"spherically" poems
Mother spinster’s sporcy spindle spaed a specious spider splenetically spinning a sparkling specimen of the spired and spherically eggish; still though spinose although sporadic, seemingly soft, deceivingly so, sacred, secret special place to stave off such besetments!
Her enchantment’s curse, no less the worse, arachnid terse in webs of verse, or plainly verse we shall rehearse from high above to stage below or thought to hanging from strangely gallows, the sickly web a trap thus cloven of heaven’s weaver said to woven in all her life never betrothen, she cast aside all such resentments!
And so Old Mother Hubbard then went to the cupboard speaking her cursed ways…
Along came Ariadne, the spider beside thee, winding her spinning, pointing thus pinning upon her the blame for all days. With no voice to speak, evading flood did she seek, a way up from the sea on the laurels of Mother’s uprooted tree. So was it ended, uprooted, upended, the guilt, blame and controversy. Umun-Hubbur, Humwawa, Humbaba, star-weaver and Hubbard and Ariadne!
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
*"That one body may act upon another at a distance
through a vacuum without the mediation of anything else,
is to me so great an absurdity that,
I believe,*
Every massive particle in the universe
attracts every other massive particle.
Force directly proportional to the product of their masses,
inversely proportional to the square of the
distance
between them.
Spherically-symmetrical masses attract and
are attracted as if all
their mass were concentrated
at their centers
There is no immediate prospect of identifying the mediator of gravity.
Attempts by physicists to identify the relationship between
gravitational force
and other known fundamental forces are not yet resolved.
Many attempts were made to understand the phenomena,
but there was nothing more that scientists could do at the time.
*no man who has in philosophic matters
a competent faculty of thinking
could ever fall into it."*
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC
An empty urn,
the barren bowl,
a vase awaiting
one pregnant rose
A table barren
of knight's tableau,
stools surrounding
in retched repose
An earthen mug,
Pan's pool in spring,
a coin no longer
worth its weight
Each grounded in its
reason, spherically
precluding its sin—
That ringing at the gate
A life-lived-not falters,
yet blindly clings to fate,
blind Themis holds in
balance still, the cup—
She chose too late
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
What is love? You ask me as
the first breath of frost whispers
goodbye on your lips.
I feel quite strongly that life’s
immensity hangs in the summer
breeze; particles of dust that glimmer
in the sun behind your heels.
They say that our atoms are spread thin
like a crisp sheet that catches the wind
and settles fragrantly
/
deep inside my mind
But the universe is in your eyes
as dense as a black hole
and as light as the sky;
fields of wheat stirring in the
evening sun
as I taste life everywhere
soaking into my bones.
Your innocent breath,
unfolding itself
gently
.
wholly
melting light
into my cold skin.
time is
folding spherically
O
folding infinitely/boundless
or
floating selflessly
through empty space
together
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
I used to water my speculation,mixing it with liquid imagery..
then I'd blend it around with subtle stirrings of my thought.
Watching it change from a blank emotion, to something more.
Collecting I used my fingers clasping a way to collect a thin
film of musing swirls and then I'd gently blow..
Little shimmers would collect, floating delicately around
my head. Rainbows of perception, gently encompassing
a moment of a clear rendition. but a reflection only stains
the image held for so long till it dulls in moments before
evaporating in to tears of mist decaying into oblivion.
But then that place where my perceiving waters gently
flowed now seemed more arid than what was previously
perceived. No longer did rainbows form spherically..
No I was just a salt lake of tears, collecting white flakes
of bleached nothingness. My moment was weak, last week
I was serenading imagery now I'm just a dry lake bed.
*"My words floated, but now there just dry renditions of
a drought going on in my thoughts"*
*"Were sometimes to thirsty, not realizing that we drank
to fast and the basin of our thoughts have run dry"*
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC