"iterate" poems
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst ************
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ***** too tight
**** reason!
INVEST!
Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******** with teeth make ******** meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed ******** that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in ***********
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!
Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
No one chose to iterate
Or elaborate to me
The vast unending sea of grief
We tred; trying to breathe
Our paths bisect and weave to form
A beautiful tapestry
That on the surface gleams and glows
With possibility.
Beneath, time tugs each thin line
Until one snaps and breaks
One little thread removed and gone
Left havoc in its wake.
Something once so beautiful
Unravels, sags and fades
Parallel to how the Sun
Sets each dying day.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
A toast! let's celebrate!
It's time to commemorate
As I demonstrate
And iterate
********* friends that I'd love to hate
Those ******* ******
With their bags full of tricks
They throw stones and sticks
Like ******* lunatics
They're bullies on steroids
What to expect?
Break my bones, calls me names
With no signs or ounce of respect
**** them
and their memes
**** them
by all means
**** them
those merciless machines
And **** them
in between
So let's toast! let's celebrate!
For this poem that I create
A tribute has been made
To my ********* friends I love to hate
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
by John M. Ford
The worm drives helically through the wood
And does not know the dust left in the bore
Once made the table integral and good;
And suddenly the crystal hits the floor.
Electrons find their paths in subtle ways,
A massless eddy in a trail of smoke;
The names of lovers, light of other days
Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke.
The universe winds down. That's how it's made.
But memory is everything to lose;
Although some of the colors have to fade,
Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose.
Regret, by definition, comes too late;
Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
That dancing
Lover
Is empty
Caress
Faded
Photography
All encased
In memory space
By ageless
Glass
Over ancient
Death
Waded hands
Over welts
Over
Skin
The tightness
An heirloom
To your
Troubled
Breath
A rasping cry
In perpetual
Iterate
Recursive
The motion
Of ending eyes
When all lights flutter
And die
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
-Studying car lights from outside- an automobile's slow flash-
Primary colors of headlight reflections, flirt in their dance-like dash.
Here I sit in the back of my van, in the corner on the side of the street; I've been right here since 5pm, how the hours lapse with deceit. Its been just over 5 full hours that I've been paralyzed in this seat; Now as it's pushing 10pm, documented my defeat:
I'm more than done with this pit of fear,
overcome the paranoid gap,
all I need is to now pause, re-evaluate
Exiting this trap.
To wrap it up in this conclusion
To iterate the hours ceaseless delusion
Is to redefine isolations inherent seclusion- with confidence, strength-
dispel illogic's confusion.
Sep 7, 2024
Sep 7, 2024 at 3:17 AM UTC
All Apps Un-installed
Hard disks wiped out
Operating System lost
System Shutdown
RAM cleared
BIOS destroyed
Object Id Retained
ROM info Retained
Hardware burnt to Ashes
Or left for Micro-organisms
Scriptures say, Sages re-iterate
Believers believe, others disagree
Object ID may be Reborn
With new OS and Apps
Or there is another possibility
Object ID gets destroyed
And witness Moksha
Free from further rebirth and deaths
Sorry this poem is not on Computers
But I am sure, it's about Humans
Smart Humans, Mortal Humans
Bound to follow the System of
LIFE, DEATH, RE-BIRTH
Until Moksha comes for Rescue
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 2:25 AM UTC
What does it mean to be human once more?
To wake up on the wrong side of this floor?
To walk naked through my house on a quest to urinate?
To see differing opinions with nothing but hate?
To work my second nine-to-five?
To sit through another 30 minute drive?
To party at night, with my beer cans stacked?
To awake in the morning with all of my odds stacked?
To plod through the same job breaking my back?
To miss little league games for which my kids give me flak?
To throw money at them hoping they'll take me back?
To display disappointment with my life thus far?
Is this how we display how civilized we are?
How well we can march to the whistle?
How well we can bend in the wind like thistles?
That we are able to make the most money?
That we are the ones who decide what is funny?
That my polo shirt is more expensive than your nikes?
That if I stepped on them you would attempt to fight me?
That the only thing we revere is might?
That we re-iterate things that are bleak and trite?
That we poison our love with the hours we work?
That we would tear your heart out with a rusty fork?
That we're all caged pigs on anti-biotics?
Rather than wild with diseases that frolic?
People say they hate what society has become.
So we look for another public forum to dispose of our gum.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
Net Present Value
**NPV can be described as the “difference amount” between the sums of discounted future inflows and outflows. It compares the present value of something today to the present value of that thing in the future, taking into account, "discounting" for inflation and returns into account.
Something now is more valuable than later on, because it can invested to make more.**
the value today of your self,
the future discounted for all
you have
yet to learn,
yet to earn,
the mistakes,
the losses,
yet to be incurred.
netting the modest successes
now past, of long ago,
against the sum of
too many failings as
father and son,
poet and man.
time is short now,
nearer to the end than
many streams of new inflows.
the discount rate:
looking in the mirror,
this presence,
this who I am,
the what I be,
adding in, subtracting out,
the inflation of dreams,
+ / -
the deflation of disappointments.
yet, compelled to do,
iterate daily,
the calculation of who,
never-ending,
continuously solving
for my own
net present value.
http://www.mathsisfun.com/money/net-present-value.html
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Every book has a last page, every song a last verse to sing.
Every sentence its full stop, every beginning its ending.
Every existence will one day cease to be,
In the inevitability of death, there is unity.
'Death is simply a beginning,' confidently some state.
'In death, there is nothingness,' others iterate.
But the lock of death in the living world has no key.
In the ignorance of death, there is unity.
In the hearts of some resides unwavering misery.
Others march on, donning costumes of pseudo-normalcy.
The actuality of their loss, still others refuse to see.
In the incoherence of death, there is unity.
Cinema, literature, poetry have ostensibly tried to explain,
With the knowledge directors, littérateurs, poets feign.
No living soul can grasp its intense incongruity,
In the incomprehensibility of death, there is unity
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
oh, sweet discovery--
an affirmation, iterate anew--
frissoning along the spinal ungulate
of waxing waning curve of time i spin
within that spiral, scapular
for sternum bloom in thinning breath
to thick, spread elongate
digitally ground
and see the phasing moons
as one, what, separated is in union once again
as what, in being one, unites united difference all again, again
--again repeated-- in my cells that newness thread
laddered spiecieswide, and more
alighted language coding
holograms in boon of sun--
golden futures past--
univocally found
by none, by all and only some,
and even only one
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
I'm a biochemical construct
mechanical of flesh and bone
software-infused hardware being,
another release,
an incrementally updated
version of humanity;
all off my data cells
come with prerequisites
I had no knowledge of;
the veins of my dreams
were blueprints and schemes
in my mother’s blood
in my father’s skin;
I scribble but cannot rewrite
the me, the I,
procedurally generated,
processed by algorithms;
and the purpose is clear
perpetuate and iterate,
move on with baby steps
not merely in time and distance,
but beyond existence
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
Our past paved the way
for a magnificent present
But now the moment has come
to surpass the next
As the chronicles of time would iterate
Without people there wouldn't be any history
And when you unleash your guts
You attain glory
So, step up your pace
for the time is near
The future… begins here!
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
There was this kid once, who went on an adventure-
to Coborns...
(Let's get this straight, right now, this kid wasn't me,)
Following the gray cement pathway she walked,
But the kid had this thing about bugs...
She never did like them much, but she liked them
Even less squished on the sidewalk with guts-
Spewing all over.
So this odd little kid walked purposefully,
But stared at the ground, so as not to trample one
Of those nasty bugs with her relatively clean shoes.
Well, the one time she glanced at the glistening waters
With birds swimming atop, she heard the noise,
Felt the crunch, of a massive cricket.
She didn't have to see it to know what it was,
Every detail of the pancaked thing was etched
Into the bottom of her gorey tennis-shoed foot.
The rest of the way to Coborns, she felt the cricket's body.
It wasn't stuck to her shoe, she was quiet certain,
But the after-image in her mind wouldn't let
The feeling of the cricket out of her thoughts.
On the return trip home, this girl,
(who, just to re-iterate, isn't me), made sure
To stop looking down when she neared the place of
The squashing. And to this day, she still wont
Look down when walking to Coborns.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
inevitably tempted to touch me
breathe on my neck
and remind me
re -iterate to my being
dive deep inside of me
and plant
and dwell
and reside inside of all of my angst
we could live there
and make love
until the sun gives light
to where my ion has
ended
Copy Right 2020 ©
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
What reminds you of me, sugar?
What brings a smile to your face?
What fills your mind up
and gives longing for an embrace?
I know I see you in the stars
the lake and the trees
I hear you in gunshots
and waves breaking free
A song on the radio
The lyrics a perfect fit
But feeling slightly cheesy
If I re-iterate it
Your little quirks
How you do what you do
They aren't just oddities
They are why I like you
So what reminds you of me, sugar?
Because I see you everywhere
What brings a smile to your face?
Because all I need is wind in my hair.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Don't think that your alone for one second,
There's a world out there to explore, you don't know about it,
Don't have to enter a sequence,
Just close your eyes and breathe, there's no need to doubt it.
Don't think that your alone for one second,
There's a world out there to explore, you don't know about it,
Don't have to enter a sequence,
Just close your eyes and breathe, there's no need to doubt it,
There's no need to ever hate,
There's no need to ever fake,
Love and hate will fuse with destruction i hope you can't relate,
Sincerely your mistake of believing that clickbait,
Don't you feed the beast, just know your worth in this world to iterate,
The music, the food, the equality is all ******* up, no apologies,
Left to wonder where the free thinkers will rewrite their discographies,
The world will be coming to an end, no time for thinking,
In the end you will decide what's real and fake in reality.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 12:37 PM UTC
Linguistics for the intangibles -
would that be manageable?
: For one person to sit and create
some words that none can negate
fully explain all which we feel,
those words and verbs
we know to be real.
- To further iterate
our experience had;
words bigger than “happy and sad”
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
Right about when you'd think it'll fade,
Underestimating the darkness you face,
Black will always be the new black!
Blacker and deeper than what is before!
Insolent boy, do you not know of yourself?
Stop telling yourself ****
Hope won't make you stronger!
Ride your way to oblivion!
Ubiquity would be your word!
Blasting word after word,
Blasting statement after statement.
Is this what you say is truth?
Speak up now, then!
Hesitating now would only lead you to suffocation!
Realize the visions in your real eyes!
Undress the lies you wear!
Blot out what you want to scream!
Belittle the fears you possess!
Instigate the light to your plea!
Stand up and be your own guardian!
Hold on to your sword!
Read between my lines, for once.
Under these horrific words,
Blight truly manifests.
Blooming be what you see,
I beg to differ what is real.
Stars may glitter the skies,
Havoc can they cause when they fall.
Rotting is the thought that reeks,
Ugly scars protrude from the beauty,
Break the walls and you'll see,
Bring curiosity into reality.
Ill is my mind with everything,
Still, yes, but with nothing,
Hellbent are my gestures.
Reap me,
Untangle me,
Blow away the bad gusts,
Build me up again.
Iterate your soothe,
Stay by my side.
Heightened false hope, again.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
I roll in stolen moments
no deep contemplative hours avail me
an immovable watch, snatched and dashed by phone
or lipstick honed prose shopping for scandal
I am
the broken hands of faith offering naught but a vagrant malediction
where, but for a few chatty fists further, they remain below the none
in the unbound knots of shallow ruin
black
boxed
and cut into catastrophe
a unified cleave of impoverished woe
“immoveable?” say I
“I may chance sleep if it were in the hands of one beyond where ill goaded geometry is gone
Immaterial
come already danced, implacable
and I were vitreous to their bacterial digestion”
such chatty cracks may answer above their unleashed wish but…
“but what?”
…but the chiral sun lies on its back smoking those hooves which have waited all day
the eternal don’t offer faith in my diorama
so I own them
my own
my own scars that burn nicely enough
without your fire to iterate the bones
a few more herniated throats might join us yet
for a conveniently flagged final rebuke
each with a semi-toned profanity
as precocious coda
aged and offered with two fingers down your maddening throat
picking up, if I may, where I left off yesterday,
before you so rudely walked away
or was it a year or so before?
I remain bored with these gods
twice removed from the approval ratings
their open mouthed statute holds no limitation
to my ambition
let me see those waves which are racked beyond recall
much like your neck should be
through jawed ears and briny tongue
a muffled centrepiece fetid
save for recalcitrant sinew
I shall be the sky in which your virtuoso limbs must swing
swing
spastic in their envoi
now, serpent spat, pin-grinned, how is this sleep pain in the mirrored wide-why?
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
set vars null
set clock(ms)
t=clock(i)
i=0:1000000
iterate
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Sometimes when you win you loose,
so hold on to all your *****
to sedate the hate
you've grown too tired to iterate
and as you hit the snooze to suppress the state of alarm within you
remember...
where've you been
what has hurt and
what has elevated you to love and light beyond mundane normality
there is pleasure in pain
and pain in pleasure
sanity in insaneness
it's all just a dream,
only the mind sees in black and white
open your eyes to colors of possiblity
and feel the depth of senses completely immersed in the experience of life...
for the way i see it,
there is not greater tragedy to reach the end of life without tasting the ecstasy of life itself ,
to die in a trapped mind, running on outdated information is the very
predicament know as the human condition
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
I'm a kind of tired that sleep can't fix
in a game gone amiss where no one wins
in a race stuck in place that don't begin
where every action is seen as sin
I am kind of lost where no compass
can find a home or points to bliss
facing the wind as I ****
the stains on my soles will iterate this
Im the kind of mad that lacks their tricks
a sad gone bad that cant be nixed
perplexed and had caught in the mix
as it all comes down like a ton of bricks
An introvert to escape the hurt
whos grew quite sick of chasing skirts
nomad on the landscape scraping dirt
disguising a grave as a yurt
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 11:00 PM UTC