"nominal" poems
I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth : with freedom,
opened all devilish forces
out of Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a nuclear Phantom ,his
tears drip on tomb of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death of birth at the womb.
I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay bodies strain to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
Trust: confidence placed in a person by making that person the nominal owner of property to be held or used for the benefit of one or more others.
I've trusted people.. But never again...
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Words aplenty I always have
To express the way I feel
Yet looking in your eyes right now
Word's can’t even begin to tell
I feel no hate towards anyone
Though perhaps I should for you
But I know any hate I hold inside of me
Would destroy me too
I am saddened by the reasons
I now look at you
For you and myself but most of all
For our families too
My heart cries for your children
As it cries for my own
Left alone without both their parents
To love there in their home
Such a senseless act of desperation
For a small nominal gain
That ended the life of a beautiful man
Bringing all of us such pain
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 8:25 AM UTC
Here is a ******* poem.
I hope to God it rhymes.
It better be for a pretty girl,
Like I’ve done a million times.
A shameless poem to lure her in.
A song and dance to thee.
She took the bait and loves me now,
For a daily, nominal fee.
She rips out my heart,
Turns me bitter and loathsome.
I say to you now in a defiant tone:
Here is my **** you poem!
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Love
Unrequited
Unilateral
One-sided as it breaks me
Leaves you indifferent
Nothing but a nominal fling
Nothing but a means to an end
A backup
A rebound
For you:
Friend turned
Less than
For me:
Friend turned
Everything.
Ironic
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
*Perched upon the peasant’s altar
Anomalous, conglomerate, anorexic, and onyx
The concubine’s cake with the Oxford comma,
Communal and picked and eaten at by little birds
Nominal trauma oozes visceral
****** and break
Sever and break
Steep walls of amorphous clay
Congeal to the walls of the willow
Exquisite and infinite, infidel
Flight
****** Lo, light of my life,
Long hair dripping with whiskey*
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
The Quantum Poetry Theorem
from a long time ago,
a thousand poems a priori.
**Dedicated to you, Albert Einstein and the cast of TBBT, special thanks to the OWS movement.,
But especially to the few, the brave, geeks who write poetry in word and in equations.**
Scruffy, yet ennobled,
my own 99% invade and
occupy all my senses,
in my eyesight encamped
sensing opportunity,
the 99 demand
that each shutter eye snap,
all nominal exhalations,
every quantum minutia perception,
be live streamed,
direct tv to you
Everything I witness,
transformed into an
acoustic guitar rocking vision,
a levitation of poetic expression,
set to a primitive three-chord
rock & roll overture,
and my iPad,
appointed Recording Secretary,
compiles exhalations as ecrivations
a preservation society of the verb,
strings of words emanating non-stop
within my head, from a guitar playing
twenty four seven, ironically,
expressed mathematically
Street strolling,
busy brasserie bar,
a Pinot Noir arrives,
a large pour of
stanzas and a
napkin upon to scribble
mind in ferment but
A Capella smooth cool,
my bossy brain requires
incident reports,
a "write me down, please,"
and
no matter how much I drink,
ain't anti-matter enough to
stop my eyes from seeing
every human interaction
as a poetic, probabilistic,
verbal equation,
quantum expressions of sensory upload
The brain revels and reels from overload,
no mas, no more,
poetry fatigue incurable,
caplets and ointments,
string theory,
can't cure or explain
the compulsion I feel,
and the 1% of me
protests my
overtaxed mental capacity,
and
hear the, see the, masses,
the shouts, the placards,
outside my home,
shut it down, no one cares,
no one wants your transplanted mechanics
in their eardrums
Huzzah, found in my gut,
a Grand Unifying Theory
to coordinate, gauge and harmonize
my internal asymmetries,
yes, a coupling factor required,
but still,
one equation that explains everything!
my fatigued, pointy, index finger
refuses to tap any more,
my Theory of Everything,
and my poetry, forgot, overlooked.
in my library buried,
black holed, forever silence-stored
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
not just in the way I saw you
you're farther than venus
my celestial heart
-she's not even nominal
the thoughts dancing in my brain
fermenting in the pit of my heart
I pick at that heap
-starcrossed & lonesome
love is not just a feeling
it's a perfume we bathed in
we soaked in
-we loved in
but the scent washes away
no longer a distinction
no longer a dizzying coat
-like we never soaked at all.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:08 AM UTC
How can one pick up the seams
of a long forgotten past?
How can restoration ever begin
when the heart and soul
has departed from the rest?
Falling leaves
and dying trees,
shattered glass
resounding screams.
I open my eyes and see a city of gray
a collection of broken people.
The product of a broken past.
I look upon the waste that lies before me
I view the rubble with despair.
This was once a golden dynasty,
a land of abundance,
a city of white.
Now decayed,
fallen into rot and ruin.
Distraught and dying
of intellectual thirst.
The haunted look I see on the faces
the frail cry echoing in the night,
the silent torment
the unheard agony.
Children lie in the street
mothers weep.
Powerful men
keep their power to themselves
They hoard and keep
they watch as their city falls
they gaze on upon the gray.
Oblivious to the torment
untouched by the tears
the heartache and the hurt.
Mountains of ruin
rivers of blood
oceans of tears
growing like a mighty flood.
The dying and the sick,
the weak and the poor,
the famous and the rich,
those wicked lords.
I see them all,
all alike,
I open my eyes and see them.
Somehow, someway
they are the same.
Behind the hollowed eyes
and the overstuffed bellies
the thick fur coats
and the naked flesh.
They are so alike
so similar
these creatures.
They are as one being
one soul,
one flesh.
Shivers coursing
through my veins,
slivers of fear
falling like rain.
Tired and sore
wretched and poor,
weak and frail
I open my minds door.
I enter into a land
A land where no hurt,
nor wrong can ever touch
A place where what is,
is really not,
and what was thought to be remembered
is truly forgot.
I walk through the streets
with new eyes
And gaze upon the ruins
and all their lies.
How things,
then seem so changed
how things that were,
really are not.
The rich were truly poor.
Their souls filthy
***** and wretched,
their hearts blackened
broken and ruined.
Yet those the poor,
and the wretched.
The ones that I had so surely thought
were worthless.
Were truly lords
and conquers
For they controlled their destiny
they governed their hearts.
Kept the undying
innocent and free of all wrong.
And now with this new found vision
A hope arose inside of me
For I then saw
what there truly was to be seen,
a land beyond the physical
a nominal realm.
Wretched and distraught
broken and forgot,
they are beautiful
these ruins.
They are the glorious ruins
of a long lost past.
Through the eye of the father
by the grace of love.
The miracle of salvation
the glory of these shattered ruins is revealed.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Arbitrary numbers scatter her mind's surface,
Operationally stunted she scurried,
For no deviation could solve the turmoil vested within,
It was hope vested in the cosmos,
An escape adorned in constellations,
The unwinding of a student.
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 3:48 PM UTC
Die at the mouth,
live at the eyes...
nominal head
downed.
Action Painted
by misfiring
nerves...whose
spasmodic dance
choreographs
days...on...end.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
LET'S RAISE A TOAST
TO THE HERO OF ZEROS.
THE NOMINAL PHENOM.
THE LEGENDARY LOSER!
LAY WREATHS AT THE FEET
OF THE SLACKER KING,
AND ASK FOR NOTHING,
WHICH IS ALL HE CAN GIVE YOU.
NO SONG OR DANCE
OR MINIMAL EFFORT.
JUST AND ONLY
ABJECT FAILURE,
TO SPREAD LIKE BUTTER
OVER AN ARMY OF SLEEPWALKERS,
WHO TRUDGE THROUGH THE NIGHT
TO GET NOTHING DONE.
SAY A WORD FOR THE MAN
WITH TOO MUCH TIME ON HIS HANDS.
WHO ISN'T WORKING ON ANYTHING
SO THAT WE CAN HAVE EVERYTHING.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
fornicate
and lay back
asleep against the cold steel
heal your wounds with fire
limes are burning
lemons yearning
his fruit is turning into wine
mindless meditators
mediating madness
fundamentally flawed
raw and cored like apples
and hone(st)y
posthumously imbibed
nominal anomalies
rusted tire chains
as thunder complains
of its own ignominy
eyes awaken
lands are taken
and what's far worse
is that we have
all lost our voices
demanding silence
stem-cells signal sentences
denser than a dozen dollar bills
dancing on a pinhead
reprimand and then repeat again
the end is near
feet in fear move slowly
are you impressionable my dear
a glimpse of eternity
and your hair turned white as snow
suppress emotion
keep composure
learn to control
your own will
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
It is located over there Beside that pretty and blue sea ... No one goes over there to commit suicide ,but Just to be there like a great eagle ... No one ever tried to commit suicide over there Simply because people love life in truth ... It's just a nominal label to that pretty rock and People are against committing suicide over there ... Only love prevails over that rock anytime .
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
In the midst of a heavy snow
I saw a thrush amongst the dunes
With little cover and no where to go
The bird perched brave against his doom
Having said all that,
I am indomitable
Any road- block or set back
Proves to be nominal
In truth at times I have cowered
My face has fallen victim to ill grimace
And yet in this my final hour
I see it is not how you start but how you finish
For it is in the stars for me to battle
Though my soul may be worn
I will break free from mediocrity’s shackles
I am intrepid as a thrush in a storm
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:12 AM UTC
Kerap kali kita bertanya,
Tuhan, apakah angka adalah pengukur semua?
Waktu, umur, nominal saldo, nilai,
Jarak, kecepatan, durasi, *****
Apakah angka pengukur semua?
Bagaimana dengan kenikmatan, kebahagiaan?
Apakah angka mampu,
Mengukur segala nikmat dan bahagia,
Yang kita jumpai setiap harinya
Lalu, bagaimana dengan ketepatan?
Apakah waktu yang tepat untukku,
Tentu tepat untuk orang lain?
Kembali aku menoleh ke cermin
Kadang aku berlari,
Namun orang lain terhenti,
Resah aku dibuat,
Lalu aku ikut berhenti
Orang lain mulai berlari,
Aku masih nyaman di sini,
Resah aku dibuat,
Aku pun masih berhenti
Bagaimana cara kerja nasib, Tuhan?
Apakah hidup ini memang sebuah perlombaan?
Mengapa aku selalu dituntut stigma,
Bahwa yang paling cepat adalah yang paling bahagia
Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 11:48 AM UTC
(You made this monster)
invented by provided feelings of reverence
forced to difference without relevance
with resemblance to hands of elegance
evident difference, deliberate severance
(it is so hard to ****
envious enemies with torches of treacherous
eloquence lost when pestilence is generous
serpent like in genesis, tenaciously venomous
fighting the exodus against shields of credulous
(and the tower burns)
ignited by chemicals of nominal assessment
tower of suggestion is now infested
where questions and statements are incessant
born by resentment, this basement investment
========================================================
i walk the streets with arms outstretched
never meeting touching grace
i haven't met a decent monster yet
the greenest monstrosity in this place
we are all only pieces left
stitched organs, sewn parts
a dug up heart in my chest
could come alive with some sparks
i haunt these streets of broken dreams
another life to survive
i'm just a being, beyond their screams
it lives, it's alive
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
Mechanical suicide it's the way of the future
We slice and dice for a nominal price
Too deep for any suture
Drop a dime it's worth your time
In pieces you'll find peace of mind
The last to succumb
Are the numb and blind
In the twilight of mankind.
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
shaving w/ cold water a brittle lick rings off a 12" celestion perspiration.ocean sounds are spitting on me Seattle is a nominal love .some kind of bounce (they say) a blue zip cripples the skyline little armling lost tumbling errands away like missed alarms
a
flyboy jacket
raking dry lines away from wht you can stuff in your arms like a
jazz beat
wind spins complexcurrents around her wraparounds polarized to the smoke rings huffing from her nostrils on cold bright
morning
breath is a glitch receiving old information incompatible with the peachfuzz burning up with the o-zone
my skinny rocksalt eyes tire of eachother scraping in
the skin tightening over her forehead like a hide drum shrinking in the sun around it's ring
out of place.i stand cocked on the deck of the carrier wanting to
annihilate nations
.murder-saurus
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 3:56 AM UTC
Hoardings of longer legs and shapely curves
Fat lips slowly parting from ****** hymns
Inch after inch of giant television screens
Vomiting blamelesss skin oto my couch
Blotting the real bodies of real people
Kicking my mind, blind and dumb
To the point of nominal resistance
To all notions of primal restraint
Sell your *** someother place
Leave these homes alone
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Answered, thus labeled because views a similarity. Who had this in the hand of the eye’s compact? If presence shifts to absence and believe it is safe in transit, what contract aspires to be an object used against it?
Here must be another present, moving thing for this nonattendance to take place. Its duty need not be nominal. And when it takes place, there is a guarantee for a statement: almost, to a certain extent. Had, adhered, temporary.
This was taken as an insistence of its exclusion as an avowal of its state: when a thing ceases to move, it has named a boundary all within a venue with already christened boundaries. To rise from its nomenclature, a question: what for is this mode? The unassuming and deliberate twofold of its chrome is indicative of something. There are only two possible answers to the question, but never warrants indemnity.
If amorphous then suitable to bend or assume over and over, a confrontational: to hold it against walls everywhere, its color only when dual fixing not a shadow, but the possibility of a shadow. To spill light over the malleable – notice how a body contorts.
If distinct then determined to traverse a straight line, a sanction: to furlough the idea of its controlled variable which is its many possibilities, its shape now not only a name but a force that deals with a believable architecture of compressed options. There is no need for appellation when related to dislimn as a shade is necessary for this disappearance to simulate. But the treachery is that when light surrounds no longer, form somehow a myth as if pausing all lightness to declare something: this is of two explanations merely a single.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
1
What do mornings regard but
the night refusing to budge?
The Sun a progeny
there must be room for days in
this revenge
2
I fold I
in this exquisite manner
I dream of my fortune
as rash before this I slid
underneath the cleft
like an epistle
unopened, stamped by the dearth
of another
secured in this absence
black like a cummerbund
3
The bed shook.
enough to toss me out of
but not inherit me into a dull succession.
our places nominal.
we have a sum if syndicate
but still impotent
they have made this a reportage
of a miracle read from a gauche script:
This is
the morning that
was becoming no
less than a champion
over you | vacate your body
while you are still able |
the body confesses
I am constantly awakened
by this futility.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
An aberration I am, abject from the Chimera's I've run across. Tis, their charisma cometh at a cost, as ourn head's and ourn heart's get lost in the moment!!!!
Chronic charlatan's maketh one feeleth infinitesimal, insinuater's as the vegetables, slowly creeping in with an innate falsehood....
Gregarious they art,
Putting on an act
As Lucifer.....
As he portrays guile in their way's!!
As whilst their gravity of their affections couldn't be as soo much farther from the truth!!!!
Nominal in all stagnation.....
Nebulous bringer's of happiness,
As tis....
They art not happy themselves!!
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC