"sine" poems
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe apne dil me utarne do,
Mujhe jina hain bus tere liye,
Mujhe ab had se gujarne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
Ishq ik aisi bimari hain,
Jo sabke dil par bhari hain,
Mujhe ab aansoo bankar
apne aankhon me chhalakane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do.......
Tujhe haque hain meri puri zindagi par,
Mujhe ab dil bankar,
Apne sine me dharkane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe apne dil me utarne do,
Mujhe jina hain bus tere liye,
Mujhe ab had se gujarne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
Ishq ik aisi bimari hain,
Jo sabke dil par bhari hain,
Mujhe ab aansoo bankar
apne aankhon me chhalakane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do.......
Tujhe haque hain meri puri zindagi par,
Mujhe ab dil bankar,
Apne sine me dharkane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
Dumaan saglit sa bilihan ng damit
Kahit sakto ang dala ay aking pinilit
Pagkat pawis ay malala dahil mainit
Sa pagkikitang ito lahat ay sulit.
Sa harap ng salamin maiging sinipat
Kung okay ang buhok at marapat
Konting talsik ng pabango sa kwelyo
Hindi muna ko maninigarilyo.
Upang ako'y perpekto sa pagdating
Lahat ay maayos sa iyong paningin,
hinahanap hanap ang 'yong awitin
Ng boses **** maliit ako'y bitin.
Nagmamadali at baka mahuli
Ayokong maghintay ka aking binibini
Kahit hasel sa lahat basta dumating
Sinira ang ipon para may pang sine.
Kamusta ka na? Kumain ka na ba?
Unti unting pinaplano ang sasabihin.
Sa paglalakad ako'y napapaisip
Ano ang uunahin, saan papupuntahin
Sa di kalayuan aking nakita
Maamo at maaliwalas **** mukha
Sabay nagising sa katotohanan
Sa noo ko ay biglang pinawisan.
Nang biglang nauntog sa totoo
Na ito ay panaginip lamang
Hawak ang lakas ng loob
Napalunok at parang..
Nabilaukan sa pagkakita
Sa kamay **** may humawak
Sa di bandang kalayuan
Pumatak ang luha ng uwak
At sabay bati ng kamusta
Habang hagkan ka at yapos
Ako ay kinakain ng sistema
Ng matinding pagseselos
At binalewala ang pagpapakilala
Sa kasama mo'y ikaw'y hinayaan
Sigaw ng puso'y nagaklas
Batid na "Dapat ako ang nandiyan".
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 8:51 AM UTC
Bachpan ka samay kabhi na lautkar aata ,
Har waqt bus yaadon ka aasma reh jaata ,
Khelte the hum bhi khub dhul ko udel ko,
Maaf kr diye jate hamare sabhi galtiya aur bhul ko,
Jab chaha has lete they ,
Aur jab chaha ro dete they ,
Chhote chhote aankhon me sapne bade hote the,
Na kisi se bair,sare log apne hote the,
Par ab tou aansuo ko chahiye tanhayi ,
Chehre par sirf jhoothi muskaan hai chhayi ,
Zindagi ki tapish mein kab bachpan guzar gaya ,
Kab bachhe se bade ** gye zindagi ki daur mein nazar hi nahi aaya ,
Kya din they chalate they baarish mein nao
Ab khud ko chupane ke liye sochtey hain kha jao,
Na kuch paane ki aasha thi or na kuch khone ka drrrr,
Mast rehte they jaha apni hi dhun idhar udhar,
Koi lauta de bachpan ka sawan
Fir se mehak jayega mere dil ka aangan ,
Khelte they khilone se aaj khud khilona ban gaye ,
Bachpan ke sunhere pal na jaane kha kho gaye,
Maa se lipatne ke bahane bnate,
Maa ke aanchal ke chav me hi so jate,
Chhote se kadam se saitaniya bde karte the,
Papa Ki pyari daat pr bhi ro dete the,
Jab bhi rota mai,Maa apne sine se laga leti thi,
Sahlake haath sar pr mere muskura deti thi,
Maa ka dudh jaise amrit ka pyala tha,
Sach me hamara bachpan bahut hi nirala tha,
Amrit ka Ek ghut pi kar bhi khush ** jate the,
Duniya ka sabse bda sukh maa ke aanchal me hi pate the,
Yaad hai hume wo khubsurat bachpan ke pal,
Muskura dete hum jab bhi yaad aate wo sunhare bite kal........
4th collab. Poem composed by
Sonia Paruthi & Manish Shrivastva
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
4.7k
*Minsan nasabi ko nun sa sarili ko,na hindi na ako muling magsusulat pa.
Kasi pag ako humawak ng papel at lapis sa kalagitnaan ng gabi ibig sabihin na hindi ako masaya at nilalamon na ako ng lungkot hanggang awatin na ako ng araw sa umaga at sabihin na pumikit kana.
Pero sandali lang.
Hindi naman ako malungkot at hindi naman hating gabi ngayon. Maingay nga dito at heto ako gising na gising. Sumasabay sa ingay ng mundo.
Magsusulat ako para malaman mo kung ganu ka kahalaga. Yung kahit paulit ulit pa ok lang, kahit na di na tumugma ang mga letra at di ko makuha ang tamang talata.
itutuloy ko na to. Pano nga ba,na ang mga nasulat ko dati ay puro kabiguan at sakit sa damdamin ang tema,pano nga bang ako ay nilalamon ng gabi at awatin ng umaga.
Pano nga bang natapos ang mga araw na akala ko ay buwan na ang magiging araw.
Ou nga nagsimula ang lahat sa salitang di inakala.
Na ang pag ibig natin ay maihahalintulad sa mga eksena nang mga pelikula na hindi pa naipalabas sa sine o pelikula.
Nais ko lang malaman mo at ng mundo na umiikot sa mga masasakit at matatamis na salita kung ganu ka kahalaga.
Kung papaano mo tinapos ang mga gabi at araw na halos di ko na makilala ang aking sarili sa pagpapanggap para lang maging masaya.
Salamat sa pagpapadama ng tunay na kaligayan at halaga. salamat sa tunay na pamilya na iyong dala.
salamat sa mga simpleng bagay na lubos ko na kinasaya at salamat sa pagmamahal na walang katulad at dalisay simula pa nung umpisa.
May mga araw na ako din ay anlulungkot kahit pa tayo na,Hindi dahil may ginawa ka pero naqpapaisip lang talaga ako kung karapatdapat ba talaga ako sa isang katulad mo.
Pero salamat kasi ni minsan di mo pinadama na iba ka,kasi tayo nga naman ay iisa.
Nais ko lang din malaman mo kung ganu ako kasaya,na merong ikaw at ako at darating ang panahon ay ikaw ako at mga bata.
At nasasabik na din akong ikwento sa kanila kung panong ang ikaw ay umakyat sa pinakamatataas na kabundukan ng ating bansa.
Masaya ako na nagawa mo ang mga bagay na iyong pinangarap at aabutin naman nating dalawa ang ating pangarap na maging ISA.*
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
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m
t
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s
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May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—
Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation
Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons
Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate
No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing
A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation
Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
We sat in the overlook above the Serpent Mound
in the heat of that garish July afternoon,
sunlight scorching our pallid skin,
like rays through a magnifying glass,
till we could endure no more and
sought the shroud of skyscraper elms ---
halfway houses of leaf, bark and cellulose.
Minutes before we'd signed our names in the visitors book,
like giddy high-schoolers autographing a yearbook,
recording our wayward lover's sojourn
to a site the Hopewell worshipped in celebration of existence.
For what purpose do we worship this ground?
I wondered as we walked beside the curving icon,
that undulated in rolled earthen coils down the slope,
sine-waves loosed from a colossal oscilloscope.
Are these coils symbolic of our future's meandering relationship?
Her exploring hand upon my ****
drew me from thought to evaluation of this unexpected caress.
But for the heat, I'd have shown her what idle foreplay begets!
*Great Serpent, this was not Eden's carnal karma
acted out in a second Genesis!* ---
though a symbolic egg spews from your mouth.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
I always feel too much, and
you never feel enough, like
two halves of the wrong circles
fighting to become whole.
So is this how it ends? Or we
could try and make a square.
I always care too much and
you care just the right amount,
so this one's on me.
You usually know what to say.
So we try sine and cosine.
They work. We're waves.
It's a throwaway sunset.
It's time.
The devil is dancing on
your shoulder. All the
angels are asleep on mine.
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 1:10 PM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
The colors, they won't
Bright, bea t ful c l rs
Flash ng, exp nd ng, piercing
Red, green, blue
An ndless
CACOPHONY
Of meaningless
noise
The noise, it won't STOP.
Viol nt, grating w vef rms
Sq e king, screech ng, piercing
SINE, COSINE, TANGENT
Like play ng a ch lkboard on a t rntable
Like playing a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIBCAGE
n ndl ss
p m
Of m n ngl ss
Delete Her
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 4:33 PM UTC
The truth is
I greater than like you
But less than love you
I am in the middle
This math circles me 'round
I don't know if I should add 20 or take away 20
I don't know if I should multiply by a 100 for the kind words you say
Or If I should divide by 100 for making me feel like crap
Should I square or find the square root
Find The Cosine or the Sine
Divide by 2 because you might love me halfway
or just multiply by zero cause your love is not there
I don't like this Math Problem
This Math Problem of love
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
I’d Love to go to France
And sail upon the Sine
I’d love to go to Germany
And Sail upon the Rhine
I’d love to see the castles
Of England and of Spain
To see the royal Princess Kate
And her lovely husband William,
Oh, to have Prince Charming as a mate
And then the rain that stays mainly in the plane
Having traveled there in luxury by lavish gilded train
I’d love to see the mountains
In Switzerland and Austria
And see the vast rice fields
In Countries like Korea
And drink frothy bubbling ale
From a tavern near a windmill in the Netherlands
And climb a tiny mountainous hill
In enchanting charming Whales
I’d love to see the canals
In a Gondola in Venice
Or maybe go to China to watch some table tennis
I’d love to see the pyramids
Of Egypt and Peru
And see the Ancient Monoliths
On Easter Island too
And feel the spirits of Celtic and Norse Gods rise inside of me
At magical stunning Stonehenge
While far off in the distance Scottish Bagpipers play for free
But Alas, Alas sadness ensues
These things I’ll never see
Poverty always haunts me
And I won’t win the lottery
I’ll never see the breathtaking things
That others take for granted
Though they will always be here
Part of this amazing planet
I’ll have to take in what I can
And not hope for what cannot be
I’ll have to imagine all these things
In my own special way
and see all I can see
Watching shows like, “Rick Steve’s Europe”
Scheduled to air, everyday
On PBS TV
Sarah Hall Minks Copyright 4/28/12
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 11:12 AM UTC
Sa pagitan ng mga panahong hawak mo ang aking kamay at inialay mo ang iyong bisig upang maging tahanan ko, minahal kita.
Nang ilapat mo ang pangalan ko sa lirico ng isang awitin at ginawa itong atin, minahal kita.
Noong tinupad mo ang pangakong samahan akong panoorin ang paborito kong palabas sa sine, minahal kita.
Noong binago mo ang kulay ng pag-ibig at gawin itong bughaw, minahal kita.
Nang maging laman ako ng mga isinulat **** awitin, minahal kita.
At maging hanggang sa mga oras na tapos ka nang umibig, minahal pa rin kita.
-
Sa pagitan ng awang ng aking mga daliri, ramdam ko pa rin ang init ng kamay mo.
Tumitigil pa rin ako sa tuwing sumusulpot sa radyo ang awiting minarkahan na ng pagmamahal mo.
Nasa dulong bulsa ng pitaka ko ang tiketa ng bawat palabas na pinanood natin nang magkasama
At kahit pagkatapos ng lahat ng tula at kantang naging supling ng parehong pagmamahal at pighating dulot mo, bughaw pa rin ang kulay na idinikit ko sa pag-ibig.
Marahil hindi tagumpay ang sumalubong sa atin nang lumubog ang araw at mag-isa kong hinarap ang umaga, sapat na siguro ang mga naisulat na tula’t awitin upang maging pananda ng hindi natin pagsuko
At nais kong paniwalaan na sa pagitan ng mga linya at lirikong ito, minsang nanahan ang pag-ibig.
Buong pagkatao kong tinatanggap na ang pagmamahal ko na minsang naging rason mo ng pananatili ang mismong nagtulak sa’yong bumitaw.
Marahan mo sanang isara ang pinto sa’yong paglisan.
sa tangis at ligaya,
-P
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 12:54 PM UTC
A drab drop drips
Downed casualty
Down casually.
A sulfuric gust cycles
In three fly-by nights.
A gust hoping,
A breeze yearning to dab a wet tear off a moistened spring cheek.
Floating by on a wisp of breath,
Breathed once by the blessed. Now irreparably tainted, then incomprehensible anew:
Treated by the respirations of the perspiring, expending breath on czarist ears, aspiring;
Cured by the tongues of the insatiably dying
And by those primary soothe-ers, invisibly crying.
Alveoli gripping that sine qua non of civilization
Until they must release the once-oxygen into the hills of Kyivan Rus.
A first breath and second
As much as a penultimate and final.
And witness to the chronology that led to such a
Bloodbath-blessed blast
As this.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:17
The coffee maker convinced me to stay
Had I planned to leave?
Yes, of course, the channel
I left it on
She's there. Again?
Wait, I heard that!
Who's there?
#*“Could find my way to Marianna---ahah--ah”
The sine wave! That's it!
I left them in the car.
These fibers are congregating
They want to get me,
But I am just a flea!*
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:18
I sat down with Earth and ate Earl's burrito
Saturn bent down and showed me tomorrow
The radio crackled as the molecules throttled
^“We're all Immigrants and hypocrites, delusionals and sycophants”
I saw my fingers start to disappear
Then my hands, my arms
Even my ears! My EARS!
I loved those ears...
It started when I looked at the clock:
9:16
They're here, aren't they?
Radio crackles, you heard them!
They're audible!
(3333333)
The gorilla near the out goes strut, strut, strut
I felt the universe collapse inside my gold tux
Could you watch my fish for me?
Marked stuff borrowed from:
# Pixies- Wave of Mutilation
^Star ******* Hipsters- Immigrants and Hypocrites
I felt like it, that's why.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
Tell me how,
One person can divide into
Three perfectly psychotic sentiments
While still appearing to be whole
Tell me how
Multiplying your kindness only
Creates a rift between myself and patience
And ends with nights of contemplation followed by tumultuous
Back-and-forths with imaginary numbers
For I am no mathematician
I cannot find a solution to every concrete problem
I do not bother with equations or substitutes
I only skim the symbol, rewrite questions and leave the answers hanging in the air
Tell me why,
Subtracting victims from my life
Only added a murderous sentiment
To every repeating decimal that couldn’t find its’ place
Tell me why,
The quadratic formula is emblazoned in my memory
But everyone keeps throwing opposites at me
So forgetting whether to add or to subtract becomes hazy
And the square root gets suspended until next class, so the
Four drops off the plane, two goes insane, and
Letters lose their fictitious meanings
For I am no mathematician
Archimedes is finding the constant of my triangular coffin
While Newton is rolling in his gravity
Carl Gauss is busy laughing his *** off with fundamentals in his eyes and
Descartes keeps whispering incoherent Latin, migraines sprinting towards me
As if in a race
So don’t ask me
Whether or not you should divide by zero
Or whether it requires sine, cosine, or a tangent
My logic will not tell you anything you want to hear
I am through trying to piece together this imaginary puzzle
And I’ve had enough of playing this never-ending game
Because I’ve been through two continents, and 4 different states
And I still don’t know the meaning of my name.
For I am no mathematician
The only pie charts I am fond of,
have to do with sugar and preheating an oven to 450 degrees
And with every cubic centimeter
I start thinking of cubes of cheddar cheese
For I am no mathematician
I can’t graph a simple line
I don’t understand the dimensions of the polygon shown above
And I’m tired of wasting precious time
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
The tide pulls in
and sine waves intersect,
surf scalloping and cresting, small,
breeding pearly foam into sea breeze.
Your breath pulls in,
skin washing over collarbones,
ribs expanding to swallow oceans––
another kind of wave. I feel my soul swell and fall into place.
The tide makes eddies––
gulls cleave shimmering half-circles in the air,
partition wind with meat, voices.
Sand swirls around my feet and is dragged out to sea––
Your skin makes eddies.
Conversations sink like round stones
and your toes open wide, sweeping arcs in the sand.
My heart beats just over three times.
The sea feeds trillions.
Ships wreck and barnacles forge their homes,
and fish school in Fermat spirals.
Plankton absorb sunlight and divide exponentially.
Your liver feeds trillions.
Arms envelope me
and nestle into the hollow under my spine––
I press my lips against your sternum, starving.
The sea pulls out.
The moon's orbit decays
four centimeters every year––
the disparity destroys worlds.
Your breath pulls out.
I cup sea glass and small, smooth shells,
my footprints forming acute angles to yours––
this disparity destroys worlds.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Truth? a lewd's you
in known certain terms:
whether veins, when drowned
hawks a gin (loomin’)
a shin splinters as
mines bore on; why ‘ol
car bonfires grow tired
of a pack o’ lips’ wisp ring,
*“Hydra Djinn—
Sine diem purgare nox.”*
Redeem and weep
in tents, faces & phrases
met a fizz[i call]y
drunk in jest id bouts
wrested liver's tried & tested [buy con-
testant after contest-
ant] where West lids gaze
in two, the joy of the flame
hungry's gasping for air
[nothing's becoming] bright
berthed of ash-end tombs
lit up in the night.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Sine waves, perpetual motion
Centripetal force, density of the ocean
Associates, Bachelors
Student Ambassadors
Register, register, schedules, grades
Grants and scholarships, tuition is paid
No snooze button, turn off the alarm
Losing some sleep. It's ok, though, no harm
Friendly teachers and **** instructors
Digital logic and semiconductors
Homework, classwork, essays, papers
Last minute class of procrastinators
Get up, get blazed. 'Fore school, 'nutha blunt
High while accepting student of the month
Higher than you, and my grades, too, are higher
How smart would I be if I put out the fire?
Gen. Ed., English, Mathematics, Psychology
Now on to the good stuff, much richer chronology
Top of my class, highest grade in the program
In just a few years, I'll have money in BOTH hands
This hand-to-mouth **** ain't for me
I'm tired of living week-to-week
Broke, tired, and hungry day after day
But when payday comes, it'll be here to stay
You don't have to do as I do
But my feet are too small to fill these big shoes
If you think I can't fill them, then surely you're trippin'
But do whatcha do, cause my burgers need flippin'
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
The way the world sways. Every leaf left
in place, its stance chiseled to each blade,
an iteration of time; each tassel of seeds,
thy bread, thy handmaiden;
as breath on the brink of disappearance,
becomes a wave become water; proportions so
large so as to stagger the seasons—
one winter questioning another.
We listen. We listen as if musical ***** are tracing a
giant sine wave across the dark mud flats.
We watch it as if a rotted rowboat, its oars like two hands
at prayer, is signaling a gesture
of permanence towards the sky. The grass
has turned from gray to blue to green.
The tide washes in. A bell is rung.
It’s as if the merry-go-round has turned it’s calliope on.
What Lao-tse has said is true.
The earth is a bellows. Use it.
The grasslands bellow and glow.
©Jim Kleinhenz
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
SPORT'N SPICY stod der i SMS'en, SPORT'N SPICY blev hendes mål.
*** smurte rød læbestift på sine sprukne læber,
og strøg mascara-børsten på korte lyse vipper.
Strøg de lange spaltede spidser tilbage med kammen,
og skjulte strækmærkernes historier med Bio Oil.
*** Opstrammede bækkenbunden med knibeøvelser.
Trak i åleslanke dybblå netstrømpebukser,
Så kurverne blev fremhævet og alderen blev glemt
Alt sammen for én aften på madklubben.
Med en latterlig fyr, fra midten af Centrum.
Som kun ville lege.
med følelser og sexlegetøj.
Ikke far-mor-og-børn
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC