"quantitative" poems
like yours
if you'll reciprocate
follow you
if you'll follow me
repost mine
repost yours
pump up those
double discount
quantitative adulations
making everything here,
cheapened and discounted
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
when first we practice to deceive.”
standalone
on your merits own
the only way to stand
upright
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Estimate tells us the avg. height
of a female in the U.S. is 64 inches.
This is quantitative. Unfeeling of prospect,
the numbers fascinate and baffle.
Recent estimation supposes
1500 active volcanoes on the earth of which
500 have erupted since history,
the invention of writing.
Such a short time ago.
Measuring in quantities, the earth is
4.5-4.6 billion years old.
Creatures of like sentience who never wrote about
volcanoes, the age of their earth.
Quantities hum of something borrowed.
So tight-wound, so deeply close, and yet still.
Something not ours.
Blind, free of invention.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:44 PM 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
Abstract:
And (why?) thus, is all I know so far.
the *question
which is never easy to ask
has an *answer which
is never easy to swallow
between introduction and conclusion
lies a happy marriage
of one jolly void and one fuzzy wish list
via (this) credibility and (that) validity
of all the methods jammed in a
rainbow of paradigms and databases
a qualitative doubt
vs a quantitative solution
critiqued to death
is not always a one way topic
but the only way forward
(to prove!)
I can smile but
I am not allowed to fear
nor like,
nor hate,
nor presume,
nor love my finding
although I desperately cling to
a forbidden bias
(reference this!)
passion is a dangerous domain
(I googled it)
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
A day will certainly come
As sure as we breathe
When our creator will ask of us
What we did to aid the oppressed
On that day
As surely as who created you
Created me too
It will not be about religion but humanity
When carefully planned and organised jets
Launched rockets
To bomb populated refugee camps
Schools and apartment blocks
At a defenceless opposition
Without an air force or navy
Heavy weapons or artillery
Command or armour
**That's not war
It's ******
It's cold blooded massacre**
As a woman shot in the stomach
Gives birth to a cold blue baby
And a world across oceans changes channels tuning in to the next world cup champion
It was never about taking sides
Israel vs Palestine
There is a truth
To which we must remove the blindfold of ignorance
Searching for a voice of right
Amongst the cries of pain hatred and anger
The sign in a city
Where there is too much to see
Finding peace amongst people who are not ours
Because I see hypocrisy of nations
Who stand for human rights
But only when the human shares a matching ideology
I see hypocrisy amongst media
Where a million wounds and shades of blood
Are inked into black and white letters
Today I read 'An Israelian was killed whilst a dozen Palestinians died'
They turned humans into numbers
Quantitative data
They couldn't possibly de-sensitize it any further
I mean look at the verbs in which they phrased that
I see hypocrisy amongst Muslims
Who stand equal and united
Yet they too turn backs when the interest is not beneficial
And the pitiful nation falls divided
Whether it is a prayer
A strike, a boycott or vigil
A protest or petition
Maybe even a donation
There's a thousand ways to help
But very few who do
So what did you do?
Was it out of sight out of mind for you?
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Tell me,
Does the scarlet of a rose
surpass the turquoise of a tulip?
Which is larger:
The savouriness in poultry
Or the sweetness of candies?
How much more
Is the descant of a soprano
Than the rumble of a bass?
Honestly,
I'm not really certain.
But I trust what you tell me is right.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
I posted this poem a few days after I joined HP. As is oft the case, poems you are especially proud of, fall to the wayside, under the onslaught of the constant waterfall of new submissions. With the usual exception of Ms. Lori C., one of the two unofficial High Priestesses of HP, in my estimation, this one, was pretty much overlooked. Despite some comical jaunts of late re bras and beds, real inspiration has escaped me ever nice I penned "Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay (Razor Blades, Pills, & Shotguns" last week. So, with your hoped for solicitude, I resubmit it, hoping it finds a wider audience and dedicate it to those of you who I number as friends (you know who you are!), despite the fact that our only shared embraces have been techno~electronic, and yet the quality of your kindness is beyond measure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Numerical Quality of Friendship
The quality of friendship is non-quantitative.
Yet, I ask you to number it, and me, this way.
With tape measure, determine that:
The length of my arm's embrace will always be
longer than long enough, and when distance magnifies sorrow's gains,
my shoulders measure wide enough to pillow your wearied head.
The depth of my pocket is finite for by definition,
a pocket is but an open doored, three walled shelter.
My pocket of shelter is forever open, forever deep,
and forever is infinite.
Trust that when bowed and bent,
upon my shoulders climb and together we will be tall enough
to touch the season's new fruit upon the tree of life,
and with one tongue, taste the unimaginable!
Do u think that mercury can measure
the warmth of my tears when love sears my heart,
or the heat of thy skin when it heals and cauterizes
wounds salted by the mistreatment, by the bitters of the weak ones,
who rejoice when they scald others?
Size me up.
What is my volume?
What are the boundaries that
length X depth X height
state must limit my capacity to cherish, to heal,
and even to forgive those who deserve no forgiveness?
If you measure me well and proper,
if I meet the standards that qualify me to be called friend,
then friend me here, friend me now,
friend me for the qualities I posses,
and number us a unity among the few
who are truly blessed
by a quality of friendship that cannot be measured,
for there is no scientific instrument that can quantify
limitless.
March 2012
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
The Numerical Quality of Friendship
The quality of friendship is non-quantitative.
Yet, I ask you to number me this way.
With tape measure, determine that:
The length of my arm's embrace will always be
longer than long enough, and when distance magnifies sorrow's gains,
my shoulders measure wide enough to pillow your wearied head.
The depth of my pocket is finite for by definition,
a pocket is but an open doored, three walled shelter.
My pocket of shelter is forever open, forever deep,
and forever is infinite.
Trust that when bowed and bent,
upon my shoulders climb and together we will be tall enough
to touch the season's new fruit upon the tree of life,
and with one tongue taste the unimaginable!
Do u think that mercury can measure
the warmth of my tears when love sears my heart,
or the heat of thy skin when it heals and cauterizes
wounds salted by the mistreatment, by the bitters of the weak ones,
who rejoice when they scald others?
Size me up.
What is my volume?
What are the boundaries that
length X depth X height
state must limit my capacity to cherish, to heal,
and even to forgive those who deserve no forgiveness?
If you measure me well and proper,
if I meet the standards that qualify me to be called friend,
then friend me here, friend me now,
friend me for the qualities I posses,
and number us a unity among the few
who are truly blessed
by a quality of friendship that cannot be measured,
for there is no scientific instrument that can quantify,
limitless.
March 2012
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
It begins here.
In the percolating silence
that lingers behind gritted teeth--
the loose threads on denim jeans
that only ever gets cut,
the landfall that prays
for minimal casualties
except each body bag
contained pieces of your heart
he could no longer mend --
a slightly-timed confession.
The end begins in the way
the essence of the beginning
becomes foreign.
We know about length measurements
from school,
but kilometers or feet
do not weave the tapestry
in spaces between two people.
Distance,
we forget,
surpasses the cataract-like
tunneled notion of
merely its quantitative value.
I see it in the way you've forgotten
how to make me laugh.
How you've got a grip
on my hand
and yet
I'm still reaching out.
How we walk on eggshells
around each other,
and traded in words
for daggers
or words
that didn't matter
enough to land on ears
that swell to listen.
Ticking bombs,
deep sighs,
feeble temperament
waiting for the softest nudge
to topple the tower,
and you’ve predicted
the catastrophe
long before a tandem
of hot flesh
had turned cold,
and bruised,
and hurting.
The galaxies
in our eyes,
rusty,
no longer colliding
into sweet solace—
you’ll realize that
you’ll always be in the
losing end
where you flaunt your
vulnerability
in plain sight
like a mannequin
on the other side
of the looking glass.
Let me stay for a bit.
Let me mourn what’s passed
and cherish
whatever’s left.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
I am young,
though I wish I were younger,
I would rewind time if I could,
back to a period where my temperament was stronger,
back to a time when my greatest concern was a Popsicle,
dripping on my hand as I lick it.
Youth is resilient,
we are born into ignorance,
where we might or might not remain,
given to bliss and innocence,
a greater inclination for love.
I long for a time filled with freedom,
freedom found within playground fences,
found within crosswalks and spineless volumes,
crayon on wall not pen on paper,
that's where real art is made.
I long for a time filled with big brothers and big sisters,
learning one step at a time,
no quantitative measures of success in life,
a time with unrealistic expectations,
not expectations unfulfilled.
I long for the time when I worshiped the ground my brother walked on,
infallible parents and clergymen,
where forgiveness goes without saying,
forgetting trespasses just as quickly as they come,
things change as we are carried away.
It's true that I still love,
but things are different now,
it'll never be the same,
my love is transfigured by dividing lines,
not open to the general populous,
dependent on what they do or say.
I wish that I could go back.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
When Balaam's donkey spoke,
He didn't mention research words,
Didn't point out answers obvious
In spite his quantitative methods.
Balaam, prophetic man for hire,
Climbed four mountains,
Burned a herd of cows in fire,
Tempted Heaven's curses down.
Multiple perspectives brought
One conclusion, tight and rich:
Balaak wanted curses hot;
God caused an *** to kvetch.
My mother used to say to me
When I was bent to stray,
"If you know what's right as you begin
You've no reasons left to pray."
So Balaam's triangulations grabbed
Perspectives from multiple views,
Incensing old King Moab
By blessing multitudes of Jews.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Ben Bernanke's hanky panky and
Quantitative Easing is so displeasing
A collapsing economy where no one can afford a meal
Sparks a revolution, with the citizens at the wheel.
And when all is over and said and done,
A new Polis will arise, where all is for none.
But the question still remains:
Are you still in bed with your chains?
Or are you awake with a gun:
A strong militia of and for One?
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
if i write a million billion zillion words a day
will some sound nice?
will they work out right?
will my mind create a masterpiece some night?
or will brilliance elude me
like camoflauged prey?
can greatness be chanced upon
or do i have to beg for it?
do i have to pray?
can statistical likelihood produce
from sheer quantitative mass
some lyrical combination
to surpass mere mediocrity
rise straight to first class?
or do i gotta go back and ask
the teachers and mentors
i left in the past?
i took off too fast
ignored their words and advice
bout how to think
how to write
how to talk
how to act
how to not be enticed
by distractions in life
how to not roll the dice
when the odds are too stacked
how to work **** hard
to stay on track
how to make smart goals
if you're itching to rise
by hitchin your ride
to the business of guys
and girls with vision
that's what i was taught
what i heard
what i learned
what i forgot (then recalled)
what i once spurned
to spark my downfall
but i have returned
and rediscovered myself
remembered the others
who raised me
who made me
my parents
my brothers
all those who inspired
all those who required
daily sacrifice
to feed the fire
to push me higher
to bring on success
to make me my best
which proves to the rest
if you don't perspire
chance don't mean ****
now we gotta admit
we all need an assist
but if you want greatness
you gotta work for it
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
Alcatragedy, aesthetics, and a
Bubbly feeling beneath our feet. Let's
Cruise between channels; there's no need to meet. Re-
Doxx on Galaxy's
Extremeties typeset whatever is
Faked, overridden, and
Glistening in chic.
Hybristophilionic puressure
Infracts upon the fourth wall we seek,
Jicking, ticking, trickling in.
(Kickstarted convection)
Life is beyond a stream...
Minuet attraction
Null, neo, and novelty
0.0
Pulse or minus me.
Quantitative lacerations, fantasy and a fascination
Recreations masking
Softsations
Taint my rose and wildest dreams!
Unphasing
Vermillion reasons to like it.
Wordless, grinding sonar screams; Isle,
Xana, et tu. Rumble a shy oasis in
Yeses, twos, and please
Zzz
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
We carry it as daily cash
But sooner or later end up throwing it in the trash
We imprint knowledge in its soul
Information we rapidly loose
With every tick of the clock
Refusing to stay in our long term memory
Deciding to fly away
And becoming our worse enemy
How do we expect to succeed in life?
If we set our goals based on extrinsic motivations?
We set our minds
On getting a passing grade in the class
An “A” it’s just a letter
A 4.00 just a quantitative number
A college degree a white sheet of paper
With someone’s wiggly lines
Written to represent a name
The true meaning of
Attending school, College, a University
Is for the passion of knowledge
Wise individuals
Study for the pleasure of being intellectual
Casting ignorance away
Why is it that we don’t care about learning?
And make fools of ourselves with excuses and laziness
What is the purpose of going to school?
If by the end of 14 years
You look back and realize
You only went to keep a chair warm
You were nothing
But a furniture in an empty classroom
That retained overnight what it learned
And forgot it by the next sunset
An A on paper
But F on permanently encoded
And easily retrieved knowledge
How pathetic
Isn’t it?
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
The first Apple seed
I planted
inside hu(wo)man's (h)earth
There is just one of me,
I'm not like t(w)oo many farmers
Whom after the first
Plants every second
Let's say,
I have been grooming
the same t(h)ree ye(ar)s!
And I'm like
Still here (air)
In the third base hot spo(r)t;
Well, my last!
Let's make the quality
of my muse quantitative
and my verbal
reasonable.
Decode this mirror mirage
not seeing from a mirage mirror
If A P P L E
is a four letter code
Starting with the fourth
And ended with the fifth.
Complicated right?
You know what, just take five
And start again from "the first"
-Pastorlee
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
She was Quaint
And she was Quiet
But her words came in Quantity
With nothing other than Quality
She was a Quantitative Quilt of knowledge
Full of Questions and Queries
She was an ever moving Quill
Writing the book of her life
Yes she was Quaint
And Quiet.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
I love you.
To all of the stars
and back.
Because to the moon
is not far enough.
I love you.
To the dawn of creation
around God
and back.
Twice.
I love you.
More than any quantitative
or qualitative measurement,
I love you.
I love you
more than you
will ever know.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
Adoringly applauding
Arrogant acrobatic aristocratic,
Bourgeois bad-boys.
Braving boredom and bills,
Caught controlling criminal
Circles like a circus.
Daring to do, and to deceive
Desperate damsels in distress,
Each accepting enemies.
Everyone explaining elements
From the final fights
Frought with frustration.
Getting groovy- grown old
Garnering glittering gold.
Holidaying in Getafé,
Holding onto hands of harlots,
Implying impotence and insolence,
Ignorant in their ilk.
Jovially joking,
Jesting about juvenile jealousies;
"I kissed Katie Kurtis"
Knowingly comments one kid.
Left to love and lose,
Like Caesar and his laurels,
Making music and malice,
Manifesting manic malpractices.
Natalie narrates,
"Not now, not ever".
Obvious obstacles avoided,
Objectifying objects that are obsolete.
Praying, pondering over pros,
False prophets photographed as they pose.
Qualifying quangos,
Quantitative quelling of queries,
Raising riots and runctions,
Realising regal and royal remedies,
Celebrating summer solstice,
Solitude is bliss.
Try tampering telephones
To transcribe threat of treason,
Unreal unilateral promises
Unwound by underlying urchins.
Vowing to voice very real values,
Vox pop video views.
Wearing water coloured wellingtons,
Wondering over wax cuneiform works.
Xylophone playing exemplary,
Xavier exists in the imaginary.
Yearly yearning for you,
You're yoked as Gonne with Yeats
(unequally)
Zeroing in on Ritz and Rubble,
Rubble the Zealots want to reign.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
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Relate Articles:
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
you lay there
coming up with
excuses
everything that
went wrong
all the reasons
this ship was
going under
everything that
led us up to
where we are now
--which is
nowhere--
you talked about
how I was working
late and
how you'd been sick
so often
how I'd been drinking
so much
you said it wasn't any
one's fault
just mostly mine
and you didn't
blame me for it
you just hated me for it
but you still loved me
you made sure to
clarify that point
so you kept looking
for the iceberg
kept justifying
excuse after excuse
for why this ship
was sinking
you didn't realize
I put the holes
there myself
this was no titanic
there was no iceberg
no sum of
quantitative and
rational excuses
I
just
didn't
love you
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
my brain is now hardwired
to think anything not instant or under a certain amount of characters is a bore
its not what I’m reading is boring
it’s often unappreciated genius
but the laborious act of doing something that doesn’t have instant reward, gratification and isn't instantly self-serving
I will struggle
and I will forget whatever I read anyway
my memory ***** anyway
I sometimes crave I can eat books
digest their information
I would take a UBS port in the back of my head
so you can upload better thoughts
I hate my lazy self for this but its truthful
all my friends are pseudo-feminists, pseudo-musicians, pseudo-interlectuals
I’m just like them and I cannot remember enough to fight back their low level arguments
I just recognise, sigh and move on
I cannot keep up with the true intellects
and never will
my low paid job will allow me to survive
In a world which priorities are worse than mine
mindlessly carrying on whilst
"The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that about 805 million people of the 7.3 billion people in the world, or one in nine, were suffering from chronic undernourishment in 2012-2014”
copy and pasted from 2 minutes of googling
TRUE POETRY
qualitative and quantitative data will show how moronic we all are
The age of idiots, with a few bright lights shining through
I will be a fellow idiot
feeling weak under it all
change is constant but slow
the world is ours and we chose what to do with it
over simplified ideas of a simplified mind
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC