"macro" poems
Cast out were his alien dreams;
Aspiring and confident he did leave.
Fiery ground of thunder burnt his home;
As he alone cast out for that void,
perceived through his singular glass dome.
Adventure had caught him lonely
But peering out from his craft
his pupils did glow!
Circling fiery molecules hovering to and fro!
How could he now transmit and show
Reflection of scale small and macro!
Fumbling, his fingers did try
To articulate the machines
Imprinted of his native language.
"Calling Cpt. Crow!"
Sending the signal the results did show
A break in the wire and a fuse did blow.
Barricading that soul far and deep,
A minuscule solar flare
Emanating a glow!
And from that earth looked upward team and crew
Saw idle in that gigantic void a singular golden hue
Distant but true was the connection they all knew.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
the cosmos
a web of plantary oppositions squares and triangulations
curses and blessings
demons, humans and gods
friends and enemies
each a constituent
a revolving carousel of heavens and hells
the macro, an umbrella of spilling stars
like shattered glass in flames
outer and inner stone & gas planets
wandering infinitely
like strays
others in tight gravitational ellipses and eclipses
the elements of fire air earth and water
from the most subtle formless
to rocks flames oceans and the air we breathe
disjuncture
in a
a mix-meister
a gruesome churning mouth swallowing our delicate membranes
and we wonder
why
we are in pain
why
we are nourished by flesh
as we ourselves are consumed
filled with blood and nothing
and deadened by marking time
all hungry shells
and why
we wither to dust
as do suns and moons
and gods themselves
all of us children of monsters
and corpse eaters
born of magnitudes
episodic collisions
and harrowing creative destructions
the dead living and the living dead
with eyes that flicker only on half a landscape at a time
a holloween
of pyramids and bones
always running from wolves
because we are meant to be eaten
okay my darlings
now
lets try
focused breathing,
and boundless light
lets try
being Hindu
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Artificial means and memes the fingers perusing naturally formed hide and go seek
Chic creatures wrought from nanoparticles based on modeled consciousness neural networks
A handsome hivemind of bee;s building trees from cds ...intersynth polygons attracted
to stack platonic forms emanation waves alpha beta delta gamma omega 1 , 2 ,3
this multiversal layering from micro to macro of matter animated by its intoned
hertz pulsations and the interferrence pattern of the changing relationship due to the amount, frequency, force, temperature , texture , text messages, timing , geometry , subharmonics and overtones, a jewel net . syncronistic synergetic, synaptical sparkles.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
Chocolate is great
It's really neat
But, to be the color, it's bittersweet
This is the experience of a lifetime that Hersheys must undergo
To read, to be told, to hear
That it's almost good enough
Almost pretty enough, almost smart enough
Too reserved and mannered to be this and that
Tears down almost all confidence that Hershey has
It takes away it's natural state
Like a Hershey left in the heat
It takes a while for that Hershey to find beauty again within itself, to find a true acceptance to who it really is, and the discover it's identity
To understand that it won't always make ends meet
But that Hershey will overcome this phase
That made it's life a living maze
The Hershey will wake up
Look in the mirror and see they are somebody
with a cocked up head
will forget what everyone said
and the microaggression that became so macro will soon be irrelevant
That Hershey will see it's real identity to see a girl named Aliah
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
All Along this chain link fence
pulsing incessant down ground-ward decent
Bone paved side cracked and twisting this winding road
No street lights rest stops my nerve twitch eyes closed
swelling and curving no stretch in shoulder
Wheels rub the hot spot as ripples get louder
Sliding highways you know that fun
till happy turns hazard drinking redrum
tumblingdown head first
shatteringhigh star burst
scatteringmy focus
splatteringlike bone crush
scaffoldingdo not touch!
Another brick in the wall of fame
extra activity considered the game
Now Excel at macro Alt Shift and paste
spreadsheet my back line the facts on my face
"Say Boy!, your speedy." from there I can trace
That needle-nosed issue in tissue displaced
bend over run forward turn left then cough
so perfect small packages get checked in then lost
Like milli tary or leaves when it out lived the need
***** the life from under shelter asteamed
Sleeping pins needle in terminal sensation
clinching and grasping to my spinal decoration
twisting and turning will bring no release
this physical chain from my **** cyst to neck leash
when typing or driving the pleasure is lost
when numbness takes over attention to high a cost
I'm broken together
one round at a time
yet the cords are in place
to ring in tune as it grinds.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
A lot of the kids I went to school
were so **** sure of themselves
they would prattle on about
how macro economics was their passion
or how a major in accounting
is their dream
and there's nothing wrong with that
but would your would be passion
be your passion if you were homeless?
if you were terminal
I'm talking like
one year left on the clock
is your passion what you'd still be pursuing?
so you have a passion?
then go out and get it
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Let me whisper to the sun
An arm, a pillow
A tale beyond my mind
Warm dust beneath
Macro image spliced about
No rules, too heavy
Lapping water and haze
Take me under to dream
Nowhere to go
Yet everywhere
© Cat
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
I once thought big words
held more depth
than small ones.
Now I know they just cause
macro-cosmic misinterpretations.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
So many of hours are compressed, drained, squeezed for all their worth
So many of our days are pressed into our skin with molten memory
So many of our years are defined by the effort, by the reward
And so it should be, such definition is gratifying
But forgive me, if forgiving is due, for valuing insignificance
For understanding a macro distinction of cells and stars and our place in between
For allowing time towards the subtle seconds of observation
And the day dream of depth that comes with it
When the leaf falls after such intense photosynthesis
When the river rushes with unfleeting certainty
When the bird calls out with definite culture
When the girl blushes with warm emotion
I hope I am around to see it
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 10:32 PM UTC
The transgressions of utter here and nowity
Unbeleivable longing for a collapsing norm
On the altar of self destruction and causal
Reciprocity fluttering on rebirthed dreams
You can sing and love these colorful birds
Vibritang meticulously with rare palpitations
Of greater bodies, which dust is a part of us
Delusional creatures, flying on the grandeur
Non reachable to written words, stellar ink is
Spilled, playing on the shores of ever returning
Waves of transformation; Shapes dance within
Your gaze, telling the story of water coy stillness
Unmovable we move on, unlovable we love hope
Clinging to tree roots and blood veins as clothes
Warm our trembling fragile figures travelling on
And on into the higher realms of transfiguration.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
Silver Bullet Synchronicities, Literally, Layer into my Space a Perfect Union of Oblivion
The Ying, to The Yang, Baby....
Micro to Macro, Anomalous Events Don't quite Strike Me as anything Other than Normality in and of Different Scale
A For Instance
To my Eyes, the Sequoya Tree Appears to Tower, the Highest of the High
While our beloved Earth Teachers....The Ant....Grounded above and below the Mother Clay,
Will Look at Me as a Colossal Mammalian largely Trembling the World with Weight Infinite
To the Point
Perspective is simply a specific view, an angled ray of Light, Thus Strikes the Object in it's Own Precise Uniqueness
Note of Importance
If only One ray strikes angled Light, One angle of Light just won't Suffice....Every Perspective must be Offering of It's Own Accord, thus Strikes the Creation True....
Wholeness is Truth
Truth is Coherence
Coherence is Smooth and Steady
Do I know if I'll be Ready?....Not Really
This I Do Know
All Matter is full of Wholes of Space, NOT EMPTY, but Full of Life, Feeding the Flow into Motion, Flowing the Motion of Inert Mass, Spinning the Soul to Life, Spinning into Infinite Bliss
LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL MOVEMENT
Some will make Life into Art with Dance
To Live Life at the Threshold, DANCE Your DREAMS into LIFE
Everyday and Every Night....DANCE
DANCE
DANCE
Bless You.....Bless Me...Bless Us All
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
Synonym eternity
Eternally infinite
Infinitely endless
Endlessly continuous
Continuously I search
The speck's speck
Continuously I search
The greater macro
Continuously I die
And fall into forever
Where Lucifer sits
Where he points his everlasting-million-fingered-fingers at me
I'm next
Yet I will never be
I'm him
Yet I always am two
I'm nothing
Yet I am
Scary thought, scary music, strange conclusions, strange delusions, stranger still is where I am because my tools have gone missing.
I am surrounded black and the black's surrounded by pink, and the pink's surrounded by pale, and the pale's surrounded by what else, but hair of course!
I feel my pet crawling between my brain and scalp with his tiny feet firmly on the latter so to give you an idea he is upside down on the inside of me
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Of the two lamps in the room,
my glassy eyes can only tolerate the dimmed glow
of the lower light from the right,
my face basking in the slowly rotating,
barely blowing air from the fan above me.
My face feels flushed,
but not from the semi-sticky early summer heat,
but from the fact that
every time I come back to this room,
I'm reminded of why I left.
The lawyer in me could generate a list,
pros longer than any construction of cons,
yet your name will always reverberate
in the unforgotten corners of my subconscious.
You never loved me like I did you,
and even my romanticized version of you never
saw me the way I
still feel the ghost of you.
I can still feel the crisp fall air from your balcony
and recall the albums and conversations that
complete the track list
of my unrequited love story.
Sometimes it was real,
sometimes it's real,
sometimes it's a dream,
sometimes it's a memory.
And this is the essence of you and me;
it's more questions than answers,
smoke and mirrors and
smoking to make things clearer.
I've never been the same
since you,
but I also don't know how I can ever
get over someone I never really had.
You were mine in microcosms
that were macro extraterrestrial galactic;
was it real?
were we real or
was it all [science] fiction?
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 1:16 AM UTC
this society of ours is so gargantuan,
policed by the daylight we hold at night for ransom,
Like a Jesus or a black Aphrodites,
I'll be your daddy if you let me call you my mommy,
give me your milk, the nectar that forms at your eyelids
We can go out in public on a weeknight Ireland,
I won't drink, but I'll wrestle every penny you
throw into each fountain, unless each wish
you make puts us together in California. At 55º it's as
cold as it seems your heart is, you whisper the omissions
of lies over mute. Every silver trinket on this charmers'
bracelet abused. Be the freeway and I'll be the car, drive around my circles, and we can drive the map of the Hollywood Stars. This circus- paddy-wagon, sewer stardom, I've always been the over-roasted beans from your local Starbucks. I grew up to grow up, I got up to throw up, I sought you to show up, and give you this leigh garland. Egyptian or pitiful, critical mister 'are not.' My words were worthless and wounded by such ardor of this perfervid martyr. Enveloped by threading the eye of this tempestuous hourglass, just another sign of being extremely intolerable to the minutia, the worried, and nervous curse of being so human and the fear of being, quite heart broke.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
I had slowly grown so tired
Of your macro photography
And the way you used it
To take pictures of my small crises
And put your face so close to mine I could count your freckles
Your pictures of insects and petals
That no more saw depth
Than the little puddles you splashed me into
When you smelled smoke on my hair the last time
And you have so quickly passed me over
For someone more photographable at close distances
You threw out my favorite exposure
Because of the brown at the edges of the leaves
And I never once suggested
That the sun underneath your lens was what did it
I kept my mouth shut
And let you move your warmth away
When you thought I'd finally fallen asleep
And lamented to myself
That you'd never been one to enjoy
Developing the film
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
Black smoke Binomial random
Exhaled, white Variable
Light Probability mass
Condensed Labels Function
humanity macro micro
into seasonal index
meditative chants
Conceptualized meaning attempt
at poetry / waste of time
Death in a lecture hall behind
a prison of silver screens.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
My internal clock is set at Manhattan
I face the world with a jaded point of view
Manhattanites are chauvinistic, snobbish, opinionated
And relentlessly focused
Manhattan energy drives our universe
Like the taxies forge the streets
In a frontal assault
Art, history and multiculturalism
Remain the melting *** of stew
Brewed from micro to macro
But always after the brass ring
Always reaching upward
Like the skyscrapers of today and yore
Clamoring to be the tallest in the world
Yet knowing that we already are
Simply because we’re Manhattanites
Faith in our own destiny
We’re Manhattanites after all
And being a Manhattanite
Is all that needs to be said
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
The new age is of the empath
those with eyes on their skins
who hear the words beyond the words
silence amidst the din
the song inside the song
The tender-eagle-eyed
roar of the sighs
sons and daughters of lions
alien to fear
servant to love
patriot to the true
The wild natural law of the universe
from micro to macro
hear its call and slough off
the callus of what broken
you still carry
leave behind yesterday’s appendage
to the feasting jackals of impending history
their story is destined to end
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
one more for Pradip...
"Poems...are never short or long, they're only more. Thanks Nat for ever filling the less."
firing up the poem kiln,
this intriguing provocation
insistent of deserved consideration,
after all,
it is thy stories that these days inspire,
my own stories are relentless
grey, old, cold, and to my eyes,
coded repetitious...
neither a chaster or a chastiser,
(You could look it up!)
confessing readily to sinning against humanity
by ecrivezing poems of length considerable,
the Mexicano from Indiano
releases a shotgun blast
to all those whose attention spans last,
to ten words or a single stanza...no more...
but this not the matter of import,
no, no, it is the
more and the less
that makes poetry the best,
no matter the length or the heft...
in each of us
there is a more and a less,
in cycles individual that are not bound to
tides, weather, or any effect natural,
but product of our own amber waves
of chemical imbalances and mental auras...
all my days have I rode waves of
well hid hills of mania *** depression,
contented moments surrounded and cosseted
by wails of worry, sorrel colored sorrows,
making the scientists amazed at the correlation
of the macro and the mini,
the precision of my indecision...
in sixty seconds, in sixty days, in sixty years,
have I battered and battled the disequilibrium
of more and less,
disallowing a pilloried intervention,
will likely do so until
that day when my pen
has bled its last...
this theme haunts,
for but a day ago,
a bus poem was blurted out,
that concluded thusly:
***to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry***
here I am stunned that Pradip
with but a handful of seeds,
exactly isolates the genetic implanted notion
that I struggle to define,
knowing only that my poetry fills my less,
when the all the rest is just
another fine mess
we fill the less with our wit,
we top off our souls with writs,
we are more for having scribed,
one read or ten thousand,
it mater matters knot!
look upon the pages endlessly bearing
the ephemeral heavy-handed weight full of well crafted words,
the good, the plenty,
the sad, the sorry,
the trite and cranky,
those misted musty,
the light and the careful,
the bad and merely awful,
even the drip of torrential love stories gone dry
what matters not
any of this over sighted analytics,
each and all and everyone
a success,
for each poem makes someone's less lessened,
and someone's more, more,
and by this
ever filling the less...
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
If every grain of sand
mattered much to us,
in our hearts,
then we would
know more what it is
to be G-d,
who loves us all,
every grain.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC