"rhombus" poems
i seem to only see three constellations in the night
sky these days... the modo -
it be the sign of: the age of scorpio,
there's but the big & little dipper (respectively)
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do these people really need to be spoon fed?
the smaller dipper is akin to the big
dipper, hence to write in the other
and last constellation (minus that odd rhombus
without a name) -
and believe me when i say: orthodox
astrology doesn't agree with me:
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i guess i managed to draw the right
schematic,
besides the point, there are but
three constellations in the night sky
around here, and one is a revisionist take
on the scorpio...
**** you hippies, and your age of aquarius,
this is what a scorpion looks like,
and nothing what you've indicated,
i'm starting to think that astrologists
did poorly in geometry class...
but i'll end it on a positive note...
*there is more dignity in being ascribed an
epitaph, than being given a "proper" burial...*
and by "proper" i mean: the leech family
members waiting for inheritance,
the sycophantic actors of attendance -
throw me into a mass grave, i don't mind
for a "proper" burial...
there is no dignity in whatever burial
ensues as many will do...
but allow man to transcend
the date of birth ** / yy / zz
and the date of death zz / yy / **
with an epitaph...
however "wise" the man was in life,
his dignity only arrives postmortem,
in the form of an epitaph...
but one epitaph overshadows a thousand
quotable mentions of the man, when alive,
but one epitaph of a david,
overcomes the oeuvre of maxims of a goliath.
whatever argument for light pollution exists,
even when in the scottish highlands
i didn't see any more stars...
there are only three constellations in play
on the night sky,
and one of them is the genuine scorpio
constellation,
with the orthodox constellation being
bogus, fake, unnecessary...
i, i've spotted the constellation of scorpio,
and i did so: with my naked eyes!
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 8:21 PM UTC
A rhombus is my favorite, crooked square.
I like haunted houses with windows with faces
and fun houses with mirrors that oval circles
that distort my body two hundred degrees.
I like haunted houses with doors at right angles,
and half moon neon protractors
that blur every shape zero degrees.
I like cubes I stack four cubes high.
I like half moon neon protractors
and scientific calculators.
I like cubes I stack ten cubes high
and old houses with ceilings that creak.
I like scientific calculators
and dividing eight billion by pi.
I like old houses with ceilings that creak
with cylindrical cans filled with old beets.
I like dividing eight billion by pi
and fun houses with mirrors that stretch right angles.
I like old houses with crooked windows,
like I said a rhombus is my favorite.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
A Valentine's Card dressed
With Steve Buscemi's face,
photoshopped onto a child,
disturbing and hilarious,
tattooed on the inside
with once-true truths.
Flammable.
A severed chunk of
35 mm film,
cut in a rhombus,
or trapeze or whatever,
highly flammable.
A piece of cloth
I brought with me,
And the part of
the belt I had to cut
off so it would fit
my skinny ***
Flammable, slightly.
A dead and dried up leaf,
Impaled on the bulletin board,
From a tree I don't even know what,
That sometimes crinkles with the wind,
If she were alive still,
She would comment on the
Cold thumbtack spear
In her abdomen, and
Sniff regrets at the sweet,
Artificial Vanilla waves below.
I keep my wall of
flammable memories
Above a lit candle,
Every day, I wish the flames
Would reach a little higher, but
Every day, the wax sinks,
low, low, lower still.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Gauging the time on my ever ready
Timepiece, I would be vacant without it
Guessing the minutes that miss out
As the second hand moves smoothly
Locking onto with its demonstration powers
How to mark time successfully, second by
Second, a prelude to the minute minder
Merging in with the big guns, the 'On
The hour Brigade' of salutes and silences
Schedules and deadlines.
The.....gong
The chime
The clang
The beep
The moment to be woken from our sleep
It's a curse at 'times' (excuse the pun)
The engagements starting point and
Finale. I wonder what time it is right now?
Would we lose ourselves scurrying to find
Our 'timepiece'. Do we pick up our redundancy
In favour of technological time and motion?
Even though the 'Wonder World' has not dreamt of....
And cannot conceivably equate.....powerful potent
Possibilities of fake time in an unknown spatial
Rhombus, conspiring recklessly to promote individual
Unreality; time spinning out the hour, through
The minutes, towards the last seconds.....
of our unreal lives
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
I build a house of cards with the deck of hearts and present it to you.
And upon seeing all my full, red expressions of affection, you shuffle and deal out my imperfections until
one by one,
my house falls down.
Your diamonds aren't as illuminous as they were after your first sip, you say.
So all your glitter isn't really gold, you say while
shifting my diamond to a rhombus never to turn it right side up again.
Your clubs beat me over the head and cause my brain to swell with a smooth aftertaste as you
see through my lack
of a poker face.
Breaking through my walls and exposing my weak points.
Flooding over my defenses and ensnaring me in a trap
weaved only by the highest proof
and I know you have won.
Because my ace of spades has been found.
Trickling your jokers over the rocks to my hearts,
they climb over the rubble that has been laid at the ground, the foundation, the base.
And your clubs tear it up!
And the jokers, you! race to the top of the south and with your strongest clubs,
break into my ace of spades!
Pinning it to the ground and forcing it to turn around and flee!
And I can hear it! I hear it calling for me... to help us get away
but my hearts are dull and my shifting rhombi are ablaze.
For this infinite moment in time is dazzling and my own eyes aren't aligned to light the way
to free me.
Gleaming rays of the sheen from your diamonds slice through my illusions and
wake me up to the aroma of fresh debris.
My hearts, toppled. My diamonds, demolished.
My clubs, sleeping and my ace of spades,
removed.
And the sky never changes. The moon ripples in the puddle left behind by the design
of your jokers and spades and your hearts remain untouched. Your spades are buried behind walls of
black and your diamonds are so far back that I couldn't tell if they were even there at all.
My deck of 52 is now a deck of 51 and without a solid set,
I'll never have the chance to play this "game" again.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
The Dying Romantic Mathematician
“Your trapezoid is vectored to a sphere”
She sighed, “and parallels are polygon.”
“All, all is perpendicular,” he coughed,
“And arcs are so rectangle to sad Pi
Equiangular in the radius
And rhombus has gone Pythagorean.
O canst thou concave the isosceles?”
“Yes!” she coplanared. “Yes!” he gasped in pain,
“Oh, yes, our love is solved for X!"
He died,
Quadratic equations upon his lips
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
The triangle ate himself into a circle
Because people told him he was too square
And they meant the informal definition
So he kept eating to change his shape
He added a few pounds that multiplied his weight
But that didn't help
He wanted to be wondrous
Why couldn't he have been a rhombus
Why couldn't he have been born into a parallelogram family
I saw him sulking in the fact he was half the diagram
I told him he needed to go on a diet
And strengthen himself into a pyramid
And only then would his base be the foundation
Of the family
He has always wanted
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
no one knows How to ride a bike.
we learn and discard. what once,
came hard -
now a faculty, disconnected
from the [ method. ]
embedded in
the act. beyond the rhombus of our reckoning !
and the calculus of initial conditions,
indeed; waaaay back
when skill lacked
and the knack was absent.
with - only pure Will
Unpacked.
mastery forgets.
and we forget
That.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
you and i are split skin. split skin in a cave.
shadow craven sparks in the nonplus of our one up
you and i are this djinn, white marble lathe of sparrows ,
ravenous larks upon our dumb lust, such
universal slit wind. It's bent in a wave.
hallowed pavilions, susurrus the rhombus
of love's knave
who cuts up.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
You trapezoid my heart
While I'm a spider who gets caught
A rhombus who rams butts...
A square who has perfect sides
A rectangle who is tall
A triangle who sometimes can cave in has pointy top
A hexagon a guy who can be edgy
A circle that has an endless loop of love care & passion
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
A circle.
Two enclosed in endless togetherness.
A square.
Two aligned and side to side as equals.
A triangle.
Two begun far apart destined to meet.
A rectangle.
Two beside each other through thick and thin.
A rhombus.
Two as equals leaning on each other.
A diamond.
Two joined at the sides in perfect balance.
An oval.
Two turning as one with each the focus.
A trapezoid.
Two in parallel until they converge.
Amorphous.
Two can be as unique as love makes them.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
Wander from Argyle Street towards the pyramid shaped monolith
past the oddly named Benny Hamish - Sicilian Couture Tailors -
through the automatic glass doors of persuasion
up the revolving stairs of many stairs
sail by the portly security guard
(who looks like he'd be out of breath after a 10 yard dash)
along the imitation marble airstrip
passed neon facades and signs for proactive self indulgence
toward the carousel of smoked-mirror lifts
that take the well heeled to their desired destinations
without having to worry about their Chanel leather clutch bag
and newly purchased Christian Louboutin shoes
and I sit people watching,
writing this poem on a borrowed napkin
with a discarded betting shop pen
amid a horde of timid stomachs and twitching wallets
faced with a thousand fast food offerings
and gaudy coloured tables and chairs
littered in the remnants of repugnant non-ecological eateries
and Styrofoam cups and re-composite cutlery
under Noah's grotesquely beautiful steel ark
lined in industrial tubing and chrysalis shaped netting
and giant Art Deco toothbrushes
and 30 foot wiggly mirrors
and stretched rhombus sails
acting as a blanket barrier
to the blue skies and arched sun of the outside world
somewhere between
KFC and Burger King.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
Gatorade at the pinball machine
a moderate allergy
to most things
prompts the mouse
to stay indoors
/
the alive, the low, the excuse
*I am a Sagittarius and I flirt with
everybody* but U
listing in the centermost rhombus
of my woozy kaleidoscope
are the kind of creature
women write spells about
and then grow gardens 4
/
don't bring those
outlaws here,
to my Fabergé spacecraft.
just yourself, and that...!
my crown of moldy leaf
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 1:05 PM UTC
in the old grass we found lead weights and paraffin
arranged upon smoke and earth... gilding the cannibal suns
with flesh-tones and bedsores. we forged ahead
of our Heads again
in disarray.the long Joke of Birth... tilting the rhombus.
we cumbersome.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
(picture of feindflug's vierte version compact album sleeve not included.)
one day a compact silver,
might be worth more than a 33 1/3,
as tim wonnacott might say:
today’s youth are not into clutter,
they’re moby minimalists;
but i say: what sort of still life
would anyone paint without the clutter
of things, colours people?
i guess modern art is also anti-clutter:
throw in a black rhombus and
you get the end-scale of cubism,
like a single ****** contortion of
block-bulging triangle: a mixture of
them all: equilateral isosceles and scalene
(but not a pythagorean triangle in sight)
on the faces of les demoiselles d'avignon
(the young ladies of avignon) - ripped
off the page and given a whole new canvas.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
The Earth spins full circle in a Rhombus pattern;
Closed mouths scream at me in the bright bright Dark;
Gravity rises and Saviours loot houses;
Sing Angels Herald the Hark!
Horrified children play happily with Blunt Spoons;
While the Six-Legged vehicles swarm around me;
Cats chasing dogs through Bolted Doors;
It seems the lost have found me.
This March has stolen charms for me with Purple Money;
From wounded ears softly I Cry “Phel! Phel!”
Under soft Moonlight the sun Chuckles Blankly
The Slugs hunt me under their Shells.
Grass grows on my skin whilst I lay on Earth’s scabs;
I try and crawl Backward smashing head-first into Walls;
An Empire has collapsed into Everything today;
Ever Silent the raven Calls
I fall on my stomach and look at the stars;
Circles shift past me revealing their sides;
I know I need poison to mend my no-body
This Desert has too many Tides.
The Earth spins full circle in a Rhombus pattern;
Closed mouths scream at me in the bright bright Dark;
Gravity rises and Saviours loot houses;
Sing Angels Herald the Hark!
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
At astronomical dawn,
we met as suns, as
confluence of rainbow
love, discharging our
rivers of fondness into
each other in emerald gold.
Darkness came and *****
the morning. And deep gullies,
craters, hold-ups, pains and
numerous sorrows on the way
of glory.
But I know the suns'll not die
'cos what is written is written!
... the glory of the morning
suns appeared again in rainbow
folds, bringing rhombus sheaves
in unlimited volume with sublime beauty.
And I told her, I am your poem
and you are my poem in all
seasons.
Recite and I recite to the power
and glory of the Author of authors.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
Surrendered to shame
Left alone , to dwell inside a rhombus.
All my pain before me, a pejorative eye hollowing me into state of neurotic confusion.
In solitude, self reflection means a house of mirrors.
The air is heavy with whispers.
What is this cage?
My hands are wrapped around my knees. Why is it raining in here?
A sea of ***** having a laugh over tea.
I'm frighten, worried I'll be forgotten here.
Someone serves me a tall glass of milk, and I awake.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
The shape of the sun; circle
The shape of a city block, square
The shape of a baseball field, rhombus
The shape of a house, pentagon.
But the shape of a home
Is based on what lives inside.
A pyramid proves a simple structure can still succeed
All lines involved
Connect to complete a common goal.
An octagon interludes
So all sides can solidify
A promising whole.
So what is to happen
To a house with
No shape?
When the lines are misconstrued
And the corners are mismatched.
A splatter on a plane
Lacking effort to be real.
A shape is not a shape
If there are breaks within the lines.
A shape is not a shape
If everyone neglects the vertices.
Geometry should have been priority
while planning a family.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
Phrenic prospectus imagination's immaturity. Dimensional delineation protractive analysis. Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguity's demagoguery. Elan vital's apotheosis, oneiromancy's vicariously recalcitrant futurity fatidic. Prescience clairaudience clairvoyant, astral projection's distance traveled-time spent to dynamic progressiveness, objectified manifest's diminutive minutia iotas, exponentially extemporaneous. Flirtatious flamboyance extravagantly exorbitant laborious beleaguerment's hypercritically meticulous tedium. Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma's incarnate. Fabulist facade fantasia, tesseract, exserted protuberance trapezoidal quadrilateral, rubato rhombus. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles, unicorn railway nails, down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Accidence ambience acoustics, diction's enunciation repartee's rhetoric. Retrospectively retroactive aorist actuator's attenuating arbitration's eidetic amendment. Biologism beholden corporeally preternatural's alluvium aloof impunity. Extremity's adjunct juxtaposition's transpositional interlude's prophylaxis protocols. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Proximity parameter perimeter peripherals, harpy harsh hast propinquity habitation's harbingers of harangued. Exude emote imbue. Impetus intrigue's intuitional intrepid, transcendent translucence and opaque opulence.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC
next to the totem I'm standing
make a square make
numbers and runners ran
down your sweet ice
and I'm standing with a totem make
square number of knowledge of the way
red stripes and green
wild huge sharp eyes
big long bright tongue
like my late friend
like a friend of my past winters
oh I will never see him again
squares like circle circles like rhombuses
oh yeah i know what a circle is i know
what is square and know what is
rhombus red and green yellow
colors i know i'm near orange
desert and no this is my bag of light
19.12.18
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC
I don lost this post at solstice
crossed from coast to coast
running unopposed *****
took the pic
exposed it
lost art
took the paper fold it
in part
squares to triangles
chance to lean upon
a square make a rhombus
show no fear
I touch a circle
drop a tear
make a sphere thus appear
my manifested spear
which I hold so dear
like my austere career.
If you HOLD IT, you KNOW it
please take this crane and hold it
assist a wish for the holy moment
Give the dime away
Live a finer way
Life and love
The cosmic drama
Light your stage above
We illuminate
Monday through Sunday
By never
acting my age
cause that’s the way of sage
unattached but still graspin
ripped out books from this page
while I was stuck asking
what’s important
these are my thoughts
but who and what informed it
that’s what I thought....
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
i've yet to do some cement work:
ratio out
3 to 1
of sand to cement...
some water some little
chemistry for the dough
which no **** will pass-through...
a little bit of bourbon
and nibbling... at something...
which is not...
akin to... the work of
a drapery seamstress...
it's not the iron curtain is still
up...
to the moon!
to the moon! to find the copernican
east!
and... oh... shitty-shitty-cum-vanguard:
toothpick iron maidens
of oral...
hey presto!
the silicon curtain...
such a certain idea
that i know i'm only revising it...
and if not revising it...
then: neu angle cubism...
a square as a rhombus!
wow! wow! wow!
to be alive and somehow
have a living audience: contemporaries...
and here i am:
necromancer - with a personal
library... of only 'the dead speak'
loquor mortuus...
better than graffiti:
thinking about latin with some
english shrapnel: a definite article
for starters...
wow! wow! wow!
or... chk chk chk (!!!) -
jump back...
how about...
an ode to an itch: you simply
can't scratch?!
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
Spiraling through
The rhombus night
Missing you
But your mine, you're mine.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC