"hexagon" poems
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****
Creating much more than
The eye can see
Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes some thing like this
So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more
The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless
Stands still
Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates
What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the gold assigned
Inside
So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive
Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin
I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
i've moved past my belief
in the Christian trinity...
for me...
the meditation stands
on the pivot of
the following translation
the hexagon,
start of david -
which translates
as the Holy Ghost -
which denotes
a congregation...
the pentagon?
of the befitting analogy
to the five senses...
the "son of man" -
or simply...
the myopia of man
having to excavate
the sixth sense
using telescopes,
microscopes, the like...
and, finally?
on a hand of five extensions,
there are four...
the square...
Y H
⠁⠑ read clockwise
like English traffic
H W on a roundabout.
which? denotes the father...
if the Hebrews "think" they
can hide their vowels?
the Latin answer is...
to interpolate Braille into
their language...
and Emperor Nero would have
appreciated it...
whether with, or without
the Byzantine propaganda machinery
of the nevus testamentum...
and it wasn't a propagandist
piece?
how much longer did the eastern
Empire, outlive the Western
empire, when the onslaught
by the Ottoman's reached
Constantinople?!
the Greek were craving
a cultural revival!
they believed the Romans
to have origins in Troy!
they plaid the weakest cultural
card of Judaism,
revamping it into Christianity...
hell... that's what i believe...
and i'm not about to meet
a Jehovah's Witness propagandist,
or some aged Pakistani
citing the Quran on a park
bench...
or some Scientologist
on Oxford St. with his wacky
machine...
or some pseudo Hare Krishna
monk with a book about
some guru, pushing it like
marijuana...
to change my mind on what
i'm digesting!
plus?
⠽ ⠓
Æ ( read anti-clockwise)
⠓ ⠺
fits in perfectly into the Adam
and Eve narrative -
as with all mythology -
given the extent of time...
nuance, metaphor...
abbreviation...
ars poetica!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
staring at the blank page
i find myself thinking
quite low of myself.
wondering to myself
absently muttering out loud
as if adding more sound
to the white noise
will give me a sense of validation
that i still exist.
the hum of the laptop
and turquoise hexagon sun
mixes with the sound
of the car doors closing outside
and the people sitting
in their chairs, lazing about
staring at the television screens
what else can i hear?
closing my eyes, i stop
taking a moment
to let my worried mind rest
forgetting about my financial crisis
to bathe in the sound
of my silence.
with my eyes closed
i type with confidence
i don't fear my words
when i can't see them
my eyes feel hot
under my dark eyelids
as heavy as they are
i am surprised i don't
slouch and fall into slumber
right here in my chair.
in the second it takes
to flutter open my eyes
and reread the words i just wrote
i have to remember
to stop myself before i nitpick
and change what came
from my heart
and at the time felt right.
if only
i went through life like this more often
then maybe i wouldn't feel so down
or hard on myself
because honestly i'm not that bad
nor am i as dumb
or silly as i feel
and maybe next time
when i go ice skating
i won't be such a little *****
about how i look to other people.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
19th July
Saturns hexagon shaped storm stuffed into a human body.
I open my mouth and the black bellowing thunder
batters everyone in my way into the ground,
gailforce winds stealing their breath to make it mine.
Ferocious tidal waves live in my eyes and
leak from me and fill the room
but i'm already drowning.
My lungs are filled with ***** water and I feel it flooding my veins like poison.
I can feel the bolts of lightning glittering behind my eyes,
stunning those who try to look at me - into me.
I am a complete hurricane in a persons form, a never-ending storm,
a destructive monster crushing and
stomping on everything in the way.
A fusillade of iron bullets shoot from my skin.
I need to drag everyone down with me,
make them bleed with me.
Suffer with me.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
Cold beer,
a long necked bottle held to my forehead
and in my throat,
to my lips,
so relief comes both ways,
glad for it,
the double of the cool,
helps the day of troubled nothingness,
and the long necked bottle makes it
worth the extra second of anticipated tasty wait
can't drink in the river park,
don't cotton to brown paper bags,
do it anyway cause the East River
tides me over on its way
thru the Verrazano Narrows,
bound for the Atlantic with me low rider spirit in tow,
a devil may care attitude en contrôle
this troubadour opened the store at 700am
but not a one came looking for a song,
but the mail came reliable,
with dues due,
promises that need keeping,
and other items,
what the grownups call responsibilities
June Monday early eve and the Moran tugboats
ply their trade like reliable ****** to the sailors,
and their larger than bathtub size toys,
turning containers, freighters, into docile boys
who do as they are told on their way to ports far
there are stick figures outlined on the hexagon
paving stones that are so nyc for me,
here pedestrian! follow your designated path
here pedestrian, you must walk to be safe arrived
but I take to the railing,
where Isaac-bound and mesmerized,
I imagine surfing the churning wakes on the surface
of the riveting tides and wonderous wanderlust for
where we are bound...
no voice heard from the heavens,
saying Abraham put down that knife,
because I have not passed the test of true belief,
perhaps the river's invitation is my test,
if I should sing another song here,
perhaps it will tale the end of this tell...
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
When it comes to strong form
When angles are always precisely norm
Grows an alluring mathematically touched creation
Inspired by pure calculated scientific divination
Such an alluring symmetry to behold
Causing the circle’s envy to unfold
For this angled beauty’s strength enforced
Its sold core mass equally divorced
It’s rigid looks captivating us all
Luring architects to its enchanting call
Ancient Greek hands carving stone shrines
Securing their beauty for all times
Its slight outer angles enduringly tease
Yearning us to brush with ease
Who came up with such design?
Was it indeed a gift divine?
However it did come to be
We all can enjoy with glee
Well all but rectangle and square
As they sulk with envious glare
Murmuring curses over hexagon’s slight curve
Endlessly plotting to mathematicians they serve
Scheme upon scheme developed to suppress
The sheer allure designed to impress
Despite all this the hexagon persists
Engaging us all in mathematical trysts
Never will we lose an eye
No matter how hard we try
For the beauty a hexagon reigns
Over the kingdom of geographical gains
Forget not what you see here
Our ancestors have made it clear
Line upon line attached in twine
Measured precisely from sips of wine
The hexagon is a wonder indeed
Allowing us our own mounted steed
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
False memories and track marks pave your arms
Sudden revolt of youth pressurised to fail
Painkillers doubled and stacked for a head to slumber
Soft heads and dead leg spasm attack pillow piddles in *****
Fictitious tesla coil blue breath mortifys mortality
And your goggles won't fog out the underwater current miscellaneous
Digital tectonic pushing ideas you brainstorm
Shadowed reluctance to consume the musk of infrared roses
This romance is one that was jealous of itself
Pre-divorced in its own certainty on incompatibility
Basin top full too top heavy to predict precarious
Living in a shaded sense of erased memory lapses continuing truth
Toward magnificent still life categorised by perdition
Forward thinking ruby gold phong shaded hatred quantum conversate Unthinkable
Nebula of gas
Face first head in hands
Euthanasia between my thighs crush my head
Choked neck
Throat
Strangle me and give me breath
I roll and the conductor pulls apart my mouth
Diseased by euphoria lips separate and teeth show
Pupils land home and iris jumps ship
Perfume gum dry bitter butterfly kiss
Head held back in place tongue falls back into the razor-front of the mouth
Caution held simultaneous irrelevant body load carries my smile
Jump knee deep into the silence of my own lungs
It's been a while
I breath vindictively in time with the respiration of the country
Somewhere out in the hexagon sun I burn candles and whisp
Hold in smoke
Die
Twitch forward in palliative peace motionless and still
Cuspids and lochs
Spread across the grass the harmony touches yours and mine
A hole and whole dream
Conscious and dead
Content
Voices rattle in unified mono-chromidity
Sadness
Carrion
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
You trapezoid my heart
While I'm a spider who gets caught
A rhombus who rams butts...
A square who has perfect sides
A rectangle who is tall
A triangle who sometimes can cave in has pointy top
A hexagon a guy who can be edgy
A circle that has an endless loop of love care & passion
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Holding silent stillness
The becoming of nonexistence
Simultaneously permeating the atmospheric realm
As the acmes of the hexagon ease into falling disintegration
Remaining unmoved by mediums
Consistent in the mind and abandoning anything but
Observing in the absence of eyes
So quickly it's slow
Slowly consuming awareness
The clearest quality of a vast
Pulsating
Clarity-filled
Boundless trance
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
I never have really like coffee shop love stories anyway
So it’s a good thing that this isn’t that
Who are we kidding?
This is a four-way hexagon CIA basement with black lights love story
People see right through us, and me, sorry I can’t help that
If only there was someone there to reassure me that you actually care
I mean, I know you do, but ****** it’s too good to be true
You are too good to be true
I get it, but just for my sanity
Tell me who I am?
I’m wandering through the basement with the two others and the hexagon is completed
The CIA is about to kick me out so please hurry and tell me
I need to know
I normally don’t call favors
But you owe me that much dear
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
I am a hexagon
with a tail
glowing
when you inhale
down the trachea
I go
teasing
my trail
quid pro quo
I split in two
and enter into two
pleura-covered chambers
and this is where
I might cause
unpleasant dangers.
I dissolve
on the membrane
of vitality
and tickle
the red cells
providing warmth
to reality
I leave red puddles
in a white desert
and I make kin care
with grueling effort
The core pumps
scarlet liquid
through upper
and lower
sections
It splits me
carries me
in all
different
directions
I end up
in the cortex
I alter
gray matter
I fumble
with your strings
I am the annex
of your receptors
I am a helpful
benefactor
I control
your flow
of information
your hunger
and your memory
in return
you are
worry-free
I make you happy
to be
I am THC.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
Happiness?
Money?
It's hard to find a
Common ground.
Hard to find
Balance
On a line so thin.
Precariously
Teetering,
Bound to fall on
One side, or
The other.
Slave for hours
Days
Weeks
Years.
For what?
Money.
Or, you will fall
On the side of
Happiness.
Do what you
Dream.
However, for
Most of us,
That doesn't include
An income.
Maybe you like
Piercings,
Tattoos,
Hair dye.
Employers don't.
You are a
Circle, a
Triangle, a
Hexagon,
Trying to get to
The work force
Where only
Squares
Are welcome.
As much as
You want to
Remain true to yourself,
You change.
Take out your
Piercings,
Hide your
Tattoos,
Put your crazy
Hair dye
Back on the shelf
For now.
Redrawing yourself
Into that
Square
Society requires you
to be.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
My hexagon’s long gone out.
The wax we stole off petticoats and
Barnacles liberated from the hulls of boats
Turned honey from the stress; fermenting
There, amongst the mess of our salty wares.
And
It wasn't long before the bee’s came drifting,
Pollen ridden beggars with empty bowls worn
Like terracotta crowns, souls freed from their
Geometric cells—And Love, that howling beast,
Not content to ring one lonesome bell, rather
An
Orchestra of buzzing offbeats. Chimes
Let resonate to some queen frequency,
A cheesecloth hive; a makeshift bag of tea.
Let it steep—Just be— Aware of the metaphor
That can be drawn between you and I:
A
Honeycomb kingdom of orderly
Disorder. The halls composed of sound:
A knock-knock-knocking rain. A circle coming
‘round. A muse, the notion of patterned chaos:
The fluid markings of Jade; rigid wood grain.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
how many stories can we pour into our
summertime beer steins
how much before the foam spills over
into real-time
there’s no numerical answer to that, let’s state plainly
bubbles geometrically become one another, shrink
and multiply and turn amber-red in the august nightshade
and dogs skitter under basketball hoops, couples play in shadow
fathers sneeze and industry marches on
under our noses, outside our windows, between our ribs
how many stories can we swallow
before we’re drunk on the skyline and the view to the next
does it matter?
that one brew is for sale only in midtown
and sometime I might go back, drink it with you not there
watch the spinning hexagon floor tiles
and I’ll write you that I had it, and it was
all right
how many stories can we fit into the new year
stuff into the hamper, hide in creases of the couch
like quarters
like hands on knees, yours, yeah, the soft elegant spider-hands I
wanted on my knees since the first day—
two perfect hands
how many stories can we write on our palms
as reminders, how many can we fit between appointments
the ending’s not so important, is it—
bubbles join together, multiply, change shape
go hexagonal, spin
touch, remember, forget, divide
always even numbers
just shy of eleven
shy of prime
but amber-red in august
like that first time
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
I want to push on the plushness of your face and tell you all the ways you make me smile.
Your voice is a drop of warm honey, fresh from the comb, settling into my stomach. You have turned my heart into a hexagon of wax.
And when you laugh I can hear bees humming home home home home.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
We have seen a great hexagon
On the sixth planet from our Sun
Silent those frozen razor bright rings sparkle crystalline
They say there are a million moons
They say that it rains diamonds
There is still much more
To know
Than what this world has seen
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Caught myself in a cart wheeled stance, gazing fondly at a soiled sky
A homeless man calmly rants, preaching to every passerby
Follicles dry up, flaking off bits of skin
Wayward into a cup, stuck in teeth, accompanying the grin
Inferences read by a measly pauper, picked up after a quick popper
The fuel fed, deemed improper, drained from the canyon by a local proctor
Repeated references to a world of old
Stored on dust filled shelves until sold
Spoke too much fancy for one to understand, blindly making it hard to comprehend
Lack of knowledge for the reprimand, timely practices seem to suspend
Going to try and be still, maybe close my eyes
Sleep on the lull of a hill, quick to rise
Told of Grimm lit tales of horror and abuse, held in spectrums casting light
Reordered for disorderly misuse, clouded by traces of spite
The jabberwocky speaks before the crowd, shrouded in the misconception of a dreamed up word. Hastened into speaking loud, the message soon becomes absurd
Words are falling out in a cyclical lexicon, adjusting themes to fit complacent lives
Illiterate Satanists sit in their hexagon, purging everything that thrives
A final thought implies just that, I have more faith in this thieving rat
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Apple seeds
Twirling between my teeth
I reach out
And dig my brittle nails into
Tender skin
You feel as thin as a ghost, I say
The flesh of the apple green
Stuck between my teeth
I don’t remember you hating me
I don’t remember you loving me
We live like a shadow
Grey elastic stretching to mold into
Crisp cool sheets on the bed
I cut my hair
Long locks floating
To the floor
I waved down at them as
They fell
Fall
Falling
Away
Hitting the honeycomb hexagon tile
Look the past is swimming around me
Buzzing past my ears
Bees resting in the honeycomb on the floor
*buzzzzz, buzzzz
buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
What's going on behind those seizuring eyes
Did you swallow the pill, I can't find you inside my head
Watch your face change shape under the influence
Under rapid eyes that dart behind blinding seas of white
Shadows contour through colors I've never seen before
It's my world and I can't even find you
Your face is hidden behind a mask you wear in this 4th dimension
Where shapes convex your face into hexagon sugarlaced cinematics
I'm tripping right through the fractions of my life, my destination is infinity
I'm nil and nil, trying to find the love you saved for me in the games we play
My bicycles got 7 wheels and I'm only getting more lost in myself
Till I found seven men in seven trees and listened to the most romantic thing I've ever seen
And my ears saw the things I had forgotten and my heart found you for me
I was looking for you in my mind I never figured I could find you in my heart
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
*yes, i understand the politics, or so i thought,
that biology will never spawn a humanism,
that darwinism will only spawn generic attempts
via disregarding existentialism sweats.*
when was the thought ever conceived,
that dialectics needed a mediator?
why would a mediator be needed
when the only mediator
is a park bench in athens, and two people
speaking?
i get the foul animals' existence, i get the whole
wild heart, and shrinking eyesight,
i get that animals are given pristine materialism,
being incubated by overt-sensual impregnation,
i get that they're impregnated by pure sensuality
(over-use of adjectives is like quantifying things,
as many qualities to the legions of ants
as attributes of the sun, ending with deity
and beginning with geometry),
animals are plagued by sensuality,
they are overly given the pentagon,
while man is given the hexagon / star of david,
animals are overly sensing, man is overly thinking,
when the only phobia of wilderness animal
is huger... man's is spider, enclosure, open-spaces...
animal is pulverised by the senses and things
it roams among... man is pulverised by thought
and nothing, roaming ingenuity by the Libra
dimming sight with hearing for classical composition,
dimming hearing with sight for pablo picassos..
the wild animal in fright of hunger...
and man abounding in it to reflect clocked
chicken press of the laid eggs clucks a sudden diversion
rather than adding to a diversity...
change the poetic gimmick of rhyme...
don't end with synonymous spelling,
intertwine rhyming elsewhere, lie:
'a sudden diversion' and 'adding to diversity'
as engaging to lines without an a# a# end of both
to reveal a missing echo, after all echoing is like rhyming,
but pitiful rhyming, because it's written down
and never plotted to decipher plato's shadows
and candle in the cave entered... defeated first-step
defeated to claim the colour of defeat, the page
that dangled in the odds of waving like a signature
digitalised... all in all... animals are overly sensual,
and man is overly abstract... hence man
mediates symbols and thinking... while
animals mediate onomatopoeias sounding a bit
like touch on wood, and the parameters of allowed
petting:
we blink thrice and think we spotted
a thing only once, when in fact thrice.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
but never was it mentioned that the title Satan be given a seal, a role of defender, except with the 72 names - as stated: השׁטן - see! no geometric sensibility! hence the defender of tetragrammatical sensibility, beyond the Pythagorean quasi-trinity, and only one part of the hexagon of David... the 20th century searched for so long for a penta-grammaton it lost it ahead of searching for it... no five letters were suited to put coinage for the task ahead... the apparent enemy soon became the defender of what so many thought to inquire about, but were given the elocution treatment sooner than any metric unit of ego via id-slicing became apparent to reveal the spiral against the ladder of ascent; the spiral of meditative nonchalance and idiotic self-esteem preserving continuum.
as a book riddled with metaphors
that the book of Genesis is,
you'd expect the fruit of knowledge
between good & evil to
be something more than merely ********
and ******** or Dobberman Pischner's ears -
given Rottweiler's aesthetic revision
of the tail; but it isn't - it's just that -
a Prince of Egypt would only write a polite book
to match the circumstance of insurrection -
and only that - but given pornographic matching
this modern libido has to over-fuck and become
under-warring, you can cease using the techniques
of a banished art-form, and thus stop calling
it a fruit of knowledge as in metaphor,
and by crude tongue say what it is...
only metaphors require translation in poetry
without a secondary tongue -
and with the internet we bypassed the censors
and the editors, and the authorities of what could
or ought bring profit... they really do under-estimate
what is non-profitable but necessary for
the palette, in literary terms some ditto as "truth"
(oh, there it is), but in culinary terms: salt & pepper.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Eight, Three, Zero
Lighted flares, all directions streaming
Atmosphere exultant, saw not an opportunity for askewness
Waved banners, displayer of the iconic
Blue, White, Red
For the breeze ruffled these shades
Gallantly proclaiming, alas, the Republic
Dassault Rafale, engines roaring ahead
Nine, Zero, Zero
A precipitous shift in mood
The cheers were different, in fact
Almost as if fading
White, White, White
The vehicle shifts its gear
The man’s foot unforgivingly pressed on acceleration
Ploughing through, snowplow through ice
One, One, Two
They dial, no longer are
Their shouts for some celebratory cause
Tucked under the rubber, eternal slumber
Four, Score, Four
Young and free, they were not exempt
Fatimah, Jean, Brodie, Christianne
A lone rider, forlorn in cessation
Fourteen, Seven, Sixteen
A new motivation for commemoration
Juncture of remembrance
For the bravest hearts
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Kept in ******* a formidable bulwark
War wages forth, yet for the Hexagon
We weep.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
Why group of friends r called friends circle?
Because square has four sides,
Rectangle has four,
Hexagon has six,
But circle has no such boundaries!
Isn' t it true?? ???
Make frndz live with them enjoy!!
- MADONNA'S THOUGHTS
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
1
high evens and low odds.
seven dimes in a jar, all
stacked against us.
the weight of this life-lantern,
this bendycrux.
the weight of it
left to idle on my chest.
leeches and all. it must be
the weight of a freighter.
and so dumb, like
the both of us. hands out
to each other, eyes closed
to each other —
occupying the same space. the
gist of our kingdom:
let love, let love, let love
fall septicemic.
2
even
being in the same dimension
as this hexagon
rivers me into opening for
a larger body of anguish. i
have not sabotaged
myself in almost a decade -
& that's a muted pride adjacent
to proprietary success -
congratulations, girl, on the
one hit knockout.
condolences, girl, on the ****
integrity of the mainframe.
3
i mean, the blackboard of
all your non spiritual relationships.
4
neat-o, holograms on Thursday night,
alternating between taut and compressed.
no, i didn't have a crush on the alien.
i loved him. why don't they believe me?
5
because psychosis is real,
and it is tender meat
boiled for an afternoon. it falls
apart as soon as it's
taken from the *** it not only
falls but it falls through every
thing.
through cloud cover and
through the magenta skin
that slickers over reality.
it falls completely.
it falls silent and
it falls empty
from the open mouth
of a slaughtered cow.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC