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Details | Buck Naked Poem | Create an image from this poem.

BIG data

So, I'm told I have 100 billion neurons
(by someone ignorant of youth's indiscretions)
each with about a thousand synapses,
to connect its own specific grandeur or fear
to a grand of other neurons and their neuroses

and all of these cadre's and feeling tentacles
are always moving - reaching - searching,
for input and an interested listener
for minute sparks of insights they may have,
maybe a few a second, and over the course of time
they begin to add up - these datum of days

Significant amounts of minutia and marvels 
in my minute-to-day-to-decade-to-lifetime
collection of me, in my own Icloud of inputs
what more could a sentient mind want but
a spoonful of sugar, and some free radicals
to really open up the ol' data pipes

BIG data, is what life's all about 
these days, of statistical medians and means, 
trying always to crunch our cramponed boots
to the top of the standard deviation curve
and look out at all the rest of 
experience below us, our own vista of life

Racks of digitals softly hum to us in our society
and like us, this evolution (perhaps) of life
abhors to throw anything back to the world
without gleaning profit or meaning from it,
no digital potato peels or binary bones tossed
without a specific mission statement satisfied

So, it's not so different today, in "modern" times
as it was back then, when chain-mailed or toga'd 
or animal skinned, or just buck-naked, we took 
in everything that we could as individuals, 
and stored its meaning, its grief, its joy,
part of our memories stock-in-trade for 
the core analytical questions of "what?" and "why?"

© Goode Guy 2012-11-16

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_data


Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2012

Details | Buck Naked Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Untouched Beauty of India

On top of a mountain I stand, lo and behold,
A ball of orange, encased in yellow and gold.
Slowly rising above the sea, so large and bright,
I stare in awe, oh what a beautiful sight.

Two mountains besides me, east and west,
A glistening stream below, in motion at its best.
Gushing springs from the mountain top, a steady fall,
Music echoes from a distance, if that’s not all.

Thick mist below, like clouds over the stream,
That runs smoothly and calmly, straight into the sea.
I feel like a bird, Oh I wish I could fly”
I’d spread my wings and fly, high up into the sky.

This untouched beauty I see, that’s all around,
No buildings so tall are to be found.
God preserved this picture, especially for me,
To build my castle, surrounded by oak trees.

I’ll tan under the heavens, with the sun only to see,
I’ll bathe under the waterfall that flows into the sea.
I’ll sing on the mountain, just for the birds in the trees,
I’ll dance in the summer rains, buck naked, oh, hell would freeze.

I’ll lay under the stars, on a bright moonlit night,
With you my precious Angel, right here by my side.
Making love all night, without any complaints,
No neighbors, no friends, no parents to faint.


Copyright © Riah Hari | Year Posted 2007




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KEEPING HOPE ALIVE IN THE WINTER COLD



KEEPING HOPE ALIVE IN THE WINTER COLD

Buck naked branches of Nature’s rooted skeletons
stoically raise bared arms—piercing chilled skies.
All around and through their spaces, the wrath of winter
reveals once hidden scenes leaves of summer and spring
so cleverly concealed from wandering, discerning eyes.

Despite the seemingly depressive cold sight this could be,
the “spoiler alert” of Nature’s circadian themes,
warm our hearts, fuel our faith, and keep alive our hopes:
We awaiting the unseen justice and liberty
that we hope the summer and spring will bring.


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

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A Beginin

Rocky's day for a bath
After chasing, placing
In torture chamber rath
Get him out then drying

Someone opens outside
Door; Rocky fastest thing
On four feet, look there
There he goes buggigdy, buggidy
And he ain't wear'n no clothes

Caleb three years' old
Comes running in saying
Rocky is out next to road
He's buck naked streaking

Buggidy, buggidy and he ain't 
A wearin' no clothes
Down by the road front
Running to the creek streaks

Who would have thought
That he would let the whole world peek
No halter on running loose on the street
Buggidy, buggidy "The Streak"

(After reading about Deborah's contest
this is my version of "The Streak")


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

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Tips For Men

Never tell a spider you don't like him
Never ask a polar bear to dance
Eight legs can give you quite a kicking
And icebergs are no place for new romance

Never use your tongue when kissing cobras
Never hint to rhinos that they smell
Poison spit is nasty on the taste buds
And a horn right up the arris hurts like hell

Never swim buck naked over sharks
Never tell a tiger it's the dregs
Tigers can get angry when insulted
And cherish that old friend between your legs

Never put a lobster down your trousers
Never criticise when chimps wear shirts
Chimps can get quite touchy over fashion
And shredded foreskins look like hula skirts

Just some tips for life and easy living
Heed them and I'm sure you'll benefit
No need to thank me for these words of wisdom
Trust me, I'm just pleased to do my bit

NB: For Kevin's Animal Nonsense.








Copyright © Jonathan French | Year Posted 2017

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Me and my puddle

I think I was about 19 years old, I was pretty much homeless then,
I had a job, and money in my pocket just no house to stay in,
I was a stranger to town, cause I ran away again, motor camps were full,
so I slept at the back of a milk shed, for a little while.

Now this milk shed was pretty secluded out back, no light, so no one could see,
had a little awning on the roof to shelter me from the rain,
but the best thing about this little spot that I had found,
is every morning coming home after work, a puddle would be found.

Like I worked a double shift from 6am - to 1 am again,
got pretty stinky as you could imagine,  line stacking every day.
Getting close to quitting time each morning , i'd take a little breath,
and mental prepare myself for what was coming next.

I'd skulk to my spot so no one could see I had no place to stay,
I didn't want anyone finding out, cause that was just shame.
Once the coast was clear, and I had seen the last car gone,
I'd get ready for my morning bath and get my washing done.

Sitting in my puddle buck naked, shivering under the moon light,
scrubbing my self rapidly cos the icicles had a bite.
Then i'd do my washing, and wrap up till the dawn,
curled up in the corner, my eye's wouldn't open till the morn.

I think about it now, and laugh to myself,
the things that I use do,
but I have fond memories of bathing in that puddle 
in the middle of winter, under the full moon.

M.Mahauariki © 2012






Copyright © Murray Mahauariki | Year Posted 2012

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galley slave to obsessive compulsive behavior part 1 part 1 part 1

prior to passing thru cervix, buck naked bare
this grandson of Aaron, the sole heir – 
   foreshortened to Sol Aire
evinced (as shown via ultra sound), 

   which at birth became crystal clear,
   an obsessive compulsive prone 
   human being, endear
ringly cute as a baby monkey possessed fear
some countenance tipping the scales needled gear
 
greater or lesser than seven pounds 
   (minus or plus a few ounces)
   with a mass of dreaklocked hair,
otherwise a gangly sack of many a lovely bone, 
   whereat obstetricians 
   could not help himself but jeer

thus upon exiting birth cana; found him twirling loose 
   kinky follicular fibers accord
ding to medical records, 
   a combination of his being bored

(with a really lee super strong arm penchant) 
   to sport dreadlocks, tough as hemp cord
an anomaly, which no app could com pare, 
   boot nonetheless highly adored

resembling inimitable indestructible filaments, 
   when taut could lift off the ground a board
dillow, which no reference manual could address 
even topnotch experts queried, could not explain 


Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

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Theater of Utter Charm Part 7

gesturing crudely about luck and doom
blowing us towards the promised manic Paradise
a steely eyed greeting committee
providing the final hurdle
their panel of erudite jurists
concluded that his sense of right and wrong
had been tricked by wizard mesmerists
no one could say otherwise
concluded the statistically invariant
barking and clapping seals
playing Beethoven's Deaf Concerto
on a row of bicycle horns
breaking every norm of decency
a warrant for the silent miscreant
sworn out within minutes
for predicting an earthly Pantopia
later proven by the Pantopians themselves to be
a complete and utter refabrication
of the origin myth of the Cult of Woe
whose priests ran buck naked
through the sleeping metropolis
beating upon pots and pans
shouting your screams will not save you
but your brains might
be a warrior for perfection then
it is jovial company for a long voyage
a waterfront thriller on the hickory dickory docks
he was always a bit of a rogue
a scamp a blithe troublemaker
a holiday romp that never ended
the committee finally implanted my chip
but I made them work for it by golly
I mean you surrender everything
you make them pay the piper
evidently I got the discount chip
I can read their data requests
like a shop foreman with a brass hammer
and figured it was getting too hot for comfort
and time to blow town
too much to sort out no simple answers
I'll need a clacking abacus
and a couple of numbers to go with it
trying to make it seem
that I have a say in any of this
but can only conclude that drama subverts analysis
pretty much every time
pretty much every place
in any hemisphere in any situation
in case you haven't noticed
to act is to relinquish autonomy
autonomy is only there during the thinking part
now there's a burden worth a sack of salt
I guess we just have to roll with the role
and hope for the ever present unlikely
it's certainly happened before
to a statistically invariant quantity
enabling the emergence of our species for example
but then always forgetting what we have learned
in favor of what we wish
or what we fear or what we compensate for
now that's quaint and furrowed
for the following justifications
there's just too damned much to remember
it's that simple it's the human condition
it's because we can't help but invent
new forms of addition in our heads

(to be continued)


From "Theater of Utter Charm"
http://tinyurl.com/yd5wbtgt

Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/ 





Copyright © Walter Alter | Year Posted 2018