"massless" poems
How?
If even there were
A force in this universe
Sustaining life beyond just breath
Beyond this web of neurons
Firing in predictable patterns
Prescribing every inclination and desire
A flame in which is fully forged
The consciousness that
Dreams and dares all things
Beyond our mere survival
If even there were such a force
How would it be made known?
How does a foundation work
When the fundamental building blocks
Are massless, pointlike?
As much wave as particle
Basking in the sunlight of uncertainty
Existing in duality
How, when everything else is
Nothingness
A void a million billion times more extensive
Than anything substantial
That surrounds it
A vacuum that renders
The remaining matter pointless
How could force be hollow
Yet encompass all
What does it all mean
When all of matter falls in between
This unseen field
Rippling, wriggling, rigging
Everything it fills with the seedlings of decay
Each day
Moving along the breakdown towards
Entropy
Splendid chaos,
Almost too perfect to be called such
How could we not see
The force
Still elusive, but unchanged
Striking a balance
Between fate and volatility
The neverending battle
That morphs each how into a why
The demon and the butterfly
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
At the going down of the sun
will the world be less complete,
the cinched robe of night less intolerable,
as she ebbs away on cosmic string,
emulating a massless, dazed neutrino
blinking in and out of existence,
unobserved and uneffected,
liquored and unloved?
In the wake of a June flowering,
when foxglove lures the honeybee
in six day flash, bud to corolla,
blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas,
digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back,
the bee comes gathering where none else dare.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM 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
i can feel my soul rotting out
you’re sitting there, i can taste your
smoke
the bitterness of words on your
breath,
massless
meaningless
i breathe them in anyway.
i know you can’t take anything seriously;
maybe it’s just that you can’t take the
right
things seriously.
you look at me like i’m a
child
(why won’t you meet my eyes)
and you talk like the world is yours
to explain to me,
a little too loud and
a little too long and
a little too much like
you think you’re telling me things i don’t know
(could you even--?)
you think i speak when i’m spoken to,
i think i speak when i’m listened to;
because if you were
right
maybe fewer of these conversations
would be about you
and i wouldn’t be left to wonder if you like me
for the things i do say,
or just for the things i
don’t,
while i’m silently absorbed in
sitting here
listening
nodding
smiling
a word for every thirty of yours,
oh, wow
and
how nice
like clockwork until I’m just
crazy
with
listening,
counting down the seconds until your
impromptu sermon
(beacon of self-righteousness)
ends,
and finally
i can remember the sound of my own
voice,
snatched away in the wind
stirred up by your beating
wings,
but maybe carried off to someplace
where i can actually be
heard.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
She is the mother
Who has raised a
Son ,
Whose moral values
Touches the sky,
Whose confidence is
like an Aquila
Who fly,
So high...
Mother is happy,
She has raised a son
Who is busy serving
The mother nation,
Bharat maa,
She is thin
Old, her vitals
Don't function well
But she is living
Just to see her son
Once in a year.
With her old shrunken,
Eyes she waits ,
Her dry massless wrinkled
Hand waits ,
To touch his son
Once in a year.
She is the mother
Who fed her son
With so much love &
Care ..
now that love and care
Is enjoyed by
By a billion and more .
As once Napoleon said,
Great nation need nothing
Much as Good Mothers.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Here I lurk
Clutching my shadow
In my fists
It shivers, shrivels, sighs
A flame shushed to silence
On its ashen throne
Here I grasp
Grasp the oozing, burning night
That drips down my fingers
A palm beneath a palm I place
A palm beneath another
It the creamy tiles kisses
And will come to me no more
A rumble wobbles
around the room
Of laughs and talks
And talks
However do I mingle
In these faceless folks?
