"recalculating" poems
The Mendacity of Beauty, Marvels of the Mundane
<1/1/2023 10:38 PM>
commissioned by Pradip^
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A special carnet permits the day,
though day itself unremarkable,
permissioning of a thousand,
even, tens of ten thousand
grasping new love poems
all mundane, all marvelous
an aborning of odes re the
vastness of sea, sandy sky,
multifarious penumbras of hewn hues,
vibrantly diverse, still, requiring the
expanse and pretense of “new”
adjectives and metaphoric
in combos recalculating
precisely, it’s the enormity,
of the difficulty of verbal capture
upon tablet of these natural treasures,
once, more, yet again, but in somehow in a new-never
quite-before conceptional~postulation-realization
I sojourn amidst both man made and natural beauty,
provoking, invoking, a steady stream of potable knowledgeables, performing as a hand-written-thank-you-note for the grace, the imagination of their mishmash existences addressed only to
“whom it may truly concern…”
I’m eager to confess that the poetry inherent in the
mundane, requiring not-so-easy mining, a sales taxing
innovation to capture the subtlety of less visible flecks of gold, that present a rarer challenge to the poet’s senses where glory abides in pyrite pebbles strewn and trod upon by most indifferently,
*ah, write of the marvel of the mundane,
**** dare you!*
<>
^Pradip: “writing of the mundane is mandatory for me…”
Aug 12 2022
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 11:10 AM UTC
A Comet passed too near the sun,
and was filmed disintegrating..
Perhaps its G.P.S. was off
or just recalculating.
The solar skimming comet
surely melted in the heat.
Old King Sol, our yellow dwarf
Enjoyed his slurpee treat.
Astronomers were quite tight lipped
When asked to speak upon it
All I got from one stargazer
Was a terse” No Comet!”
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 8:02 PM UTC
The road back to you is full of thorns
every step is a pierce through my skin
soles bleed from the sharp edges of my agony
wounds that time hasn't healed yet
and its pus cry out 'for how long?'
The road back to you is full of thorns
and I am still made of eggshells
crushed each time i roll back in
which is why this road is a road
that i should travel back no more
The road back to you is full of thorns
but it calls me even with memories i no longer welcome
my footsteps can lead to many other roads
but your arrow is a test of how much I've recovered
and so I go...
The road back to you is full of thorns
but i know one day the thorns will hurt me no more
and your familiar signs could lure me no more..
with my new compass, thanks but, No thanks!
No longer barefoot, no longer on foot
[Recalculating... Turn right]
a road that my GPS system won't even recognize
because the road back to you is full of thorns
Abandoned, Uninhabited, Untraceable
In fact, it's a road no More...
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
The wind is as idle as I am today
It groans in halfhearted exasperation,
recalculating avian trajectories at 15 miles an hour
The trees are shaken up
“Give me all your leaves!”
They comply with as much dignity as nature brings
Crumpled sighs as they acquiesce and deliver
The same bounty demanded every winter
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
You deserve that new leopard print dress
you bought to straighten your figure.
You’re tired of A-line dresses that hide your broad hips.
Your new dress has no form, but it clings to you
Like an ex-boyfriend whom you deserve better than.
Your new life is doesn’t replace the old one; they are co-dominant traits.
The fact that it feels new has nothing to do with
The new threads hanging on your shoulders, weightless but slightly burdensome.
Your face is older but it looks better to you.
You sweat less in these drafty spaghetti straps, and when you do
The beads don’t reach the edge of the armholes;
They just keep sliding down to your hips.
This is natural for you and if you would just let your hips dance
You would find the sweat cools their pink-hot heat.
You may be sore afterward, but your mind is usually sore anyway
From recalculating and budgeting your love.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC
It’s Monday afternoon, the first day after Fall Break. Several of my suitemates are here, relaxing a bit before we hit the dining hall and then scatter, like debris from a bomb. There are a zillion things to do on campus, on any given night. Lisa and I are going to a seminar, Anna and Sunny are going to a Uni play and Leong’s going to see a documentary.
Leong was hunched over a cup of dark tea, reading ‘J-14’ magazine. “Do any of you guys think Travis Kelce is hot?” She asked, not looking up. Leong subscribes to several ‘teen’ magazines, like ‘J-14’, ‘Girls' World’ and ‘Girl’s Life.’ She says that Yale is her chance to be the ‘American teenager’ she could never be at home (Macaw, China). We’d make fun of her if we didn’t all read them after she finished, and they were lying around.
“No,” said Lisa and I about the same time as Anna and Sunny said, “Yeah,” to varying degrees.
“Did you think he was hot before he started dating Taylor?” she asked, pushing the enquiry even further. “No,” said Lisa and I repeated in unison - we had this down now.
“He wasn’t on my radar,” Anna admitted. Sunny said, “Yeah, same here.”
“Why do YOU think he’s hot?” Leong asked Sunny (who’s fem-facing).
“I can appreciate a hot guy,” she said, sounding a little defensive, “as someone who could draw hetero interest.”
Then Lisa reported, from head down in her textbook, “Your mouth retains the DNA of everyone you ever kissed.” She looked up and asked me, how many guys have you kissed?
“You mean politely kissed or Deep-kissed,” I asked back, tilting my head, sticking out my tongue and slobbering it around, like a dog eating peanut butter.
“They mean French-kissed,” she replied, rescanning the last paragraphs as I calculated.
“So, the five guys I dated, but we used to play ‘spin the bottle’ at parties too.. so.. 25?” I said.
“You **** she laughed. “I have my truth,” I updogged, “How about you?”
“I’d forgotten ‘spin the bottle,’ Lisa admitted, recalculating.. “Yeah, 25 sounds about right.”
“Leong?” she asked Leong. “Two,” Leong answered instantly.
“Anna?” she asked Anna, so Lisa was going completely around the room with this survey.
“25 sounds right” Anna answered, “including spin,” (the bottle).
“Sunny?” Leong asked Sunny. “A HUNDRED,” I said, hijacking Sunny’s answer, and everyone chuckled. Every Friday night Sunny brings a different girl home to ‘spend the night.’ It’s rather impressive.
“A few,” Sunny answered, shrugging nonchalantly, “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“I’ve got a calculator,” Anna said, “if you change your mind,” holding her phone up like an offer.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 5:09 PM UTC
I'm trying
I think.
I'm not sure where I am,
Where I'm supposed to be,
Or how long I'll be here.
The GPS is still recalculating
The engine won't turn over.
I have not reached my destination.
I am not in a safe location.
There is not a story that I should be writing.
There is no writing on the walls.
There is not a forth wall to be broken.
And if it's not broken, then I can't fix it.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:40 PM UTC
Once upon a time, on a road so long,
I set out a journey, singing my song.
With snacks in the seat and a map in my hand,
I felt like a king, ruler of this land.
The GPS lady, with her calm, soothing voice,
Said, “Turn left ahead,” as if I had a choice.
But I missed the turn, and she sighed with a tone,
“Recalculating route,” in a voice like a drone.
The miles stretched on, the road never ends
With no end in sight, just around the next bend.
I passed by cows, and fields of green,
And wondered if I’d ever be seen.
The fuel gauge dipped, the light turned red,
I needed a station, or I’d be dead.
I found a place, with a quirky name,
“Last Chance refuel,” it was part of the game.
The restroom key was a sight to behold,
Attached to a hubcap, rusty and old.
I did my business, and I grabbed a snack,
I hit the road, never looking back.
The radio played the same old song,
About a truck and a dog, it went on too long.
I switched to a station with talk and news,
But the host’s voice gave me the Exocet blues.
The sun beat down, the AC broke,
I rolled down the window, and started to choke.
On dust and bugs, and the smell of hay,
I longed for a shower, at the end of the day.
A detour sign appeared out of the blue,
“Road closed ahead,” what was I to do?
I followed the signs, through towns so small,
With names like “Puddle” and “Waterfall.”
I stopped for lunch at a pub so quaint,
With pies so sweet, they would make you faint.
The waitress smiled, with a knowing glance,
“Long journey, huh? Just take a chance.”
I ordered a burger, with fries on the side,
And a milkshake thick, for completing the ride.
Back on the road, with a full belly,
I felt like a hero, in my own telly.
The hours passed, the sun sank so low,
The stars came out, with a gentle glow.
I sang to myself, to stay awake,
And dreamed of the bed, I’d soon partake.
Finally, I saw the sign, “Welcome to Town,”
I cheered aloud, no longer a clown.
I parked the car, with a sigh of relief,
And thanked my God, for the journey so brief.
So if you ever find yourself on a drive,
Remember this tale, and you will survive.
With snacks and tunes, and a sense of fun,
A long journey’s end, is a victory won.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 12:51 PM UTC
You put your life on hold to examine the past, recalculating the out come and what came out. Who knew we’d be sad again, exempting everyone from the relationships of others. Swallowing acid, eating away your insides. Lying to your heart through the skipping beats, and *** stained sheets. You’re crying in the bathroom, reading a graphic novel in a hot bubble bath. Trying to relax, and forget about the past. Failing to tell yourself the truth about your heart-shattering memory and crushed up crush on whom you left behind. Can’t face the truth, so you’re chewing your teeth and swallowing in the shards. Your gums bleeding trying to spit out what’s in front of you but you draw a blank and the targets leaving sight. What are you going to do, you’re going to lie some more and hide it deeper down. You are, you’re going to taint with the tainted and dance with your demons. But they’re leading, and you don’t know how to tango. Getting dragged down and busting your *** hard on the ground, you plummet from Earth and fall to the hell you created yourself. You think back again, to what it could have been. If you’d kept your mouth shut, and just let it in. You cry.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
Life
Is
So
Random.
You Will Never Know
Where
You're Going.
Where Ever
You End Up,
Promise Me
You Will Be
Happy
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Oh, how I wish I had a reliable Internal Guidance System.
You know, like a GPS, but one that never loses service during cloudy weather or runs out of battery power?
Instead, my on-board navigation system frequently leaves me hanging.
Where am I? What am I doing? … What am I supposed to be doing?
It’s like my guidance computer got knocked out, kind of like the one on the ill-fated Apollo 13 spacecraft.
Which brings up another thing. …
Just like in “Apollo 13,” the movie, I wish I had this team of really smart guys, all wearing white shirts, black ties and 1970s horn-rimmed glasses, feverishly sliding beads on their abacuses*, checking my calculations for me, letting me know if the answer I’m considering is sound. “Looks good, Flight!” Thumbs up!
Instead, it’s like I’m endlessly pulling the handle on a Vegas slot machine, watching for a solution to line up.
Directions. The Right Decisions.
It’s not that I don’t have any ideas. Gosh knows, I’m always looking for clues and signs.
Astrology. Organized religion. The Wall Street Journal. Oprah Magazine.
I’ve sought counsel from them all. And found some temporal landing lights.
Sometimes I’m moved to act boldly. Make a change! Write that letter! Start something new.
But inevitably the runway gets mighty foggy all over again.
I waiver. I waffle. And I wonder … what now?
Come on, GPS! I need you to kick in here.
I’m tired of trying to read the tea leaves.
Could you just lock and load my coordinates and let me settle into some journey that makes sense and feels right … that takes me where I’m meant to be?
Oh, wait a second. Is that you, GPS? What’s that you said?
Oh, “Recalculating.” Right. Got it. I’ve heard that before.
Come to think of it, it’s the answer I was expecting.
And I know it’s going to come up many more times as I navigate my life.
I wait. I hear. I listen. I learn. I hope. I live.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC