"quantized" poems
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
Committee)
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
Malaria)
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
1/3e).
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
just a poem it was
A poem of love at most!
in the form of
a flower,
a rainbow,
a bird ,
a tune,
a word ,
a picture
*
Some came in written
in technological terms
Some quantized
as futuristic incense
*
You have sensed it all
the untold
Even long before my say
*
Not ‘the all’ go though
through
You know … once you can close yourself,
set a fence…
*
but in that latter case
although you may have done your best
to shut these gates
It seems they have reached premises against
without my knowing
aethēr so lucid does trespass
once built an absolute bridge through souls of equivalent selves.
*
Each n every time is mine a hopeless cry to make you furious ?
A touch at the physical and meta-physical to eventually develop anti-sense?
*
Naturally so easy
As you reside at an exact opposite side of me
*
Angered n equally frustrated
in rage of a momentous burst
You sell my identity
<Intimately-shared-digital>
to a dreadfully operating net-entity
and target me as if to spears
oh how that really hurts
maybe you wished so
but no not really
*
a boomerang brings in a rhyme
of a thoughtless action
returns it to the center of a rotating spiral
where you stand
the exact opposite end
*
I won’t allow though
You to frown
this way you learned to simmer n cool down
became a clown of your own ghost town
as we’re entangled beings
already since sometime
*
so let me just also have fun
Instead of you- bring me down
On the competing wheel game of up n down
Oh no there we sit not anymore!
*
Realize to have targeted a wrong one
Once it is so much alike an opposing side or a town or a crown
Of you and both eventually you!
So wonder in sane what did I do
And put a SPAM mask on
To warn me through
and clearly do as if you were one of them:
an Intellect-Deficient-Agent scam.
*
So let me just P.S. a burp here now
Haven’t learned to develop gallstones of anger to compete thyn
but joy at most with a parasympathetic smile
Take it as a blessing if you like or a teasing
that she has you loved so without your willing
and equally convert it to a bile.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
"...There are presumably images in the experience of lower animals...They have not that future and past which gives them, so to speak, any rights as such..." -- George Herbert Mead.
Lower being a term relative to concepts like the limbs of trees or the position in a list, only a careful, philosophical assessment was capable of blooming as a flower from the starfish to the stars. The past was an increment creating a (perfected, preferred) series of growths unfolding by the propagation of a (blueprint, dream). The dreams quantized ideology to make the receptivity and the discoveries made by grape hyacinths or hardy grass.
[ d _ cos ln d ( g , h ) P ( t ) ] = { [ tau n ( u ) d I ] / ( d e ) } :
int F ( B ) d I = dfn q ( r ) d r .
Best liked was the colorful effect of self enthusiasm, bringing shade, from the darkness to the twilight, of the trees. Yet, the animals had learned to grow claws and legs. Were the birds not learning to fly? Striving brought a weight of labor, the years were fading into prehistory. Predestiny had been a decision by tulips. Disturbances had been required to bring evolution. Insects were living a fantasy with flowers. This looked across to obscurity. Those hidden were not like those dancing.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
my lover equates me with my favorite instrument;
running his fingers down the strings of my flesh,
building tension and release as he sees fit.
the movement of our lips almost quantized
to match each other’s harmony.
every taste he acquires from me is
another texture added to his collection of sounds.
I want to let him know
that he can learn me to my very core
and play me to his heart’s content
like a cherub playing the harp
as he ascends the heavens.
May 7, 2024
May 7, 2024 at 3:13 AM UTC
She had the moon atop palm,
and “righty” in her pocket,
leaving me to wonder which
heavenly body she’d present
next.
This goddess, “gravity,” if
she’d a name, played physics
with my parts, and persuaded
thrice an orbit, circles wherein
the same hopes quantized –
“We’re we born of the same
star? Please? And when again,
can we burn brightly? Soon?”
She’d reply, and echo come
frigid a comet’s tail, leaving.
So you’d know tonight as
you’d twice before; I’d sip my
beer before you. I’d cry before
you. And a’parallel, tease your
moon atop my very own palm.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Meaningless
pushed and pulled
through arbitrary dimensions
Emulating differences in the same,
the Fatal Contradiction
Redefining the sane!
Recombined
fused with idle spinning.
Forging the distorted lie,
these lines in between
with apparent coherency
and ingenious discrepancies
blurring the boundaries
of this new systematic hell!
Put in perspective
these inconsequential banalities
and childish banter
all but shape the future
reiterating the errors of yesterday
Skewed
Conceptualized
Vizualized
Realized
Quantized
... Denied!
how long was it before i fell?
does it even matter?
when even these parallel thoughts repel...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
It’s almost gone, but you
don’t even know what it is.
Its capacity— degrees of freedom,
vibrational
rotational
translational,
its essence— energy
measured absolutely,
first by Kelvin.
So know when I say
I’m losing heat, I’m dropping
Kelvins, quantized packets
that could raise my voice
to jovial screaming, flail my arms
bobble my legs and work my tongue
around my lips, eyes lit like dynamite.
Temperature comes and goes
be careful not to lose your bonds,
double
triple
bonds building bridges
to your childhood,
your capacity to love.
We forget how to laugh
so hard we hurt our bellies
deafen our friends
and scare our lovers. We
forget that the public
is just full of people
and find our tongues
are slaves to only tasting.
So I just make sure I’m waiting
for that mechanical motion,
that disturbance to ride
through my every bond
that won’t be breaking
because I’m not rigid.
I’m making sure I’m ready
to vibrate, rotate
and *********
I’ll translate too.
I’m losing heat,
not degrees of freedom.
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
She was born in this world unable to see.
Her chubby cheeks complement her very large eyes.
She was an angel, indeed. Adorable.
I know I wasn't there but I can tell from the very moment I saw her eyes.
Her eyes...
The only part of her that stays the same, from the moment when she was a child until now that she is a woman.
Her skin is no longer the same, nor her mind, nor her heart.
But her eyes... her eyes speak of eternity.
Her irises shame the bluest skies,
and when they turn gray the wolves realize that the moon is nothing to her gaze.
And when I read the scriptures stating God makes me lie in green pastures and leads me to still waters,
I need not to read them again, for her eyes tell it all.
Your eyes show me the evergreen fields, your face is tamer than the peaceful waters.
Tell me then, what else do I need, when you're the best that God has to offer?
Now what do the seekers seek,
what do the doubters ask,
what do they decipher,
when your eyes have answered them at last?
Why did they spend their lives looking at the stars,
why did they waste their time breaking down atoms,
why did they put themselves in an endless search for the understanding of infinity,
when the second they gaze upon your eyes, they shall know immortality?
I can see. But I was blind, like a bat lost in the middle of the day.
Seeking purpose, seeking essence, seeking all the answers to all the questions.
I have dropped belief, I have dropped faith, I have dropped hope,
and so I have dropped love.
And I have never been this lost.
It's a shame when the thing you were searching, was with you all along.
But fate is so gracious to give me the answer,
and I cannot believe that it would be much smaller,
The summary of everything, of the cosmos, of my existence,
Lies within your pupils, your lenses and your irises.
Your beauty has quantized the irrational,
you made the skeptic trust for the very first time,
you have shamed the atheist for making him believe in God,
for he was convinced that your perfect existence must have a perfect creator.
You have proven that Copernicus has wasted his time proving the earth's revolution around the sun,
when it was crystal clear that the universe revolves around you.
You have proven wrong Maslow's heirarchy of needs,
when it was your words that shall make a man truly live.
Your eyes became the window to another world,
Through it I've seen the beauty of your soul, the hope of us all.
This foolish man has even been proven foolish,
searching the answers in all the places, despite the fact that you're beside me.
And still I remain blind. I can see everything, but still I am blind.
But now I shall cease my needless wandering and just stare at your eyes for the rest of my life.
Until I am in my deathbed, with your cheeks chubby no more, and your beauty defied by time.
Your eyes remain the same, and the radiance of your soul forever young.
And I shall tell you my final words,
to the eyes of my goddess, forever divine,
"I have seen the all the beauty of the world, through the eyes that weren't mine."
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
i timed all my synapses so evenly that now they are quantized in perfect 4/4 time with my heartbeat
you couldn't ask for much more, or so i hope
i have
nothing left to offer any of
you
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC