"quantifiable" poems
There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.
It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC
the mathematical statement in fluid mechanics that, for a fluid passing through a tube in a steady flow, the mass flowing through any section of the tube in a unit of time is constant
instantaneous our love defined,
a fluid mechanic in the realm of ethereal,
where unlimited immeasurable undefinable
mass time flow sweat pulse anger forgive caress kind
quantifiable terms of our equation unique
in this poem
no waxing poetic,
excellent pure licked lips
are quantums and quarks visualized
though invisible the flow constant per unit of time from
initial good morning kiss to intemperate
indulgent good night conclusions
submitted here for your
analytical digression importuned
the square root of the continuity equation's solution
is
.......
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
The Physics of Love: The Equivalency Fallacy
the poet places his Sunday porcelain coffee mug
upon his bare chest, purposed to heat the heart to a
higher degree, equal to hers, next door, three feet away,
in their communal bed
two identical alarm clocks, one on each nightstand,
confirms the degree differential, for far beyond time-telling,
it informs on me, providing the room temperature,
and her side of the bed, 5 degrees warmer
the collegial scientists posit theoretical excuses,
the rooms wind currents, proximity to the A/C, body mass,
all refuted after visual and mechanical inspection,
all indelible proofs of the Equivalency Fallacy
despite the visual evidence abounding all around,
despite the surrounding starlike quantity of busted,
love songs, poems and the other artistic churn,
depicting the principle, one requires love physics to validate the
living principle for the living, that love is rarely identical
in quantitative quality, typology, representation and
manifestations measurable
each greets the other with morning declarations of
mutuality, trying to find those hundred different ways
to love her/him today, employing imaginative artifice to proof
the impossibility, that in every aspect your living love ability
is precious capital precision equal
and ha! each love is the greater...
you knew this?
then you knew, his coffee spills (intentionally?) and the
Fighting Fallacy rules,
every thing is fair in love and war, for they too, are
identical and equal, in so many ways,
but never quantifiable exactly
8:33am, 73 degrees, on my side
11/12/17
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
*i.
He told her
That mathematics was too
Sombre.
Too, too
Linear
To be poetic.
She said that
He had only seen himself
In a mirror,
A reversed hologram
Of his external self
Burned into his retinas with
His subconscious filling in the gaps.
But she had seen him
The rays reflected straight off him
Into her eyes;
Not some half-assed reflection
Off some silvered surface.
ii.
She said that
His jawline was
The slope of a curve
Pencilled on a graph sheet.
His candlewax skin
A wavelength
Quantifiable on paper.
His spine
A number line with
Dashes, to show real numbers
The set of which was infinite.
She said that
A Fibonacci sketch was
A minimalist rose,
A post-modern bouquet.
And that
The reflected pale morning sun
In a half finished cup of camomile tea
Was a cardioid
With fixed coordinate values on the axes
And an algorithmic tangent.
And he
Was a negative infinity
A paradox not sorted under
Quine's classification system.
iii.
She had
Recorded his heartbeat and blood pressure;
Measured the distance between his lips with her own;
Tried so hard, so very, very hard
To put him down in a numerical form
And write him off as an equation.
But all she could say was
That he was more
Than the sum total of his meagre parts
And that she
Was his reciprocal value.*
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
There was a message there for a second
But then state farm came in like a good neighbor and broke my train of thought
And that was beautiful in its’ own right
Like paint mixing to brown
As words only confuse everything
And emotions are like real gods
I bring you to the ends of our own expressible thought
on the edge of a cliff that cannot be crossed
a cliff and an asymptote
that is never perceived
Real Gods are in the pudding,
in relations between lines
in laws given and unbending
objective, quantifiable, and beyond my description
they are in the unending study and toil of the labors of love
a thought
but not in religion
unless you think about it like that
which you are always free to do
because sometimes the only way to show the inexpressibility
of life, nature and all is
is in raptures of revelation
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
i've learned from scientists
the miracle of magnets
and from magicians
the secrets of tombs aztec
and though i've learned
from anatomists
every muscle of your smile
while exposed to my
retina and optic nerve
there's no explanation
for how this heart stirs...
regardless of posited
hormones or neurotransmitters,
textbook figures, controlled exams,
flow charts, histograms,
there is no quantifiable
measure of the distance
my heart jumps
when in relation
to you.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
What is quantifiable are the symbols. What isn't quantifiable are the zones between the symbols, unless there are many symbols present that form spaces.
There are partial symbols, i.e. a gesture of an animal is present but not the form of the animal.
Reality stays more abstract with partial symbology.
What is known about the symbol gives reality meaning.
Speaking of visions as symbols separates the meaning from the visual experience.
The person who doesn't see the symbol as the reality has not been exposed to reality which is somewhat hard to ascertain.
When, in dreams for example, there are just collages of things, it is hard to say that it is more than a collage. But if I recognize symbology, it allows me to see every part of the picture.
Symbols are more for the artist than the scientist who simply wants to verify what happens in reality. While transcendent of verification of meaning is reality "filler", yet it attains to meaning only if it is seen as symbol.
The filler is more abstract because logic only exists here if we consciously give something meaning. Otherwise a huff of a dog, for example, is merely a passing image.
Since concrete objects already have existential meaning, they cannot constitute as filler.
Visions, because they only partially exist, calls into question existence itself.
In filler reality, it becomes participatory as to giving reality meaning or just enjoying the visions.
What separates this filler world from normal mind is that meaning is no longer the key to reality.
Simply experiencing the visuals explain reality in an easy way.
Meaning almost ruins the mode of experience.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 9:29 PM UTC
Deep within the legend,
Lies the paradigm:
Concepts so vast,
yet eternally combined.
Certain ideas that ever-last
those who need it defined
but I can assure you that fate
Is pre-determinedly assigned
And it's up to you to gravitate
Toward where it can align.
In the grand scheme
Of this complex quantum design,
Is a beautiful theme
That could be depicted as divine.
Action begins with thought
That could not confine
What we all had sought
And what we had bore in mind.
Yet with that all under consideration,
We need to know how your reality is also mine
With some quantifiable explanation
That we'll eventually intertwine.
So due to your position
Throughout space and time,
Find the nearest mission
That allows you to further ascend or climb.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Thanksgiving Menu Planning for Gaining and Losing
~~~
having shed thirty pounds plus,
another X more yet required,
to be forever properly de-cored,
a happy subtracted scoring
part too,
brought the curtain going down
on a seven year insanity,
paid off the forever divorcing *****
that weight worth more than a Venetian
pound of flesh
now finding myself
in a re-entry orbit,
though hardly gliding,
encased in a capsule,
friction glowing gold
the now never~ending
calorie counting and exercise rituals,
in every aspect of life,
all friendly devils of relentless,
demanding utter devotions,
all watching, wondering, watering, endlessly,
a new perennial flowering of a leaf,
all watchdogs of the truth serum called
what if?
what if
had I lived my prior
lazy loose life,
with the current rigor
of daily barefaced truth
I would never have made
choices that have redline scarred,
some made back in 1975,
into a forty year losing war,
spiral declination that permitted the
insidious, slo-mo of decay,
that could be, would be,
reversed only
by this recent heart
and soul surgery
*nowadays, menu plan my life's
every actionable choice,
limiting the sugared foolishness
from the decay
one can coat themselves in,
survival lies and refrigerator drugs,
until sleep~rest intervenes
what shall I eat,
what shall I choose,
what will be this day's life choices from the menu,
answering daily inquiries from
Oliver and Siri (1),
acknowledging that more-than-occasional slippage will occur,
but taking no true satisfaction
from the periodicself-cheating,
always
daily weigh myself
twice,
first my body,
then, my soul,
upon the rising,
upon the setting*
***to see quantifiable
what I have,
thankfully
yet to gain
by losing***
~~~
Thanksgiving Day
2015
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I've been thinking that I'm kind of awesome lately
You know, in those quantifiable ways
The ones that don't really matter?
I've been kind of kicking *** at life
And I haven't really done that before.
It's an interesting sensation.
Apparently I can only write well when I fail, though
So that's kind of a shame.
Maybe once this high rides out
Maybe once my days aren't full
Maybe once you aren't amazing
I'll be able to do that again.
I don't really know what I am or what I want
I just know that I'm kind of proud of myself
And I don't know what to do about that.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 8:11 AM UTC
Give me something that’s in my nature to love
Something to drink that’s thick and sweet
Something to listen to that’s ridiculous and beautiful
Something to preside over disturbance.
Give me something to turn plastic poetry to risky lyrics that fall off my teeth
Something to shove my tongue into that’s warm and receiving
Something to send a shiver through my subzero lungs
Something to stir my personal life to keep it from burning.
Give me something sensational to breathe in when the oxygen is stale
Something to wrap my arms around when they’re screaming
Something to lick that’s delicious and crazy
Something to stop my mind running and allow it a place to rest.
I’m asking this of you because
I’m torn between caution and cupidity,
Trying to maintain the majesty of whatever moment we’re in,
And my fear cannot be remedied by your silence.
While you sit still with your lanky arms crossed and your wet lips together
I’m busy fanning fate’s flames because I care too much.
While your depths prove endlessly interesting
Your eyes do not shift, they do not express, they do not think.
My loneliness is clinical, quantifiable, combustible material for tears.
I’m sick of making love on triviality
I’d rather be ******* over by passion.
My back aches and my tongue is thirsty and my heart craves everything
And each of them has been given only enough to sustain, not enough to thrive.
Thank you for the sepia tone dreams
and the coffee burns
and the splatter paint wars
and the red raw bite marks all over my neck
But I know I’m not being felt the same way that I feel you,
Caring for every inch of you, your heart and your body.
And I can’t take the one way street anymore.
This is the sound of me crashing as I wave goodbye.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
As of late I have been told an excruciating number of times, by a couple types of people, that they do not understand me, these people are often in positions of power, between me and some goal, usually I would wonder why they neglect to specify what they don't understand but I've gone so far as to enumerate and source my messages in point-by-point explanations, in about three messages I'm just pasting quotes from where I've already answered their questions, I've tried being "reasonable" for weeks in some cases, if only when I was obligated to try and make it work, bureaucracy has finally hit its boiling point, The Stanford prison experiment could be redone for office work, Forum Administration, and any number of benign micro powers, it's not just absolute power corrupts absolutely, people are absolutely corrupted by power, it's statistically quantifiable now given ninety-plus percent plea bargain convictions to say the only courts that still exist are kangaroo courts, there's no point in testimony or evidence, even our scientific community is learning from our governments, fixing things by definition, like the unemployment rate, yes 5% unemployment, celebrate while nearly 60% of people don't have jobs but I may as well being trying to discuss the reich's in Germany.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
Hearts.
Pleasurable, they break.
Kid with soul decides his future.
Walks down hall with door,
man with soul divides.
Door opens.
Leads to nothing.
Man dies.
Man grows back.
Chances take a hold.
Congruencies clash together.
Metal sounds of clatter.
These divisions are the fractions of human kind.
Trickles and patterns are hardly literature.
Quantifiable.
Cultured.
Bang.
Bang-bang.
Banging.
Thick is the heart.
Thicker is the melody.
Stoppers.
Man defines himself by patterns near.
Man dies once again.
Theories change.
Hearts do too.
Man does as well.
The life is what they seek.
Never to be obtained.
Man lies.
Heroic he overcomes.
Then he pulls at her shirt.
There he beckons.
Then man rests.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
alliteration intervening invasion,
a bed-throned life journey summarily unasked for, reviewing
follow behind the collected beaming seams,
to the discolored end-of-a-whiting rainbow of writings
sack in hand, sack'd yet surfeiting,
gleaning the falling bits,
inventoried stories, the poor and the glorious
light droppings,
stir'd and stor'd in hopsack bag,
woven intervals of clashing fabrics
trilogy of
me, myself and I,
following falling, trailing, failing flalings
cross currenting, swirling,
disheartened chest heaving cursing
if only, a mite more sipping
of courage everlasting
here a memory,
there a visionary,
happy haunting,
glaceing eye dreams
keepsakes of a life
modesty and poorly lived
error prone, choices weak,
father confessor to the supremity of oneself
played safety first,
thirst quenching
with the unsatisfying yellowed bursts
of "it could be worse"
but these stuffing,
gleanings of a life,
uprighted night, declining days, admixture of son and moon,
women's flashing eyes inviting
happy danger and ending disaster inevitability
this sifted treasure chest
of self-selected retained
cursings and blessings,
the measuring cup of a tragedy
well acted, quantifiable pathos superb aplenty
a play veined with comedic relief,
a Falstaff for every Hal,
compare and contrast
your essays on the container storage
of dusted cells morning-mourning
summarizing gleams gleaned from a life well....dissatisfaction satisfied...truth in poetry
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering. What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices. To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves. To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside . . .
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
I have grown rather fond of being alone
I have found myself to be sublime company
I like to be secluded
In a dimly lit apartment
With a blanket
And a kettle
With tea
And a book
And my thoughts of course
And I am somewhat of a brilliant conversationalist
But occasionally there dawns a time
When I have run out of clever things to say
To myself
And I have finished every book
And drunken all the tea
And then there comes a moment
When I am significantly less fond of being alone
And I miss you
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
This is important information for all humans and id ask you take it as seriously as you are able, keeping separate in your mind were logic is trying fight it as we would want from the simple emotional responses that are inevitable with such heavy information. To start you are moving forward in the dimension of time at a rate you can with focus modulate, you make tools to help with this and call it entertainment, you are able to pass through dimensions in space with much expenditure of energy and have tools to help with this you call transportation, you know how vast space is not in spite of your inability to comprehend it but because you cannot, time is equally vast, I put it to you that potential dimensions form to make actual any possibility from any point and so if at every instant (F/s=I{F=fastest thing, s=shortest distance, I=Instant}) all combinations of all potentials manifest themselves we have an infinite by exponent, if in the first instant there was a finite set of possibilities there would be a finite set of potentials from any instant despite their exponentially diversifying it would be a calculable infinity, now If time and space are part of the same fabric and gravity warps that fabric distorting time and space in a quantifiable manner then geometry could be established to transgress the natural flow with the application there of. if and I believe it to be so if nothing else, gravity is a manifestation of cosmic forces, quantum mechanics that is, with the Plank being the primary force of gravity, gravity A, then the planetary forces being secondary, like a radiation, a side effect, gravity B, then these forces could be manipulated at a lab like CERN, I'm not big on the Mandela effect but there's something seriously wrong as of late and this information is prudent, please share it if only to attack it, consider it if only to attack it, bring it to the table if only as a snack.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
To rove and roam across the depths of excursions bearing ingenuity
I pose here now, alert amongst the globetrotters
Where? What judgement do I have to say,
I’m just a pillager, plundering the strange earth of which I came,
Uncertain of my own actions and subsequent consequences,
Though I am certain my little milieu of great proportions
Can thrive to inconceivable measures without myself
And the reason? I’m certain there’s one,
For as much as I endeavor,
Peradventure I am weakened,
As hard and with as much force
I use, beyond quantifiable measures
Ask me now! Why I can’t say,
Though I’ll attempt, and brace dismay
I’ll strive to the utmost,
Bear the encumbrance,
Endure the gauntlet,
Even so—I can never form meaning with my words.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Storytime: I have long worn this body as a mask, pinning my cravings on the easily dismissible "primal urges" shared collectively. And though I revel in the smooth, lithe curves and motions of *** it is my mind that is racing. My climactic tears have always sprung from a deeper well of sensation than the physical.
The buoyancy and depth of my spirit is directly proportional to the clarity and frequency of my Aha! Moments, and the duration and spells of radical trust and honesty shared in body and in soul. These laser beams of clarity or steady washes of electric buzzing seem the only true reason to be conscious of life at all.
I always wish to be worshipping at the altar of the stars, whatever form they manifest themselves in. A view, a meal, a lesson, a conversation, a work of art, or a companion. I feel love as less the solid, quantifiable particle, and more the ethereal wave of euphoric wonder, pulling like gravity. In a reason-less world, this is the best one to exist.
I want to share, "I Wonder You," with the humans that amplify the buzz of this wavelength. I want to go without the stretches in between where I must disguise the stirrings within where I feel the minutes of my life slipping away.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
we live in the time space
of love and hate
no living hting can escape
space or times gate
nor the expanding legs
of love and hates gait
myself included
both temporal and emotional
from neither can i run
for theories are non traditional
love and hate are feelings
created by a mind
time and space, really are
just feelings, created by a mind
and so defying the confines
of quantifiable existence
is true humanity
prevailing at existence
i both love and hate
love and hate, have no time
for space and time
time we focused on theories
existing only in our minds
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Mach my words, that time travel aye
foresee (rather than being
at a stand still, nee frozen
analogous to cry
oh ja hen nicks, or more particularly
going backwards)
this chap doth espy
great breakthroughs,
asper similar advances this guy
i.e. myself witnesses quantum leaps I
learn (reading The University Of Penn Gazette)
the Burmese doctoral
engineering student Kai
Sir Von Wilhelm Harris
made profound advances within
advanced combined research
laboratory of rocket surgery
and brain science set my
mouth ajar
(with rivulets of drool spilling forth)
constructing a simple
to assemble gizmo (avail able
common household materials
rendered unto YouTube), and/or Cable
Comcast, Fios, Infosys, et cetera
which accidental discovery
automatically codified feign
top secret "FAKE" news to enable
boot (simply for formality sake)
code named Clark Gable
yet in reality (a faux veil of secrecy)
to con Vince sing lee
foster an inimitable
mystique, button truth
for general public to unzip noble
no red bull) knowable
handy escape to past or future
and essentially unlocked laudable
simple "household solution"
to become the latest craze
(synonymous with an ****** - manageable
minus addiction, conviction,
and excruciation viz zit operable
via needle marks of the masses
within a fortnight necessary
supplies sans quantifiable
while Das Donald Trump
could enact legislation satisfiable
knowing majority being
totally tubularly oblivious unalterable
measures permanently infringing on inalienable
rights such as life, liberty
and the pursuit of winnable pacification.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC