"irresolvable" poems - Hello Poetry

Numerous number systems beyond the real: complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black holes. It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel account for nothing at all. $30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue Committee) $29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish pond (Heifer International) $69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy Corps) $5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against Malaria) 20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is quantized; that is, it comes in multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e, approximately equal to 1.602 x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have charges that are multiples of 1/3e). Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in the novel, succeeded in poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on the contrary, by its nature, cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous with poetry, and that applied to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with poetry. --Alberto Moravia Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel around which the universe turns and language is the soul walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war. "Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all. For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched." As are words. Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry begins Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra, irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.

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Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC

robert-ronnow

The Scariest Stanza in All of Poetry

Numerous number systems beyond the real: complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black holes. It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel account for nothing at all. $30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue Committee) $29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish pond (Heifer International) $69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy Corps) $5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against Malaria) 20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is quantized; that is, it comes in multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e, approximately equal to 1.602 x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have charges that are multiples of 1/3e). Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in the novel, succeeded in poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on the contrary, by its nature, cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous with poetry, and that applied to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with poetry. --Alberto Moravia Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel around which the universe turns and language is the soul walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war. "Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all. For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched." As are words. Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry begins Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra, irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.

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From time to time Here I stand I see some broken pieces Of an irresolvable puzzle Probably they are mine I forgot the time we were hand-in-hand Like the desert with the sand

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Oct 7, 2014

Oct 7, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC

dear-god

Spinning Dream

From time to time Here I stand I see some broken pieces Of an irresolvable puzzle Probably they are mine I forgot the time we were hand-in-hand Like the desert with the sand

7

Walking down a corridor as dark as blindness, But for a flickering source of illumination. In these moments devoid of visual information Alone with my thoughts. I think... Maybe the universe (It) exists intermittently. Ceasing to be amidst states of being. Maybe this cantor dust reality Wears a façade of continuum. I shall never know. For such knowledge demands My presence in Its absence. Which shall never be For both in absence and presence I and It are one. Here I slip through the web. strands morphing, Splitting into alternate narratives, Knotting into irresolvable chaos. Back once again in the dark corridor. Maybe I'll catch a loose strand The next time I walk down A corridor as dark as blindness, But for a flickering source of illumination.

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Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC

DSD

Epiphany in the corridor

Walking down a corridor as dark as blindness, But for a flickering source of illumination. In these moments devoid of visual information Alone with my thoughts. I think... Maybe the universe (It) exists intermittently. Ceasing to be amidst states of being. Maybe this cantor dust reality Wears a façade of continuum. I shall never know. For such knowledge demands My presence in Its absence. Which shall never be For both in absence and presence I and It are one. Here I slip through the web. strands morphing, Splitting into alternate narratives, Knotting into irresolvable chaos. Back once again in the dark corridor. Maybe I'll catch a loose strand The next time I walk down A corridor as dark as blindness, But for a flickering source of illumination.

24

The irresolvable contradiction, in whose subconscious formula this current absurd-impossible World is immersed, first it turns into non-existence, then it organically emerges into the stagnant Nothingness. The ostrich-faithful gangs of yampecs, like the circus associations of the self-deceivers, seem to even play together a little in the manner of accomplices in the intercontinental businesses of gamblers - because a restless, wandering Soul has long since become a cat and has been tempting the son of man, because there is no partiality, no special difference in a prolonged, incessant Sisyphusian fall. It feels the numbing cracks of the rotting decompositions, while those who remain on the surface are constantly eviscerating the last pennies and silver coins from the pockets of the simpler, working average; Even pitifully degrading bureaucratic wisdom cannot be quite adequate these days: dignity and existence exclude each other just as feudal lords exclude a compromising servant. Free-thinking is not at all chic these days, they are quite calmly content with merely the illusion of truth as long as possible. Now imported idolatry is becoming more and more popular again, but very much so. Because in the guaranteed transitional age, no one and nothing can be themselves, or the same as they were as long as the laws of humanism were observed, the message of conscious blind indifference seems to have been deliberately transplanted into another blind world. Like startled fish embryos, apocryphal passwords glide, wrinkles write the warning message on the secret prison walls of faces: "Pay attention, and rather hide in hiding!" - Every circle must organically close at some point. The wasted seasons are no longer waiting for a silver star ready to wander. It's time to ventilate the soul-crushing stuffiness that is welling up in man!

