Best Friction Poems
The umbra of my Soul's eclipse,
Stellar dweller cosmic ships.
Solar flares and lunar lairs-
Blackest Holes and deep abyss...
Photo gamma satellite,
Telescopic magnetite.
Anti-Matter fusion shatters
Super-Nova afterlife
Gravimetric poly-synthetic-
Nano vortex optic aesthetic
(Overloaded circuits exploded!)
Isotopic pseudo-frenetic
Electromagnetic static compulsion;
Subatomic particle propulsion;
Supersonic chronic convulsion-
Microscopic mega emulsion.
Toxic, caustic antiseptic,
Hyperactive epileptic;
Hydroponic telekinetic-
Quantum neuro cybernetic
Paralyzed by all the Lies,
Erratic, manic muffled cries...
Catastrophic chaotic logic-
Conflicted, afflicted--dies!
Thunder rumbling
Lightening forking above
Produced by friction
fiction is
friction
without the R
always smooth
cool
friction is
fiction
with the R
never smooth
hot
Olympian speed
Tortise and hare race for gold
Disqualified, rage
Anybody watch the Olympics?
Inspired by a poem by Sara Kendrick this morning!! Thanks for the inspiration mom.
Fabulous friction,
Your magic transforms
The steep rock into footholds.
In delicate balance
We dance on invisible
Stairs to the summit.
(Poetry Form: Hexaduad)
We fight
at night.
Our hearts are not attuned;
we sling harsh words to wound.
How can we work this problem out,
when all we do is rant and shout,
accuse, deny and blame?
We each have done the same.
I know you love me still,
my love I cannot kill;
so, please, let's try.
Don't say goodbye.
Cognition
and action
coincide
why, then
there are
errors in my
actions?
Unconscious illusion
in a
messy world of mirages?
04/08/2021
Magnet transmits strength
Iron bar remains touched
friction builds up sense
fourteen lines make a love sonnet
for both ancient and youthful alike
passionate love lines gushing upon it
putting feeling to page, like tonight
by the time that the fifth comes up
the flush of hot lust reigns full
yet already arched at its apogee
by eighth line fire starts to cool
love's fireworks blaze so beautifully
duly perfect in its dual dueling flight
yet fourth from last line seeks immunity
as ardent passions come crashin' to dislike
yet who among would not strike that match
to fire that work skyward for Eros' catch
© Goode Guy 2013-01-12
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friction_match
How can life be so beautiful
and so horribly ugly all at once?
This is the juxtaposition of all
juxtapositions.
The breathtaking beauty of
a sunrise or sunset,
the sounds of birds in a forest,
the sound of waves crashing
against rocks,
the soft velvet like skin
of a baby-
the look of love in your
loved one's eyes.
Things you never want compromised
or taken for granted.
It all comes down to the
good, the bad and the ugly.
I never want to see mass shootings again-
had enough of them to
last a lifetime.
But I do love seeing people
come together for a common good.
I never want to see children
taken from their parents and
locked up in cages.
But I do long to see walls torn down
and a welcoming to all
mankind.
However in this life there will
always be a constant friction
of divisiveness and joining
of hearts.
It's up to each of us to decide
which mirror we will
reflect.
I saw you again
And volts of electricity
Crept into my veins,
And love,
Still and frozen,
revived.
If only you saw me
For when two stone touches
Friction starts fire,
Like palm on skin,
Breath on lobes,
When you speak.
I hear the ringing
Of Sunday bells,
When the chosen worship
And I worship you.
I was damned, love,
For you were my church.
My frailty I confessed to God,
For I was guilty of pleasure
Turning cheek from his light.
But love, this time is fine,
Like our Sundays,
Start from the start.
We dream of frictionless systems:
governments that run smoothly,
relationships without conflict,
work that flows effortlessly,
lives that glide from birth to death
without opposition, without resistance,
without the heat and wear
of friction.
We engineer for it:
lubricants to reduce drag,
policies to eliminate obstacles,
technologies to smooth
every rough edge,
optimize every process,
make everything
efficient, seamless,
frictionless.
But here's what we forget:
Friction is how you start a fire.
Friction is how you stop a car.
Friction is how you walk without slipping.
Friction is how pencils write on paper.
Friction is how climbers grip rock.
Friction is how we know we're making contact,
that we're touching something real,
that we're not just sliding past
each other and the world
without purchase, without grip,
without the resistance
that proves we're here.
Opposition is not always obstruction.
Resistance is not always wrong.
Conflict is not always destructive.
Sometimes friction is:
the democratic check on power,
the editor improving the work,
the friend telling you hard truths,
the scientist challenging the theory,
the activist resisting injustice,
the conscience resisting temptation,
the no that makes the yes mean something.
Sometimes the heat generated
by opposing forces
is not waste but energy,
not destruction but transformation,
not a sign that something's wrong
but a sign that something's
changing, moving, becoming
different from what it was.
We need smooth surfaces
and rough ones,
agreement and opposition,
flow and resistance,
moments when everything glides
and moments when everything
grinds and sparks and burns.
We need the friction.
Not because conflict is good
but because growth requires it,
not because opposition is pleasant
but because truth emerges from it,
not because resistance is easy
but because change demands it.
The frictionless world
is a fantasy,
and if we achieved it
we would find ourselves
sliding helplessly
through a life
too smooth to hold onto,
too easy to resist,
too perfect to be real.
Give me the rough surface.
Give me the opposition.
Give me the heat of disagreement,
the spark of collision,
the energy of transformation.
Give me the friction
that proves I'm pushing
against something real,
that proves I'm moving
at all.
Like a snake in the desert only I'll rattle in the cold, I'm a a walking apocalips whom hasn't been told,I'm skin and bone with a body on loan and as hunger roars but not for food,and coming between us could be bad for you.
I light you like a cigarette,
Take one puff and cough maniacally.
I throw you to the ground
And hold you there with my shoe,
Thinking, Damn
I should have puffed you one more time.
I light you like a campfire
And stir the amber for a while,
Forgetting to let nature take its course.
Every once in a while
Something pops and crackles,
And I have to wipe a hot ash from my eye.
I light you like a Christmas tree,
Perceiving the beauty which reflects
On the surface of my iris.
I can fall asleep beside you,
Silently admiring everything
You probably can't even see.
I light you as I would a darkened room,
And at times I fall asleep
Not knowing you're turned on.
At the end of the month,
I sit at home and wonder
Why my bills are so high.
I light you like a candle
To watch your passion dance
As every slight whisper
Graces your neighboring air.
I shudder to think your wick will come to an end,
And I put you out.
Then, I light you like a bomb fuse,
Knowing the explosion
Will excite and devour me,
Knowing the fire will take
All of my being into account,
Like freeing a spirit from its temple.
This skin on skin connection
sends me this sensation
The heat that emerges from our movement
has us feeling content
As sweat produces
The mentality of knowing
will continue to happen
for a long measure
of time gives us pleasure
so this feeling we’ll treasure
We go faster
then slower
We enjoy it to the maximum
Our faintness goes to its minimum
So we proceed
to do our deed
As our strength reduces
And the must of our rhyme produces
We clasps thinking
This was the wonderful sensation
of our friction