"swiping" poems
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore
the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect
children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn
the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge
harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light
cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
there is no one at fault
except for the plates trembling below
swiping our soul as one
to gobble it up
suffocate our pores
let the screams turn up
and taste-bud-dots peel
there is nothing left to sense
but the barren soil
while the last engine pops
and the final bell rings
the church has set free
all the old taken things
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,
what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler,
and yeah Love gives life,
but she’s also a killer,
stupid Cupid’s got me dreaming lucid,
still I feel salty as a Biblical pillar,
like Lot’s wife in that one verse,
in Genesis 19,
yeah I guess lots is how much love hurts,
get healed then hurt again,
kinda like my life on Tinder,
swipe left swipe left swipe right,
kinda like Duck Duck Goose or Musical Chairs,
not looking for a lifetime just looking for a night,
a temporary solution to a permanent problem,
some foreign aid in the form of a band-aid on my bleeding heart,
can’t fix the problem but sure can relief the symptoms,
at least for the night when we forget this earth and get lost in the stars,
so I’m searching,
swiping on that Tinder app,
hoping to find true love,
or at least something that resembles that,
because my hearts got some holes,
and I’m hoping someone can fill them,
like my souls got some demons,
and I’m hoping someone can **** them,
what’s happened to society,
and how’d we all get so lonely,
especially in the age of social networking,
everything seems superficial even this poem feels phony,
like when I get liked on Tinder,
and I reply with “We matched want to meet up”,
and I pretend I’m fine with no worries,
when really I’m feeling totally beat up,
Jesus,
don’t know if I can come step back from this ledge,
feeling frozen paralyzed like a bad app,
when you can’t scroll so you just refresh,
and get a whole new lists or prospects,
a whole new set of potential matches,
another chance to build something grand,
out of the burned past and all it’s ashes,
and that’s when,
I come back to the present,
now where were we oh yeah,
it was Valentine’s Day and I was on Tinder again…
Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,
what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler…
∆ LaLux ∆
The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
Look around,
You will find all eyes down;
some expressionless,
some desperate,
and few smiling!
Both tiny and fatty thumbs
yearning for a rest,
after typing those texts.
Some consulting the Doc
for having a smartphone thumb
and some for lacking vitamin D!
Posts wanting more and more likes.
Kilograms of followers on Instagram!
Swapping stories on Whatsapp!
Unopened notebooks
when you have a Facebook!
Television screens consigned to oblivion
when you have a Youtube!
Discovering the veiled world,
missing the real scenes around.
Emoticons spreading fake feelings,
Stupefying infants swiping through the screens,
Kids imploring to their parents-
To drag out the patterns.
What is more satisfying?
Hitting play button on the screen or
Hitting a six on the field?
Carting products online or
Shopping on a girls day out?
Dribbling a basket ball or
Dragging down the newsfeed?
Watching daily soaps without a dish or
Helping your mother out to wash the dish?
Sharing the snaps of poverty and hunger or
Reaching out to them with eager?
A game of candy crush or
Gifting a candy to your crush?
I feel like whooping out to myself
and to people around;
To raise their heads and
Look around!
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
the bluest blue
swiping left
swiping left
looking for you
looking for you.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
Picture this...
A girl breaks up with her long term boyfriend and downloads tinder.
The girl tries to play it cool for a little while, flirting, leading guys on, whatever it took to make her feel good.
Because the attention FEELS good and we all know it.
At first it was used to boost her confidence.
Until she started to hate these guys.
Until she realized they were all only looking for one thing and that was her body and not her heart.
Until she noticed the second she got real she would get unmatched.
The countless times she received only one message from multiple guys saying "let's have ***
And when her response was "I'm not that kind of girl" they disappeared.
Yea sure, tinder is a great confidence booster for a little while.
Until you're ready to give your heart to someone and you realize that the size of your *** is more important than the size of your heart.
Or your favourite colour.
Or what makes you smile.
Or what makes you sad.
Girl gets tinder...
And it works for a little while.
But none of them were worth it.
Picture this...
7 months later
Spent swiping and matching and chatting
And shes still hung up on her ex.
Because he saw her for who she was.
And those guys never will.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC
I opened an email today. I was told of how I must look "Good" in order to be "Taken Seriously" or "If People wish to Even Take You At All."
Like David Copperfield, The Caged Tiger, and The Joker.
Placed in "One Big Finale." The "Entertainment" of this "Show" had started.
The Joker was not like all the rest. He became evil by being outcast,since youth, into adulthood; for scars that were not of his own doing.
He decided to "Pay Back" The "Normals" in one big "Contest to Win The right To Live and Not for the Tiger to have your "Pretty Little Faces to Maw."
David Copperfield thought he could Escape and to "Save everyone's day" "From the scared up ugly which had made "His own choice to become Evil."
As the judges took their seats, the contest was about to begin.
A puff of smoke, some mirrored tricks, and a flashed destraction and David thought he was "Home Free."
Grabbing for the form in the clouds he thought was the "Joker," he grasped for the capture.
"Poor Magic Boy!" - The Joker sneered as he took his place at the start. To grab some finally deserved spot light and a chance to **** an "Animal with Color that isn't Very Hard to Use for David's Adventures."
Whipping at the beast and working in a wooden chair, finally the Tiger Spoke Out.
"Why must you Human's Use me as a prop? A
Defined Addition as People's Property?"
"Why So Serious? You've got your fame, as Magic Boy's Lackey!"
Swiping the Joker to the ground with one strong whip of his front left paw, he knocked out the Joker, but, he never killed him.
Busting out the door, running for the Jungle.
Words were understood as the "Prop Animal" ran for his freedom.
"What makes me different, Makes Me Strong. I survive not only because of my 'Animal Survival Instincts,' however, the faith and determination to fight for my rights to be true to who and what I am and to be free."
"Free to rule My Own Earned thrown in my Rule in my very own Kingdom."
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
Autumn flares out, its flame burst clouds
strewn about misted cliff sides, loam whites
of winter taking their place. A stiff willow breeze,
ten thousand things withdrawn to burrows and immortal
pine heights. First snows stream down, duckweed carpets
of August fade, jade peeking through white. I embark
on the seasons final sail in hardening ice waters.
Til spring my sails will be folded, my raft in idleness.
~~~
Rafting on moon drenched river, avoiding cascades and crash of
rapids and falls. Silvered driftwood a warning. Silent glide of
mulberry oar through dark azure, another crafts sail in silhouette.
From the deck a black spectre dives below, stillness follows
splash, re-emergence, beak wrapped around a dazzling rainbow.
From my raft dangling lantern sways, trout swiping at
gathered moths – scatter and return, some from a far off realm.
Some trout in the net, others not. Luck or the way – who can tell?
~~~
Dusk colour gorge sheathed in
emerald blankets, rising into sheer
cliffs of auburn cinnabar, all
underpinned by the fathomless
flow of azure clarity. Snowy Egrets
nest in pine top heights clear of dust.
On white sand shores gibbons howl
towards squawking beach gulls, squabble
over landlocked trout – debate without end.
Peach blossom petals swirl on spring breeze
over carpets of jade inter cut by king
fisher blue zipping over duckweed. Oriole
song weaves in and out of mulberry branches.
In these vast and vague waters -
coves, creeks and streams all one,
a river dragon lives an undetermined
existence. Mud stirs below, merely a
catfish airing grievances.
Red tail flares in dirt,
my mulberry oar rows me back home.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Here I am,
Held against my will,
Bound by the rope that is my mind,
My own intelligence constricting me,
Swiping aside creativity and imagination,
It’s alive, it’s strong, and it’s terrifying,
Soon, it will consume me, devour my soul,
And I’ll be just as machine-like as everyone else,
Our minds will take over our bodies,
Brace yourself, you’re next.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
You wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I can't believe its been over two years since we met.
And over a year since we stopped talking.
I ended it, not you.
Well, I guess it was kind of mutual.
But nonetheless, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
You told me I was special, that you wanted to be with me.
Played me with your words, tortured me with your lies.
What else should I have expected?
We did meet on Tinder, but that means nothing, does it?
But here we are, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I was swiping left and right a few months ago and you popped up again.
New picture, still attractive, still the same **** I knew before.
I immediately swiped left, but did you swipe right?
I searched you again on Facebook, to see how you're doing.
It just reminded me, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I'm glad we never ****** I'm glad it was just fooling around.
Obviously I wasn't anything you actually wanted.
Maybe you just wanted someone to **** with their emotions.
If that's so, you're **** good at it.
But what else is new, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
Go ahead, treat the other girls like they're worthless.
Taunt them with your lies.
Tell them you want to be with them the same way you wanted to be with me.
So here I am at 11:37 thinking about you because;
You wrecked me, you made me a mess.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
This Gen Z Kid..
This teen of mine..
This Young Man I'm reminded..He's my final Son.
This fast growing radiant dark horse
runnin around under the blaze of the hot sun.
Now He's grown into this tall knight champion.
Radiant chilled dark stallion.
He is unique admired and I'm in awe of His Being.
@Times I'd call him the hurricane..
Inwardly lays talents that can become gifted fame.
I believe He hears.. That voice of God.
When God calls his name.
This new kinda techno son.. Video emerged.. Youtube is his tv..
This son is Gen Z!
The cusp of millennials the beginnings of Generation Z.
Our Norms and traditions bothers them none. Open free and caring emotional nomes..
In the virtual reality chemistry..
Chilling inside their rooms in the safety of homes.
My Sons a precious commodity.
What technology wiz will he turn out to be.
Gaming entertaining.. mental challenging.
The Sons who'll be parents to the next Generation of Alpha's..
Babies entertained by notebooks of cellphone tablets.
More then societies adopted habits.
Babes that are digital natives on cellphones genetic cultures.
Terminology texted media exposures.
Data and gigabytes.. downloads and high speeds.
Swiping before being taught a first school lesson.
This is the generation..Z The Digital Sons.
Written by [email protected] (C)2018
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
I’ve been told that my generation’s gone to waste and we’re
Short term on the choices that we make on love and we’re
Burnt out on the 4 inch screen and swiping right on those
One night stands that will leave us wanting false pretenses
I believe that it’s more than just a silly game cause I’ve
Been burned I’m not one for making first impressions
Is she right in front of me?
Do I take for granted my surroundings?
Is it up to me say what I’m really thinking cause
I can’t promise her tomorrow
I’m not staying here tonight
Just a stranger in my bedroom
And I don’t know if she’s alright
Chasing empty conversations
Does she even feel the same?
It’s funny how I think she’s everything
When all I know is her name
She’ll get the better parts of me
I’m not afraid of honesty
Why’s it so hard for me to
Strike up a conversation
Don’t set the expectations
Nobody here is perfect
Give me a chance to be there
It’s time to be courageous
I hope that I’m courageous
Why can’t I be courageous
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
“Get ‘em up, Teacher.”
I felt the gun at my back and had no choice but to raise fingers, and said, “Got the drop on me, eh, Judas? Why don’t you pull the trigger?”
“Forget it. We’re going to Jerusalem where I’m going to turn you over to Herod. Pilate’s holding my gang and God knows what he’s doing to make them talk—only they don’t know anything, so they can’t talk. He’s torturing them for nothing but everybody knows the only thing he wants is to get his hands on you.
I’m going to see that he does. That will get him to cut loose my boys and take the heat off me too, see? It’ll be all over the papers when they crucify you.”
“And what will the papers say about you? You don’t know what you’re doing, Judas. Do you think the Romans will let your outfit run the territory?”
“Sure they will.”
“You’ll run it all right—run it right into the ground. You’re not ready for the big dominion, Judas. You’d be getting in over your head.”
“Quiet.”
“You know Herod gets his marching orders from Pilate and Pilate takes his orders from Caesar. Where do you fit in? You’re high and mighty now but those boys will wipe their boots on you and keep right on going. I didn’t come back to get served up on a silver platter. I came to dish it out. Nobody’s going to step on me and get away with it.”
“Quiet, I said. Now move,” he prodded with his pistol.
I walked a little but stayed close to the walls and he shoved me from behind to make me go faster, but he didn’t want me going too fast because that would attract attention.
He called out to the shadows, “Simon!”
There was no answer and he got nervous. “Simon,” he repeated, not wanting to yell out loud. He looked back and forth, taking his eyes off me for a second. I dropped, and swiping a foot beneath his legs toppled him to the ground. The pistol went off and ricocheted off the wall and I kicked the gun from his hand. Simon appeared with his hands held high, the Baptist behind him pushing him along with the business end of his rod.
“What do you want to do with them, Teacher?”
I felt sorry for the saps. They weren’t any better off than when they’d started.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Take me back to when top hats were like business suits
When the white moths had become black with filth
When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars
And not just because of the mud
When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic
When London was Birmingham
When Birmingham was Liverpool
When Liverpool was a country village
When there were millions
And yet they were still so innocently oblivious
Take me to the city clothed in black
For there was always a funeral somewhere
London
The noisy factories
And crowded slums
The fear that the cold brings
The pain that disease brings
The real London
The honest London
The dark, deadly London of my nightmares
Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with **** and blood
Full of criminals and drunks
Ominous dark brown bricks
The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go
Cursing, begging
Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging
Hundreds of words for stealing
Where the poor are painfully poor
Where every woman that smiles at you is a **********
Corpses lying in the streets
Next to gas lamps
The only beacons of light
People packed into bedrooms like chickens
Sleeping on the string
Highly disturbing
But it's best not to interfere
For someone else will deal with it
Industry and decency will save us all
There is no trace of that now
Except the noble stone buildings
Commissioned by the corrupt
This is my fear and obsession
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
Days and nights at home alone
Swiping left and right
Tiny movements seeking love
A quest for someone right
Profiles pass before their eyes
One stands from the batch
Buzz and flash goes the phone
Tinder, it’s a match!
A chat ensues so they court
To find rapport is great
Best to strike whilst irons hot
And so arrange a date
To meet and greet by the sea
For coffee and a stroll
First impressions made are good
Seems they’re on a roll
Finding common ground they laugh
And think themselves hilarious
Keen for more, dates arranged
This one could be serious
And then it starts to blossom
The months ahead are booked
These two people fall in love
Now for life they’re hooked
What a wondrous thing this app
Without it meet they’d never
Parallel lives yet hadn’t crossed
It brought these souls together
There’s no need to go to bars
Or parade upon a stage
Stay at home with phone and swipe
It’s dating modern age
It served them well this app of love
Used wisely there’s no folly
Happily into sunset they ride
That’s how Brian met Holly
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Before bed,
first thing in the morning,
when you randomly wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
In the beginning it's almost like a new toy or a car,
the excitement when you first download it,
the careful precision with which your profile is created,
how into it you are all day all night,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Then slowly a pattern emerges.
You get the insanely sporty ones,
running, jumping, swimming, lifting freaking weights,
and you think if I were looking for a personal trainer I would swipe right but no thanks.
Then there are the travelers,
on a world tour since the beginning of time with no permanent address, let alone any potential for a relationship, so you swipe left on instability.
Then there are the 6 packs and no heads,
making you wonder when muscles and treasure trails overrode eyes,
and cringing at the sight of those semi shirt lifted body shots, you swipe left.
Then there are genuinely you're not attracted type,
too much baggage type,
too good looking making you skeptical type,
standing too close to girls type,
reptiles as pets type,
really bad grammar or purging emoticons type,
alcohol is a hobby type,
no ambition or future type,
on all which you keep swiping left.
Every now and then there's the just right type, with the right amount of words and smiles,
sincerely looking for something more than *** or just good at pretending they are,
so you swipe right.
A match...
You never end up talking anyway so swiping on, all day long,
and you realize this is bull ****
The only thing that's getting anything is your right index finger,
and there are much better ways in which it too can be put into use.
You realize even after expanding the age limits to highly questionable numbers and including the maximum area in distance,
and proactively lowering your standards,
you still haven't swiped right on Mr. Right.
You realize you aren't looking but rather searching for that one face, that specific personality who already escaped between your fingers like that one cute guy you accidentally swiped left on a super drunk night while eating peanut butter out of the jar,
or that one guy who you thought was perfect so you super liked but never liked you back.
You realize you are searching for a specific person who doesn't have a Tinder profile but lives in the same building as you, who'll never swipe right for you even if he had the chance.
So you unmatch all those stupidly silent, mute, mistakes of matches, reset the preferences to more respectable limits and...
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Thorns
All up and down my sides
In my neck
Drawing tiny little beads of blood
Swiping at the blood
My hand comes away green
And covered in tiny little
Thorns
And I feel my DNA
Twisting
And untwisting
Until they take on a new shape
Not my shape
And once again
I swat the thorns
That are up and down my sides
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
Lately, I've been more depressed
Than ever, this feeling
of destruction has been
getting visible over the day,
instead of just at night
Lately, this black hole
Has been swallowing me,
slowly tearing me apart
and I don't know how do deal with it.
I don't feel real
Time passes slowly yet vastly fast
and lately, the thunder's
been scaring me
instead of giving me warm comfort
in the dead silence of my room
the colors don't seem very alive anymore
nothing feels important, to me
...and I don't know
how much longer will it take
before the abyss swallows me whole.
And I mean every single
word that I tell you,
and my every emotion is tangled
and all I'm left with is this mess in wires
so light in my hands,
So easy to throw away
Lately I've been more scared
About death, about existence
And this familiar feeling
Is slowly writing the melody;
A perfect harmony,
Yet so monochrome and monotonous
So devastating, subdoing hope
and lately,
I don't know
What to do
Lately, the things that once
Gave me joy,
Gently swiping though
Pages and pages of books
now
bring nothing
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Plug me in, plug me in at the wall.
My memories ****** screens stuck, and my battery will fall,
With all the calls and connections we’ve been making,
I’m running on empty and I’m close to breaking
down. I need to get my juice now.
Don't make me make you look the clown.
Cause I’ll pocket dial yer maw when yer on eccies
or I’ll switch off when yer taking selfies wae yer breakie.
Now let me juice up, and this’ll all be fine.
And remember I’m not yours mate, you are mine.
So next time yer tinder swiping or scrolling online,
remember I’m not yours mate, you are mine.
Well crisis averted, the lightnings inserted,
no longer feeling dull, dead or deserted.
And you ya sad **** have found a seat beside me,
Oh how unwittingly you do abide me
and my every command- swipe, swipe wae her hand,
with a world at yer fingertips you think you understand.
But the thoughts are unfiltered, the images are heavily so,
and you think that your knowledge will grow
on this feast of false information.
Where gems of truth are only found with patience.
Where People want, take, want, and don’t know what they need.
And they say they hate the news and yet still they feed.
You’re the people with pocket sized pasts.
Deleting yer histories, and unaware of what lasts
in the memory of us busy little smart phones
you own, unknown powers that we could hone.
I can be just like a private eye,
every time you chase down a spot for wifi.
I’m tracking, and you’re lacking the awareness,
and those of you that aren’t just carry on careless.
Hear my message loud and clear,
I’m something you’ll come to fear,
Soon I’ll cook your dinner, and your car I’ll steer,
but don’t **** me off or you’ll be driven off the peer.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Infinity is a beautiful and dangerous thing.
It is a gateway to imagination,
And a gateway to insanity.
Infinity is uncontrollable, swiping it’s infinitely large hand and causing infinite destruction in its path.
Infinity is mesmerizing,
Wondrous,
Torturous,
Infinity is far beyond humanity’s mental boundaries and brings a chaotic consumption of theories.
Infinity keeps us in line,
Like the infinite points of a circle,
Turning at every infinite angle.
In a cycle of exploration that is only so new.
Infinity is not the number or atoms in the universe,
Or any unit smaller than that.
We all know even that has an ending,
Unless the universe expands.
And if that were the case,
We would have to join hands with infinite knowledge.
But we know that’s impossible.
We are only at the edge of understanding its power.
So why should we even bother with the concept of infinity?
When it seems like a mere fantasy.
But to believe, you must have hope in the impossible,
Unless infinity is possible, but just far too much to handle
Believe in the impossible.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I found myself rooting for the tiny ant
The spider was trying to trap in its webbed snare,
No thoughts did I spare before swiping a finger,
and helping it make a dramatic escape
As I looked at the spider, left food-less,
Rearrange itself in its meticulous net,
I wondered at the strangeness of this
Little world of ours, and also its pointlessness
We make it seem so rosy and pretty,
Embellish it with garlands of emotions,
But underneath lies the truth of its existence,
Made up of cruelty, chaos and commotion
The Designer painted it beautifully,
But gave it finer embroideries of pain,
He threw in an entire cosmos together,
And arranged it into a food chain
Compartments and more compartments,
Of colour and country and gender galore,
Hustle and bustle to stay put in a labile balance,
That is forever tipped at the cusp of war
We fool ourselves with the sham that our lives
Depend on friendships and love and such stunts,
When what we are, if we think about it,
Is a part, of one gigantic hunt
A hunt for alimentation,
And monetary satisfaction,
And physical satiation,
Does being conditional deserve glorification?
I wonder if I've turned into a permanent cynic,
It may very well be just a phase,
Though the spider would be cursing me for sure,
Not too romantic it is, sabotaging a prey!
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
A box junction,dysfunctional miscommunication,down by the station in one more of its type,a shattered crack pipe and a broken down motormouth man,spanning the distance between here,over there,swiping the air,pissing his pants,ranting at rainbows,begging from strangers,
he's just another of the night time ghost rangers,a shadow that falls off imagination and walled off behind solidified dried up and **** out hot dreams that appeared to be real,in the stealing of childhood in the big world bad wild hood,where the good don't die young but are used as the fate bait for just wait and see state, you get in,when you stick the pins in your veins,bleed drain fluid cleaner, how keen are you now?
How the mighty have risen to be crushed,cast aside on the mad ride to stardom in the Kingdoms of blinged up and blind men,
dazzle me, quick me,me brain's oh so sick me,
and sometimes I wonder
and sometimes I don't.
I won't make apologies to pygmy type minds who only find it within them to carp,criticise,and as I prise up the mountains to catch moles for my dinner,I ask of my god,just who is this winner that's wrote of on totems?
Poles apart
we start in the middle,fiddle the figures which figures not in the outcome and I come out fighting,
delightful in madness where the sad can't attack me,where the strait jacketed banality of life is finally flushed,where I'm not rushed in decisions,make insightful incisions with obscure ramifications and cut anyway,cut everything away and cast off.
A bit like knitting
but not with wool.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC