"rotational" poems
The first moment
Was divided by the total mass
The center of..
The moment of inertia
Rigid in body
How much more torque
Will turn this rotations
Secondary
In a moment
Notice the rotational axis
Of the earths fastest acceleration
Mass times the square
Of the perpendicular distance
To the rotation of our sphere
Can anyone else hear
Could anyone else here
Understand the scalar magnitude
Of a poets Newtonian mechanics
And the motion of macroscopic objects
Circling his metaphors
If the present state of an object is known
It is possible to predict by the laws
Of classical mechanics
How it will move
The spherical harmonics
Are a set of orthogonal functions
Yet periodic functions composed of sinusoids
Is the assumption of weighted summation
Discrete time fourier transformation
In relation to a quills synthesizing rotation
Is the explanation I'm trying to relate in
What do you think I'm saying
Need I explore the atomic orbital electron configurations
Their representation of gravitational fields geoids
Fiber reconstruction for estimation
of the path and location
Of a poems explanation
For the spin of its formation
Is just a calculation
Differing in interpretation
By the readers relation
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
I pick this Earthly slide into Summertime, this season to begin, propels forward in all sense of Time, history retrograde, etched in Stone for Centuries, Coded in DNA, programed Circadian bodies, impressions applied geometric thickly glazed coat, generously slathered across my Retinal Screen.
Setup complete for me, attuned to Solar frequencies, aligned to cohesive Cosmic driving motion spiraling Syncopation with all partaking rotational bodies, all timers set to synchronous, all ties to everything celebrating their teamwork well done.
Activity accelerates, as does the heavy heat, both inseparable, together climbing ****** into sunburnt sweat, steaming, sizzling Sunday barbecue to reflect the Flesh boiling together in sympathetic Celebration of our Seasoned Sun.
Longer days accommodate for memories and fun, commemorate the Force of Season, into swing, will soon be swung, centripetal to glaze a different gaze lathered across my retinal screen, reverberate through Atmosphere, redistribute composition, smooth bottlenecking, flowing out yet emptying to take fill of what flows in.
No change of Season, nor change of Heart, no redirection ever knows emptiness, no moment leaves a Void unfulfilled.
No moment when the smooth Transition stutters to a Stop. The sync is in the constant movement bringing balance in equilibrium by shifting tides, Spinning Stars locking in, programmed by Primal Cause, the Synchronicity in Everything, so Summertime comes, this Time in which we rejoice, knowing it's all been planned, beautifully executed by mechanics of Nature.
Trust in understanding a Power much Greater is in Control, we are here simply for the Experience.
...Not to much more, just in attending to the Transitions of Ourselves.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
flux.
a word whose very sound connotes its meaning, a sloshing state of change
a liquid moment,
for we solids,
of bone and flesh,
though
we may be islands of stolidity,
entrenched, focused, organized,
when the surround sounds
of change are all about
you too are
fluxed
the serenity of splendid isolation
is not an impervious shell,
close eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth
these liquid times we abode,
inescapable from the roller coaster of
crashing storms of our
environment
try as I might,
cannot recede into a
white sealed envelipe,
cannot secede from
the froth of current events,
in the age of no distances,
and the rotational revolution of
but one lever,
a single beating wing
can disrupt the
the supply and communication
channels of our normative existential machinations
let me retreat unto my poetry trance,
but that choice
is currently unavailable
be wary of the calm of routine,
we live in a time of
the olympics of change,
and we cannot walk
on water,
nor tread forever
flux.
the liquidity curse of our
ever curving intersections
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:57 PM UTC
Four quarter moons turn,
Four silver glances in time,
Bound to seven planetary arms,
Rotational orbits,
Spiral and thunder,
Spoke and wheel,
The hammer falls,
Throws the cogs into gear,
Churning out these ghosts of creation,
Violence and chaos bed the morning,
A wedding dress for the sun,
A veil for the moon,
The audience attends in quiet slumber,
Death is merely a rite of passage,
Birth reshapes the fallen ashes,
Carbon feeds the famished soil,
A chain of daisies rise from the scorched undergrowth,
Carving a path through a
Charcoal coated forest,
Life slowly returns to life,
Tender shoots of lavender,
Mint and fern unfurl,
An old woman fills her water vessel
Bent along the edge of the river banks.
Her gentle eyes,
The color of emeralds and honey,
Reflect the shimmering starlight...
Each one shining like a freshly shorn pearl.
A choir of trees sings;
The melody riding on the breath of the wind,
Leaves a lingering kiss like a whisper,
on her cheek.
Beneath the wiry hair of an unkempt willow
She makes a bed of dry grasses and deerskin,
Sets in for the anothet night beneath this ebony colored canvas.
She lies awake in revelry,
recalling those stories of the great and powerful Gods of long forgotten twilights...
Their portraits drawn in celestial inks of sapphire, crimson and gold,
Transcribed in the blood of her ancestors,
Mirrored in the strength of her spine,
Amplified by the depths of her heart,
She, like so many before her,
Will endure the weight of another days work,
Will continue the dance between Sky and Sea,
Earth and Beast...
Letting the seasons pass without judgement.
Grateful for every scar, every tear,
Every spontaneous bout of laughter,
And for every sweet sigh of relief.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC
Having never
mastered the
rotational demands
of dancing
I stand alone
in this
forsaken corner,
my toes
corkscrewed
discreetly
into the
carpet
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 8:18 PM UTC
woke up this morning
'feels as if my limbs are ******* on too tight' I tell Dog
And further more ten minutes are needed in the black and witless
So then a hurry of imaginings
& so maybe sparked by the suggesting reflecting of the rotational clock parts
I don't know
wondering purged
but she was like an illusion
i could swear it
And I felt like being inside a movie
but a good one,
when the boy sees the girl
for the dawning moment.
Who know's if it's the soundtrack
hinting at hands to drag heels
wander sometimes
© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 5:49 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
Her lipstick blossomed against this, particular, shade of white.
It dimmed, as the filter thickened with a yellow stain.
Halfway down the bridge, held the implements saving her sight.
Lost in a back alley while feeling contrite
Privileged enough, still avoiding a handouts gain
Easy enough, held at her beauty’s height.
Unresolved, and drenched in self-imposed pain.
T-shirt’s ripped and garnished in disdain
Caught up with mystics and the art of transference.
Eye line clotted in an ever-thickening paste of black.
Standing upright on borrowed self-assurance
Using a bodyguard as a cocktail for hollow insurance.
Always a rotational position, pulled from the stack.
No more than a figure head to represent deterrence.
Tripped on a bed-rock buried in the track.
Wound up addicted her first time on crack.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
I
slow and
rosy fingertips
apologized
to a final strip of pavement
as they brushed the
remaining crumbs of
sunlight into a different sky &
I sat on the porch
for 17 minutes,
recording the halos of thinly suspended
rain, bright and ringed,
dissolving behind each car
until you came outside
to drive me back home
II
"I'm a nomad"8
he exhaled, smoke rising
from the hand not occupied
by the steering wheel.
she looked at him,
and then away.
she did not
watch his eyes.
"I'll come to you."
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&"...The rotational period and seasonal cycle [of the planet NowWhat] are likewise similar to those of earth, as is the tilt that produces the seasons..."
8"Peripatetic nomads, who offer the skills of a craft or trade to those with whom they travel, are most common in industrialized nations."
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
There is a universe somewhere in the paradigms of space,
out of sight, out of reach and yet it somehow exists.
A reality in which I find you;
time and time again.
A world in which like the elements that compound air and-
aid breath cannot exist without the other.
A world in which the unstoppable force of my attraction
towards the magnet pull of your immovable force coexist.
A paradox, and infinitesimal chance of being.
It leaves,a failed, Newton flummoxed and disgruntled.
Together, or not at all- we promise
in this absurd and meticulous fabric of reality.
A surrealist version of the real in which dreams are crafted,
nightly for the pleasure of those who have failed to envision more.
There are leaps that do not abide to the principles of gravity;
In which rotational asymmetry between space and time creates-
a thousand scenarios unfolding like the fluttery span of butterfly dreams.
There is a world for lovers out there.
As a play nears its end and the curtain descends,
another stage unfurls behind the fragility of red carpet satin.
A dream in which I relive and relish on you.
There is a universe at the end of space and time,
where gravity is inconsistent,
where dreams are real and the tears are crystal.
A world and a space apart-
in which I once again hold you tightly against my side.
There is, undoubtedly, this universe in which no analgesic can placate-
the vacancy of You and I.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Thanks Wiki How!
For those nifty hip exercises
I realize now
That my left hip
Lacked the rotational strength
That my right has
But I am working on this problem
In a few weeks
Everything will be balanced
Hooray
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
Am I taking it too far
Or you taking it too light
I don't know.
Sitting in hotel lobby,
Completely absent
Out of touch with reality
Deep in my mind
Thinking
Thinking over
Thinking about thinking..
Light up a cigarette?
Do some harm to self
To distract from all that
Rotational process of thinking
Thinking over
Thinking about not thinking..
Wondering to myself
Is it me taking it too far
Or there are different levels of thoughts in my head..
Thoughts about thoughts of thoughts..
It's quite tiresome
Nonproductive
Useless
Why can't it just stop?
Am I taking it too far
Or you simply don't give a ****
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
In this space, there is a tranquil peace,
Between land and sky where the sunset creeps,
I wander through the fading light
When the day surrenders unto the night.
The darkness dances with starlight beams,
Like waltzing fragments of my dreams,
While the constellations slowly turn,
And the faraway sun continues to burn.
Here in this realm of in-between,
Where nothing is the way it seems.
This reoccurring beauty often dwells
Under the earth's rotational spell.
For in this space of endless flight,
Where sunlight duels with the starry night,
When sunrise greets day with warming bliss
As the dark and light share one long kiss.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 7:47 PM UTC
The family pride
goes for the jugular. The rotational
push, dooms the vessel. I
come out in black waters. Night
is pitch-dark.
Riding the tiger, now you
want to come down. There was
no anonymous call to
remember the wits. A buried
myth is ready to romance.
My country bleeds in war
of titans. The secret of the road
was out. It does not go anywhere.
The bottomless pit is moving up
its depth. Nobody will drown in democracy.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC