"proposer" poems
Nikola Tesla
respected physicist
Thomas Edison’s
dubious nemesis.
Electricity
was his toil
was famous for
his Tesla Coil.
Radical dreamer
of free power
J.P. Morgan
made things sour.
Lovingly
nature’s servant
proposer of
alternating current.
Humble inventor
that transformed homes
famously stated
he loved all tomes.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Famed to have brought light into being, but
dark, dark you are my friend, passing
through me effortlessly, though I know
there is an interaction: week, very week.
Deep there buried somewhere in my soul
was a throb heard, when every miracle
that forms the chain of my life surfaces:
and I've been searching for you. I thought
you were beyond oceans, where sky meets,
until my ship turned around at the horizon;
I looked for you in the womb of terran vaults
and then in the planets and the stars,
and you have been collapsing fields and
manifesting timelines so I proposer, meanwhile.
You are not what I worshipped in image and
then smashed it and sought in formless word.
Every time I grasp you, you vanish, retreat,
bubble-being, who knows what exists beyond
this expanse we inhabit, these membranes
and curled up manifolds, where in the knots
I'm still searching; But before even this unfolds
in full, I discover, it is all dark, darkness
that holds these tiny galaxies of light in its
densest folds; Magicienne, wave your wand,
let us know beyond the dark and the illuminated,
let us in, into the secret chamber of kinship.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
Golden threads twists in knots wrapped into one with you
They run from top to tip
A scared danger of wealth
A proposer life of endless riches
Riches that only bring eyes to the out
The feelings are bought
Wine is bought of delicacy
Love is bought like disease
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Que je sois un fou, qu'on le dise,
Je trouve ça tout naturel,
Ayant eu ma part de bêtise
Et commis plus d'une sottise,
Depuis que je suis... temporel.
Je suis un fou, quel avantage,
Madame ! un fou, songez-y bien,
Peut crier... se tromper d'étage,
Vous proposer... le mariage,
On ne lui dira jamais rien,
C'est un fou ; mais lui peut tout dire,
Lâcher parfois un terme vil,
Dans ce cas le mieux c'est d'en rire,
Se fâcher serait du délire,
À quoi cela servirait-il ?
C'est un fou. Si c'est un bonhomme
Laissant les gens à leurs métiers,
Peu contrariant, calme... en somme,
Distinguant un nez d'une pomme,
On lui pardonne volontiers.
Donc, je suis fou, je le révèle.
Nous l'avons, Madame, en dormant,
Comme dit l'autre, échappé belle ;
J'aime mieux être un sans cervelle
Que d'être un sage, assurément.
Songez donc ! si j'étais un sage,
Je fuirais les joyeux dîners ;
Je n'oserais voir ton corsage ;
J'aurais un triste et long visage
Et des lunettes sur le nez ;
Mais, je ne suis qu'un fou, je danse,
Je tambourine avec mes doigts
Sur la vitre de l'existence.
Qu'on excuse mon insistance,
C'est un fou qu'il faut que je sois !
C'est trop fort, me dit tout le monde,
Qu'est-ce que vous nous chantez là ?
Pourquoi donc, partout à la ronde,
À la brune comme à la blonde,
Parler de la sorte ? - Ah ! voilà !
Je vais même plus **** personne
Ne pourra jamais me guérir,
Ni la sagesse qui sermonne,
Ni le bon Dieu, ni la Sorbonne,
Et c'est fou que je veux mourir.
C'est fou que je mourrai du reste,
Mais oui, Madame, j'en suis sûr,
Et d'abord... de ton moindre geste,
Fou... de ton passage céleste
Qui laisse un parfum de fruit mûr,
De ton allure alerte et franche,
Oui, fou d'amour, oui, fou d'amour,
Fou de ton sacré... coup de hanche,
Qui vous fiche au cœur la peur... blanche,
Mieux... qu'un roulement de tambour ;
Fou de ton petit pied qui vole
Et que je suivrais n'importe où,
Je veux dire... au Ciel ;... ma parole !
J'admire qu'on ne soit pas folle,
Je plains celui qui n'est pas fou.
714
Swirling gases
Pulling down
poison pooling
storming round
a blur of swell
this inclination
rushing over
the fool proposer
What is choice?
How to be?
Do I make them,
Or do they make me?
Maybe that's the reason,
The reason why
I'm right here
and the choices walked by.
Still as stone I contemplate
What's it matter, I'm too late.
now that's done, there's something new
to think about, keeping me unglued.
I'm falling apart and my bodies whole
The worlds so big and I'm so small.
What does it take to cure pain?
Maybe I'll figure that out...one day.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
Luminous and luscious she shines.
Every day he feels closer,
to that scenic byway life,
the inspirational proposer.
Elegant, light lady, no rationed spirit she is.
Night’s sacred, silent co-worker,
for the work that lay ahead
for this proud and weary dream lurker,
Longing for his truth to be said.
Sustenance he found in the moon’s warm, insulated snow.
For she cast all his sorrows to hell,
Like the Christian story of original sin.
FOR hell, he had been, and TO hell he should go,
If not, he keeps her soft, transcendent light for him,
always in his sky, aglow.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 12:45 PM UTC