"theorized" poems
The month of May may not be a part
Of our struggle. It belongs to those
Who have chosen to remember the
Blots of blood showered along the
Mendiola pavement, paving a closely-
Knit kinship of beliefs and bewildered
Minds, of a passing moment, of a
Movement passed on generations.
Struggles don't end, for they never begin.
Gun's barrel is where power grows. Mao
Theorized it, generations lived it. Not until
This generation's search for new reason,
Tilling fields
Are mapped in the hearts of the masses;
Where new weapons are fashioned, new
Passion grows for living the theory, for
Doing philosophy out of soil, out of gears.
Superstructure is rebuilt on chalkboards.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Upon pulchritude I gandered
Alchemy materialized
Adamant sentiments mere panders
Upon pulchritude I gandered
Fervor ascended, language stammered
Imagery never once had I theorized
Upon pulchritude I gandered
Alchemy materialized
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
My neighbor and I still hang out our wash,
(I, each Thursday, taking my chances.
She, according to weather forecasts, I think,
or maybe by what she feels in her bones).
We laugh at StarTribune's report of some suburban bans
against clotheslines.
We wonder out loud whose tomatoes will first turn red,
and whether cucumbers will make it at all;
this year, it's been too cool and dry
for normal progress to the fall.
Tenacious dandelions, spread as stars across green-earth skies,
drive in spike-like roots, take hold of earth, and won't let go.
Kids squeeze bunches of stems in tight fists
that will open only to release the buttery bouquet to Mom
who hurries to put them in water, in a crystal vase,
wondering how soon she might mourn both flower and child.
While hanging bright, white unmentionables (some somewhat tattered)
on our clothesline, I, unembarrassed, remember my mother:
with one clothespin held in her mouth
and half a dozen more in her apron pocket,
(thus needing not to walk over and over again
the east-west path to the back door
where full supply of pins hangs on the ****
she does her woman's task with flair,
spacing each garment so as not to block the sun or air.
You'd think she'd held some tool to calculate
where the sheet would best allow the breeze to circulate
or where to place each pillow case and sock,
so each would recognize and meet their mates!
And I know she theorized regarding how to hang those socks,
always with the toe pointed upward, so as not to show,
when dried and worn, a crease or ever-so-slight evidence
of the pin's pressure displayed for all to see
on the exposed ankle,
as if that might be a matter
worthy of shame.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
♪ ♩ ♫ ♬♪ ♪ ♩ ♫
[for Snare Drum]
Client-centered, data-driven,
yet their sins are unforgiven.
Tweaking the assessment standard
while the Word of God is slandered.
Current practice (science-based)
meanwhile, souls are laid to waste.
Evidence-based evaluations
fail to stall abominations.
Power slideshows, bullet-pointed
bypass Christ, the Lord’s anointed.
Titled expert: talking wraith,
buzzword-based, devoid of faith.
Sources cited, praxis theorized.
Mankind’s plight ignored, unrealized.
Humankind enthroned, enshrined,
entombed in shadows yet unshined.
Branding, marketing, organized crime:
brother – can you spare a paradigm?
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
To concretize my theorized love,
I could play the accidental odds and strew
slippery tongues of spotted petals
onto thickly trafficked highways,
or use the best predictive modelling
to deduce when and where I can poke out
a well-heeled boot to trick unwary spills
and ****** a kiss from the unsuspecting
lips of any suitably compatible
passerby oft times inconvenienced and passed
on by.
These well-oiled and crudely experimental
methods do produce expected results,
but not the breakthrough nor the looked-for
satisfaction of appropriate reactions,
so I'll keep my dotted eyes tucked in
their pulpy stems and my shoddy toes curled back
while I beam my bits of invitation through
circuitous routes spatially arrayed along
parallel paths where one might search
with an extra-terrestrial inventiveness,
and wait.
I know the trials of these errant waves
won't add up to a guarantee
my burpy blips of a pulse can reach
the receptively comprehending and responsive
soils I seek, but it's the remoteness of a stead
to come stalking that appeals, and despite
the Hawking drone of unveiled warnings
I might regret such contact, I'll risk it all
on vaguely washed wishes this astronomical
anomaly with an alien sensibility has
one match.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
We dissected his synapses
sent him subconsciously
seeking theorized sources
of the substance
Thanksgiving is coming
and I'm stuck mute on my new path
If he comes bearing gifts
can I say anything
through the slow death mask
and scramble suit deceptions
that will make him understand
the murky depth of my regret?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
I buried you in the backyard of my soul
In self defense I sang a requiem,
I theorized- what harm could do a hole
If dug by me and filled in at the end?
I held your funeral, mourned cold at your grave.
I sat vigil until the morning light.
And my heart I hardened, should it have forgave
Your absence and distraction, dead as night.
I urged the moss to swallow up the stone
Which said, "Here lies another lightning strike."-
The newness of the wound couldn't condone
The pungence of the churned up soil's bite.
And once the grass had taken, loosely, root,
And from the corner of one's eye the place looked old,
I hurried by, each day and night, a mute-
To make it old my heart I would have sold.
But no matter how stoic I try to be
I find that in my love of you I dwell.
Perhaps I shouldn't've looked so tenderly
Upon your cold face as the spades of soil fell.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 11:41 PM UTC
That hour made me busy
questions were easy
not yielding a moment
he was sitting glum
peeping at my diagram
of Michelson Morley experiment!
I could hear his sigh
from the corner of my eye
could gauge he felt bitter
all he had read
had quickly fled
clouding him in ether!
It was all in mist
what those darned physicist
had theorized in vain
no lover’s tryst
but a paper of physics
an agonizing pain!
My worst fear
was remembering the year
when the experiment was done
for once did it Michelson
then with Morley redone
was it ’87 or ’81!
That boy behind me
was thinking bitterly
worrying in fright
soon the time would be spent
without his writing the experiment
on the wavy behavior of light!
Tense was the air
when I heard him whisper
push your paper to the right
in his voice was despair
bothered little to be unfair
quite visible was his plight!
*With all my toil
burning the midnight oil
how this I lost sight
covered all nitty-gritty
of magnetism electricity
missed the chapter on light!*
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
If there was a such this as
perfect
it would be found in the
simple
A child’s smile
a mother’s love
a father’s protection
if perfect
could be theorized philosophically
placed into linguistic terms
there could be no words
no label grand enough
no construction simple enough
save only laughter
if perfect
could be understood mathematically
it would be either be a 1 or a 0
no other representations yields the same
universal and instant ease of understanding
that children instinctually grasp the idea
yet
the same children
when grown
could spend their life exploring the complexities
If perfect
could be known on a spiritual level
it would be that moment one realizes there is a god
ascending to level of worship and devotion
others mistake them for the god they serve
or
it would be that moment when one rejects all divinity
professing that all in creation is not of creation
but of nature and nurture
the only guiding force is the will to survive
If perfect
could be expressed in dance or music
there would only be
one motion
one note
maybe none
stillness
silence
If perfect
could be expressed on canvas or in stone
it would be such that the work would
never be started
untouched
maybe never completed
unfinished
Perfect
is as simple as knowing that one can never see one’s own face
what one knows as one’s one image
is only a reflection
what’s more is that a person is the only person that can never see ones own image
yet all they encounter sees them exactly as they are
exactly as they never can
Perfect perfection
is realization
not thought
not contemplation
Perfection is everything labeled imperfect
The only imperfect thing
is the word its self
© Christopher F. Brown 2013
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
i theorized the continuity
of my contemplation
as you picked your guitar
questioning all of creation.
you told me, "i hold no
obligation to anyone else.
if i break a promise, then
i will break it to myself."
© Matthew Harlovic
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
The dead will laugh
For they know what is in the aftermath
What is left to be my own
In a world not ever completely shown
With an attacking ego
It must be dueled with the unspeakable feelings of the body to let go
All that which makes I unique
Invites me to grow or sink
For my mind will only calculate and analyze
That which can not be theorized
No words or sounds can be found
So it is to be and allow yourself to be the ground
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
In a Kingdom by the Sea,
you kept me cold
in the closet of your mind
.
We were children who
made promises of love,
but for all my lovelorn words,
it never came close to others
.
You theorized our demise by an
unseen hand,
and a voice that whispered
death inside your head
.
And this was the reason
that in our kingdom
you wrenched my grip
from your wrist and let the
wind take me
.
The voices left you
complacent in your
decision to rid me from
our kingdom, blaming
others for the love that
was never given
.
I do wonder from time to
time if I ever cross your
mind and if you’re waiting in
Our Kingdom by the Sea
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Well, this is a long day.. but a thoughtful day..
I memorized the power of words, not memorized but somehow theorized not really, I don't know what I can say .. but if you are patient enough read it
Take an example
If I impose positive words against me or just say I am a good boy or conclude that am a good boy, my fellow folks .. they might believe me, hopefully if they did.. their thoughts create a positive energy and yes a positive vibration fills my life and my surrounding even am not a good or great guy .. this vibration lets me to change my point of view or perspective or whatever it is.. I change myself ..
The reverse might also be true, I'd say am bad a negative energy, clouds my surrounding.. eventually that turns my point of view..
But, it's my whole self .. which has to take a decision.. if more positive am more positive and good or great guy.. and more negative am more negative ..
Well, a bit confusing ... but still this has some meaning I think .. impose or bombard positive energy rather negative energy ..
Every coin has two sides, choose the best side
Hmm, I conclude without a conclusion.. I hope someone from my vast list of friends can understand my true intention..
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC
The waiting room was quiet
beside the faint click of the blinds
against an open window
A single dead fly on the table
on his back
with his legs pointing up
This death did not bother the models in the posters
As they smiled with bright white teeth from the wall
like they knew some great secret
that pale in comparison to the dead fly
I looked away from the poster and to the fly.
I began to wonder how the fly left this mortal coil.
peacefully or violently?
I theorized, cause I was in the mood,
that it was peaceful cause he had no obvious trauma to the body
But what do I know of a fly's anatomy?
Maybe his little heart just gave up
maybe he lost his way and then lost hope too
He tried to stay busy
buzzing away
but it was an act
trying to distract himself from the pain
He couldn't keep it up forever
his heart was too tired
and he deserved a rest
he had been through enough
So he stopped flying one day
and with one last sad beat
his heart just stopped
That what I theorized
My theory on the matter
I'll never know how the fly died
But that's what happens when the heart just stop
and it's not violent
it's peaceful
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
I made an idol out of love.
Romanticized
Theorized
But never came out above.
The tumultuous sea
of emotions in me
that waged war
on your shores
Beat continuously against you,
the beach.
I thought that's what love was.
Passion.
Fire.
Dancing.
Idols.
I burnt out bright
smoldering ash in the night.
And when I cooled,
realized I was fooled.
Because the only true love there is,
is Light.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
the rights to this poem belong exclusively to the author
the man with the drink in his hand
with scowls over chin
lock solid in his belief
tank tied into an intricate knot
as lovely as a flower
in equal permanence
by the theorized statement large
movement
is but the universe
looking back at itself
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
in infancy,
I was everything
you had hoped
for in a child,
played a cherub
in our church’s
Christmas pageant,
wore a felt gown
& angel wings tethered
to my back, a halo atop
a mop of blonde colored hair.
it was as if I were finally
worth the title of
beautiful.angelic.
god sent. elegance.
you had finally
worked up enough
magic to procreate
& theorized that
something you made
could finally be an
angel. you threw yourself
so hard to another’s body
you became divine, if only
for a moment.
but you’ve always been
such a skilled poacher.
cut off my wings in slumber
& nailed them
above your head
board. one might
think this is a
brutal comparison
to how you’ve
never learned
to love anything
god sent.
both our knees
are bruised, but we’re
practicing a different
type of prayer. I still
feel a pain in my shoulder
blades from where you cut me,
your hands no longer feel damp
with my blood.
maybe, one day, you’ll hunt me
down, with your poacher’s pride,
& with your rifle, you’ll finally
take more than my wings. &
as I bleed out, a task which may take
days. . . or months . . . or years,
I hope you’ll look me in my eyes
& you’ll remember that even as an
angel, I was once still just your
daughter.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 12:02 PM UTC
The ancient Greeks theorized that as the soul descended from heaven to be born, it gathered elements from the seven visible planets: silver from the moon, mercury from Mercury, copper from Venus, gold from the sun, iron from Mars, tin from Jupiter, and lead from Saturn. These were the components of the soul. After death their souls would return up, dropping off each element at their respective planet, appearing naked before god to be judged.
If I could rip apart our souls,
what do you think I’d find?
If we are composed of only simplicities,
then I must be copper,
because I’ve always felt the need
to be close to every part of the earth.
Or maybe silver,
since the moon always seemed
more trustworthy to me.
Or maybe because that was Artemis’ color,
and I always longed to be pure.
It was an alchemist’s noble metal,
strong yet malleable,
able to be hammered
or pressed
permanently out of shape.
you seem to have spent far too long
on Mercury, learning from the god himself.
Filling yourself with liquid poison,
learning to dissolve precious metals.
The Roman god Mercury,
often helped guide lost souls to the underworld,
so maybe that’s why
the longer we lasted,
the more it felt like hell.
You always were toxic to me.
The ancients used lead for everything,
they lined their bathtubs and pipes,
and was considered the best ingredient
in fine wine.
They bathed and drank and drank and drank
until they couldn’t tell the difference
between the two,
washing their sins
whether from skin or from soul,
they were dying just the same.
I guess some things never change.
Tin is still a simple,
under-appreciated metal,
used for simple, unappreciated objects,
but if we are all only elements,
you are a tin man.
The finest element has always been gold,
believed to be of the sun.
People loved it because it seemed
to ooze warmth.
Most religions worshipped the sun,
even though it could **** them
before they had a chance.
The sun,
though warm and life-giving,
has too much power,
and you always did, too.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
"
in life
some of us were hermit philosophers
some of us joined the youth in marches
in theory
we left our mark in moving sand
we walked a barren wasteland
like you, we saw the world crumbling
but when others despaired
bereft of hope
averted their eyes
from what humans had done
we gazed far into the abyss
we did not hate, we theorized
like you, we saw the world evolve
but when aged paradigms failed
as ideas of old were led astray
as all succumbed to chaotic change
and people turned to masses
we critically advised
we spoke of the era of the spectacle
now we are gone
who will stand strong
with feet on the ground
with eyes looking down
against all shouldered giants?
"
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
You wanna heal,
Don’t you
But breaking the ingrained patterns of generations
Is hard
But you’ve grasped the idea
And now you just can’t let it go,
This notion that you could be stronger, healthier, more joyful— inviting all of life in through your senses
And just letting go
Of all the heavy burdens that have weighed you down for so long
You’ve spoken your burdens for years
But speaking never beget change
The change you ached for, the transformation you only theorized about
But what you didn’t know
Is that this idea of healing
Was a seed that was planted into your heart
And this kind of seed
Takes a long time to gestate
So even if you haven’t seen visible changes in yourself and in your life
Just know that the seed has cracked open
And is spreading deep roots,
Replacing the roots of your traumas
Your healing, when it is born and continues to grow in its visible manifestation
Will appear differently than how you imagined it
Yet you will be more overjoyed by its reality than by your limited fantasy of it
Your healing
Will be a revolution to yourself and to all those you have ties with
Some won’t understand your changes, neither will you at times
But just continue to listen to your heart, it’s simple, inviting song
And rest in all the beauty that is unfolding before you and within you.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Life is not some course
Upon an unmarked path
As was theorized before my time
No, life is the path
Unforeseen, elongating, meandering
Being blazed with each escaping moment
We do not leave prints on the path
But others leave footprints on us
As they travel along with us
Some are minuscule, some gargantuan
Some are washed away with rains of sorrow
But others, they last forever
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
The words of Keats stick to my brain
“To cease upon midnight with no pain”
Though I am scared to
I’ll confess my deepest fear
Since the beginning of time
Humankind has theorized
The meaning of the end
Is it an eternal sleep, the black that comes
Or is it a soul’s journey to another place?
I do not know who to believe
And that makes me afraid
I am terrified of the words “The End”
I’ll admit it, oh, yes, I’ll admit it:
I am terrified of death.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
A great man once said that we are all born from star dust.
I think that's true.
It would explain why every inch of you glows like the sun.
Another great man theorized the universe started with a bang.
I think, actually I know, this too must be true.
Because you started one in my head from the moment we met.
And since then it's been you and only ever you.
Like an astronomer I've found a star among millions
That somehow makes all the other stars immeasurably duller.
And every inch, every crack, every imperfection, every scar
Is utterly and undeniably beautiful.
Like the smile that seems to come from your very soul.
Or the lilt in your voice that sings in my ears and into my veins.
Or the way you curl your hair around your finger when your nervous.
Or the way you laugh at all your own jokes.
Or the way you will always take time even if there is none.
Or even how in 5th grade you bullied a girl once
and since then you've never forgiven yourself for it.
Or the way you always know just the right thing to say.
Or...how you think you're just another person.
You walked straight from a dream and into my life.
Because sometimes life is fair and kind.
Sometimes you meet people that feel larger than whole galaxies.
Sometimes you meet the type of person that will change whole worlds.
Sometimes you meet stars.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC