"proportionality" poems
Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.
The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.
Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.
Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.
The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.
Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.
From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC
Is a pleasing proportionality
Is imprecisely harmonious
Is before and after in time
Is the friendship of lovers
Is the mirror of reflection
Is a patterned similarity
Is an agreeable balance
Is two sides of one coin
Is a dyadic relationship
Is the love of friends
Is a perfect couple
Is you and me
Is us.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:41 AM UTC
the limit of proportionality
is the is the point beyond which Hooke's law is no longer true
where the material you are stretching
becomes permanently stretched
so that the material does not return to its
original shape
and i guess people are like that too
you can only stretch for so long
until you reach a point where you break
physically.
emotionally.
psychologically.
Broken
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:03 PM 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
let out into some miniscule town
by someone else's proportionality,
here is always smaller than somewhere
bigger. there are always more people
somewhere else. there are less people
hiding, like me. and i'm left convinced
still, no matter the permanence of what
i'd say or you'd feel, you'll find someone
new and better, or old and more
familiar (this keeps happening,
the same patterns repeat, the inside
of my head reels). so, don't bother
assuaging my fears. somehow,
by this point, they are mostly what
compose me. i'll fall apart with or
without them. with or without you.
it all hurts.
and i can't keep it together.
not today. i burnt my self-esteem, by
my own spark. everything tore me
apart. a jigsaw puzzle, returned to pieces.
but i don't fit: not into anyone's plan.
not into any social hierarchy. not
into my own palm. i'll let you cut off
chunks of me, let you cram me into
where you think i should fit. sure.
but you might not allay my definitions.
i'm sorry.
spelt out s-a-d, i'll collapse into the
same heap. you can make me happy
for a day (or four years). sure.
(but it's no good, if i still hate me.)
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Impulsive drones, these machos you have flimflammed,
Wolfing your proportionality like a **** brewed nectar of grapes,
When flimsy limb frills no more interweave, expertise reprogrammed,
Are you the lone from infinite frames murmuring, “once more, he escapes”?
Indignation ******* broadcasted, ferocity wrought into the fiber,
Prior, where narcissistic pathway architecture once lodged aloft,
Calloused acknowledgement of her duffel, abrupt pang, necessity for a prescriber,
My mettle is feeble of the soap opera, hanging one’s topper in my breath, I coughed,
The cauldron perpetually gurgling with spume, mingling itself,
Gyrating with giddiness as if my noggin was a top trinket,
No dust crumbs in any bustle ever jubilated atop my pit-a-patting instrument’s
Masses are anticipating for my enveloping blanket,
I perhaps beam till the cattle wham the timepiece, though seldom do I chuckle,
Shall journey with the ensuing waft, no comma for a buckle.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
The ineffaceable stain
Allegorical refrain
Dictates the wily antidotes for a newfound sane
They hector from a distance
Muted but militant resistance
magical hobgoblins the lifeblood of their persistence
Heterodoxy enters the stage
Cognizant of ignominy, a potent repressed rage
Succor sought, corporate media bought
A pyrrhic limelight is certainly not what was sought
I defer to dignified exemplars
I confer with callous company at vapid bars
Concluding thereby the inverse proportionality of authenticity to success
The articulations of divinity imply rigidity
sweltering soul burgeoning with light sweating an evanescent humidity
If blind before, partial and total sight reconstitute the core
omnipresent paparazzi deplores
Past pities insuperable even with pithy witty
Future pieties irrelevant to ineradicable ignominy and purported dignity
Cupid and cupidity must be related
because gold-diggers alerted to my fair share would be elated
Begrudged at every tick, tantalized by a slow torture lurid flit
I cast my ambitions into the fathomless depths
I amass provisions for a restive hibernation, enduring schlep
Redemptive powers yet articulated
Should ease the prospects of being matriculated
But is cloistered suffering an inexcusable plight
When the deep coffers derelict a modest gesture of making grievous inequities once again right?
Must I swim to distant shores
Past the barnacles beneath and the urchins on submerged sand, very sore
Landmines at the beach, pantomimes and their garbled preach
Past scattershot invective fortified by intransigent misers of conscience, the balmy resort out of reach.
Bleak bleats, meek feats, good eats
I think it is about time for a tyrannical psychology to let me off the incapacitating leash, letting me focus on actions rather than on incomprehensible speech
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
One Son of God kills
another Son of God,
and the bombs explode inside of the Blog.
Let me tell you people
I can feel it in my groin,
there are strange goings on
wherever there is coin.
We're ringing in freedom
says the fighting man---
Mr/Mrs/Ms politician gonna put you in a can,
immerse you in boiling water,
till you look like boiled ham.
Mr/Mrs/Ms soldier person you better go to bed
and wake up in the morning
with a hole in your head.
Mr/Mrs/Ms preacher person babbling the lies of your "god",
it doesn't even have the morals of a dog,
instead of living life with a smile and a song,
your gonna end up roasted
at the end of a prong.
Mr/Mrs/Ms oligarch with blood soaked hands,
selling off the world for filthy demands,
youre going to the gallows wrapped in iron bands.
We're ringing in freedom says the fighting man/woman
gonna **** all of those who don't conform to our "gods"
vain and bloodthirsty edicts and commands,
or our politically filthy evil plans.
Equivalency in EVIL..
Proportionality in deaths?
Like scoring in a sports match?.
I wish EVERY military person of whatever country
were whisked off and whisked into a ****** froth
and emptied down the drains
into the sewers where they really belong.
Thou shalt NOT **** under any circumstances.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
I easily confuse your ****** shrapnel with beauty.
When hearing the symmetry in the voice of gods.
That sweet balance of indirect proportionality.
Like sloshing foam trapped in an equilateral cradle.
Your lies always calming me into the ease of this chaos.
All these nights spent in this parking lot.
(You’d don’t know: I’ve been here before)
But now having tasted it, I can’t comprehend how to push back the veil.
And finally getting what I asked for, I can’t take the weight.
This reality sends me begging.
Cowaring in the corner.
Choking on all the variables.
Reneging for my well-worn cross.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
( Mathematics was easy ) x2
When we used to spell it maths
Till it was limited to addition and subtraction
Instead of calculus and integration
when there’s algebra and equation
Yes it was easy
When ‘’ ! ‘’ was just exclamation mark
‘e’ was just an alphabetic art
Till sin, cos and tan were
Homophones of sign , cosh , ten
Confusions didn’t arise at that age
When
Gauss , Pythagoras and Simpson photo;
pasted on General knowledge (book)
It arised when their creation were hard to acknowledge
It was easy
When circle was just a ring
No formula and any mugging
When ‘c’ was nither arbitrary nor proportionality
CONSTANT
When relation was just connection
Function was just operation
No hypothesis and theorems
Mathematics was easy !
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
In physics today,
we learnt about
the Limit of
Proportionality.
Beyond that point
something stretched
remains like that.
Stretched.
I think my
heart
has finally reached
those coordinates.
Its scarred
permanently.
Beyond repair.
Sure
I fix it
with glue and love,
I fix it.
And each time it
falls,
It breaks again.
Its naïve. It's young.
It's broken.
Its more pain than love.
Somedays it just
stops working.
It gives up.
But my heart
has learned to
fight.
It's got a shield
of indifference.
A chainmail of hate.
It's iron and stone.
But its caged
that way
Can't live that way.
So I let it be.
I let it go.
Some days, it doesnt
belong to me.
But it comes back
eventually.
Because my heart love me the most.
Love is Temporary, kid.
Forever doesnt exist.
__________________
The skies have opened up tonight.
Its raining.
Finally somebody understands.
my heart cries with the clouds
And Ive finally run out of glue.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Iran hit the Saudis,
Or so they say,
What’s that got to do with us
Anyway?
Why should we be the ones
To make ‘em pay?
When Saudiis care less
About the Houthis they slay
The war in Yemen
Isn’t justified
Countless civilians
Have already died
So why did we take
The Saudi’s side?
And how come proportionality
Hasn’t been applied
The Saudis pay cash,
Or so, the President said,
While in their Turkish embassy
The reporter laid dead
The Prince didn’t order it
From all I’ve read
So if not the Prince
Then who instead?
Since when do the Saudis
Tell us what to do?
See I don’t have the answer
Neither do you
Yet the President responds
To them, as if on cue
Leaving us with the question
Who the hell knew?
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC