"geometrical" poems
At the end of the pier you could look out to sea
Listening to the swell flap on the rusty cast iron
Of geometrical supports.
Barnacles clung, sealed like gold nuggets
And in the distance the slow **** of a tanker.
The wind would whisk around the terminal
Throwing hair to the sky
Floating chandelier skirts tipped
Revealing best underwear.
And the clock sang its time to the birds.
Over both sides were fishing rod rows
Their owners sitting on canvas stools
Above seagulls nibbled the air for food scraps
And beneath strong swimmers bobbed
Watching children skim pebbles in the waves.
Love Mary xxxx
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
The dichotomy of purgatory is sprinkled with the delights and disciplines of a fretful uncertainty and steam locomotives can sound menacing when their pistons seek to establish torque on those rails of pursued destination with mesmerizing force.
I know that time is like a fondling excitement, where constellations of perceived energy fields become intellectually categorized into mechanical parts of a metaphysical ******
Universal parameters of death may generate mischievous laughter, which resound throughout the silent galaxies of cosmological meadows.
I have to say that geometrical co-ordinates automatically invoke thoughts of plain paper and hot chocolate – small figments of homosapien pastures where grazing is not a realistic occurrence.
As we perceive the eternal impressions of epistemological nihilism, let us play the game of religious patience on this checkered board of architectural bliss.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.
Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.
Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.
Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.
Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
****** into my sofa,
The infinite space of it.
The faces of my friends are melting off,
Like heated wax running down a candle stick.
I loaded the universe into a gun,
And I shot myself in the head.
I can not tell if I am breathing.
Am I alive or am I dead?
I’m strapped to the outside of a rocket ship with nothing in the way.
I’m taking off, and I just keep going. Reaching a height higher than heaven.
There’s nothing to orient myself. No time. No space. No self. Nothing but darkness stretching out all around me.
A roar of a million voices are screaming over each other, they’re resonating in my head.
I’ve come into orbit. Everything is beginning to crystalize.
Surrounding me are complex geometrical patterns of love and understanding.
Gibberish wall textures are whispering messages through their feelings.
This is all too much to take in,
It is like the universe orgasmed into my eye.
I just want to go home,
I think I am going to die.
A sense of calm echoes through me,
Probably brought upon by the faces of my long lost family.
They have so much dimension to them,
So beautiful, light and shimmering.
Looking like something out of religious doctrine,
They came out from the open.
Released me into my primal light laser body,
Everybody has been laughing at the joke never spoke.
And now that I get it,
It is infinitely funny.
It is like the sand man blew his sand,
Taking me on a train to dream land.
They are showing me everything,
I can not even begin to understand.
How am I supposed to understand infinity,
When I can barely understand a single moment.
I see God in a head of lettuce.
I feel the earth's rotation,
As I spin around the sun.
God handed me the universe loaded into a revolver,
And fired me into a flashing rainbow shower.
Friday's smoke opera has rendered me dumb.
Bathing in a melting rainbow,
The cosmos is dripping down my skin.
Infinity is stretching out,
And withdrawing within.
I become the colour,
And the colour becomes me.
I am in everything,
And everything is in me.
Coming out of the woodsmen's cloud,
I hear a child screaming out.
I didn't know what it was then,
But now I know what it is about.
The trees are no longer silhouettes,
My destination is not my goal.
I am in the middle,
Wherever I go.
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 5:45 PM UTC
I asked my math professor if he knew what the equation was when two entities meet at a specific moment in life.
Is there a letter to substitute in for her name?
Or a number for the amount of time I spend with her.
Did the great elucid create any form of geometrical sequences that would
allow me to intersect the way life intertwined,
the way our hands intertwined.
I was clueless when it came to her,
being unable to justify what traveled faster
her voice against my skin
or light across the open space.
If I could write out a formula for the way our bodies melt, the periodic table would find a new element within.
What would our acronym be, what would our lives become if we solidify or become a gaseous state
Our atoms bouncing against each other’s hearts like the core of a star, matter weighing millions of tons that we orbit around each other like two galaxies connecting.
Yet illuminating the dead space like a Fourth of July only this is a firework burning for billions of years.
Two bodies,
hearts beating,
melting into one.
What will they write down in books about us.
What will they think when they start to study about our nebula's.
Were their hearts to empty,
or were they full of life?
Were they human?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
I have, on my computer,
two sound generating devices
which I meditate on
for healing reasons
and I am on
a Dharma network
which has photographs
of Yantras, which are those
geometrical designs
that I meditate on
for healing reasons
and I don't know
if I am healed by these things
or not
but it sure is a trip!
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC
it operates like a revolving door
there are no hinges
but it extends from ceiling to floor
it is fashioned out of multiple parts
in various geometrical shapes
each with an intricate pencil etched
message that speak of the ways
to reexamine the perplexity
of what remains behind the walls
of your bedchamber calls that
became trapped in long
recondite walkways and halls
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
Her smile is my favorite geometrical anomaly
Mathematicians have yet to discovered a name for it
Expressing sunshine
Solving the issue of yesterdays broken equations
The corners of her lips are the product of perfection
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
Where I belong, or destined to be
Is not exactly clear like
Crystalline doubt with fear in tow.
No,
Not on the ridge where I stand partly
In sky atop a roof not there
In its geometrical theory.
With the straight line
Like hammer to wood
Curved yet target laid,
Walking sticks on top of sticks
I nail my presence to homes
Yet homely to be made.
Not on the porch where lemonaid
Will be poured and yet to be's
Will extend on in time as an
Echo lingers of what no one sees.
I build a home
And leave a peice of me unknown.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
The music climbs inside my empty shell and fills me up with fountains of color and swirling geometrical patterns, becoming a vortex ready to touch down as soon as the gentle bristles kiss the rough canvas.
Oh, the canvas!
My life raft in a sea of faceless, indifferent individuals who exclude any person with the sense to push back against their idiocy. Anyone strong enough to demand answers.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
You love hearing.
You love seeing.
You love smelling.
You love feeling.
You even love the taste of life,
Bold statements arise: pentagon built pyramids; hexagram built light…
I’m speaking subtlety’s; the space between five and six,
Like that star David from CSI;
Eleven mirror, twelve depicts,
If they’re in prison, it was because of common sense,
If you’re successful, universe says you were dependent on the sixth…
We’ll acknowledge foundations as Gravity, Although they reflect;
Time as tragedy,
Too low to connect;
Space to one; a division within;
I’m thinking maybe this trinity could project a web,
Gravity is the outcome of manifestations existing;
Creativity transmuting energy that’s coexisting in a space in which polarities consisting,
Space is the frame that’s assisting;
A geometrical web full of light that infinitely splits simultaneously while it’s energy is shifting,
Time is the perception of distance between manifestations, it’s the same as predicting,
It doesn’t exist until it exists,
That’s a matter of apathetic wishing,
“He’s an oxymoron…”
We fear the unusual,
But we can’t possibly be normal,
That’s actually abnormal,
When we conform to others idealism, our realities become harmful,
Earlier I advocated that space is full,
If you’re pushing space in your own gravity, displacement will leave your mind full; time-poor,
Love yourself, because you love your five senses,
No need for senseless for it is why we sense-less before more,
That doesn’t mean closed door,
It means your time is poor;
How can you be of wealth if you’re missing idealism,
In such a situation you’re obligated to war;
Be informed, be young, belong life,
Disconform, keep ***** on your side,
Obliterate, reiterate, polarize,
You must know thyself before you know the sky.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
At birth we are saplings;
absorbing and sponge-like;
anchored by flimsy roots.
Each developing child is a sliver,
a woodchip,
a branch.
We send our saplings to schools
to be stripped of their bark
and pounded into smooth identical geometrical shapes;
shapes incapable of stretches and growth.
These equations and grammaticals add shape,
not depth, so simple
simple enough to identify our souls
with a string of numbers and letters.
I was born a sapling,
born to stretch, twist,
reach for illumination; fueling the roots
from which I sprang.
Why do these axes
clad in their glasses
want to beat me into factory form?
We should be watered and nursed
until our trunks grow rings
incapable of calculation;
Teach me to grow toward the sun,
and not to become a fragrant product.
Teach me to drop fruits of wisdom
and throw flowers;
for apples can only drop
from fruitful trees.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
i don't think it's fair
to hide away
by the way
it was the driest parts of you
that made the spell of aging
fade
like freckles in the winter
bloomed only to evade
like wax heavy and damp
take another pill
to ease those cramps
or maybe just light your own candle next time
because i guess we're both a little damaged
or have seen too many moons
either way
there will always be unmarked tombs
and cigarettes to cloud the air
and graze fingers as a reminder
you're only seventeen
too young not to care
you grew with such ease
orange trees
sprawling roots remain to prove
gods talk as loud as monsters do
but heaven will always have gates
to keep out lovers naive to fate
and pyramids tell the geometrical truth
Wes
the blood on the floor
would be better hidden beneath a bruise
because theres no time like the present
is time a present
or a curse
is the water clearer or worse
on your side of the bridge
and how long will it take to cross?
i don't want wet feet for christmas
forever is a greedy business
when sincerity lacks
scars sliver like snakes
my lips beg this cycle to break
pull sleeves down
to avoid demons that drop
from sky to ground
to dust beneath the Tennessee sun
just in time for draught thats begun
breaking southern girls who are fragile
enough to turn from glass to stone
so stop complaining and open your eyes
its april again
even the birds stopped crying
your tears will turn to mud
scrape them from you
knifes aren't only good for killing
and when i opened my mouth to scream
you silenced my cries
my words never said as much as my eyes
opened wide as i utter in sorrow
if you died today
i'd die tomorrow.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.
Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.
Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.
Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.
Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
The Eyes
We see with our
Appetites
Not what we need
But what we greed
My jagged teeth
Feed me bloodshed
My brain NEEDS it
By God as I pray
I'm being preyed upon
Do you taste my Soul?
Swallow my whole
****** down a black hole
Lets talk about how
None of this is even ******* real.
Practically real at least
Floating out in space
Existing as geometrical shapes
Shaded by our history
Trying to remember
How exactly light works?...
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
~for Lori Jones McCaffery who wrote me of:
“Her hands lay gently joined”
“So tenderly put”
<>
So sweet and tenderly put this trilateral phrase, a complement,
So sweet and tenderly put this lovely, geometrical compliment,
thus birthing this missive that was delivered in a mere 9 minutes,
a simple re-tribute to a poem scraped from eyelids, leaked from
my heart
of what
I Witnessed,
of what
I Emoted
as my woman,
rustled besides me in the early morning sheets,
stirring my heart, as she astirring slowly awake.
love this title Lori has gifted me, for so few and far
are the in-betweens of the people, places and things,
that are so tenderly inserted in this banged up humdrum,
football game of daily living, pierced by primary moments,
even secondary seconds, of heart~glows that pierce the noise,
even-in-silence put a suffusion of the chest, kissing of the brain,
colored kernels that dare not go unnoticed, this eloquent, perfect,
thank you is a whispering tremolo note that
wakes me up again, with scents of gratitude, for those
who take care, those who give care, who value tenderness
in soft spoken gestures, brash and bold, smartly wisdomed,
so to honor her, to honor this moment of grateful inspiration,
I insert the exact moment these senses imploded in my chest,
ordering me to give thanks, take care, validate the valuation of words,
so tenderly put
2:10pm Mon Jan 30 2023
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 2:27 PM UTC
I am certain
Your body, in all its beauty and forms, precedes time.
It's like an infinite geometrical symphony,
A mystical existence in space-
Enlighting the essence to my being.
I want it in all parts,
I want it whole.
Engulf me in all curves and edges,
Tour me in my favorite places.
Your body, satisfyingly disturbing, both pure and dark
I know not, which is sadder-
The fact that I have fallen deeply into this chaos,
Or that you are completely unaware.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 7:41 PM UTC
Carstairs had been waiting for the boat for three days and there it was, suddenly appeared. He had dozed and it had appeared. He trained his binoculars on it, but it was too far away to be clearly recognisable. It seemed motionless, becalmed in a sheet of unruffled water.
He had dug himself into a bank in the sandhills. He still had a little water, some raisins; there was a final cube of chocolate carefully wrapped in the whole of its paper. It was the thought of this hidden pleasure that had sustained him during the hours of darkness when the slight rain and the chill of inactivity had forced him to exercise, to move about, though always afraid he would lose his burrow.
From the earliest light of dawn the day had been clear and still. The sea birds had muted calls, the sea itself more a presence than a sound. The tide had steadily retreated beyond his expectations. He knew he had to wait for the arranged signal.
Turning on his back he looked at the sky. A few clouds floated hesitantly in the glazed blue. He remembered suddenly a moment from his childhood, above the beach at Red Point. He had escaped his parents, his adored sisters, and hidden himself in the marran grass. He had lain on his back and felt himself levitate into the clouds. He had looked down on the whole scene, a waking dream. Those moments floating above the long Highland beach had never left him. Sitting in the examination hall for his Tripos that memory had come upon him; he had been paralyzed by it, unable to write or think. He had closed his eyes and strange geometrical shapes had ensnared him. He had felt extremely sick . . .and then very calm. He had returned to the task in hand, a translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, that opening passage describing Eurus, Zephyr, Auster and Boreas: the four winds.
. . . he felt something wet nuzzle his hand. A dog, a black shape no more. As he struggled to move himself a larger shape obliterated the sun and shot him.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
The air runs through the pipe.
It goes about its way
and flows around turns;
turns controlled by valves.
The air is comfortable,
it is safe.
Through the pipe
the air flows past cracks, letting in light.
The air wants to explore this light outside,
but it stays in the comfortable pipe.
The air feels a dead end coming.
It reaches a valve, closing off the
pipe.
Pressure builds and tensions rise.
It only hopes the valve will open.
Suddenly the valve turns and the air is released.
The air is free.
It expands and wonders.
However, it soon misses the pipe
and looks for another,
only to find that there is none to be seen.
It needs containment.
It needs certainty.
It is cold.
It is lost in the darkness.
Suddenly, the air feels something,
something warm and beautiful beyond description.
It is light.
This same light which it saw in its pipe.
This light is so warm and calming.
It fills the air with joy and comfort.
Every one of its molecules vibrates and comes to life.
The air feels itself being carefully molded by the bright light
into a shape so beautiful: a perfect, geometrical sphere.
It is the shape it was originally intended to form,
but could not do so within the pipe.
Captivated by the beautiful light,
the air is brought to steam and feels inside it
this wondrous realization:
This light,
which it ignored in the pipes,
gives the air its true purpose,
which the pipe never could.
This light,
which was looking for it all along,
finally has connected with the air it loves.
This light,
which saved it from the darkness,
turns the air’s search for containment,
into a search for expansiveness and spontaneity,
into a search for a way to please the light.
This light,
which wants to it shine,
compels the air to free other bodies of air,
trapped in their pipes.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
It's Drawing class
And I sit here
Not willing to draw
Geometrical shapes
Or figures
But I want to draw
How the butterflies
In my stomach
Flutter when I
Am with you
How my eyes
Twinkle when they
Gaze into yours
The birds who appear
Whenever the sight
Of you approaches
The list may
Go on and on but
Out of all of these
This would be the easiest
And the hardest:
A life without you
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Clean off your slate, that messy desk is just a ruin of all your memories
Dust every corner of your room, make room for contemporary
Throw all your old toys in the garbage, they're just personality accessories
Destroy yourself if all means point to necessary
Talk to the conch before you throw it back into the sea
Or into that lake broken of glass bottles that gave you ****** feet
Dress yourself up, make yourself look neat
Only return to that lake if you want to see where your heart still beats
Strip your bed, clean your sheets
Forget those games in the corner they distract you from the elite
Travel into an empty cave, forget the friends you once knew
Trade out your old sneakers for some nice shoes
Forget the swing sets, and the bicycles, they're way past due
Forget the silly pop music, it's time you outgrew
Cast away that personality, trade it for a tie and a monochrome hue
Try on your high heels and your perfume
Lose some weight and your hostility too
Skewer you, skewer you into a new geometrical suit
You jump now, you're a frog now, not a newt
Learn how to love, learn how to reproduce
Learn about narcissism, try to pursue
Learn about love, try not to lose
Learn about depth, try to precept
Learn about religion, try faith too
Learn about yourself, try to hold on to that, it's more important than you ever knew
Become one of the many, one of the many of the few
Take everything out of that trash can, begin anew
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Cigarette **** cracked sidewalk, red Jeep, blue eye, green
It’ll all be as wispy as the clouds sultry streaks
That dance in my eyes
I have to look up
I have to
Perfume, *** too much cologne, dryer sheets
I’ll hunt you with the crazed eye of my nostrils lust
But I won’t chase you down
I’ll stick my hands into my pockets and keep my eyes locked on the stop sign ahead
High heels, click click clicking, you have gum on your shoe
I say to myself
Quietly
I’ll warp my mouth into a makeshift zipper
So nothing
Not even the huff of my breath
Will make my outline crimson and bold
I’ll take out another cigarette
Two or three
To look occupied
And not twisted and contorted like my restless legs
Jutting out like a dam tittering on the edge of destruction
Your skin emanates warmth as painful as the suns elongated rays
Even those lips curling into a smile
I’ll just panic from my toes up
And there’s no telling what my limbs will end up doing
Melt and dismember into geometrical tragedies
I don’t need the quizzical stares
I’ll just make sure I don’t take my eyes off the sidewalks path
I won’t let them gleam with visions
Of empty bottles
And tatters of lives better left stuffed
Between couch cushion blues
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC