"statically" poems
Listen to the machines meditate.
Touch their buttons and turn them on.
Plug into the charged thoughts
of your radio
statically in between stations,
or the electric fan
buzzing its soothing breeze,
humming vibrantly against your brain
like a relaxing massage from an absent soul.
Movements of the world outside masked
in a mechanical bubble of unnatural dreams.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
The world is spinning,
But I lay still.
Wrapping in thoughts
I wish to ****
I question
And wonder,
Of a life
Given so sad,
And sombre.
'Why bother'?
I ask,
For fate
Has flaws.
Dark dreary days,
As the night calls.
For I feel it all.
Of my body,
In agony.
My anatomy,
It falls.
Yet so statically
It stalls.
Death is my father,
And I,
His daughter.
We bond like no other,
Thinking of each other.
My soul,
Punctured.
My heart,
Ruptured.
May life encourage me instead?
For my body is alive,
But my mind is dead.
As the world is spinning,
All becomes dreary.
Consumed in thoughts,
That finally **** me.
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 5:05 PM UTC
Little rag doll in poses I place, smiles non linear
lipstick is smeared not as it should be perfection
is not on the features as statically smiling.
Meagerly patched doll how you are in my thoughts.
Knotted hair ill placed bobbles that don't show
the best of the features frozen on your hollow face.
mismatched clothes not in a way a woman of choosing
would place, odd socks an ankle one, poppy long stocking
contrasting is size and colour but you'll never know.
I look at you, a Picasso of imagery displaced on your face.
Looking like you got dressed in the closet blindfolded and
alone. My little rag doll I strategic leave in a lonely place.
I collect these porcine eyes drained of essence, I open
your thoughts and they are discarded in a bag.
Later your thoughts will feed my hungry dog.
I leave you empty vacant as you should be, my rag doll
with uninhabited motivation. hollowed shell of what you
used to be, blank stares between you and me go silently.
They find my dolls in there houses distorted like my
vison of how sights are seen. A play house of disillusion,
my dolls are my creations come will you be a rag doll for me.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Last night I had a
dream, so definitely
indifferent from clouds
of thought which drift
over my sober-wreaked
mind.
I squint and shake
and shiver with
movements, so
statically paralysed.
Bathed in my pit
of sweat and insanity.
To fathom these
patterns of hidden
truth, libido,
won't do one bit.
It can't cease to
become.
If I'm not careful
enough or tentatively
scarce in a midnight
screech I'll be sure to
tell the world my fears.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
(My Third eye is opening,
and it is telling me
to start looking deeper
while I am composing.)
The bell rang,
and afraid I was.
So I opened my eyes,
but couldn't see, only feel the 'buzz'.
Energy's we call them,
how only I can describe.
Statically swaying orbs
seen not from vision, only inside.
This was my experience,
and the pen can not express.
If you are ever-so curious
to try it, Do... You will be impressed.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
This terse verse was not
coerced or rehearsed,
the characters dispersed,
automatically, erratically,
forming statically cohering
patterns emphatically stating
my state of mind unwinding,
binding to the page,
for my pen is but a player and
this paper is its stage.
So now these thoughts have autonomy
despite their bond with me,
they're free to be a part apart from the
constraints of my mind, and now without
restraint they find their way to yours
as you perceive them.
I emit, the pen transmits,
now you receive them.
Adopt the words with
your optic nerves.
But be warned that these forms
Do not appease norms.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
Master, this was said to me
should I be triggered or flogged?
Think Sisyphus happy.
What year is this?
Babble, babble, all around me, no
God, not this, again.
It's all in yer head, keep rollin' the rock.
keepin time, makin rime rimey rime
frees icicles on my beard
if you could see me now,
Hell, who imagined this?
I am Sisyphus happy and Sysifus sad,
now for as long as I care to recall
I roll the rock.
It was the hell I had envisioned, since
Camus at least, probably something triggered,
seventh grade, oh
cliché, except
the details, the evil, as seen in the thirteenth
year of an unwombed man's journey, womb to tomb.
I rolled the rock.
Alone as all hell, bored as hell.
food and drink, folly to think
so I stop thinking about them
as if someone thinks I can and I think I can.
Let's doit
daydream cliché, same seventh grader asks
Diane Wescott if he can kiss her
under the water
at the deep end of the public pool
Like Tarzan and Jane and she said yes,
again and again and again
like the expert's rats that are allowed
to suicide on big pharma grade *******
Wahoo, that got the rock rollin'
like I never thought she would now
yah, Jah, know what I mean,
Billie Jean, the kid coulda been mine
But I was rockin' and rollin' all night long,
notime, noo time ah tahlllll
Some minds may imagine Sisyphus happy,
but up to not too long
ago
I fail, failed am failing to re
call member hotline
now,
Matrix Wachowskie, bact to your box,
I am haunted by that movie, in 2018
keyphrase 2018 trigger Matrix movie 1
not the movie, the idea of endless bullets.
Who imagined that,
Hell, this is easy. Right, two persona one person sort of
story, no, too, Jekyl n Heckle
I can think any thing as long
as I roll the rock. This will go on forever,
as far as I can tell.
Rock and roll will live forever, let's take that
as a given, and just ignor the steady
up and down, resistance to punching down force goes up and release,
the rock rolls as far as Luck would have it, statically, probably
pause. breathe, read
The rhythm varies, I'm in forever, not in hell.
Push.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 7:16 PM UTC
Ethereal. That's the squirming quality of that health-hazard house,
where a byproduct of divorce emulsion slept in a bare room on
a bare air mattress, vacuously lying around with the blinds down,
vicious AM radio mumbling through the walls. Homeschooling was more like
becoming housebroken, given that my social network consisted of thirty feral cats.
I suppose some boys require a deadbolt on their room's door.
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
The apathy cloud that crawled the house led to a
(the deadbolt was to lock me out of my room; not in)
prison break; I awkwardly assured myself that I would
never be anything if I was still Pinocchio, and pleaded
to go to liberal-dominated-non-Rush-Limbaugh-approved public schools.
I did; I got into university, I got a grant, I do research,
I got a job, I got a girl, I got a job, I got a girl...
I don't know how to leave my room now that I'm free.
I still hear the crackle of conversative talk radio.
'Cause we'll put a boot in your *** / It's the American way.
Like trembling flotsam I drift into every class,
every party, every... A poem can regurgitate a person who is all
covered in spit and acid and memories. I still know that house
better than I know my own breathing body. I'm just going to keep running;
like a yellowed refrigerator housing second-amendment-upbringing-coleslaw;
like an overheating computer; like I always do; statically, in stasis.
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
•
**All the beauteous and delightful words in the world,
Being integrated all together,
Can never be in equilibrium,
Of how much happy I am,
Of how much you mean to me,
And of how much I love you.** (hahaaaaa)
*Your words of love,
Are just like a firefly in my pitch-black times,
You’ve enlighten me with your luminescence,
Just that little wonderful light that you’ve showed me daily,
Being put all together,
Just made a delightful gleaming sun,
In a noontide,
That glows up my darkest corners,
That gives me warmth in my numbing days,
That gives me hope,
That gives me the strongest feeling to be the best I can be,
And that gives me a better vision for tomorrow.*
*You make my world an orchestral arena,
Just the most wonderful tunes are played,
The tunes of bona fide endearment, care and with hope,
You’ve surrounded me with your fervid love songs,
I have absorbed all of it,
That together circulates into my body,
As an energizer,
And as supplier of all good nutrients.*
*You’ve created a dance hall in my world,
That I uses,
To sway and undulate away,
All the love and happiness,
And let exuberance consume,
All deleterious hormones that is in me,
Into your phenomenal, auspicious dance steps,
Steps that keep our love healthy and in perfect shape,
And steps that carries me all the way to heaven.*
*You are indeed my serotonin,
My happiness hormone,
That keeps me smiling,
And keeping me away from depression.*
*My endorphin,
That always make me feel good,
The one that reduces my apprehension.*
*My dopamine,
That keeps me mentally alert,
That you,
The source of dopamine,
Just provide me,
All inspiration I need,
Keeps me concentrated on good stuff,
And that takes away all bad moods in me.*
*My ghrelin,
That takes away all my stress,
And replace it with peace of mind,
And relaxing state.*
*My phenylethamine,
That gives me such gaiety,
In this love that envelops me,
A love that always put spark in my countenance.*
*In my engineering life,
You are just the perfect solution,
In my engineering truss problems,
And the truss as our love,
You are the identification,
Whether our love,
Is statically determinate, or indeterminate,
Statically stable or unstable,
And finding the reactions of our love,
Taking all the summation of forces,
From the vertical to the horizontal axis,
And the summations of all moments needed,
In order to have strong and firm truss,
A truss that would last,
‘Till eternity.*
*You are the calculator in this path of mine,
I could just be staring in blank space,
Without any hope of solving any mathematical problems without you,
You are the calculator that we call,
An addition to our intestines,
Without you my life will not be successful,
And with your love as motivation and inspiration,
It made me more successful in my career in life.*
**And for the most important thing,
You are the answer,
To my earnest and lachrymose prayers,
Prayers that are dearly uttered,
During my detrimental moments,
And just up to this day,
I have understood,
How God,
Can allow throe to be planted into our lives,
How a devastating incident,
Will turn into propitious aurora,
I knew from this day on,
My life will completely change.**
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
*To dream a chain to the Victorian Era
leave the shadows casting of isolation
where held hands held significance
and 'I love you' was not said in summation.
A rose bud grew in an arid desert
each perfect proper piece of petal
gave of its own sense of charm
and stood statically special.
I watched the rose bud picked
off the ground in asperity
while I hesitated to be heard
and I watched it crumble terribly.
I sat in desolation, in my own oasis,
I wedded the rose in my hand,
dreamt of a victorian era rose
and saw distance between two lands.
I will forever hold the rose in memory
As a reminder of the scent of last June
coerced to feel a faint of love in heart
by nothing more than conversations at noon.*
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Buttoning his red jacket,
the lights of his apartment,
all burnt out,
his tiny plastic radio,
statically oozes a sad long performance,
of something incredible,
something that hurts the spine,
and makes him,
sit down on the floor,
His window is dark,
though the sun,
may come up any moment,
passionately exposing it self,
over tall romantic brick downtown city buildings,
made of something too incredible,
to paint,
There is a sound,
there is a love,
there is a death,
there is a dog,
a ***** who never loved,
and her High heeled Stiletto Siren Song Shoes,
are immortal,
close enough to the grave yard,
where her mother was buried 100 times ago,
I pray,
I dip my tongue in a Vinegar burn,
There are no
Decembers
There is no,
Crimson Highlight of dawn,
His mind is an old Blue car,
stuck in R,
a drunk driver,
Taxi-ing Tourists to hell,
Nevada crumbles like old make up on a woman’s,
tired face,
how long
will a kiss last,
as the sun,
breathes down your neck,
how long,
will beauty last,
standing ****
in winter,
Barely starving.
I am forged Dream Catcher,
I am prosthetic limb,
holding onto a false Diamond,
Rhyming Georgia's Orange enveloped letter,
never to be returned,
never to be read,
never to be painted Green,
like the personification Mortality
or a strand
of her Night Rose hair,
still in a drawer,
next to a broken lighter.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Somebody sleeps in my bed alone.
I watch his lungs rise and fall as he rests.
I can hear his heartbeat tighten as he dreams terrible dreams.
I can see his hands clasp tightly when he thinks of his situation.
His legs move constantly, restless, because his thoughts are the same.
He wakes up every morning and hates.
He opens his eyes to terrible noises, and stares.
Why can't I sleep forever, thinking out loud. I can hear him.
Why can't I awake to her eyes and smile and hips like we dreamed?
He gets up. He touches his clock. It dies. He was statically charged. Again.
The water doesn't help. Or the soap.
His pity attempt to clean his long, tangled hair.
His half-awake thoughts while staring at the white walls.
He's thinking of women. And sleeping. And sleeping with them.
Or rather, he's thinking of her. Sometimes it's his "lover," sometimes it's his regret.
More sleep. Clothes.
A suit today, he wanted compliments.
A briefcase. **** I look snazzy.* He smiles in the mirror.
Your perfect smile is fading. He interjects as if only to sting before leaving.
I watch him trudge out the door only to start freezing. But he's already frozen.
Thoughtlessly driving. No seat-belt.
At least I'll die in my funeral outfit if I do.
He arrives, throwing on a fake smile for the eyes around him.
Music. Mind numbing practice with his golden instrument's sound.
I watch him sit there, stretching his legs, listening with awakened ears.
"Why are you dressed up."
"Because." "Because why?" "Because I am."
Most people would quit there, but there must be a reason.
They keep pressing him. He gets annoyed, but not yet frustrated.
He smiles and answers their questions dishonestly. He always does.
A fake smile for everyone.
*It would be so much easier to live this life,
If I could stop thinking of her. But I can't. And won't.
We spoke. We made new words, but no new promises.
Promises always hurt. Even when they're followed through.*
He opens his phone.
Browsing for that photo of her.
New, in a sense, though it is still old her.
So young. So bold. So sad. So beautiful. Wanted.
Why won't she talk to me. She said we wouldn't do this!
"The oak and the cypress,
Do not grow in each-others' shade."
I know, old man, but when my tree thrives in darkness,
Why can it not find a properly emitting source, especially from her.
She was so close. She was my waking spark. And now she won't even...
The oak and the cypress.
Staring into different corners of the forest.
Still only feet apart.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
drink down dreamer on
let fluid flow
apply shear stress
to my plastic knowledge
fluid I contain and drown in
I am obviously
solid viscosity
born dynamic.
See If I Am oblivious
to a need to conserve energy
i would flow
down bitter sweet.
I am statically
neutron and positively
ebbing and flows
down these wet streets.
I am created to let me
fall from darkest sky
turbulence, and whipping winds
tossed and turned.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
The waves were like vipers,
picking of weary sailors from
the deck.
Plucking them with fangs of stinging
waves, taking those unsuspecting
from the deck.
Drowning them in the sorrows
that suffocated them beneath the
planks they were washed upon.
So many swords were never lifted
but fell submerged silently.
Falling beneath the honour that sank before them.
But like creeping ivy, they were woven upon.
Seaweed forests clasping upon those
weary travellers that sang into slumbering bereavement.
Still the forests that fed on the rainfall of what
decayed falling statically from above,
nourishment in silent surrendering's.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
We are the "What if's, could we
have done better with our lives,
"What if, we had thought with
our mouths not with our minds?
"What if's, they plague our ever
moments of give and take. "What if,
we didn't rationalize our every
constructed moments and were like
a breeze of I'm going to do that.
Not held back at that moment of
indecisions and descend
statically on our conscience.
"What if I hadn't wrote this?
But I went with what I knew was
needed. Never once A given thought
except in words on paper that
"What if,
No one reads this, then that's their fault.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Adorned on self, it hangs like wind
on the breeze statically woven on
form. Embroider of linguistic thoughts,
all in notions that are enriched but still
never totally fallen on its emotion.
Enhancing what was just embellished
reflections, now seen in the movement
of a yearning to expel but never descended.
just passive in the needing of its expulsion.
Ornaments that hang on my tongue, kept
in staled rejection. I only want to garnish
your yearning with what I'm trying to
embellish with these spoken words.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
sunbeams fall across my face
as I recall such regretted haste
of statically-charged, crystal **** lightning shimmer
ice cold switchblade gleams in blue television glitter
raising hell in my white nightgown, I drive fast
drinking *** I'm not afraid to crash
Elvis in the mirror, Marilyn in the bed
fire shall consume me? well, devour me it has
for my soul is set ablaze when I dream of what I had
your pulse sends me lightyears away as I think
of all the times you brought me to my knees
prison calls from mid-July still ring out in my ears
the longer that you stay away, the more you feed my fears
cigarettes burning, neon palm trees, bikini ******
Jesus pleads with me to no avail, "don't go further,"
but I am God now and I crave your touch, daddy
though you're gone forever, sadly
Lolita's gone and snatched you away
forevermore my skies will be grey
stop haunting my dreams
please let me be
your spirit still holds me hostage
and while you remain to be
the only one on Earth for me
what I can't have will **** me
surely
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 11:11 PM UTC
I made a deal with the darkness,
escaped from the light,
had my wings cut, severed in full flight.
Statically I exist alone,
the cogs of time turn slowly,
bite to the bone.
Deep yearning inside,
to shake my foundations,
tectonic plates, landslide
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC