"synthesize" poems
If I were a teacher,
I'd teach plagiarism
Like a patent office.
I'd teach publication
Like plagiarism,
And I'll proofread
Any paper that properly
Cites their sources.
I'd teach every
Kid from age X to Y
That if I can't
Lift them as
High as they
Want to go
Than somebody
Else
Can.
I would be the man,
That teaches subjects
Like I'm their King,
And I'd spread
Knowledge to every
Acre of my empire
I'd teach anything.
See,
I'd teach chemistry
By making the reaction of
Why and How
Always synthesize
Wow.
I'd be a catalyst
For positive change
By keeping every
School-yard bully
and kid that's always picked last
Around after class
To teach them physics,
Like if you have mass
And you take up space
Then you ******* matter.
I'd put the cool
in Coulombs.
I'd be so electrostatic
About magnetic fields
You could feel my fluxin'
Energy in the hallway.
I'd say
His story,
And Her story,
And everyone in-between's story,
Is about the day their parents met.
I'd teach sex-ed
Like it's about the
Day their parents met.
And it wouldn't be weird
It'd be beautiful.
Because anybody falling
In love is beautiful.
And speaking of beautiful:
Mathemagics,
Would no longer
Be a bottomless hat
But a bird.
With feathers and wings
And things that always
Find their way home.
I'd transform
The Fourier of
Our foundations
With equations
Of equality
Like you,
And I are
Always equal to
Us.
It'll be cake
To be genius.
....Or pie
Or whatever else is rational
In this situation.
And I
Would measure intelligence
With the answer to the question
Of why we are alive.
I'd standardize
Every test
By removing
Any box that
Takes us
Further apart
I would make art
Combining every
Color from East to West
In a masterpiece
That every child can draw
We'll call it "human"
I would solve
World hunger
And war,
And every other problem
That stems from greed
With answers to the
Questions that I still
Don't know
But I would show
Everyone whose ever
Made you hurt
That a broken heart
Has still got the
Courage to beat
Because it's their words
Where the heart breathes
Where the heart bleeds
Where the heart sleeps
And it's our dreams
That keep us awake
In the wake of our past
So I'd put every love letter
And box of their ****
On a bonfire, light a match,
And we would watch it burn.
Hell,
If I were a teacher
I'd say there's
So much left
That I've still got
To learn.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
A test is nothing more
than:
one man's way of gauging
another man's way of calculating
another man's way of thinking
all so pride may be synthesized
in forms of correct and incorrect
put to paper for someone's satisfaction.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
symbol cymbals
synthesize size
symphony nymphs
syzygy gypsy
sympathy thesaurus
synonym nimble
symptom tomato
syrup up
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Elements synthesize
Establishing brilliance
Mosaic
Sound elevates
Electric symphonies
Frequency
Vocals ascend
Ricocheting amour
Phoenix
Speech perishes
Shock scarves
Mastery
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
To be blessed ,
favored and protected by the environment,
selected and isolated from your social groupings,
To be blessed is to synthesize what truly has meaning in life and self-meditate with the sake of life’s pace.
Before falling asleep, resting, force the mental to remain awake,
processing and breaking apart the information given today,
despite the fact that time wasn’t kind, brief or even prolonged; make it the moral commitment to self-reflect.
Make a correction if your answer is wrong; the fabrication of a scripture,
Make sure, for certain, that all the totaled scores calculate to a certain percentage,
Affirmed, scolded or ruled by another to convey your defined truth as inaccurate, almost there or rarely ample.
Time is allotted, effortless and to be taught a lesson is a blessing,
Space is limited, given and to be bestowed the gift of building is the set up version of a lesson, a shell of a blessing.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC
Bound by something special,
perhaps spiritual?
like pieces
Of some fragmented soul
that are drawn to one another.
Things seem to have fallen into place
For this ancient being.
together we synthesize thoughts,
I once thought only I could constitute.
Energies that bounce off one another
leading down multitudinous passages
helping to emphasize my Existentialism
As one we create the most primordial bond.
with the third part of this fragmented soul
we shall call for Lunar Diplomacy's
and shake the very fabrics of the universe.
Because who's to stop us?
free from all judgement's in each-others presence
anything is possible.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Elements synthesize
Establishing brilliance
Mosaic
Sound elevates
Electric symphonies
Frequency
Vocals ascend
Ricocheting amour
Phoenix
Speech perishes
Shock scarves
Mastery
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
I want to live in a protoplasmic land:
Where only earth's natural resources are availed...
but not any exploitable extraction from nature.
where the cacophonies of friction are unheard..
Where the toxic air doesn't seem to arouse from the rooms of renaissance,
Where the sky synergizes with the nature,
Where the oeuvre of the planet remains pristine,
Where the trees vacillate with the harmony of winds.
Where there exists no manufactured light....
But only the piercing rays of self-igniting sun to synthesize the earth with seemingly eonian brightness...
And on nocturnals,star and moon drives me,if moon masquerades,i.e.,
When the commixture of cirrocumulus clouds form an impenetrable layers of watery clouds,
let the thundering light texture me while its clustering clouds embracing me with its rapturous rain,
Let the nature do its own karma,
I am not here to meddle in nature's subtle poise,
but to infuse into it......
O'shiva pave me the unobscure and quintessential way for me to dissolve in to you,
Let me drop my essential earth and dissolve my sumptuous and non-matter soul in to everlasting you....
Let me hush in to those singular days and solitary sounds....
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
Air is for us to take O2,
Air is for autotrophs to take in CO2.
Air can form cyclone, tornado and hurricane,
It goes up to form cloud and give us rain.
Air is rich in nitrogen,
It is also present with the molecules of hydrogen.
Air helps the iron to rust,
Air is the envelop of gases present on the crust.
O2 and nitrogen makes the bulk of air,
Co2 and other gases are very few so it is good or not fair.
Of course the less amount of CO2 is less in air which is good.
But, how the plants will synthesize their item & how we will get much food?
Air exerts pressure,
Sometimes the aroma is mixed with air and gives us pleasure.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
There is no External;
Everything you experience
is a result of your existence
and is thus Internal.
Your Neurons synthesize your mind
your Mind in turn determines Neural networks;
It can thus be said
even in the realm of Neuroscience
that you create your reality;
Your Shadow precedes you in time:
Tread lightly. Learn yourself with care.
These are your final days, Self.
Each frame of 'Reality'
presents itself to an entirely new "You"
for "You" are a fleeting image, a frame,
supported by Neurons
for a brief
yet continuous
moment.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
I still deny the rules and social ties of citizen spies
that i televise by shouting chanted anthems into the sky
yet to comply with the codes of conduct i defy
as you synthesize the number and size
i am careful not to compromise the lost light within my eyes
my cold gaze reflective of your demise
and i
scrutinize them until they realize they're being penalized for the lies
until maggots monopolize your corpse through your cries
until pulled away by the hissing of shadowed flies that fly into the lost light in my eyes
until my pupils cauterize
locking you inside
institutionalised
and i
am imprisoned in a prism of realism
as anti social collisions have me pulling my soul through verbal incisions
seeping radioactive emissions
from the legions of religions
from the season of rhyme without reason
failure to pay darkened tuitions is now treason
as catastrophic cataclysms lock me away in my primal visions
my verbal inflictions as though holy missions to infuse friction
smashing through my divided contradictions and feeding my addictions
good riddance
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I will finally be beautiful.
The marigolds that will bloom will not flee and vanish from the glow of the sun
They will aspire and capture its power, ever basking in its majesty unlike all that I have done
For they are enduring and evergreen, quite a contradiction to someone always on the run
Helianthus will burgeon from my corpse in the Autumn, cordial, acquiescent and jolly
Luminous hues of gold, superiority in the form of a blooming seedling, free of worldly folly
Irresistible to butterflies and feathered creatures, who shall evermore adore the perennial dolly
Snowdrops with delicate pedicels will pepper the frost polishing over my long corroded flesh,
An impeccable ability to synthesize with the world effortlessly, so that I may at last mesh
Nevermore will I acquiesce to let the world negligently toss me about, instead the world will thresh
Irises in the spring will be next to transcend, ripe with nonconformity rooting from their eccentric peridot petals
For the world encompassing them may be wrapped in blissful ignorance, but they will forever hesitate to settle
They realize that life is for naught, putrescence is inevitable, so why even make a vain attempt to mettle
As sure as the sun will ascend, the summer will materialize, and the sun's glimmer will rage from dusk until dawn
For the world will strive on, long after I am gone, and my effulgence on the Earth is perpetually withdrawn
I am not fearful of death because in death there is ignorance and blissful uncertainty
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I am in them and that is eternity.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Slippery insanity careens through marble forests,
trained insurgents capture dragon flies
grinding them up for pixie dust,
cowards siphon rain drops from entangled subatomic particles
inscribing hopeless anecdotes for economical tyranny,
bloated bumble bees bomb pearl harbor,
golden harps sprout wings chasing lost lovers
nourishing their insipid dreams,
homophobes parade **** inside sinking ships,
graveyards sneeze showers of formaldehyde,
nature's chemical cathedrals synthesize
the eleven dimensions of space and time,
summer's daughter bathes in autumn's waters
a myriad of memories engraved in the brain's tissues
trace the tapestry of neural plasticity
Prometheus's pollution and the alchemist's sunset
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
Pictographs concoct
Quaint flavors
An appetite blooms
Ginger locks descend
Passion skates
A micro death sparks
Pixels synthesize
Collections
Of synchronized whines
Lips laced with temptation
Eyes descending sunsets
Elements of resolution
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
Oh how I'd love that
and from a San Francisco organization no less
a month in the Santa Cruz mountains, no less
the most liberal city in America no less
and last year's winner has his picture displayed
and it is not innovative or interesting or shocking but all too predictable
Like something I saw how long now has it been? twenty five years ago...
how many times have I seen this picture
a white guy, looking very much the suffering, creating artiste
handsome, like an actor, but not an actor, a creator of meaning
of art, and he can't smile, but looks away from the camera
mimicking an ad for J. Crew
it's amazing how only white men can write about the important things in the world
and the background, how many times before have I seen it
a graffiti sprinkled nowhere in an urban jungle
somewhere where preppy white guys never go
street art, street communication created by people
who don't see this concrete as an exotic backdrop for their egoistic posing
but as a part of their lives, as part of their meaning, their world
and he stands there, in front of it,
Mr. Screenwriter, the gulf of culture separating him from that background
spans the entire country, or an entire universe
but the implication of the picture is: he is home here
this is who he is and he can emcompass everything, since white men
as we know, have a magic ability to understand and synthesize everyone
all genders, all races, all religions
the rest of us are merely stuck in our own myopic little worlds
of gender, race, socio-economic status
but these spanner of time and space and human difference, they can be anyone
they can understand and represent anyone
So I look at the picture
and think, I could apply, but I'm busy during the blissful month of the residency
but how dissapointing, that I feel looking at this picture, now online of course
that it is the same picture that I looked at over twenty five years ago
pinned to a film school wall
in Los Angeles, in New York, in those edgy more conservative places
and it is the same guy. the white screenwriter artist who will write about me
and others and it will be a lie
and we are excluded. all the rest of the human race.
but what he writes will be exalted as truth
when I know, that no matter how time he spends wandering
the foriegn worlds of ghettos and genders
the one thing he knows, the only thing he knows how to write about is
white guys, because he is no superhuman
he is like us. He will write about white guys and there will be
more films about white guys, who are supposed to represent all of us
but they don't, because they are only human,
and can only represent themselves.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
We have the choice
To make experiences our own
So we do
Creating, fabricating, inventing
better ideals than we have
We are given the power to lie
To synthesize
What we are given
Our realities
We choose to lie
We pick out the thread of
“I wanted this all along”
Spinning and spinning it
Until we are believed
We fool ourselves, our closest companions
Into settling, compromising
And we are not to blame
The alternative?
Miserable honesty
Sufferable affirmations that yes,
“It really is that bad”
We have the choice
To be warriors
To pretend we do not hurt
To not notice we are bleeding
And while greeting the pain
Welcoming it into your home
with a hug and an opportunity to kick off its shoes
While this acknowledgment is freeing
A liberating defiance
To do so continually is overbearing
leaves you drowning in truth
and raw waves of unmet expectations
So as it is
We have a choice
To synthesize
The dirt before our feet into carpets of woven gold
To fabricate
Our own palaces within mediocre routine
To lie and create
and fight
the hand which we were dealt
With all we've got
Which isn't much
So we choose
To synthesize
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Am I supposed to want
To do more than just take it all in, how does everyone
Hold so fast onto the silk when it’s been
Sedated to such a slippery strand?
My grip tends to snap the thread extended by the
Way they talk to me, maybe if they gave me a rope.
As it is I prefer to
Synthesize the scenery into puffs of ***** smoke-
These desserts are grated from reality and so I
Must love reality, but I can’t eat it raw;
I see people’s sawdust centers as the
Cream they could become, I am far more deterred
By bitter tastes than the concept of having to wait for my predictions to ripen,
The fact that they never will is
Only a cynical estimation of mine that I hope will spoil as I age.
Spices are not lies, are not
Blandness masquerading as something so inconsistent with your vision that
You will lose sight of the road.
It is not just a question of
Going down easier, it’s just better
To boil your potatoes.
I hope to dispel a fear of my own, that
I’m some sort of addict, filling myself up with helium like some sort of
Basement-life pocket knife fix,
A recipe mixed to skew me into groggy selfishness that
I would anticipate as good faith and optimism, but my tendencies are erratic,
Dragging my body along to trace a healthy heart line, I suppose,
and with one foot in the door,
I can't quite say which side I'd rather be on.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Little puffs of smoke, exhale
condensed water in the air.
All around you, surrounding you,
through the trees it rustles.
Why does the wind whisper?
it sings to you a story,
a story often told throughout.
Choices made, quickly decided,
Do we linger a moment more?
Do we hurry on our way?
We can learn much from the world around us,
if we wish to take in and synthesize
take the time and discover a natural world.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no existence and no possibility for the imperfection
that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.
Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface and synthesize
an image on my eyelids that doesn't hang so stale.
Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can keep my eyes open but still be disillusioned as to how my soles
have become hopelessly glued to this tile mausoleum.
But most of the time I just turn out the lights.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
Add effect
synthesize
bring together ones soul
simple rhymes make us fold
leave behind the familiar mold
believe that you're made of gold
this is what my father told
grow to be young not old
the world is not cold
love can not be sold
life isn't on hold
be the bold
revolutionize
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:50 AM UTC
why can illusion not
synthesize in the dreams
my subconscious paints
the way it constitutes my
gullible awakened perception?
sprinkle fragments of light from the moon
and pinches of a powder made
from the innocence of a child
on top of your exuded love
that I inhale into the
deepest parts of my lungs
Fearful that one day it might escape
and the disillusioned state of my
inner self will see nothing but
the stars weeping
as you walk away from me.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
The first deceivers were weavers
mechanically believed,
maniacally manufactured
trying me to finally find the answer
as to why we hurt.
Let's see who stands my test of time,
threads spin, intertwined
as styles synthesize
minds ripe for picking,
shrines leap off limbs lending
me a branch to climb up and end it,
a cloud to puff a cig with,
a chance to shine
just like the sun
cant tell a canyon
from a figment of one
mind the bend of the cliffs edge
sailing through time
at last, alas my ship's wrecked.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
You have a poem;
Spring brings you poem.
I think Anthony must be your court's poet;
a serf turned grateful for his god-gave muse.
Genuflect he's to this Fürstin,
trip he does, too, over himself
getting you water
both up and down the stairs;
when presenting his poetry,
rebuts extended portension,
yes, pausing liking um-ing, tsk;
and all so when reaching for his dagger
to cut our darkness away,
does seem dance with shadows
like fire was a pomethean bane.
Still he gets it from his sheath,
brings it to her bloodless yet
dulled from the escaped swings
of misaimed blows into shrubs.
Wants me to call him Reichsritter.
I’d indulge him but he’d still
have to synthesize faith from
some avian metabolism,
(it’s known that poets’ health’s all
flat feet, weak livers, shallow lungs,
and consumptive coughs);
or, better yet, find knighthood
in the books read for your sake;
nay, I too must keep honest to you.
So does he, you know? thinks
sincerely that there’s the stuff of art
passed to him when he entertains you;
doesn’t think himself the lordship you insist,
thinks he’s groped and somehow scalded
himself upon the empyrean fire,
and bows recedes away feeling just
a bit impious.
*That’s it though! :
You’re a young seraphim took earthly shape,
faring the angelic order’s routine errand
to forget absolute, embrace listless hate,
then forget it again.*
Well, isn’t this where Anthony missteps?
cries wolf, burns midnight oil,
clutches his stomach in pain.
The ‘seraphim’ draft is just a wish
for your eternal life, please believe.
Every comet and season makes him
just as mouthful and excited.
A heart of love and head of art, tsk.
We can’t judge the heart
and the head
together can we?
Regardless,
a court poet essentially a jester,
pinned his poem
to my chest.
So, meine Fürstin,
you have a poem,
Spring has brought you a poem.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
Grind me to dust -
Go on do it;
I'm simply waiting for you to make the first move
-Amply,
your innate poignancy shatters my every statue and taboo;
So that I'm left to blossom again
Permeate me;
Or eliminate me,
Though I'd rather flourish with you than perish
Break down my walls,
Rip me apart;
As we stand arm in arm while I do the same
So place us in a mold,
Lets blend together
Mesh with me
We could synthesize;
Or divide
It's only a matter of time,
An eventuality
before we'd reamalgamate anyway
You're the math to my abstract;
So should you calculate or speculate?
- Or perpetuate while we vegetate?
Would you,
Could you
conquer the inevitable?
Could you,
Would you
ever endeavor?
You are the order to my chaos
We could burgeon in oblivion,
though I'd rather balance in harmony
It's black and white at the same time
Like cognitive dissonance
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
This ring,
He gave it to me, you know.
It came as a surprise,
On a day so right,
On a morning so white,
With Clouds so blue,
Just at the right time.
I, a flower, opening up its petals,
To the golden morning sun.
There it was,
There, in its greatness,
A delicately cut metal,
With a beautifully designed pink symmetrical stone,
A literal piece of art, oozing radiation.
It’s luminosity never seizes,
To synthesize my flowery heart.
Let me hold on to you,
Dear Source of light,
For you are,
A constant reminder of the moment, I said
“YES, I WILL FOREVER BE YOURS” to infinity,
As the Heavens and Nature rallied around You and Me.
Around Us, to witness, our two-become-one.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 9:37 AM UTC