"looping" poems
Mario hits it with the sounds
of bodies hitting plexiglass.
My horses hit it without a sound. They want to escape it.
And I am trying to drive this dune buggy
off this cliff, but the clipping is strong here.
In Pac-Man, the tunnels were circular. I don’t know
if people realized that they were trapped in a sphere.
In Asteroids when you get to the edge of the universe,
you begin again.
And that Snake. His body could stretch all over his world
looping, but he could never eat his tail.
If all your electrons were in the right place, and all the wall’s
electrons were in the right place. You could feasibly walk through
the wall.
What would you do while in the wall? Think. Fear.
The superposition could rip your body into ragdoll parts.
When I turned clipping off, I expected the freedom to walk through
the wall and suddenly the floor
fell out from under me.
Every time I respawn I feel like my inventory is heavier,
and my flamethrower burns colder.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
Time is moving
In a stream of wonderous murderous intending, sacrificing sadness,
My ****** devotion, ought to shed blood in a distorted dark was but an perishable spring dream, looping without an end through nights,
On sleepless nights, the ghosts of the past gets stuck within a river of pure thoughts, a lake birthing memories in secret, subsconsciously,
Discard your common sense, sacrifice your sanity for just this second,
When the moon stands high in the sky, a bonfire seals the nights start
To its creeping shadows, they do not crackor sparkle under the twinkling stars of this celestial ceiling of pure majesty for nyctophiles,
Even our natural satelite agrees, dying itself into a lunatic scarlet red,
Darkness upon darkness, with layers of shadows overlapping one another as the light begins to dim, thanks to the disappearing moon,
An imaginated landscape, created from only pure rage and fury,
But whereabouts of the heart, are likely to be lost to the thought of love I carry within a broken chest of treasury, losing all emotions,
Even if my scarlet eyes were to be losing their ability yet to see,
I would be able to count on you to guide me, through the everlasting,
The dream I awoken from, was a moonlit night turning crimson, losing its radiance through the soft eclipse of the moon, gently, slowly
But you were there, within the far away landscape drawn in my heart
~ Umi
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
7.9k
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno ...
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
"The swallows are flying so late!"
Swallows?
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop ...
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
Never swallows!
Bats!
The swallows are gone.
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio ...
Changing guard.
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
Pipistrello!
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
Wings like bits of umbrella.
Bats!
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Bats!
Not for me!
5.4k
If I get lost, promise you'd leave me be
Let me walk alone in my circles
I'll find my way back...almost instinctively
Through looping thoughts and scribbles
If I should trip, promise you'd let me fall
Scrape my knee and scream a voiceless scream
Weight of the universe may seem crushing to shoulders so small
I'll walk it off and regain newfound steam
If I show signs of buckling, promise you'd let me collapse into nothing
Let me fold into myself...into an unnoticeable speck
There is solace in this space when the walls are caving
Soon I would reinvent and renew from that wreck
If I suffer a cut, promise you'd just let me bleed
Let the black of my soul gush out
Within it I would find the seed
To which all of my rantings are about
If I should begin to write, promise you'd read my scrawls
Take them as they are and not to heart
Just thoughts versus words that mean much or nothing at all
They'd stitch me anew when I start to break apart
If I keep losing myself, promise that you'd let me be
The circles I tread are very much predictable
They'd always lead me around... Don't treat me differently
Just stay where you are... I'll come back round, fresh and able...
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
i give them my executables and
ask them to reverse engineer me
to look into my code for reasons
reasons that i'm not just broken
not just slow
not just bad
if these letters
on this line
mean
that i am programmed to worry
then it is not my fault
not my fault that
i have wasted years
years of my life in fear
it's just a bug
looping too many times
using too many clock cycles
my code may be broken, but
if it is broken
then i am not
maybe, just maybe
i am a good processor
given bad code.
not my fault.
no one could blame me.
it would mean
i do what i am told to
perfectly
quickly
efficiently.
but
what i am told to do is
buggy
unoptimized
inefficient
my programmers are lazy -
not me.
when i find
a function in my code
that never works
and they say
"that code is fine"
then why?
why does it never run?
something must be wrong with me after all
me, myself, the processor
i don't do what i am told
but no, no, no
i don't want that
i can't be broken, overheating, dusty
segfaulting
bluescreening
panicking
no!
the code must be wrong
it must be
so i look again and again and again
i lose myself in my code
i click and click and click
2x more and 2x more and 2x more
COMT and DRD4 and ANKK1
rs53576 and rs7794745 and rs1858830
lower risk and normal risk and higher risk
of the same thing
in me at once
conflicting
overwriting each other
there is no code to add risk objects
and no one knows
whether
they make a group or a ring or a field
or just
something
useless.
like dividing by zero.
you can...
but it's useless in the real world.
just like me.
i look for more code
for more functions
for more comments
more more more
give me more
take my rights
make me open source
as long as i can see me too.
602,000 lines are not enough
not when i run millions
stick your wires in my veins
take the code from my blood
decompile it
untangle it
i need to see it all
i need to know
that i am a good little processor
even if i am doomed to
forever
run BASIC and
a million GOTO statements
and ugly ugly spaghetti code
i am still good.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
this constant
invitation
into stark mystery
is a story
i flounder
to find words for.
~
a glance,
more
than eyes looking.
beholden
entrancement,
upon feedback's
looping.
~
i am a crippled logician,
wrought with wonder
in the thrashing
static jungle,
of no conclusion.
~
this is a flash
this here, the flesh
a blinding
binding light,
obliterating,
without solution,
a living,
i tremble in.
~
i am stumped
i am little
so small
hung
here
in the
sky.
~
a suspended channel
of ideation,
filling, with
empty utterance.
~
i am confounded
i am large
too grand
to
get
ahold
of.
~
breathing
multitudinous,
full, with
contradiction.
~
a grandiose
enigmatic flux,
miniscule
and massive.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
What saddens me horribly,
is that we spend too much time tangling ourselves up in our own insecurities.
Looping it around our throats and strangling our souls.
Maybe we need to start carrying around a mental knife...
Start cutting ourselves free before it’s too late.
The slow and painful process of watching a beautiful persons heart deflate from the negative needles that they turn on themselves, is becoming too common and too difficult to see.
Please, know that you're loved,
that you're unique,
that you're beautiful and smart.
Know that you're worthy of kindness.
Especially from yourself.
-Sincerely, A Stranger
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
Wild splashes of beaming
Azure brushing back and forth
Tottering briskly on granite rocks
Enlightening excitement to our eyes
Radiance of teal drops sprinkle salt
Follicles misting up the atmosphere
Activating a rushing rippling of waves
Lashing playfully with each other
Looping to a sensational surprise
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 3:48 PM UTC
I miss my mother most
when I'm in her frenetic company.
Such an angry fragile woman
in the shadow of the mum
she used to be.
Lost and alone, wanting a way home,
one woman against the world
with no old friends
only fresh new foes.
She can identify every shifting lie
sitting scared with no escape
from a hundred shifty eyes.
Stalkers criticise every mistake
watching her practice looping moves
cornering her as if to prove
that we're all conspiring
each trying to rob her
when the screaming truth here
is that her fleeting thoughts
have already gone where
we can never walk
not even in our tears.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
Overthinking.
I'm dwelling
on things that need not
more than five –
no, two
seconds.
Dismissed.
Spinning, looping
Repeating.
So unnecessarily lingering.
My mind is a bubble,
with a delicate membrane between my world
and sanity,
that houses liquid danger
Evaporated and pressing
outward against the walls
I constructed to keep others out,
and that instead poison me
with the toxic gas of these
Thoughts.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
The same song looping over and over…
The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity…
Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble,
Vigorously fighting these thoughts,
These demons of mentality,
A constant cartwheel of emotion…
Always racing…
Not ceasing for a mere second…
Forcing the pill in my mouth,
And then another,
And another…
The only mental painkiller is death…
I feel numb,
Darkness seeps into my vision…
Blurring reality…
The Pain is going away…
I feel alive as I feel myself die…
Emergency Medical Squads break the door down…
I sit there,
Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare,
Eyes not moving,
Weak,
You never came.
I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise…
Always knowing I love you,
Never doubting yourself again…
I want to make love until we are one…
My body and yours…
Sharing the night, and day…
Filling senses with pleasure and love…
I want to hold you until you are weightless…
A feather in my arms…
Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night…
I want to love you forever…
I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun…
I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses…
I want to love you when the bell tolls,
The bell does not mark the end,
It will never end,
I will love you always,
Forever,
Not stopping even for a supernova…
No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting…
Toxic fumes are given off,
The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find…
No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving,
You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters…
All the cuts,
The closer you get the deeper the grooves…
This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust…
Wonderful you say…
But that is just for now,
Today.
My past is dark, dead, rotten,
Who knows if the future will be any different.
Today I have a moment of peace,
You,
A bright blue gem shining in the darkness,
So pure it becomes it’s own light-source,
Echoing beauty throughout the blackness,
Illuminating me,
True Commitment,
Warm and sweet Love,
Unquestionable Trust,
Seraphic Beauty,
Everything I need…
I sit here questioning these words…
Thinking of the purest way to put them,
But emotion is not pure,
It’s ***** rough, and raged,
But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different,
It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body…
The past evaporates into the air,
Dispersing and losing its importance,
You are my future,
Not the past.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
He writes words on walls and
toilet doors.
Looping black texta with
measured precision.
Emptying out his importance in
tomes of acrid, sickly-sweet-smelling lapses
into hope.
Cascading the loneliness with litanies
of somewhere else
that pulses with a joy unfound.
Tales of intermittent dreams
and dalliance with beauty.
Strobing in translucent beams,
the light leaks through his
poorly-sewn seams
onto the toilet door.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
I walked a spiraling Stare back at the abyss: Leaping forward walking I see the rage of a Cross, four-dimensional Pebbles shattered stained To the side, spiraling back,
cut-up and found what if I walked on them giant drooling drunken mirrors obtuse staircase haunted confusing gravity,
nothing up from mushrooms woman lighted flexing looping,
at apex; a mirage? that can cry; all around; tesseracts; infinite; at quantum.
Lead kindly light, vigil
voice, enlightened
woman,
angel face.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Evening was in the wood, louring with storm.
A time of drought had ****** the weedy pool
And baked the channels; birds had done with song.
Thirst was a dream of fountains in the moon,
Or willow-music blown across the water
Leisurely sliding on by weir and mill.
Uneasy was the man who wandered, brooding,
His face a little whiter than the dusk.
A drone of sultry wings flicker'd in his head.
The end of sunset burning thro' the boughs
Died in a smear of red; exhausted hours
Cumber'd, and ugly sorrows hemmed him in.
He thought: 'Somewhere there's thunder,' as he strove
To shake off dread; he dared not look behind him,
But stood, the sweat of horror on his face.
He blunder'd down a path, trampling on thistles,
In sudden race to leave the ghostly trees.
And: 'Soon I'll be in open fields,' he thought,
And half remembered starlight on the meadows,
Scent of mown grass and voices of tired men,
Fading along the field-paths; home and sleep
And cool-swept upland spaces, whispering leaves,
And far off the long churring night-jar's note.
But something in the wood, trying to daunt him,
Led him confused in circles through the thicket.
He was forgetting his old wretched folly,
And freedom was his need; his throat was choking.
Barbed brambles gripped and clawed him round his legs,
And he floundered over snags and hidden stumps.
Mumbling: 'I will get out! I must get out!'
Butting and thrusting up the baffling gloom,
Pausing to listen in a space 'twixt thorns,
He peers around with peering, frantic eyes.
An evil creature in the twilight looping,
Flapped blindly in his face. Beating it off,
He screeched in terror, and straightway something clambered
Heavily from an oak, and dropped, bent double,
To shamble at him zigzag, squat and *******
Headlong he charges down the wood, and falls
With roaring brain--agony--the snap't spark--
And blots of green and purple in his eyes.
Then the slow fingers groping on his neck,
And at his heart the strangling clasp of death.
3.6k
I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s perched on my shoulders,
comfortable,
tranquil,
and seemingly perfect.
It makes me feel alive,
looping around my ears to hang like antique earrings
and following me everywhere I go.
Your laughter reminds me of a child
who has just gone to Disneyland
and cannot fathom all the joy and wonder surrounding him.
I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s balanced on my head,
leisurely,
calming,
and undeniably faultless.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Looking for another acting award
An actor asked one poor, what his shoe looks like
The unfortunate caught off guard
But he smiled, then answered with no fright
Well, today it doesn’t look so well
You see I don’t wear it now
Looping sun and rain hurt it like hell
But it is tough and survive somehow
It stands tall against the mighty storm
I really appreciate its endurance
But as time goes by, its look deformed
I don’t know if it can take another resistance
So here I am now walking on the street barefooted
But may I ask you sir, why are you asking for my shoe
You see I can’t buy one, my pocket is so wounded
Hence believe me about my footwear, it’s all true
Looking for another acting award
An actor asked one poor, what his shoe looks like
Now he got the best trophy reward
A teary eye, a lesson that deeply strikes
9/17/2015
Mysterious Aries
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
Nothing is ever time wasted,
just the interlude to the rest of the album. Soon it becomes nostalgia. To think you almost pressed the skip button..
It's all about trying new things.
Slowing were briding the gap.
Looping untold tales of blues and jazz into our samples.
The things considered classical.
Instant vintage.
The things we keep hidden in headphones,
The venerability of hype.
It's always about the crowd.
Afraid to digest something different.
This was the first time I met her.
At first I laughed,
Reaction that I faced my own ignorance.
Listening again finding purpose.
Not knowing that we'd come to spend the rest of our lives together.
All three minutes and forty five seconds.
I was dishonest.
Not revealing anything real about myself until I heard it for the first time.
The first time she sung.
Music.
This wasn't an image to be upheld in front of others.
Or the gossip type spread circle to circle.
I was never exposed to this.
Skimming the top layer ready to press next.
Too far caught in the slander that first impressions can give.
History often repeats itself but this wasn't the case.
This was wholeheartedly the epitome of how she effected me.
The rhythm of how she moved.
How she spoke.
Like that I matured almost instantly.
She became my biggest influence.
A two way street that bridged the gap of my own ignorance.
After time I began to leave my headphones on the dresser.
We were amplified.
She'd follow me everywhere just as I'd follow her.
Soon it caught on to the masses.
Each and every thought became a publicist of what she'd recite over and over again.
A parental advisory issued with every cover.
Finding the one became a catalog.
Stumbling back to the first interlude all over again.
The copyright not for sell
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
Ambush
An azure curtain is ripped in two
With scornful arrogance
Needle-points glow
Weaving the rift with intricate wefts
Of red
Of white
And blue
Heady aviation fumes
Lift us swimming
Skyward
Imaginations looping the loop
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
~
*Rain drops falling into water
Creates the sounds of ripples
As when she dancing
Hearing the Sound of anklet
Words are floating in the words of many
Could make pain,
Tunes of despair
When the rain drops falling into tunes,
Randomly
Dances of waves overflowing,
Rolling on the shore of Sea
Play the melody with the words
The Soul could leap
But that is not raining in the desert
On top of hot sand
The sand storm flowing
Building sand dunes
Could hide
But can't survive
Empty thirsty mind seeking Oasis
If not yet found
Find Lives
Restless heart
Void
Word out
Seeking love
Looping to look at dreams
With the gravity of love
In another way
In any other day's
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
*We were squeezed from corruption
armed with the monstrous cutlery
of rippers and tearers of rationed meat
for a day, for a day, for a day:
the butcher gives his best cuts
to the young and godless divorcee
find us, keep us : a spectre hiding
in the dark pig iron rust hooks looping
through your *** and shopping lists:
smelting your coin
and punching your face
Company is the full knowledge
of our protracted, 3 -stage decay
burn drift degradation
eyes crusting shut
in doom and settling bomb silt
palms up, taking a punishment
in the mothertongue
ignoring lessons in the gracious
expectancy of departure
We, A legion of ancient clockwatchers,
in on the joke of time
and folk fetish of apple-cheek poverty
[Gasp!] The gruesome romance of class!
!you cry! !safe! !always safe!
in the nuclear hotdog option , which is
observably, the title of this advertisement
We will never get you[ ]you're awake!
and your atmosphere is still In Da Black
We watch you
watching
the 5 car pile up
catch up rolling down your chin*
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Self-loathing,
Self-hatred,
Guilt,
Pain,
I'll never be a good enough partner,
I'm failing right out of the gate.
I let you down,
I see it in your eyes,
I breached that trust you had in me,
And didnt live up to my own ideals,
A moment of weakness,
A moment of idleness,
Looping in my brain,
**** this tormentable guilt!
You say I get stuck in my own thinking,
Like a bird that's fallen into tar,
But thinking back,
If my brain is the tar,
I need to clean it some dawn.
Please let this storm pass,
Let the thunder die down in my mind
Let the lightning strikes fade,
For all that's holy,
May you forgive my trespasses still,
Let me be the man you said I could be,
And fly free,
Above the ooze and filth.
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 11:28 AM UTC
The Fatigue
is newly familiar, but familiarity breeds
surrender, not contempt, for its powers
are overwhelmingly secretive, coming anew,
stealthy like evening fog, all encompassing,
departing when it chooses, only by choice,
fearing not day or brighter burn of sunlight,
or even the insistent rules
of the mathematics of a timepiece
it hides within the ordinary, the mundane,
the onerous lifting of the fork, the exhausting
chewing, chewing until sleep offers distraction,
but not necessarily relief, for the chores of
living, are an endless looping, and the fatigue
does not recognize the clock, the body’s rhythm,
only its own schedule, I proud man, am but its
vessel and vassal…
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 11:07 PM UTC
Poetry is the string
looping through and
weaving out
the needling pain
It knits a beautiful
patchwork, coated with
colorful patterns
our fingers trace
threads of our lives
create designs
a shining::
shimmering::
or dulling
our emotions blend.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC