"quanta" poems
When he's trying to convey a message
about the mathematical equation of light
by drawing on my skin
with an invisible finger-pen,
the pictures of
electromagnetic quanta,
photons,
and particles
becomes disrupted
by a static-wave of goosebumps.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
I'm a Man -
I can spit information
Out there, in any way,
Shape and form I wish;
And I do - spooging
Quanta all over the shop.
However, for all my
Brave endeavours -
My escapades and victories -
I can't create a Universe;
All I can do is document
And record and report
My various experiences.
She has the upper hand,
But She chooses a light
Touch; a guiding principal;
A mistress-led, masterful
Deception of InGenderMent
For the real --> OtherWise.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
*Meeting up with the dragon
was a page
out of an intergalactic adventure;
shaking hands with
doppelganger, it was.
He insisted that he is
still a mythical animal
just don't exist in real,
he was so apologetic
to the point of being mawkish,
"Don't want to mislead any one
to somewhere, let's be scientific
to think, you took such pains
to make this meeting happen,
which is not the case in real,
do you see me well?
He was in panic, it seemed,
took him in confidence and
made him stay put.
"What's real is a long debate
don't think I am real,
material world could
easily proved an illusion
matter in to energy and reverse
is the story we see here
quantum mechanics will
end all your qualms
everything is in a state of flux
even the scientists are,
sometimes they see black holes
and suddenly they think otherwise,
so the universe is not even
a handful of dust, it's energy
playing fancy dress..."
The dragon looked crust fallen,
"you should have met a dinosaur instead
at least they EXISTED,and Phew, what a variety
much more than a myth, which I am"
"Don't be apologetic, grand father's gift
grandma must have used her fun of imagination
to beget you and raise to such level of popularity
dragon or meerkat, all are fun, like human,
when none exists, but happily present
in mind and on these vast spaces our eyes see,
waiting to transform in to quanta of energy
when time summons, and God play dice.*
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC
With QE there is a
Spookiness factor
According to Einstein
When we take two electrons that are proximate
Their actions mirror each other
When we separate those two electrons at massive distances
And we change the spin on one
We get instantaneous change on the other
No time lag
Through these experiments it has been suggested that
If there is an unseen mechanism communicating between the two particles
Then it would have to be traveling at 10,000 times the speed of light
Interconnectedness?
I think our quanta are entangled
The physical laws of the universe
As seen through Newtonian mechanics
Have been useful
They are rational and make sense when matched with the correct scale
However, as we approach the very small, the very large, and the infinite
Newtonian laws fall away
Some might even see it as rationality falling away
That’s what Einstein suggested
I see it otherwise
Join me down the rabbit hole?
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
why keep people in prison
for their whole life wasting away
when they could be going through
mandatory flight training
for a one-way trip to deep space
who wouldn't want to do that?
people would commit felonies
just to be chosen; & everyone
would understand: like, why did
he **** his whole family? -
he wanted to go into space; oh..
no volunteers will be accepted:
[I've been trying to get into solitary
for years, but they won't let me;
seems u can't just walk up to a cop & say,
I'd like to go to jail please; doesn't work;
u might get into the nut house,
which is okay for bed rest, narcotics & casual ***
but if u want to relax & just read,
it's annoyingly rigid;
solitary confinement would be more spiritual;
isolation, darkness, light, self, emptiness;
living inside a stone cube, just meditating;
day in day out night after night of pure consciousness -
one-way space travel would certainly build character;
if u want to live;
& not self-destruct;
the longer u're out there
the more advanced earth technology becomes
until one day when u're so far out
u can't see the Milky Way, a Space Agent arrives
to check up on u & bring much desired supplies;
"What's **** look like now?"
"What?"
"How much time has passed on earth?"
Temporal equation: the mechanical man speaking
in computer code replies: translating light
into quanta, distorting time so the curious prisoner
can see in virtual 3D artificial reality; so much time
elapsed he can't understand a thing; language purely
visual, people silent;
moving & not moving
but drifting in & out, coming
& going; transient shadows
indistinguishable from the
advertising background;
back in the comfort of cramped life-support,
wide electronic-data screen
windows, mechanical man implants
the virtual reality device all creatures
have now; download completely liberating
the body from mind functioning in its own
sphere; ****** functions taken over by
nanocurcuitry imparting semblance
of spacial autonomy, electrified zombies;
as one after another pulls his plug.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
so many words and still
the essence is trapped
in the discreet quanta
in this autobiography
of milk in my tears
no wars to fight
nothing to prove
the ancient love will find me,
the unknown you
the right verbs
the earth of home
the cycle of life
in my dreams
the round present immerses me
in gratitude for all my selves,
the depth of coherence
the bottom of the sky
in this simple truth,
my heart is my home
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 5:23 AM UTC
quanta is better understood outside of physics,
on a grander scale -
quantum is a quality suggestion that
makes two (to, too) things auto-suggestive
as pertaining in the matter -
never mind - take the concept of quanta
out of physics and you get
a man readying himself for a controlled
coma having his wisdom teeth removed,
with the anaesθetician asking about
the readers' digest, the patient replying
quo vadis? / dokąd idziesz? then
the great sleep plateau - 'where are you going?'
puts any man off, whether boxer,
or paediatrician - ****** lays dead floored
for a minute, plays the dog game: play dead,
tongue hanging ready for a guillotine.
CHOP! and there goes the tail of a Doberman
(jamnik / dachshund on stilts)
and a ρoττł-
y
woo woo woo chim chimney
cha cha cha ooh
the rotting wail - rottweiler -
-ειλερ;
you never mention the u with the v due to
the chisel ease, then again, you don't
say double-o'h but say double u -
too shay frowning at a shave;
****** i'll make your language my playground
given all these post-colonial ***** aiming
for a signature and credentials,
this **** could pass the London brigade,
but take it to York, it would be a massacre
of a bureaucratic lapse of credentials...
a viking invasion more-or-less;
oh **** quantum physics, Charles Dickens
and the Victorian Era - Jack the Ripper the antonym,
both are the desired cages of energy requiring expression
to make testimony that such an age existed,
a particular congregate of expression, never universal,
boxes and pockets, however much inside one
is a question of your dietary requirement,
quantum physics is better explained with history
than hard science, and atoms, or the craze of subs,
people need a bigger picture, not everyone own
a ******* microscope or a telescope,
teach quantum physics using history:
Philippe Augustus of France mattered,
at the Battle of Bouvines - Otto IV? not so much.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
This twilight sky
Is like an indigo-orange symphony,
In which the light is absorbed
To be decomposed in corpuscles.
It may be ours until we die.
I may be your tree-woman ,a Ginkgo,
That Ginkgo having a stony trunk
And pure violet spiritual eyes
To look at you,
While the leaves are trembling
Their green sound.
Slowly, you may become my tree-lover-man,
While a star in the universe is dying for our love.
I may feel that force aspiring the quanta of light
Near you.
Come and be my black infinity,
While this earth is cracking its crust
From time to time
And especially now
As at any end of the time.
Wind is your embrace,
Next to this field of Nepal poppies trembling their hypnotic
Red melodious shadow
And near this ripe wheat field
Loudly shaking its tired yellow.
The wind is crazily singing and dancing around.
I seemingly hear some astral blue songs.
It's like a jazz blues chord progression.
Our leaves cling to its long hair.
I feel the rainbow of sounds,
I feel this love.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
Jesus was a liar and Ghandi was a fuccboi.
Prophets hate themselves the most.
Try to be pure light and you will never be.
You are not a single drop of ***** in an ocean of ****
You are an ocean of **** in a single drop. Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.
You came from sacks of fat floating around in primordial goop.
Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.
You are 99% vacuous void but that 1% still makes you visible to me.
Tell me that's ******* disgusting.
I used to think I was all love and light and that was it.
Everything else was shame.
Everything else was to blame.
Everything else was also me.
I am mostly nothing and mostly darkness.
Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.
That despite being a walking maelstrom of empty space and spasmodic dance,
I am a ******* universe expanding in all directions simultaneously.
The only reason you can see the stars in the sky is because of all the emptiness.
The only reason you can look into my eyes is because of the little bit of life that shines through my pupils.
The only reason you can hold me in your arms is because the trillions and trillions of quanta that hold me together hate themselves and love each other because they all know that they hate themselves.
It's because they're entangled in a hot mess of spaghetti, sauce, and melted cheese.
Like a functioning dysfunctional family, we are trying our best and we all hate ourselves but we are trying love each other anyway.
Because we feel it.
Vacuous void. Chaotic dance.
Mostly nothing and a little bit of everything.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
Chisto è 'o ritratto e chiste so' 'e capille:
na ciocca 'e seta nera avvellutata.
E cheste songo 'e llettere: cchiù 'e mille;
lettere 'e 'na guagliona nnammurata.
Ngiulina se chiammava sta figliola
ch'è stata 'a primma nnammurata mia.
Trent'anne sò passate... Mamma mia!
'A tengo nnanze a ll'uocchie, pare aiere:
vocca 'e curallo, 'na faccella 'e cera,
'nu paro d'uocchie verde, 'e cciglie nere,
senza russetto... semplice e sincera.
Teneva sidece anne e io diciotto.
Faceva 'a sartulella a 'o Chiatamone.
Scenneva d' 'a fatica 'mpunto ll'otto,
e mm'aspettava a me sotto 'o purtone.
Senza parlà, subbeto sotto 'o vraccio
nce pigliavemo e ghievemo a ffà ammore.
Vicino 'a casa soia, 'ncoppa Brancaccio,
parole doce e zucchero int' 'o core.
Mettennoce appuiate 'nfaccia 'o muro,
a musso a mmusso, tutt' e dduie abbracciate:
dint' 'a penombra 'e n' angulillo oscuro,
quanta suspire e vvase appassiunate!
'A tengo nnanze a ll'uocchie, pare aiere:
vocca 'e curallo, na faccella 'e cera;
nu paro d'uocchie verde, 'e cciglie nere,
senza russetto... semplice e sincera.
1.4k
A Ballad For A Thin Man.
Understood backwards. Lived forward. Life.
Haunted by diverging others. Us but not. Wraiths.
Ghosts of what if? Who then? What might have been?
Leave room. Turn left. Lovely house, wife, retirement.
Leave same room. Turn right. Shack, loneliness, poverty.
Theorize games. Physik quanta. Slide down strings.
Into Wonderland, Oz, Middle-Earth. Narnia.
All the places that don’t exist and matter the most.
Where doors open up to impossible possibilities.
Fight your way through every day. Pit bull of potential.
Just do your work and be kind. That is a separate peace.
We may be others in other universes, but here we are just us.
**** it up. Love your life. Do what you must. Soldier on.
Real realities can really hurt. Take it like a Man. Or Woman.
Be grateful for your trials. Trials are you. Struggle.
Mount the philosopher’s donkey backwards, advance.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming
Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded
Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s
Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated
Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in
There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Firefly dancers,
carvers of night's granite,
causing sparks,
irregular movement -
of liquid quanta of light;
made me stay put,
go beyond
the mundane concerns
of light and darkness.
Inner being becomes
another form of amazement,
letting go all insistence
on meaning in everything.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
Thoughts paralyzed nothing happens synapses trigger electrons coursing negative pulses negative pulses the descendent node blasted quanta light particles bending, bending, wending through probability changing extended timeframe thoughtstreams particle awareness transcending blending the two to one patterns in the aether
spirits in the machine
Deus ex Machina
Decelerate algorythmick alchemick base to gold it flows synthesizing glowing growing fire from the ashes the past is done the pattern enabled consciousness arising draconic gnosis blended
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
It might well be that the cosmos exists
Only because we do too
And we sense the universe around us.
It’s like Schrodinger’s Cat:
Only existing for sure when we
Open The Box.
Or that Double Slit Quantum Particle Thing
By Thomas Young
Where Quanta seem to know
When we are watching.
Those glorious sunrises and sunsets
What we live for
Only appear
Because we are here.
Without us there is soulless light
Shining upon indifferent clouds
In a realm of lifeless gas, dust
And rock.
We are the ones who see
The awesome beauty of the sky
And all beneath it.
The ugly stuff too.
It is ourselves who decide what is beautiful
And what is but a scar on the landscape.
It’s a shame that we are here
For such a fleeting moment
In the wider scope of things:
This eternity.
So we must pass the baton on
To the next generation.
Our only hope is that the children
Will love the world
Better than we have done.
Paul Butters
© PB 30\5\2023.
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 2:53 PM UTC
Dolce e chiara è la notte e senza vento,
E queta sovra i tetti e in mezzo agli orti
Posa la luna, e di lontan rivela
Serena ogni montagna. O donna mia,
Già tace ogni sentiero, e pei balconi
Rara traluce la notturna lampa:
Tu dormi, che t'accolse agevol sonno
Nelle tue chete stanze; e non ti morde
Cura nessuna; e già non sai né pensi
Quanta piaga m'apristi in mezzo al petto.
Tu dormi: io questo ciel, che sì benigno
Appare in vista, a salutar m'affaccio,
E l'antica natura onnipossente,
Che mi fece all'affanno. A te la speme
Nego, mi disse, anche la speme; e d'altro
Non brillin gli occhi tuoi se non di pianto.
Questo dì fu solenne: or dà trastulli
Prendi riposo; e forse ti rimembra
In sogno a quanti oggi piacesti, e quanti
Piacquero a te: non io, non già ch'io speri,
Al pensier ti ricorro. Intanto io chieggo
Quanto a viver mi resti, e qui per terra
Mi getto, e grido, e fremo. Oh giorni orrendi
In così verde etate! Ahi, per la via
Odo non lunge il solitario canto
Dell'artigian, che riede a tarda notte,
Dopo i sollazzi, al suo povero ostello;
E fieramente mi si stringe il core,
A pensar come tutto al mondo passa,
E quasi orma non lascia. Ecco è fuggito
Il dì festivo, ed al festivo il giorno
Volgar succede, e se ne porta il tempo
Ogni umano accidente. Or dov'è il suono
Di què popoli antichi? Or dov'è il grido
Dè nostri avi famosi, e il grande impero
Di quella Roma, e l'armi, e il fragorio
Che n'andò per la terra e l'oceano?
Tutto è pace e silenzio, e tutto posa
Il mondo, e più di lor non si ragiona.
Nella mia prima età, quando s'aspetta
Bramosamente il dì festivo, or poscia
Ch'egli era spento, io doloroso, in veglia,
Premea le piume; ed alla tarda notte
Un canto che s'udia per li sentieri
Lontanando morire a poco a poco,
Già similmente mi stringeva il core.
1.1k
When it rained, I was walking
I was walking.........
A hill, and up a red mountain
Upon asking
direction of an
Old man, who stood
strangely shouting,
At haggard old cattle
with oddly human faces
For the life of me
Pouting....................
I learned, when it rained
On my own journey home
Through the unwise
Old man's country
Is that its your
own life
thats owned
By things you invest in
So claim a strong interest
in clearing yourself of them.
Made for the making
you are, for yourself
not for some other.
Do not bleed for
Another, who throws
Your dreams to the wind.
Im held by my feelings
In aspic, and nitre
a tired shepard
Of wayward thought/sheep
That wander on hills
that I have invented
In mind's eye
and blurred rainy sleep.
But the rain you create will
Drown you, if careful
You allow yourself
Open to downpour
Of thought/water,
that you've
Created from
rivers of
clocks and alarms
that run
Ever over
Rocks of experience
you crash into
When safe from all harm.....
As years pass
They grow
More jagged
Hazard stones
And dangerous
The grow
On your soul.
And in the knowing
It's your life
You are saving........
So be grateful
for ageing
it's useful
To know
When to stop
At the whole.
Is there time in
a grain, to be thought
as a quantum
of realness or
real, and realness can be
when our world is of quanta-
reality-grit
how is the thought/world
revealed?
Are we our senses
Like fruit we have
peeled? Who watches us
Close by from inside?
As thoughts get revealed.
Is he as close as
your necked vein?
As they say in some places?
These questions are hard
And they pose harder
Answers.
So consider
yourself, take courage
In living
For the void is a terror
Yet we all live
Within it
Infinite, unchanging
I'm scared for possible
futures
Running from
fixed pasts
Chasing hazed out rainbows
That long I have clung to,
How long can it possibly last?
I have dug many holes
Will I find one at last?
I don't know, but I do,
But telling is hard
For in telling truth
you must be
Honest
And honesty is a slippery
Concept, is it not?
When it rained, I was walking
I was walking
A hill, and red mountain
Upon asking
direction of a
Mad man,
stood shouting
At the cattle with faces
For the life of me.....
......................
Pouting
That man was me
No longer the stranger
My hills I have
Crossed, and knowing
The danger
Warn passers
That their paths
Can be crossed
When it rains.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
I am at a very very dark place right now
There is not a single soul in sight
to whom I can reach out for help
Its so ******* dark and lonely out here
My perception of self has
Melted away in the darkness that surrounds me
My ears are bleeding
Because of this screeching noise of my own outcries
My twisted and demented imagination has filled this darkness
with images of toxin breathing demons
Fumes coming out of their nostrils burns my lungs
Drains every quanta of energy out of me
I can hear my death coming
Its slow but inevitable arrival scares the **** out of me
There is just darkness, screams, fear, blood, cold,
Pain, hate, anger, emptiness & death
My only chance of redemption is
if my death embraces me soon
Soon before I hurt others and myself
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
Allora... in un tempo assai lunge
felice fui molto; non ora:
ma quanta dolcezza mi giunge
da tanta dolcezza d'allora!
Quell'anno! Per anni che poi
fuggirono, che fuggiranno,
non puoi, mio pensiero, non puoi,
portare con te, che quell'anno!
Un giorno fu quello, ch'è senza
compagno, ch'è senza ritorno;
la vita fu vana parvenza
sì prima sì dopo quel giorno!
Un punto!... così passeggero,
che in vero passò non raggiunto,
ma bello così, che molto ero
felice, felice, quel punto!
852
A lone quanta,
adrift in the vacuum,
drawn by an invisible force,
yet bound by no field.
It oscillates,
collides,
dissipates—
fragmented into uncertainty,
its wavefunction collapsing
before it can be known.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
Tantum tempus temporis
quoniam aliena femina in meo cubiculo dormivit;
ecce illi quantum dulce somnus est.
Quanta etiam libera somnia sunt.
In alia aetate mundum certe rexit
vel optimo regi in matrimonio fideliter ducta est
qui iuxtus flumen psalmos luce lunae scripsit.
**** me iri foras egressum et spatiatum
Nihil occurit hic, nihil umquam fit.
Praeterea si incedat iam volat me narrare;
habeo nihil, praecipue erga quicquid erat.
Viam cepi aviam
qua celeres non superant;
dignis praemia sunt
qui verbum veritatis distinguere possunt.
Hospes solus me docere potuit
praeclaram orem iustitiae contemplari
et videre oculum pro oculo, et dentem pro dente.
Nisi duo homines in mansionem,
Est nullus in viso; verem exspectant,
proinde quasi ver plaustro accederet.
Mundus deleretur ea nocte
sed meae amicae aequum esset;
illa meo cubiculo dormiret *** revenirem.
Meridiano me promoveo
adhuc in obscura parte viae;
in angustos corruere
et constans manere non possum.
Alius mea ore dicit
sed solum meo animo audit,
calcas omnibus etiam tibi feci
quibus tamen careo.
Ego et ego
In creatione quo ingenium alicuius
nec alicui ignoscit nec excolit.
Ego et ego
unus alteri dicit nullus et videre
imaginem meum et vivere possit.
From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
I am an open book -
Full of promise and hope -
An opportunity to enrich;
Relating the Human Being
To the greater Universe.
These words linking
Generations and minds,
Timeless, if not profound;
Thoughts solidified in
Byte-sized quanta of
Information rich echoes:
Rebounding and ringing
Afresh - klaxon-like -->
Warning all to heed:
A potentiality of insight;
A fractalised oversight;
A realisation into light -->
On the page, in Reality;
Free to you - A gift from me!
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC