"partitioning" poems
India was a secular state even before recorded history,
We welcomed all religions even before time,
Jesus is said to have come to Kashmir after Good Friday,
The English were welcomed just for business,
But what they did was occupying the nation,
As if that was not enough in itself they tried partitioning us,
After they endured the second world war,
They did decide to leave India to mind theirs,
But they decided to divide us into two.
One was the Islamic Republic of Pakistan,
Another was named as the Republic of India,
While they just tame corrupt extremism,
We tame irrationally extreme corruption,
We host unrealistic & unimaginable scams,
Sinners of all kind in the world are present here,
But there is some hope from our secular identity,
We are a progressive nation and I am so happy today.
One day will definitely come when India will be reunited.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
“Mistakes were made.”
I quote at least three recent former U.S. Presidents,
Who wrote or spoke infamously in the passive voice.
Here’s a bit of history:
The words spoken by automated phone systems,
Were code written by computer programmers.
Computer geeks, revered for their cold logic and impartiality;
Like scientists taught to maintain objectivity,
When studying fascinating subjects like Base-2 Binary Codes,
Disk partitioning and hard drive defragmentation.
Impersonal, the passive voice avoids sentiment,
Steers clear of pesky opinions unfounded on certainty or proof.
Unsurprisingly, the passive voice seeped quickly,
Into the language of politicians,
Our beloved rogues and rapscallions,
Hiding truth, avoiding accountability and culpability.
Practitioners of political science,
They bob and weave and spin.
Yes, mistakes were made.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
remember me never
and forget me always
please
just please
let my memories fade away
faint as the distance stars and planets
let us say our goodbyes to Jupiter
the daybreak comes in fast
quickly to separate the satellites
partitioning off the stars from the horizon
please
just please fade away
clouds roll in, obstructing my view
and the haze of the sun veils my eyes
it sets a fog over our melancholy scenery
please
just please let me fade away
and here I take my leave
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
He wanted to drown
Not in liquid, but in sound
Raucous rapture bellowing beneath
Hands too heavy to hold his own
Heartbreak.
These lions labeled ladies
Making ****** hearts sing.
The candid caucus of cartographers
With eyes too cold to cry
Mapping and marring,
Partitioning paradox with every stroke
Witless wizardry without
Love and longing.
In a circus tent he found
That circuitous catharsis
Amid tremulous trapeze swinging
Watched by the sloughed skin of sinners
Vice and virtue muddied by malice.
Exploratory tongues
Giving preface to loneliness
Too tranquil to be twisted
Too torpid to be tangible
Romance recondite,
Sold to us by our world
Leaving us with nothing but
Fantasy and
Broken bones
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
*etymology extract: as was said, they'd read my poetry
on the front, among the billions, a few might tread,
from everyday Monday through to Sabbath,
thus said, archaeologically bound: Egypt, Josephus,
the nativity play, xylophone, and too much
indoctrination acquired to walk like a peacock,
and indeed more strut likening to a crow;
for indeed the waterfall of skulls, the dead sea
which reaches depths higher than peaks of architectural
adventure in man levelling mountains,
exploring sea depths and excavating depths
of the prized orbits: such restlessness never once
but countless times before; so soon forgotten
among the revision of partitioning, that nearer
Israel's resurrection on a foreign continent
than a neighbour's resurrected breath on the continent
concerned... leave unto Persia that book,
and unto Africa the judgement over Egypt...
but so your toying in global affairs is gluttonous in
sugars of hoped for sweeteners in applicability,
paying remnants of the economic enrichment i too remember,
20 to a room... 20 to a room... with baked beans soup
and white bread to send breadcrumbs home...
oh but my scottish compatriots haven't felt the full
**** of immigration, they haven't!*
why not talk of Kazimierz Prószyński
like you do concerning Auguste and Louis Lumière?
oh, i get it, ******* in the hood...
Europe is really foreign accepting the existence
of the once famed commonwealth,
as the present time, with the resurgence of
Israel, which can't be split equally, fathered
and equally brothered among the constituents
from the Baltic to the Black Sea...
from the median to the red...
best keep the sea lions bopping along with dear tourism
in the over-salted sea,
should the dead sea attract more sacrifice than the
touristy hill outside Jerusalem.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Booting Up with or with out you . . .
Retrieving my Life . . .
Relinquish Bad Sectors . . .
Formatting Hatred . . .
Partitioning Space and Time . . .
Installing New System . . .
Restarting System failures . . .
Loading my Pieces together. . .
Starting new Stupidity . . .
Waiting for another Connection . . .
Synchronize with another System. . .
Error Starting to Fail System . . .
SYSTEM INFECTED . . .
SYSTEM CORRUPTION . . .
. . .
THEN THE CYCLE REPEATS . . .
Until Found a SYSTEM Called...
L.O.V.E...
------------------------------------------
Norfhel V. Ramirez
February 21 2011 / 4:42PM
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
A clock
is not a thing
that shows us the passage of time;
a clock
is a primitive device that moves
at a fixed rate while time passes all around it.
Time
was drawn and quartered
by the clock. It used to be an endless horizon in all directions,
but it was violently
partitioned into a grid system
in order to make it easier for those with power
to control
those without power. Clocks are
perverse. Clocks are capitalism. Clocks
**** nature
without nature’s consent. We rightly complain
about the partitioning and deforestation of wild lands,
of the Amazon,
and yet we are not outraged
at the partitioning and deforestation of time. There is
a reason
why one feels out of sync
with the natural Earth. There is a reason why one
cannot sleep
through the night. There is
a reason why the years feel like they are
slipping away
from us. Time is not
sand in an hourglass. Nor is it an etching demarcating
the position
of a shadow cast by a cone. Nor is it
the rate at which an electrified quartz crystal oscillates.
Rather,
time moves at the speed
of experience. There is simply nothing more
to it:
A morning fog lifts.
A bird lands on a dying tree on the far side of a river.
A frog leaps from a rock and disappears with a quiet splash.
A child dozes off while reading.
The world becomes dark.
A white-hot meteor streaks across a frozen winter sky.
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
in the cohort of her hands, a disorder
lost dignity wrapped in the red of need
reckless and arrogant as lilies
an abundance of periphery
wavers at the sea-black hand
of hands of time of hands
rune stones
black granite spattered in stars
a slutter of language
of words of wombs
necrotic we burst
a pause of however
a narcosis of want
meander of limbs
siphoning brine-white tide
colorless-the disorder
marquis of white shadow
on seal slick waves
and the lilies,
petal outward
and in the silence
there were unknown weeks
where the flowers foundered
other bodies
there is a form in the garden
still as clay
we reddened our mouths
and still like clay
slant of a neck untattered
partitioning cerebral sea
arcing back on itself
there was a benign negligence
in the want-of flowers of lilies
vague signs of amplitude
pachyderm and small
in the grooves of lack
malnourished, contrite hands
flushed blooms of pink paper along
pink walls-flush seas of lack
vague symbols of wood and
purulent understanding a
nest of roots
dipping towards the alkaline sea
we didn’t even begin to understand
the range of mourning
becoming us
smooth white shells of elegant
weakened at the hock
distempered by the recent winters
foundering in the vacant space
between us
I mule you
through the tapestries of my desert
and am still, here
where I don’t belong
here I am spread as an excess
as an unfortunate truth
glossed by negligent hands
anxious, with the possible morning
indistinct dwindling winter
curling pink paper
along the walls of black sea
earth-tide
small weakened arrangement of groundcover
jostling in the ferns of truth
we measured the years in numerals
as with skin, ardent and ruddy
palpable lost youth
the rare wood of mistake
loosened from sleep
in the morning we resemble damaged objects
prized for obedience
at odd angles of deformation to time
in the body, a funeral
still warm
skin and stone a slender neck of atonement
for the absence of home
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
half empty coffee cups litter the desk
tools of various origin find their place
my bed lacks a duvet and matching skirt
a fish tank glows in the darkness
Each corner presents a new darkness
collared shirts line the floor
lined in such a way to form loose paths
you can still see the floor
but only through crumble ideas
and lost thoughts
The carpet wears thin where I pace
the blinds hardly dim the sun
the carpet lacks partitioning
Peace in a world of chaos.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Her muses are rather bazaar
From afar
To an Akbar they are
Saraswati’s sitar
For the river is vivid expressions of life
In a culture as distant
As discordant strife
When the songs are of mango trees
Sweet as can be
And her temples of riches
Are fertile and free
But still poverty seen
Inundating the banks
So much so in fact
That the monkey gods pray
Where the rhinos once drank
And I must bear witness to all the existence
Persistence resisting the suffering tone
For mine is so om that unknown is my home
But the homeless who roam like Dalits in the streets, still need places to sleep
And a harvest to reap
From the zamindar’s farm, could feed all of Uttar
Which is still so bazaar from afar to Akbar
That I wander the Thar as I wonder who are, All the bearers of Blue Star and Amritsar scars
Still polluting and looting
And shooting their brothers
And turning the tears of the Mother the Color
Of coal ash despair from unfair lady lovers
Still Partitioning them against one another
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
We are using the same words. We are saying the same things.
Mark it. The interchangeability of birds resilhouettes the sky.
One grey line drawn overview. A space.
Bare clap sky. You are puncturing yourself.
All that gas, you think. No matter. No matter.
You will be lighter eventually.
Not before the birds blaze, metric of ash and gust
partitioning a pomegranate sky.
You loved pomegranates once.
Now there’s fruit everywhere.
These little seeds stitched into the hemisphere,
the drive, your hand.
The birds have gone mad. They will not eat them.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
Trading dishes in sinks for less than it feels,
The fingers become too shriveled to bleed if cut.
Partitioning the mind into three distributions:
Voluntary hand- and motor-functions,
Involuntary goal-oriented guidance system,
And forty percent for the rest.
I take up smoking once more
To talk for fifteen minutes
With a sickly dweeb and serious nomad,
Saying nothing of our kicks,
But planning the weekend outloud For the sake of hearing the ambiance
Before the background
Becomes the out front.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
let's take a second to listen
written alphabetically
with a brand-new addition
spliffing delivering
heat, cat on a hot tin roof
sizzling, Messi, dribbling
spit ill sickening
guest visiting,
lend me your ear, listening
shimmering as he shines bright
twinkling, divide, partitioning
locked up, imprisoning
doodle, scribbling
SA drill
spicing with flavor
seasoning, using my head
thinking of reasons
to justify reasoning
for dazzling,
as we settle in
round 2 smurfed but
not blue, more a colored
hue, repping cape town
awe bru, wake up
disabling snooze
jesters you fools
visionary when I see
first from the back
they all lose
not a masquerade it's all true
deadline my times due
ask mew 2, pokemon
index, it's perplex
get ash too, over
a cuckoos nest birds flew
seeking asylum hes crazy
still frosty so cool
yu gi it's time to
dddd duel
this the part where spazz out
remove doubt, running circles
on tracks, roundabout,
roundhouse kick to chin and mouth
no handout, grind out
red hot
circular rounded
noise drowned out, not shouting for clout
cant recognize skill,
take this pill, it will break
the spell my tracks stackable
not saying this sarcastical
sarcastically or sarcastic
not applicable, resolve soluble
doubt dissolve i'm liquid cyanide
every track i **** surgeons
precision with a scalpel
so skilful, I sculpture
syllables in rhyme schemes
unseen to the naked ear
class dismissed school bell
so tell all its not all folks
not ****** toons no jokes
not ****** tunes, with lazy tones
I have lampoons, that ******
death squad platoon
you'll be history lying in ruins
surfing these dunes no fear
seeing things as the series turns
with unclear reasons I'm nuclear
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 9:43 AM UTC