Best Measurements Poems
Do not think there is a day I do not want
Or a week, or even a year I repulse
Do not think I do rebuff
Any part that is you
If there is something I abhor it is the distance...
the distance that you put between us
In miles, lightyears and the length
Of your arm
In cold measurements of two cups water,
three cups ice, you dose our lives
You dispense your time
in small pills
The wild that we were so long ago
Turned tame and subdued
A gilded cage with
open door
Do not think there is a day I do not miss
Who we once were. I reject
Who we are now. I set
you free.
***
March 24, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Measure men not in meters,
Yet in volume of ventricle, you’ll find,
Compassion therein, one’s true capacity,
Of magnitude meaning, undefined,
How little broad shoulders do matter,
To bolster an orphan through rem,
Nor biceps do shelter maternal sadness,
As she leaves droplets under the stem,
It’s in the weight he holds onto a syllable,
For he knows the force which unfolds,
A gentle note, his frequent reprise,
Amplifies resonance in young and old,
At length he smiles, beams of luminous youth,
To displace an aging darkness found in you,
Counts not the flames all ready blue, rather the
Lines of laughter, which alight your face in lieu,
Currency he finds a fictitious banquet,
Only for whom Dyne in dwindling power,
Sufficiency bestows the imperial value,
Only to whom embrace solely this hour,
Degrees of perception not bound by paper,
He sees no end, to his quest for knowledge,
As wisdom becomes his definitive asset,
Salmon so rare, caught far beyond college,
Like Pascal, men endure all bars atmospheric,
While so few bow only in gesture to humility,
Wounds fail to callous his resilient demeanor,
In respect to his embodiment of human fragility,
All stellar souls dwarf, as death begins its call,
While novas shine brighter, learnt in its latter’s fall,
So measure not, the meters of men,
But the loving moments, left behind them.
When I kissed you
Silk rolled out from spring's green mill
Tinted with nervous sparks of morning glories
Feathers fell from sunburnt clouds
And trembled on snow's frozen laughter
Foxes crawled out from throat's dark burrow
Drenched in slippery rain of enslaved desires
A serpent's cold tongue licked cerebral strings
Playing desert's song of melting sandiness
A dormant volcano erupted without warning
Frightening gut's sleeping butterflies
A wild horse galloped shaking its mane
Trampling ripe plums on heart's palpitating meadow
A rampaging train of bleeding pomegranates
Transported iniquities of sweet bites
It's needle troubled by bouts of feverish breathing
Nose's compass forgot to navigate bearings
Lips gave up guarding ramparts of decency
And surrendered like defeated hermits
In that chaos of enflamed infinity
I sensed yards of blood racing in my veins
And I measured your kiss
With dreams inside a cuckoo's egg
Form:
Little is less than a lot
And most is not a few
I need a handle on this
So I know what to do
When measuring more
Into my favorite recipe
For a palmful is okay
Measuring for me …
Then come the metrics
Confusing me more
I cannot read labels
In the grocery store
I know about ounces
Milligrams are strange
And what is a liter
I cannot exchange
Guess I’ll stop cooking
Lest I overdo the salt
Eating at a restaurant
Then, it’s their fault.
Written September 29, 2022
sometimes times solid;
by minute or hour hands;
measurements of time;
hour glass broken;
sundials don’t work in the rain;
sometimes times misses;
measurements of time;
by minute or hour hands;
times solid sometimes;
6/27/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Ticking clock
Insignificantly
Measures
Everything
Darn rules are getting harder to read
Millimeters, centimeters
Might as well put millipede
A 1/32
Maybe a 1/64 and 1/2
6 centimeter minus .875
A 2:1 pitch=5 holes and one inch
10 millimeters to the right
Has anyone found my mind yet?