However do I fathom
All these massless worlds
Orbiting around ecstatic tongues
That birth them
Birth them on and on
Birth them meaningless, and birth them blind
I think,
Maybe when the flood dies out
I think,
Maybe then I will see
Pick up the shells this land could not drink
And read the tales preserved
In their wounds
Maybe the drunken ghosts
Serving all these brightly dressed drinks
Will approach me too—
Not yet though
Not yet
I pull little hymns out of my throat
Roll them around in my mouth
It is there they sway,
There they wilt
A gaze chained to my eyes
Wanders about
Like an injured fly
On one face it rests
On one chuckle stumbles,
A crack skipping down the wall
A high-pitched laugh blooming
In the corner
There is a bleakness, believe me
In this world
A bleakness so pitiless and rotten
Its stench covers all that is born
All that is not
All—
There is a bleakness
And I often mistake it for my own
But I do not now
It is there in every eye
In every corpse hanging between the ribs
It grows up like a sturdy ****
On arms and legs and
Bones
Up and down the aisle it flows
In this classroom twinkling
with childish mirth
Up and down
It pats heads and laughing cheeks
It is there
It is there
And will not still
Will not stir either
I think,
I must warn them
These energetic faces trying
to resurrect joy
From the flesh of stories all skinned alive
Warn them
I must, I must
But the words pile up
And floods pile up
One upon the other thousands
And I lose myself somewhere
The chatter blends in with the chortle
And I cannot tell
The shadows imagined
From cloaked figures swaying around
I would warn them, believe me
Warn them I would
If only
If only I could grasp hold
Of this darkness
That mimics me everywhere I go
Ghost of a black lamb
I once sacrificed for
A purity I loved to violence
And longing never became
A shackle so well
I think,
maybe when the flood dies down
I will breathe,
I will breathe maybe
Here we lurk
A slave upon a slave rests
A slave beneath still
Two ghosts I birthed,
Two lambs opened up,
One will not love me
And one will not not—
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 1:50 PM UTC
*They come to haunt on an evening as this
when thunders roar fall endless rains
windowpanes moan in frosted kiss
awaken within long lost pains!
They don’t bear me a name or a face
the massless aches ***** like thorn
oozing out from what hidden place
on an evening as this they’re born!
In the blowing gust rain’s beelike drones
shatter my heart’s all gathered peace
mess the mind feed upon bones
leave me broken on an evening as this!
The pains don’t bear me a name or a face
don’t tell what hurts for what I miss
but ***** out all gathered happiness
rain my eyes on an evening as this!*
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
It comes like clockwork
Fixated rock body
Down face in
That empty warm
Cold ditch
Bottomless pit
Stitching quilt less
Flip the pillow
Cold side up
Empty spot
Usual thinking
Of massless
Mornings
No lumps left
In between
Bent hangers
Lemon peels
Quite the company
Chains rattling
The empty beckoning
Throbbing of
Rare skin
The place
Where your body
Should collect
My errors
In between
Twirling,
Trickling
Destroying every
Cloudy fist
Sweeping over
Nothing
But broken
Dreams
Of you.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
I loved you beyond the moon and sun
Till I burned in unknown stars
And every lie ~ that I stopped,
Burned in colours of black and white
Stars do die but love is for
Eternity
So when skin and bone burned
Love in its purest form remained
Floating
On
Massless
Spaces
Inside
A
Charred
Heart
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
Your muse was broken bone and cracked spirit but that never quite fit right, did it? Like a smoldering flame that only existed in the corner of your eye- ceasing existence when you turn posed with a bucket of water. Then one day the word atom stuck and you could feel the particles on your skin turn towards the word like the energy it resonated was a kiss from mother's familiar lips. You molded the word into cracked spirit, lonely body, lone mind, liberated soul, and finally whole woman and eventually your eyes stopped seeing gold lining and began fading and now your pen posed over paper reaches anticlimatic endings like whole bodies running towards each other in ecstacy but failing to touch. Words fall from your fingertips but without a muse they don't carry any weight. You're violating laws of physics with your massless words, dear. Loneliness, depression, loneliness, independence, loneliness, self-love, loneliness, self-doubt- how many times can you repeat words before they begin to escape the laws of meaning. A language of gibberish born from your lonely ramblings. When the universe sends you a placeholder next to your body, he will drown in your words and will have to leave to save his soul. That's the only outcome, darling.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
We're all crying while we slave away,
Smiling when we're free.
If only we could see the freedom
in that flash of teeth.
But only if we mean it,
Yes only of it's meant
Tell me whats the worth of worrying
You'll drown inside cement?
