"rotations" poems
Don’t lose yourself to the way that
You think that they want you
I keep being people that are unlike
The ones that were once me
And I’m not made that happy
By things, fun, or people
In a couple rotations
I’ve lost myself
And become something new
To become something new again
When they come back around
And you know they’ll come around
Will they see me standing there
Or will I be on the move
There’s a circle to run in
But I can’t just keep running
When the way gets familiar
And I stop looking cool
I have to change
That’s okay. That’s okay I guess
I’m reborn in new action
I’ll just do something else
You have to live with it
Whatever you do
Well that’s life for you
You have to handle it
You’re being destroyed
By the things you choose to
Make decisions for you
But it’s not who you are
No, you don’t have to be
What you’re doing today
I just can’t stay still
And I can’t keep pace
Just to spiral
I have to change
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
I know it's out there somewhere
the elusive balm of sleep.
I've tried an evening toddy
and I'm running out of sheep.
Prescriptions drugs and sedatives
placebos, they must be.
Because my eyelids won't stay shut
there's far to much to see.
The REM my body craves
is like a hidden itch.
I know I need to scratch it
but can't FIND that son of a *****
And so I lie in darkness
and stare up at the fan.
I try to count rotations
while making up a plan.
The Sandman's on vacation.
I guess i'll read a book.
I listen to some sound effects
a breeze and babbling brook.
I may just have the answer.
A hammer is the cure.
But such a headache I would get!
That has no real allure.
Desperation beckons.
I'm teetering on the brink.
I'd give a lot for just a bit
( ten dollars for a wink?)
My eyes are red and swollen.
My jaw is sore and raw.
The yawns are coming faster now
there oughta be a law.
I'll see you in the morning.
Sweet dreams if sleep you can.
For me...I'll just go meditate
and watch that ceiling fan.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
I convinced myself one day I could fly
Open my arms and allow the wind to carry me
Soaring through a brisk, warm air
Light-headed and dizzy as I see the earth rotate
From underneath my feet
And I realize the rotations that seemed ambient before
Have all gone away,
And I’ll be just like a bird
Bones hollow, a secret song swallowed away inside them
Free to go wherever I want
Without being looked upon
Surrounded by patches of deep, lovely, singing blue!
And I’ll forget what death means.
Forget blazing, unrelenting, merciless fire
Forget old salts and their adventures, in an honorable grave
In the slow, murky, wet, deep, dark, time-stopping coral grave underground;
I’ll forget muffled screams of dust and grime from six feet under
I forgot the wish
or dream
or ambition
or aspiration
or objective
So when I jump
There was no failing in my legs,
Or in my feeble, ****** heart
Or in my always-moving brain
There was no faltering in my breath
No secret wish for death
Just a quick, hasty JUMP!
Exhilaration and innocence
Frivolous yearning
An evanescence hoped for by many
Because it’s worth it.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
I am Jupiter storms
Unabounded by time
Raging on
And eons
Can not hope to confine me
To unstable matter
And mass
Rearranging
My molecules morphing
To liquefied jewels
And my surface
A canvas
Of unrefined fuels
Like an abstract mosaic
Of swirling
Unfurling
Tempests of archaic
As constellations
And the ages I've waited
And slumbered and spun
Into memories
Faded
And taken the names of your gods
As my payment
Inflating my ego's
Mesmeric rotations
So quick to claim hearts
Of Europa's amidst
My seductive, enchanting
Illusory bliss
Venture into my centrifuge
Fumy abyss
I have pressed up my lips
Of a frigid, wet steel
And then sealed
With a kiss
What ‘nary
A planetary
Can resist
And as she revolves
Around me
And gives life
Io dances about me,
Callisto my wife
Ganymede my seed
And the rest of my progeny breed
Future needs
What the Earthlings will need
To make up for their greed
All will see
Look to me
In my enormity
As my reservoirs
Fill them
With infinity
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
take me away to a different place
I had never been there before
but it smelled like memories
the sky meeting with the ground
in a haze of heat and dreams
far off from the tilted axis
and the rotations of day and night
music plays but our headphones
aren’t plugged into anything
where we walked and walked
and our shoes never wore
our feet never sore
and the horizon never came to meet us
at the train station
where no train will ever come
we play in between the tracks
throwing stones down the river
to watch them skip
mile after mile after mile
out of sight
texts were notes we drew in the sand
that the wind would never blow over
the clouds blowing low over the model houses
every bench a billow of thick smoke
dancing in still air
on the fringe of night
I had never been to this strange alien place before
but once I arrived,
I never wanted to leave
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
the star
obliviously
makes her
rotations
of life
around
the black hole
glowing
shining
fiery
pits of hell
if you get close,
but providing
warmth
and life
to her planets
that stay
far enough
away
naive
creature
born maybe
closer to the black
hole
than others
doesn't
notice it
as
out of the ordinary
anything
other
than her life
each
movement she makes
she will
be closer
to her destination
closer
to her destiny
took me
twenty years
of life
until I realized
the full force
of my depression
only when
she got close enough
did she realize
she was falling
into
the black
hole
that this
was what
wanted
her energy
her mass
herself
*******
pulling
with more force
than anything
she had ever
experienced
the realization
that her
entire life
was spent
waiting
to be devoured
by this
hell
oblivion
all she knew
was a
fabrication
never even
thought to wonder
what
she was circling
just
ignored
the glaring questions
ignored
the evidence
ignored
all of the signs
until
it was too late
to escape
event horizon
help me
i am trying
to gather
the momentum
strength
power
to get myself
outside
this point
of no
return
seems
impossible
seems
wasted
I won't stop
until I am devoured alive
I am the star
at an
event horizon
black hole
let me
free
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
new year isn't really
new it's a new cycle of all the
old in the world
old rotations of earth-sun-moon-stars-
old fruits to sprout & die at the breath of hope
old places trodden over by
new feet, worn by the curious who are conquering their fears.
old sounds permeate my senses & I wonder at a
time when they meant something
old year is a crouching beast, he is standing tip-toed in a liminal space between
new & new; old new and freshly
new, ink on parchment,
signs & names sealed and permanently set
the world cycles & returns.
people walk the earth & hold their hearts out for me to inspect
nothing is new here
just gone.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
( im sitting here watching this medicine
drip drip drop
the clock is making a ticking noise and im trying to focus my attention on it
this stuff makes me loopy i swear
**and none of my thoughts are making much sense at the moment
which is making me sound extra artsy and poetic)**
watch;
this false ownership
we say our universe and our planet because we see something gorgeous in it all and as humans we instinctively want to have ownership over things; it's the same kind of scenario as when a young child wants the cutest kitten or the prettiest flower
or in the way that i call you mine
i ask myself all the time
did i find you? are you mine?
~
the sun is at my back
and the sky matches his eyes
we're almost touching
our mouths hover close
god this thing that we are creating
it is infinitely beautiful
when im getting these treatments called actual hell
*i close my eyes
i let visions of him play in my mind
every time i hear his voice a kind of silence washes over me
and for the first time in my life i know who im destined to be and
who im meant to be with
and no other thing has ever felt like belonging to him does
this is how i was made
and here i am
almost home
just not quite
none of this can be undone
and i will never be the same because of him*
l o g a n
these letters? they might be my favorite
(they are)
this boy is so marvelous
when he spoke to me for the first time i swear i think the sun stopped to kiss the night
the sun burned holes into the sky
it spoke to the earth and sang to the universe
rays and waves and secret forms of communication
cracks formed in the earth and it opened up to show all of the things that had been lying dormant inside waiting for us
new things began to bloom
there were flowers born
shooting up out of the mud
overwhelming light bursting out of them
the flowers tore themselves wide open
to show us what was hidden inside
**his eyes flashed fire
and his eyes flashed nebulas**
**** my heart would've died otherwise
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
I've ****** the venom from your sting, Scorpio, it's left me dizzy and hurting. It's hard to believe after four full rotations around the sun the only thing to have deepened are the lines on your brow rather than your own understanding. I can see your weaknesses Scorpio, I can see I've struck a cord loud enough to make you wave your vindictive hand. I can feel your unforgiveness like a cold desert night, I can feel the hot burning twist of your sharpened knife. I'm among the planets and the stars; Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars-- it's amazing I've come this far. With my hand stretched out I've called your name, but you still look to me with all the blame. I wanted to share the air with you, but I know now life will always be unfair with you. To the earth and back, with no tack on a map, there is no simple answer-- our world is now black. Filled with dread, I lift my head and see your stinger is ready to inbed the worst possible venom known to us men. I'll be just fine, when I cut this line, that always leads me back to you.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
I get lost in...
Hidden ideas and deeper meanings to what I'm feeling.
Looking for something real to believe in.
Over-thinking usto...start me drinking...
But I kicked that ***** to the curb and built myself a bandwagon.
That **** was poison, see...
I had to let myself help me.
Now when I close my eyes...
All I can hear is the...
Rattle-rattle-click, rattle-rattle-click...
The sound of round rotations, rolling over bricks.
Measured like a metronome...
Water droplets echo as they drip.
But if freedom is defined by the thoughts in my own my mind, then I'm frozen in the timeframe of tomorrow, never-yesteryear.
And I'm still a revolutionary, I expect the best in Here(point to heart).
And by that, I mean exempt from holding contempt for another mass of energy.
Another open ear.
Another open mind.
Another heavenly body.
Another mystical meteor shower.
Another alien species placed on this planet by a "higher power".
But who am I to point fingers?
To point out flaws.
To point out fraudulence.
To pinpoint the factors that built your facade.
To pick through your red brick fictons of how you think I should be perceiving god.
See...I get lost.
In a magic land...
With a tragic hand.
A tear in time and space...
A human definition of race...
One we so often judge with a 2 sided face.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
Sometimes I forget what happened, but not completely, just as if I was in a haze. I squint to see through the mist of my recollections and in that moment I feel ten thousand things at once.
I catch myself saying to you in my head, feeling it too, I Love You D - - - - -, and I smile and bask in it for a moment, proudly, warmly. As soon as the words pass silently through my lips, I nearly remember.....
My chest tightens up and air can hardly enter and depart my respiratory system on their usual schedule. The piano falls, crashes, louder than silence itself. Steam escapes my eyelids as the pressure builds up all at once but not a tear passes through. Every nerve in my frozen body is screaming and retching in terror at the thought and I feel the need to run as a child would to his sympathetic mother, but there is nowhere to go, nobody to run to.
I am alone.
I am alone.
I repeat it a thousand times a second trying desperately to process how something impossible like this could have ever happened. The idea of you not being mine any longer can only be described as surreal and unbelievable, a feeling hauntingly similar to how that same mother felt when she received the ominous knock on her front door years later, the way she felt when the triangular bundle of patriotic fabric first made contact with her frail but steadfast fingers. Liquid cold encompasses me as the blood drains straight to my feet and out through the floorboards. All in that same moment I find the strength to inhale. Like the jolt of emergency paddles, I snap back to life as the gears resume their rotations.
This was not just a dream.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
"How are you?"
"I'm fine, and how are you?"
If only it were that simple.
He believes in power of self yet some days just feels helpless
Hardened body and calloused hands help to hold in demons
Fair smiles and warm laughs on the outside of the house of body
but step inside and see this is no home
Broken bottles fly like broken words in a broken family
How cold does it have to be to freeze a waterfall
as cold as he, as he is cold as ice
tears stop on frozen edge, invisible to all but him
because he hasn't let them fall since he was nine
it may seem sad, the lack of expression almost half of one's life
but that's the kind of man built by a father who never pulled punches
he threw them
yet don't feel sad for our dear boy, he doesn't feel sad for himself
he believes in character he believes in strength but he'd never put a child through that hell
never again would that play be renacted
the stage set in a three bedroom townhouse, this here, the broken home
tongues fly to make sounds echo down hallways into their sons room
is this love?
He doubted it.
Slurred words shouted names he did not know
****
*****
****
Days later he figured this had something to do with why he was moving out, why him and mum left
Why pa flew to Alberta and he was stuck with this mess
the lovely pile of pills and drink he called his mother,
in her sorrowful state of crazy
Our large rock continued it's jolly course around the sun, and many rotations later the boy was king
In charge at home, but not of himself, slowly slipping
calloused hands had nothing to cling to
Mum was losing it, keeping her on her pills was hard
and dad was gone,
whether he was leading a good life or shooting debts into his arms he didn't know
he hadn't talked to him in 3 years
didn't plan to either
So this is how it feels for he,
the bruised boy with good intentions,
keeper of pills and watcher of siblings
the man of the house.
You ask me how I am
and I'll answer it with truth
“I'm fine"
And how are you?”
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Chaotic systems
Disabled stems
Controlled streams
Dash in seams
Work ain't progress
It's a misused regress
Full of regrets
The greatest dissolution
No vision, just revisions
The mission of bureaucracy
Hypocrisy and autocratic casts
Top cats bumper weighty bonuses
Outclassed in beer bellies
Slashed in pompous waistcoats
*What a waste on the coast?
**I am not afraid to tell you, "I ain't a ******* robot"**
I am not a machine of production and rotations
**I am not afraid to tell you, "Go **** your *****
Give me time to be creative, innovative and autonomous
Chaotic systems
Disabled stems
Controlled streams
Dash in seams
Be an example, model the sample
Let the leader lead the leaders
Let the leader be the servant
An active weaver of the basket
To hold with the strongest straws
In rows and crows, clinging to all
A negotiator of the common people
A facilitator in times of conflict
Let the worker be dedicated
Passionate, triumphant and trial-led
But the case is, all are in it for the money
I am not afraid to tell capitalists, "Give workers their rights"
**I am not a ******* charity mate! Share the faked matte!**
**I am not afraid to tell you, "Stick it up on your ***
Give me time to be creative, innovative and autonomous
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
The veil is yellow. Flashes of teeth and skin and widened eyes. Nails dig into the skin when she turns. Jasmine lingers when her rotations warrant a new face, a new man. The tigers stretch their paws and extend their claws. No one reaches to pet them, even though they are hers. And she is the reason we are here. We watch her skin join our dreams, until the sharp "ting ting" of ankle bells disturb the sleep we try with eyes open and mouths gaping. One man belches and blows the perfume in her face, like a kiss when she bends to pick up the coins. They didn't see her. No one saw the moisture under welling eye sockets. They didn't see the scars on her arms and around her neck and wrists. Her own strength gone wrong.
We only see plump lips and hunger. And somehow we always think we brought enough to feed her.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
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
Somewhere, it seems as if the hidden, almost Apocryphal-smelling locks of Life are starting to open again; hunger and greedy thirst are following in its wake. The human shadows, like walnut kernels, carefully peel the rarely revealed one-essence from the slave back, as if everyone is waiting for the deliberate fall of their unsuspecting victims. Like tiger claws, the scornful sins of rejections and unworthy attitudes bite a person one after another, with which he can hardly do anything.
Because the World would crush everyone sympathetically a little, if it did not watch in readiness forever, as if a buzzing ant swarm penetrated the networks of blood vessels unnoticed. Because sooner or later, the mere Soul also rebels against its servant, the gaping of its instincts becomes arrhythmic. Even now, in a dazed stupor, this city with the smell of Nineveh slumbers like a drunken beast, which - it may seem - denies itself a little in exchange for petty, flattering benefits at every age, its compromising actions come face to face with man, and everything reveals how much easier it would have been to act differently, in a different way.
- In the grimace-games of dimples, the age histories of wrinkles get stuck halfway, which tell of shipwrecked childhoods... Something still rings better in a holey bag, and something just rings like a sound; making a big deal has become fashionable, just like unadorned, provocative ****** so that the number of viewers always brings the daily quota profit, the grass of innocence, like some unknown marijuana derivative, always rots. It may seem impossible to walk the peaks of silence that have become songless.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
I'm not a dancer, but I know this dance
Perfect rotations around each other
Perfectly rounded yet opposite
Opposing forces locked in a rhythm
Gazing eyes locked in a trance
Carefully spinning around in spirals
Together we dance the sinner's dance
--Christian J. Clark
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
All along the broken trees and bridges
Loom the heavy sins of man
Opulence pinches her curvy ridges
Nighttime is the right time
For easy forms of forgiveness
Here horn players blow out as they pass
Shouting sorrows at the moon
High notes vibe loose as Mrs. Cass
Lays down her weary knees
Folds her hands and prays
Coyote madness moves in shadow
Assassin pin striped and grey
Barroom is closed with nowhere to go
Sidewalk is splitting right under you
Birds sit stained by a moon light blue
Screeching southern gospel with tell tale Bill
High grass weave in a hot Autumn night
Bottle empty of those ****** sleeping pills
Eyes heavy from work on the trail
But my hearts heavy lookin' for bail
Make your way to the end block
Shoes broken eyes hung like satin
Stop sign sadness with a broken down clock
Time strikes a maddened midnight
She said every things gonna' be alright
Keys in the lock n' I'm so beat but I'll keep
My shoes are caked in mud
Doors ajar n' my dead end job won't start
Now and then feels like the present and past
All moments in time we grow to resent
In the star struck night Ill be dancing alone
Her skirt twirls yellow and gold
Grass beneath me buried calm cool bones
Death don't seem so bad sometimes
Death tastes just like an old bordeaux wine
When the wind picks up and makes you squint
And your back is bent sideways
Your soul feels spent and no ones gives you a hint
Hold your eyes to the ocean for waves
Come and most certainly go
Over each minute flashes ride through
Planets are forever unaligned
Nod of rotations push stars far past Pluto
A mash of slop soup tectonics
Brimming on the edge of robotics
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC
I cannot hear, the past in my rear view mirror;
Nor the wheels rotations,
or motion's sensations;
While under a flower bouquet
182.88cm away from me.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
I just want to be
a Duke of a Universe
is this too much to ask?
I could use
The Black Hole as a pool pocket
and the planets as pool-balls
and declare you
Vice Duke inspecting graffiti
on planet restroom walls,
and you report to me
those words of wisdom
of Plato, Nietzsche, Kilroy and cornbread...
I just want to watch
comets streek across
the heavens
and watch tiny pulsars blink minute rotations,
and newly created stars explode
and belch their heavenly gases
And see masses and masses
of nebulae
stretching outward
like blowy-toy-pinwheels
And I'll take the " Big Dipped"
and dip it in the " Milky Way"
while playing marbles
with tiny asteroids
And use the heavens as my
painter's canvas
and splash on newly Constellations
And use the many Suns
to warm my chilly hands,
The return from farthermost
planets of Sunless Lands
Oh my BOSS!!
I'm getting too serious
as you can easily see
And why worry?
Because I'm already
a Duke of a Universe,
The talk of the playground campus
The talk among every prominent
Neo-Freudian and Neo-Skinnerian
The talk about my wisdom writings
found near almost flushing toilet
at "QUACKSVILLE UNIVERSAL UNIVERSITY"
Here come the med cart
Here come the med cart
That's all folks
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
As my world turns, and flips and goes side-to-side, side-to-side, side-to-side, I see all these things before me lain to waste, gone now here again away forever to return this coming never, always there and never needed, never there and always sought, as my world turns I sometimes forget where I'm standing, and where I've stood or sought to stand, side-to-side, side-to-side, side-to-side I see them all entwined side-to-side side-by-side floating to and fro to some invisible flow. As my world turns I need something more to look for and let these things slip from my hands and fall gently to the rough ground and as my world turns it enlarges, it contracts deeply and it expands widely, when my world turns, the trees grow, the wind blows, the oceans rage and clam, the birds and the bees frolic and die wither and fry, the lands are set ablaze in burning passion which subsides as quickly as it started, when my world turns I see these things before my eyes. When my world turns I stand still and watch the skies.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
yesterdays like today
expecting what is to come
with the rising of the sun
like a Chinese whisper
passed through time and ancestry
the overall message
is muddied along the way
Maybe there will come a point
a turning point, swiveling on
the axis of my rotations
and I'll hear the whisper
barely audible small and infantile
and I will finally understand
until then the days are transcribed
into tally marks
etched out on the walls of life
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference.
Already absent,
my heart already fonder
for memories we hadn't been able to make yet.
Time is slow. You can sleep, then wake up.
Because of that: I haven't even bat an eyelid yet.
Unblinking in these unholy stretches
of distant poetry where I am God, I
watch our oblivious universe. Make something of it.
Fashion us a happy ending, if you will.
But you're there, and
I'm here.
So...
...would you mind
if we talked
about infinity...
...tonight?
Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference,
so tonight is meaningless to you.
You see the sun, I see the stars.
But who can say
one of us is more blind than the other?
Who is to say what is wrong
and what is right,
when we live in a world
where I, Romeo
and you, Juliet
can commit suicide
when it's both day and night?
Such things are preposterous...
even more so than I pretending to be God
with my pen of hormones and heartbreak...
Who am I to think that I could possibly... make something of it.
Or fashion us a happy ending, if you please.
I am mere, and powerless before the rotations of the Earth
just as I am powerless to my impulse
to click the refresh button
over any one of your profiles,
thinking it's somehow better to read 'About Me,'
then to ask about you.
Refresh.
Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference,
and neither Romeo or Juliet are dead.
Though they never lived as nothing more than characters;
we are people. You and I are not tragic concepts;
we are merely circumstance to
an arbitrary mixture of romance films, evolutionary biology-
all subject to the Earth's curvature, the Sun's shadows,
and the mocking Moon's stolen light. Simultaneous.
But because I am self-aware
I can be the **** of my own jokes
rather than the butt-end
of God's lonely, bored cigarette...
...It always has to end with
depressing existentialist philosophy,
doesn't it? More reflections or rejections
of purpose or meaning
of heaven and hope
or whatever will close the golden gates
of happiness to me. It just always
has to end that way, even though I'm not a French writer...
... I could still romance you with my words
and hold you as comfortably as I could my favourite book.
Not too tight. Not too loose. Lightly, effortlessly-
that's how it felt
to kiss you Goodbye
and all of that jazz.
And now after all that, the blues.
Refresh.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC