"fibonacci" poems
Gemini in seasonable evening,
serenely swirling in Septemberous
ferris wheels
reeling in the vast domain
of lonesome leviathans
and witch-fires;
nowhere bound in the boundless fecundity
[ the feral joys of creation... ]
twins
meander in gravity's
well of souls,
swollen with unknowns and proteins;
golden rods in pointless foam
brewing the elixir vitae
in the Dippers cup. the Milky Way,
a wayward gush
from an ancient Mother Goddess,
plump and shameless, pumping teats
to nurse worlds
infused with divine rays of gamma and x...
why set dark apart
from firmament burning
spheres?
dragons
must clutch eggs in the void
as much
as fork tongue white dwarfs.
of course, the Source
unfolds
as Love does. it's purpose,
in thrall of fearless veracity,
spinning yarns for glad garments
to clothe the naked dread
of such fearful symmetries
as roam the wild delights
of the infinite
meringue.
the Pi
on the window sill,
tempting the circular frame of reference
to square with the sublime Will.
another Fibonacci in your
bedpost,
to better hobnob with
broomsticks.
everything annihilates hatred.
from within,
we sojourn to sovereign super-continents
of opulent peace.
profound realities surge serpentine
with Meaning.
we are outdone on the inside by small minds
and farcical
hearts.
so at night
look up.
Love's Tongue Is
Love's
Word.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Math
Numbers
The only things everyone
And everything have in common
You can find mathematical proofs written
In between the stars
Numerical sequences hiding beneath a fern
That unfurls to reach the heavens
No one can deny, one will always equal one
And the sum of two numbers will never change
Truths remain truths no matter the language
I can't see how my friends can say 'I hate math'
Or how people say 'numbers are stupid'
Numbers and math comprise the essence of life
On another planet the number pi and
Sierpinski's triangle may have different names
But their rules remain the same
Math and numbers make up geometry
Which is full of tesselations, and fractals
And beautiful diagrams and principles
How can you not love something like the
Golden Ratio, or the Fibonacci sequence?
They provide the curl of a fern, the twist of
A snail's shell, the spiral of a pineapple
And rotation of axial leaves
Such a beautiful, never changing system
That appears in so so many forms
Why be bored when you can play with fractal-y
Tesselating doodles?
And don't even get me started on science...
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
I've been thinking and reading a lot recently
People who claim to be enlighten
Are not really enlighten because
Enlightenment is about being one with everything
Enlightenment is seen as knowledge & awareness
I guess the “spiritual people” lack an understanding
Of duality
That life is based on good & bad
Enlightenment and being one with everything is accepting
Both the horrors & wonders of Life
Thus creating balance, which is now “being one with everything”
Instead of waving sacred geometry as the all knowing thing
Or bragging about, “I know the Fibonacci sequence & the golden ratio”
Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy reading about spirituality, sacred geometry, and other marvelous topics
Nor am I bashing people’s beliefs
I just see people misinterpreting the message
A great and funny example that had me thinking was what Palpatine/ Darth Sidious from Star Wars Episode III revenge of the Sith said.
“Anakin, if one is to understand “the great mystery” one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the force.”
That principle revolves around the same idea as being enlighten & being one with everything
If someone was to become “enlighten” he or she has to face the trials of learning to love and also embracing that there is a horror that lurks around us that we are oblivious to see.
I think once someone see’s both sides of the picture is when someone becomes “enlighten”
Because they understand how both sides work
Enlighten --> duality --> balance
This is how I just view the topic of enlightenment
You don’t have to believe what I wrote
I could be wrong
This was merely me ranting and expressing what I feel lol
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Fibonacci Series
their bodies,
more suggestion than shape,
stretch then swell,
trailing slime
on sidewalks,
an eternity
of space to cross
from grass to grass.
one,
then another
and another
undefine themselves,
wet antennae testing
air and sun,
shells slung on backs.
calcium calculations curling
ever inward.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 6:03 PM UTC
They use fractals for the mountains
And then again for the trees
I think they might use calculus
For the waves upon the seas
Fibonacci works for sea shells
I heard also for the ear
Fibonacci knows the perfect rose
I submit to you my dear
Although not common in nature
If at all it's only a blip
But still incredibly fun for me and my son
When we made our Möbius strip
The most confusing math in nature
Used describing me and you
I learned in school, I know it's true
That one plus one, is two
But you and I together
It feels like we are one
And when you are away from me
The math it equals none
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Not too distant beach tree sways in distance
Mandala Rorschach blot patterns dance like celebrating Salish drum circle
There's a hallow college sound of crime show to my left
Bickering with the occasional crush of,
**** my job is stressful."
A sleeping armadillo composed of quarks reflective within a drop of water
Fallen from the bottom-bulged North 49 canteen
A foot and 3/4ths away the snow-white generic of a ***** coffee mug formerly host to a Tetley green stands silent
Reminiscent of the eternal stillness of a mountain range
Fibonacci's name rings inexplicably from tilting branches
And I can't help but wonder if I would be grasping his hand in grasping a branch.
19 years alive and I can't help asking if I've grown-up too fast
Or simply grown into myself.
I feel old
young
and somewhere indescribable most of the time
and it's funny I cannot even fathom the length of 22 years.
A deflated balloon yellow like trend pants or sunrise sits like dejected missile
No longer screaming towards Gaza
No longer screaming.
A Holiday Inn Express pen sits with a ready-call number
Part of its mustang flame
If its quality of penmanship has any parallel to hotel service
Perhaps I'll stick with hostels.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
A desiccated brown leaf remembering greener days,
summersaults stem over end into the exposed cold dirt softened somewhat in demeanor by the grass and radiant shafts
The geese and ducks squawk and honk in the distance
Congratulating each other for the day's richness
and the way the sun feels on their proud beaks
glinting off the water in its way
a shimmering band
A princely golden carpet forever unrolling and yet complete
The sun's spindle weaves gems of light into a gossamer web
laid glittering across the water
A vision for Moses
who saw the true path through the sea
Fireworks Forever exploding sunlight
Gifted to the eye on clear liquid canvas
The wind ripples the waves
wrinkles pushed along
foaming in the sand
Little Kisses
on the grainy cheek
Star Flashes Communicating ancient patterns
Secrets of Existence Coming in Morse code, Fibonacci Sequencing,
Sacred Geometry in Twinkling Motion
Individual explosions blinking on a natural switchboard
Telling the architectural answer
Manifesting the blueprint
to only every reason why
The Last Leaf sings in the Breeze, swinging
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I
go
where e're
the road goes.
I can not depart
this journey called life, for I am
its sacred trek, and also its sacred traveler.
I am not the treacherous mountains, nor am I the peace filled valleys along the way.
I am merely the dash-
between the dates-
etched upon my tombstone-
the sacred space-
between my birth-
and my death-
The road goes-
where e're go I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*A Fibonacci poem is a multiple-line verse based on the Fibonacci sequence so that the number of syllables in each line equals the total number of syllables in the preceding two lines. 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34, etc.. *
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
Fibonacci Sequence
(after a photograph of snails)
their bodies,
more suggestion than shape,
stretch then swell,
trailing slime
on sidewalks,
an eternity
of space to cross
from grass to grass.
one,
then another
and another
undefine themselves,
wet antennae testing
air and sun,
shells slung on backs.
calcium calculations curling
ever inward.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 5:17 PM UTC
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
What are we
but a speck in this universe
of granite, metal and a burning tail
Fiery wild passion
moving in a constant speed
As if we already knew
As if we planned
As if written
As if measured
Do we count in Fibonacci's
in blindfolds eternally spin in this limbo
indulging ourselves in the futility of a dog chasing its tail
are we just asleep in this journey
conversing in our dreams
decoding static noises in the other end of the radio
for flight directions
over shifting planes of time
Like the stars believed that fate is their religion
Or the cosmos just furtive of its secrets?
-Margaret Austin Go, Lost in Orbit
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
You!
Hey.
Good-day.
I presume.
Pessimistic flu.
Hypocritical to annoy.
The poor man's Rolls Royce
-is the pessimists one good choice.
They live with fragility,
-unwilling rigidity,
-and rarely tranquility.
Some weep at morbid memories,
-others at faithless fantasies,
-do they (or you?) see the precipices
-between the then, now and will be?
So what if you take a blue bruising back-slap
-for your lacking, a juicy reminding
-for regretful whining, lifetime timing,
-miraculous hopes of a future shining
-because you're wasting your time
-and not even minding!
So listen, or in duller cases, read;
-thoughts are naught but mares and dreams,
-man made mind transparencies
-will's the sum of immediacies
-like waiting in your station
-but you're deciding the destination
-your journey fundamentally what you make it
-it's simple but pessimists are complicated
-would you not trade freedom for a life you hated?
Pessimistic man, forget it
Ranting is silly - you just don't get it
You didn't see the golden beauty I bet it
Gold is copper to you anyway
What would Fibonacci say!
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
the body falls soft
curves collapsing on the edge of
bedspread tangled in cliched prison
escape ropes
tied loose like old tendon,
we are all but used.
I feel the force of Fibonacci
spiraling between ribs
and pelvis, golden ratios
divining skin,
1 to 1.616
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
Committee)
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
Malaria)
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
1/3e).
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
fifteen years through adolescence
fifteen years to build a man
fifteen years to raise a family
another to know who (I) am
fifteen years to pad the coffers
fifteen years to tinker, and rest
fifteen years to reflect on the moments
before the Sunday best
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
The Searching Yeti and UFO/
Stocked home love of youth and foe/
mysteries of deep, songs that bellow/
I'm waving wheat surrounding crop circle/
and I Am The Bed with Fibonacci flower
holding on to summer showers
The hot oil tuned in chopped green thyme/
wrinkled strips sandy brown sugared lines/
tossed on foul fried, lemon and vinegar /
long or short grain I'll be the same integer/
I Am The Bed of rice soaked in what you savor
The breath of air/
Vibration! Everywhere?
Pitter Patter Crescendo Flare...
Ready for rivers of precipitation /
before Pen and Paper dissemination /
I Am The Bed dried wide open
Streaming to the notion ocean.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
born in 1975
40 odd beat
song now old
enough to buy a cold
drink
cold drink
We're hitting funk levels that shouldn't even be possible.
recommended algorithm
algorithm
recommended
for your ears only
We're hitting funk levels that shouldn't even be possible.
come band
funk funkier,
summon Brown
back from the dead.
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
what’s your count
Feel this beat
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55,
seek me the vodoooo advice
quick turn to 23/16
(3+3+3+3+3+3+3+2)
probably overhearing
overhearing what is truly not there
it's my juju baby
over the speed limit
sound so slow
150 BPM
we’ve gone over the speed limit
billion BPM
and a
beat
direct line to NASA
monitored funk levels
from outer space
audio crackcocaine
legal be it \
this
speed deep beat
band come
come come
now
funkier,
Brown sermons
back from the dead.
James loves
brown brow
tall dark seregeti
beat
Mandingo beat
Khoudia Diop Repeats
If they got any funkier,
they'd summon James Brown
back from the dead
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
what’s your count
Feel this beat
Fibonacci's rabbit on steroids
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55,
Warning: Do not turn the speed up to two.
YOU WILL BE OUT FUNKED.
double WITCHED
If speed is increased, wash eyes
Khoudia Diop Repeats
wash your eyes
ice cold
water
speed of sound
quicken your pace
release your soul
seek me
the vodoooo advice.
levels of funkiness been
theoretized
never imagined
achieved
born in 1975
Dumisaning
40 odd years ago.
song now old
enough to buy a cold
drink.
drink
seek me
thee vodoooo advice.
I have beaten about
this beat before.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
Me
Alone
In silence
Deep in thoughts of you
I see your captivating smile
Beauty and serenity a combined perfection
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 8:34 AM UTC
*i.
He told her
That mathematics was too
Sombre.
Too, too
Linear
To be poetic.
She said that
He had only seen himself
In a mirror,
A reversed hologram
Of his external self
Burned into his retinas with
His subconscious filling in the gaps.
But she had seen him
The rays reflected straight off him
Into her eyes;
Not some half-assed reflection
Off some silvered surface.
ii.
She said that
His jawline was
The slope of a curve
Pencilled on a graph sheet.
His candlewax skin
A wavelength
Quantifiable on paper.
His spine
A number line with
Dashes, to show real numbers
The set of which was infinite.
She said that
A Fibonacci sketch was
A minimalist rose,
A post-modern bouquet.
And that
The reflected pale morning sun
In a half finished cup of camomile tea
Was a cardioid
With fixed coordinate values on the axes
And an algorithmic tangent.
And he
Was a negative infinity
A paradox not sorted under
Quine's classification system.
iii.
She had
Recorded his heartbeat and blood pressure;
Measured the distance between his lips with her own;
Tried so hard, so very, very hard
To put him down in a numerical form
And write him off as an equation.
But all she could say was
That he was more
Than the sum total of his meagre parts
And that she
Was his reciprocal value.*
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
I don't want to think about you
So I read about the latest Plane Crash
Talking to you is riding a roller coaster
I can feel the adrenaline
i remember the crash
Of the waves
And a bath/ a shower
It doesn't matter
No water is hot enough
To wash your flesh a w a y
Underground
Hair still growing
My curls fall like the fibonacci sequence
Convincing me there's some pattern to this madness
And now
All that's left is
A mirror, a maus, and a Cashmere Cat
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
gold
thought
spiral
natural
golden thought cycle
god's natural infinite spiral
eye
burnished gold
tarnish
god's
cyclical thoughts
golden spiral
infinite growing
recurrent cycle
spiraling towards god's golden eye
circling nature's burnished cycle
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I
want to
write more things
that use this sequence.
Symmetrical, rhythmic pattern:
First one, then two, then three, then five,
ultimately eight,
then falling
back to
one.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 7:33 AM UTC
I have to turn away
from thoughts
of what I am not
to be
the living dream
of what I am.
See how this dream unfolds,
without your plans and figuring.
The sequences and cycles
and all the stops –
all Mother’s Play.
Fibonacci only saw it.
He, most certainly, did not make it.
How could he even know what it is?
Sacred Is.
We notice
when our eyes are cleared
of clouds and smoke.
If you believe the thought
about controlling God,
then you believe in your own death.
This Mother is out from under
that controlling thumb.
She is slowly standing up.
And, as she extends
to reach her fully glorified heights,
we fall into her grace.
And see what we had,
was not at all what we thought.
She has already prepared our home.
And thank The Lord!
The thoughts we had to plan
could never amount to much
of the mountainous Truth
Divine Mother shines out
for us to be.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 4:25 PM UTC
You
Me
This life.
Something we do.
Something we want to do.
Something we fight for and take for granted.
Stopping to smell the roses but only when there are roses near by.
Reminding ourselves that we can take the time to find the flowers we want to smell and prioritize appreciating their beauty.
We have the time, and yet our time is spent doing so many other things we don't want to do just so we can do so many other things that we want to do.
We waste so much of our time and yet I can't help but wonder if I even want to spend my time searching for flowers and smelling them when the spontaneity of smelling flowers and appreciating their beauty when they come into my life is a simple joy that I chose to keep and remember.
There's so many things to do, not do, want to do, not want to do, say, not say, appreciate, take for granted, love, loathe, but most importantly love and the things and the people and the places and the moments, the time that we have is so long and twisting yet short and fleeting, meaningful, yet boring, exhilarating, yet pointless and profound, so profound to hold you in my hands and look into your eyes and hold your tiny body against mine knowing you've been fearfully and wonderfully made.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC