"invariable" poems
No two seashells are the same;
but then, to be invariable would be a shame.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.
All seashells are grouped together in the sea and onshore,
their differences are irrelevant - their worth is the same at the core.
Some are able to float away from distress,
while others merely sink under the pressure I must confess.
Some are captivating and beautiful beyond compare,
while some are unpropitious with signs of wear and tear.
Yet despite their differences each one has an admirer,
and whether whole or broken each one is a survivor.
No two seashells are the same, it's true -
nor are two humans invariable - let this message get through.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
across the Liverpool plains
the gas exploration
goes on without
being contained
drilling is never ending
holes sunk
which invariable
cause in the farming community
a disquieting funk
Santos
cares little
for the environment's
well being
its pipeline
must garner
all the gas
in the stream
landholders and those in the green party
have banded together
to protect the agricultural lands
from the rabid abuse
which the company
will wrought on
the water table
flora
and
fauna
they cry ****
as the company
exploits
the countryside
making of it
a harlot to be pillaged
and misused
the state government
is at sixes and sevens
so many competing
interests
must be listened to
should it give
Santos
permits
to
**** and plunder
or
will
it
allow
the
broad acres
to
continue
without sunder
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
*...after what feels like years of falling off the horse and being advised by well meaning friends that the best course of action is to get right back on, it has dawned on me that rather than falling off the horse I am indeed being thrown, as demonstrated by the invariable trampling I receive while trying to regain my feet. I have therefore decided to take this as life's way of telling me to stay the **** away from horses.*
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Trees always have to go out with a bang, don't they
explosions of bursting color
freeze-framed fireworks of fall
bursting and cascading,
leaving ashes and hot coals to cool in soft grass
...I used bursting twice, didn't I?
alright, let me go open up my thesaurus...
blast? pop? rupture?
just replace it with one of those and call it good.
Back to the poem:
my popped-collar peacoat straightens my back
gotta match my posture to the pompous portrait
black wool on an over-scratched scratch paper
might as well just pick it all off
allow the color some room to expand
(I don't even own a peacoat, I just like the metaphor and imagery)
you could set the sentinel alight for the same effect
a more smokey atmosphere, sure,
but the color would be a little brighter
and I'd have the mushroom of smoke to match my coat
I've substituted my earbuds with the crunch crunch crunch
of leaves
crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch ––––
shoot that one looked good but it just flattened
crunch crunch crunch
invariable sound
back to my Beats by Dr. Dre
The arrow of geese points south
...
that's really all I have to say about that
some sort of metaphor about flapping my arms and following them?
I like jacket weather though
better stay grounded
hands in pockets; arms in long sleeves
insert some connection to death to match nature's descent into winter
Gosh, this season is too good to stand for something so sad
let's go jump off the roof into a pile of leaves
drink hot soup and get cuffed
watch steam and frost paint picturesque mornings
read in a dogpile of blankets
Winter may be coming
but so is spring ya goof
get off your melancholic horsey
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
*she was a marionette of the echoes
of her past
corrupting her present.
She was fluctuating betwixt
the anguish of the antecedent and
invariable sanctity.
She was apostle of the present
but
She worshipped her past*
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
i am lost in the wisp of your faltering
the fluttering of concrete entrenched
into stoic rigmarole
to reach out layer by layer
peeling unearthing
a catatonic subdivision of disjoint subdivisions
a limit ordinal
between touch and feeling
where we kiss on the cusp of that silent ocean on the edge of sound
drowned in the nebulous familiarity of
a distant melody
a tired resolve
re solve the old puzzle muscle memory's misted amnesia
half the pieces falling out the warn tinderbox
inarticulate drowned severed isomorphisms over
brea(d)thless infinities
self adjoint matted topologies
nestled snugly in the amniotic absolution
of form before being
hands of matted ice
contorted into perfection
by the sculpting propensities
of undulations of estrangement,
where we touch in the cusp of self reflections thousand mirrors inverted propensities
infinite infinitesimals
nestled meromorphic partitions
hidden corners in the brevity of dusk
multiplicities fragmenting behind empty veils
( to be seen is to be made discrete
to be discrete is to flicker
and disappear
(inevitably invariable
inevitable invariability))
we
stand in a waterfall of gravel
and drown our voices in the choke of our cellophane hearts
caked
into fillets of aphasic tundra
where we whisper our nothings in the desert on the boundary of silence
our words
escape us
like rats from shipwreck
we are
disembowelled catharsis
intentional and fatuous
retching upon itself
severed
and free
and dead
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Every dainty dish of love
she rapturously serve him
has an unmistakable distinct flavor!
He repeatedly wonder, often aloud,
that what would be the magic she applies,
in her smashing haute cuisine ensemble.
When,
it's love, like butter, pure and dense
in large dollops,with it's flavor invariable,
is the one constant major ingredient,
in every which dish she cooks;
for all his questions, persistent and curious,
her answer would be just a smile mysterious.
In their love life enviable, this one thing
still remains the million dollar question!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
translation from russian by rolanda
E.К
I write you from ex-colonia
grounded twenty centuries ago
by romans-sounds like a symphony
for hyperborean ear, hundred time
increased distance till addressee.
Looks like Agrippa knew what she did
the sister, worth by her madness of her brother.
Further cinematograph-nude body
bent and etc..accordingly screenplay
maid lapping in marble bathtube
horns leads triumphal aria
with a long sound. On the backstage
usual complaining on the fate,
tangent glance to the east,
muscle of cease walk
the female wolf her concrete ******
snapping, moving back to the building of arsenale
lost fatten twins.
I recollect what you didnt finish to say me
closing second door on the bolt,
on same spot there is a snow, cover up Prachechnij bridge
panorama of river, filled up by ice,
something with tear through two thousand miles
or old age with saged belly.
In our age, verticals are
soaring unreachable, slipping to result
of life, just right to dress on sandals
but hardly happens to slip into toga.
Invariable law of falling drops
down, no matter- fontain, rain, ******
Harbour of postscript...rats storm the ship.
Funeral office offers moire
from spring collection for upholstery of
coffins, grief on the faces of personals,
just in time served coffee with cream
soften disaster of final account.
I write you, for what? - after victory
of foreign football team
from the closeness of prosperous summer,
connected Alps and Andes
by wave of psychose from tv,
inflicted by joy of superiority
above..(not clear what of), and their poses
of victors is sign of ugliness
from point of view of observer-
old neurasthenic and misantrope.
Contemplating fly of pterodactyl
by eye of stamped cyclop,
gilded **** on short spike of chirch
scream by voice of Luter:
"Be blessed folks cars!",
and morning flow down by sunrise on wood
by Dmitrij Poparev
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
1
I’m driving.
I don’t know where, I’m more being driven, but all there is to do is peer out the window at the rushing
trees.
Anita is in the driver’s seat, moving her head slowly to the beat of the music playing delicately in the
background.
And we’re stuck in a time when the world flows around us, where our actuality is habitual.
With no concern for the world outside me, I contemplate a perfect stack of rocks outside the window,
on the side by where we are stopped.
Time is unravelled.
And I am taken to my childhood, on foreign beaches where people had stacked rocks.
Anywhere I have ever been, there has been a stack of rocks, even inside myself.
At the end of a twelve mile hike through the mountains, a stack of rocks.
I wonder if she notices my consciousness.
In the space between time and something else, she stacks rocks that will plaster themselves together
endlessly and she will bring some home to stack in our kitchen as a reminder.
The stacks take us in.
2
I paint rocks for her to stack.
Each rock with a symbol of reality so that different stacks have different values and all add up to
something invariable.
Family comes over for dinner and asks about the rocks painted, stacked on our furniture and tables.
She smiles with a look of embodiment, for if they must ask they do not know.
And the neighbor boy comes on slow days and stacks our outside rocks, runs away in fear when we
catch him.
But we only ever catch him to give him more rocks to stack.
They tumble, sides not enduring and wind breathing against them but we know that if they fall they were
never meant to stay up at all.
And the totality of the stack is a dream where the world stacks itself onto a neat shelf and never asks to
change or move at all because it is logical.
And the atmosphere of the rocks is the behaviour we choose to observe because they come together in
ways we never could.
I love walking on the beach.
Each and every one has a stack of rocks.
If a human has walked the shore, there will be one.
She picks up a smooth rock and glides it into her pocket.
3
A common misconception of people is to think they are different from everyone else, to expect humans
to differentiate themselves based on irrelevant variations.
Her and I understand them all the same because we have breathed everywhere, and the air is always
abounding with repetition.
The repetition is the stacking of rocks.
The human tendency to stack rocks.
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 1:23 PM UTC
i’m all i see.
i’m all i have.
i’m all i’ve ever known-
living in this fragile shell
filled with broken fragments
is all i’ll ever know.
it’s no wonder that i’m so lonely.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
We are not just similar
We are parallel !
In this cruel world of all kinds of vectors
It's either an invariable distance
Or a fully superposed confusion
No single intersection
And we lie there
stubborn and hopeless
Craving a translation
We are not just similar
We are parallel !
Our limits confined to a single plane
As life flows in all directions
We miss the marvels around us
In every remaining dimension
And we lie there
Blind and shameless
Craving a translation
Louder words
Barely heard
Answers clouded by blur of ignorance
Questions falsely trigger negative emotion
Chaos in misplaced transference
As mazes form from conversation
And we lie there
Deaf and clueless
Craving a translation
Not even a cascade of tears
Can bend us to converge
Tried turning the other cheek
We failed again to merge
Until one day, we exhaust our energy
Shields get broken, armor gets heavy
Only our inner demons left unstained
But they decided to flee our weak body
So we **** the pride with a suffocating hug
Bend the frown with a devastating kiss
Poison the anger by our cleansing drug
We let go of our ego, off to our bliss
And we lie there
Victorious and united
Achieving a translation
Then days go by as we oscillate
to the finish line in this dance of fate
We survive, it seems
We relive on the extremes
Aligned in happiness
or divergent in depression
In mystical perfection
or in catatonic emptiness
Stubborn and stiff
Blind and deaf
Clueless, shameless, hopeless
Craving irreversible translation
But we are not just similar
We are parallel !
~Epic Monkey
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Low self esteem is cute, when
you’re lonely. Hovering about,
in some boneless pose. My invariable stream,
of thoughts
has ceased,
I wait.
Higher functions diverted, until
You’ve arrived. Aloofness abounds, it thickens the air
Awkward,
in the skin of you
towards me, cuts progressing
our bodies shrink,
everything contracts
Towards the invisible,
Except your eyes.
Beautiful and deep,
A different sort of infinite
They only expand
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 10:14 PM UTC
§
When you love someone
more than they will ever love you
It grinds you down.
Invariable disintegration
Of self esteem and ability to experience joy
Occur when someone is betrayed maliciously
By someone they legitimately love.
The only remedy for this agony
Is to surrender wholeheartedly to your love,
Until,
Either they love you as much as you love them,
Or you die,
In which case,
It won't matter.
Love is arsenic killing the bacteria in the milk,
And slowly poisoning your spirit.
The only antidote is surrender.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
Matter does not exist
The source of all being is consciousness, although
The scourge of life revel in selfishness
Ever still the cosmic force lies tepid
As the malignance grows ever more intrepid
Harbingers of inevitable demise
They preach Order from Chaos
But rather warmonger - masquerading their charades from the sidelines
However, if the time paradigm states light
will shine triumphantly
harmonious to the sound of victory
blaring from the Seraphims' trumpets
Why are we still waiting?
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Dream as if you will live forever;
endeavor to rise from the ashes.
Live as if you'll die tomorrow;
devise a plan because there will be
an invariable end.
Tomorrow might rise...
and hell, the world will still be turning,
but tomorrow might not come...
and today was all I had.
I knew I tried my best
and dreamed as if I'd live forever.
and lived as if I'd die tomorrow.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
floatin in the air of innoncence
holdin on to kisses
that surpasses these shaded lips
oh in this daydream
in my corner of despair
she stands
loud as reasons
which I cannot remand
impossible to let go
the rushed night and shy goodbye
creepin home before the mornin light
esthetic eyes that devour
these invariable melancholic smiles
of mine
amorously disposed desire for
deceivin bedshaped moves
again, to put this body on fire
charmed in shame
this au naturel attire
suitably awaitin ur tardly arrival
nice and slow
utterin words
for ur ears alone
"take me down, kiss me below"
11
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
What I am is a variable
for this sake lets say W
I am the result of a personal equation
My truth is invariable
At least on this occasion
Multiply my changes(c) by 21
Those are the years I've spent beneath our sun
21c
The purpose of this piece is
to formulate when my living begun
Divided by fear plus attraction
this will not be the only abstraction
As the sum will be added to a negative distraction
This is already becoming a complicated fraction
(21c)/-D+(F+A)
Fear is the number of years Ive spent
subservient
to my mind
Attraction is the number of times
I've forsaken my chains
and made dollars out of nickles and dimes
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 6:39 AM UTC
Pure snow,
which I have awaited all through winter
had resigned itself to mildness.
when the consistency of masked face
endue the only smile
with engraving in persistence
In undecipherable season,
and for the misunderstood person;
still,
I nurse my wistfulness
of being the last drop of innocence;
if there is an hourglass
holds your adolescence
The enshrinement
in the Trevi Fountain of my heart
is the ripple that you dimpled,
like the growing annual ring,
and also the invariable finger print.
写在早春
我等了一冬的雪
让位于温暖；
是一贯的面无表情
让一笑成为烙印
读不透的季节
读不透的人
我愿做你年华沙漏中
最后一颗天真
我的许愿池
还珍藏着你种下的涟漪
像增长的年轮
像永恒的指纹
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
Deteriorated configurations that are
neither of consecutive methods
or contorted reflections,
it's upon the eye line of those who look perplexed.
For what is slumped like tired unimportance,
is neither an inflexible road,
for nothing is
either invariable or contorted
It's just a view that each takes.
Me I'm like the reed,
both woven in a paradox
of motions.
For who sees a contortionist
that's neither of each
or the other.
Riffling upon the aspects of my decisive
displacement that catches
nither the truth or the lie.
You may catch the second,
or minute,
but beyond the mirco filaments
that linger between variable glimpse
that pass.
Is more than constructive tendrils
of a lifetime of consequential
amendments or defaming the
consequential understanding
that nothing plays by the rules..
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
****** into a vacuum of unknown variables and invariable outcomes,
Yet here I am, tracing the lines of your silhouette for as long as you need,
Grains of sand, blown and washed away,
One
By
One
Clasp your hand in mine,
Intertwined,
We'll be forever clutching all we have,
Those grains of sand
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
Within your system
of abstract data I'm the
invariable
one; the broken semaphore
who yearns for an error-patch.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
I am not a robot.
Underneath this skin
are tissues, and organs,
bones, and liquids,
none of which were constructed.
I feel real things,
and try to understand them too.
I have not masked intelligence,
emotion, and humanity;
dissected and interpreted
the world around me,
and plugged it in.
My brain is human;
it did not learn human,
but lives human.
It was not programmed,
and taught human.
I receive no signals
from remote remotes,
and super computers.
I do not speak code;
only human
I am irreplaceable,
repairable and invariable.
I will learn,
and what i do not
will destroy me;
like any other
human being.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Floating
engulfed in penny light
the coppery-brine amalgamation penetrates my mouth
swallowing
viscous globe of blood-riddled ***
the shards of shell
spines split by the tide
echo my sentiments
current eschews shallow alluvial grave
cognizant cicumvolution
ambient gyre
diffuses carapace shrapnel into my calves
gulls enigmatically screech-stripped
slap briny padded patterns into the shoreline
pausing only upon my primal glottal stop
toes curl about inundated sand
clouting divets shift
dilatory run – slammed inert by invariable wave
cochineal effluvium plumes lilt
crepuscular rays refract further distortions
Neath the water I blindly ***** my body
Ridged projections jut from smoothed flesh
Puckering at my own touch
I sink beneath atmosphere
liquescent folds embrace promptly
I drop beneath chaos
Bare palm dig into viscid terrain
rung after rung demanding presence into the depths
I claw forth onto a sand bar
emerging
shard flanked form
eyes blazing
cuticles numb
pulse flit
patina of blood and grit
Fulgent tread propels
Upon shore
I walk back to my residence
A warrior - mortal
plated in copper and brine
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Morning. Diffuse light
through frost painted panes
xylophone alarm quantifies reticent consciousness
warm sheets a Siren Song
or ****** Lotus beckoning
to stay in comfort and familiarity
crawling to a vertical orientation
jerking into up-right ambulation
the still tepid bed implores you to stay
Dredging subconscious anxieties
nebulous worries swirl; full blown gale
Lightning fears & thunderous uncertainty flash behind groggy eyes
Backhanded ocular rub
quells queasy qualms
life is ineffably uncertain
But there’s excitement in ambiguity
satisfaction in resolution
interest in intrigue
invariable inevitability
only begets; stagnation, complacency,
boredom & apathy
Uncertainty is positive, perhaps
a necessity even
but then again the bed is still warm
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC