"improbabilities" poems
Trust your vaulted hallucinations
Trust your most ridiculous
impossibilities
Trust the wild visions that arise
from moments of boredom
Do not trust the larcenous glares
that surround you
Do not believe the gravity
in the black holes of pupils
Trust the improbabilities
and they will become realities
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Once upon a time, sweet soldier, we were everything!
We were shy glances and piercing stares,
bitter coffee and sweet cider,
nervous laughter and easy smiles.
We were all-nighters and painfully early mornings,
utter exhaustion and unexplainable energy,
distracted work days and focused only on each other.
We were photographs and video recordings,
magic tricks and storytelling,
Monty Python and Charlie the Unicorn imitators.
(We were total dorks!)
We were late night jogs and wrestling,
motorcycle rides and beach-walking,
seekers of adventure and last minute decision making.
We were short pecks on the cheek,
and long passionate kisses,
fierce embraces and soft caresses.
We were soul-searchers and wound-healers,
dreamers and risk-takers,
keepers of secrets and whisperers of truth.
We were sanity and craziness,
possibilities and improbabilities,
with everything and yet nothing going for us.
We were in love.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
As I sit in front of the feared book
mocking me with it's elaborative examples
of reminders
reminding me of all that I can't do...
the x's and the y's programs my brain
forcing an instant recall of memories
about all my ex's and my why's
and as I fail exercise after exercise
I start doubting my rationality...
What is the probability that
I , am nothing more than a common denominator??
the truth is, that while trying to figure out the identities
of sin, cos and tan...
I realise that my own is not yet figured out...
I am still lost somewhere in the Cartesian plane...
I have no hope for passing my exam tomorrow...
my sleepless nights are haunted by the statistics
, and the improbabilities that make up life
as we know it...
but that's okay
because I am not analytical...
I am not mathematical...
I am just lost between the letters and the numbers
of a world I will never understand...
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me,
But bear this in mind, it is meant to be
Since you've dreamed a vision of us together
And I'll love us, you and I, always and forever.
Cause when I'm with you, my world is so different from any hell I'm living
And when you're around me, your eyes light up like the stars have been spilled out along with all the suns of heaven into your eyes
You're the one who seems to love this wildflower so she feels as lovely as the sweetest camelias, and strong enough to push the planets out of orbit
As for you, I only know what you've said to me;
That my kisses are oxygen when you can't breath, and that
You feel such an intense desire to protect me from any potential harm
That you plan to marry and live with me for years to come.
But I know with less certainty than you that we'll be together forever to come
All I know is you love me and you make me feel so loved
More loved than the moon is loved by the sun, chased endlessly and almost futilely for a mere glimpse of her silver face
And I know this is a scientifically proven-to-be-incorrect metaphor, but I still love you
And will love you, until the sun falls into the sea of milk, the knees of those arthritic elephants shake and kneel with feebleness, and the great sea turtle turns belly-up, drowning the world in the Milky Way
And even past then
Past the time where men and spirits fade into ghostly memories, forgotten because there's no one to remember them
Past the time that the sun is finally swallowed and held in the sea, past King Arthur's return, and when the giant serpent finally kills Ra
Past the time when the gods grow tired of their human games, and fall asleep at their chessboards, one hand dipped in the Adriatic and a finger spinning the galaxies ever slower as dust and cobwebs of invisible spiders come to blanket the universe
And even past then, past all these mythological improbabilities, past Death's abandonment of his duties and his scythe while sand no longer runs in glasses and he reaps himself
Past then will I love you and think of the spilled out flaming stars in your eyes and the velvety sparks in your fingertips and lips.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
Every dawn is pregnant with aspirations and anticipation
It’s only at dusk that we are in limbo,
Fraught with a polarity of purpose and possibility;
and a duality to self and the soul.
Every dusk comes with its share of positivity blended with negativity,
Practicality speckled with spirituality,
Optimism dusted with cynicism;
Possibilities punctuated with improbabilities;
And a reality rendered palatable through rose tinted fantasy.
Every dusk is witness to a purging of the unwanted and unnecessary;
And plays host to a catharsis that cleanses and calms the soul.
A bittersweet end to what could have been, would have been, should have been.
Every dusk is a pregnant pause of what can be and what will be.
*Inspired by a series of images captured at dusk through my lens, in different parts of the world.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
I can see the numbers rolling back behind your eyes.
Never know what the slots will bring.
When I told you I liked surprises
I didn't mean I'd like to find you spilling your mathematics
all over the bedroom sheets
counting how many times you could divide yourself
from yourself
and the languages spoken by mumbling mathematicians
always failing to find the difference
between their science and the love you needed.
I was 7 digits from talking you down.
You felt you were born 6 feet too high.
There are 5 times I can remember you laughing
the last of those was on the 4th of July.
How can anyone believe they are free
when we are bought at this calendar price?
You were laughing at the irony of the time it took you to say it.
Silly woman,
time is not made of numbers,
but of songs.
I replay that memory at least 3 times a night.
Your 2 shoes are the only music I'd still like to hear playing
I am currently discovering that 1 is not a lonely number.
I have spent cozy evenings
cuddled up with the burden you left behind.
It is colder than I remember you
and always seems to squeeze my neck
just a little too tight.
You wanted to become 0,
ignoring my side of this equation,
but before you left you swallowed my equilibrium whole.
I fell down bell curve cliffs
until my words themselves became improbabilities.
My love was more than average,
I mean...
I miss you.
I mean...
You're so **** stupid.
I mean...
I loved you.
I mean...
I love you.
If you and I are numbers
we are easily replaceable,
replicable as science has always wanted us to be.
I am telling you now
that no one else fits.
I should have told you that a few days ago
when I had more of you to stand by
than fragments of memories
each one passing, blaspheming your sum.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Times between night and mornin,
Just when the chill about sets in,
Limbs frantically search for that crumpled quilt
Increasing warmth and ahh sweet grogginess.
A dream floats in my blank sleep
You and me tootling along a forgotten, familiar street
In a battered old Hyundai Santro?? it is.
Twenty years of acquired cobwebs melt
Evoke fond memories and unexplored possibilities
Overlaid with a wild imagination, the images move in slow motion
Me driving, your gaze surveying the landscape
You are older and plumper, I have a beer belly and a bald patch
There is not much to say, or too much to say but no time.
Four Eyes frequently lock and search for something
Knowing it but daring not to say.
Your sultry liquid voice breaks into a song, an old Urdu ghazal,
Of obscure origin and meaning,
The notes glide and acquire shapes in your husky abused throat,
Silvery quicksilver, flowing, and always round at the edges
Unfettered and undisturbed by the bumpy ride and noisy springs
Brings whole of creation in the Battered old Hyundai Santro Still.
The vocal vibrates and resonates in my bones and skull and in my soul
Stimulates humours I didn’t know exist
Eyes lock again, a mild smile is exchanged,
We understand each other
Know the limits and improbabilities
Its not going to be in this life time dear.
Let’s seal it with a kiss
An embrace exchanged over the gear levers and handbrakes
Oblivious to the barreling old Hyundai Santro
Your tiny ******* and Pantene scented hair
Your lips still perfect, soft, warm, moist and downy at the corners,.
Unfamiliar yet so familiar.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
Sitting here
Listening to the poetry
Of your inhale
Dreaming up possibilities
And improbabilities
Looking beyond horizons
And the skies of reasons
Your eyes like the fires
That burn in the hearts
Of all the children
The poets, the players, the actors
And every day dreamer
Wondering at the wandering
We all seem to engage in
What are we looking for
And where do we find it?
How do we define it?
What’s in a reality?
Who decides it?
Is it you, is it me
Is it that shadow clad they
Who loom over every second
Policing our every blink
Our every ******* thought.
Never a moment without them
Can’t we just find peace
And the beauty of time
Ideas and ideals racing,
Flashing like demented disco lights
On and off, on and off
Chaos and the whirlwind of feelings
And then
You exhale.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
I am not good.
I am not good
at this thing
- we call it Life.
I wish I could
stop dreaming
this big.
But I shall not.
I wish I could
explore the souls
of all who exist(ed).
But I can not.
I wish I could
make you out
of clay and feathers.
But I will not.
For I am a dreamer of impossibilities.
and I am merely one natural girl.
For you are one of my improbabilities,
and there you are
- my untainted pearl;
my gift from an invaded world.
So, I may not be good,
but I feel that is better.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
They say that scale can break the laws of science
A crime so high in magnitude
Yet they cannot police
This bully that reality turns out to be
We met by means of tunneling improbabilities
The kiss of a miracle
Punishing the God complex
Of the self-righteous
Because the real laws, unknowable,
Dwell in realms higher than dogmatic notion
Whose knowledge is the surface of an ocean
Hence judgement cannot be
Wrought by the swimmers
And their fear of mortality
That guides them through the waves
And so their laws are the transgression
And We
Are the justice of the storm
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 6:13 AM UTC
It's the tooth fairy. Yep, he'd do it.
He always answers people's wishes.
And after everyone's given up on their governments
more eager to spy on their people than
tackle crime, surely got to be Tooth Fairy.
But well, Tooth Fairies dont really exist, do they?
Well then, it's Santa. It's a Christmas present.
Santa's known to do it. Bring gifts
unknown to us every winter.
But then why would Santa be a non-state actor?
There's no evidence he's done that before.
Well, it's No-man from the Odyssey. Anonymous
No-men, are known to poke the eyes of Cyclops.
But then, no tales of no-men have emerged
since a thousand years, and who is anonymous anyway?
Enter the physicists: it's a combination of all these.
All improbabilities that are probable,
have probably occurred and there's every probability,
they coexist, improbably. Well then that's it.
There's no way of knowing who did it, but all we can say,
Schadenfreude, dear Leader, it all goes in circles anyways.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
*Moments of impact.
There was a second there before the kiss.
The ungodly hour spent
And the night of secret fireflies.
The grains in an hourglass,
How innumerable still.
There was a time I yearn for emptiness.
This loneliness, heaped up on my chest,
And in the afternoons,
The melancholic burn.
A glimpse of your body.
The affinities of flowers
With the bud.
An eternity of this and that, of improbabilities,
Or of unrequited love.
A night without a star.
A day without the sun.
But the sun's without a day,
Without you.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
2 major anomalies that i didn't even
scratch upon, whatever university
education taught me with regards to
chemistry: i still don't know the
chemical formulae / formulas of
sea water... and timber -
carbon is obviously
included in the latter -
but how the hell does Na-Cl
(sodium chloride) bind to water?
the secret is in the quantity of it apparent,
but it's a ****** mystery to me -
as is the adequate formula for wood -
no one taught me that... mainly because
no one at university took an interest
in these two concern of mine... well,
now they're also your concerns;
which suggests that arguing the existence
of god, precipitates simpler argument
for something else,
while arguing against... precipitates shallow
comparisons, akin to statistical improbabilities -
added to the fact that paternal or maternal
theologies end in disaster - or crucifixions
and atom bombs - argued: i'll hang on
the cross until my words come true:
and people will cling to my words and
follow up my predictions with an atom bomb:
much easier to make satire with someone
sitting on a throne, or the throne of
thrones: a toilet.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
She
deserves
far better than
the likes of
me.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
*I like the improbabilities that go with love,
Just as when I held your hand
But never really held it,
As the physicists would oppose to the idea,
Saying that it is because
Of the electrons and stuff, and quantum stuff
Which I find so hard to believe.
(But you, dear, frankly,
You need not make me believe,
Only wonder.)
See, I look
At you, closely,
And closer still as if
Two comets, themselves, defied
The distance of lightyears,
For me,
Just to look back.
You are a star, love, I think,
And I have likened my self to the Universe,
Not because you are near,
But because you are far,
Yet far enough...
So I could love.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
Every morning,
even being very old,
(or perhaps because of it),
I like to make my bed.
In fact, the starting of each day
unhelplessly,
is the biggest thing I ever do.
I smooth away the dreams disclosed by tangled sheets,
I smack the dented pillow’s revelations to oblivion,
I finish with the pattern of the spread exactly centered.
The night is won.
And now the day can open.
All this I like to do,
mastering the making of my bed
with hands that trust beginnings.
All this I need to do,
directed by the silent message
of the luxury of my breathing.
And every night,
I like to fold the covers back,
and get in bed,
and live the dark, wise poetry of the night’s dreaming,
dreading the extent of its improbabilities,
but surrendering to the truth it knows and I do not;
even though its technicolor cruelties,
or the music of its myths,
feels like someone else’s experience,
not mine.
I know that I could no more cease
to want to make my bed each morning,
and fold the covers back at night,
than I could cease
to want to put one foot before the other.
Being very old and so because of it,
all this I am compelled to do,
day after day,
night after night,
directed by the silent message
of the constancy of my breathing,
that bears the news I am alive.
A peom by Peggy Freydberg
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
x
x 0 x
x
/ \
Born of the 1000 improbabilities
Over the course of infinite time
Into the middle of where-ever-we-are
•
Speak of God
Of gods and goddesses
Angels
Spirit guides
Souls of higher dimensions
Well whatever
You be true
--
Only here to do One Thing
••
We are pure love and lovely
Born from infinity
Born from eternal space
The Absolute Center of the World
••
Stand upright
Full breath --- glory
Heart ----- all giving
Soul ----- All knowing
••
Seed of dominion
Sets all life free
••
( this you knew
Always )
••
Love
Is not some sort of ----- "falling"
Into
Out of
Falling down in pain
••
You need to be Free to love
So what-ever
STAY FREE
YOU
INFINITE
ETERNAL
SEED OF GRACE
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC