"opines" poems
Prahu opines re the mathematics of love
Her equations hypotenuse me,
So I write adjacently,
As if we were cosine functionalities.
A special formula,
A Hyperbolic Cosine,
For to equate love mathematically,
We must use verbal hyperbole.
Binomials, the pair of loves,
Coefficient Trekkers,
On the mountains of waves,
To a product infinite.
So let us,
Reductio ad absurdum
That love is pointless.
Nah, nope.
Love is the point on a curve
that never stops moving,
Even as the curve forever, bending
And the possibilities,
Exponential...
In the sums of love,
The finite answer is always two.
So let us be clear,
This exercise has made me late
For work,
For which
I express my appreciation as follows:
X = xo,
Or
Summation Expansion
e e= 1 / n!
= 1/1 + 1/1 + 1/2 + 1/6 + ... see constant e
e -1 = (-1) n / n!
= 1/1 - 1/1 + 1/2 - 1/6 + ...
e x = xn / n!
= 1/1 + x/1 + x2 / 2 + x3 / 6 + ...
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
A learned scientist opines
in outer space there are two lines:
Proteins that would mirror mine,
and sugars of a non digestible kind.
On Earth “Left handed” proteins rule
at Barrows base right up to Thule.
“Right handed” sugars fuel our race
“left Handed” sugars have no place.
In our earthly reality
We have homochirality.
Still, somewhere in the cosmic dust
might be the opposite of us.
On a world no meteor ever scored
Might be space faring dinosaurs!
Intelligent, cunning and with big teeth-
Suppose they come to disturb our “peace”
Velociraptors with ray guns
might be as nasty as they come.
Thank God the U.S. has Marines
to blow those “Saurs” to smithereens.
Then, after they have taken their licking
We’ll find out if they taste like chicken.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
Vermilion skies pass me by
and into the night the chasm opines
an imagined Ferris wheel at a carnival
turns contra against smothering bindweed,
is this a metaphor for confusion ?
a turnaround of sorts
and with a habitual doff of my hat I bid
to draw this recurring dream to an end,
the naked view now seems surreal.
Should I then hear the adjacent marching feet of others
surrendering their names in juxtaposition.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
A fresh start to things recast
I start my job - it may be my last
New things, new roles, new people
Will I succeed, will I fit in
We... Are on A Journey
At first, I see a pleasant face
A smile that cheers the soul
She turns and looks and dare I think
She'd make my life so whole
We... Are on A Journey
It started small as some things do
A word, a glance, a sterling smile
The understanding is so clear
I marvel more and hold it dear
We... Are on A Journey
As time moves on, I settle in
The days and weeks stretch further on
I feel secure and have a place
I long for her warm embrace
We... Are on A Journey
Then one day she bears a gift
In jest, I'm sure as hearts abound
I love the thought it could be true
I hope nothing can change my view
We... Are on A Journey
One day she sits and opines
we have so much in common
I agree and say for sure it’s true
The path is clear, but can I woo
We... Are on A Journey
Years pass and life it moves at pace
With joy and loss, a mix we share
We look, we smile, we talk
We know we fit but leave it sit
We... Are on A Journey
The word is comfortable we share
The feeling is so clear
The word is love, dare it be
How can this work we’ll have to see?
We... Are on A Journey
We are so good at being good
Platonic is the word
But love I know is such a thing
I hold out hope by just a string
We... Are on A Journey
The eyes so strong and blue
And listening and attentive
Are but a window to her soul
I barely keep my self-control
We... Are on A Journey
Friends for life it seems to be
The outcome that is best for all
and if it comes to that alone
My heart will not have turned to stone
We... Are on A Journey
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 2:32 PM UTC
For an immature poet like me the rhyme
Becomes the greatest crime
I want to write a poem on a piece of soap
Or the greatness of the Italian Pope
I talk about the faithfulness of a pet dog
Or the great utility of a school bag
I can write a poem on a match stick
Since I feel, for poetry there is no yardstick
Mr George J Jerry thinks My poetry is rather Awkward
I can no longer go any forward
He feels my poetry is meant for un-schooled
I don’t think I am even a bit fooled
He opines my poems are mere mush
And I am making unnecessary fuss
In fact I am very much cooled
Because I think I am correctly ruled
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
There’s a guy I know
Who’s into spirits,
And not the liquid kind.
He stares sidelong at the world,
Twists his head from side to side.
Imagine what he might find.
Vampires drink wine in Soho,
Sipping from fluted necks
In late night **** stores.
Werewolves run Hyde park ragged,
Robed in riches turned to rags,
If only in the lunar mind.
Police pigs snuffling
Through street trash,
Hunting for him shaped treats.
Televisions watching
His living room and recording
Names and faces of all his kind.
The media he scorns,
Puppet masters pulling strings
For their puppet masters.
The government and the media
Are in it together he opines,
Waving a rag with that in mind.
Aliens control the government,
Sinking sinuous senses
Through simian skulls;
Prodding, poking, pulling
Political factions to provoke
A return of the fleet they left behind.
Codes in hoods hide in churches,
Linking mathematical shapes
To chain centuries of history;
Statues wink and leer at
Myopic armchair men and women
Hunting for the doom of mankind.
Millions of rubes bought over
Shop counters using nonesuch
To sell their souls for trinkets;
Illuminati design adverts,
Flashing commercials;
****** for the public in mind.
Big name pharmaceutical
Selling death at a point
For the sake of profit over parent;
Buying stats to lie to the mass,
Doctors demanding dummies
Despite the way the stars aligned.
Taken for a ride,
We queue with tickets in hand
Waiting for our turn on the rails.
Lie on lie on lie.
He sleeps with one eye on the sky.
Tracking cameras on a road sign.
This guy I know,
He thinks too much.
I don’t mind.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Dress to fit her abated breath is a veiled clout
a heavy fist beating the voluted walls to my heart
the opines of a million marching men could never dissuade
that inherent truth.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
She opines a parable of the heart of Appalachia , wooden instrument , with goose quill adding song to the immense beauty of this great land , familiar as the cry of whippoorwills at dusk is the dulcimer ,
captivating , raw emotional purveyor of mountain folklore ........
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
My fatherland
"I am blessed"; says our fatherland
"I am the giant of Africa"; remarks our fatherland
“We will curb every corrupt personnel”; lied our corrupt leaders
"No place like home"; opines our elders
"Great people, great nation"; merits our media stations
"Blessed with natural resources"; proclaims our teachers
"All is well"; prophesizes our men of God
"Invest home"; idea our business men
"It will be better"; endures our youth
"I will bring change"; promises our snail-like president
“Next level”; campaign our level-0 party
"Vote for me"; begs our politicians.
“We are your friends”; lied the policemen
“We will find you”; exclaim EFCC
“We will put things in order”; pledged our disorganized representatives
“We will pass positive bills”; fakes our kungfu-senate
“To serve our fatherland”; recites our selfish civil-servant
“We will fight for our rights”; yearn our revolution group
“We can’t accept this”; brags our powerless youth
“We are the leaders of tomorrow”; sings our generation
“I’m tired of this country”; cries our fed-up graduate
“Remember the child of who you are” warns our parents
“Promoting the rule of law” proclaim our lawyers
Yet! The **** **** the dog bark,
The cat meow, the snake hiss,
The sun shine, the water flow,
Everything being equal.
My father's land changes not!
I cry for our generation,
I weep for what to come,
I pray we wake up from our slumbers.
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC
at Graveyard 659
the ghosts are floating in a meeting
*“Someone ought to put up a
wall round our graveyard,”*
opines one wise bearded ghost
“And why?” asks the Chair
“Why?” screams the reply
*“Can’t you see what's up
with those mortals? -
there's such huge demand
everyone’s just dying to get in...”*
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
***Lost in my thoughts
Found in my mind
Sometimes in words
If The Mind opines***
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 12:32 PM UTC
Speak truth to power,
And don't dismiss the facts.
Why insipidly focus on polls
Like the failing Times,
The Murdochian lies
And the Hedge Fund huskers
Do.
CNN is rudderless.
The media is fascist,
Bending facts to fit the frame.
There is no Venn Diagram
For comfirmative circles.
Don't treat the true and the false,
The outrageous and the normal
As glossed over good people on both sides.
The sides are not equally valid
Because the Post opines it so.
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 9:42 AM UTC
We touch the bark, blessed in ignorant knowledge
That what we feel is the extent of reality.
The learned man nods, trapped in his own hubris
As he opines from on top of the tree in the valley,
Declaring there is nothing beyond the forest;
All he can see are trees as far as the eye can see.
We scuttle across the ground, looking up in awe
As the wise man is joined by another.
They nod to each other, trapped in their hubris
As one, each man sharing his small secrets.
They climb higher up the tree, quick to point out
That of the forest there is no end to guess.
Satisfied at last, they climb down to our questions,
And patiently answer, without hesitation:
There is only the woods of the forest you see,
We've seen it all, we demand you believe.
Don't look at the edge, there's nothing for you,
Just tree upon tree, we've seen it, it's true.
Downcast,
We scuttle away,
Our tails tucked between our legs.
We think some more and go back to them
Who, being learned, are known as wise men.
It mustn't be true, we're sure you're mistaken,
It can't be just trees...
We plead for some sign, and without hesitation,
They growl and declare with words we're forsaken.
We're driven away to a home far from home
And left to die in the woods all alone.
We pick up children and wander away,
Cursed to walk through the forest and cry.
We wander for years, heading due North
And the forest, it slowly changed as we walked.
The trees, once so dense, revealed fields of grass,
And rivers, hills, mountains and sky.
Oh the sky, what wondrous vision is this?
So wide and filled with lights, what bliss!
We've only seen the branches of trees above.
We must tell the others, I'm sure they don't know.
We choose to return on the path we can't miss.
We turn back our steps, heedless to peril.
They greet us with spears and declare us begone.
We try to tell them, but they will not listen,
They scream forsaken and call us the devil.
We demand they look up to the sky up above,
But the wise men, trapped in their hubris,
Fling words like arrows, too many to count,
And we sadly retreat to hope the others get out.
The wise man watch us turn back our steps
And declare in a rush that those who repent
Can come back to the woods
Where's there's nothing but trees
And the lies that we've said?
Well, they were never meant.
Some others turn back and scuttle away,
We watch sadly as their backs turn south.
Unsure, I look up, and the branches cover me,
Green upon green, tree after tree.
But just there, flashing between leaves
Shines the sky and the stars and
I'd rather be free.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Upon this day, a reckoning of an ideal
Has begun—the immortalizing of ideologies
In statues, in tremendous acts, in carbon footprints
Has kept humankind comforted well into
Its collective existential crisis,
Like a black hole consuming all matter around it
So has David Koch created a hole
So powerful, only the crumbs of an economy
Still circle recognizable, having long disfigured
What it means to be human—
Randian liquors dribble from his lips
Like crude from earth’s entrails,
Where to heal the ills of an unequal system
Forever picked and scratched open,
Fresh blood lines a gilded age promenade
And workers follow the path,
Churches follow the path,
Business executives follow the path,
The fossil fuel industry follows the path—
The legacy is strikingly apparent
In the folds and lines of the earth,
Carving human-shaped beds
In the crust and forever below
One such for David Koch, too,
The legacy is strikingly apparent
In the ****** of things human and not,
The legacy is strikingly apparent,
In the killing of the human and the birthing
Of the industrial human, the consumer race
With word opines what industry cannot solve
With deed makes hurdles far exceeding industry,
A contradicting race
A self-limiting virus,
An impossible being, the consuming race,
An inhuman being—
This ********** of the over-man
Should come with minor fanfare
In babelic tongues as we celebrate,
Good or bad, happily or tearfully,
The death of the invisible hand’s seraphim,
Who, while building the tower to heaven,
Took up the horns, encouraged us with
The Gospel of individualism that Russian sociopath
Espoused so convincingly, so fetishistically,
We’ve risen above, we’ve moved beyond,
No longer human but capital:
What does not **** us
Only makes them stronger.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC
How about the crazy thoughts.
The ones that sleep behind your eyes.
Have you ever seen the truth.
The ways, in waves of what is not.
The sinking of the curtains.
The floating hope.
Can a mind unwound, find itself a spool.
Calm itself.
Calm and cool.
Is the heat a growing pain.
Is the heat forever gain.
It, the pain forges, molds, shapes,
Hones the sense.
Creates new dimensions.
Options,
Opines,
And
Governs.
Is there option , or fate fatale.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC