"venn" poems
I see two people
so in love with each other
schmoozing numinous dialect,
only a purest of heart can fathom.
I see a kiss I hear it too,
I see eyes pinnacles
lips singing
and heart sinking in love.
Now, do not tell me
I’m seeing
a teaching of Venn diagram
on the display board,
and my explanation for
A intersection B is ludicrous!
Please do not tell me
I’m wrong.
It must be poetry
I'm seeing,
and I'm in love with it
more than anything else.
/*Orginal poem published in Mayalayam, translated by poet. */
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
I saw us in that moment,
three circles interwine
in a venn diagram.
Making me dry of words,
just because in that moment
I had nothing to make me dark.
I never thought I could find
what I just had a sip of
and I have never been more thirsty.
It's tea with no need for sugar,
It's a perfect milkshake
and an olive in the martini.
Now you tell me,
for my world is lost.
What am I now suppose to write about?
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars,
diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray,
birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines,
occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures,
sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even
defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar
*not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling,
many voyages of indeterminate measuring length,
leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations,
each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated,
without critique or commentary, the numbers are the
gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination,
terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute*
a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced,
notated but not annotated, just numerical truths,
(sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie)
and today my calculator app informs, that I am now
19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected
naturally this provokes a natty,
spirited, self-inquiry, lessened,
lessor, for better or for worse?
have the physical alterations
accompanying this reduction
mean exactly what,
if, it should be, a greater lesser?
here is the hard part.
your have always been a mirror~poet,
laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven
AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied,
the external never denying the interior “less~than,”
a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions,
counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections,
of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical
less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am
*gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue,
the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:*
I,
am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds,
my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices
and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter
many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man,
there, internal infernal
too…
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
Dear Perfect Girl,
Grounded in the real world
Taking care of herself like you’re rooted in a material one
Your eyes and smile never cease to amaze
But it’s your ambitions that set my heart ablaze
Your laugh puts a smile on my face
That seems to erase and replace
The negative and repetitive
If only for a second
I love our similarities
But our differences make it worthwile
From your taste in music to your sense of style
Because a venn diagram without differences is a circle
And I’d rather go the extra five-thousand two-hundred and eighty feet
To be close to you
Than to already understand most of you
By understanding myself
Dear Perfect Girl,
There are dimes that will do anything for a nickel
And nickels out making dimes
But I want your two cents
And though I may laugh at it
I take it to heart sometimes
Because like a game of monopoly
I don’t want to find myself back at the start
And I don’t really watch chick flicks
But I saw 500 Days of Summer
And you’re my Autumn
To which I’ll be sprung for in the winter
I wear no mask for you
Because I’ve divulged my past to you
For you are presently in my future
And though you may be a feminist I’ll try and be a perfect suitor
Dear Perfect Girl,
You say you’re OCD about some things
But it’s your imperfections that are great for me
And though I’m not sure I’ve met you yet
I dare you to wait for me
Because every day I improve myself
In preparation for thee
And a relationship you won’t forget
I’ll wear knee pads and a helmet
For when the day comes that I’m head over heels
I’ll be able to get up in time to catch you
When you fall in love
Disney taught me to wish on the stars above
And I’ve wished on every star
Thrown a penny in every fountain
And spent every 11:11
Wishing for you
Perfect Girl
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 7:02 PM UTC
Inside the universal set:
Circle A and circle B;
Circle you and circle me.
To keep things easy,
we started with the numbers on the outside,
but soon grew to the small part in the middle.
That small slither
of similarity.
But the numbers are just there for
Clarity.
Not to mention circles
C,D,E & G.
But circles are circles,
and people are people.
You are you.
I am I.
And that was that.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
our circles of right and wrong,
fractured in absence of fickle zen,
stand now across the sky
diagramed on clouds in venn
and smiling the grey
blobs block the meteors;
it’s love of life that may
chain our bodies in the center
of that shifty airy water space
where waffles are gentrification
and the hands we hold are separation
and its happening everyplace
we go. so to talk and act
separately, is to deny that cloudy venn;
to go where mind is scarcely fact
and establish a dangerous distance
cuz yesterday I meditated
but today I must’ve particulated
cuz I see we’re one big contradiction
inside love that’s bound to mediation.
friere would say this occupation
is precisely our ontological vocation,
but to subjectify ourselves at the very
center of the venn is to carry
a weight upon the column
of my spinal cord unknown
even to the days
of my very best posture.
yet, your resistance to the slump—
it guides me to listen for the thump
thump of distant drums:
a revolutionary battlecry
through which I extend my hand
to hold yours across the waffled
space which we’ve so ******
our heartbeat races through my mind.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
"The difference between
medicinal and recreational
is a matter of mere intention.
Of course, they can overlap.
I venture to say the Venn-diagram is a single circle.
So, relax and live well."
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
Wired like a loaded gun
Waiting for the morning sun
Hello! How are you today
And I wonder
My love
Should I take the sun from you
Put it in a box of darkness
Like setting
I spread the ashes of a love never in love
just a circle venn diagram make believe but not Peter Pan
And love
I love you so
I am the sun
And I shine for no one
So box of darkness
Here I come
Speckled star dust farm eggs
Fresh renewed self conviction
Moon born
Phasing through to a life
Without you
Hedonism blood pulse
Still sentimental soul
Selling out to the lone wolf
Sneaky fox
Flowers tainting memories
Hand holding cheek kissing nostalgia bliss
Don't think
Of the one you will miss
Just kiss
Supernova
Little sunhat at nighttime party
Don't don't listen to the lies you whisper to yourself
You are the one you'll miss
If you don't help yourself
Feast on sin and self-righteousness
Reincarnation is second chance
Listen to the hands with the carnations outstretched
Fellow stranger with star burnt eyes
caring for those self told lies
You cheat
yourself
with handholding cypress knees bending towards
neurons collapsing
into the one who
Binary stars you
Binary stares at you
Holds you in your sleep from far away
Dream meeting past life fleeting into the now
You answer to this highschool crush pop quiz invader of reality
Who questions what color to paint the moon
Never almost drowning
But who has only ever taken a life
that belonged to them alone
relating in fictional patterns of physics
Undeniable wavelengths
colliding crashing consoling
You knew from the first eyes
that seeds of doubt would sprout in what you mislead as love
And you ask
Why not?
Hello,
today is not tomorrow.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
Kina poetry på gjesthuset en kveld i regn (Norwegian)
Korean poetry about a guesthouse one evening of rain.
Høstregn senker seg over gjestehuset
kaldt utafor, rolig natt med lampe
trist inni meg, sorgfull i rom
i hjertet en munk som mediterer.
Autumn rain sinks over the guesthouse
it's cold outside, night is calm with a lamp
of sadness inside me, a room of mourning
in my heart a monk who meditates.
Ch 'oe Ch'iwon. Korea
also by him with my attempts at translation:
Høstvind bare sang bittert
knapt en venn kjenner min lyd
regnet siler ute i mørket
fra lampen min går hugen langt.
Autumn's wind sings bitterly
hardly a friend knows my voice
rain pours down out in the dark
from my lamp memory travels far
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
All through the afternoon,
among these drinkers
to their tables to java cups
all from a bird’s-eye view.
Blended individuals,
of varying hues
too much sugar, no need to stir
hot, no ice - “a language of their own”
adding “cream to this crop”
like fraternity’s rushing thought
to seemingly **** out the weak.
Textbook before my face, coffee to my right
surrounded by chatter, and apparent debacles
behind the rearing of my ear lobes
set the seem from my shirt and cut
play the motion picture, film, pan out.
360 crossover,
these eyes wander, merely to ponder
conscious parenting to the mind; reminded
yes I did complete that -
atoning to what could be done,
view now from my eyes
around clouded peripherals
(zooming into this page)
trying to read to figure
a Venn diagram of the temporal lobe;
committing to memory ironically
it’s long-term function to maintain
the conception of this thought.
Distracted, back to this drink
re-calling coffee mythically impedes growth
or so they say to stray from focus -
the holder is the cup, to handle is abrupt
but we drink it, to straighten our view
so much as this morning vice stimulation
branded by a jaded graphic mermaid,
or possibly a siren, or to some a muse.
But, it’s the afternoon; no need to rush,
just here and there, casually taking sips
temporary jolts of caffeine
a temple of thought,
temporarily fading,
due to lacking the day-to-day rest.
Same perspective,
but this time curious, calm, and collected
like a child looking above an ant-farm - proud
gazing at moving points like synapses
of our coffee cups as opening our wakefulness.
Can we just remember to understand
that everyday is different.
Our mornings may start mundane
but we find joy in the day
for afternoon connections
no matter what they may be, just to remember,
so that we can have lasting memories,
and not the caffeinated ones.
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
12% why does my father treat me like his son instead of daughter
15% library inside ribs, it holds a world instead of lungs
21% school is an injury education is attempting to bandage
29% there is a reason i used a calculator for these percents
33% hangout with nature and let it break your heart
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Worn green measuring spoons, half-full cast down to poke and **** the uncooked bits
This uneven terrain (I'm) swathed in pulls and pinches the page upon which (I've) scrawled my venn-diagram
Years younger and less used, smooth and shiny and brand new
Would that this small ladle had only knew,
You,
As (I) do.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
i am fascinated by the connections high school forms. who knew that that friend of a friend who was my sixth grade enemy’s classmate was the ex of my best friend? it’s a labyrinth of familiarity and camaraderie, and some might call it a trap; if it is, then it’s the most beautiful maze i’ve gotten lost in.
one too many times, i’ve made a list of my own; of people i know, of faces i recognize and of everyone in between. i’ve mapped out names and drawn lines to them like a game of connect the dots, all those relationships overlapping like venn diagrams with open ends.
with that being said, oftentimes, i wonder how the people i know describe me to strangers. i wonder how many times my name has shown up in conversations i was pushed to be part of.
i barely have anything to say about myself, so what would they have to say about me?
that kid with a camera. someone who can write. pretentious tweeter, Tumblr girl, member of a few clubs and organizations. student. ***** daughter. sister. ****** friend. it’s a possibly endless list and a mess of adjectives.
most days, i don’t know what- rather, who- i am... but here’s one thing i know:
i don’t want to be just another person in a story.
i’m not just ex girlfriend; not just used-to-be classmate; not just girl best friend; not just someone’s crush or someone crushing on someone else. i’m not somebody else’s past or future or present. i don’t want to be just that, don’t want to be confined to a constellation of connections that someone has created for themselves. yes, i may not know who i am yet, but i won’t let myself be a pronoun thrown around, a fill-in, a joke to tell. i’m not your punch line. not your ice breaker. not that one person you should talk about when the rivers have run dry, if you know what i mean.
i’m a bigger believer of coincidence than i am of destiny. i am here because of my choices, a build up of everyone else’s words and actions over the past years. i am here not for a reason- i am here, and along the way, i’m making my own reasons to be.
you know me not because of a bigger plan. but maybe because i ran in to you in a hallway. maybe because the administration put us in the same group when we were transferees. maybe because you complimented my music taste. maybe because i asked if i could tag along to your auditions.
we are whatever we are because of choice; of coincidence; of chance. call it luck. call it unfortunate. call it karma. this is what we have; this is what we are; this is what i am; and it can only be accounted to you, and i, and so many other people, and so many other factors.
you are bright and warm and beautiful. you are a constellation without them. don’t let yourself be a secondary character. this is your story.
be the villain, be the hero, be whoever you want to be. believe this:
you are not what other people say you are.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
I don’t care about the set of patients with high blood pressure
Or finding the number of people who did not have exactly two of the indications listed: patients with high blood pressure, patients with high cholesterol, or patients who smoke cigarettes.
I couldn’t careless that three circles make up this (venn)-diagram
And that you must start in the center,
Nothing good will come from me knowing that 46 people have high cholesterol when I don’t even know how to fix them. They’re all made up anyway.
I won’t obtain anything from sitting in a cold classroom, listening to a student hack up his lungs because he’s over 50 and still threading smoke through his lungs; he probably has all three problems.
All I do is poke and **** at time that moves so slowly
And exchange ideas with my fingers, ignoring calculator instructions and written kindergarten numbers
Hoping the day stays young and my eyes stay open
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Nat writes:
so many eddies colliding on the surface of a mighty river
yes, there is something otherworldly here
yes, even sacred,
in the finest sense of that overburdened word
Ah, what you speak of is
the very eye of God.
I see it in a Kaleidoscope of color
perfectly balanced yet
confusing all the same,
and the beauty of it!
A chaotic comfort like adrenaline.
The simple confidence of the knowing
held together by a single point of reference.
His bright eye the Fulcrum
o_________________________o
^
between:
The Sacred and Profane,
teetering in perfect balance
(For now)
between:
Respiration (The In) and Exhalation (The Out)
He resides in the pause between breaths
between:
Air and Water
(The Earth hovers within)
between:
Eyes Open and Eyes Closed
We live and die within the blink(s)
between:
Connectivity and Breakage
(Our true desires at the watershed of)
between:
Out Loud and Silent
(One without the other drives men mad)
Again Nat writes:
*we exist,
we edit,
our eddies,
our overlapping lives,
in a never ending series
of Venn diagrams
all delicately balanced
at a single point*
So perfectly stated.
The very eye of God.
Here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=rVKRRzaf21U
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 1:56 PM UTC
I surrender. See there, my white flag,
Flying high? Yes, enough! You win!
I cannot interpret the mute language anymore.
When you shift your glance every time I see you,
Are you telling me you have moved on, or
Is it that I have done something wrong?
So, tell me, what is that you want to say,
Or what is that I need to know?
I am realizing more and more that
The signal processor in my brain is faulty.
It is introducing a lot of noise, so much so that
Fourier Transform gives jumbled frequencies!
Communication either in English or
my mother tongue Kannada, or even
the math symbols or Venn diagrams,
-bits and bytes also would do if not hexadecimal-
may perhaps tune my dud brain
to the right frequency to receive the right signal!
For, I may be causing more damage to us both,
And I certainly do not wish to hurt anybody,
Least of all, you, who I like very much;
I will do anything to set the things right!
So, tell me, what is that you want to say,
Or what is that I need to know?
©Bharathi Devi
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
**For Sheron, On Our Seventh Anniversary:
Bound and Boundless**
~~~
*different shaped,
a square peg, a round hole,
and yet, the carpenter is pleased
two planes,
different shaped,
yet overlaying,
occupying
conjoined space,
angular symmetry
and yet, the geometrist is satisfied
can*
bound and boundless,
*fully opposing notions,
incontrovertible,
yet be in pleasing poetic
combination?
how
can it be,
two bonded,
distinct spheres
contoured with crossover
bordered blended boundaries
exceed aligned,
beyond merest connecting,
overlapping,
intersecting
two circles
electronically collide,
venn diagrammed
to share,
programmed unknowingly for creating
a big bang
of a harmonious, simultaneous
new star creation
this mystery,
this poem,
its
resolution~solution,
comes to the poet
late in life,
yet contented, believing,
it is a far, far
better
thing that he does
now,
than never
life and love
living in unison,
transforming, deserving
of a unique discrete,
le nom est
l'unite
perhaps you are thinking,
this poem, a failed attempt,
neither the best or the worst
of any written anywhere
upon this green globe,
this day
yet he smiles
as it composes itself,
for though without its own sustaining merit,
it is a poem
regarding the best work
he
have ever done,
and the unity
it portrait paints,
is a
nova
worthy surely
of a thousand millennia
and yet, the poet is content
with its
content*
~~~
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Two lads, I'd say, of thirteen, just passed;
One in barefoot with a backpack;
One in shorts, shoes and black socks,
Pulled up over bloated calves.
One athletic, lean and gearing;
One more leaning towards academia.
Both waiting to enter high school.
They met in JK.
They slept on their towels, in their tents,
At each other's house on weekends.
They served together, lived as one;
Their mothers loved them as sons.
That's how close they'd become.
Their worlds will change,
Once this season's done.
One will be the talk of his circle,
The other, the talk of his;
But there's a Venn where the rings entwined
Before they turned thirteen.
Their hybrid youth,
Their cloned friendship,
Memories already determined.
Around fires and bells,
Or a covered porch on a rain - washed day;
They'll dig up some old moments
Of the other when they were young.
Buried treasures for days of leisure,
Apart, yet part of their sum.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 11:21 AM UTC
They were different times
The only thing I know about old man Venn
He used to tie two cats' tails together
Hang them over the washing line
To watch them fight
Cruel old man Venn
There was a man in the village
He killed dead pigs
If a farmer had a pig die
He'd cart it home then squeal and shriek
Like a dying pig
Then pass off the meat as fresh
Everyone knew about it
A couple in the village were always arguing
One night the man said he was going to drown himself
In the pond
She said do you go an' do it in someone else's pond
I ha' got to drink that water
Jim said there'll be a fire in the village afore long
Russell said how d'you know that then?
Down at Hall Farm I see him stripping the paint off his window
With a blow torch
Right near the thatch
He knows better 'an that
Sure enough the old farmhouse burnt to the ground
He built a bungalow with the insurance money
Old Jim was right again
Russell met his wife to be during the war
He had a few days leave but not long enough to go home
So he stayed with his mate in Lancashire
Ended up marrying his mate's sister
She came down to Suffolk
One of the local women said to her
Where do you come from?
Lancashire she said
I didn't think you was English she said
A farmer said to Jim
That wholly made me sweat to write out your cheque
For thatching this year
Med me sweat fust said Jim
For hurdle making they would cut ash pole in the wood
Using hand axes
When they finished the women from nearby cottages
Would come and pick up the chips to start their fires
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
Med sverd i hånd
en svulmende flamme i sinn
Skal vi gå mot undergang
Ild og dommedag
Brølende løper vi ned
For å møte vår skjebne
døden er en venn vi hilser med stormende latter
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
No math
No match
No match
Says the girl who lost her ruler;
Anybody can take advantage of me
I'm left at the counter point blank;
Staring at people taking over their worlds;
Faces against each other;
Venn diagramming each other:
I've heard this live
I want to escape, to leave everything in a pinch of salt
I'm going to faint
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
He was cruel
was old man Venn
He'd tie two cats' tails together tight
Hang them on the washing line
Stand there laughing
Watch them fight
Different folk, different times
different days back then
But he was cruel
Was old man Venn
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
I place my mouth by his ear,
My mind by his form.
I shiver, releasing a faint
withered whisper - the waves
of my tone, like cold water
encircles him, crushing its' way
inwards and bursts the blimp
that it his ego.
It spirals down and breaks down walls-
Opens doors. He sees a warming glow.
It reminds him of a distant lover.
Her exothermic aura a radiant shield
its' colour curved around her curvature.
Their energies once intertwined like
a Venn diagram of tension.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
If you should ever see my face,
Be curious enough to
Venn diagram it with all
The intersecting particles of this
Leaning, listing world.
Should you happen to notice,
It also appears on the list of the
FBI's Most Wanted,
A kindness requested:
A twenty four hour
Head start.
Worth at least that, no?
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Insanity and Genius
look the same
to the mundane Brain;
Perhaps they overlap
but if so,
it's a venn diagram.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC