"insoluble" poems
a zit—(white iceberg tip
infection-floating)
a heart (yours was always lipid-
slippery)
an ember (firefly abdomen
exhaling in black velvet)
a full bladder—(toilet-bowl relief:
a temporary prescription)
a bag of hot chips (extra habanero
for a spicy explosion)
a sink pipe (domestic artery rupture
of your sledgehammer swing)
a water balloon, (concrete-spiked,
insoluble rubber jigsaw)
spaghetti in the microwave: (blood
stain pattern analysis of metal walls)
a seam. (sewn ending
frays: leave the stitch, re-exposed.)
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Continuity and infinity,
Why they have to be
Is beyond me.
The end of all things, I
Wish I were lucky enough to see.
But more than that,
I wish I were free.
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 9:24 AM UTC
Inconclusive patterns
Form indented regularity
In flowing drifts
A panoply of tropical orchids
In my mind
A menaced distortion
Straining forward
Like an isolated image
In an old photograph album
Disclosing only the fragments
Of an insoluble puzzle
Its atmospherics of frequency
Disturbs me somewhat
It is identical to hidden speech
Or the resistance to time
Of exclamatory reminders
Of forward motion
That momentarily fascinates
Then falls through a hole
In a central vortex of vision
This is the architectonics
Of a thought
That can never be articulated
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
i have always found myself
in the middle
actually born
in the middle of the day,
month,
year,
decade
(6.12.94)
very well-versed in
what it's like to be
simultaneously rich
and incredibly poor
living in other states
sleeping on the floor
sure
i walk a generational fine line
this gemini primetime,
of insoluble crises
the holy oil floats to the top
we learn
that feigned warmth cannot dissolve
the calcified ego of a leader or their god
you proclaim the name of jesus
but still cry out for someone to lead us
from gray
gay
awareness
today
it's taken time and distance for this to be easy to say.
this is for the ones
who have always found
themselves in the middle,
america, honey, will you meet us there?
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
They say your lost at sea
lost at sea within my dreams
hard to reach
hard to touch from where im from
completely out of reach
they say youve come back for another try
the say youve walked and now your down
they said youve been there
open arms
wide looking eye
waiting for the chance to come by
this chemical equation
of covalent bonds mixing in heat
magnetic shifts pull us here
binding energy across the room
is buffered by the prides dream
but what catalyst my love
can ignite such desire
its reaching critical mass
about to start a nuclear disaster
its as if i have turn into a halogen
reacting to the site of you
coming into the room
the insoluble pride of my desire
is boiling to a point
i might return
but to you its as if
my face
was a line spectrum only showing
certain things
the potential energy
bursting
esxstasy
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Half past nine
And the night feels so young
Despite eyelids too heavy to open
Inspiration
On the tip of the tongue
And tapping fingers on keys.
Thoughts prevail wrapped in affection
And the door to originality is awry
Affection and Muse mix seamlessly.
Confusion in delusions
What could and should scrape by
The heart and the pen are insoluble.
Panic within existentialism
No words come to mind
Affection is not Muse.
Separation of heart and hand
Leave old alliances behind
For Muse or for Affection?
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
The sky exploded red that evening
as the sun descended on the valley
and in the silhouette
I remember
the oil lamp lit up by her door
With cold winds and tired legs
I made it up the stony trail
and through the fatigue
I remember
her little hut puffing chimney smoke
A simple meal to fill me,
a fire to remedy the frost
and in the light of the flame
I remember
her eyes adorned with a desolate shine
Night fell soon after
stars danced in the naked sky
and as the moonlight kissed the peaks
I remember
her warm hands subtly grasping mine
On the morrow
we said our farewells
but as I started my descent
I remember
a sudden pang of insoluble woe
and I rushed back
the path of green and stone
with all the nerve I could muster
I remember
leaving a letter in a makeshift envelope
As often as I was entitled
I found myself back in the lone hamlet
as if to keep an unspoken vow, every time
I remember
her eyes of sadness, her smile of greeting
until the day we broke tradition
for there was no familiar face
where the trail ended
I remember
the cruel north wind cutting me open
A decade since,
of prayers to false gods in prodigal shrines
and with eyes shut
I remember
her hair billowing before the winter snow
In the monotony of city lights,
of skyscrapers and street neons
rising cigarette smoke up in the sky
I remember
the dance of the stars, the warmth of her hold
--
Every time
I dare go up the hill since
and gaze at the empty summit,
These memories seem to keep waning
So as I move across the highway this time
I remember
to forget the trail route to heaven.
-X-
Oct 16, 2021
Oct 16, 2021 at 5:33 PM UTC
There are too many things to unsee in this city,
the night street holds dark memories;
traffic jams, phones blaring
the static complacency of the bourgeoisie,
faint screeches of beat up vans
and tire explosions, schizophrenic
sloth of industrial machinery
drilling roads, houses, three metres apart;
the fragmentation of the nuclear family -
if only life were a gothic fable;
we would all be mythical
deities to the dark regions of earth -
for the night is oceanic,
Atlantic, revolution
turns upon a fixed axis;
tonight’s ocean
opening, first ionization,
breath as oxidation -
the middle
the midnight
in the air where the air is alight
and the light contains substance,
the fine saturation of salience,
lust for dopamine, we light
the silk in the fire, remember the earth
spirals around a sailing sun
like a strand of DNA,
everything circumferencing
in swirls of cataleptic cinnamon,
and we are space dancers,
free in the infinite,
the embroidery of all edges,
small, but
insoluble
and dissolving.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Across and abound to the sounds of fire, they lurch and leap toward the river bend. The twilight is thunderous and bold, a fragmented frown upon this calamity of calamities. It's jagged, smooth streaks of light passing judgement from the heavens above. God himself looks on.
Bright Blues to blend with Grim Greys upon such an all encompassing canvas of green. I hadn't known the extent in power of the color Red before this night, in overpowering; in swallowing up, smothering. Exploding in iridescence and irony, in trite translucent tragedy. It sinks into the ground. As it sinks into the bones of myself and my posterity.
I shivered and clutched my chest, that my heart did still beat. Noticing to my relief, it was thudding quite audibly amongst the quiet stir of grass and leaves beneath my feet. It was then I noticed the haunting silence of it all. I was alone.
But I was not alone, my eyes could see the smoke rise, they could almost feel the bullets whip through the wind. The chill of which caressed my skin in sensation. But sounds of gunfire, bombs bursting, yells yelping, the riotous roar of it all, were absent as a shadow. My veins turned to ice, my skin to stone.
In one particularly magnificent mingling of light, in one irradiating instant; I stumbled as sound met my deaf ears. Lightning and Fire danced in the sky. In this soulless shimmer, the slow shuttering lens of humanity captured the essence of something much beyond the present frame of existence. Breaking glass and pouring out of corners, a transcendental photograph. Reaching out through the pages of time to be acted out in accents yet unknown, by peoples yet unborn, to scream with insoluble resolve. The heart of man beats as one, we shall overcome.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 1:49 AM UTC
The abysm of the unbodied Infinite;
A fathomless zero occupied the world.
A power of fallen boundless self awake
Between the first and the last Nothingness,
Recalling the tenebrous womb from which it came,
Turned from the insoluble mystery of birth
And the tardy process of mortality
And longed to reach its end in vacant Nought.
As in a dark beginning of all things,
A mute featureless semblance of the Unknown
Repeating for ever the unconscious act,
Prolonging for ever the unseeing will,
Cradled the cosmic drowse of ignorant Force
Whose moved creative slumber kindles the suns
And carries our lives in its somnambulist whirl.
--By Sri Auro,Book I,Canto I
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
What time is it by you?
such a complicated question,
you know
exactly
what I mean,
are you brushing your teeth,
hello or goidbye,
weeping into your pillow,
sun borning hopeful,
writing poems
a handful will brush by,
leaving your wet insides
even more dry
dissatisfied
dinner or breakfast,
day gone erased,
another wasted,
or
clock marked as
just started
and the
task of filling hours
an unwanted curse,
an incalculable calculus,
but insoluble
for there is no
their
no in,
in your life,
no
us
in the numerology of
your clock marking
time to rise
to church go
time to take
the woman out
for one more
nothing-to-say
silent dinner,
inject or flush,
bar dive,
TV mindless,
to high, to low,
to pick
right left or center,
to ***** or bandage,
to turn in,
or come of age
is it time to bed return
because you have just AM awoken,
and every any other place else is hell
no time to pay the bills,
no money, why bother,
time to worry,
why that is the only equation constant,
only the worry changes,
never the time
time to reconnoiter
a good book,
to tune the body up,
afternoon blues,
red eye time,
self
mutilation,
even verbal,
when?
D time?
deep dark
suffocation,
***** all *****
or
shower bathe,
slough off the dead cells,
clean clothes clean start,
even at midnight
what time is it by you?
time to clean mop your life,
walk in new places,
walk to the roof,
just for the view
so many answers....
this I know
it is time for an answer,
choose
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
there is one point of no return
an escape from the usual routine
drawn by stir, shattered by reliance
acquiring such thing isn't so easy, but the conclusions draw to the final proclamation
disjointed wisdom of a young porcupine
kidnapped fugitive released... and *****
by the laws of nature and their own stupidity
they stood next to each other and turned their bodies into two viscid twines, let alone be tangled
the pair of two, an insoluble equation
touching.. feeling... nothing but them
the bodies are lost and departed from society
leaving them both for themselves, acting like ***** dogs, they begun to slowly achieve their amusement
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
bleeding comments on a scribble pad
interactions regulating a previous history
in words of spontaneous repeats
projecting the colour of dreams
in a world of violet sky
that has dispensed with night and day
in elliptical words that dilate
to a lacerating urgency
where apocalyptic statements
unleash in silent appraisal
a symbiosis of male and female
the creation of a new species
survivors of anaemic journeys
where one does not need to search
for identity in the other
but experiences that freedom
from the strain of isolation
and pieces together the fragments of
a once thought insoluble puzzle
that is disturbed in hidden speech
in bleeding comments on
an unruled scribble pad
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Thursday to the shopping list did add my tremulous bequest,
Honey Nut Cheerios, great was the anticipation of a marriage with cold milk,
product of the oats and the cows that made this nation really, really great,
but in the Manahattan organic commisary seems this
so called food is strictly verboten,
so she brought me home on Friday some imposter named
Grain Berry?
this pseudo Cheerios tainted with Onyx Sorgum,
intended to give me heavy metal poisioning surely,
and rob life of joy by slowing down my sugar absorption rate,
and the plant fiber contained was purportedly natural,
as if there was another kind!
clearly a plot on my life by the Bannonian alt-right, for it,
this "whole grain toasted oat cereal,"
supplied more free radical protection
by sun activated antioxidants!
I am a real man,
I love my artificial flavors and colorings,
how better to preserve my pickling, briny brain
than in artifical perservatives!
From West Texas came this grain,
surely they will appreciate the insoluble fibered irony,
while I eat cold cereal for Friday dinner,
SHE is eating steak rare at Gallagher's Steakhouse!
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
To elusive, to elusive a possession
This human identity, this love
To emulate the poet in justification
To imesh my mind in insoluble difficulties
To find strange colored images there
And yet with such derangement
A loving dispensation pours forth upon me
Extinguishing all else and restores
Stability to a battered self in awe and wonder
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
I want to be your today.
I want to be your tomorrow.
I want to be your everyday, every which way.
I want to be your twenty-fifth birthday, spent alone with a bottle of bourbon.
I want to be the breath between your words.
The long flight back home.
The first holiday spent abroad.
I want to be the steaming cloud of breath, on a cold January, three years from the next.
I want to be the sheets at night; the flipside of your pillow.
The favorite restaurant.
The hole in your pocket.
The knot in your shoelace.
The freckle on your nose.
I want to know the story of your first broken bone
(If there was one).
I want to know the religious awakening.
I want to know the cherished childhood memory.
The playground bullies.
The third grade science project gone terribly wrong.
Tell me about how he broke your heart.
Tell me about how she broke your heart.
Tell me how to make it better.
Give me the insoluble remedy; give me the chance.
I want to be your unanswered question.
I want to be the first thing when you wake.
I want to be the last thing when you rest.
I want to know your deepest secret.
Tell me about how it molded who you are today.
Give me the light- give me you.
You exist between the books on my shelves.
You exist in each stroke of my pen.
You exist where my punctuation doesnt
(See, you were right there).
You exist in the unsung melody.
The bruise on my hip.
That trigonometry homework left unfinished.
Those lyrics not remembered.
I think of you in the morning.
In the morning with disheveled hair, and bleary eyes.
I think of you with the click of a pen, the turning of the page.
With the brakes of the city bus.
With the bell after fifth period.
With those fading scars on my side.
You are my first encounter with the salty waves of the coast.
You are my first encounter of a well-rehearsed routine.
You are the roots of my hair.
You are the cherished memory.
You are the only one.
You are beautiful.
You are genuine.
You are brave.
You are you.
And, you make me me.
(a.m) 04/21/14
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters
with well meaning incompetence
i have disturbed the reality
and illusion of human identity
where i am enmeshed
in insoluble confusions of difficulties
where i find strange images
touching on the grotesque
and ask what is myself
what are the guarantees
of my identity
by what right is a name possessed
by what means is my individuality secured
these questions in my mind
have a curiously derivative quality
that pretend to govern themselves
where they collaborate in their own oppression
and make assumptions upon
ethical behaviour and social institutions
which represent fictions rather than fact
function in a world of collapsing distinctions
of artificial precepts
where these now hearing monsters
with vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment of intense
exhausting experience of a mind
spiraling vertiginously
toward an inner chaos that proclaims
I am myself alone without moral constraints
yet register vast predicaments
with the memorability of vivid language
but with an individual rapaciousness
that creates an amalgam of narratives
with the oppressive weight of the past
designed to induce this evaluative vertigo
with such ferocity to produce a turmoil of demons
monsters of evil, whose viciousness is vividly stamped
upon their bodies that declares
their fathomless malice sending my mind
into a cruelly disassembling nature
where i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Shamans
Psychics
Schizophrenics
Mystics
Medics
Psychoanalysts
Politicians
Hypocrites
It’s in your head
It’s out of mind
It’s before our eyes
but most are blind
Buy Dark
Deal Light
Write left
Felt right
Free consciousness
from the physical fight
to dominate
through fear and hate
Religion and government
feed from the same plate
Inquisitions
Constitutions
Impositions
Insoluble solutions
in poisonous bruise
Drip-fed
in 24hr news
Brain dead
Twisted views
Controlling hands
that turn the screws.
© Verso-(David Moule) 06/03/08
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
It is hard to tell sugar and salt mixture apart by merely glancing or touching. I wish I could master the art of segregating them without any arduous chemical process.
According to wikiHow, one may assess the grain sizes of salt and sugar. But they too, acknowledge that table salt and granulated sugar do look very similar; the differences in these 2 is minute.
Option 2: Acquire a sieve sized in between the 2 grain sizes so as to let the salt through. However, this method is clearly not fool proof since not all salt and sugar grain is of the same size. A salt granule could mask itself.
The best way to separate salt and sugar is by adding absolute alcohol to the mixture as only the sugar will dissolve, salt is insoluble in alcohol. Then after, proceed to evaporate or boil off the sugar and alcohol solution and you will be left with salt.
Much like in life, it requires more than looking or tactility to tell between genuine and the pseudo. It takes time, takes processes and occurrences. I once more wish I could distinguish them easily.
Then again, as much as I am grateful for the sugars in my life, excessive amount of sugar isn't all that good for the health. Salt heightens the sweetness of sugar; it teaches me to appreciate sugar better. More importantly, salt, to a moderate amount, does good to the body too.
As such, I am grateful for both the sugar and salt in my life. Sugar provides a sense of joy, while salt is vital for personal growth.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 3:35 AM UTC
the uncertainties of
unendurable disturbances
that announce themselves
with the plausible coordinates
of illusion location
an identity to elusive
to justify human possession
leaves only the confusion
of such insoluble difficulties
where the finding of this strange image
is at once touching and grotesque
poses the question what is the self?
what are the guarantees of identity?
who possesses such and by what right?
how is individuality secured?
or are we left to the larcenous wiles
of ones own deployment
an illusion that hovers over one
like an appalling malady
exquisitely positioned on the mind
where it basques in the language
of so called neutral expression of thought
where one alone denounces the self
albeit under compulsion of poignant lament
that evaporates among
shrouds and gaping graves
we are all but the
coordinates of illusion
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
My limbs are gushing while I walk
down towards the seaside pier,
these endings and these beginnings
ascending again into mere cycles,
the rising and falling chest,
beating heart,
transcending
I walk
hand in hand with you, restated love,
the new and the old clothes we wear
wrapped around our breathless poses
our heads filled with thoughts
of rose ridden gardens, and of course
children dancing, playing games between
our spacious Pohutakawa branches
where you first taught me about romantics
without that rudimentary triteness
and you sitting, coffee in hand at the picnic table
swearing revolution is never possible
to I dancing, remarking
“you are such the cynic”
before grabbing you and twirling you
faster than the earth rotates
As we drift closer to the sea
the inconstant wind winds the clock to 10pm,
the minutes restoring those now withered days
of woollen coats, new music and Dunedin
I would stand behind you while you played the flute
thinking of that time
where we played in the rhododendrons
till dark; folding time folding into
my arms, the sky white and blue
juxtaposed against the trees
darkened spikes explore the sea
what was it? me, me, me,
of course, I see
and I
remember the melody
(lets go under the covers
we can play games in the dark
we could even try adding to
those stars on your ceiling)
so now, again, for a moment, we reappear
in this hour, this walk, this air
stilted, shaking
we resurface,
and soak in the watery soils of previous deluges
become something overwhelming,
something insoluble
here we are, on the Pier
at noon, dazed, defused
by a familiar grip on the fingers
index snug between the ring
“take me to the end”
“but darling,
we are going further than that”
before we jump
we tie our balloon to the pole
and promise to return, on horses
painted silver and brass
Hey, nice to see you here
come with me
lets watch the sunrise
from the beach,
I think I sense a revolution stirring
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
It is in our all for we are all and in a tunnel coiled
An entwining miasmic kaleidoscope we call our entirety
We are a collective phantasmagoria of escapeless toil
Lost in ourselves and forewent to society
The quark to the universe the everything to the quark
All beauty too big to look and too small to see
An everything of light yet we have sight only to the stark
Within the bleak there is only me for you and you for me
The god’s perform their song in the foundations of all formed
Waves sway and quaver thrumming from an insoluble craw
One note un-precise and we’re left ever so more deformed
Each of us hear it differently yet as you with mine all I can hear is yours
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Es una intensísima corriente
un relámpago ser de lecho
una dona mórbida ola
un reflujo zumbo de anestesia
una rompiente ente florescente
una voraz contráctil prensil corola entreabierta
y su rocío afrodisíaco
y su carnalesencia
natal
letal
alveolo beodo de violo
es la sed de ella ella y sus vertientes lentas entremuertes que
estrellan y disgregan
aunque Dios sea su vientre
pero también es la crisálida de una inalada larva de la nada
una libélula de médula
una oruga lúbrica desnuda sólo nutrida de frotes
un chupochupo súcubo molusco
que gota a gota agota boca a boca
la mucho mucho gozo
la muy total sofoco
la toda ¡shock! tras ¡shock!
la íntegra colapso
es un hermoso síncope con foso
un ¡cross! de amor pantera al plexo trópico
un ¡knock out! técnico dichoso
si no un compuesto terrestre de líbido edén infierno
el sedimento aglutinante de un precipitado de labios
el obsesivo residuo de una solución insoluble
un mecanismo radioanímico
un terno bípedo bullente
un ¡robot! hembra electroerótico con su emisora de delirio
y espasmos lírico-dramáticos
aunque tal vez sea un espejismo
un paradigma
un eromito
una apariencia de la ausencia
una entelequia inexistente
las trenzas náyades de Ofelia
o sólo un trozo ultraporoso de realidad indubitable
una despótica materia
el paraíso hecho carne
una perdiz a la crema.
1k
With element of sparkling
words and nuclear reaction.
Whose controlled emotions will be
reflected in form goosebumps or
work in progress.
Trying to solute all the insoluble
just to form the intermolecular forces
of Attraction and Bonding.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 7:24 PM UTC