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Sep 20, 2025

Sep 20, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC

Tasi83

Chinovnik-Wisdom

The irresolvable contradiction, in whose subconscious formula this current absurd-impossible World is immersed, first it turns into non-existence, then it organically emerges into the stagnant Nothingness. The ostrich-faithful gangs of yampecs, like the circus associations of the self-deceivers, seem to even play together a little in the manner of accomplices in the intercontinental businesses of gamblers - because a restless, wandering Soul has long since become a cat and has been tempting the son of man, because there is no partiality, no special difference in a prolonged, incessant Sisyphusian fall. It feels the numbing cracks of the rotting decompositions, while those who remain on the surface are constantly eviscerating the last pennies and silver coins from the pockets of the simpler, working average; Even pitifully degrading bureaucratic wisdom cannot be quite adequate these days: dignity and existence exclude each other just as feudal lords exclude a compromising servant. Free-thinking is not at all chic these days, they are quite calmly content with merely the illusion of truth as long as possible. Now imported idolatry is becoming more and more popular again, but very much so. Because in the guaranteed transitional age, no one and nothing can be themselves, or the same as they were as long as the laws of humanism were observed, the message of conscious blind indifference seems to have been deliberately transplanted into another blind world. Like startled fish embryos, apocryphal passwords glide, wrinkles write the warning message on the secret prison walls of faces: "Pay attention, and rather hide in hiding!" - Every circle must organically close at some point. The wasted seasons are no longer waiting for a silver star ready to wander. It's time to ventilate the soul-crushing stuffiness that is welling up in man!

3

In Ulzana's Raid, the Native- and European-American concepts of property ownership and rights are incompatible and irresolvable. McIntosh had no illusions about that. He said hating Apaches for killing whites is like hating the desert for having no water. I suspect the movie's not a good source of anthropological data and overlooks the commonalities among human communities to focus on just a few bold characters as all art must. I consider McIntosh fortunate to have died commensurate with the way he lived his life, rolling a final cigarette, nothing between him and the desert, and no gravediggers waiting, jesting, defecating. Also, he is lucky to have had one last, dispassionate friend to whom there is nothing left to say, the Chiracahua tracher Kah-ti-nay. Last night's performance of Beauty and the Beast may have been the most victorious, ecstatic, cohesive moment in our little school's history. Emily was Beauty, a filament of energy who doesn't like to be touched and has been known to punch boys hard. She had memorized her lines until she was hardly Emily but only Beauty in a blue dress unselfconsciously hiking up her tights between the Beast's advances. Is this done in every American town and the world over so there's no need to feel lost or lonely ever? There is no context for a man outside the platoon or raiding party, home or shop. When violence comes to the neighborhood, the hierarchy of communicants will hold or fold it is then the peace work proves relevant. I noticed McIntosh, grizzled as he was, accepted the given hierarchy, a raw lieutenant's orders, as he did the desert and Apaches, with a shrug and foreknowledge of the outcome. If there's anywhere with no Emily or Beauty we should bring them such blessings at the point of a gun. But there is no place without Emily, not the least-known prison in deepest space as long as we do not hate or hurt or shun the Beast.

0

Aug 10, 2015

Aug 10, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC

robert-ronnow

Ulzana's Raid

In Ulzana's Raid, the Native- and European-American concepts of property ownership and rights are incompatible and irresolvable. McIntosh had no illusions about that. He said hating Apaches for killing whites is like hating the desert for having no water. I suspect the movie's not a good source of anthropological data and overlooks the commonalities among human communities to focus on just a few bold characters as all art must. I consider McIntosh fortunate to have died commensurate with the way he lived his life, rolling a final cigarette, nothing between him and the desert, and no gravediggers waiting, jesting, defecating. Also, he is lucky to have had one last, dispassionate friend to whom there is nothing left to say, the Chiracahua tracher Kah-ti-nay. Last night's performance of Beauty and the Beast may have been the most victorious, ecstatic, cohesive moment in our little school's history. Emily was Beauty, a filament of energy who doesn't like to be touched and has been known to punch boys hard. She had memorized her lines until she was hardly Emily but only Beauty in a blue dress unselfconsciously hiking up her tights between the Beast's advances. Is this done in every American town and the world over so there's no need to feel lost or lonely ever? There is no context for a man outside the platoon or raiding party, home or shop. When violence comes to the neighborhood, the hierarchy of communicants will hold or fold it is then the peace work proves relevant. I noticed McIntosh, grizzled as he was, accepted the given hierarchy, a raw lieutenant's orders, as he did the desert and Apaches, with a shrug and foreknowledge of the outcome. If there's anywhere with no Emily or Beauty we should bring them such blessings at the point of a gun. But there is no place without Emily, not the least-known prison in deepest space as long as we do not hate or hurt or shun the Beast.

46

Emotions can be: little magical sprites fluttering inside your heart caressing the deepest recesses of your soul gently giving you that "high" happiness euphoria inside you springs a boundless utopia Or... They can be devious tricksters gremlins, the vilest of these little devils torturing you pricking you with a thousand needles of sadness grief the lowest forms of loneliness. Inside us dwells the eternal Yin and Yang We may be walking contradictions irresolvable paradoxes toyed by the whims of unseen forces barraged by these mysterious sensations, feelings and yet, Such confusion is what makes us human.

0

Jul 11, 2020

Jul 11, 2020 at 3:13 AM UTC

ces-1

On Emotions

Emotions can be: little magical sprites fluttering inside your heart caressing the deepest recesses of your soul gently giving you that "high" happiness euphoria inside you springs a boundless utopia Or... They can be devious tricksters gremlins, the vilest of these little devils torturing you pricking you with a thousand needles of sadness grief the lowest forms of loneliness. Inside us dwells the eternal Yin and Yang We may be walking contradictions irresolvable paradoxes toyed by the whims of unseen forces barraged by these mysterious sensations, feelings and yet, Such confusion is what makes us human.

30

The angels just might be here. They might incline and motion me towards paradise - the gracious witness of tranquility's conflagration. But I swear, if at this moment you walk by, with that longing that shapes the curve of your hips, and that thrilling stillness on your tongue, ******* and lips, I would pivot on a cheap dime and wag after you, even if my arousal is a disgust, while you labor to comfort your concerns. And if the angels counsel - "Ghost, ghost, ghost," I swear again that I would dictate a new divinity in which ghosts and the gods worship through the senseless hunger, adorned by the irresolvable hope that my hips and your hips, my tongue and your tongue, my eyes seeing your eyes can actually come together in the indecipherable union, and be greater than all that will ever be. Folly - unless it is true. The best reason I have for remaining such a diseased and frantic ghost.

0

Sep 4, 2019

Sep 4, 2019 at 12:34 AM UTC

miracle-beyond-me

The Ghost's Grateful Affections

The angels just might be here. They might incline and motion me towards paradise - the gracious witness of tranquility's conflagration. But I swear, if at this moment you walk by, with that longing that shapes the curve of your hips, and that thrilling stillness on your tongue, ******* and lips, I would pivot on a cheap dime and wag after you, even if my arousal is a disgust, while you labor to comfort your concerns. And if the angels counsel - "Ghost, ghost, ghost," I swear again that I would dictate a new divinity in which ghosts and the gods worship through the senseless hunger, adorned by the irresolvable hope that my hips and your hips, my tongue and your tongue, my eyes seeing your eyes can actually come together in the indecipherable union, and be greater than all that will ever be. Folly - unless it is true. The best reason I have for remaining such a diseased and frantic ghost.

29