Best Byproduct Poems
Oh readers, may my brevity be realized in this passage
Oh fruitful earth, may you please ignore our credulity
Oh bountiful harvest, may you please continue to feed our souls
Oh radiant stars, may you please not dim for we relish your glow
Oh loving sun, may you please shine into our yearning hearts
Oh blissful moon, may you please stay put as a marquee in darkness
Oh blanketing wind, may you please blow softly on uneasy minds
Oh hand of esoteric mystery, don't close your fist in disappointment
Oh love, I see your everlasting grip of the good
I see beauty in all you encompass
I see you encompass all that is beautiful
Oh love, I see how you walk in the hidden channel of eternal and mortal
I see you shine from each atom, I see you brimming from tears of joy and sorrow
Oh universe, is your magic a byproduct of love, or is loves magic a byproduct of you?
Who are you?
Beautiful are the good laws
Beautiful are the good smiles
Beautiful are the good tears
Beautiful is the mingling of good and natural
But what is good and natural? Beautiful
And what is beautiful? Love
The circle of infinity winds into itself, and begins again
With a touch it is electrified, and with a breath it can vanish
To understand, would require parameters, instead we take a step with eyes closed
If there's solid ground or quicksand is a mystery
In that mystery is where the verve and itch for life swells and dwells
Oh life, it is fun pretending to unravel riddles of your silent gifts, by atom smacking naively
We're swallowed by your breath; by asking why we breathe
When all the while, the answer is the question itself
Oh god, let us bask in your symbol as the totality of existence
Let us drown ourselves in reverence of your labyrinthine eyes
Who am I addressing? Love.
Who is love? You.
The painting on the wall has faded
just like your love for me,
I see it, your eyes tell it so vividly…
The glint is gone,
They don’t light up,
When I enter the room anymore
These days I don’t even get a second glance…
It is like I am part of the furniture,
The novelty has worn off…
Whatever happened to me being your world?
I never thought this would be our end game,
I still love you but your love for me has faded.
Slowly but surely, we are no more,
Our love no longer a priority...
I am tired of being in a relationship with myself,
The one who does the talking,
The one who reach out first,
You no longer yearn to touch me…
Feeling like a byproduct
Of a once beautiful union
Now jaded, no longer needed…
Take water, what do you know about it?
it has an almost magical existence
yet does it start as a cloud?
or is evaporation from bodies of water?
The answer amazingly is, its a byproduct
when stars are born a strong outward wind
of gas and dust forms, the shockwaves compress
and heat it forming water and vapour
Next time you have a drink,
Think
in your hand you hold birth
remember you also hold a star
What a miraculous thing is water
it keeps us from extinction
the sheer beauty delights
as it bounces sparkles and twinkles
Transparent and crystal clear
it holds so many life forms
all invisible to the naked eye
Water
Anyone can write…
and drown in their self-delusions;
from persons into personifications
lists of passions, glorify self's illusions;
down those lists,
most veiled by incomprehension
one's passion is most often expressed
as the byproduct,
of misconstrued personal emotions;
therefore, in these briefs that follow
rest some seeds for those
whose mental fields lay perpetually fallow…
Xenocrates, his gods being unity and duality
i.e. episteme, aisthesis, and doxa
are lost to US,
by rue of epistemonike aisthesis;
Mersenne's numbers,
to Eratosthenes' sieve
Erd?os' factorization,
and Archimedes' constant conceived;
Holy vowels expressions!
Great Gobs of Goose shite, please!
release US from this context,
relieve this tumultuous tease;
probe Bertrand's Postulate,
exposing your thinking's
prime numbers seized;
however shallow, and wordless
your tongue tied thoughts do concede…
so many things are above me,
so many more lay beneath
my scratching, itching, and twitching
these are reminders of my simpleton's grief…
in this fiat before me
on these issues held, and in my beliefs
that my mind is much more
than the street corner tavern's
proverbial hat rack…
now that's a relief!
What is it within US?
that sullen darkness and introversion hides
those snide daily reminders
the eclipse of the sun
and or a debutante's swoon
a cheap parlour tricks wonder
or that pin-striped baboon's face
we each express as we howl at the moon…
Excuse me this meandering
but, it is my gut busting chortle
you now so surely conceive
that this little snippet from our dear William
does so help you believe
that we all live this one time
so as ourselves, do profoundly achieve
what your inquisitive conscience
exposes as your life's
most constant semibreve…
['Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe, of such a thing, as I myself.']
in conclusion of
this bit of confusion
do infuse this allusion
as your daily transfusion
of the smack of illusion
and the sole, blithe, transformational revolution
now necessary for your mindset's
ever changing and ongoing mental de-evolution.
Down the street at the corner, the sodium
Streetlight casts an eerie-yellow glow on the sidewalk
Below, a feint hissing sound emanating from escaped
Gasses. Up the stairs, just a few feet away, I'm narrating
A sequence of myself carrying a large kettle filled with
Chili, my look confident, my shirt spattered with
Bubbling sauce, unseen are the remnants of the
Bomb
Blast...blood-stained parts of a little boy's shoes, fallen
Off as he crawled home, not quite to the door.
Sleeplessness, a byproduct of artificial LED lighting,
Historians
Agreed
Where hand -held devices and
Computer screens disrupted tidal waves in our brains,
Leading to irrational decisions by our
Leaders, dooming
Civilizations not yet born,
New, 6-handed life forms were
Imported from other planets
Un-earthing gold and iridium, along
With relics from the 21st. century,
In an effort to more
Accurately erect memorials to a
Vanished society,
The
Chili
Was
Good
11/8/14
© james marshall goff
The universe revolves around patterns and numbers.
Like an insomniac knowing not the meaning of the word slumber.
To say it's a big place would be a gross understatement.
If it were a face we'd be living on a farthing of a freckle,
a speck within a speck, in a weak attempt at communicating
with other fellow specks.
So where does that leave us,
being little more than dust riding on the coattails of pebble?
In the grander scheme of things
are we just the byproduct that some entity imagined one day
from a place both incredibly near and far, far away?
One who is a whiz at math no doubt...
Just look at the population,
how in it's in a constant state of progressive multiplication,
born into a world yet only to be divided into petty categories:
White, black, brown, yellow,
short, tall, slim, fat,
Asian, Caucasian,
European, Indian,
Yugoslavian, Brazilian.
It's a wonder we are recognized at all
living on this ball within a greater ball.
You wonder who holds the strings
or if we're all just windup toys;
alive and exciting for a time
only to run into the last gear,
the last programmed function.
Just what in the world are we doing here?
The universe may practice it's progressive multiplication
and subsequent division. That doesn't bother me.
What I personally like to do is find the GCD (greatest common denominator)...
... the fact we live and breathe. Ears to hear and eyes to see. So pick up the pieces... we have a long way to go if we can ever hope to solve this puzzle.
Though we may be a speck within a speck
riding on the coattails of a pebble, rejoice
with me. That you ARE, that you BE.
Take a good long look
at what surrounds you. It is much more than
it appears.
I don't know all the answers, but I do believe
we have a purpose here.
For the Nationality Contest.
Mel got knocked up very early
when out playing the field,
then she went and murdered it
before it all got ‘too real.’
Now her baby haunts her dreams,
and she sees only perdition,
there’s a reason we don’t kill kids,
there’s a truth behind tradition.
Allan called himself ‘open-minded,’
and said ‘he would never judge.’
He’d let anyone into his house,
be they poor, homeless, or thug.
One day he woke up and found he
no longer had a television,
still he refused to make judgements,
blind to why it’s a tradition.
Sue was an empowered type,
she “did not need no man!”
She went ahead and had a kid,
to be raised by her own hand.
But now the boy is out of control,
and her pay-check’s but a pittance,
with no husband to share the load,
as was done by tradition.
Mark was a male feminist
who stood by to help his ‘girl.’
She was a strident activist,
she was his entire world.
Until he learned a Hell’s Angel
upon his true love had ridden,
there’s reason men should act like men,
not by chance is it tradition.
Jane, she was a young GI,
one of the very few
women who had passed the tests
Aal male soldiers must do.
Where her squad was over-run,
her captors laughed in derision,
She knew what they planned for her,
a dark and horrible tradition…
Rick was a damn millionaire,
quite blessed by inheritance,
never had to work a day,
nor a toiling hour spend.
Still he sent out resumes,
surrendered to the repetition,
to have no task would drive him mad,
he needed that male tradition.
Sure we know some had to go,
discrimination comes to mind,
but the bulk of them still remain,
and I think most folks will find
these ideas stand the test of time,
face Darwinian competition,
those that survive all the world’s trials
are entrenched as tradition.
To seek change for it’s own sake,
is a foolish waste of time,
a vanity of success and wealth,
a byproduct of good times.
But this world is a ruthless thing,
with nonsense it’s not smitten,
to survive at all is a great fight,
your best weapons are traditions.
Ugh, Why Must The Missus Vacuum At The Crack Of Dawn?
(circa: early December 27, 2018 morning)
There appears to be a
virulent (possibly deadly) strain
of housekeeping virus
Hoover ring in the air
asymptomatic tentatively linked to rein
deer droppings (micro-organisms) blare
ring and trumpeting beyond
the threshold to humans, though plain
lee send audible wavelengths
to symbiotic species clear
as a bell, which organisms don
nano size MAGA hats, and main
lee set up shop in carpet threads,
and chiefly thrive on deer
pellets, where one bee bee
gun size bullet serves long lane
of critters unseen can easily
make headway into ear,
eyes, nose, et cetera other
orifices, and Kane
inject unsuspecting vacuum sealed
byproduct to forswear
unsightly piles of dirt, debris,
dust bunnies, which Jain
Dharma would find
appalling horrifically glare
ring at desecrating supposed germ
carrying pests calling utterly inane,
the constant effort
to keep house beautiful heir
ruled ding disinfectant resistant,
whether mite tee Germaine,
or itty bitty teensy weensy siblings
many named Oh Fair
Roe One Wade for me, nonetheless seek
out porous fleshy terrain
allowing, enabling and providing
pinhead size portal
i.e. vector to engineer
transmitting a fast
acting alien entity
without any explain
nation, an immediate urge to spruce up
the place applying interlinear
trigonometry (of course adhering to
Feng Shui when rearranging), without drain
ning, lessening, zapping,
et cetera, but meer
really loose sing a whirling dervish
(mini tornado) fiercely
finding the spouse on feverish spree
to clean entire apartment chain!
I want to change the world.
Release the tape on the Pamper
Because it is overflowing with the byproduct
Of our indulgence, selfishness, and condemnation.
I want to wipe the earth
With a moist cloth of kindness, love
and acceptance.
Our skin is sensitive to the corrosion
Of the waste from our consumption.
We need a fresh start.
I want to protect the future.
Rub on a barrier of respect for everyone and everything,
Like Desitin on a rash.
Provide for our descendants the hope
That we have forgotten.
While out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting potty trained undone
via my tushy ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m*****f****** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with rectal spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now royally flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to the verizon with a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with lamb basted,
and sigh lance warrior whoosh!
Micro-particular molecular particles whose properties carry less mass at any given time typically are airborne, only to be respired and absorbed through means of respiration.
Exhaled only to be once again; inhaled.
Trapped inside inner linings of esophageal passages.
Buoyantly escaping; light-like-quick.
Tumbling like a cyclonic feather.
Blue rays with ultrasonic transfers of unconditional compromises shine light on this symbiotic shrubbery.
Rif-raf relief is a resulted byproduct or so-called "nuisance dust."
Unequivocal numeric figures comparable to such matter, couldn't positively identify with no such indication.
The previous possession will remain under further investigation.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Tumbling airborne once being transferred or transformed.
De-composition turns flesh into bone, leaving behind symbiotic shrubbery; discarded rif-raf.
Rispired and absorbed through means of respiration.
Exhaled only to be once again;
Inhaled.
4-21-15
10:08pm
Ironic Zinc.. .
Earth was once a ball of molten rock,
which, seen from space, would've glowed orange.
Bombarded by meteors,
its surface was barren and sterile;
until comets endowed it with oceans.
Our planet is a unique globe, with a heart
of liquid iron spinning at its core.
And that spin generates a magnetic field
that blocks the sun's harmful radiation;
promoting life by providing a safe home.
Volcanoes, oceans, and lightning
imbued life with the essential elements needed.
And discharging oxygen as a waste byproduct,
prolific, organic organisms grew and multiplied;
till their incalculable numbers created an atmosphere.
Over eons, some fish evolved into amphibians and reptiles,
which left the oceans to breathe air on land.
And after hundreds of millions of years, mammals appeared:
warm-blooded animals, the ancestors of humans.
When Man viewed Earth from space,
Its beauty evoked visions of paradise!
For Earth glowed like a blue gemstone
laced with white clouds and ribbons of color,
etched upon its surface.
And for the first time, we became Earthlings,
identifying ourselves as such.
Although humans live in varying countries,
with differing cultures;
Earth is home to all.
Ever You call,
past the business of our day.
Patient are you ,
always wanting us to come,
and the shallowness that is all else
compared to You falls away.
For in You,
is found true fulfillment,
and the answers to ALL
we will ever search for.
Thinking upon the truth of this
brings me close to tears.
You,
the fulfillment of our days-
endeavoring to have each of us empty of ourselves
so that through each of our coming days
we can continue being filled with You.
Is there any other thing
to which we would ultimately obtain?
All else that we do
is a byproduct of Your Life living through us.
He is I, and I am him
…W H O?!?!?!?
Trapped in a life that is not their own, but claiming responsibility and expressing
guilt, remorse and sadness for minute failings of biblical proportions.
Who spelled his name L o s t, from the start.
Whom is always looking at the costs, as compared to tabula rasa.
Have I lived my life well? Am I a good person?
I don’t even know myself, who am I to judge, HA!
Idiot! Have you not learned that everything is R-e-l-a-t-i-v-e?
Why can’t you just BE normal?
You speak too loud, your hyperactive, you’re a dork
But God loves you……
…….or does He? (As a side note, why not a She or an IT,
like in Stephen King, who can say 4sure.)
May be.
May be I am slowly deteriorating mentally because I can’t remember how to spell
maybe.
Nature / Nurture than.
I am a byproduct of my genetic code-explains some unusual behavior on my
aunts behalf 4sure.
Or am I to be a little wimp and blame the routine demands for improved moral,
while the beatings continued as a child, no fault of the family-just society.
The sick Pavlovian experiment that had become a grotesque remake of the Lord
of the Flies novel.
I am Piggy, except I am the rock, pre flight. Strange.
Or do I jest.
--Oh wow
A glutton for pain than, if one cannot face treatment nor find eternal escape
through raw cowardice of flight from life….in a literal sense.
Is this the womb of my anxieties than, at least for today?
I guess it is a matter of one’s perspective of time.
To think that some beautiful life could be ending before it even began….in child
birth.
I look in the mirror.
You know I can’t look myself in the eyes….but I can still see the constant buzzing
in my ears.
O_o
Inherently people are prone to pry
Wherever there is more than meets the eye.
Black and white, by patent definition,
Dazzle in latent opposition.
Byproduct of a shady interplay -
Panoply of 50 hues of grey.
The contrast between black and white
Is not as trite as day and night.
In former days they harmonised
On the big screen before our eyes.
Beware of black, beware of white -
Clandestine colours out of sight.