"multiplying" poems
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Was this the right choice?
Seeing warnings on twitter
Thinking they're all quitters
Thinking you're better
But in reality, you're just as equal as them.
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Seeing your friends play, you start multiplying
Not even touching a pipe and dying
You're on the floor, you're crying
Pressing start over and over again and trying
Knowing your high score is low and start lying
because you know you ****
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Questions going through your mind
"Why did I die?"
"Did I really touch a pipe?"
"Why do iPhone users only have day while Android have both day and night?"
"Why is it slower on other phones?"
"How do you get past 20?"
"Why do I keep dying?"
"Why do Android users have other colors?"
But the question you should be asking is...
"Am I going mad?"
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Now, the resolution.
Stop the addiction.
Press that "x"
You know its for the greater good.
I know YOU feel the ANGER whenever you die.
You don't wanna risk throwing your phone for that.
Take my advice. DO IT.
Before it ruins your life.
But as the day passes...
You can't.
You can't.
You can't.
Its too late.
Flappy Bird is now part of life.
Even though the anger
The anger that feels like your chest being stabbed by a knife
Hurts you so much
Deep inside you get a little happy...
Knowing somewhere in the world someone trying the same game
Got less than you.
Less than 3, 2, or 1.
And because of this you want to beat more people who **** more than you.
And this should be an achievement
You, state your name, got YOUR own high score.
YOU did it
YOU made it to one pipe or even more.
And if you didn't
Well ***** for you
But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
She left Reno
in a satin slip
the color of hot coins
pouring from slots,
wearing chewed-up tennis shoes,
mirrors multiplying her,
the marquee burning out
letter by letter,
a hush pressed between her teeth
as if saving the last note.
I followed,
a gangly shadow,
mother’s voice in my ear:
"life is not a freeway exit."
But she was the exit.
She drove west
through a glittering throat.
In Tonopah she was a waitress,
red stains on her wrists,
sleeves tugged low,
coffee pouring thin as blood.
In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna,
halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass.
At a gas station in Needles
shimmering into a coyote’s shadow
and slipped behind the pumps.
Then movement along the fence,
low, quick—
gone again.
Casinos blinked like electric relics.
Truckers called her sugar,
greedy hands counting her ribs
as if she was the paycheck
sweating in their fist,
but she slipped away each time,
her silhouette already moulting-
a serpent skin, a smoke-trail,
a saint’s shadow burning off the wall.
By Malibu, the night
had softened to velvet.
The pier at Zuma
leaned into the Pacific
like a broken bridge.
She sang to me—
low, cracked—
then let the slip fall.
Her body cut into the dark tide,
no disguise.
I waded in after her,
ankles bruised by rock.
Water lit with jellyfish,
each pulse a warning.
I stopped where it deepened,
felt the pull take hold.
No exit left,
just the Pacific’s mouth
closing around her.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
Sally invited you
to the very top
Of the jungle gym
She gives an encouraging "come on"
And reaches out her arm
Her hand
Spread out and facing the sky
You grab hold.
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner
You turn your head
Towards the sky
And squint
Just to see
the top of the structure
Not an easy task
For a kindergartener
But you faithfully follow your friend
Under the bright afternoon sun
Classmates have shrunk in size
As you peer out
from the top of the jungle gym.
Sally swings up her arm
Her palm
Facing you
You match her gesture
And give it a high five
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner.
*I am at the very top
Of the jungle gym
With my friend!*
"Try out the monkey bars"
Suggests your new found friend
In the most reassuring manner
So you reach for the first bar
Both arms up
Both palms forward
As you attempt to make the jump
Sally waits behind you
Both arms out
Both hands forward
The corners of her mouth
Grow to the sides of her face
And her cheeks push up against
the bottom of her eyes
In the most reassuring manner
Shock as you free fall
Your classmates
Multiplying in size
As the ground moves closer
Pain shoots through
Your body
And your mind
as you land
You are confused
Feeling hurt and betrayed
how could a friend do such a thing?
But then you realize
Your friend never invited you
To the very top
Of the jungle gym
At all.
The corners of your mouth
Grow to the sides of your face
And your cheeks push up against
the bottom of your eyes
In the most satisfying manner
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Something caught me off guard, that hot day,
an unexpected thunder roared its presence,
violent...continuously rose in volume...
the throbbing...the thumping...the
pounding intensified...while swarms of red
and pink fragments simultaneously emerged,
and skillfully created arcs...becoming orbs,
multiplying, spreading...merging...then
shaping into rounds, like atoms...combining,
revealing...bearing a scary realization...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
suddenly, arms and hands felt cold,
thunder softened...waned...arcs and orbs stilled,
chest started to rise and fall, peacefully.......yet, here i am,
anticipating a next time...when thunder roars anew...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC
Here you were thinking
Woww life is really great
When you have people that love you
When you have people that cherish you
When you have people that adore you
But what if, just what if thats all just in your mind
What if you made up this fantasy in your head
About everything you've ever wanted
And everything you've ever craved for
And told yourself that it exists
What if you play scenarios that happen in one way and interpret it in three ways
Multiplying the actual meaning of the scenarios
What if you give credit to a person for being themselves but themselves is a liar
What if no matter if that liar is a liar you're happy with it
As the fantasy in your head is unwilling to let go of the part that liar plays
But what if there's more than one liar
What if they're all liars
What if they've only told you what they wanted you to hear because you have high expectations of them
And they know this and you know this
So technically it's not their fault for being on the pedestals you've placed them on
It's not their fault that you're unwilling to accept the garbage of this world
It's not their fault that you keep fantasizing about a happy life with any and everyone that can adore you
What if, just what if you can actually find that someday?
What if you never find that
You're tired of actively searching for people to give you what you can give them
You're tired of being this woman that expects
And expects
And expects
Should you or could you maintain this fantasy without completely
And utterly falling apart
From shame, from pain from torment
Or should you just let it all go and just..
Just ....
-fir.m
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 5:44 AM UTC
I love honey
on my tongue with butter
until it grows in my stomach
multiplying into gallons of
honey (sickly sweet)
suffocating me with a sweetness
I can breathe through
slowly steadily
all your pretty skin
and eyes that haven't lit up
nearly enough lately
so many pretty boys
(dark eyes thick eyebrows carved arms full lips Adams apple)
and I am mesmerized
only
by your furrowed brow
even as the chocolate eyed boy
touches my arm
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Under
The rule of law
With a great smile
She plays mathematical game.
Sometime,
Adding,
Subtracting,
Multiplying,
Dividing,
Switching
But rarely,
Stopping
On query, she replied
“You are getting pill for”,
Pain
Sleep
Wake up
Dream
Breathe
Smile
Forget, and to
Live
Disclosure
My only drug dealer
My Doctor.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
To Be Continued
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Tweet the lies of love with lustful lyrics
Lustrously laminated by lives of the lost
Reluctantly remembering repressed memories
Hidden, but recovered.
Mutilation
Malicious mysterious misunderstood
Multiplying in the masses
Magnificent.
Praise
Powerful prideful
Portraying pure pleasure from answered prayers
Proposing purpose.
The world
And abyss
Empty like a full moon’s blank stare
Echoing ignorance.
Shall we challenge the Author?
Is authenticity virtuous?
The growth of an insatiable species
To be glorious, to be remembered,
To be continued
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
He doesn't need Intra Ocular Lenses,
To dismember my defenses.
Without a Stethoscope,
He can hear my heart,
He won't have to take an MRI scan,
To know where to start.
He won't need to inject a syringe,
To romantically unhinge,
My every multiplying cell,
Into a palpitating craze.
He won't need a lubricating gel,
To ****** and amaze.
He won't require to operate
Nor investigate,
Me from head to toe,
To plainly know,
That I'm besotted,
my insides knotted,
My better sense clotted,
In deep rooted feeling,
Of immense love.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
math they say is adding,subtracting and multiplying
And that it will be applied.
I'm not so sure they know what math is.
It's not that simple.
Ask those who spend hours trying to learn it.
The numbers mix and mingle.
And your mind makes up its own math.
If I add or subtract or multiply
Will I get the same answers?
I'm done with this numerical math
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Why is it sometimes we force our love?
Is it in our nature to push and shove?
Forcing our will upon our obsessions and desires
Chances burning up like a funeral pyre
I know, I've been down that path
Its riddled with lovesick fools who never did their math
You need to stop it!!
It will never work
All your doing is multiplying the hurt
For "True Love" from the beginning is true
Nothing anybody or anything one can do
Destiny will always find its path
It's laid with broken hearts that felt its wrath....
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
4.2k
When fantasy marries reality, it is your fairytale
You know what you think; you know what you mean,
Whether your heart speaks your mind or the other way,
While you are sewing the threads of your fantasies,
You are multiplying the perimeter of your boundary
When desire meets needs, it is your fairytale
You push the envelope or prefer to keep it inside
You do it when the time is ripe
Certainty is always prime,
What happens, happens for good
But change can be the devil unlike itself
When honesty meets passion, it is your fairytale
Insane as it can be, sanity may ******* sometimes
Truth should never leave you away or you may die
But praise yourself for once, because you never cease to try
**** the bee of the fear and insecurity
That hums in your mind constantly,
You ought to believe you are the queen bee
Alone or with your colony, you always remain to be
Even if you didn't make for the honey
You can still make it for the nectar
It will always be your fairytale; whether too many flowers, one or none.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Tiny pieces of you
Linger in my very being
Burning embers of brimstone
Sulfur fills each breath
I stop to smell the roses
They turn to ash at my touch
At you within me
Particles spread as I cough you up
Multiplying in the air
Dancing with joy
At their new-found freedom
Tiny pieces of you
Rotting my soul and consuming my spirit
Burning pinholes in my brain
Memories burned away
Shadow of pain still sore, still raw
Lingering, lingering, lingering
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally
regarding the tomato plants.
I think I should not be encouraged to grow
tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold
the heavy rains, the cold nights that come
so often here, while other regions get
twelve weeks of summer. All this
belongs to you: on the other hand,
I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly
multiplying in the rows. I doubt
you have a heart, in our understanding of
that term. You who do not discriminate
between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence,
immune to foreshadowing, you may not know
how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf,
the red leaves of the maple falling
even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible
for these vines.
3.3k
Hey flossy! Don’t offer this smile anymore
Mysterious smile torments the heart
That smile raises up the thirst.
If you agree to surrender all your mysterious smiles to me
In return I will return your love with the usury of love
And with time’s compound interest rate.
If you turn down to surrender your smile
Then know the consequences of it,
Taking incalculable stars as my co – operator
I will abduct the celestial curve moon on the land.
Hey belle! Don’t turn your face away
Tell me,
You will be the reason of how many wars,
And the cause of scrimmage amongst the juveniles?
If you don’t pay attention to me today
Then know it, You spectacular lady,
In the theater of mysterious smile
I prosecute for the execution
Of your heart snatching smile….
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Like a cell drawing in pure water, rejecting unnecessary, undesirable molecules.
Like a virus spreading multiplying, taking over with vigor and tenacity.
Like the bubbles on the burbling lips of a toddler, growing and popping and dripping.
Like a ronin samurai without a lord, coming and going like the wind.
Like a thought that just won’t quit, a feeling that burrows into the bones.
Like the intensity of a fire, when a steady wind presses the seat of the fuel source.
So is my passion for life.
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 8:48 PM UTC
Pavement where
an egg shell should not be
that perfect shape
fractured with spider leg cracks
across the surface
of its world
how did they get there?
those Nazca Lines?
And the amount of discarded shoes seems to be multiplying each day,
the busted boot on the traffic island
its been there for weeks
a plimsoul
childs shoe
strangely,
they're all left footed
is there significance in this?
I look for patterns in everyday things,
TV Schedules
wallpaper
colouring books
Sudoku squares
floor tiles
Tube maps
football scores
I keep looking for clues
like a retired detective who just can't let go
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
As you walk through the city street
there's something that you may not know.
What's going on under your feet
only metres down below.
Life is multiplying fast,
migrating sometimes up above,
to forage through your garbage bags
gathering the free food that we all love.
We carry with us little friends
that pack a really powerful punch
and there's nothing they appreciate more
than human blood for their lunch.
With the lesson of the past forgotten
by you humans up above
where millions died because of filth
and everyone lost someone they'd loved.
Yet still you throw away your waste,
you leave it lying on the street.
Disease is on it's way to you you
from little forager under your feet.
Call this disease what err you will.
Black-death, the pox but it's on its way
and all because you can't be bothered
but in the end it's you who'll pay.
In the meantime we will breed en-mass,
our babies growing, getting fat
and all can deliver to you this fate.
I really do love being a Rat.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
The constant fear of stomach aches,
back pain,
sore muscles,
colds and flu,
headaches,
bad coughs,
weird sensations that you don't even understand.
The constant fear of wrongly multiplying cells,
of hair loss,
of transplant,
of cardiac arrest,
of nausea,
of ***** failure,
of words like lymph nodes,
stage three,
clogged arteries,
terminal,
irreparable damage,
cancer.
The constant deaths,
in a thousand different ways,
in a thousand different hospital beds,
that consume you every day,
make you sick in the head,
sick,
sick,
sick.
The constant Grim Reaper's hand of health anxiety,
forever on your shoulder.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Cascading pixels,
trickling over the arcade,
Eight bit drops-
Tiny blocks,
clumping together rise-
Digital monoliths.
Soaring up:
***** structures emerge;
Falling down:
begins to breakdown;
as the lines dissolve underneath
multiplying scores manifold!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC