"infinitum" poems
Focus on the Positive
but do not shun Negative.
Respect the Negative
by way of Positive reflection.
And, indeed, vice versa;
as if some twisted cosmic joke,
yin and yang shall interplay
e'ermore, ad infinitum.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
i woke up this morning
locked myself in the bathroom
with whiskey beer and netflix
a hot steam shower and
aching thoughts for a cigarette
they said be strong you'll make it in time
but all i see is a negative sum numbers game
ad infinitum forevermore on & on & on
another day another nicked nickel through my fingers
so instead of being a "productive" member of society
i'm drunk at 8:00 am and wallowing in self pity
but hey the shows are free
but this shower's gunna cost me
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
I am an unwanted child of god
I am an unwanted child of god-
He said,
And I, (believing him)
examined his shapes closely.
Simple enough,
Is what would best describe him,
his feet were sheltered by rubbers
manufactured in some distant or exotic country
crafted by machines
in far away factories.
This unwanted child of god, this dark young man, child of father after father infinitum;
Gave me a look of terror and apathy at once, then spoke.
I think, sometimes, of acting out of character-
(his smile surprised me)
I put the gun in my mouth just to taste the cold iron-
I bring men to my hotel room, women too-
(his gap widened)
Who can say I am not the happiest ******* on the ******* planet-
'not me'
I'll drink to that-
Oh hoarse throat, oh smokey breath
Oh sad unwanted child of god
Whose mother did look upon the coat-hanger,
And whose father did look upon the belt;
I'll drink to you everyday,
For who is to say I'm not the happiest ******* on the ******* planet?
Hip and hip
hooray.
Next Sunday he pulled the trigger, and stained the Dull brown wall of his hotel room.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 7:11 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Aurora borealis,
aurora australis.
Mare nostrum,
sub silentio,
sub secreto,
ad libitur,
as infinitum.
Ira furor brevis est,
amor suo iure.
Memento vivere,
in dubio,
in dolorosa,
in posse,
in nubibus,
in pace,
in spiritu et veritate,
in pleno,
nvne avt nvnquam,
ad vitam aeternam.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 1:28 AM UTC
~She is graceful, elegant, and beautiful.
He loved her
from the depths
of his heart.
A heart She broke,
because She
never looked back.
—
They were not perfect
But that did not matter.
He knew no chance,
for it was Impossible.
—
But he Loved her
as if it were not so
and spent his days
thinking only of Her.
thoughts that consume
and make his heart
break even more.
—
But He Loved Her,
not caring about the risk,
without bounds,
without fear
That She
would not love Him back.
—
And He Loved Her
Ad Infinitum.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
I watch myself
watch myself
watching their dance,
my action is actioned
by panel and plan
Significant thought
to trivial task,
I find myself missing
that which I've hatched
Impromptu I can do,
in scrutinies stare,
replayed ad infinitum
pretend I don't care
When waiting has waited
and I dare to break free,
will the watcher be waiting
or will I be free?
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
aboriginal
pre-literate
innocent and forever renewed
(as if flash flashing
back and forth to heaven)
one hundred trillion cells of me
notice i am noticing them
i send them
all my love
grounding
i am walking tree
with fibrous light as root
grounding
i am sitting stone
galaxy within galaxies
infinitum spinning
my body
the dance of the universe
do you tell me i am anything less?
do you tell yourself
you are anything less?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
The Goldfish and his friend shared the one bed flat for what seemed to them a lifetime,
But was, in actual fact, just three months in human terms.
They knew each other well, like the back of their fins,
Having circled each other a million times.
Sure, they argued sometimes,
Always about the same thing
But neither could ever remember what that was.
Forgive and forget and forget ad infinitum,
That was the basis of their friendship.
So after his lifelong friend swam his last lap of their squat apartment,
The Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
Limp and halfway between sinking and floating.
So the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
His former golden hue now gone.
So, the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he tried, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend...
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 2:20 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
I am captivated by a thought of old
Yeller in the streets of Madagascar.
Shot me dead indeed for standing up
to digs of my deeds done wrong.
But what of his Sister, and did he miss her
for fiesta on Friday last~Until a droopy~eyed mistress crooned a cock~a~doodle~doo straight against the face of death.
They loved Prima, come subtle still life into the night. Brought Passion'd brink of tears, thrown forlorn wisping shutter to my skin and I am Thought.. thinking I migh'nt be lost to soon to this moment mi'amour.
Charging hunted into the streets, taken by day or by night. Overrated artform of statuesque mystique, compendium of gods have struck me mortal and I am Death...dying unto pleasures infinitum.
Quell into question the material mourning, noon and night. Antidote to antithesis is Imagination...imagining everything in nothingness all at once...banging out existence, through the vacuum...all the way to Madagascar.
Take my place, take my bullet for me on the other end of old Yeller and I will take your end on the other side... of You ...being Me.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
We all perhaps know how Wendy waved at the night sky,
bid a goodbye as good as a farewell,
at the illusion of a pixie dust-flickered cloudscape
of a voyage setting sail
to dreams and fantasies stretching beyond time and infinitum.
And she was showered with so much
faith, trust and pixie dust,
quaint tiny love-stained lips
promises a kiss and sealed acorn, tight around her neck.
And the sparkle in the glances of her
lovely pair of blue crystal teals
manifest in the whereabouts of a star second to the right.
But the Big Ben struck half past childhood
and play pretend and silky nightgowns are long time over.
Innocence is robbed by a shadow
lurking in the premises of what could have been
for once the clicking of the keys
to the lock and latch of the gates of the yesteryears,
it could not be undone.
The hook of a deceiving treachery
robbed all the glow of a child’s pearl laced smile
and the mere belief of the existence of fairies and the magical mystical boy
who never grew up.
She once laced her hands with his,
past ephemeral and London night,
and straight on till morning.
The desires of her heart got lost in the sea of nowhere,
as it raced against the foolish time;
we all perhaps know how Wendy is never never return
to never Neverland.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
there is love in laughter
and laughter in love
timeless longing in hearts
dreaming of
eons past
when cosmos were new
lost through millennia
still tethered to you
by spiritual umbilicus
feeding the soul
nourishing the heart
while paying a toll
for passing through time
your blood in my veins
unsettled in heartbeats
still calling your name
a name unrecognized
through these earthly ears
for I knew you as many
throughout timeless years
though tied in this body
two souls bound by love
found and completed
through cosmos above
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
fifty trillion of them,
give or take an exponential few,
programmed to replicate, then die, ad infinitum
spawning perfect copies to ensure
molecular harmony
their perfection could not keep
their host from huffing on tar sticks,
gobbling bacon by the kilo, or worshiping the sun's crisping rays
until one of their eternal days, a perverse mutation occurred
one at first, then two, then four, then more
forgetting that all were once destined to die,
in a crimson clockwork fashion
apoptosis
the new invader would hear nothing
of this strange word, for it was the emperor of maladies,
its geometric procession a spinning spectacle to behold,
purloining space from the mortality hobbled trillions
evicted by cancer's kangaroo court
it will have its reign,
this galloping ghost maker, until
the host gives up the fight, and
that which fed its gluttony
will starve it as blithely
as the body gave it
******* birth
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Day and night are just opposites,
yet complementary ad infinitum,
sans any trace of discord, perfectly fit;
everything one comes across in life
is uniquely meaningful, let's not forget.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
in the sky, I don’t see him, the Big Guy,
the “G” man, but I found someone who did,
posing the query, “What is God?”
he answered his own question
with twenty words, plus one--no mention of the sun,
the stars, or how HE ignited the Big Bang
but many
wispy words about love, glory
justice and joy
I can't claim to comprehend you,
wedded to agnosticism I seem to be
though I truly would like to see:
something behind the
sunken eyes, bloated bellies of babies
covered with impatient flies
something in the blood trails
of San Bernardino, Paris, Beirut
Khe Sanh, Iwo Jima, the Marne
Antietam, ad infinitum
who can read those red riddles
and help me understand--maybe more
than 21 words are required
though I am hardly inspired
when the words to describe HIM/HER/IT
don’t mention milk except as human kindness
or do nothing to explain our blissful blindness
to blood dripping from stakes driven
so long after Calvary’s crosses
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Individuality
Crescens
As a riping
Moon cheeks
Blossom
At the Infinite
Cosmic Winds
Caressing
Your Particles
Sometimes
I see She winks
At me reminding
Myself of Others
Who percieve
The same
Sensations
You're not other than me
I have touched the
Astronaut's Space
Suit
My beloved
Neverland
Was intrigued and
Fascinated with
The Exhibition
And one
Sputnik
Was a Cute Cat
And The Real One
Was dangling
From The Ceiling
Surprisingly
Awesome at
Dimensions
As Children's
Antigravital
Balloons
Are
Destined to
Take off
Sooner or Later
These Beautiful
Reminders For
Artists's
First Lessons
in Projection
Ad Infinitum
A
Precise
Pretty
Focus
On
Flying Objects
Restored
On the Canvas
Of Our Conscience
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Hey, Grass. What's your point?
No sheep, no cows, no dog.
I hate You, venomously
grow it
cut It
repeat, ad infinitum.
until the mower breaks
because it does, every year
even the **** Sears
fix it,
break it
grow it
cut it,
**** it.
Hurry, Autumn
**** wacker
useless piece of ****
buy it
pawn it
grow it
cut it
**** it.
Blacktop,
the whole yard
teach your punk ***
Grass.
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
One hundred years of solitude
and Marquez still couldn't shut you up,
your words tear down the walls of Macondo,
heckling the Buendías, poking fun at Aureliano
and his golden fishes. The circular history
spins to a halt, and I fold down
the corner of a page, as if closing the book
could save the city built on paper,
on the Formica tabletop
of an old café with a broken clock
A few chapters back,
you were chastising time,
saying one day you'd
crack your watch open,
rearrange the gears, twirl the dials
and steal back from the ticking hands
that steal so much from you. On page 178,
you committed abominations,
spooning sugar into espresso,
and declared your love for Dali because
the man melted time,
didn't care for anything
not molded to the back of a horse.
Cranberry scone finished,
you ruffle the newspaper,
bemoaning the stockbrokers
who grow fat and complacent
on the crumbs of seconds,
chewing chronological cud, you called it,
but you said nothing could ever pin you down,
much less some cheap Timex
on a nylon strap. Cast out of the fourth dimension,
Marquez scribbles graves for the Buendías,
in death, they've forgotten the original sin
and the Colonel forges fish
from the gold fastenings on his casket
ad infinitum.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
thus concludes a text
from a dear friend whom
I have never met, but this a,
concluding statement is
both convulsing and
uncontained
autumn is a her, a self-selected
gender unique, that picks its
own pronouns, pronunciations,
for women greet us with
warmth+chill skill
combinatory, to
make ordinary
our daily green
reform into
a multi~variable aristocracy of colors,
a forest of expressions,
each a statement leaf,
stating look at me,
I’m transformed, resurrected, disguised,
though essence unchanged, for
I am the possibles of ad
infinitum and I am:
***not-nearly as potent
as the sparks of god
within a human being***
3:58am
10-20-24
Oct 20, 2024
Oct 20, 2024 at 4:03 AM UTC
For years I have waded in plenty, fingers
Wrinkled with the evidence of fulfillment. Belly
gross with abundance, I birthed discontent
again and again.
I became blinded, eyes watery with
With surplus, reflecting only quantity.
I praised commerce heartily ad infinitum
Bending my knees in supplication to
its institutions. The Mall, The Supermarket,
were holy ground.
I have lost my faith, and think, sacrilegiously,
of summer afternoons in the mountains.
There is no text beneath the painted dusk.
Twilight falls without a sponsor. I do not
Enjoy Coke. I look, furtively, for places
Visa isn’t, and drink tap water
when no one is looking. I remind
myself that rainbows don’t taste of candy
and that M&M;’s have melted in my hand
smudges of color I can’t seem to wash away.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Everything is alive.
The spirit of life is endowed in every
Material and immaterial existence.
Life is an unstoppable force.
Life is contagious.
Life begets life and propagates
Ad infinitum.
Life is desire itself.
Every thing yearns to be alive
And every thing that is fading
Desperately reaches out for the suckle
Of that elusive, all-encompassing elixir.
Life is transient. It is delicate and strong.
It is a force itself which does not move Time
So much as imbue it with Meaning.
Life is tumultuous, unsteady, and capricious.
It wants to “go” in an atemporal sense.
It occupies the past, present, and future at once
But its movement is linear and certain.
It can splinter and halt.
Life is miraculous.
It implies the incomprehensible Divinity
Of Being. It is Absurd.
Life is defiant, stubborn, and strong-headed.
It can Be when no one is looking and in spite of
The skeptical spectator.
Every thing respires as one. Life is unity.
Life is paradox.
Life is
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 2:55 AM UTC
I stood on the pill gray surface of a moon with my eyes closed against the pitch. Deafening silence encaptulates me swallowing every cell as I sit cross legged in the stomach of it. I felt her. The pump of her heartbeat colossal in the deep. I dissolve and recoagulate 20 trillion kilometers from her belly. White dwarf her ultraviolet laughter washes over me charring me black. Just beyond the speed of light I fight the cold vacuum spiraling through fathomless rings of planet sized asteroids she has caught within her gravity. I accelerate through her categorizing every element naming some as I go. Her molten core flows pure silver. Radioactive, attractive in totality, she is stealing my electrons and I'm losing all equilibrium. With reckless abandon I arc through her nitrogen ice eyelashes and lips play supernova melting me again into a pool of shimmering metal reflecting her every facet fractaling in infinitum Eye couldn't capture unable to dilate in time. The mind could not comprehend it driving to madness decompressing time. Switching polarity with her smile I float awhile in her warmth basking in total integration. Resting on the glaciers of her clavicles. I run my lips on the molten surface of her neck, and my hands found the small of her back marble smooth in the bitter black. Hair of plasma on obsidian shoulders cradling me as I reform. Her finger like Olympus Mans presses into my arm and she says something that I could not reproduce even after infinities of calculation. In this brand new mode she runs like code. Strands of proteins or DNA playing over mine becoming prime. The restorative gravity that brought us pulls atomicly until we are not.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
There's a frenzy around ID cards
when you're fifteen
an excitement like trapping bees in an airtight jar
which cannot be replicated as an adult
although the behavior is the same:
Criticize the picture
Berate oneself for being
A human with height and width and coloration
Then there's the barber shop mirror replication of self
the meta-selfie of taking a picture of one's ID
and posting to
everything . . . ever
so you have a sounding board for your self-aggrandizement
enrobed in self-deprecation like
a chocolate-dipped madeleine
which will inherently lead to a
knitted afghan of praise and adoration
which was entirely the point
Then there's the dismissal
the abandonment into a wallet
from which it will never escape
living out lifetimes ad infinitum in vain
never recognizing the worth of
Your student ID
113809
which identifies you
but is not you because
You could never be so two-dimensional
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC