"transmitters" poems
i.
i know that the ear is connected to the nose and the nose is connected to the throat and the throat is connected to the mouth
which is probably why, when we kiss, i hear symphonies
and when i hear "i love you" travel from your lips to my ear
i taste bliss on the tip of my tongue
ii.
i read somewhere that smell is most strongly attached to memory
this means that i will keep your t shirt forever, and maybe your shampoo, too
apparently photographs are not enough
iii.
someone told me that it is not the eyes, but the brain that sees
eyes are just transmitters
but what i see in front of me must be love because it does not register with my mind at all
but my heart translates it beautifully for me
it knows exactly why its own beat becomes erratic when you enter my thoughts
it knows exactly what's going on in this tenement of flesh i call my body
iv.
they say that the last of the five senses is not touch, but equilibrium
which is probably why, when i don't feel your hands in mine
when there is air and not skin
my whole world is off-kilter
i know what it means to fall in love
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
~
*"Satellite, oh, satellite
who sits upon our skies
how deep do you see
when you spy into our lives?"
This is for when
coyote called
into the ether
connecting heaven to earth
For when
glasnost sang
and velvet revolution
twinkled in the humming air
This is for when
the quiet hedges
of lilies and remains
came out of darkness
For when
the misty curtain man
shopping for codes and antiquities
poisoned the salt shakers
This is for when
a spy in an alcove
twisting the thermos tops
to his dark-eyed sister
shelled the transmitters
of Radio Free Europe
For when
his wife refused
This is for when
working in the glass structure
of a Cold War
made spider and I
a measured room
an arc of doves
For when
the last step from the surface
was the end of a thin cord*
~
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 5:59 PM UTC
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...
This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation. Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being? Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other? Molecular integration? But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.
Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed. They are
no more.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Appended streams exhume the dreams that surface in conscious guide,
As photon beams augment the seams transmitters must abide.
The quantum strings of knotted ties,
Entangling's of worlds collide,
A vortex of spiraled rings,
In scattered sets convergent glide,
The convex spacial vacuuming's, synaptic points electrified,
A hex, insatiable, stochastically adjoins frequencies over-amplified, as complex oracle valuations weight choices to decide.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Mesmerized by a long forgotten melody
Spellbinding this haunting familiar sound
Reminds me of the victim I used to be
It strikes an emotion that brings me down
Unfathomable these pulsating rhythmic electric vibes
That make up the hidden parts that keep us alive
Reaction that cause us to revisit tragic memories
Which don't seem to have any quick remedy
Sounds, smells and things we see
Dramatic experiences are also triggers and keys
There are many ways through the unconscious realm
Such as lucid dreams and hypnotic spells
Displaced aggression, confused emotions
Inappropriate behavior, addictive devotions
All stem from unresolved issues of life so bitter
Stored in gray matter by chemical transmitters
But I have yet to mention the infamous soul
Which we place our hope in as our bodies grow old
A ghost that exists beyond that which can be measured
And holds the mysteries of life's greatest treasures...
TWM
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
There's a dragon in the garden.
Huffing, puffing, billowing smoke.
Trees recoil in abject horror.
Dragon's noisy.
Hissing and sparking.
Dragon melts in to the atmosphere.
High-flown brazen.
Hideously beautiful.
He puts forth his strike.
Striking out at dried out leaves.
A stupendous bang.
An explosion of long dead transmitters spray across the lawn.
Popping loudly as they fly.
Spawned from dragons guts.
Someone fed him a disused T.V.
From his belly sparked kaleidoscope of coloured lights.
Children should not feed the bonfire.
(C) LIvvi 2014
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
I scroll down your pages,
Each line making me hungry for
The next.
Father Eagle, wings spanning
Across multiple decades
Of strong life lived.
How many poetlings have you
Hatched from the cold, solid
Shells of their insecurity?
How many hearts have you
Guided from the darker corners
Of creativity, and
Into the light of a broader sprecrum
Of impression and expression?
How many lives
May just have been saved by the
Firm foundations of the attitudes you
Gift us with?
Keep challenging us, uncle Joe.
Keep soaring above the landscapes
Of ink and paper, of fingers
Painting themselves through keyboards,
On nights where sleep has to yield
To the force of inspiration,
And remember...
You will live forever in the hearts
You have touched.
Long after your work is done in
This world you made more beautiful and
Meaningful to so many;
Once you become one with the trees,
Flowers, fields and woods that you
Love; even making those
Landscapes with which we all must
Merge more wonderful with your
Own perpetual grace,
You will be thought of. Spoken of,
Written of, reminisced about.
You tremendous man,
Friend, inspirator, teacher, creator.
May you live forever. A king cloathed
In ashes; humble.
A god, wearing Man, loving every
Strand of grass he graces with
His footprint.
You hold a thousand pens. You conduct
Legions of observers and transmitters.
You are the leaf you asked us to
Write about; at its most beautiful in
Autumn. Yellow. Dry enough to leave
Its tree and flutter through
It all. Unattached.
Unconcerned with
Winter.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
Darker than six combined winter mid nights
The uneducated minds
For they know not when and how to use their knowledge
Knowledge without character
Is tea without sugar
The superior complex do
As the inferior complex do other wise
Life has the wise and the other wise
Those that stand things before understanding
Undemocratic knowledge
Retaliate democratic knowledge
Global democrats
Are likened to a boxing ring
‘Jab, hook and uppercut!’
Opponents hit each other hard
And destroy not each other.
Gracious, after a tough contestant
Embrace each other with unity of purpose
It’s indeed a game and gambling of knowledge
Confidence building knowledge
Vision-less vision knowledge
Knowledge engulfed by the hocus-pocus
Vampire of' ‘Anointed' knowledge
Illogical malicious transmitters of words
Utter knowledge with utter amazement
Indeed,
Knowledge is power
Power to do evil...or power to do good.
No thief, however skilful, can rob one of knowledge, and that is why knowledge is the best and safest treasure to acquire
L. Frank Baum accurately observed
“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not illiteracy ,
It's how we illusion knowledge
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:13 PM UTC
I awoke to the waves of your blanket crashing over my body. The gentle sound of the morning breeze, birds singing outside your window, everything lost in a sense of calm. A serene feeling rarely felt in the normal world. Almost too still and unchanging to be recognized by the brain, like the receptors just can’t process this sort of feeling. Totally and completely relaxed.
We are the daybreak. We have everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.
I look over to my right and catch you at my favorite time. Still asleep, mind exploring other realms, other planets. Your body in this morning light shines with utter disdain to the evils of the world. Nothing can touch you, except me. I lean over and softly kiss your ivory skin, the blood rushing to the spot where my mouth is, leaving a soft blush under your skin. These perfect hues of beauty will always hold sway. Your freckles will guide me to your lips, the transmitters of passion. Sparking electrical currents to my heart.
We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything. We are life. We are love.
Every moment here in the present seems all but too short. The conclusion arriving entirely too fast for anyone’s liking. Looking back, it seems to be a dream. Mind you, a dream worth remembering. So I fold it up and put it in my front pocket, it will come in handy for the days where life seems troubled and without hope. I will open it up and gaze like a map to the days where laughter filled our glasses to the brim and love destroyed any notion of the word “impossible”.
We are the daybreak. We feel everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.
Soon I’ll watch as you board that train and head up north. Watching your face through the window, you smile. You’re finally finding your path through this reckless world, and I couldn’t be more overjoyed. The only sadness lingering on my breath is from thinking about how I won’t be able to witness it. But, alas this is a selfish thought..Sometimes things just happen, things we never thought would happen. We wind up in a place and mindset where we don’t understand. So I’m glad you’re finding yourself, and I know you will be the happy and radiant girl that I fell in love with.
We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything.
We are the night.
We are life.
We are love.
*-For you, Liz.
(may this find you where the map turns blue, and salty too)*
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
(I’m so incredibly alone
I might as well not exist at all)
my transmitters are malfunctioning or they’re
fine, and its the source
which is broken
what is happiness?
A sensation unfamiliar to my blandly textured existence
if only I could be once again
needed
My Terminal Countenance
scares away not only predators,
but friends of the same form
where lies the line which separates the two?
If it is even real
it escapes my clouded vision
(obstructed by the gleams it so desires,
it averts the illustrious sun)
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
To **** a man
is to flog his hide
if the hide were his brain
and the scars were
meandering
creases littering.
I have heard
the songed bird cry
when the notes were
both hopeful, unafraid
awake
and twittered.
And in the tired
slow gasping release
of moon upon night
overwhelmed by stars
like satellite
transmitters.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
protein
like in the matrix when humans are batteries
in quatermass humans were protein
only the young for they were innocent
their bodies not corrupted by age
fake ideas put in their heads
and false emotions in their hearts
drawn to the old stone circles
and pre-historic mounds on the landscape
for it was here the transmitters were located
placed here by aliens before the dawn of time
when they discarded their flesh and became machines
they made us by altering the apes
and had a ready food source
to feed their machines pure human protein
harvested from us the young people
taken in a flash of bright light
believing they were going to an alien world
to be happy and live the perfect idyll
but it was all a lie put there by the machine
a thing so alien nobody knew what it was
few even cared or could understand
the young all taken in their billions
their ash turned the sky purple
their protein fed the monstrous alien machine
fuel for its engine to **** our world
and doom our race subservient slaves
destined to almost die out
till the next time it came back
starving and lusting for food
when it would harvest our youth
as it had since the dawn of time
it fed on the young
not wanting the old
who would die soon
and were powerless to stop it
it the ravenous alien machine
a galactic engine
was it god?
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
Let the creatures of the night
Crawl into your mind
Inject their kaleidoscopic venom
Through the transmitters of your brain
And send you on a trip to utopian wasteland
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
We're too afraid of being caught
To truly go insane with love
Our eyes are transmitters of love
But somewhere along the way,
the mirror stole the show
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
*The music of the Republic blares out of tune , it wreaks
of the sewer , politics and Hollywood penned with immoral , ****** ink allure
Assembly line product lacking imagination , based on aggravation
Tinged with savagery , we're back in Rome today crying
for death at the Coliseum , waiting for the "Star" to fire his rounds
Waiting for an accident as the race cars circle about
Wired to the machine with our transmitters shoved in our faces
Rewriting our history , swimming with the crocodiles then becoming
shocked as to why we've been bitten
The basic rules of morality are being rewritten
We are cornering 'the lion' of demarcation this very moment pretending it's a kitten* ...
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
Samarian Effect
By Glenn Currier
There are some who sparkle and glitter
so full of thought and creative power
they’re like human transmitters
their minds and eyes seem to flower
and being close to them seems to bring
you zest and vigor, to a peppy place
wanting to search for the next thing,
to discover a quiet thoughtful space
within to water and cultivate
the seed of your own creative force
that something in you that’s great,
so you too will be a fruitful source.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
Sociology, teaches you that a group of people dictates behavior.
That the minority mostly stays quiet to not disturb the peace of tranquility.
We can't say whites holds racism more.
Many African American, say things about others.
Many Jews, if truthfully does too.
Many Asians operates the same.
Many Latinos call others various names.
Many races not mention does.
Strangest things, some thinks its innocent and fun.
We can't say, we don't.
We can't say it.
We see it many of times.
When one race of people buys into stereotypes of others.
Then we can't say, some doesn't stand up to them.
While knowing many will eventually turn against them.
Some stays in this secluded closet of stupidity.
And gripes more when they are exposed.
So we can't say, some churches aren't transmitters of this senselessness.
When you find members of congregations preaching their racist stupidity.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
I often lose myself in a simple moment,
Surrendering to the universe, merging into one,
The one we have always been.
The one we will always will be.
Sometimes we build walls,
Walls that only exist in the construct of our minds..
An illusion of seperation.
Seperating us from our true selves,
From eachother,
From all that is,
Vibration..
Tap into the frequency,
We rise and fall..
What wave length are you on?
Nothing but transmitters and recievers sharing information within a cosmic web.
Weave wisely.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC