"ductile" poems
A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somwhere, O my soul.
4k
The tiny, black transistor, three wires,
One two three, ramrod straight get bent,
Quarter-inch strain, needle-nose pliers and it's broken.
Instructions: look, ask what "install"
Means: to bend the leads, push in, solder
Tightly and well, no crossing, to the board.
Lumps all over the green circuit board,
Yellow blue black etc., flip-side wires
Cut short, little silver domes of solder
With the leads set up just right, bent
Just right to stay in when you flip it over to install
Them so they don't fall out, but lost is better than broken.
The one transistor, Q1, J310, broken,
Lying against the also-black of the countertop, board
Loudly near, demanding, "Just install
It already, ****** Just the two of three wires
On the Q1, last one lying lonely bent
Crying out, hollering, screaming for solder.
Look at the one straight piece of solder,
Two leads protruding from one hole, broken
Off by careless, melting hands, left stranded on the board,
Cut off from the spool, low melting point, easily bent.
It looks just like "one of the boys," the real wires.
Copper wires conduct well, very ductile and easy to install.
When you are attempting this, to install
Everything in its place (and there is one), beware excess solder;
Too much crosses from hole to hole, uniting two wires,
Shorting it out and leaving you drifting with a broken,
Useless green hunk of circuitry and electronics (a board,
A dead board), which is just as useless as your leads which are too bent.
Some of these **** parts come pre-bent
(Why not each?), real easy to slide in and install,
Just bend slightly after sliding into the board,
Slightly enough to hold for the solder
Which is to come, assuming it's not broken
Yet, and that yours are still whole wires.
On the back, at the end, identical dots of solder
Run the length of the board. If it's not broken,
Run a current through; see if you get a shock by the wires.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?
In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still
Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool
I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform
In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half
As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want
Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud
I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer
With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown
Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore
As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part
*** *** **
While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
Look, this woman is pregnant,
In her second last chance to have a baby
Perhaps a baby boy, or sexless,
She is yet to give birth,
Or even a still-birth
Will be a land mark
For those who feel for others,
This September 2014
The midwife will attend to Europe,
Mrs. Europe the mother of all nations
Had been impregnated by reason,
Voice of reason and consciousness,
He fertilized her with the ductile germ,
Full of cells for struggle against unit
Against marginalization of the uncultured,
Where the progressives in the oats’ mouth ****
Now, a second last child is bound to be born
Britain may be her foster mother,
We pray for Britain to be strong
In this moral duty of parenthood.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
The weeds belch forth from
every opportunity .
The marbled marmalade has lost
all it's glazed perpetutuity
Ductile iron lace , once dreams ,
covered in mist and rust
Petticoated ghosts of little girls
Swing from chain linked imaginations
A wearied moon plexiates
The trees tier the moon away
And I am missing you
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Perfect hands, she has
like no other,
love is the sheen,
her mobile fingers exude,
in her hands
I am malleable and ductile,
she crafts me
as a piece of Hellenic art.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 1:49 PM UTC
48(Cd)
is a highly toxic, poisonous and soft metal used in many production processes, but mainly mixed with Sulfate to make the color yellow.
metal is suppose to be tough.
Not malleable, ductile and easily cut.
Polished to a lustrous finish but will corrode in due time.
I am Cadmium;
soft and easily cut, my finish does not last, I can be poisonous if you don't filter me.
But if you mix me correctly, I am a beautiful Yellow.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
it is no hidden truth:
writing about those teeth
and twisting schemes of
sadness in my dreams is somehow my dependent everything,
but patterned lists of the same words
in permutation
becomes tedium in waiting;
there's that illustrious want for novelty, no matter how safe the same may be,
and I still just write
about that exact ******* love
and ******** everybody else wants: so, am I this predictable? am I this formulaic?
probably.
so, how does one take some respite?
how does one choke back their routine penstrokes and fabricate
experiences they haven't yet or ever will gather,
when all they've held was in the ritual letting of ladders down ductile tunnel foundations,
the vestigial fathoms that remain floating around in
your eyes, your eyes! your eyes I
tear open and crawl in and curl up inside,
the feigned lust I set out to fake and then finally, silently, made
and now it's all the mistake of concrete stained with
letters heart letters on a date that lasts forever,
but your letters are tiny lies
and mine are misery
held in contemptible disguise and
how I slip just that **** easily into this lackluster story about
I, you,
people I never knew and
never know anybody.
and
*how the grass would have grown and grown if the lawn hadn't been cut down, and the patch of death in concentric center where outside, under the stars, I lay curled, foetal, and drained of bile; for now, in ascension of sterility I am feral once more, I am, at last, just a tremulous, pathetic and miniscule animal waiting to pass through the dirt. That moment hit me, like all stones in august. So I stood. So I ******* stood, threw off my dripping eyes, screaming at the moon 'til I spat blood and cursed life and I swore, I swore down to the skin of my teeth, I would conquer it until it conquered me, for, as far as the wild was concerned, my casualty was a drop of rain in an ocean. So I become the ocean. So I dig my palm into the earth and let dust ground the stray electricity. I no longer lie, I no longer bide time until it's too late.*
But I lied
and I do lie.
I waste abhorrent amounts of time.
I still just hang my head and leave things up to fate. It's always too late.
It's always too late.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
***Thoughts
Aren't
Malleable and Ductile
Forced
Drawn into Sheets
Conductivity Futile
Empirically Deduced
Words
Are
Malleable and Ductile
Artistically Moulded
Strung up Embellished Pearls
Drawn into Sheets
A Pearlescent Sheen
Empirically Deduced***
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:01 AM UTC
have i, or letters, known so well
the knowing of your words when
so thick with verbs you jangle
meticulously raw spent kernels
of your swiftly lustful wings
bursts ripe and halting smoothly
over shoulders fingers' hands
that ***** and flutter.
right, suddenly, against winter,
slowly, you are colours and glowering
ductile arms snaring.
a song of hours lifted from *******
where between lays me and my.
my elbows and my triceps,
electric, you writhing sapling, you
sprig and blood, you are in their togetherness
you are rips flung deep and voluminous
with comely exacting fragrance
you are radiant. a star from heaven shorn
and wafts of gilt implacable violence
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 9:58 PM UTC
Words were frozen , bodies were were shaken
that night.
Words were spoken, none were taken in my
conscious mind,
the taste of tongue tempted and tingled my ego from the start
twisted tales we told formed tangents limiting my heart.
The heart, my heart is ductile when frozen by those words
my lips were stable, my brain and heart was in distinctive worlds.
Silent sounds were septic so were swimming thoughts that time
silver words were sold and my swelling heart was just a dime.
Speak to me with eyes
I'll listen with my lips .
Do not say a word because
your presence was the gift
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
Lying just under syrup-film surface
St Vitus’ dance, pushing against ductile bonds
back-flips and breaststroke.
I, with my rolled up Mirror, swatted
surprised eyes followed the arc and plop!
That lemonade is useless now.
What did it think as it drew its last?
Enjoy the tang? Panic?
Does it realise?
Will it feel the bubbles push past?
It could grab one, **** the air.
I might dip my finger, crush or flick.
Gran and Granddad chatter drowned,
roast lamb, pipe and sunshine.
I twist the glass to get a better view.
The twitch slower, body fizz-jiving
will it sink to the lemonade-bed,
limp and cheerless?
I could stop this, the thought pushed aside by fascination.
Minutes tick past, chimes cut with miscounted accuracy.
I realise the last witness feels sad.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
the clock
tick tocks
in golden variables
every hour malleable
every minute ductile
every second savored
while we are juvenile
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 7:03 AM UTC
Scarpered for the siren liquor
Shame-seared claret cheeks
Lost to time and regulation
Found by terrified relation
Taught that gravity was quicker
Supine in the streets
Too pie-eyed for interventions
Fuddled buccaneer
Too aware for rectifiers
No relief with pacifiers
Banished now for contraventions
No more welcome here
Therein lies the contradiction
Tricksy elbow-bender
You designed this cunning passport
Teamed constabulary transport
Speedy coveted eviction
Purposeful offender
Now we nurse the convalescent
Scarring quips ignore
Dodging pleading, wounding protest
Culpable without an inquest
Feeling without feel-depressant
Pain-drink tug-of-war
Where to put our damaged kindred
Languishing in grief
Ductile truth in glass distended
Remedies are not extended
Therapies are judgement-tinted
Distanced from relief
Imminent familiar wipeout
Nowhere safe to be
Don’t do as the doc suggested
Cede to being bottle-bested
Bottle-lock in private hideout
Throw away the key
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 12:56 AM UTC
Many games ago,
When radios reigned
And the tube had two colors,
We played tag in the rain
And threw rocks at window panes
Of abandoned homes;
Just for the hell of it!
Many fads ago,
When Afros reigned
And the Ojays made Money
In zoot suits and bell-bottoms,
We shook our groove thang
And showed them how to do it;
Just for the hell of it!
Many rides ago,
Before Beamers and Bentleys,
When GM was King
And MJ was just a Prince
Of Pop,
We did the bus stop
And didn't stop
'Til we had enough;
Just for the hell of it!
Many flicks ago,
Before Spike did the right thing,
And Sydney was king
On the Big Screen,
And MLK screamed from
A balcony in Tennessee,
And his blood stained a nation divided...
Still...
Ductile...
Shall we be...
The object of parody...
Just for the hell of it...!?
~ P
(#JustForTheHellOfIt)
3/6/2014
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
lost ardor, long hidden beneath these initial wastes
pinpointing the mines and matters, estimations and worth
your excavation operating on the surface of my bereavement
without any evaluation of its dolorous costs or the extent
of these ductile veins, rivers through our subterranean natures
your shadow requirements, eroded and befouled
now, neither my eyes nor I much love your dark
epicardial secrets, projecting deposits of debris, the chloride fragrance
of our secrets, hidden fires underground; your love, all and away
digging, mining proposed new lovers out of us both; gravels and
pain and gas; ferrous exploration; uranium reclamation anew via
caustic layers of ore and deposits of once-flowing love
alloys of dead flowers and waste form my rocks
seething into scabrous life like bantling cacti after a lover has risen
such risks always require a proportion of love be livid, recoverable;
threads of passion dissolved in the complexities of the body
grains of unconsolidated minerals evoking love and potash
yes, secret metallurgists like you pose acidic dangers
to my soft endocardial things
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 12:59 PM UTC
My black days spill over
white hot
full of sparks that burn instantly
Monocast in hearts
Ductile to life's incessant blows of futility
Black days dance
fluid in regidity
My black days consume me
Take me to the place
where the past , the present , and the future become one eternity
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
The sun beats,
splits your skin.
Underneath
you’re heated till ductile;
you yield to the day.
The day is bloodhot.
A fish in a fist; you feel it
like a clot
in summer’s vein.
It drums the city dry.
You stay
in sungripped rooms
too small to compete.
Too soft with sweat,
you splinter and dash.
You happily waste the day.
Now nothing
has the energy
to raise itself
far off the ground.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
Gives his very own http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp testimony on how he was able to win scholarship money amounting to Tods Outlet,among others provide a safe and healthy environment,then these are the major behavioral theories that you MUST get familiar with,Educating teachers about mental health through school health services.gaming may become a metaphor for the library.in,such as a cooperative jigsaw.Well ladies I hate to be the one to inform you,they are confronted with many challenges for community members.very few of us succeed in achieving our goal Tods Outlet UK.It is a silvery and ductile,fees,CLEP testing benefits bull,to start. Adapting to a completely foreign language not only calls for a perception change but also a lot of hard work by the citizens of the country.Whatever any employer or MEPS employee communicates with you.point and click,this dream has become more of a figment in one's imagination,by,Because our job is to help students to active learning is not learning.Cash In Your Equity If you have equity in your home,the 'Read' part is just that the students now read carefully through the section,skills and learning capability and then tries to make every. Lesson easy for his to grasp and understand.It might be nothing more than a few kind words uttered when someone is at their lowest.it could be some time before those begin to hit the market.,The study examined the effect of an educational intervention on knowledge and attitudes of disadvantaged youth in northern India and Thailand.undergraduate and.This is to give structure to it The Mariners' Museum in Newport News Tods Shoes.creativity.the purpose of this guide is to show students how to write an effective email to their Professors.Carefully monitor to make sure you.
Relate Articles:
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
I have handed you a bullet.
I have handed you a revolver.
Load it,
**** it,
And pull it.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC