"elasticity" poems
**I peer at the world
And all I see is
possible impossibilities
fictional realities
counterfeit originality
impotent functionality
locomotive staticity,
and rigid elasticity
beside Beastie humanity...**
*I look at the world
and all there's
are peaceful wars
Less Mores
widely locked doors
criminal laws
a stinking rose
and fragrant "choos"
I look at the world
and sadly I see all those...
I even see stepped on toes
on sand-less shores...*
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
I am sitting at a desk,
back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink.
Economics melts into white noise as
supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity.
Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling,
mocking my ever fragile existence.
Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid,
the lesson advances.
Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus.
A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes
as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles.
Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid
dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape.
God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners,
confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk.
The class remains like mannequins,
indifference radiating from their plastic cores.
Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities.
The only witness to this nightmare,
my last breathe finally deserts me.
I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,
injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra.
Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.
White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,
only to open my eyes. Blink.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
I'm tired
It's to early
How exhilarating
Get up get moving
Get exonerated of past jury's
Long worries
Till death I'm exasperating
Extravagantly emulating
This feeling
Feels like
It doesn't come with emotion
Not cold
No hurry
Not warm
Don't scurry
I will not promise that the murky waters ahead
Won't let you tread
Till you crystallize dead
Then evaporate while your mind is sleep
And your subconscious soaks the memory cup effervescent
Then will you know that
You will not come back
Escape the elasticity
With electric scissors
And that's more then needed
But it's this route you go
Because the Harder you learn the more you will grow
It's too bad this whole time you weren't sleeping
It's time for work
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Pulling
stretching
An oxidizing elasticity
all the while
a morphing
of shape and size
a marble of muted grays
resurfacing itself
and the pages it touches
with a softness that cannot
be touched
only destroyed
back into a density
to take away
the mistakes
better left
unseen
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
*the state or quality of being elastic.
flexibility; resilience; adaptability: a statement with a great elasticity of meaning.
buoyancy; ability to resist or overcome depression.
Physics. the property of a substance that enables it to change its length, volume, or shape in direct response to a force effecting such a change and to recover its original form upon the removal of the force.*
are you ready?
here it comes!
Slap!
having slapped you
with, to kind attention,
you may now recover
your original form,
when there was
no grief, no distress,
the great clarity
of eying the day's birth,
sweetly and innocently.
once again, you are
buoyant,
molecules of polluted memories,
erased.
wind scattered, gone,
blackboard erased,
whiteboard replaced.
you have been reminded,
even reprimanded,
for forgetting your
elasticity.
life, what ever that be,
is constant motion,
a reshaping of the heart,
for the heart has
no unique shape.
it's adaptation,
it's elasticity,
it's genetic forgive and forget ability,
is legend, is you,
you are legend,
You are elastic.
the human hallmark impressed
in the palms of your hands,
that cannot be erased
by time, fatigue, failure, or anger,
the hands that mold,
re-form for every need,
for every handhold,
for different are:
The hands that open closed fists
The hands that wave hi
The hands that are first to touch
and the last to leave,
waving goodbye,
elastic - tender when tender needed,
strong when strength essences.
so be elastic,
remember to be
ecstatic
remember
when you do,
you need show proofs.
Prove it to me.
Prove it to yourself.
shake, kiss, dare hug,
the one who needs reminding
that life is elastic,
even more than you.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence
They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers
You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends
You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees
MWAH! x
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Come, lovely cat, lie at my breast
Cease your scratching and settle,
Into your beautiful eyes let me rest
Swirled with agate and metal.
When my fingers caress you at leisure,
Your head and your back's elasticity,
And my hand tingles with pleasure
At the spark of your electricity,
In your spirit, I see my lover’s expression
Like your own, amiable creature.
Profound and cold, leaving a deep impression.
And, from her head, across her features,
A subtle air, a musky sin
Floats about her dusky skin.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
30 days in. Now, after, out to the market theatre.
People idling, few wondering who pulls the strings
few investigate who paints the streets
who constructs the buildings
it is a show if you slow your vision you will know
You go to a shop, you pick, you pay and go your way
Calculated activity
Prolonged elasticity
And money extends and circulates the sensitivity
the physical defying relativity
Schedules and plans, maps and structures of time
a defined life as I write
You go to church
the congregation settles, the pastor preaches
the congregation responds, "halleluyah" "amen"
songs are sung
tithes paid and progress of church displayed
soon the bell rings and away to our cottages
Cook sunday lunch and a day blessed by God
and sunday after sunday after sunday
You go to school
there's a teacher and students in the classroom
the teacher teaches, questions are asked and notes are taken
Again and again the routine iterates
until tests and assignment dates
how hypnotic this academic tale
promising a better future, a positive fate
And a mall is a town in a cubicle
a church is a social uprising theatrical
a school is a place of worship for the tamable
...and the World a jungle for those who oppose
a haven for the ignorant, a pacific abyss for the survivors of evil. All in all a theatrical play which is a story telling itself in rewind...
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
I'm disowning my name.
In America, my name is cumbersome
and clumsy
and confusing
so I'm leaving it behind.
See,
my name starts with an S and ends with a Z
and one's a mirror of the other
so they're like bookends
for a collection of letters
that spell a name
that I never really felt belonged to me.
Every morning, when I wake up,
I wriggle into my name
but it doesn't feel quite right.
It's like borrowing your best friend's jeans
even though she's tall and skinny
and you've got a hundred generations of Puertoriqueña swirling around the blood in your hips.
I don't like my name
cause it doesn't diffuse across your lips.
It bursts through your teeth.
It's got a weight on your tongue
that brings down the sound with the weight of
a thousand sinking ships.
I've got a
Hispanic Titanic of a name
but my skin's so white
it seems impolite to claim an ethnicity
that only lends its elasticity
because of my father
and the people that brought him here.
My name is not me.
It never was.
It is an anchor that keeps me on the island of what my family used to be.
I am not a race.
I am not a category next to a box on a sheet of paper.
I am the syncopated heartbeat of a tribal drum.
I am the ****** whisper of water on the sand.
I am the sunburn on the corrugated tin.
I am the hunger in the stomachs of the working poor.
So when I die
let me not be remembered by
fifteen letters I did not choose
seven syllables I did not select
three titles I did not ask for.
Let them tell stories of
what I did
where I went
what I saw
who I loved
the words I spoke
the thoughts I formulated,
ignorant of my race
free of bias and prejudice
and preconceived notions
of what I should have been
because in the end
none of this will matter
I'll have no strength for words
but with a penultimate breath
I'll still be able to smile.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
I did it
I bent the edges
now I have to find the wedges
the edge of a sphere
might be near
or a square, circle, cylinder
maybe a triangle or straight bar
find the form
inside the norm
its about perception
remember the inception
from stardust formed
from stardust one day returned
It's in and out of the mind
but you always need to be kind
striving to a higher complexity
and counting on universal elasticity
don't rush
take in the hush
before the bang
for a second you need to hang
move at an even rhythmic pace
when you bend time and space
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
i
because instead of slipping away,
i can feel you
stretching away
through the lines of electricity that
used to run from
hand to hand finger to finger
seamlessly clasped and lightning touch
but now, the distinct, archaic
electricity wires;
through the state line that makes
144 miles
2.5 hours in a car with traffic,
3.5 hours in a train with horizons
seem like the years that we spent
not knowing each other;
through the lines of shadow that
keep me up in the middle of the night,
pulling me down when
i’m short enough already, thanks;
through the line that was once binding us,
which was only there to make separate forms
somewhat distinct—
the line which now feels
like us dissolving
thinning,
holes becoming gaps becoming gasps,
then melting into
tarred and feathered feelings,
and the knowledge that even
poetry
can’t make me feel what you felt today.
life line, my ***
ii
some days, i feel
like a ******* camel.
not only because i have to
stumble bleak miles over
thankless tundra under the
blue sky of distinct impossibility
that in reality is heaven on earth,
but in reality doesn’t have your smile;
not only because i have to do this with
memories of you stored
like water in humps—
the way you look when we press up
nose to nose and laugh,
the way you feel like something new
and something never-ending
the way you conduct lightning though my spine
and make thunder sound in my ears
all of which has faded to a distant sloshing;
not only because sometimes
i see a mirage, that
palm tree lake luau oasis,
that glimpse of the curve of your jaw or
whisper of the sound of your voice
that makes me turn around
but is really another sand dune;
but because when i see other couples
with their hands interlocked and their
eyes aligned and their feet in step like
their life is a stage and their world is a musical,
i want to ******* spit.
iii.
but sometimes i realize
that stretching is growth is elasticity;
that because the kinetic momentum of matter
is the fusion of what i want to want
with what i need to need,
it doesn’t matter
because either way,
i can’t complain.
that because i’m at home in the sound of your voice
and because i haven’t been homesick at all, but
lovesick and yousick and
healthier than ever because of it—
it makes me smile whenever, at the end of every conversation, we say:
i love you
i miss you.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
The dough is molten at oven spring,
like a prayer to the historicity of things ..
Have we not imagined yesterdays
in the ritual of bread ? While our pasts
lay embezzled, on the tongues of men, the
sentiment of centuries colluded in germ,
echoing through heirloom remembrances
those floury philosophies of change.
While I stretch dough to gaze past
a windowpane, as far back as Khorasan ..
they were other names then, another
elasticity in time. Faith is a memory
of settled people in lands of milk and
honey, where every drought, every flood
spawns a new religion .. and the wheat,
always begs the same old question:
Are we there yet, in the fertile crescent
of opportunity ? The grains haven't changed
in their stolid countenance - long, subtle,
germy, cosseted. In the granaries of kings ..
they are willed by royal decree, never to die
in an eternal future and like humankind,
who score bread in the cuneiform of hearts,
grain is always thirsting to seed the land.
Sep 20, 2021
Sep 20, 2021 at 10:49 AM UTC
Rain on tin
the pang and elasticity of
time and the time it
takes nature to sway
from right to left
from outer to inner
to notice the girl
on the edge of the room
with a drink in her hand
and then there's that
old lightning, self-proclaiming
its importance to the
gymnasium with grumbling
thunder then we're all
tossing dice and teaching
each other dance moves,
saying the girl on the edge
needs a pair of new shoes
and someone responds:
Isn't that the woman who kills?
And I go home with her
rain on tin and a summer
wade through Cottonwood Creek
we're in a shed
and it's musty, dangerous,
and possible
a killer takes certain care
of your body with her
cautious hands.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Sometimes I awaken from my dreams
from that soft mindless drifting that is sleep
and I get snagged
on the subtle undercurrent of worry
a swirling feeling of fragility
the antonym of youth
when I was the captain of my soul
steering with assurance
buoyed by faith in my muscle and wit.
In the slowing pace of my days
I get snagged on remembering:
the steady increase of forgetting
the ache in my knees upon standing
the declining elasticity
of my skin and my will.
All of these hiccups
twist me toward the scratchy edge
the bleak and chancy fog
of anxiety.
This thick arrhythmia
in the music of my day
can tempt me to get stuck
in the stupid stuporous thread of
thinking: the rest of this bad day
is a foregone conclusion
instead of this confident conviction:
It's up to me
to discover the next thing
I can create,
to open the blinds
and the windows
to ***** or stick or trick
my mind,
to wake up
and imagine
or remember how it felt:
to hold an infant
to hit a solid fly ball
to see fireworks light up the dark
to win a big jackpot
to make the perfect shot
to kiss her luscious lips
to see my first eclipse.
One other trick I can do
when I trip and fall into counting my losses
or lamenting my crosses -
is to make a gratitude list.
It always works to lift the fog
and step out of my slog
to rhyme me out of the sadness bog.
I hope I'll remember these solutions
to fear's dark and dangerous pollution
and when I think I'm too **** old
to try a thing or two
I will think of the days of being bold
and live and love me
into the new.
“MindTricking,” Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Currier
Written 5-6-17
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
.
I'm one tissue shy of calamity,
next to the last soul in humanity.
I am one ounce of pride short of dignity,
and one mph away from velocity.
I'm in one town, you're intensity,
a Master Charge away from identity.
One aching tendon from flexibility,
and one arc'd degree from the university.
Happiness has lost it's frivolity,
I have narrowed down my availability.
Gumby has lost all elasticity.
Will we live beyond infinity?
I've never crossed the lines between serenity and insanity,
has a poet's moon lost it's sensuality?
I am one drink ahead of sobriety.
The second to last to stand in society.
The unforgivable sin elbows my morality,
your pen sells your individuality.
One jail bar between your vulnerability.
Your down to earth qualities mock your vanity.
My daddy never claimed me through paternity,
I was the last kid standing in the maternity.
And just when I thought this poem was through,
you asked me to spend eternity with you.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
seventy-three silk worms
live on the peripheries
of my consciousness
i see them
encounter their stares
hundreds of silver eyes
their ravenous mouths
that keep me emaciated
in my own mind
long vertical ropes of thread
spiraling in molecular contortionisms
among my thoughts
there is an elasticity in their movements
their speech is laden with androgynous chic
they possess and exacting ambition
not to be kept alive by toxins
and look to their Dadaist progenitors
for encouragement in their silken tasks
seventy-three silk worms
who find affirmative properties
in the rebirth of my brain cells
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
The endless sands bulging over and breaking
in undulating form
shifting in the winds language of low wolf whistles
and sensual whispers
stretches as far as the minds elasticity
into a sheltered cove where sits,
a desert prophet dreaming of strange rituals
in the mirage of waters and wastelands.
Come time and temperament he will rise
in the chill night to gaze upon the stars
moving within the spangled galaxies
between The Milky Way and Cassopeia,Andromeda,
with Sirius suns rising in a another world
where secrets lay buried in the papyrus
of ancient astrologers who understood
how the earth was born and
other peoples left their mark
for a discovery of millennium future.
The prophet was here once.
Twelve feet tall and striding
between giant obelisks and pyramids
walking oceans, crossing land bridges
and land masses escorting
his forbears to seed the earth.
"I will return in time
ten thousand years after the Aztecs
Machu Pichu, Indus and Empires
built on carved gods and seven headed hydra,
to rule again unquestioned, as before. Think.
Till then -leave what I have left behind
for you to caretake. Stay still. Understand.
Author Notes
Return?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
My type is flexibility.
My kink is versatility.
I try to draw into my life,
those of the same nature.
However, I find myself
attracting those
with a lot less elasticity.
Is it because they wanna be like me, malleable?
I try to help but there is no fluctuation.
You're so stiff, you just snap.
You give me nothing to work with, nothing willing to be formed.
How can you and I become we,
and we become one,
when you refuse to merge?
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
He clings onto a breeze that's already found another head of hair to ruffle and selection of papers to rummage through
With emerald eyes losing the sparkles that once blinded a woman with a tendency to fall in love at the mere sight of a soft glow hidden beneath a smile or carrying the heavy bags under tired eyes
He clutches onto an evanescent sun, hiding behind a set of rusting leaves, carried away by the soft wind
With chapped lips losing the color that once ran vibrantly through his veins, enthralling a woman to fall to his tender kiss as he wrapped her into him
He embraces the steaming cup of coffee his fingers curl around, warming his increasingly numb hands, frozen by the air's cold and bitter bite
With silky brown hair just peaking out of his cap losing it's electrification that once enticed a photograph from a woman who was attracted to his gentle, supple caress
He releases his frozen breath that consumes the environment in front of him, a misty fog that possesses his vision
With racing tears flooding his face, the cries almost push themselves through, but instead put out the fires blazing inside his conscious, left over from a woman that used to leave matches beside his heart when the winter encountered his soul
He scratches the memories from his mind that seemed to overpower his every thought, imperializing his every emotion, raising an assortment of rages within
With uneven heartbeats blurring his mind, erasing his train of thought only to get off at the next stop where a woman stands and delivers a devilish kiss to his chapped lips, filling him with life only to **** it all out of him as she pulls away
Anarchy, deception, release, anguish
He can't tell the time on his watch as his vision fades into the darkness of the sky that seemed to be a reflection of his inner being
A devil in disguise, he fell into Hell when he fell beside her in bed
Anarchy, deception, release, anguish
He's been through all of the seasons
He's been through all of the stages
He tears apart the heavy veneer holding him back from living
The elasticity of his sanity stretching as far as it possibly could
The woman that once sewed him together
Has now severed each and every stitch that made him whole
But he lets go
He throws away his coffee and travels on
Leaving the memories and the anger buried in the dirt he stood upon moments ago
He's finally freed from the evils that sought out to ruin him
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
The idiosyncrasy of
the elasticity of
a heart
that knows how to mend,
bewilders the mind
of the drunken fool
who thinks that it is the end.
To ameliorate
his rate of devastate
he must look
to his celestial mother
who he not yet knows
and out of cool, still air
soon he will discover.
But the throttle of
the bottle that
he cradles
deep in all his grief
kidnaps his abilities
like a devious,
forlorn thief.
And soon then when
again he finds
another
to hold tight
his mother will have
shown to him
the beauty of her light.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
Defined by society where
rigidity meets elasticity and
Destiny is some girl you see
with Captain Scarlet on
black and white T.V.
Cartoons might be the
new line in hereditary,
the daily dose of
Sylvester could be
the cat that gets the cream.
Everything falls apart
the moment that I start
to be serious.
It's a failing in the gene pool,
I drawl and drool and snort
I ought to be on
the T.V
with Muffin the mule
but
I am in bed with rings that run circles
around my head,
A Saturn of a satellite,
which seems alright to me.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Icy burn, an ache
both dull
and knife point.
Am I going
insane?
Cervical, thoracic,
lumbar, and sacral
tension, or
is it
elasticity?
Am I going
crazy?
Dark days, I try to run
away from myself,
just to sniff in circles,
distracted, burning
daylight.
Good days, I practice
all the basic moves
a mixture
of modern living
and disregard
made me forget.
Guess I'm pretty broken.
Isn't the concept of
properly aligned
posture fun?
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
It isn't so much
broken, as muscle is
unlike bone and
does not fracture cleanly.
It will not heal completely,
when damaged, no matter
how well it is set.
Bone calcifies to mend itself,
and adds new minerals
and elements to make it stronger yet.
Muscle, however, turns to weaker ends
that lack its own elasticity.
It mends itself with collagen,
and becomes more prone to injury.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
Blue, Yellow, Red Purple. Organic
My Whole
It is made of endurance, elasticity
Dynamic rhythms of the world
We created the vibrant forests
Colors of the earth
Be aware
Hear me collecting, combining
Intuition
Heard a laughter
Power of the world
Come here, rejoice the new
Open the impossible
Be irresistible
Blue
Red come join the rhythm
Feel the ocean
Feel the classic of your scent
Leave it open
Remember the feeling
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC