"induction" poems
The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
I got an award
For being the stupidest young boy
With a wax soul
And impressionable.
I thought I'd find something
Nestled here amidst the trees
And I did,
But in no halls but the hall of god
Speaking to me
Dancing between the leaves
Singing with every whispered breeze
And yet when I stepped
Past the threshold and into the
"real world"
I was sold
A maniac of utter delinquency.
Everybody there
Waiting for their turn
Auditioning for the favor of hearts
They'll never win
Can't see
Laughing and wondering
Reading without comprehension
Sticking their *** in the face of the classics
Lap dogs licking the milk from
Professed *******
Thinking they'll be next
Its not resentment--
Is it fair to be bent
Towards dollars that've never been spent?
All those silly parks
Divided from the civilized lands
Frontiers of the past
Left to be little staging areas
For that invisible hand
Kids go on spring break
Take pictures between the towns
Maybe a stop along
On the way
To Vegas
Deep in the desert where it'd **** any other day
I cannot escape the unfathomable beauty of that place,
Living off the world in a way God said
To toil and love the pain
In a way nobody does
I am guilty of pride and
Stuffed like a pie full of anger
Cooking it into solid joy
And trying hard to scrape the cancerous crust away
All the dark sides we avoid
But screaming the heat away is good
Thermal induction is the name of the game
Entropic fizzlements like bubbles in the wind
Sublimating all that ever stood.
Yet soon enough I'll be born anew
And what I leave behind
Lifted up
Nautoloid shell
With a sparkling abalone interior
Someone will place on their shelf
And think,
"I wonder where that thing had been."
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin
We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously
The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning
We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
AOK: Mathematics
By Rohan Baishya
Now listen up y'all imma give y'all a lecture
About how my intuition led to some dope conjectures.
But to verify these knowledge claims I'll need a proof,
No need to worry though, my logic's up through the roof.
I'll steal yo girl with my geometric paradigms.
Not to mention my bank balance is on a sharp incline.
Imma use derivatives to find the slope of that *****
Euclid used geometry, what a big loony.
Now Pythagoras used deduction to find the sides of triangles,
Now I can use induction to find the curves of this fine-angle.
So listen up homie, you're a bore with your empiricism;
I can explain everything with this dank rationalism.
Now math ain't 'bout using memory to cram some equations,
It's all about getting that intense sensation
of using reason to season your supported argument
but sometimes to calculate my Lambo's rent.
But now imma be busy with my new calculator via Fed-ex
So listen up girls, no *** until I solve for x
In conclusion, math is the secret to success
If you believe in the numbers you'll be relieving your stress.
Word
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Of withering tempests screaming to the break of sunlight,
Of unrelenting wind and pounding rain, she stands
With her back to crashing waves and painful bellowing,
A weak induction of steady sighs and silent contemplation
Would perhaps bring a peaceful conclusion to the rage
And reproach of a Goddess stirring on the fringes of insanity.
But never would it have taken to fresh insanity,
The gentle swirling of confusion between glaring eyes and sunlight,
How she would wish never to part from the burning of rage
And leave a scorched shadow on the very place she stands.
Never did she desire for the learned art of contemplation
But instead found solace in a frozen lake of tears and bellowing.
At the end of such a night filled with harsh anxiety and frenzied bellowing,
She finds herself staring into the gleaming eyes of Insanity,
Who dwells in sweet and blissful contemplation
And harvests the piteous glow of sunlight
Such that any man would freeze and cease where he stands
And succumb to the urgings of exhilarating rage.
A chilling gust would release the embracing rage
And perhaps bring wishful silence to the obnoxious bellowing;
She feels her feet sinking through the sand and stands
out of reach from the tearing claws of Insanity.
Relief in the warmth of ethereal sunlight
Proves a worthy companion of contemplation.
Eudaimonia, she finds in her deep contemplation
Free of sorrow, empty and weary from her onslaught of rage,
She casts herself into the welcoming cracks of sunlight
And in Euphoria, she finds herself no longer bellowing,
The slow and steady pull of her chains toward Insanity
Break away and leave her where she stands.
In new light, she finds her strength and stands,
Embracing the drifting stream of wraithlike contemplation
Would send shivers and open wounds that might invite Insanity,
But turning around and gazing out into those waves might blind the Rage
And bring peaceful sighs to interrupt the senseless bellowing
Such that black clouds would give way to glorious sunlight.
To the death of Rage and the estrangement of Insanity,
The wistful bellowing banished in the silence of contemplation,
The Goddess stands with her back to the wind, tears dried by the warm sunlight.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Wish I was Meccanoman with
replaceable bolt on bits;
a pop off detachable arseole;
n grease ******* on my ****
yeah; wish I was Meccanoman
with a gearbox for a brain
n a cabriolet flip top hair do
-- as protection from the rain,
my feet could be two dustbin lids
held on by wire n rope;
maybe double up as landing skids;
- but no good on a slope.
the blood - of course;
synthetic oil;
with that I'd never get sick,
pumped 'round by the bestest
- induction coil,
powering my foot long
- hydraulic ****
Yeah; wish I was Meccanoman.
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
this old poet, one of the first, to see your wave,
when he was playing knick-knack paddy whack on his shoe,
the old poet then played two, and said,
yes, I will follow you
Please
imaging-imaging that old poet with a glanceable cursory,
a small smile whispered, with entourage of a nod and a wink,
stands, knowing he is in the delivery room, a witness,
to first steps of a babe starting a new life
marvelous miracle by touching a button, a new line written,
not crossed but connecting by pressing "Follow"
with a finger from a hand, a human fringe,
attached to a breathing mind and a thinking heart,
the first to follow you, a ceremonial gesture of
innovation magic incantation, a new moon blessing,
a living person believing, remembering, the longest ago,
his first own graceful acknowledgement and eyes speak,
yes, I will follow you
the new poet, astonished at this induction to the smallest
Hall of Fame that they alone own the only key, study that
number, that number 1, the first to follow, kinda looking over
their shoulder to make sure the old poet still there on the morrow,
sure enough there are now two, safe in the back pocket,
a tabulation of humans who speak volumes of trust, saying,
yes, I will follow you
the old poet, imaging-imaging the babe, dancing round
the room, invigorated, challenged and the faucets pouring,
can't write it down as fast as the trains arriving disgorging,
words unique in new combinations and the rush of blood
from heart to head to those newly literary fingers bleeding
happy creatures of creation as if they are Noah
setting sail to save us with verbs and adjectives
two by two all for now species unheard of
the old poet wants to send cautionary notes, the path strewn
with frustrations of no inspiration ditches and inescapable cliches
that sound fresh but just aren't, the disappearing satisfaction,
the inability to get it just perfect, and so many obstacles
to be prophesied,
but he does not, these things must be self taught,
today let it suffice the initiation, the first crowning of
**yes, I will follow you
for this the way of the poet
10/16/17 5:09pm**
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
Some dreams are significant
Some dreams are just fantasies
Some dreams are useless
Some dreams are idiotic
Dreams can make you unique
Dreams can be your drive
Dreams can help you develop a vision
Dreams can make you a dynamic person
We all dream so you are not unique
You can sing and you dream to be star,
You are smart and you dream to work at Microsoft,
You have access to money and want to open another Google,
guess what???
You are not unique.
You must resist and transform structures
You must claim responsibility
You must produce knowledge
You must move through space and cause disruptions
You must affect people by induction
If you become normal then you don't exist
To exist there must be exceptionalism
The normal have no history
The normal have no memory
You are nothing...
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Pertinaciously vituperative irrefragable determinism. Inscrutable axis of spontaneities’ imaginative. Perplexity’s prognosis to prospectus. Elan vital’s preternatural perpetuity. Cohesive coherency’s opaque opulence. Space-time continuum’s natural induction expressed as identity. Exponentially tangential imagination’s immaturity. Entropy catalyst blonds. Spaciotemporal telemetry tactician’s tellurian terrene. Protractive analyses dimensional delineation. Reflectively refractive positional empathy. Prophylaxis protocol. Objectified manifest's self inductive diminutive minutia iotas of interstitial edict. Graspy greedy stingy frugal mingy minions. Manumission’s indentured servant sail.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
It's 10:51
My Philosophy of Science class
Wasn't supposed to end until 11:15.
There is 39 minutes until Accounting.
I don't like this.
Because the cafe will be too full
It would cause a bad attack.
Because I was dumb and didn't take
My anti anxiety meds.
So I have to sit down on a bench in the hallway.
Stairs are a wreck.
My knees just shake.
I took too much of my friend's adderall
Because I never went to sleep.
And I needed to do all of these assignments
And exams
And papers
And swap tragic life stories with Becca
And I only picked at a piece of watermelon for breakfast
And now I have the shakes.
And I'm either really ******* hot
Or really ******* cold.
And I don't know which one.
So I'm just wearing a really warm sweatshirt.
Isn't this great
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Sometimes we goof; sometimes we’re aloof
yet all of truth is under one roof
All the same really; not always so clearly
Reduce not to merely the entire theory
The arts carried magic before mass production
But still can be found, the numinous induction
Minority knows; majority knew
Sonority is truth….can you hear it too?
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
do you have your wits about you
when you climb into your bed?
do you pray for better days
as you try to clear your head?
we are all the same someway,
i assure you.
though we try to find a way
to ignore the truth.
as the huddled masses gather
and try to find their grace,
they tell of one to saves us,
to take us from this place;
but somehow still the tears, they fall
and they gather by the graves
of the ones that never made it,
introduced to unexpected fate
where have we gone?
where are going?
you can’t it take it from us
please, don’t take it from us.
not this.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
In the half-life half-death
of cold capsule prison cells
The shaken but unstirred synapses
of my sedated frantic grey matter
are left cruelly seduced into dreamstate contemplation
Forced induction into comatose hypersleep
all systems shocked and slowed
Reduced to internal monologue
debating tranquility and frustration
captured amidst nurturing seas and predator skies
Life support machinations online
so that I must deal with life offline
My interlude thoughts in full control
as they run amok
through the living dead dreams
forever frozen and framed
in iced over glass
floating through the black nothing
of all encompassing space
alone
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
STEP ONE: PROVE TRUE FOR N = 0.
the first time
you caught me
i had a rock in my hand,
fingers dug into
ridges and pools.
it didn't fit my hand
as well as my
fingers through yours,
but i longed for
the blackblue bruises
i could leave behind.
ephemeral.
permanent.
i wanted it so
i made it work.
STEP TWO: LET N = K.
the rock is still
on my bookshelf,
hidden behind
the things i want
you to see.
now i substitute.
walls aren't as good as
corners that turn
away from you.
my hands aren't as good as
the fists of strangers.
STEP THREE: SHOW TRUE FOR N = K + 1.
boil over,
epileptic -
you think this is
rock bottom.
i don't tell you how
i've been lower before,
how i turned eight
and almost stepped
into your path
as you drove away.
i don't tell you how
i want to SLAM
my hands over my ears
though i don't need to
because you don't
talk to me
and i won't listen.
i don't tell you how
i can't cry
unless i'm angry.
STEP FOUR: CONCLUSION.
when i tell you
the only truth i know
you spit on it
and push me aside.
i suppose a rock
is softer.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Deduction
God is everywhere;
God is love; love
is every
we'
r
e
Induction
I
am
universe;
the universe is
infinite; I am infinite
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
Morning's induction act -
the sun breaks cover bright as
Los Alamo's flash.
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 5:45 AM UTC
The Lawncrest Acres State Hospital for the Incurably Poetic -
I think dear Granddad, the good doctor,
once practiced there as a clinician
(and as patient once, too)
his writing otherwise confined in public eyes
to those horribly dry tomes whose titles began
"On the practice of..."
whereupon he may have gone
on to expound the virtues of religion in psychiatry
as measured in cross sectional study
or harsh parenting as inherent to induction of pathology
But at home he would write
the sweetest poems to us
on birthdays or just because...
he never wrote one for me, oversight I'm sure,
as I roamed the floor
in his house, same as all the others.
So maybe that's why I secretly try
to be a poet like he was.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
Come on down to your Fletcher’s Store
It has all your needs to complete your chore
Marshal has it all you see?
Be it tools or p.p.e.
Obtaining kit is not that hard
If you have your induction card
But without your little piece of plastic
The treatment you get could well be drastic
Other than that, a cost code will do
That will prevent any further ado
If Marshal is otherwise indisposed
Help is near, it has been disclosed
His faithful helper Spiderman
Will always help you where he can
On the PC he also goes
Logged on as Marshal, I suppose
But back to the master of the store
He knows what’s behind every closed door
What stock he has, he knows off hand
spanners, raincoats , every little gland
a special order or a request
You can be sure, he’ll do his best
He is a man of his word
At toolboxes you may have heard
Laying down the law, giving you grief
Hoping to catch the lowly thief
Spending time with him, I have found
He is a rock, steadfast, morally sound
And if at times you may need a friend
Someone to listen, maybe an ear to bend
Someone there, sound and steady
You can count on Marshal Geddie.
Ernest 28 July 2011 (VPT)
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
Seconds ticking,
I move closer.
My left hand around her.
Seconds ticking,
She moves closer,
Her right hand around me.
Feeling her breath
Smelling the scent
Of her skin.
I move further.
Listening to her heart beat.
Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub
Ja-dach ja-dach ja-dach
Yes... yes... yes...
Flowers of water,
Rushing from the clouds, tip tap tup
To drench us.
Further I move,
Electromagnetic induction,
Our bodies can't get closer.
Clock stops.
Time warps.
Space stands still.
It's annihilation,
Two souls merging.
Pair production,
The merged soul releasing
A couple of sparkles.
Little sounds,
vibrations through the bodies.
My lips touch hers.
The rest is a blank.
Nirvana.
Tiny tear drops,
escape from her eyes.
and ****** my lips.
I have tasted a kiss.
It's love’s perpetual bliss...
<3 <3
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
I am going
Straight
To hell
Any induction
Process occurring,
At the time
I happen to arrive,
I fear
Will be interrupted
Just to be sure
I make it in okay.
After realizing this
The present
Wasn't so bad,
And I always
Carried a smile
With me.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC