"variances" poems
these poems here
tethered to me
by some unknown
uncontrollable force
I didn’t ask for this
I didn’t ask for any of this
all I wanted to do was to play
with the women and the music
and maybe even my kids every now and then
not knowing, not caring,
not believing, not searching
for a higher purpose
for a greater meaning
for an elixir of divinity
but they have arrived
in different variances
& mass quantities
I didn’t ask for this
now it is here
I can’t stop
I won’t stop
until it kills me
until it kills something inside of me
until there is nothing left
except
these poems here.
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 11:56 AM UTC
Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.
The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.
Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.
Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.
The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.
Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.
From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:28 PM UTC
collected
by absence
his body
a truant hobby
pursued
by career
my father
built himself
a darkroom
where he’d often
retire
to adjust
the variances
of a single
delay
to pace
as perfectly
as the many
visitors
he was wont
to follow
with a great
and private
affection
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
You can only dream of
places I have been
Mentally,
All the things
I did for my family,
All they did,
instead of helping me,
Is trying to
put sense in me,
When I come to a point
Where I am
about to plead insanity,
A room of variances,
Out of body experiences,
Mental *******
Heart full of spasms,
The ones
my past couldn’t fathom,
This ain’t a struggler’s anthem,
But I can’t help but,
Generalize,
And I can’t undermine,
That I felt heaven,
At least on my fingertips,
I found hope,
At the brink of disbelief,
Don’t blame the postman,
If you put the wrong address,
Life is a *****
depending on how you dress her,
Let the broken glass,
Mess up the dresser,
Rosewood, Redwood, any wood,
If I could I would,
The more I clench my fists,
the more sand I loose,
But I choose not to,
just my screws,
My life is like a travelogue,
No just ticket needed just travel along,
Like a broken pen and a moleskin,
A DSLR and an eye to watch closely,
No backpacker,
Just a bad actor,
Modern day rye catcher,
Self financer ,
A mere puppet on the string,
That life hangs by,
finding questions to some bad answers,
Putting up with bad promise makers,
When a promise may curse,
Life is just a makeshift,
Life is what you make it,
Or make of it*
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:49 AM UTC
(STRANGE, BUT TRUE)
Love
Shifting through dark channels
And illuminated signs
Sounds
Shifting through
Cubic's power amplifiers
Human walking angles
Tactic direction changing rhythmically
Variances
Transfixed steps
Breaking the long loud silence
On human tongues
Hopes
Owing to the existence
Of silver enwrapped surrounding hot stars
And hot feelings
Unavoidably reflected upward
Appearing just as a lightning bolt
Or like a peculiarly fierce faithfulness
Gray clouds
Dropping their snow bracer
Ringing bells
Dropping their sad resonance
In death
For love.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:27 AM UTC
When this condensation locates your skin and runs like the Orinoco from its Andean peak, wandering over you at a composed, but covetous pace, exploring several variances of possibility at once, seeking your chemical reaction to whet lest it evaporate, I ponder over such showering of inanimate affection, all in the hope you will summon me from a docked eidolon and into your water, in partnership with the effusive sail -- learned of geography, triggered by chemistry.
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
Enjoying his view at a glance,
everything from the stillness of the trees,
to the bristling of leaves along the floor,
the variances in cloudy colours and the haste
with which they move.
The Birdsong called from open beak,
carried by faint whisper of the air,
heard both near to and far from his pane.
Slithers of blue like a snake out of place,
make their way around me.
The sound of adolescent class and youthful springs
are heard abundantly as laughter and converse grow
into festering harmony of contemporary sounds.
Notice how they cease to be idle, but only ever moving and
active, move in this and that way, heading
North, South, East, and West with motive and intent,
the teachers bark heard through the wall.
I pray that you note the observer through the pane,
he watches and glances, not in idle captivation, but in
simple observation. He notices their behaviour, their patterns
and movements, their groups and divisions, common attributes
and uncommon, differences in personality, not by sound. Instead,
he listens to the motions of mute lips, and silent movement,
as if it were a ballet, only music is absent from the show.
So vast is this view from the behind the pane,
artwork is created by manmade structures blended with
nature and her beauty. Pleasant are the "random" meetings of
two, in open space, such happenstance.
When in the course of circumstances changing,
the classes mix and intertwine for few moments,
I notice many, the aversions, and the attractions,
what catches eyes, and what defers them.
But come the final ringing of the bell, he
heads for the door only to return again
the next day and do as he did.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 4:14 AM UTC
The ink on your skin defines you
Spelling out plans for a better tomorrow
Pictures speak a thousand words they say
The lines define you, they bind with you
Patterns shapes and designs
It’s all the same
Despite what they may say
We’re all the same at heart
Shades and tints of the color of the day
Let the similarities overshadow the subtleties
The variances in the direction of the lines
But all ink fades away over time
Permanence is an illusion we all wish to hold on to
Yet deep down we know nothing lasts forever
Because the world is changing
Evolving ever so slowly
Into something more beautiful than before
As the hands of a greater universe
Entwined together they create a force
Exceeding expectations of a history past
Releasing a thousand sliver butterflies
Sometimes we see them in the shape of a tattoo
Flying high
Or
Soaring across your best friends back
And you trace your finger over it
Reliving the memories
And shaping them
Creating your own destiny
Out of
Love
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
psychotic, she says
psychedelic, he says
tho black n' white,
tumultuous are the variances of shading,
the hints of unknown fragrances
of days yet to come when,
spring earth and spring buds
long past the point of expectation,
inject colorful unexpectedness
eyes so clear so bright,
how can she not see beyond the pale
emotionless expression of gaunt,
that all turbulence is not bad
see that streak of black hair,
refusing to be hidden, a provocation,
curling, asking to be stroked,
pitter patter it teases the lips,
but only after it grazes the eyelash
so seductively it screams
I am beautiful!
does she fail to see?
who will not permit her
to see what I have seen?
the lyric comes to mind instantly:
***Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the colour of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there***
*her eyes are clear and bright,
her pen delicate and light,
she unbeknownst surrounded,
by admirers that gladly lay,
not their cape, but their whole body
across these leftover puddles of winter*
*will she? will she cross over?
with those eyes so clear, so bright,
there is only one acceptable answer!*
*come spring, come summer,
her true nature will nurture*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
*שעליפוש
ש - s
ע - o
ל - l
י - i פ - p
ו - u
ש - s*
in that two similis sounds can exist in a variety
of encoding variances -
the disputed u - ו - bound by Latin encryption
disputed over five variant attributions:
F, U, V, Y, W... although reduced to a greek upsilon...
the title? SO LI PUS - do re mi fa so la ti do (solfège) -
etymology shortens natural history -
etymology is, after all, a variant of
archaeology - origin specified as solipsism,
an ancient word for autism -
purpose? the phenomenon, so many people
succumb to it, that the easiest explanation
of the phenomenon is the existence of a deity
with presented characteristics - proof
solely on grounds of phenomenological recurrence -
exclusive, nuanced, airy-fucking-fairy.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
is significant
a dandelion
is really pretty
much more,
I think than a close cropped
perfectly manicured
lawn.
I like the sight of a bit
of wild, the variances
of color and genera
the birds seem to , too.
My landlord though,
keeps threatening me
as I sit with a kitty
playfully in three foot tall
lawns and weeds.
so, I says to him,
I will cut it down
if you trim your wild ***
nose hairs,
you know different things bother
him and me.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Eyes of judgment
Whose sudden glare
Filled with scrutiny
Lives within
Are prideful souls
Each with thought of disdain
Over the heads of dishonored variances.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
We often hang up
phones without saying
what the person
on the other end
wants to hear.
More interested in
coffee and sinkers
on our way out the door;
beating the rush hour
traffic into downtown,
late for work.
Choosing resolve over
conviction, no trump cards
in this particular deck.
Massachusetts Street,
Lawrence Kansas, 7pm.
There’s a man sitting quietly
across from where I am.
He is alternating between purring
like a cat and making **** noises
at passersby and otherwise muttering
to himself.
He is drinking an iced tea from the
café and chain smoking
I am smoking a cigarette myself.
Every moment or so, we make
eye contact and I can see different
galaxies in his eyes.
Knowing, doubtless that he vibrates
on a different frequency that most
everyone else.
(I try to love him anyway.)
There are only minimal variances
in the code,
but these microscopic differences between us,
they bear so much weight that the scales crack.
Our circles are too small.
Shh…
The Honeybears are here.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
in twilight's dusk are most furious
those sounds heard when most are sound asleep can be curious
the tastes tasted of life's here and now
the scents
near and far
if taken serious
might bring a strong man to his knees
somehow, or a
cautious virtuous woman
to her demise,
so tend the echoes carefully
see into the myst most warily
behold the dawn with eyes open
smell like a scent hound
the variances
eye the echoes
as a bat
crawl
the corners careful
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
The first face
came at birth...
not knowing
it adorned a
skull.
The second face
will come at death...
denying it adorns
a skull.
Variances of not knowing,
and denying...
make the lookouts
of faces the fullest
of prostrations.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Helpless,
Precious,
Daunting silent variances of light
Dancing.
Going under,
For a time
Rescue
The bad bones
Of our past
Tiger blood
Milkman
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 12:16 AM UTC
The remnants of yesterday's closure
Either creates tomorrow
Or destroys the future
Divided by variances too shallow
Yet united against the walls
The vague resolutions that regress
Constituting for the insistent calls
Are today's mend-in-progress
That whatsoever made no progress.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC