each other,
Determining when to start through what looks like telepathy,
But it is instead the subtle movement of arms and chest.
They begin.
With the movement of bows bouncing on metal,
And the dancing digits upon black and white,
Sound reverberates between the audience,
With eyes and ears in tandem absorbing the scene.
They continue.
As they pass over bridges,
And draw out waves with their hands,
I listen,
Swaying and breathing and performing as though I am beside them,
Despite being above them,
Yet feeling so below.
Becoming one with their instrument,
And bringing me along,
I smile,
As just like they pull beauty out of their tools with their soul,
They guide joy out of me,
For all of us.
They end.
Then again, they start.
With new sounds from a new person,
With new intent,
And new methods.
They change.
From haphazard joy and dance,
To somber death and confusion,
They become one with the music,
And follow in its suit.
They continue, anew.
As the sound changes,
So do I.
Listening with sharper ears,
Hoping to catch a different magic in my ears.
They continue, still.
As the cello draws honey,
The violin; its dew,
And the piano waterfalls arpeggios,
I am content.
They end.
Full of the food of life,
They stand,
To let us feast with them with our hungry hands,
Giving our own vibrations to fill our drooling souls.
They leave.
And so do I.
Both of us fed and quenched,
From the performance.
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 3:33 AM UTC
Start something with no desire and without much intention embedded
Like knitting fabric without thread
Collect the strands after the silk from the worm that hangs on the sleeve of the tree
Self-exploit
Seek capital and foster determination as much as possible
A moment of consciousness
What I am doing this time is not something easy
Some time to come will feel heavy and not for a moment
Dictate education and learning that must be boring
It is not easy to deepen what I have decided
But in other words
Choosing is a path that must be taken by anyone
Regardless of what and how the choice is made
Of course the greatest consequence is to accept and run everything with the best treatment
Choosing does not mean losing one thing to another
But choosing is the form and attitude in determining the way to achieve something
Although there will be a lot of opposition and even rejection within
It is not the end
Make every difficult thing a whip
And what feels easy
Becomes the power to fulfill the difficult
For what will happen in the future
All attitudes and treatment must be embedded from this moment
Having chosen is courageous
Ready to live and wrestle all the races and obstacles ahead
So far
All new preparations have been collected
While walking slowly
Follow the directions and learn to read nature
What I have started
One day
I have to reap
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
****** thought it was a concept novel.
But wrong he was.
India knew Blitzkrieg long before ******
In ancient dramas like Mahabharata,
And of course the older Ramayana,
The epics are replete with incidents,
Or rather determining acts of battle,
That determined the course of time,
Armies attacked the relaxing armies,
Changed the outcome of war.
So was the ancient Indian ideology.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
The undeniable sense of presence, seen through the realms of deception...
Amidst the very capillaries strung infinitesimally throughout our bodies...
Overwhelming at times, the very concept cripples our thoughts,
Circling us back to seemingly endless questions -
Endless roads without a point of reference,
Leaving us standing in a dark crowded space searching for the unreachable light...
Yet, the meaning behind the unseen presence forces the deluded mind to forge on -
Stretching our morbid ideals even further...
Leaving us the inhibited beings we possess...
Still concluding at plebeian answers -
Fitting, yet discouraging...
The common capacity of our restraining thought process, leaves us almost hopeless to accumulate the information needed to fulfill our determining destination...
But it is that feeling,
That inkling sensation of the undeniable presence that keeps us searching -
That gives us hope...
And in that minute innovative state we dwell on what could be...
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
If my thoughts are my eyes and my mind is Paris,
then you are my Tour Eiffel
penetrating that flat sky line of the buildings all the same uniform height, without change or dynamics,
you protrude out of the flatness, the beautiful change of scene, the epicenter, of wonder.
my wandering eyes always find you
no matter where I am, who I am with,
or what I am doing,
I can always find you above the bustling city
a separate entity
Of hope, and love, and change
Before, Paris did not have the tour Eiffel, but continued to bustle as any city does
still the city of love,
It was missing it's determining factor, it's monument that stood out from all the rest
The landmark that completed the city, that created a place of wonder to surmount all the world, a watching over every building, every garden,
every thought
The last thing I see when rest my head on my pillow,
your shining light fills me with wonder and inspiration as the moon rises in the sky: creating wishes and hope for the future
You always penetrate the corners of my mind
My shining Tour Eiffel
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties
yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence
preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning
hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni
seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?
defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees
needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
in the hours of circulating darkness
meandering the streets of my mind
inside the walls of a staple
sadly not built in the realm of
satisfying fantasies.
believing that more remains
under the stars that house
infallible creatures determining the
lackluster era in which they
dwell cannot be all there is
in this undiscovered,
newly founded land of
gallant nonconformity
forever dancing a brilliant quiver
orbiting the undeniable
refuge devised if only
to be safe from the world for a
single day more
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 6:55 AM UTC
August 10th, you seemed so distant
Not quite as distant as the barrel of one gun
The gun that fired the shot that would stun
The scientific world, from Rutherford to Niels Bohr
To find out esteemed fellow scientist Moseley was no more
But before that, in 1913
X-ray spectra was naught more than a dream
Before diffraction through crystals became the truth
The wavelengths needed a meaning, and there was proof
You developed a mathematical system without flaw
One so great, it was named "Moseley's law"
Mendeleev had the right idea, but not a plan
Could not arrange the elements the way that you now can
Without you, my sir, we would not have had this premium
To enjoy the elements technetium, hafnium, promethium, and rhenium
These gaps that like stars littered the periodic table
Were filled with ease, and the cosmos became stable
You had set the foundation for crystallography of x-rays
A method of determining arrangement that is still used in modern days
The first machines in use were those for which you had the design
But their widespread use you could not see as there simply was no time
For during a battle, as you made the phone set run
A bullet took your grace away, a scientist dying young
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
This is it.
Your big moment.
Taking time at these crossroads.
Your decision determining destiny.
A moment all your own, never to be replicated.
skittering circuits buzz, obedient to your commands.
Hours lay ahead of you, stuffed and bulging with the static you will consume.
Channel 2 or channel 4?
This is it.
Your catastrophic downfall.
An outcry was made, now the civility is shattered.
the acquaintances you once held as companions,
may now cut icy glares as the senate did to Caesar.
alarms ring, as you feel reduced in their eyes.
You got the wrong change at the cafe,
so you ask for a fiver.
later on,
your banquet awaits, golden and sunbaked.
stewed for months, in rich and creamy crop of the land.
taking your throne, in the cool shaded flank in your garden of eden.
A cup of soup and a bag of crisps.
these grand odysseys still raise up those same emotional epics,
as moments in youth locked in the past.
like lying on a blanket at the very edge of one of the seven sisters.
alas, you are still perched upon oblivion,
cup of tea in hand.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC
Oh, you seed of mankind.
You who reside in the same Coloured white *****
You carry the sex-determining chromosome.
Before union with female egg, human colour was same.
After fertilization, emerged different coloured humans.
Oh melanin, you who determine our skin colour.
You went as far as differentiating our hair colour.
What have you done?
Are you to blame for racial discrimination?
Maybe blame theory of evolution.
Oh no I blame you mankind.
God gave men brains of a kind.
The kind, that knows wrong from right.
In the image of God, mankind was created.
Colour was not restricted.
I urge mankind across all racial groups.
A plead to all *** groups.
There’s more to what you see in the mirror.
It was microscopically a seed within white *****
We might differ racially, men and women.
We came from same coloured seed.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes.
What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood.
My problems are not my own.
The sociological imagination has never
seemed so applicable.
We’ve all been dosed up
On dashes of passion,
splashes of intelligence
and just enough anxiety and depression
to approach existential nihilism and
We’re fed these lies of individuality but
We Know
we are only products of our youth and culture,
ones of many in the long production line
We claim
We are Art,
but We Feel
we’re just generated from streams of code,
prepared to fight to the death for
some algorithm that doesn’t even matter
And so I protest
I can’t just be a number
I am flesh and blood,
my knees are buckling under the
weight of this artificial perfection.
I’m not just a number,
My eyes are staring at the
the marks that
determine my worth, knowing
success is my only option
i am not just a number
My sanity is sinking and
drowning and
constantly fighting to stay afloat
But I am not just a number. -
My mind tells me I’m not making it--
How are these other people making it?
I’m determining my worth
on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust
And it is with these standards i am told
I am just a number.
I feel like
I can no longer speak
because I’ve been
shouting
at the top of my lungs
I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER
But my voice
is too quiet
And the world
is too loud.
I’m so tired of trying to be heard.
Yet these words still sound better
when I scream them,
not just scrawl them down
on scraps of paper.
for someone so happy
I'm so very angry.
for someone so happy
I'm so very sad.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
(Earnestly) I beg to move the motion
Standing on the Order Paper
In my name and those good names
Of my Right Honourable Friends.
Straight up, I’ll say, it’s right that we this House
Should debate this issue, should pass judgement.
That is democracy; that is our Right
That others elsewhere struggle for in vain.
Again I’ll say I do not disrespect
The wavering of those not yet convinced.
This is a tough choice and – yes – a stark one:
To stand down our committed troops and turn back
Or to hold firm and so continue on.
I strongly believe that we must hold firm.
The question most people will ask is not
Why does it matter – no – but why so much?
Well, as we brave this new Millenium
And face up to the Nation’s greatest threat
With our majority already stretched,
A resignation from the cabinet,
With all the other parties also split,
With everywhere the closest of allies
In disagreement while on different sides
Those who usually would not agree
Agree on this. The people, this parliament
Echo the discord with an echo made
Less bitter as time passes, not less grave.
So why, then, does it matter quite so much?
Because the outcome of our firm resolve
Will find itself determining much more
Than Iraq’s future and her peoples’ fate
More than the liberty of an whole race
Brutalized in Saddam’s sick sick name.
It will in fact decide the way in which
Britain, the world and we confront the threats
Our right to liberty requires met.
It will, what’s more, affect the UN’s role,
EU relations, Transatlantic ties,
The manners of the US in the world.
It will prove the political pattern
For a generation, perhaps more, to come.
This is no longer the time to falter;
I will not be party to such a course.
This is now the time for this house to lead;
To show that we will fearlessly confront
Terror, tyranny and dictatorships
Which threaten to put all our lives at risk.
To show that at this moment of decision
We have the courage, we have the vision
To do the right thing. I beg to move the motion…
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 1:58 AM UTC
The highs and lows of living life
Occur in sweeping loops
The ups and downs of everything
Are determined by the groups
Of numbers as they glide
Across a digital display,
In rendering the parabolas
Of this game of life we play.
The winning runs of business
A sweet windfall of cash
Temptation to extend that deal
Beyond …is perhaps rash;
It may just tip the balance
Commence the start of the decline
And your parabolic plunge
Will see you quailing to divine.
How you claw your way to solvency
You sweat to make it right,
How you battle tax malignancy
To surmount official might.
The administrative penchants
Of administrative types
Who insist on crossing every “T”
And switching “OUT” the lights.
Having made it, you sit astride the top
And bask in shining light.
You cast off the cloak of caution,
Claim success as yours by right.
But by morning there’s a thunderstorm
A headache and a snag,
By lunch evicted on the street
With your belongings in a bag.
The ups and downs of life my friend
Are a parabolic coast
One day you’re sitting pretty
The next day you are toast.
The only consolation
Of this constant change of state
Is the reconstructive challenge
In re-determining your fate.
So gird yourself my beauty
Hitch your belt another notch
And launch yourself at living
Before you seek that midnight watch.
For tomorrow is a mystery
The possibilities are vast
And paradoxically speaking
The very best is usually last.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
20th July 2008
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 4:55 PM UTC
Brilliant warning of fearful masterpiece
drunken beats of the awestruck ehart
devine significance
confusion and determination
Rapid rythym pumping blood through my infatuation
romantic mysteries of blunt fact vs fantasy
stubborn to ungrasp
afraid to accept reality
for it is as a lie in the opposite of truth
for the truth holds the reality determining the real truth
of the too good to be true fantasy
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
I can't hear the choir from my couch
It becomes a funeral pyre in a pouch
Like the unnatural fire in my slouch
That is where I retire
To superficially admire
A world I'll never see
Placing trust in the screen
I'm as lonely as can be
Until couches set me free
From a life worrying about others
The couch becomes my banal brother
That is where I concoct my cowardly plan
To avoid my fellow meddlesome man
Living a life in silence
The couch creates pylons
Determining where I can go
Determining what I can know
This Ottoman Empire
Lights the world on fire
With cushions that fuel
Flames and drool
I attempt to stand
But life seems bland
With feeling constant comfort
So my personality I import
From the images on TV
And my brain it impedes
When I can't think for myself
I put my life on the shelf
And flee into furniture
The couch my burning cure
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
Gonna throw away
The grin today.
Signs of agony
In the words I say.
Rid myself
Of joyous things,
Now a jester
After living like kings.
No use telling a lie
When you're about to cry.
Its only a matter of time,
Until you spill
The reason why.
Lost the trust,
So what's the use?
Unlace my shoes
And tie a noose.
Im not a straight shooter
But I've got a trigger finger.
The feeling of fear,
It loves to linger.
Nothing changes
If nothing changes,
Take control
When it rearranges.
Dont need
The ***** deeds,
Determining
Flowers from weeds.
Taking a walk
In a field of the land mine,
Your head isn't sleepy,
Dont lay it on the line.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
Silken impressions can entice a novice
Unversed and starry-eyed
To leap from a cast iron refuge into raging fires
Relinquishing any thought of their pride
Sweet tempting trickles of honeyed bliss
Dance magically in their eyes
While chasing thrills with their naïve hearts
Unskilled in determining lies
A novice becomes tempered in raging fires
Versed in the troubles of love
When their naive hearts are utterly broken in two
Crying out to the blue moon up above
Experience reigns master, as a naive heart learns
To chase those thrills and yet discern
How to patiently peer from the refuge of iron
Before leaping into love’s fiery burn
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 7:41 PM UTC
Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.
Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
It feels as if I’m drowning,
Waiting for someone to come and aid me,
But time keeps tick-tick-tocking away
As if it’s in a race.
I wonder if my soul is racing against other souls
To see who could outrun the other
Or who could swim more
Than the person next to them.
I wonder if my soul is determining
Whether or not
This fishbowl is worth
All the fight and struggle.
Because I like to think my brain and my heart
Are battling each other for dominance.
Battling each other to see who could outsmart the other,
To see which ***** is needed more.
They say there’s plenty of fish in the sea,
But who’s to say
That there aren’t beasts and sharks
In the tank either?
A hundred miles below the horizon
Lie creatures that haven’t been discovered.
Different,
Yet so similar to our minds.
The grey matter that nurse our ideas
And cultivate them
They hide our innermost thoughts
And dreams lay hidden under them,
Waiting for the right moment to spring up.
My feet are straddling the edge of the cliff.
My heart’s racing,
And my mind is telling me to jump,
But I’m afraid of the unknown
And I don’t know what to expect
Once I dive in.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC