"patented" poems
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park
combine shavings
in crack rust brown
scissors chips fall
at the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!)
give thanks
joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle in the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull on the seeds
wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
a blood rush churns
in the chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound
jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball parks empty
with pennants past
barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch
brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from the timber tops
3 wick candles
grace the dinner place
shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on the shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary
*This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.*
Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!
Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device
Beamed back and forth to The Cloud, you see
With mega-mega gigs of memory
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary is just the thing!
The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!
Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue
A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks
The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style
The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air
Designed in Germany, made in China
High-definition beads; there’s nothing finer
Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
And we’ll send you a second all for free
Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary – O make it sing!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
THE SAXOPHONE STORY
BY RAJ NANDY
The Saxophone is perhaps the most expressive
instrument next to the human voice.
Was made by Adolphe Sax, a Belgian, through
a deliberate choice!
He wanted to offset the tonal disparity, -
Between the string, wind, and brass instruments,
with musical clarity !
He felt that the strings ones were overpowered
by the wind instruments.
While the wind instruments got overblown by
the brass ones instead !
Now what would happen if the best qualities
of these three instruments types,
Could in a fusion blend and coalesces into a single
instrument type ?
So finally at the age of 20 years, in March Eighteen
Hundred and Thirty Four,
Adolphe Sax created a magical instrument for the
World to hear and adore!
It had the power of the brass, the flexibility of the
strings, and the woodwind’s variety and tone;
Which got christened after Adolphe Sax as the
SAXOPHONE !
Adolphe’s famous composer friend Hector Berlioz
in Paris City,
Gave this new instrument wide publicity!
In 1844 the Sax was presented in the Industrial
Exhibition at Paris;
And subsequently got patented on 20 March 1846.
It soon got adopted by the Bands of the French Army.
Making other instrument makers to become green
with envy!
The Sax was 80 years old when it became part of the
musical instruments of the Jazz Band.
A small bore mouth piece was created to suite the
varying tonal qualities required by Jazz.
Initially, 14 different sizes of Sax was created by
Adolphe.
Today only five types are in use for us to hear and
see;
The Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass and the Baritone
Saxophone.
They now form a part of our Jazz music's backbone!
- By Raj Nandy
FOOT NOTES :
Adolphe Sax (1814-1894) , son of famous musical instrument maker
Charles Joseph Sax of Belgium. Woodwind Instruments = Flute, Clarinet, Bassoon etc. Brass Instruments = Trumpet, Tuba, Cornet etc. String Instruments = Violin, Guitar, Harp, Banjo etc. The Saxophone today has become the very backbone of Jazz Music!
** ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY: - RAJ NANDY **
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
The oldest one has set the bar -
Brown eyes, brown hair, natural tan,
Teeth that look just the way teeth should with no aid from metal or NASA-patented plastics.
Kappa Alpha Theta, college homecoming queen,
Following in the footsteps of our parents,
To someday hand out bottles of pills with her God-given smile and white coat to match.
I know she's not perfect, but I like to pretend.
Then there's me.
Then the next youngest,
Long brown hair, massive brown eyes, pale skin with the occasional freckle.
Her awkward phase - back brace, teeth brace, allergies, inhaler, tall and gangly -
paid off in the best way.
She wears her high heels to high school and looks straight off the runway.
She wears her pointe shoes and unfolds like a plant growing in fast-motion.
She sits at the table and draws and eats nothing but carbs and still looks made of sticks.
She wants to be a cartoonist, people tell her to be a model, a ballerina,
Our mother insists she's far too brilliant.
Then the baby.
Thin blonde hair, blue-grey eyes with a ring on the outside, grey skin when she's tired.
As Dad says: the printer ran out of ink.
She's beautiful like the rest, of course, but
she's not finished yet, still learning that her peers are generally wrong.
She frets and worries, but she listens to the music I tell her to,
and her expensive pockets have less and less rhinestones.
I tell her not to hug me so much when I come home,
But it's fine. I'm proud of her.
Someday she'll stop screaming at our mother and realize what she has to look forward to.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:39 PM UTC
*In deep psychedelic trance
his companion painted
canvases that mix past,
present and future, factually
as quantum physics would vouch;
all of it co-exists, don't turn
a blind eye, it's not fair.
"There is more past here
that try to unseat future,
than the presence of present,
we would make reality sleep
won't believe in its patented lies,
we'd create a present,
in its fantasy, see the future"
The narrative is pictured as fallows:
The Cat and the Mouse
stopped their games,
they invented as a past time,
and also serious business.
Lucky prince befriended
a happy pauper.
The beauty beguiled
the friendly beast,
both eloped and
lived happily somewhere.
The bored king hugged
the leader of the coup
"I was dying
to abdicate at the earliest,
you were my last hope,
good riddance" he yawned,
sounding like cockerel.
He looked much relieved;
uneasy is the head
on which a crown sits
like a ****** politico
at the moment of election result.
The painter watching
what is going on said:
"Well, the colors I selected
this far, were all wrong.
Now, I am going to look twice
before I decide"
But when she worked
on her imagination
her manifesto was thrown out,
she was far more spontaneous
there is the rub.
Can't say, whether
the philosopher was pleased or not,
one can't definitely tell
he only smiled and hurried back to
catch the last bus he missed.*
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
A private party
Etudes
People around me
Vanity and beauty
From where I sat
A glow of hope
In an ashen sky
Abandoned arguments
Reviews and dismal news
Changing moods
Pauses for profanity
Shadows and reality
Simulacrums
Patented predictions
Solemnity and sorrow
Corpses for the coroner
Silence.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
NO matter what they say
the wheel will spin only one way.
Despite numerous patented attempts
I fail so I let it be
only for it to cut me.
*At this point it's a choice
to wake up the next day.*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
1744
The joy that has no stem no core,
Nor seed that we can sow,
Is edible to longing.
But ablative to show.
By fundamental palates
Those products are preferred
Impregnable to transit
And patented by pod.
2k
***perhaps if you are
one of the few
multiyear variates,
still here, still seeking
solutions
to the
equations of
human formulation,
one of the veterans of the
early word wars,
when the line between fellow poet
and human being was full of
invitational openings,
tween those dots and dashes,
we all eagerly entered those places,
crossing over into
those human openings,
making poets into friends***^
yes,
we were social for the humanity
patented in the very word
social
we encouraged,
we critiqued wearing a flag
made from the fine fabric of fellowship,
crossing global borders and time zones,
even planets,
with only a hand-made
poetry passport
constructed from the
tissues of our hearts
each one of us,
A Little Prince,
lost
from other worlds,
but all
found
ourselves together in a
hospitable desert
so strange,
we found companionship,
genuine in ways that
make me weep when I recall it,
so many aviators,
flying low, neath the radar screen,
speaking one language of a thousand dialects
the networking was spontaneous,
friendships formulated,
real hugs exchanged,
no ulterior purpose, no quantity of glory sought,
no favors traded,
there were friends,
not followers,
just sharers
we valued the first amendment of our lives,
the right to speak freely in poetry
***I wish you had been there,
here,
back then***
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
heart turned as heavy as metal
sinking down, it's an uncanny battle
stomach twisting, can you feel it contort?
someone once said that life's a contest of sorts
I've created stories patented for myself
yet they still belong to somebody else
I've found love in nooks and crannies
only for it to be ripped away potently
with confidence, I'll make my move
only to be checkmated with crude
I'll pack my belongings in a metal crater
my head's been submerged underwater
chlorine stains the tips of my hair
I close my eyes and she's not even there
the crowd thinks that they might know her
scream the chorus, play the player
when will you see that the glass's been shattered?
she's viewing herself through minuscule scatters
do you not see that her head's a mess?
she's losing the strive, won't be the best
history is repeating
can you feel the wind?
cold as ice
while she's paper-thin
they drag me out of the pool
unwillingly, I go
the men are worried
the women don't show
the poison burns like fuel and fire
life's a train, it's advancing forward
I imagine myself walking through compartments
everyone's now in a different department
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 1:43 PM UTC
Pain in the thighs
from the endless straddles
Pin ****** in the ribs
from a poorly made white willows dress
All are things much desired by a pudgy adolescent female
A garment of ill conceived freedom
An illusion
Of frolic in utopia
It was just a small gate way to the mud caked feet
And into the auto eclipses
Of stargazing zombies
Those still relied on vintage kaleidoscopes
All Full of cracks
See in her bleeding ignorance
the shores still remained open
Turquoise schooners unleashed
The tree tops were still aching to be claimed
Reincarnated as a paradise for attractive drifters
Not even the all mouth beasts
can contain her patented enthusiasm
The straw huts break for assembly
under a tiny hand
Too bad the cracks have been secured
The air was kept to boil
and stain the linoleum
Echoes of a puritan called to action
The streams soon hardened
to form plastic shelving
And the orange flowers collapse
to form packing materials
Onto the plastic shelving is were we placed the books
The books that know that freedom
is just copy right infringement
And life is a micromanaging instruction
Designed to make workers eat their own demise
Grid-less prosperity
cremated in the corner of a starter home
Only an anthropologic mistake
Meant to ward of a mass pandemic of sudden infant death syndrome
The pudgy filled girl,
The comedic car and the overproduced dress
They will learn the value of a hot meal and a good ********
The dreamers almost stole her away
in their patchwork parachute
But we sent her away to Universidad
And the world is her worthless cluster ****
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
my father was a
veterinarian
a lazy one at that
and when I was born
he simply stood by and
watched as my mother
circumcised me
with a carrot peeler
the trauma left its mark so to speak
mom and dad split up
when I was five
she ran off with the butcher's wife
he patented universal acid
a liquid that no container can hold
we don’t talk much these days
and the earth is slowly dissolving
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Some people call them toe-mae- tos.
They’re toe- mat -toes to other folk.
Monsanto has patented versions
that may poison us and leave us broke.
Their genetically modified brand
belongs neither on plates nor in cans.
Their health effects may include cancer
In some other countries they’re banned..
They are touted for being resistant
To herbicides, thus reducing toil-
But herbicide residue is persistent
How quickly it poisons the soil.
If farmers, each season, must purchase
Genetically modified seeds
Monsanto will corner the market
For supplying nutritional needs.
How many Monsanto execs
infiltrated the executive branch?
With so much political sway
Its no wonder that they get their way.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
i press the buttons, i carve out the map.
i water the flowers, i mix the soil.
the buttons don’t work, the map doesn’t show me the direction.
the flowers haven’t bloomed this season, the plant is still not humid.
we have becomes a voiceless society.
the most manpower and the most technology,
the loss of energy, creativity and spirit.
the voice has faded like a semi permanent tattoo etched in the previous edicts of time.
the stones of civilisation had been laid, but the water tests our depth.
the reef of originality used to tease us,
oxygen; a valuable life currency.
even more valuable than time.
because without it, you cannot experience time.
now it’s one foot in, and you’ve reached the depth.
shallow shadows, clear paths.
this machine patented clarity is a loss for all.
clarity that has brushed away the wild ways of tracing fingers across life’s board.
we have all the power in the world.
and yet, we do not have a voice anymore.
we have all the resources in the world.
and yet we do not have any purpose to use these resources.
life has becomes a dead garden,
where everything does bloom with fifteen fertilisers,
but what role do we assume,
when all we do is just manufacture them?
when will the sunrise and the sunsets
ever be human again?
what does it even mean to be human anymore?
does this poem even have its own voice,
in the galaxy of big data, machines and algorithmic nosebleeds?
that is for you, the reader to decide.
the poet’s job is over.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
1195
What we see we know somewhat
Be it but a little—
What we don’t surmise we do
Though it shows so fickle
I shall vote for Lands with Locks
Granted I can pick ’em—
Transport’s doubtful Dividend
Patented by Adam.
1.5k
All things bright
Carved straight paths
So that in them all might
Can't be unseen,
The Creator's patented light
The woods stood with their integrity
But bends and sways along the way
When He breathes life and serenity
Built a stairway for the rock bottom and astray
The grass and their blade
Forests and her glade
A sanctuary founded in shade
(Sunshine cried an uproar hue)
Will that cyclamen grow
Prepared a table where we sow
The Great Anduin flow
(Sunshine made it glow a golden fruit)
All things bright
Knit the barks in endless patterns
Consume our restlessness
A hundred prophets took shelter in Your caverns
Lead me into still waters,
And there me be confined
In Your pastures I am but a feeler
So I may be undone and defined
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
It was the second morning of “daylight savings time,” and the change was noticeable.
My BF Peter has a doctorate in applied physics, he's an expert, so I asked him, “How do they move the sun?”
He gave me one of his patented, blank looks, “What, who moves the sun?” He answered.
“Well, yes,” I said, “I suppose the “who” is important, but HOW do they move the sun? Peter can be dense sometimes.
“What are you TALKING about?” Peter asked, his head tilted in confusion.
I explained, “It’s daylight savings, ya? The sun is different, SO - how do they move the sun?”
“They don’t MOVE the sun,” he said, in a smug "I've got a PhD" way, “people set their clocks ahead an hour.”
I was stunned - Could it all be a cheap trick?
How, (I snorted in my mind) could they get everyone on earth to do THAT?
I didn’t argue, but I didn’t set my Apple Watch ahead or my laptop, or my desktop, or my iPad or Alexa - his “apotheosis” was obviously wrong.
He’s a new PhD, they just haven’t told him how they do it yet. I can wait. I patted his hand for support.
Peter also says that, out there in the “multiverse,” there may be an earth where I don’t have homework. First of all, isn’t it just like a guy to believe all of that “marvel comic” stuff?
“So, Superman’s real then?” I asked. He just lowered his head - burn: I had him there.
Secondly, can he get me/us to this planet “No homework?” NO.
Applied physics may very well be useless.
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 10:34 PM UTC
*Your kiss
stirred
my dull
roots,
brought a
a sheen
all over my
being;
see it clearly
in my eyes
that borrowed
two stars
from some
love struck
galaxy
I'll be known
widely
as your
"haloed lover"
hereafter.
*
*
*
your saliva
tasted like
fine wine,
fermented
moonbeams
added with
rainbow
just enough for fizz
'patented
just for one'
I heard the whisper
of your eyes.
I'll tightly wrap
my arms around you
to keep
the formula a secret,
strictly between us.
I am still
in intoxication
after all these
cycles of lives*
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Scaffolded, encased in mortar
Propping up bricks of self esteem
Doubt had set in. Crumbling top
Layers absorbed....did they notice?
Felt but.....did they see it?
Who are "they"? Seemingly
Important and high ranking
Well....on a scale of 1-10 "they"
Pushed the 100 button golloped
Up all you can eat buffet.
Sit tight on your swing swaying to miss
Their broken sentences to avoid choking
In the solid efforts to snap your
Backbone, your spine tingling 'sit in'
Scares the beige from its safe spot
Red rioting around alerting the bull
Standing in the corner field, far left
Of your vantage point. Scraping hooves
Kicked up a stink large enough to have
You believing "they" hold all the cards
You trodden underfoot bilging cement
Running through your veins.
"They" didnt just see it
"They" designed, patented and claimed
The rights to "You"....
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
So, a crooked smile led to one shy hello.
The
Hello met Hi.
Scuffed shoes nudges patented heels;
whilst fingertips whisper their balmy warmness into one another.
Witty, sweet nothings filled the little empty spaces from his lips to hers.
Which may have led to coffee with a raised eyebrow and crimson cheeks.
Two plates of risotto
&
4 forks
eventually
replaced
by
1 plate of strawberry cheesecake
&
2 dessert forks.
Then,
I fell met in love.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Weaving itself, the dream-spider:
I see an aged man
(Wearing his evening time-machined body,)
Walking,
Traipsing upon the jogging track
At a pace which nature observes.
His frame battered,
Pummeled by age's indignation—
Of youth's battle lost.
His mowed grass-like hair showcasing
a white hue patented by age's theme of perseverance.
Beholden to years which he beheld.
His suspenders holding matter elegantly
Despite the invisible mass adhered to his layers
Excreted by years matured;
Increasing his gravity
Making him denser, heavier;
Decreeing excess energy.
Yet he obliges with his compromised gait
in reiterating verbs of motion.
Taking twice as much time to complete a revolution,
Taking twice as much
As his yesteryears.
In a witness's capacity, I relay:
Everything is a disciple of change,
But your energy...
Your energy remains as the constant
to the proportionality of age and will.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:33 AM UTC
GRAMPA THE SOFT BALL PLAYER
………by Jerry Howarth
5/26/16
Grampa is a legend in the softball world
He was voted into the Softball Hall of Fame
When ever Grampa was scheduled to pitch
It broke the attendance record every game.
Grampa was a fast ball pitcher
For the Perry Baptist church team.
He was having fun, just messing around,
But with every game Grampa picked up steam.
He began to experiment releasing the ball,
making it curve left & right, drop and rise,
He even learned to make a slow pitch,
Making it difficult for the batter’s eyes
Grampa had a favorite trick he loved to play The crowd thought it was super great!
The ball started out fast then changed slow
“How slow did it get Grampa?” “So slow
the batter swung three times before it crossed the plate.
Well Grampa’s pitching became so well known
The major leagues began competing with many others,
Offering Grampa Millions of dollars.
Grampa developed a fast ball so fast that…
“How fast was it, Grampa Parson?”
It was so fast it was beyond measur’n.
Now Grampa had what he called his
Roller coaster pitch that no one could ever hit
It was such a crazy pitch, he had it patented
So no one else could copy and use it
Grampa was now playing on a professional team, making over a million bucks a year,
His agent made a deal for $20,000 a game
Every time he pitched a no hitter
Every game he played was a no hitter,
Thanks to his patented pitch
At $20,000.00 a game
Grampa was getting really, really rich!
But back to Grama’s special pitch,
It was greatly irritating to every batter
They were determined to knock that ball
Right down Gramp’s kooka-defrater
Hear the crowd yelling, whistling, and clapping
Coming up to bat is the world home run king!
Here it comes, that, fast, slow pitch
The home run king gives three mighty swings.
Three strikes an yer out, the rules of the game
It’s the first time in the history of soft ball fast pitch, that a batter strikes out on
just one pitch
This poem cannot end without a mention
About Grampa batting power
That’s right, Grampa hit a ball so hard,
It sailed about a thousand miles or so
It broke out a window in the Trump Tower.
YEAH It did! And broke Donald’s favorite champagne drinking glass.
Well this is enough humble bragging about
When Grampa G. E. Parson was a Grandson
And I hope the reading of this poem
Was a lot of fun !
-Grampa G.E. Parson
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:50 PM UTC
I am so sick that I feel
I am so sick that I hear
I am so sick that I smell
Sick of the patented experience
I am so insane I can read books
I am so insane I can converse
I am so insane I can see
Insane because of pseudoscience
I am mentally ill because of what I hear
I am mentally ill because of what I write
I am mentally ill because of what I see
Mentally ill because of segregation & isolation
I am mad because of audio software
I am mad because of video software
I am mad because of editing software
Mad because of channels & mixers in a studio
We are sane because of witnesses
We are sane because of kindness
We are sane because of love
Sane because of strangers
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 6:58 PM UTC
I told you the ticking madness was enough to turn it into a panic race, so detached from all that we are made of, we become nothing we are made from. Now ingesting genetically assembled seeds - that don’t deserve the name seed at all. For seed is life, she belongs to mother earth, not a synthetic corporate beast.
A patented man made pill that sprouts an idea of life, a deception, that when ingested in it’s varied shelved forms and assimilated, draws us further and further away from nature, and our nature, and man, now part robotic manifestation through assimilation alone.
And they come with their chains and capitalist whips to break the backs of the earth reapers and sowers who fed yesterday, who fed their fathers, chaining them into a prison unbreakable, suffocating beneath a system controlled by paper. But surely man, his free thought, seed and crop, is more valuable than paper slavery?
And our brother labours in pain, all but to produce a good, or a bad that the unsuspecting haggles for, all because their growing inner robot has a dogmatic pining to be more than nature itself. He seeks supernatural, he seeks fame and status, and to be a god, but that “god” has no concept of the cosmos he was set forth to know, to praise and to be praised by, so instead he worships artificial idols.
And the fight continues. And the madness ticks on, debilitating the organic ones; seed robbery after seed robbery, crop seize and acquisition after policy, after policy, after tariff after bill and there is no bailout. It’s all woven into a web of intricacies, leaving no room for natural, no room for humble.
Then they say the meek shall inherit the earth, and I wonder when, and by question alone I am reminded of the ticking madness. I am reminded that natural, never questions time.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC