"quadrants" poems
Substantial quadrants of hate
Throughout these veins circulate
Spiraling in frenzied states
Adrift an ailing coma
Infinite corruption clawed my corneas
Birthing the erasure of euphoria
Imprinting trademarks of memoria
Leaving in wake vile aromas
All confidence dissolved to solvents
Due to definitive involvement
Susceptible to gaunt installments
Marring my skin with melanoma
Mother Earth serves as a mime
Humanity must be refined
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
Ah magnificence
how temperament will change
the world at large
for they'd abandon these cages
as force fields now presume
their quadrants in June
and search for those left decides
these pastures albeit unknown
while green meadows I've forebode
managing lifestyle as abridged
heretofore these days of being heard
that altogether here's my play
where inflation surely wield
as weird alienation might sprout
importunate places likeness kin
and then shoot gorilla not extinct
these dawns upon gatekeeper
meld, have brought Milwaukee Instagram
with certain flair now upstream
in these gardens is reform!
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
Stars are history lit by lightyears of time
There is one for every being that ever lived
Every blade of grass, every greatest mind
That is why they are uncountable
(The value of life cannot be measured)
Light travels in years and years
Faster than cars every drunken day
It’s no wonder that it starts the planets spinning
Sets the universe in a haphazard dance
(Though music doesn’t conduct in the absence of air)
We don’t see stars like the dinosaurs did
We see stars as they existed back then
A lightyear is a tower with a thousand floors
On every one there’s a doorway filled by glass
(These lives are not yours to live, not yet)
You and me, we’re all condensed explosions
Speckles of supernovas and molecules of galaxies
Humans are a thousand sparks of history
Condensed into one hundred years
(The past repeats because it is always reborn)
Dreams are a symphony played by chance collisions
Seconds in a blink of eternity’s eye
Yet a single thought can flash-bang a revolution
Save a life or take a future
(No matter how you’re small, you really do matter)
We can map space to the edge of our sightline
Make quadrants for fire and roadways for brightness
Though it’s hard to draw lines through thinner than air
To hold electricity in a loop of motion
(Mastery over kinetic does not a monarchy make)
Every day we walk through echoes of motion
Fading into combination and reflecting forensics
Don’t dust for fingerprints, dust for enlightenment
The inspiration in the flowers of a fairy ring
(Eternal dances with skeletons always have the best music)
Shake hands with the ghosts of every stuttering memory
Life is a game played with actions, not words
We the people has always meant people, not person
That’s why East Coast waves echo on West Coast shores
(Midwest sings salt ’n dust chemical rain)
I’ve met people capable of infinite kindness
I’ve been beaten down by unconscious hate
It’s always a game of chess in this world
No one has less than twelve reasons for what they do
(Except with love, which is madness, which doesn’t count)
Every star has a person to belong to
Every past holds hands tight with the future
Every spark has a little bit of kindling
And the crescendo of dreams shifts the world on its foundation
(Burning bright means so much less than helping others catch flame.)
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
"God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve."
But what if God did? What if I showed you
the lost book in that cramped hand some call Moses',
right to left (you read Hebrew, right?), the Book of Steve?
Stefan, if you're Orthodox. Esteban
if you also worship the ****** of Guadalupe,
but never mind those dark madonnas. The Book of Steve:
it's much like the rest of the Pentateuch, you'll recognize
the style, except that it was before Genesis 1
when Steve became a living soul. A lively, friendly soul:
when those animals came questing, Steve was thrilled.
He scratched their ears as he named them, puled
their ticks, asked them what they thought they should be called.
So he was scratching and chatting, naming away,
when up came Adam (Yahweh had been practicing men).
*"Hey, dude." "Hey, Adam. You think this looks
like a crocodile?" "I dunno. More like a fox?"*
They had a few beers (Yahweh's work of the day),
named five kinds of ants: Steve got carpenter,
leaf-cutter, sugar; Adam took fire and soldier.
Probably they made love, probably a lot (the world
Was young then), but the Book of Steve is demure;
Moses, or someone, drew the curtain of discretion.
When the curtain comes up, the snake
Still has brief feet, but Adam is changing the names
To better ones, and Steve’s not there. It seems
There were complaints. Stave talked to much, always on
About feelings, food, the slant of the light; sometimes
he wanted to be on top; he took the remkote, and didn’t
give it back when Adam glare. And his chest wasn’t nearly
enough like a pillow. It ws all too much.
The end of the book is torn out; there are marks of fire.
No one knows who defiled the Book of Ssteve,
But in some stories it is said that Eden has other quadrants
And that Steve is in one of them.
Stevek and the snakes with feet, and other people
Who missed the next book: the roc preening its iridescent plumes,
The unicorn lipping apples, the manticore haveint a dustabth.
They say that somewhere among the leaves of western Eden
was found a helpmeet for Steve, who was not fruitful,
who did not multiply, who had no dominion over the earth.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
My view of the miracles and wonders which comprise the distant surface vary from your view
Misleading landscapes that at a distance look like tiny paths when in actuality are cavernous ravines
Things of beauty are often not so pleasant up close; well-populated areas appear remote
Trampled areas seemingly untouched; desolate grounds invisible to their true hopeless form
The most simplistic of areas majestic in reality
Quadrants are less traveled due to their vertically challenging terrains
The most intimidating adversary disheartens the courage, within the pure, to explore
Our worlds are polar opposites
Yet we both find common ground from differentiating views
One challenged by the wind in their face
The other is rushed along with a bellowing blow
The appearance of a storm trapped amongst Mother Nature’s forest can be beauty in one eye
The strength of unpredictability can instill fear in the other
Soon the storm passes and I am relieved the worst has passed
You taking the same breath are saddened that the display has left us
March 9, 2012
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
echoing in my head
i am compelled
my knee begins
to pulse up and down
my head
weaves back and forth
my shoulders
they slide
side to side
the synth is the hot sand
warming my feet
compelling me
to rest my face upon it
like warm paper
hot from the printer
i lay my whole body
in the sand
the bass
is an amtrak train
from washington
to new york
flashing the swampy green
and beautiful lakes
across your eyes
faster than a movie
it is real
the drums are a tiny room
and i am a small red ball
elated, uncontrollable
i ricochet off every wall
faster and faster
the walls appear hard
but are soft
to the touch
i close my eyes
my hands are stretched
out close to my sides,
i see the world in
four quadrants
one is the beach...
the sun now sets
and an orange glow
blinds me for a moment,
through squinting eyes
the majesty of the
waves, rolling in orange,
shocks me
in a single orange beam
straight through my heart
and out into the other quadrants
i turn my hips
to reveal the second quadrant
and i am suddenly on a train
shooting through the air in front
from metal tracks on the ground
around me are trees
climbing and sliding upwards
their trunks rotating in slow circles
the green grows
and grows
in moments it fills the world
consuming my sight
all is green for a moment
and then the green shrinks
forming corners as it disappears
becoming a cube
then the cube grows
and in front of me
grows a red door
and it opens
and again
i am a bouncing
red ball
and for a moment
i am fully present
in bouncing
then i fall, gravity ceasing
and i am back standing
with my hands to my sides
and i see the fourth quadrant
i see myself
grinning and shaking
swinging my whole body
in random patterns
in my chair, at my desk
typing a poem on my computer
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
(Discovering my Quad-polar compartments)
But sleep never satisfies
for long. I find myself
dreaming more and more,
vivid, frightful dreams
as real as being awake
but with less control,
movies play through my mind
mirroring the day In some
****** up way,
and just like that,
Like a drug,
sleep loses its ability
to provide escape
because of tolerance.
I watch a snail move slowly
across the flagstone.
I lose track of how long
I've been watching.
Only the thin line of spit
beneath my pillow
lets me know it was
a dream.
Without escape
There is no reward,
No rejuvenation
only confusion,
and that which is
easy is not.
But this quest has
opened my eyes in more ways
than just lack of sleep.
My quad-polar discovery
has helped me identify
these quadrants of my mind.
God. Beast.
*** Love.
My quad-polar compartments.
Confused and bewildered
they will not be merged.
The god in me thinks the beast needs to be loved.
The beast in me thinks that *** is a god.
The *** in me thinks that love kills the beast.
The love in me thinks the beast is just ***
It’s the love I am most afraid of,
At least during those times when
there is a me,
a me that looks down on the quads,
but mostly that’s rare because
I never know who’s
in charge anymore.
It's such a difficult existence
when what’s theoretically
my greatest need is also
my greatest fear.
If I consider this logically
then the conclusion is clear,
that is,
my dedicated inlets
and my spiritual outlets
cannot get along.
*** and love do not co-exist.
At least not in me.
I’m either penetrating inlets
and ignoring outlets
or
seeking mysticism while
the inlets go on wanting.
I have known this for
a very long time.
Maybe if I find
a new island
I could find
a new inlet,
open the outlet
back up.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
the architecture: our design, our formulation
~
**we design as we go along.
plans develop themselves organically.
somehow, we formalize, organize spontaneity.
learning-as-we-go, ourselves teaching each other’s selfs.
celebrating, locating our tangent intersections,
plotting points on the X Y axes of us.
labelling our quadrants,
past, now, planned but yet-to-be,
the unknown unknowns,
all upon blue lined graph skins.
a formula of a celebrated curvature, two unknowns, solvable, we are quadratic.
the precise precious precarious solution,
a single square root,
that intuits the wee of our
innate
relationship.
our solution is annotated for all
mathematicians as the**
square root of us.
2/18/20
6:25am
somewhere in the internals
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC
We are a shoe
A lace of one that turns into 2
Like a seed that grew
When rain comes the water turns into dew
But sun light can dry it
But how can we dry if we are full of darkness
Like we make each other targets
Then we get into an argument
And we made each other self-conscious
Our love is godless
Very obnoxious
It makes me noxious
But what about the prophets
That's supposed to make us spotless
I guess when there's darkness
They get locked in a closet
Making us gossip
Whispering in the quadrants
Praying in closed departments
sitting on carpets
If the devil wears designer
I guess i shouldn't line up
because i am going to corrupt
If you don't come up
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
We are a shoe
A lace of one that turns into 2
Like a seed that grew
When rain comes the water turns into dew
But sun light can dry it
But how can we dry if we are full of darkness
Like we make each other targets
Then we get into an argument
And we made each other self-conscious
Our love is godless
Very obnoxious
It makes me noxious
But what about the prophets
That's supposed to make us spotless
I guess when there's darkness
They get locked in a closet
Making us gossip
Whispering in the quadrants
Praying in closed departments
sitting on carpets
If the devil wears designer
I guess i shouldn't line up
because i am going to corrupt
If you don't come up
Then i'm left in the dust
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
There are those who understand how it is
to see their mother beaten (down and up)
to see their young brother cheating
to spend the winter weeks with no heating
to be resourceful enough to put MacGyver to shame
to be racked with guilt but none of the blame
to jump any time the doorbell rings
to wonder about looping round with the swings
to undertake the first mission to Mars
to spend far too much time in cars
to listen to the music of Gary Numan
to put up with the voice of Gary Numan
to be unable to recognise the difference between bare truths and pretty little fictions
to look in the mirror and see only problems
to cut their flesh up into silicone quadrants
to be free (like William Wallace)
to look at a beer and see a three day ******
to give in to fear
to be a pretender
to be half way through a sentence and forget what it was you were saying
to pray to anything that might answer
to feel helpless
to feel hopeless
to be lost
and those who don't.
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 1:53 AM UTC
Up and down, play keys in forte,
Faster and faster, only by ear heard.
Cantabile, fortissimo, piano, fine,
A variety of gloom and love in tone.
Echoes all over the wall you feel,
Majestic and grand tells a tale of old.
Vibrato, detache, pizzicato, trill,
Its heartbreaking voice pouring out its soul.
Quiet and smooth, the wind blows through,
Glints of silver, brass, and gold.
Repeat the variation and the solo too,
Then continue at coda big and bold.
Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, Bach,
Music speaks what these quadrants lack.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
We are a shoe
A lace of one that turns into 2
Like a seed that grew
When rain comes the water turns into dew
But sun light can dry it
But how can we dry if we are full of darkness
Like we make each other targets
Then we get into an argument
And we made each other self-conscious
Our love is godless
Very obnoxious
It makes me noxious
But what about the prophets
That's supposed to make us spotless
I guess when there's darkness
They get locked in a closet
Making us gossip
Whispering in the quadrants
Praying in closed departments
sitting on carpets
If the devil wears designer
I guess i shouldn't line up
because i am going to corrupt
If you don't come up
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
And I'm sorry for loving you
Because I know it wasn't real love
And I know it was wrong.
But you make me spin.
I know you know quadrants
I could never be what you need
You gave me a taste and ripped it away and I'm done.
You weren't cruel, stated intentions. It was me who said "maybe " and "because" and it just, won't fly with you.
It wasn't real
It wasn't real.
All I need is your approval.
I fall at your feet and all you are is a boy, and that's scary for a boy.
I'd like to be your friend but it's only when I'm drunk I can be brave enough to give you recommendations and music.
You probably never think of me
You're only here for her
I get it
I know I'm not enough
I know I'm not good.
I'm grateful you even breathe in my direction.
I should be more grateful you expend oxygen to occasionally speak to me.
I'm not worth the time.
I'm not worth
Anything.
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 3:38 PM UTC
The clock with the metal rim
Lay it flat
And see us inside
Sprinting away from the hands
In hot pursuit
And trapped in different quadrants....
Will you love me
Two hours behind
Eight states away
And a year apart?
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
Vacuum
by Michael R. Burch
Over hushed quadrants
forever landlocked in snow,
time’s senseless winds blow ...
leaving odd relics of lives half-revealed,
if still mostly concealed ...
such are the things we are unable to know
that once intrigued us so.
Come then, let us quickly repent
of whatever truths we’d once determined to learn:
for whatever is left, we are unable to discern.
There’s nothing left of us; it’s time to go.
Keywords/Tags: college, quadrants, winter, snow, winds, time, relics, deposits, artifacts, memories, hushed, silent, vacuum
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 12:58 AM UTC
Time, Sun, quadrants of ;
Consist me, skin; Memory,
Rhythm on worn soles, the
Unfed bone machinery
The planets do not care
Their accidents pleasurability
Freshman, wisteria; slipping bookbag
College in degrees
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
Sometimes I think of not-so-distant future,
What it will be like, the thought of this I nurture,
And then contrive the cities in the sky
And people that can easily to fly
All by themselves, no plane nor highway-tube
Knotted in the involute death-loop;
No death, no afterlife, nothing at all
For science of that time them made a-whole;
The colonies on Mars and distant quadrants
At nearest stars united in a cadence
As if a thread connecting all the knots
The system of a stations on a spot
And to another jumping, to the next
The metal and the sterile floating nest;
For ‘tis well known what Earth is but a cradle
Humanity supposed to leave forever
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC
It's me, the two week old puppy licking your face, wagging my tail, jumping all over you; simply because you're you.
I'm the best qualities your Grandpa expounded, all of the details he shared with you that were important before he died.
I'm all of the hearts drawn on the outside of the diary you hold close to your breast for fear of losing.
I'm your **** Adonis, though I don't have dimples, and I have a four pack at best, instead of the six visible quadrants of abs.
I'm the red wine you sip and savor while you're relaxing on Sunday afternoon reading Louisa May Alcott.
I'm the ready apology waiting when I've made a mistake or inadvertently hurt your feelings.
I'm the lingering scent of POLO that wafts through your mind when we are apart from each other, and the chill on your skin as you remember my touch.
I'm the joy spread across your smile when you laugh out loud, the butterfly that lights upon your fingers and not fly away.
I'm the diamonds encrusted tennis bracelet you weren't expecting, just because.
I'm the tears rolling down your face when you are sad, and the punchline of the joke used to cheer you up.
I'm the slight stare across the room at the event because I can't stop thinking about you.
I'm every droplet of hot water that showers you, envelops you, and caresses you.
I'm the fast beating heart when we kiss, and the giddy child when we hold hands.
I'm the soul that slow dances with yours when we make love and hold each other in afterglow.
I'm the Thankful!
I'm the Blessed and Lucky one.
-----ChawzzyScript
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC
I’m humming too quickly for the birds to understand the melodious
and my dank petrol is now a garden fire
with too many roses for a grim
and all the angelic spoils
of Loving You
completed.
I am stunned.
Stunned where the sun seldom shines
on a prodigal son.
I self sustain in the swoon
as your embrace defaces
my self-loathing.
and all quadrants of Peace
are mine to gather up
into a spoil
and I am happy to remove
the dark
the span of all my Dreams.
for the span
of all my
Heart.
Indeed.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 3:41 PM UTC
I was open like a book is closed. but a gorgeous sort of apple-worm
doting on inlets of fever and dim revels. I slept in a barn.
i swept infinity under the carpet to approach an impossible scenario -
while slumbering for no reason as I gathered a host of reasons.
True I parked in the dark quadrants of my simple joys,
But I digressed.
I came upon a pool of sublime introspection
and my reflection
was another
Boy.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 12:42 PM UTC