"pivot" poems
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.
In a pit of a rock
The sea ***** obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
21.3k
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! -- The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks ----
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
Hauls me through air ----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
White
Godiva, I unpeel ----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.
16.6k
i've moved past my belief
in the Christian trinity...
for me...
the meditation stands
on the pivot of
the following translation
the hexagon,
start of david -
which translates
as the Holy Ghost -
which denotes
a congregation...
the pentagon?
of the befitting analogy
to the five senses...
the "son of man" -
or simply...
the myopia of man
having to excavate
the sixth sense
using telescopes,
microscopes, the like...
and, finally?
on a hand of five extensions,
there are four...
the square...
Y H
⠁⠑ read clockwise
like English traffic
H W on a roundabout.
which? denotes the father...
if the Hebrews "think" they
can hide their vowels?
the Latin answer is...
to interpolate Braille into
their language...
and Emperor Nero would have
appreciated it...
whether with, or without
the Byzantine propaganda machinery
of the nevus testamentum...
and it wasn't a propagandist
piece?
how much longer did the eastern
Empire, outlive the Western
empire, when the onslaught
by the Ottoman's reached
Constantinople?!
the Greek were craving
a cultural revival!
they believed the Romans
to have origins in Troy!
they plaid the weakest cultural
card of Judaism,
revamping it into Christianity...
hell... that's what i believe...
and i'm not about to meet
a Jehovah's Witness propagandist,
or some aged Pakistani
citing the Quran on a park
bench...
or some Scientologist
on Oxford St. with his wacky
machine...
or some pseudo Hare Krishna
monk with a book about
some guru, pushing it like
marijuana...
to change my mind on what
i'm digesting!
plus?
⠽ ⠓
Æ ( read anti-clockwise)
⠓ ⠺
fits in perfectly into the Adam
and Eve narrative -
as with all mythology -
given the extent of time...
nuance, metaphor...
abbreviation...
ars poetica!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
1.
Nymphomaniac-addicts,
Overweight bisexual vegetarians
Climbing trees to stay fit
and eating 80’s fried chicken *******
2.
just imagine
Aquarians full of class valedictorians
Swimming on display for graduation ceremony…
reverse-symbolism of how Moolch drowned His *****
3.
Better yet, just imagine
Holy wars,
Beautiful words written to describe the burning pains
Of holocaust...the Kristallnacht nights
Under the mistletoe,
Watching Hall of fame ball hawks on pivot toes
Driving through hoes
After the whistle blows
4
College Literacy classes teaching basic:
Ideas that good questions leads to good answers,
Reading reminders
Free association conceptual constructions
5.
But ************ professor:
free association **** shticks
misfires, false alarms
are all art, too,
Like sticking a dagger into an apple,
Not the edible, but the technology.
6.
Go head, deconstruct the philosophy
Of oral cute-tification,
according to the Tautology of Leviticus,
With the same three half truths, pogroms
against biological deviant... FLAGS!
7.
Cryptic gospels of a ************
Where three F.F.F’s
Stands for six six six
Like how 1mg of juxtaposition
And a dose of metamorphosis
is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon
‘cause even the Holy Ghost
drinks from the cup of Christ’s blood.
8.
Reading,
Self-flagellation gospel-manual of Pope John Paul II,
At shrink sessions under the daze of heron Piper methysticum blunts
With sweet phat butts like lit lickerish that droop eyes
Like the psalm of Valeriana officinalis root extract.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
Do you hate the way
that our magnetized times
turn us all to metal shavings--
push and pull--charged each
day to fill up negative space
with negative attraction?
Were you repulsed when polarities
changed?
Or was that me?
Flipping switches
switching sides
siding
with pivot points showing, caught
with pants down?
"Be a man now!"
While the female end
of the port calls out,
"Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
All men down!"
Count me out at minus 4
it leaves a balance: minus 3
At minus 10, our blood could freeze
and fall back earthward; blood red snow.
Caught on the tongue it tastes like pennies.
Tastes just like
the metal shavings
we become
in magnetized times.
Polarized
and "Family Sized." Underpaid
Overfed. Neutralized America.
Greatest country in the ******* world.
Right?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
A pivot, A ****** A watershed
Been miserably waiting for dawn in my head
Then the day came
A day my mismatch soul and body met
I fed on your words and voices
Wolf down everything from you and store them up
Taking mental snapshot in the dark
And prepare myself for yet another brutal week
I fed on tasty food and a good mood
Treat myself with something tangible
Glutton is never a sin for me
I fed on fantasies.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
I'm caught in the middle,
Of someone else's game.
Twisted as hell,
I stay the same.
Try as I might,
There is no reward.
No lover to hold,
No future to look toward.
How long can I last,
In this diseased state?
How long can I pivot,
And avoid my fate?
The road will end
With an unfulfilled dream.
A man torn asunder
By his self-esteem.
Tears will be wept,
But nothing will be lost.
For I am an empty vessel,
Battered and tossed.
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 12:00 PM UTC
today i tried to catch a feather that was drifting in the wind
so fine, so light, so delicate and grey as hell.
i clawed at it in a bid to catch the poor thing
yet the more i tried, the further away it flew.
i questioned myself over why i wanted to catch it in my hand,
and i realised i desperately needed something tangible to hold on to.
something; anything.
anything that i could pin all my hopes and dreams on.
i was too forceful in keeping you close to me,
to let you be the pivot of my existence.
yet the feather finally taught me today,
that i should let you go, and let you drift with the wind
and let it bring you where you will eventually stay.
maybe you will find a heart that will be your home one day.
until judgement day: drift, soar, fly!
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Pi, at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur,
meets a human being—who holds a mirror!
Until now, the number, knowing only sway,
has been lost in discovery’s polished way.
No more: it begins—on a human—in front of its eye.
Patterns and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height,
only to bag the ultimate truth:
Fathima—the first spiritual woman—mooned there first!
Fathima steps forward where nature falls behind,
across the dead end, the irrational chasm she strides.
For the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is but a drop;
the rope to the top is the lead—the feminine Fathima’s lock!
Raw Fathima moves; in shadow, nature follows,
clustering atoms span between the two,
only to witness her encrypted, secured fashion—
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning,
in Makkah and Medina, while she lived.
The red fairies at midday’s spot-on,
the black swans arching rainbows in wonder—
marvel how Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros’ dream of ascension,
potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendos,
between past and future, here and hereafter—a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow—
nothing like it exists, in plain sight or the world in toto!
Rainbows shaded in, sparking out,
the scent of roses in her veiled black hair:
the cosmos anew glinting off her edge,
deeper quintessence than dark matter!
The blueprint, the intelligent pre-design, rests in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent—hidden in her eyes.
Yet beyond the masses’ gaze,
she remains Zahra—light upon the original way.
Truly, only one feminine form has reached across
the other end of the cosmos' endless highway,
zooming past nature’s hidden gems—the irrational Pi,
the complex chasm—a mathematical goldmine.
Beyond the masses’ eyes and their painted canvases,
shine the daylight and the glowing fireflies of the night.
Viva Mankind! Fathima is the Moon at the highest high!
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 11:53 PM UTC
it is one desire
I have kept away
it is there behind Revenge
a jealous sister
she is there
her hair black as vanilla
eyes cold and numb
she taunts and pulls
to reveal
the flickering
foresight
of what is capable
what is expected
center stage
she quivers
“Revenge is a thought”
“Revenge is a coward”
“let me act”
“perform”
******
She pulls
******
She yanks
pulling at the very
thread of desire
her sound is dark
yet sweet
a howl
screaming for embrace
a performance
rhythmically polished
with saber and dagger
tip toe and pivot
she performs
the act
the act of
revenge
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
I know a bit about
*learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching*
but...
I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen
despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands
I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride
devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession
but I already know
what he’s saying
*stop dancing like that
in front of our son*
you mean…
to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?
one day that boy
will be a man
who knows
better
than to ever
call a goddess
a ***** in the kitchen
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
Everyone is fighting a duel with life
Debating with it has its merits
We may arrive at a conclusion
To a point of agreement
Where we can live next to each other
With harmony and bonhomie
Life may tilt towards you
Or, away from you
But you are the pivot
To make it balance
Good wishes sail us through
Let’s us pass through tribulations
Challenges are softened
With the soft embrace of wishes
Family, friends and acquaintances
Spurn not anytime
When someone sends wishes
We cannot have enough
In our life
The best wishes of our well-wishers
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
_Acceptance that in this life
Blood and sinew define me
And yet my mind can fly,
Doesn’t come easily.
To find the pivot point,
The sweet spot where form and fancy
Co-exist in perfect balance,
Eludes me most of the time.
To lose myself in the dreck of daily life dulls my spirit;
To reject the limitations of my reality
Leaves me stranded in the in between spaces
Where discontent, longing and self-doubt flourish.
Engaging in this power struggle
Between my earth and my ether
Leads me to gainsay one half of my whole,
Either or, vice versa, within or without.
To find a ***** in my own armour,
To prise open the gap,
To embrace the paradox which is this person named “I”,
And walk the tightrope with panache...aha!_
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
If I were to pick such dreams from my mind
And throw them to the floor
I wonder as much as wonders go
What would creep out
Would I see that inside seeps with summer days
And morning picnics
Kisses at an elderly age and grand-kids
What would creep out
Would I see living people once thought dead
Would reality pivot at its side
Causing me to go against gravity's pull
What would creep out
Would I find tears flowing out
Ones not known to me, but mine nonetheless
Whether from happiness, sadness, or a mixture of raindrops
What would creep out
Or would I find me walking tall
Not me, but a better me
Taking a breath and breathing in better days
What would I find in a cracked dream
?
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
The mind bends
While experiencing
The ethereal
Moving away
From the pivot
Of earlier beliefs
Mending the chasm
To create
A link between
The known and
Unknown
Unable to
Distinguish between
The real and surreal
Painting the world
With alien colors
Painting silhouettes
And finally
Giving them clarity
In the world
Of ethereal
Bending away
You swerve to
A different world
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
*I'm balancing the seesaw rhythm of the sun against the moon
Swooning in circles- my vice to your versa
Dropping the dice
Hoping these verses are keeping you warm when my hands cannot
Knotting underwater thirst taking aim at a sea salt sprinkled sky
Kaleidoscopes revolving in my eyes
Complimenting stars who have never blushed so bright
I’m sorry
It’s been a long time since I’ve been down this road
I’m looking for the letter that comes after ‘T’
I remember finding her
Where it rained rose petals
Rose pedals, from sunrise till sunsleep
Where every morning began like taking my first breath of real air
Like an overload of senses
Ego waiving defenses
So dizzy till your dancing
There are places where romance is like science and religion combined
How serotonin can spill from your mouth and into mine
And returning the favor gets wrapped in your thighs tied tightly
Where an epoch of yin meets an eternity of yang
Where the seesaw pivot meets rose petal rain*
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
Round and round and round I whirl
I exist to pirouette, to twirl.
A sea of jewels at my feet shimmer,
They twinkle, glisten, shine and glimmer.
A rich array of cherished treasure,
Of value far too great to measure.
I hear the music as I turn…
The only tune I’ll ever learn.
My pose is ever full of grace,
A smile is fixed upon my face.
My hair is twisted into a perfect pleat
My ballet points laced on my feet.
My pink tutu stands out starched and straight,
As I mechanically revolve, rotate.
My spinning trajectory gently slows
My jolting pivot draws to a close.
And I’ll stand stock still until rewound
To again start swirling round and round.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC
The Saturday night crowd, all here to see Dave Van Ronk,
sit huddled in the fashion of Antwerp diamond cutters,
sipping cinnamon/marshmallow coffee at the tables.
Caffe Lena is Saratoga's happening place in the 60's and
we're here to forget the war and civil strife in the ghettos.
Sister Mary Katherine, sans frock, is the warmup act,
but no one really gives her any mind,
as she struggles to seat herself upon the stool
intended for the six-foot plus Van Ronk.
Joan Baez prepare to eat your heart out!
Without so much as introduction, she
breaks into a high soprano Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.
Heads pivot like synchronized swimmers toward the stage.
Her silken voice emits notes blinking
into reality from quantum fluctuations in space/time.
Every quivering high-C grafts the audience together.
She's spinning veils of sound,
the like of which our ears are unfamiliar.
The quavers in her throat match the tremors in my coffee.
In the back of the cafe a drunken Van Ronk passes out.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 8:49 PM UTC
Step outside of yourself.
Step outside of your routines, your safe circle of friends.
Step outside of your memories, beliefs and prejudices.
Awaken to a fresh perspective on the world,
A more visceral sense of its ebb and flow,
A new view of its entangled web.
Where are you? Who are you?
Examine your life as art, judge as for a crime.
And into your verdict pierce a pivot,
Auspicating a diasporal pilgrimage
Towards the re-introduction of fortune,
Spontaneity, serendipity and surprise.
Rebel against Lady Luck’s long-laid path,
Sedate her inexorable chain reactions
And embark instead upon personal ventures.
Live a life where every moment is
More than just a precursor for the next.
And in crushing your expectations,
Welcome the unexpected.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:32 AM UTC
He walks around
his mind
a hamster wheel
turning on the same
pivot of thought
His life is monotonous
and it grieves
him deeply
So he talks
and spouts
the same tired verses
and tries to
make amends of his
terrible life
by means of
dealing derision
But try as he may
his words will always
be as sharp
as a month old
regularly used
razor blade.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
Like (Chinese) brush strokes I shall find the point on which I’ll pivot turn
Differentials woven in as bristles spin
Ink across the surface although it appears as a two-dimensional space
It seeps further through capillaries reaching depths
Often forgotten
The infinite dimensions within the page
Made possible by the grace of a hand
Devoid of any fate
save the fate of ink is to be writ
the fate of paper is to be written on
save the fate of ink and paper are in
subjective hands
And now a bond emerges from this pair
In a dreamlike movement fact has come
To act and bind as brush binds ink and paper
Fiber Flesh Fluid Foam
A single stroke of inspiration turn
Inward and ‘round the perimeter
Of the page there sits an image of me
(Chinese) Character
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
and who's to stop me?
management
have managed
their time productively.
shudder to think
they'd begrudge a
subordinate the time
to blast their feelings
off the clock.
leaning over window panes
that lack
balconies to catch
their workers.
my 1-1s have started and ended
with a heart in my mouth
making it harder for the words
'i quit' to get out.
can i just pivot off of can i just piggyback can we just swivel can i put a pin in you and sew up the wounded look that face carries to the coffee machine every lunch Oskar take some sick leave or just leave at this point we haven't identified your fit and our culture of inclusion excludes delays in action i just don't understand how personal problems seep into the workplace what its been five months which is half the time you were with him can't it
just be let go?
just let me go
you're being let go
i want to let go.
~ HR will be in touch. ~
Aug 19, 2022
Aug 19, 2022 at 5:52 AM UTC
Decipher the bowels
that slushes out through my imagination
Crystals and xylophone chimes
Pouring out the ink wells of sensation
Don't pivot pickets to my position
I can't stalemate this war for expansion
For my tongue is a swollen pickle
Dipped in bitterness
and ****** by the lips of semantics
I groove in the basses of basics
and grow a garden for further foundation
For my tongue is a swollen pickle
And boy is it's perfume amazing
I mean
Can you smell the awkward amps?
Pumping veins with Crayola visions
or a Chaplin transcript with deadpan humor
Are you experienced enough for social division?
My tongue is a swollen pickle
Say whatever the hell I wanna say
Crunch me when you digest this sour thought
For the reign of excitement's here to stay
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC