Best Centrifugal Poems
A golden coin flipped into the sky
One side is absolute truth
the other side is stamped with lies
Hope it lands right/wrong side up
so you can partially realize
the truth doesn’t always set you free
Sometimes deception leads to wise
Neither side exists
without the other
Truth and lies are Siamese brothers
Born of necessities
yet neither of them has a mother
Look up look down
all things can offend and bother
Absolute truth or filthy clean lies
there are so many things that they Father
We are temporary our purpose is significant fodder
so through our inequities we wander
Spin the coin
the image you will see
is the blending of who we think we might be
Witness our insanity
by looking back at lying throughout history
Yet there is truth hidden
flickering within the spin
start over finish
once more begin
Words alone can’t set us free
Centrifugal force thinking
trapped inside each possibility
Rooted in our impure paternity
Watch how friends become the enemy
Perspectives changing depending on adversity
Truthfully can anyone know
who they are meant to be
Rise up or see life on bended knee
What is it that words hope inspire
A coin can only be destroyed by fire
Live life find what you desire
We’re all tethered together
by a hidden wire
Truth or a lie
lower and higher
Kind or cruel
or self loathing despiser
We’re born of muck and mire
Aspire to be a flyer
or maybe just a consumed buyer
Still all energy will eventually expire
do it all before you tire
Tell the absolute truth
or if you choose be a liar!
06/25/2018
Submitted to Brenda Chiri's Abandon Poetry Contest.
Searching for love is like a centrifuge ...
you gotta separate the chaff from the wheat,
you have to separate the sour from the sweet
Searching has you spinning around,
spinning like an I'm-looking-for-you top
And when you find the right one,
all the worries in your mind suddenly stop
Love has your back hugging the wall,
has you feeling upside down,
yet catching you every time you start to fall
Centrifugal force has you suspended off the ground
No more tears of a clown,
no more smiley face frown
Centrifugal force ain't gonna let you come down
So put your heart in the test tube,
flip the switch, start the centrifuge
Separate away all the hate,
away from your soul impurities must gravitate
Solid love is all that remain,
beautiful alchemy is how love made your heart change
The centrifuge is the tool that you use
to attract those whom your heart can't ever refuse
WHATEVER, WHEREVER, WHENEVER!
Imagine what goes through
Our minds in one day,
Perhaps millions of thoughts
I would dare to say!
A complex computer of
Crisscross wires,
Our brain surely sometimes tires!
And if ever in doubt
About whatever,
I say, Hey Google,
She comes to my aid,
With answers galore,
She’s centrifugal.
We are so absolutely techno,
More complicated our
Lives than less so!
I touch a button and order a pizza,
A sandwich or whatever,
Had this ever been the case,
In years gone by from wherever?
We travel to work every day
And take a weekend off to relax
But remember on the way,
We didn’t pay our monthly tax!
Arrive at destination, damn
We forgot Uncle Bob’s 90th birthday
Can’t phone him till tomorrow,
Battery has died on the way!
Oh no, he will never forgive us,
To my husband I say,
As I suddenly spot a leopard
With his kill in a tree, hurry!
We forget Uncle Bob, I know you
Have you guessed where we are,
At the Kruger Park, we came to relax,
But it’s really far!
We decide to forget everything
And promise each other we will,
When my husband says,
I short paid the cashier at the till.
Well that garage knows us well,
We will pay her whenever,
Incidentally, he said that last poem
You wrote is rather clever.
SWITCH OFF we simultaneously say ,
We are on holiday,
Our brain needs a break
Even if we think we don’t,
But we both know we won’t!
Chimera of visual candy and sounds. I twirl my poetic skirt — the Magyar gypsy in me abandons time and space — the earth is mine — to mold, create as my God whispers splendiferous life, the ways of this sphere and paradise.
vainglorious words
floating in the atmosphere
i pop their bubbles
I free myself, listen to the critiques and adulation, twisted into the audience’s imagination. We collaborate in thunderstorms. I’m not a rock or an island but a diamond in the rough. Polish my adjectives and verbs. Resound the earthquake in my soul. Embellish my nouns and stamp on my heart.
the dew of my breath
joined with the peppermint wind
— rhapsodic rejoice
The world twirls in party spin until I’m dizzy and giddy. Our hands clasped - with centrifugal force — we go round and round. I capture in my mind’s eye the nuances of the ride. Fish fly and birds swim. Babies grow up and adults hush.
the cup and saucer
teatime passes by quickly
— porcelain shatters
Until my dying day, I will treasure this merry-go-round parade. My earrings dangle, my pearls midair, the embers of my hair, heels kicked up in lusty dust, doves cooing, ravens cawing. There’s always more to say.
skirt with pressed wrinkles
the restless iron suppressed
— abandon my death
7/6/2018
Tesla’s mind, A kinetic, static attic filled to the brim;
With magical ease he displayed his energy laboratory.
In centrifugal dance, grey matter clogs to universal energy; round and round, resounding souls spew forth from Tesla tricks.
Burning holes in his soul’s pockets; creativity never sleeps. On the astral mind mingles with hyperactive atoms; their playtime, births a genius.
Tesla mind, like Einstein’s mind; a conglomerate of power, imprisoned by temporary mortality and oh, the miraculous echoes upon the ethers, eternally.
Science is a spoiled child; a self-limiting ego. The greatest minds go far beyond it. Answers sought, eluded by egoist, viral limitations; are potentially, forever lost. Tesla mind will present them, in another future.
Tucked up for a night in a cold, black hole; Tesla mind tricks await their next performance on planet Earth. Who will see and hear the static charge; that’ll manifest future miracles? Who will realize what they’ll witness?
Tesla mind’s bunk mates are few and far between; ego never recognizes genius, in its own time.
Centrifugal force
Would spin us away from Earth
But for gravity
The Test by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
What’s an antipoet:
a trader in urns and coffins?
a priest who does not believe in anything?
a general who entertains doubts about himself?
a vagabond who laughs at every thing
until old age overtakes him unto death?
an interlocuter of bad faith in a dialogue?
a woman who dances at the brink of an abyss?
a narcissist who loves everybody?
a bloody humourist
deliberately miserable?
a poet who dozes off in a chair?
a modern-day alchemist?
a pocket revolutionary?
a small-time bourgeois?
a charlatan?
a god?
an innocent?
a peasant of Santiago de Chile?
Underline the sentence you consider correct.
What is antipoetry:
a storm in a tea cup?
a sleeve of snow robed round a rock?
a shallow tray full of human excreta
as Father Save-the-Earth believes?
a mirror that tells the truth?
a big slap on the face
of the President of the Society of Authors?
( May God preserve him in his holy kingdom)
a warning to younger poets?
a coffin in river rapids?
a coffin of centrifugal force?
a coffin of paraffin gas?
a burning chapel without a corpse?
Mark with a cross
the definition you consider correct.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Everywhere, in dark and light,
are always watching eyes.
Way out in space,
glowing orbs,
some of gold;
watch through celestial layers.
Sift through the layers,
to allow the light.
Expose the golden,
watching eyes.
Those burning orbs,
that hide in space.
We all need our private space.
Desperate, we dress in layers,
to escape the prying orbs.
But, when a light
reveals prying eyes,
our privacy’s no longer golden.
In dreams of gold,
we fly in space.
No nosey eyes
will peel our mortal layers.
Our hearts so light,
escape those nosey orbs.
Centrifugal orbs;
spinning gold,
upon a stage of pinwheel lights.
How they play in space,
among dark layers,
away from prying eyes.
Invasive eyes,
those peering orbs,
that hide in layers;
infringe upon our golden,
private space;
smother our inner light.
Prying eyes, hiding in etheric layers to spy.
My soul-orbs, watch them spying in space.
Their privacy’s just as golden; though they wear a disguise of star light.
I Am The Dead Poet
Strains of Bach’s Brandenburg,
And billows of brown smoke
Rise up together like crazed conniving snakes
Here in the toxic suburban shadows
Where once again, no one will care.
My voice, my words, my ideas,
Like a comatose rain
Evaporate into nothing.
I am the dead poet.
As dead as yesterday.
As dead as tomorrow.
As dead as Eden.
Have you seen the hitchhiker with thumb out?
Have you seen the grasping blind man,
Pleading with the diminishing light?
Have you seen the dead poet
Probing the universe with his pen?
I am the dead poet.
The only living person in a dead world.
Time is the ultimate Master.
Time is the ultimate Slave.
Everything moves in perfect elliptical circles.
Do you feel the incessant circling
And turning and gyrating of the universe?
Centrifugal forces and my swirling hot blood.
They know what’s happening.
I am the dead poet,
And I can feel it.
Here in the toxic suburban shadows.
Where once again, no one will care.
Universes of time, aged stars;
Silent and bright, how they swirl.
Each one lights its own corner of the heavens;
each stands as one body;
serving the universe, alone.
They all reach great heights.
There are no fears here of heights;
no phobias among these stars;
despite them having to stand alone.
Round and round they swirl;
each centrifugal body,
swirling in the heavens.
When people look at the heavens;
they look to great heights;
and peruse those wondrous bodies.
They stare and dream, beneath the stars;
watching them blink and swirl;
each doing their job together, yet alone.
The state of being alone,
up there, in the heavens;
in a constant state of, swirling;
can steer them to those, limitless heights.
Like people, they are travelers, those stars;
little gypsy’s in cosmic light bodies.
With no limbs to impede their bodies;
they travel to other universes, alone.
Each life has its own journey, even a star;
as it travels through the heavens;
it achieves, greater and greater heights;
never looking back, as it swirls.
Like stars, the human mind, with dreams…swirls;
within the mortal body;
Until it too, achieves great heights;
and doing this, very much alone.
Man dreams of rising to heaven;
just like the gypsy stars.
In the end, like dwarfed stars; the human mind will cease its swirl.
In the heights of heaven, there is no mortal body.
No soul is alone, yet without any spin, it achieves those new heights.
Fibs --
Poems --
Not lies --
Poetry --
Based on a series
That slowly unfolds like a seed,
At first you hardly notce that the fib has started,
Then the lines that were once so constricted suddenly open like branches of a tree;
This is its nature and ever-expanding essential meaning and centrifugal motion of the exhilarating Fibonacci!
The tiniest tap
Within this vicious circle
Quickly amplifies
And so it begins
Spinning out of proportion
Stopping at nothing
Playing with passion
Lawless, careless, beautiful
Teasing misery
While our lives are swift
The top may move at light's speed
Faster and faster
The force of hatred
Cannot strip it of its glee
Centrifugal joy!
Gravity is weak
Easily disregarded
So much space to dream!
The mighty Neptune
It fervorously dances,
Tangos in the light
The theatric top
Likened to the universe
Spinning endlessly...
‘tis Sunday! Time for a revival.
It’s a celebration. Several days of praise
and charismatic speakers.
It is time for the bells
to be heard.
If we still walked the dusty streets
would excitement be at its peak?
Are the cars a yawn
that pull into the parking lot?
Will televisions be turned on,
instead of making a beeline
to be part of the angelic choir?
Who will dare to be unmasked?
Who are the holdouts?
Shout! Shout for joy
as we can still celebrate
and employ our lungs
to exaltation,
to raise the roof,
to blow the socks off,
to honor the King of kings,
the Lord of lords,
Father, Son and Spirit -
three in one
with the centrifugal gathering
that one day,
with trumpet force,
will find ourselves
amidst the angel armies
and all saved humanity.
‘tis Sunday!
Celebrate the upcoming days -
come one, come all
and give praise;
praise the Lord!
2/5/2023
Beyond the gaze of the sun lies paradise
The lights on the horizon entice
dreamy thoughts of many men
their hopes and dreams when
prayers sent
the
air is rent,
with love so sincere
afraid, yet wanting to hear,
love blossoms, will wings of hope suffice.
Beyond the gaze of the sun lies paradise
My middle word is the
Penned 10 February 2015
Form should be called centrifugal
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 50
Each gets to keeping own while making up whole
No one need sacrifice distinct difference
Yet the total’s not a square peg kicked in goal
The idea’s the centrifugal force control
Not to impose by force piercing self-defence
Each gets to keeping own while making up whole
No Security Council veto steam-roll
Each nation’s voice strong and pure over fence
Yet the total’s not a square peg kicked in goal
No fear genes be altered by remote control
Nor in vitrio robots spell impotence
Each gets to keeping own while making up whole
Collective will subsumes democratic role
To serve the total without interference
Yet the total’s not a square peg kicked in goal
Contradictions are not ingrained in the soul
Rather in the way bodies subvert common sense
Each gets to keeping own while making up whole
Yet the total’s not a square peg kicked in goal
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015