Now the others rest upon the middle
they get no relief
They don't wish to see the sun
Until they go to sleep
And the lookers down sit perched upon
The place that is implied
They only care to swoop if they can peck
and pick apart our lives.
All these observations made
Behind a pair of glasses
From these marblesque devices
Run by lightning seeming massless
Thinking "if only we were classless,
Careless, living off of instinct
at least we'd be so unaware
that we are reaching a brink
Where those who work away
for birds of prey
are sick of slaving days
and rise with those who wish to see the sun.
How they'll rattle the cage.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
What if we could see each other's souls instead of each other's faces.
Maybe we'd find that our minds are all in the wrong places.
Our eyes are rigid, and usually unkind.
While our hearts are vivid, and can produce love until the end of time.
Supreme human,
I Awake this light.
Massless entity
Let us intertwine.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
A massless squig
He existed before he thought
"I am"
He drives the mobile around.
The shapes of his thoughts and dreams
Form the initial conditions
And everything
Is an echo
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
above the waters
we rose from
our souls
and the sky
they become one
cloud connected
where molecules
and vapor
bound with
the dust of
the deep
the product
that begat
human
arms, legs,
and feet
a singular instance
was set off
in the distance
detected through
transistance
we've learned
that this mind
is transcendent
destined to live
among ancestors
who populate
their own
star clusters
the authors
of their own
forces of nature
through
self-contained rapture
we stand
twelve leagues
in stature
previously
we
couldn't
grasp this
where digital code
has been found
in
what was once thought
massless
stellar decryptions
revealed the answers
we're no longer
defined by classes
from the time
we named
the proton
and then
split the atom
we've mastered
the diagram
of strings
that keeps
all things connected
by way
of revolutions
that have proven
symmetric
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
I.
When we tell ourselves:
Be patient,
good things happen
in time…
do we know
what that implies?
Do we realize
we are weighing hearts
on the parabolic curve
of a watch’s slow unwind?
For me,
it is a comfort
inversely proportionate
to the size of the parameters we set.
Science would suggest
a sentiment stretched over infinity
cannot possibly have weight:
a massless belief,
a quantum state.
Week in and week out
we find an empty promise of change
in the unending planes of doubt.
Oddly,
physics would suggest
such a transparent theory
is filled instead with a boundless energy.
We invest every ounce of our E
into this hollow idea,
this paper prophecy.
Like father Franklin,
we drag our hearts with thin strings
through loud noises and bright lights.
Like father Frankenstein,
we sew our minds
to a patchwork body of strife.
We trust that,
in good time,
all things come to life.
II.
Impatience is scientific,
it’s true.
Our wildest imaginations grew
in the span
of a century or two.
Part of a grand tradition,
sometimes
I catch myself
counting down
unnumbered minutes until
at last
I meet you.
Love,
I’m a stitch in the
fabric of things;
you’re the needle that’s
pulling me through.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
Duality etched in cosmos...
A speckle...or a ripple?
Refracted you interfere per se,
uncertainty inscribed in psyche...
Theorized by the mastermind himself,
stable like none other...
Massless and chargeless,
two state restrictions...
Gliding; no,
attained a velocity maximum,
moving at light speed..
A gauge Boson,
Member of The Standard Model...
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
outside, the cosmos swirls on,
in here, the daisies scream
and ask the walls of who they cage
they silenced stand
one prayer was broken,
and one hushed;
one was hazy,
and one too late.
one then, never offered
in the age-slicked thread
of that shapeless rosary
sun on moon falls
with naught a sound
but a sigh.
and moon on sun still
within, a finger, a finger flays—
one nail was chipped
one’s skin too dry
one, imperfect a temptation,
and aching for ache one.
one then,
left alone with a clot
ask the walls
of their unwavering serenity
as hollow, massless bones
they stand
laced with cracks,
with clatter, with
thousands an uncounted
blemished prayer,
and skins as
paints scrapped off—
waiting, waiting;
to smother the daisies
to a quiet marrow
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 11:56 PM UTC
You see, light has no mass.
Therefore it has no gravity.
It cannot push you;
In any direction.
A shadow is the absence of light;
But it has the same properties.
Massless.
It's just a little different.
I'm the shadow.
I can't pull you.
Towards me.
The only direction I want.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC