"diagrammed" poems
you have the formula
A Love Poem Recipe:
Fij = G(Mi x Mj)/Dij.
This formula, simplified, means that trade between two markets will equal the size of the two markets multiplied together and then divided by their distance.
(The model gets its name from its mathematical similarity to the equation in physics that describes gravitational pull.)
~~~
long ago, swore off
the love poem business.
lying that this
the last poem ever published
moan not,
statistically, for sure be
a heart-infected sick teenager
bemoaning/high fiving
their fated status
but I don't need to add to
that smoldering pile
the excellence, the richness,
the virtuosity
of the formula
a metaphor,
for the bounty and the risk,
in any love affair, thus love needy
for a diagrammed explication
two markets, soft upon each other,
multiply their trade in love and kisses
can you kiss her (him) but once?
nonsense!
saying I love you
but once a day,
like it was a vitamin,
preposterous!
no, love expands like a gas
(a distant cousin to our formula),
filling in the empty spaces,
escaping through crevices,
spilling, oft filling up
the nearby bystanders
in love,
there is no thing as
one touch clicking
but one touch
reveals the genetic marker,
the initial intimacy injection
Let the addiction begin!
ten thousand grasps,
some soft, some hard,
upon each other,
till fingers go lifelong contented numb
desire and affection spread like a
positive infection,
the curative powers
elegiac,
but never prosaic and though
formulaic
think more
voltaic and paradisiac
electric heaven
go forth and scribe
you got the secret
recipe
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
alliteration
delving delusory,
a literati shun
thy commissions,
galore,
the line goes around the
corner
Entrusted.
write us a prayer -
as if I were thus worthy
t'is a delusion
which is worse than
Illusion
my fingers command me -
not I, them
I scribe inky,
they write what they deem
the most unfitting fulfilling
thy requests
more crosses to bear,
this Jew has walked the
Via Dolorosa
then, and again,
now
oh yes delve delve
with archaic *****
turn over earth unsubstantiated
long time un~disturbed
**"bring us your truths
in whatever form
they spill from you"**
Thus, they command me, Lord
**"Go back to living,
like it used to be.
No more tortured soul
to slow you down"**
Thus, they command me, Lord
sleep restful,
feet bathed,
Pavorotti & Pachelbel
comforted,
let it go,
live the fleeting,
well,
drink the wine,
wafer, taste,
Jew,
but stay away from the confessional
don't
delve into your own
thesaurus
when opened,
one can vision
right through us
don't
delve in to the recesses
thankfully receding, eroding,
except for the enlightening flashbacks
that stone cold come with no
forewarning
don't
let the sin memories
of ancient words,
black gold bubble up
with the first striking of the blade
Delve
(excavate your soul deep)
Not
I did not come this poem to write
I did not come to repeat
Solomon's poem,
nothing new under the sun
don't,
daunting
wish to delve into my delusions,
my original sin
the deceit
the conceit
I am unique
I am original
but let us weave as I best could
diagrammed prayers
as the sun rises over my eastern river
for it the seventh day,
the sabbath day,
which the commandments
commend as the day to remember and
*to keep it holy.
Six days you shall labor,
and do all your work,
but the seventh day is a Sabbath
to the LORD your God.
On it you shall not do any work,
you, or your son, or your daughter,
your male servant, or your female servant,
or your livestock,
or the*
sojourner
*who is within your gates.
For in six days the LORD
made heaven and earth, the sea,
and all that is in them,
and rested on the seventh day.
Therefore the LORD
blessed the Sabbath day
and made it holy.*
no delving today
I will observe thy reader's,
all of them my teacher's,
commandments
rest easy,
spill no truths this day
but on the new born morrow
I shall fresh
delve and sin again
and write them
joyful hymns
to sing
on the profane workweek,
for my torture,
my spilled and soiled truths
shall be
re-presented
to joyous comfort
and then,
I shall sojourn among them
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
**For Sheron, On Our Seventh Anniversary:
Bound and Boundless**
~~~
*different shaped,
a square peg, a round hole,
and yet, the carpenter is pleased
two planes,
different shaped,
yet overlaying,
occupying
conjoined space,
angular symmetry
and yet, the geometrist is satisfied
can*
bound and boundless,
*fully opposing notions,
incontrovertible,
yet be in pleasing poetic
combination?
how
can it be,
two bonded,
distinct spheres
contoured with crossover
bordered blended boundaries
exceed aligned,
beyond merest connecting,
overlapping,
intersecting
two circles
electronically collide,
venn diagrammed
to share,
programmed unknowingly for creating
a big bang
of a harmonious, simultaneous
new star creation
this mystery,
this poem,
its
resolution~solution,
comes to the poet
late in life,
yet contented, believing,
it is a far, far
better
thing that he does
now,
than never
life and love
living in unison,
transforming, deserving
of a unique discrete,
le nom est
l'unite
perhaps you are thinking,
this poem, a failed attempt,
neither the best or the worst
of any written anywhere
upon this green globe,
this day
yet he smiles
as it composes itself,
for though without its own sustaining merit,
it is a poem
regarding the best work
he
have ever done,
and the unity
it portrait paints,
is a
nova
worthy surely
of a thousand millennia
and yet, the poet is content
with its
content*
~~~
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Old ladies always used to say to me 'That's disgusting! How could u look at that smut?!' My buddy Paige, a radical feminist, snatched it from my hands & devoured it; we used to leaflet against *********** on 86th & 2nd; I'd point to all the prostitutes lined up across the street, & say: 'those girls are doing the same thing the girls are doing in the magazines,' Paige, a brilliant theorist, would go on to start shouting: 'Burn the magazines, not the women!' evoking the witch trials while alluding to the mass psychology theories of the philosopher Walter Benjamin, making me recall reading how he helped other writers associated the Frankfurt School to escape **** Germany, but was captured by the Germans just as he was about step foot into Switzerland where he would have been safely out of their reach...today his monument lies directly on the Germany/Switzerland border where right on the border separating the two countries was erected a high glass wall that under the right conditions is perfectly invisible but a solid glass wall nevertheless; sort of like **** that exists on a screen or a less so lately, on a page & behind the glass is the reincarnation of a flawless nymph from some lost Golden Age tableaux when in reality working girls really work; making money in small increments by degrading themselves to pay for basic necessities; but who isn't degraded in a society that sometimes seems like it was designed specifically to facilitate human trafficking; human trafficking was only a nascent issue that only involved Asians & Mexicans [or so we thought then]; we were all about banning *********** & legalizing prostitution; I was trained & taught by feminists to make my writing as violent & dangerous as possible at first to counter & then to replace *********** *********** w/ its whiffs of Social Realism - schematized, diagrammed & charted so every body part is accounted for; a reactionary anti-psychedelic Conservative conspiracy - cooked up in corporate boardrooms to supply the capital for off-shore shell companies - hell, the next time a Christian goes to a ********** she should say, 'Sorry, it's against my principles to service hypocrites.' - that'll show 'em
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC