Best Disjoint Poems
Based on BBC news article "Maths zeroes in on perfect cup of coffee"
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-37989169
Two billion cups a day we drink
To stay awake so we can think
Tireless workers - every nation
Need a caffeine drink equation
Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos
Our calculator super heroes
Measured, reasoned, wrote a theorem
Clockwork system - mighty fearsome
Divide the beans and add hot water
Multiplies the bean aroma
Takes away the taste chaotic
Get this right - it's sums and logic
China cups the theory goes
Helps the smell go up you nose
Cardboard mug with plastic roof
Not as good, but where's the proof?
But their reason's most disjoint
Like whole numbers - has no point
You just need a rule of thumb
QED for us dumb-dumbs
(Entry for "wake up with coffee or tea" contest - shortened to meet rules)
Now here's a contest that seems pointless
But, up to a point, I guess it will do.
The points in my life have sometimes been fruitless,
I just thought I would point that out to you.
Oh, the point of this rhyme
May be pointed one way,
But it is at this point in time
To score points by what I say.
The point that I am making,
Is that there is always some point
That life points in a way forsaking,
Giving your point a grave disjoint.
I have pointed out many times
that points are good and bad.
But the good points I remember better
Rather than the bad points I have had.
You can sometimes see how pointless it is
To try to point these things out.
As for the point I am making,
You get the point...no doubt!
Based on BBC news article "Maths zeroes in on perfect cup of coffee"
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-37989169
Two billion cups a day we drink
To stay awake so we can think
Tireless workers - every nation
Need a caffeine drink equation
Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos
Our calculator super heroes
Measured, reasoned, wrote a theorem
Clockwork system - mighty fearsome
No longer need barista instinct
Random variations extinct
Future bistros turn bizarre
Robots running coffee bars
Divide the beans and add hot water
Multiplies the bean aroma
Takes away the taste chaotic
Get this right - it's sums and logic
China cups the theory goes
Helps the smell go up you nose
Cardboard mug with plastic roof
Not as good, but where's the proof?
Coffee can't be served alone
You don't need maths - it's just well known
Donut, muffin you could try
Bagel, biscuit, slice of pi
But their reason's most disjoint
Like whole numbers - has no point
You just need a rule of thumb
QED for us dumb-dumbs
Drawing lines between shapes of grief
Going in circles, awaiting the lietmotif
Now just a side of a triangular run.
With defences up like the Pentagon.
Then finally looking Love square in the face
While Hope's line slopes down in disgrace
Calculating a Geometry too disjoint
For Love to have a basic point.
In the millennium’s first dozen years,
they say we’re headed for a tipping point --
a disastrous sum of many fears
when Nature herself will crash and disjoint.
It’s not the Mayan calendar that’s cause,
nor the Sun’s circumstantial alignment,
but our careless consumption without pause
and our uncontrolled wholesale consignment.
Our survival’s not a dress rehearsal.
We are fast approaching the precipice
where it will be too late for reversal.
Earth’s ecosystem hangs over the abyss.
If you’re reading this and claim you don’t care,
we don't need to wait; we’re already there.
With a plastic and stainless steel joint
Which was his very authentic point
A Viagra pill, he!
The ******** up_glee
Then a plastic and stainless disjoint
Swords speak brittle metal thrusts
singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust;
blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points
deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint.
The sword speaks forged in metallic shields
shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields;
sword smith tamahagane billets delivery
quenched in fire and tempered chivalry.
Swords speak sharp yet to the death
the very depths and blood letting breaths
for love, for country, brothers of courage, fear and fires
fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires.
It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place
bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace
of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold
no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old.
Free people are all brothers
at the very start
then in some discorded word
find swords will resolve the hatred spark.
Deep the wounds cut and slicing
but words are no longer vocalized politely
only the sharpness and the glint
of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint.
"The tongue devises mischiefs
like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2
The severe strong might of thunders slaps the
gentle clouds on the face just to open doors for the rain drops.
My eyes are opened at the wickedness of the thunder towards
the poor sky only to remember and see my pillows all wet,
like the thunder life slapped the face of my gentle heart and like
the rains it opened my heart with pains for the tear drops.
Grace is a flavor you want to bite,care is the home you want
to go to,love is the life you want to have and smile is the
shelter the abundance of comfort brings to the heart.
The meal of joy,the melodies of hope and the pride and humility
of affluence,all these life has set me apart.
I punch hard but still get knocked out by success,the world
seems to be revolving at the same very point.Hahaha! a sad
out laugh of fears because I begin and seem to end at this very point.
Some people,family,friends and acquaintances seem happy,sit on the
walls and stand with folded arms and look unconcerned while my life
structure collapse in disjoint.
What a world,I lie in my lonely bed over a ponder.
Because these were my very dream before the thunder.
Stark silhouetted silent trees, like gravestones mark the ground,
where disquiet souls of long lost men, in mists of death abound.
A silence binds the fearful minds of all who enter here,
and senses scream against the fear that draws the spectres near.
A feeble moons distracted light, lends shadows to the gloom,
where any careless footstep may invite a dreadful doom.
The whispered cry of owl or ghost, sends shivers through the leaves,
to lift the hair on ice cold nape and disjoint shaken knees.
A thousand stares of black despair, keep watch throughout the glade,
Their mist seeks out unwary souls to bind them to the shade.
This dreadful place, unhallowed ground, the dare of those who would,
to brave that eerie haunt of they, who walk the deep dark wood.
This was such an inviting prompt I couldn’t resist. The Photo’s
Took me back to my childhood and a challenge that went
unanswered for many years, to walk through a small wood
and touch the wall of a ‘haunted’ ruin. I have tried to
Recapture the first couple of steps (as far as I ever got)
into that frightening place.
Existentialism
What if this is reality but I am out of time?
Perhaps my step is syncopated with the other marching drones
and I am Zen and with the moment or perhaps I missed a beat
could I be disjoint and dislocate from the moment we are in
Were I as little as two hours behind would
my reality be wholly appropriate?
Take pause, consider the consequence
if the rest of the world were ahead
a mere two hours would be enough
to profoundly make a difference.
Why that would mean that only this morn
I was wholly indiscreet
I exposed myself in public
my shower was on the street!
I sang like Pavarotti well, with
enthusiasm if not the skill
what must those passersby have thought?
“This madman will take a chill!”
Am I now wrapped up so tight
and safe in padded cell?
Think of your life were you two hours out
what did you do today?
When you made fun of the boss at lunch
was it actually with your friends in keeping
or was it instead his 10 o'clock meeting,
do you still have a job at all?
How many wholly inappropriate acts
are only OK because of their timing.
I think I can be confident
of what is actually real
and what it is that exists
but sometimes I absurdly worry
about WHEN it actually is.
©T.Arnold
by Sashi.Prabhu
(17/2/2012)
Shrouded and festooned with quaintness i try to elucidate the trips of mystery,
T’was dark and it was then I realized that the morn and noon was history.
A smooth trip on mother nature’s bounties rolled on neatly into a joint,
It felt all day as me and the bard within went on a trip from reality the shackle disjoint.
Rendezvous point was at the foothills of the zeauoxian Milky Way
Way beyond my mind can comprehend I see myself move fast and dwindle away.
Away, away and far away through starry paths, the galactic colonies and black holes
Yesterday seemed like tomorrow and today like the near future, written on ash scrolls
Tornados, galactial storms, raining meteorite, planets, and stars I beyond them travel,
Oh my body is the ship and my mind the deck console for the paths to ravel.
There at a distance I see us approaching Venus,
Hovering above hostile mutant colonies with mammals, moth worms and flora genus,
Earth behind seemed afar & beautiful and I every moment growing creative and ticinus.
Ship trips and galaxial flips,
Tardy nites and the dark nicotine stained finger tips,
Annular eclipse occurring in my mind’s eye as the white light zips,
Rummaging my mindly scripts for notes of melancholy strains as the notes dance on,
Slammed by the downer, my trips are done& for another, on ganjain I count upon.
You are more than just family,
You are a necessity of life.
Youve been there for me when i needed you the most.
You were practically my personal host.
We have shared so many laughs and smiles.
Even when we were miles apart,
we still talked at heart.
Im the flower that need your rays to live,
the sunshine that i need to stand.
So many fun times,
make so many rhymes...
You're there to pick me up when i fall,
and then we made a prank call..
You were the one to show how to prance,
then you took me on that floor and danced!
We had telepathy,
I SWEAR!!!
Especially those moments we could not bear..
You are always there for me,
always making me happy.
Coming with me to the mall,
running down the bathroom hall!!
But im going to tell you the truth....
i had fun in that photo booth!!
we still act like we are at the bloom of youth.
but sadly....thats the truth.
our memories in the basement,
they are ancient!!
this is more than cousinly love.
its above that point.
we could never disjoint.
what else can i say?
youve showed me the way.
youve helped me sway.
your more than family,
your a necessity!
Form:
“To love, or not to love?” that is the point,
the focus which men lose beyond disjoint.
To be a god among men, and unloved,
is woe: even wild beasts are not unmoved
by these fragmented, lone, unearthly souls,
for whom the scroll of history unrolls.
Man, being so much better than feral beasts,
should eschew (and end!) the vile, evil feasts
of his ire: then love these wide-browed seers, men
and women like the wielder of this pen.
1/3/2012
Shrouded and festooned with quaintness i try to elucidate the trips of mystery,
T’was dark and it was then I realized that the morn and noon was history.
A smooth trip on mother nature’s bounties rolled on neatly into a joint,
It felt all day as me and the bard within went on a trip from reality the shackle disjoint.
Rendezvous point was miles away at the foothills of the zeauoxian Milky Way
Way beyond my mind can comprehend I see myself move fast and dwindle away.
Away, away and far away through starry paths, the galactic colonies and black holes
Yesterday seemed like tomorrow and today like the near future, written on ash scrolls
Tornados, galactial storms, raining meteorite, planets, & stars,miles beyond them travel,
Oh my body is the ship and my mind the deck console for the paths to ravel.
There at a distance I see us approaching Venus,
Hovering above hostile mutant colonies with mammals, moth worms and flora genus,
Earth behind seemed afar & beautiful and I every moment growing creative and ticinus.
Ship trips and galaxial flips,
Tardy nites and the dark nicotine stained finger tips,
Annular eclipse occurring in my mind’s eye as the white light zips,
Rummaging my mindly scripts for notes of melancholy strains as the notes dance on,
Slammed by the downer, my trips are done and for another, on ganjain I count upon.
The shepherd doth provide for my true needs,
And stills the waters, watches while I rest.
All to His glory, I go where he leads;
Refreshed my soul, for his right way is best.
Tho' shadows loom, death's stench engulfs the air,
Or evil's presence close enough to taste,
Corrected, guided, safely in his care,
My journey easy; there's no need for haste.
He thwarts my foes, their plans awash, disjoint,
He taunts them, lets me breathe deep while I eat.
A servant host, His oil my head anoints.
My cup, past full, my joy in Him complete.
His mercy, goodness: hallmarks of sweet days,
Eternal, in His presence, voicing praise.