"velocities" poems
Gather 'round children
To hear the story of
Obsessionman
Our extremely watchful protector
Bitten by a radioactive trumpeter at a young age
He obtained the super power
Of constantly thinking about the moment he was bitten
His power only grew stronger with time
When people told him his power was ****
His power grew
When people mentioned the toxicity of his radioactive waste
His power grew
And when he encountered his arch nemesis; the trumpeter
Everything grew
You should've seen how fast he flew
He soared quicker than
All the ******** he had once considered important
But when flying at such high velocities
Civilians become interlopers
And interlopers become super villains
Which is no laughing matter
Aquaman went comatose
And Comaman got aqua toes
Sacrifices we were willing to make
But then God intervened
And Obsessionman ***** Him
Which we all agreed was kind of ****** up
Decidedly so...
I mean...
What can you say about your hero when he ***** God?
But that's the beauty of Obsessionman
All he requires from us
Is our disgust, indifference, and hatred
To feed his strength
Until the day he is powerful enough
To fulfill his destiny
And face his arch nemesis
The trumpeter
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
Atoms circulate between the nuclei of touch
Schrodinger’s laws exposing deceit and truth
Lamenting in the protons, electrons, and neutrons
Encircling the senses between the eyes and fingers
Particles flow between the elements of breathing
Of soul, of emotion, and memories worn thin
In terminal velocities of thought and contemplation
Barriers of consciousness and reality
Molecules of intentions, intricate and delicate
Bound together by ionic twists of fate
And strained into bent bonds of insecurity
Providing violent reactions of regrets
Ions, formed in this union, complicate the formula
Indifferent to the imbalance between the sighs
Requiring the impact, to leave a free electron of motive
Resulting in a positive change of heart and mind
© 2014
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
Vision
You & I get ready in the morning,
Go to office & work to exhaustion,
A 9 to 6 job at our office is tiring,
I & you meet in the lunch breaks,
Discuss work in middle of lunch,
Facing the obstacles in our work,
Busy in the various experiments,
Catching a look at the same time,
X-ray crystalograph is prepared,
Dizzying velocities of centrifuge,
Early risers - late runners to bed,
Heavy eyelids call us out for rest,
Reaching back to the home tired,
Junkies of love we'll stay awake,
Kissing we start the game of love,
Tickling yours body - you nibble,
Loving the foreplay we carry on,
Making love is a second priority,
Not always so energetic for love,
Over the edge we push ourselves,
Putting an extra effort as always,
Queen guides the King into cave,
Slow but steady our expression,
Zooming the oozing nectars out,
Under-relaxed we need a break,
Vacations are a really good idea.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
running away
strengthens my legs.
and so does planting
my feet firmly on the ground
after a fresh lie—
trade the volleyball practice
for physics textbooks
and i grow exponentially
happier.
grow exponentially freer,
i guess somewhere along the line
i decided
i preferred calculations
To spiking *****
is all
really, i guess the court
instilled in me a queer
fear, that of
bears clawing shut a cage,
i prisoner, appeaser,
so I played.
but the longer I stayed
The more i prayed,
prayers of numbers,
velocities, angles,
and realized that
maybe the running
was more a way to measure
my footsteps
than to play less
a game.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
#26 | 31 Poems for August
I am a blank page, craving for your ink to bleed onto me.
Your thoughts and secrets are safe with me.
Chain yourself to the idea of freedom and slowly begin to liberate me.
Metaphors and similes hit the page at extremely high velocities.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
It’s fascinating how you create poetry out of silence.
I’ve felt you, seen you give life to things like love, pain, peace and violence.
As soon as inspiration ignites, you gradually begin to write late in the peaceful hours of the night.
Everyone knows that your words and verses tend to excite.
The day your muse realised that words could touch her, she wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
Keep respecting your craft, make it more constructive.
Live life and regret nothing, be completely destructive.
You have spent endless nights, hopelessly staring into the void that you are constantly trying to avoid.
Your mind is constantly being filled up with possible poems, people should really see your pen in motion.
You are the Michelangelo of flow, you paint pictures with your poems.
You are the countless calm moments after months and years of violence.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
People should see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
But I wish you took more time to write.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I was made to believe I could always improve.
Of course I assumed that meant others could, too.
Because why would we want to remain stagnant?
We live each day like fragments we hope will attract like magnets
And piece into the picture-perfect paradox we call life.
We are driven by this horribly humane curiosity
Accelerating to increasing velocities,
Until we inhibit our ability to realize when enough is enough
Lost in the instilled thoughts that manipulate our emotions with their bluff,
That we should never settle.
But never say never.
As cliches turn into ever-present moments,
We learn that striving is only a component of who we are.
Because if we keep chasing a limit that keeps rising
We’re only chastising a perfectly acceptable being.
Like a cigarette pressed against wrinkled lips,
This vague mantra is a hidden temporary fix.
One that ignites so easily and makes sense to the brain
But never quite knows when to seize it’s reign.
Because no parent has ever told their child when to stop trying.
We fall under control of our own mentalities trying to push us further.
But when can we put the pressure on the back burner?
And try to accept who we are
Before we accidentally discard
A perfectly adequate being.
Sometimes a friendly reminder to advance is taken out of hand.
But my hands have been fidgeting with rings until I brand their bands with indents.
Ones that burn through my skin and leave the memories of closed fists.
The fear of loving where we are or who we’re with should not exist.
For when you’ve exhausted all your happiness and have wilted to your last petal,
I will be flourishing still, for I have learned to settle.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
I can hope
that the door I open
shuffles the words
I want to say
in the right order
at the precise velocity.
Somehow barely
pinching phrases
stretching and minimizing
rectangle ideas that will reflect the standoffish modesty of perfection.
Syllables fly fly fast and aren't heard.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Wind whips, whistling in the seat belt,
Crooning along to the emotional ululations
As I succumb to the emphatically teenager-like emotions,
Grand in their extremity,
Both realizing and fully embracing the cliché-ness
And dramatization of every quip, gesture, glance.
My mood soars irrationally with the voraciousness of my tires,
Devouring every granule of cement at velocities upwards
Of 30 miles per hour.
Jason Mraz and I make an excellent duet,
As I’m quite certain the disgruntled woman a lane over
At the stoplight thinks as well.
He sings of skies “getting rough”
And I allow my eyes to wander to our own ominous clouds,
Creeping from the east like panthers prowling in search of prey;
I appreciate their slate undertones and umber rumples,
The gold shining from behind and within, tinting their edges,
But I turn my attentions slowly, with a bittersweet notion,
To their fluffy brethren, friends of Magritte,
Iridescent and captivating as they weave among the rays.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
This wild being,
this State of flux,
this simmering smear
flooding the pure empty nothing.
This mess of splintering sparks
showering out of the deep dark
like dotted dice in awkward tumbles.
This misfit unfolding of stuff
with its difficult excitements,
dimensions and velocities,
describing laws of gravity
and the functions of our physics.
This formal structure of strictures
that fumbles at the hems of ghosts
now shocks the senses with corners
and the hard fabric of substance
This insignificant star dust
blustering in boiling eddies
disrupting the vague vacuum
with material surfaces
that jar against the ever present tense
This sprawling and reddening shift
of blue sky light brimming in domes
This semblance of solidity
This striving galactic ocean
beyond all forms of measurement
All this
and yet each night I sleep
in the disassembly of dreams
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
We walked down the sidewalk with our eyes set towards the elongated skyscrapers, while we stumbled and lost our footing in gaping sidewalk potholes. Each extinguished and singed our disheveled sneakers.
A bird, perched on the stoplight, found my gaze and sawed in half the barrier between our minds with all eight talons, hungry for a sturdier connection.
The car horns synchronized their stammering chants and buckled our ankles like marionette horses. They escalated until we could see each vibration pulse from the windows, liquefying the glass and homogenizing salad vinaigrettes.
The waters, collected in the sewers, began to rush into their respective reservoirs and pool at increasing velocities. The excess bubbled up through the drain covers, costing our feet in fresh rain from yesterday's storm.
Every vent coaxed heated steam through its pours and the condensed warmth reached our fingers, yearning to steal the precious gemstones encased in our jewelry.
We were invited to become the new asphalt, to replace the neglected pieces begging to retire to the gravel pits outside of town, recycling them into new beings and begin again the birthing cycle of the city.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
why does your ghost weaken me when I don't even believe in it? why do I ache more after Klonopin and ice packs than before? how would any answer you avoided, articulating blank space and bleak dreams, unspoken, yet, aware of the ephemeral life span of the sun and every tear and bruise from genocides all the way to flirt-induced nudges, help our sinking ship fly? there's so much pain that our brains could flip on their backs, take a picture, and lose the ability to sort out the original prints from what may actually matter.
you saw everything, and then me, and then everything again. you're climbing trees that I wished you would have pushed me out of. you're shooting rifles that i wish most people would shoot me with, the rifles you jammed with a cork but now **** with enough force to cause ripples that hit the little broken bones inside of my chest.
for awhile, i think i forgot about bullets. whatever you feared brought me back to this bed and now the sunflowers in my eyes are metal, cold and lost. i'm still trying to chew them, but it is so ******* painful that my vertebrae can't stand each others' company.
i'm so far off of the third rail i think that some electricity might do my head some good.
i am a blind lamp post.
i am a diving board made of bricks.
i am gum, chewed.
i am waiting for an eighteen-wheeler in a train station,
wishing velocities could combine to hit me
as hard as you did.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
You are the catcher of my words.
I launch them at you from the pitcher's mound
In awkward and arhythmic velocities.
You gently collect them in your hands
And toss some level of adoration back.
You carved a staircase from ice,
But I'm not sure what that means.
I can't even tell if these divots are in your heart
Or mine. Both look the same.
This time,
No glass slipper was conveniently left behind
Only my heart.
Are you a catcher of hearts?
Did you pick it up from this snowy mine
To carefully navigate us through this love?
I don't have a map.
Please.
Show me the map.
I can see it in your eyes
But you refuse to allow it to escape.
I can read your scars like constellations.
They appear like veins of tears
Threading together a diamond.
You aren't broken like you think you are.
Please.
Allow me to show you.
Your heart is safe with mine.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
I'm not important, I'm not special, I'm not great, I'm not significant, I'm not inspiration, I'm not leadership, I'm none of that.
I'm just simply a human being, sheds tears that come from the soul, carries wounds internally cutting spear at rapid velocities, I'm just a being, person, bleeds blood, made up of mostly water, and in the end will turn to dust, and ashes like dirt, sand, decomposing into mother earth, however my soul will remain, my spirit's strong will maintain, it's critical to understand at this point, but things reach the verge, if only I could actualize to my fullest potential, but its not easy takes time, dedication, determation, and commitment yet it's possible, maybe somewhat complex and a little complicated,
Times running out, too much to settle, survival is my awareness, keeping steady composure, maintaining sane not losing self control, too much overwhelms, but I have not given up, until he calls me, I will give in to my peace maker, my divine creator, my guardian protector, he strengthens me, enlightens me, keeps me moving, breathing, thinking, feeling, and loving, my time will come, his word will shrine through...
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC
No one wants unnecessary risks, with the path as wide as a hair,
But we might be leaving tomorrow.
A language disorder.
The labyrinth of an emotional mind.
The uncertainty that you are no longer a meaningful form,
Built on the tension of mental velocities.
A sequence of words affects a person’s ability to understand,
Modifying a flow of uncertainty to find the proper balance.
Without guides, have nothing but courage.
Become Mars, dripping in gore
Become the atomic bomb, with an audible breath
Become self-sustained
Scare the daylights out of them.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
A near lifetime spent
Separately,
Struggling in the outer gloom,
Blind to the direction of our
Stars.
We were as two poles pointing
Out to divergent destinies,
Yet somewhere
Joined,
Crossed,
Connected by a thread of
Healing innocence.
Our graced past grafted into
Our pressing, every day
Present.
It would be many rotations before
Our paths converged again,
As space folded back onto itself;
Points in the sky measured by
Blue shift velocities.
Light was now coming back to us with
Sparks sent in spontaneous
Expression.
Our lives beaming
Possibilities and common purpose,
Responding to an
Archetype in the merging
Of night and light.
There but for a moment,
Ourselves in silent symmetry,
Cradled together
In a fraught darkness;
A darkness familiar but
Finally changed --
For it did not pass in stoic solitude, but
In a kind of shared striving.
But this charged darkness had a
Lover in light, through the window of night,
Carried by a forest breeze.
A heavenly radiance,
Spread out and lingering
In the cool air of our mountain wilderness.
Luminous and palpable as a
Seraph in our midst.
This light caressed and blessed
The human unity between us.
This sparkle of time lived
In the pure embrace of
Requited longing.
We found ourselves together, completed,
Strengthened in mutual support.
Separate poles in this
Close space.
Sensually spherical ---
A new world spinning on a strange axis,
Turning in the moon light,
Coursing through a universe of our own divining.
We were present in a plane where
Dark and light, cool and warmth,
Silence and expression,
Time and eternity, here and there,
Familiar and singular,
Spirit and body were married, fused in joy,
Dancing in delight, singing and laughing and
Speaking words in soul sound,
Exultant.
There, in that same close space,
We were revealed in the tender pleasures of love and
In the hot tears of compassion and regret.
Finally changed,
Finally crossed and
Finally blessed,
We were finally together
In that dark wilderness;
Between mountain and sky,
Under moon and heaven light.
Shining.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC