"diameters" poems
In this trigonometric love equation
You're my arcsin,
You're my special angle,
Secretly placed
In that unit circle of feelings.
You may arrange my major arcs and diameters
Inside of it
Perfectly triangular,
Love will always have
The same ratio pi.
Our equation of love
Is seemingly incompatible.
It has philosophical numbers becoming
Common geometric shapes
Of love itself
Like hidden spheres
In triangles,
But in real terms of graphing
Our parallel lines of life
Went on forever not crossing at any point
Of this imperfect world.
Our love is, in fact,
A complex system of equations
With the same set of three unknowns
Searching their own values
It has a narrative statement.
You're my C.
You're mister C,
From c'telzing
From caleptikide
And from cataguerrillaism,
In this beautiful madness of love.
You know, our love is getting old
In concentric circles,
Those circles of time.
Extrapolate it to infinity, sweetheart,
You may be my semi-infinity
Until the end of the time,
That semi-infinity,
In which I lose myself
From time to time
Each time coming
From the same unique star
As that already existent
In an old Romanian novel,
Which is called
Lorelei.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
When we get to play together,
we have ropes around our necks,
and as dogs those ropes are
tied to the poles;
however, we’ve placed those poles
and tied those ropes,
hoisting the noose around each other’s
necks.
How long are we to go on like this
before we run beyond our diameters
and end our lives
as we know them,
change the knot so that our play
won’t be lethal,
or slip off what bounds us
and run together free?
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
Yet a tiny fraction, there is so much more
Such a prominent universe to explore
Numerous galaxies, planets and stars
Orbiting the Sun above just like Mars
Saturn has a ring, others have a moon
Planets filled with gas like a hot balloon
Travelling in light years, so far away
Yet our solar system is a vast array
Looking through my telescope, planets to see
Looking out for Jupiter and Mercury
There is icy Pluto further from the Sun
My curious journey has just begun
The strong pull of gravity, keeping into place
The days, months and years, yet moving at a pace
Fascinating satellites, informative machine
Launching of the space crafts, places never seen
If I were an astronaut, how would I feel?
Adapting to space food, a dried and sealed meal
Travelling on mission, in the atmosphere
Witnessing diameters that I can but revere
On that day however, was my teacher playing tricks
Looking through the glasses, viewing the eclipse
Yet the Milky Way has a spiral twist
Looking from our planet, where current life exists
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
My Radius
Mine distance
'tween the center of mine
and my edges
('cause I am not exactly
spherical, Varies, I guess)
The differences divided
by a varying circumference
diameters changing
makes it SO hard to divide the pi
squaring it
(or trying to multiply by zero)
Makes absolutely
zero sense
poses more questions than geometry
or algebra,
(far as I know, might be a constant, somewheres)
the I = me?
trigonometrical nonsense?
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
802
Time feels so vast that were it not
For an Eternity—
I fear me this Circumference
Engross my Finity—
To His exclusion, who prepare
By Processes of Size
For the Stupendous Vision
Of his diameters—
1.6k
I caught my eyes in the gold-flecked mirror
And paused to trace the diameters.
What should have appeared nearer
Developed its own parameters.
I paused to trace the diameters,
And discovered the golden flakes
Developed their own parameters
And coalesced opaque.
Upon discovery, the golden flakes
Formed a cloud inside my iris
And coalesced opaque,
A golden plague or virus.
A cloud formed inside my iris
And obstructed the view of the sun.
A golden plague or virus
Traipsing like a legion.
Clouds obstructed my view of the sun
So night seemed to stretch beyond
Traipsing across the horizon like a legion
And elicited in me a muted response.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
There is a rain, rimy rivulets ripping
The canvas of air; how is it I can breathe
When glass sinks with the setting sun –
An eye afire, I can’t stand the look of it,
Burning the sky like a charcoal
It’s pale, it’s blind, it’s alone –
Until all that remains are clouds
Made of cotton ***** and floss.
Only giants may clean their teeth properly.
Tree bark shines with the rain,
Contemptuous, wretched water
Fit to feed our Belladonna,
Meant only for our Madonna –
Why I fear you a mystery
Lost to the shivering trees and me.
Green is drowning, I relish its fade
From my face, bloated and white
Like the shining, terrible moon, sitting alone
Alone to weep wistfully, pathetically
Until she fills the burns with leaking
Stars flooding barren hillcrests –
It’s what I’ve always told myself.
It’s all I know.
Careful now, the sidewalks hold mirrors,
It wouldn’t do to crack one with a fearful foot –
No, no, let their diameters grow…
It’s not as if I’ll see myself if I bothered to look.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Speckling drops, of bathwater- lovely evening rain.
Patter melodically against
my open window frame.
The water touches me not,
for my roof with gutters and onings.
But the dewy breeze saturates my room
like my face to an ocean breeze.
Mother Waters, send her daughters
to my window this spring night singing.
Distant puddle patterning ploops,
diameters mass expanses on the suburban streets.
The trees, the smile as they absorb the
moisture their brittle bones need.
Oh how I pitied the trees,
when the cold stripped and broke their branches
my heart grew sorrowful & weak.
The deserve to be enveloped, by this
unplanned storm.
All in the world, would agree when I say
that we are blessed
with this warm April rain
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
The first day we arrived
you gave us all a piece of faded yellow rope
"Keep this on your person at all times"
Day in, day out
Alpine butterfly
(Secure the canoe so it won't fall off the trailer)
Reef, figure eight
(Simple stuff, multipurpose; the kids do this)
Sheet bend
(Connect two ropes with different diameters)
Double fisherman
(Kept it around my ankle so it wouldn't get lost)
But thank god
That the last knot I tied
Before I left
Was the one I was best at
Bowline
(Attached my heart to the sailing docks)
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Why this house? This house that walks without frame? Only air strides
circumventing the dome. The permeable atmosphere
flows freely shaking water down my arms,
pulp by pulp, fragment by fragment,
consolations for tippling music streaming in the ears.
Blowing arias – intone of regret, or the loss of beautiful things.
Preferring silence over sanguine narratives. How are we to assuage yearning?
I heard someone say, “The ideal is unattainable.” – strange, holding
the small of one’s back and lament the narrow ends of the world.
Strange the flight of birds, the hum of buses past Quezon City.
It would drone that you do not know her – and that she is never somebody
else’s – that is dearth consoled. Your palm indents delineate not fate
but the steady distances of things close to contact, eluding tragedies.
Why this house, and why you?
I have no blueprint of your home. I know not what festoons the balustrades.
Your rue for the absence of a balcony. A panel over earthenware I suppose,
or partitions to separate dreams from stilled things impaled to the wall.
I presume there are photographs of you in every corner
to remind you of your gathered storms.
I know not the smell of your home, but I have your
nameless fragrance on my shirt wedged, ambulating with me through the halls of
where I chase moments like cirrus stirring in a somersault of summer.
Make use of bowls with
evening water and flush the specter down like how you would, cold water
into throat from a night of weeping. Somewhere there,
the China will remind me of your elliptical face in
the intensity of leaving. Your eyes
the windows for birds humming a music I do not hear. I have been to too many neighborhoods,
I have seen unfinished structures foretold by obliged scaffolds holding together
a would-be home. Why this house? There are only shadows intimate on
the floor. The sudden burst of impossibilities watered down, attenuated by
piercing glances through the thickest of nights black with remorse.
The palpable silence gyrates and the diameters of the world are too close
to break in sidereal circles.
Why this house? Because you are in it, and outside,
through the thick quietude, underneath the paling moonlight,
you pretend you see nobody.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
As the skies go filled with darkness;
You are always stucked on my mind.
Thinking of a love that is ruthless,
Yet, a love that is surely one of a kind.
Can you help me, Zeus?,
The strongest God from above.
Because I don't wanna lose,
In a battle called "love".
Can you help me, Cupid?
This may sound stupid,
But I just want to hold your hand
Until the blazing time when you're gone.
Can you help me, Eta Carinae?
I just want to witness your rays;
Or to have just one dance,
Or maybe just to meet you even once.
Those dazzling eyes of yours,
My strength and energy source.
You make my heart skip a beat,
And my night complete.
I haven't met you,
I never did and I will never got the chance.
Because you always leave without any clue,
On how am I supposed to take some glance.
All I want is to see your smile,
To hear your laugh,
And to witness how you shine.
But I can't.
Midnight time setting us apart,
Time that keeps on breaking my heart.
Why can't you just be mine?
And just let our hearts intertwine.
I keep on wishing that I will meet you,
Or even just reach you.
Million of diameters between us,
Keeping you and me as anonymous.
Thoughts that maybe you're not the one,
But please stay beside me, Mr. Sun.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
***standard tunes on the radio
the gramophones are outdated
so dust off your duvet covers
and dance naked for the daily
words are kept frozen in ice cube trays
spray my hands with cinnamon and honey
your rose water sprinkles my nose
and i feel a hundred years
younger than that old toad
sweep out the dining rooms
and follow the relics of the mind
in my time of loving
i will find a way to say i’m sorry
you combine memory with meaning
like stethoscopes trying to cope
with our swollen diameters
growing up is all about coming to terms
with our petty personalities and demeanor
nootropes in the new tropics
some are similar to the old radishes
codes and secret handshakes
shape the lakeside attractions
of parks and fairgrounds
as the storm rages beneath our stereos***
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC