"tangent" poems
Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.
Now the nightingales singing aloud!
One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?
Pouring rain singing down to primulas
paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.
Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
Infinite.
Like how many times you can take a picture,
with your mind,
of we intertwined.
Like three chords.
Your pick.
Like each idea becoming a suggestion,
an open ended request,
like the innocence behind "inquisitive"
that is lost in "inquisition".
Like the questions I mean to ask you,
but I'm not sure you'll be listening
at that moment in time.
Stopwatch.
Dewdrop.
Like how I mean to hold
you
r hands
r heart
you.
Like the limit of the tangent of x as it approached y.
I want to curve
and parenthesize around your body.
We will diverge.
We are inverse.
We are combustable.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Steam rises from the blocks of industry
beyond the immediate trees;
a thin white veil
cloaking the city like a bedsheet.
And you waking, displacing
your head about apathetically
trying to light a smoke
with sunlight -
this linear love on a tangent,
golden, some ornament.
Everything up then falling
each morning, with light
tethered to the ceiling
while you lay still
dazed from dreaming,
the day breaks unassuming.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
The existence of us lied purely on conditional probability
The probability that event A will happen with the knowledge that event B has already happened
And if you asked me why I kissed you
I would tell you I liked when our probability was me over you
With your hands laying tangent to my curves
I kissed you as much as I wanted and as much as I could
If you asked me why I kissed you goodbye
Even though you were not mine
It was because time is only ever ticking away
And if I run out of time
I can’t kiss you
The probability of you calling me beautiful was a 0.25 on the qualitative spectrum
Unlikely.
But you did and your voice sounded like honey
sticking to the heartstrings in my chest,
filling in the cracks,
it was sweet
Our probability quickly shifted from me over you to 1 over 6
very likely to unlikely
and the conditional probability of you leaving seemed to take over any set equation
I saw the curve in your lips decay faster day by day
The eyes that I tried so hard to catch mine
Don’t even make the effort to look in my direction
And the honey you left in my chest turned sickly
And it’s been there so long I think I’m attracting bees
I lay my hands flat on your chest
and I am touching you because I can’t help it
because time is only ever ticking away
And I’m crying
Why am I crying?
The memories are rushing back
Your hand on my thigh in that blue dress
Your arm around me in the parking lot
I remember it was warm and you were talking to my mother
You always had the charm to make me dance
and that night I felt you in my bones
50/50 I thought we were 50/50
Now I’ve always preferred chemistry
And we felt like a combustion formula
But we were just probability and statistics
And I’ve always hated math
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Love
Is not an equation.
There is no
x, y, or z
No variable
No shortcut to find a companion
If there was,
Well,
It wouldn't be love
But a cheap imitation,
The store brand of human emotion.
And yet
I still yearn to be a
Derivative
So that I might lie tangent to your curves.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
I love you baby,
From x approaching a limit of positive to negative infinity.
A range so large and domain so vast,
My love for you will always last.
The way my curve touches your tangent,
And how your secant meets me end to end.
When your line intersects my parabola,
We connect at one point of linear algebra.
You transform my altitude,
When my sinusoidal function allows you too.
You make my average rate of change,
Quicken and heighten in an instantaneous range.
For those days when my angle is in depression,
You tilt me up to an angle of elevation.
In an isosceles triangle,
You will always be my special angle.
The identities we cross,
Changing from tan to sin over cos.
Like sin²x with cos²x we are one,
It’s quite simple ***
Your imaginary roots maybe out of this world,
But my zeros and intercepts will keep it real.
It’s a complicated equation,
To solve for my fascination.
It’s the beginning of our journey,
I hope we never come across an inequality.
I love you endlessly like x approaching positive and negative infinity.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Check:
Let O = Orifice
Let D = What ever your imagination brings you to
The Limit as D approaches O
you see her face start to glow
The log of the base
is a way to find the D in her face
No function can go on an asymptotes
But i will **** in her and cover her *** in ***** layered coats
The polar coordinates of your O
Is Tangent to where she is ******* my big toe
Because you will find me in her
The quadratic has multiple integers
The function calls to vertically stretch O
So at the end of the day I Dont Really Know
This is a metaphor for really weird ***
Thanks.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
It can be Frustrating to look so mean
When Success presents your Certificate
And Honest Fans some to most turn so Green
When their Tangent Voices are celibate
Now my only Say to unsoak the Blame
Is when that Sponge within Speaks without Words
You know it as HEART; That Character sane,
Serene discharge of Flavoured Bees and Birds
Even when Flowers rebel and Worms spit
Still your Compassion can embrace them all
Believe this: In, to Out, Around and Fit
Past the Royal Egg survive a Great Fall.
It's been there in you; And all of this Time
My Lesson to learn from Wise Owls behind.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
What my life would be like
If I had never met you.
Not in a spiteful way,
Just out of curiosity.
Would a new name replace
The space
You've reserved between my lips? Or would I still be out there,
Counting time
Between the ticks of my metal detector?
Do you remember the metal detector?
You know,
I always was a treasure hunter.
I don't think I ever told you this but,
Before we met,
I modified it a bit.
I was tired of lugging it around,
So I put it in my heart.
This way,
I had nothing weighing me down.
I used that ****** thing for years.
After a while, though,
I got tired of metal.
I only ever found scraps, anyway.
So I modified it a bit more.
Honestly,
I barely made it out of that one intact,
But it was worth it.
This time, I was looking for love.
I don't want to run this tangent
Into the ground,
But I guess what I really want to know is
Would my heart ever beat that fast again?
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
shore slips tangent
once each turn
and life pivots
on blade’s pull
from age’s widened spiral
we watch to find
another oar
uncertain
how to circle
back to land
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 6:26 AM 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
The journey
to real self-love
is not always easy
There are so many elements
that can trip you up:
jagged rocks
that slightly jut out from
the silken, earthy surface
paths of black ice
that look clear
but slide you from your course
their invisibility
only tangent
after the fall
light flash floods
that turn into monsoons
at a moment's notice
a reflection of clear blue sky
that somehow turns
into a seemingly solid wall
But if we can hold on
and somehow stay connected
to the shining root within
let it hold us in place like an
invisible anchor
the floating umbilical cord
that connects us
to our inner mirror
deep reflection
and resurrection
Then we will know
that every slip
is truly temporary
and only leads us to the
improved firework
of ourselves:
for nothing can stop us
No matter what
we will blossom into
the very electric flowers
we were meant to,
and, at our own
blessed pace,
burst into
the gentle ululation
of
the stars
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:39 PM 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
Tangent: touching
along a curve,
a surface,
without intersecting.
We are acquainted.
Contours quietly agree.
What I cannot guess
with my hands
I will consider
with my lips—
count the places
I kiss you,
forget where I am,
start over.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
I was a solid man.
A solid man with broken pieces
Pieces astrewn on the dusty floor of life,
thrown away with my own guilty verdict
No glue or wires to hold me together,
just a small tangent of sanity and veins.
Structurally not sound,
my moral compass has taken the wrong course
A course of insurmountable ill wills,
wills that would make a grown man, cry and beg.
A beggar that I see before me,
seeing myself in the mirror of near death.
That death bounds to me,
like the leather restraints of a sadomasochist
No more control over thoughts or person,
fearing what lies ahead in waiting
I waited for life to come to me,
but only saw the emptiness.
My empty mind,
trying to put the puzzle back together
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
Frozen moments,
embraced,
visions of
luminous things,
unpretentious
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
tranquility
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.
The cross of lassitude,
forming
scars of loss;
estrangement,
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure - immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.
Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty - perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance-
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage -
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.
Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
culminating
in perfection
from the sheath
respectively,
each plume,
singular,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.
The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest -
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
ironically,
solace and
terror
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.
Engender and witness,
window into
preeminence,
surface azure,
the sacred -
inimitable gravity of
grandeur,
ma petite,
you - are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic -
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?
Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination -
infinititude as near
as it is far.
Long loneliness -
dissonance that
resolves;
perceiving,
the tertiary refrain -
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
derived
through
doors of surrender.
Daughter,
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
My tight pressed lips,
against Your tangent hips.
Our hands yield
to the symphony of surrender.
Lay your defences down,
Let our hearts pour out.
Scantitly clad souls,
Semi naked hearts,
Ever so vulnerable.
There are things
far more important
than ourselves.
There are things
that we love too much.
that it hurts.
even to let go.
In our midst,
it is each other.
''May I have the final dance under
this perishable moonlight ?''
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:44 AM UTC
I met the love of my life today
I didn't say hi and he didn't say hi
I don't know his name
He does not know mine either
Our eyes just locked up and there
Instantly I fell
Tho love seems so sweet and giving,
Our line is that kind of a tangent.
But in that moment that
I got to hold his eyes with mine,
I swear we were infinite.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
We may be a tangent line
Meant to meet only once,
There is one thing i'm sure of tho
That moment I held your eyes with mine
I swear we were infinite
Leigh Herondale August 2015
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
I’m searching for Paradise
Beyond the vast ocean on a beach filled with white sand
Under the palm tree in the shadows of untamed land
Where the ocean tides pave over the imprints of a desolate shore
And the wind echoes around caressing the sun drenched floor
In front of the sea, sparkling from the sun’s radiant light
Waiting to set, and be engulfed by the night
In my hand I clasp upon a cold and crisp, refreshing beer
Looking upon the horizon so clear
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On an immeasurable plane of green land tangent only to a white mountain range
Where the prairie has been spared from the time of industrial change
In front of the sun as it strokes the horizon line
I sit, while I clasp upon my tall glass of wine
The sky is painted by an array of colors, reflecting off tranquil clouds
Free from the hustle and bustle of crowds
The grass is soft, like long bristles of velvet fur
As the pollen rises from the flowers, it creates an indescribable blur
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
In the big city, illuminated by artificial light
Surrounded by friends in the chaos of night
We trek, pushing through the people infested street
And pulse to the music of an inescapable beat
In the heat of passion, impossible to explain
We pop bottle after bottle of the most exclusive champagne
Under the stars, beneath the glittering sky
Indulging within the penthouse so high.
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On the edge of the world, perched upon a soaring cliff
Where you can taste the cool crisp air with but only a whiff
As the sun begins to peak out from beneath the earths womb
I pour a drink, full of spirits to consume
The birds begin to sing in metronomic rhyme
I sing along, to count the time
In the twilight hour sets
The new day begins as I’m purged of regrets
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
After an extensive and exhausting day of work
Grueling and toiling for a boss who’s a ****
Breaking my back for the lowest of scraps
Sweating and Striving till my knees collapse
I return to an undersized and meager house
To be greeted by my enduring spouse
Embracing the responsibility of my new role as a father
I look upon the face of my daughter
And within her eyes so nice
I finally find Paradise
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Some where he sits or gorily sleeps
The blank stare behind a rigid cut
Eyes of a seductive Mongoloid
Offering nothing for the poison of the sea
The arbitrary swirls of mechanical time pieces
Add heavy track to this an
already shady beat
all the While A reproduction of some Germanic doll
Shrinks smaller into the keyholes
of his frontal lobe
A pleasant amnesia of the purist kind
This anglo doll she is now just a capsized pin
Her black and white knee socks mold into a geosed canvas
Ready to be re-painted with all the emotions he has left
What if I told you I loved you?
By the stairs with the works of post-modern misunderstanding
But it will be just a whisper of shear for the racket builds upward
The spinning mechanics joined by the school busses stopping forever
Yes that statement of old is clearly devoid
Merrily a swallow’s anthem
An absurd tangent of malfeasance
Almost a monosyllabic destruction
Only some misshapen coke spoons remain
As well asthe hands of a man who is much safer out of bed
The saline was much too dodgy
And the sheets…..Well they were never clean
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
Floodlights.
They’re ghosts right?
From our memories,
Have been seized, we
From the perfect dream?
Drip drop drip drop
Turning tricks, dropped the jack
***** when you coming back?
It’s off it’s off
Seldom silence serves as sight’s severance.
**** chop **** chop OW!
******* pistol clock
Whip glock whipping ****
How many names can you think of for a knockoff
Of soda pop?
I’m sorry sir you’ve got the wrong Ryan,
I haven’t starred in any movies that cryin’
Old seniles, and sensitive females, so honestly claim
Was the way life should have been for them.
Oh in that case I’ll show you the brain,
Then kick you in the *** for being so gay.
Hold on there, wrong Ryan.
I ain’t waiting tables, or banefully fryin’
Up **** that I spit in for women with tips worth less
Than my two cents.
Oh I apologize, celebrity lookalike.
Must be the weather or the windshield is cracked
Or the antennae are bent or the cables are jacked
But I can’t seem to figure out just who you are
When I’m watching the TV pimped into my car,
Let’s try a few shall we
Not a cook…Not a lover boi…Silence of the…Birds, if you’re a bird I’m a…Bat…Batman! Batman and Robin! Red Robin! No not a waiter…
Red hearse, Fred Durst, Paris Hilton, Ryan Milton
Wrong Ryan, Wrong Ryan!
Oh my god, silly me
I seem to have gone on a tangent you see.
Tandem bicycles, all of them for free.
If you would only come visit. Agreed?
Of course I know that you’re THE Ryan B.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC