Best Notations Poems
In this world and in this life
(Are we all just another number)
A tax statistic or
a corporation's itemized figure.
There are of the pluses and negatives.
The accounting of the additions and then the subtractions.
These are the balance sheets of life.
This is with "gains, and losses."
Is that the higher plan for mortal man
existence on this dusty earth?
A salary, or no salary.
A bank account, or no accounts.
Zeros and Ones, 1, 0.
Added together are they supposed to be fine gold?
A man’s worth weighed
on a numbered scale of more or less.
Were we created to be only digital number notations?
Numbers in hourglasses filled with very fine earthly sand.
Grains of sand running then emptying,
into the canvas of time.
This of dusty dust: yet, not solely returning to the ground.
For, we are very, very much, much more: than that ever seen.
"Yes, not solely just numbers indeed!"
Categories:
notations, appreciation, hyperbole, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
The world is spinning
and you refuse to fall off.
Yesterday,
you stabbed a crooked finger
into my hidden diary
criticized my Fascist inflections -
debated my scribblings
on Marxism,
noted the notations
indicating Munchausen by Proxy
and then
choked and lamented
upon vague references I made
concerning Virginia Woolf,
Sylvia Plath,
Anne Sexton,
Cruella De Vil
and Hitler.
You literally littered through
my private Pandora’s box
of personal prose and poetry -
with an unbridled
crazed compulsion
and without my
permissible permission.
Pointing to bold typed words,
such as “ebony”
and “vacuous”
and “sociopath”
and the one
you couldn’t evenly pronounce –
“phlegmatic.”
You stomped your hot heavy hooves -
screaming with the dire urgency
of a rape victim:
“What the hell are you talking about?”
It didn’t take very long before
I simply shrugged,
slugged the remaining remains
of my Rolling Rock,
took your index finger
guided it across
your ratted sweater
and placed it
upon your
hopeless,
hapless
heart.
Categories:
notations, lost love, love
Form:
Free verse
I hold an opinion that if I attack it and pop it with a savvy brain; I can stab at this Pandora’s
Box. I plan on popping it with tools, twigs and/or a pick. If that will not work, I will “knock on
wood” or grasp any fancy plan I find hanging in thin air. This vision of a box with a
gold lining will anchor my romantic and pastoral notations as I go along catching at straws by
writing day to day.
*REVISED-for Nikko Palmario’s word task.
Categories:
notations, on writing and words,
Form:
Narrative
it is the atomic weight that matters most.
violent barbiturate toungues empty coffee cups
and deliver the insight.
before there was religion there
was foldgers dry roast.
before the lunar landing there
was instant oatmeal.
still my toungue is heavy with saliva.
i shall not lie.
it is the description that matters least.
the patient deconstruction of all
unsound perspectives.
bright and ultra bright scientific
notations fell from heaven like lightening.
the witnesses annotated cauterized edges
and spoke in the most literal sense.
before there was a mother there
was a mosaic womb.
before there was a helix faith
there was a clay parable.
still the pencil aches in the
palm of my hand.
i shall not murder.
it is the pattern that matters most.
catching low tide shells in between shallow moons.
fringed hands count down the gene pool legend,
seperated only by accented lips.
before there was a cleric in a robe
there was a tilt in the axis.
before there was a fat bellied fertility goddess
there was a splinter in a finger.
still my stomach is full of acrid
compound naratives.
i shall not want.
Categories:
notations, allegory, perspective,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
my mother had two tokens she never parted with -
a book containing music notations,
and a flute, made of brass.
her favourite book had her name handwritten on the cover,
and the unadorned flute had a name engraved on it.
she lost her brother when he was in his twenties,
to tuberculosis,
it was he who wrote her name on the cover,
with calligraphic dexterity.
he played music on the flute...
mesmerizing audience with cadence of the melody
while she sang
and danced like a captivating fairy,
until the disease took over,
and one fateful day, he was gone.
the flute remained with her....
the day she passed away.
she asked me to open a sandalwood box,
and there it was! The Flute!
she touched it, caressed the name with her frail fingers,
and closed her tired eyes.
April 1, 2021
Inspired by " Last Token" Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Placed Third
Categories:
notations, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
The farmers sleep with
Third eyes open.
Ever watchful over their teenage daughters.
How the boys must beseech them desperately.
Uncomfortable, muggy fondlings
In the bed of a red rusted pickup
Parked by the creek dubbed Lovers Point.
At the breakfast table in the morning,
They glow with proximity
And their tired eyes hover dreamily
From the orange cranberry muffins
To the freshly squeezed orange juice
Filled at the half way mark of a mason jar.
When you ask why they don't eat
They simply smile
And say nothing.
Your curiosity will linger on your teeth
But still you will say nothing.
Bitter memories of your past regrets
To teach lessons of discretion
Are better left unsaid.
You will not douse them in the overwhelming
Blanket of your security
And the palms of your hands that
Once smiled in the womb like presence
Of handling your new born daughter
And naming her Jane or Virginia
Is suddenly missing the hold of her hand.
But you share a few natural harmonies
Like the silent agreement of pecking his cheek
Twice before bedtime
Or the precarious way you both sit at
The wobbling three legged milking stool
When your pulling on Betsy on Thursday
And she's tugging at Betty on Wednesday
As you shave the gray stubble of your throat.
But for now in the strangely comfortable
Peace of staring at the spots of jam
On the white and yellow checkered table cloth
You'll abruptly slide your chair back
And lean closely to her ear as you slightly whisper
Slightly inaudible notations.
Categories:
notations, daughter, family, father, life,
Form:
Free verse
I am surprised you are so ambivalent
For me I wish to be familiar with the arcane
Knowledge can indeed be bittersweet
Let me taste of these luscious notations
Lines scribed inspired by our intercessor
It is not necessary to be quiescent
So I choose to be a flamboyant protestor
You sit there and silently witness my immolation
Tactile threads of my thoughts reduced to ashes
I fear you will choke as you inhale my quintessence
For John Hamilton's ten word Challenge.
To add a bit of difficulty I limited myself to ten lines and used the words in the same order they were provided.
Categories:
notations, symbolism, voyage,
Form:
Free verse
I’m a string of byte notations
From your CPU
Calculating information
In a blink of an eye, for you
I pull in at the station
On your motherboard
To catch a system bus
CAD, is what it’s called
There's three routes I can take
Control, address or data
Depending on the freight
It arrives a nano later
Two more important parts
On this PC station
Are the (GPU), graphics card
And memory modulation
The RAM is where I store
Temporary numeral data
To complete a task for sure
For you sometime later
The graphics processor unit
Is the place of acceleration
Sending pictures to your screen
In 3D Animation
There’s a special kind of storage place
Which is called, a hard drive
Keeping window’s very safe
Where your programmes hide inside
Now, I can make a programme
But that’s different thing
If you want to learn the basics
Just type a simple string
For those that don’t yet understand
I use a binary code
From the central processor
I then take it and load
So next time you turn me on
Just think and be-aware
I work a lot, like you my friend
And I’m here to store and share
© Copyright 19th August 2013
K.C.Leake
Categories:
notations, art,
Form:
Light Verse
con't ---->
You... and me were just a tease
Feel like I'm playing a putter from the black tees,
It used to be easy, like hitting off a tee...
Lust not love, we were deceived
That & my middle name is dishonesty
Truth, name a price, I'll pay any fee
Priceless, should've taken responsibility
Oh well... This pen is free therapy
A Bic scalpel, this is consciousness surgery...
An impatient patient seeking liberation...
No cerebral vacations, never ending self-examination
Do I give to give or with expectation of reciprocation?
Do I learn to understand or to show my education?
Do I talk with intent or in hope of validation?
Do I like what I like or do I seek confirmation?
Am I in it for immediate gratification or the duration?
Do I listen to hear or just idle til my turn in the conversation?
My life's 100% improvisation
Z.D.A, that's my abbreviation,
Study these lines, take notations,
I'm not real, just a hallucination...
*****************************
What if reality was a dream? And dreams were reality?
It ain't as strange as it seems...
A single consciousness stream...
I was blind but now I still can't see...
Yeah... I was blind but now I still can't see...
........... Will I ever be able to see?
Categories:
notations, addiction, anger, anxiety,
Form:
Lyric
He lounges behind a desk in a late night vacant foyer
Answering calls, making log entries, and filing papers
The dark hours slowly leaking from his tenuous life
The phone rings and he repeats the same weary greeting
He issues information to faceless enquirers
Hanging up, sipping his coffee, he makes notations
Outside, the empty parking lot is speckled with light
Emanating from lonesome uniformly spaced poles
Illuminating the white lines of vacant parking
The sound of rushing steam, clanging metal, and cold rain drops
Echo upon the plate glass windowed empty cocoon
That bares the reflection of his tired, lost in thought face
Anticipating the next abandoned grave yard shift
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Categories:
notations, life, work
Form:
Free verse
I know some will dismiss this
As nonsensical chatter
Call it philosophical blabber
Think of it as mind over matter
Ask questions and trash the answers
Because they, quote unquote
Challenge the status quo
It’s insane but I get it
I see life in its totality
See, I have an eye for quality
I see the larger in the microscopic
But sir, you’re running off topic
Your thoughts are clattered
And your responses are scattered
Stick to what you’ve mastered
Take a time, gather together
The fragments of matters that matter
Or risk becoming intellectually stagnant
I present a challenge to the status quo
My talk ousters popular prejudice
I challenge responses to clichés and quotes
My thought pushes the envelopes
Of commonly accepted notions
Upsets notations and connotations
And focuses on promotion
I’m no prophet but I promise
This message will bring some profit
May the reader understand
I’m not trying to frustrate or flatter
I’m not trying to understate
I’m trying to highlight some items that matter
But, if you ask, it doesn’t matter
Accept or reject, I will not be bothered
I’ve been rejected before, slaughtered
On the altar of convenience
Offered to the highest bidder
Priced according to physical relevance
Since my record was insignificant
I was given away for free
Treated like the ultimate freak
Because from a purely human point of view
I was nothing, not worth a moment’s review
A wall marked with obscenities and graffiti
A scrub, strutting, fronting like I was something
When I was nothing,
Residue from a mafia-type system
Until my debt was paid and personal status
Updated from non-valid to valid
From worthless to earnest
And thanks
To the cry that broke through the sky
And vanished my crime and gave me a sign
It was the stitch in time that saved nine
And now my soul
Bears true signs of the stigmata
Categories:
notations, christian, rap, religion, religious,
Form:
Rhyme
I often sit and witness the beautiful existence,
sparked by a yellow haze of a dying candle's flame,
my notations dancing leisurely with the seizure of it's shadow on the wall.
I am able to see the sculpted character of each letter, side by side,
easily defined by someone else, but I am also able to see
the imagery in my mind and the meaning only I can interpret myself.
I can feel the tactile property in the velvety smoothness of the paper
as it gently sways and hints at my hand, but I can also feel
the sensitive awareness of my sentiments passionately bestowed it unplanned.
I can smell the wick and the wax as it starts to collapse, but I can taste
the delicate discrimination in my own perception of things called facts.
I have a choice on how I let external circumstances impact how I react.
I am capable of delegating my footfalls, be it one, or twenty
on a path that I will allow no one to detract.
I will devour the mentation of any man or woman that airstreams
an implementation of how I should receive my own existence!
I can and will make a difference!
For strangers and in lives of those who wish to have me in theirs.
All I have to do is start somewhere and the visions, intuitions,
the care from within will come out and flow naturally.
I will not ignore pain, or anger, or sorrow because I don't understand it.
Or, because those around me can't appreciate a proper grieving.
I know that every tomorrow I'll feel it again, in that acknowledgment
consciousness breathes.
MY consciousness tonight lightly blew to life the manifestation
of my creative sense and it took my voiceless words
in synchronous act and produced a wistful song that seduced the silence.
Categories:
notations, bereavement, care, creation, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
To have been there and discovered what time can do
to a place is astounding.
All the memories flash by before I wake.
Missing true colors, images in only pastel shades which
have borders and dimensions of depth and spatial distance.
This place I cannot find on a map, or from any encyclopedia. Thought I might find it while browsing through some
paleontology or mythology books. Did find a few notations
which I call ‘could be’s.’
But facts don’t line up to justify.
Perhaps it may be during the prehistoric era, maybe just a touch
of an idea that leads to the stone age?
Spent a few days flipping through books at the Clifford society
library in Kalarchee Illinois. They had a lot of material to shift
through, would take me weeks to do such. Their reading room
was like a grand hotel sitting area. Once you sit, you don’t want to get up!
About a dozen books later my thoughts of finding drew less and less. I did check out National Geographic site of all their sources.
but came up empty handed once again.
Did find some places in their magazines that I did not know existed. But Sedwick was not found.
Ah! Ha! Maybe the Holy Grail might know! Just thought I would toss that in to make light of the fact.
Fact or no fact.
But in fact to the matter, I don’t have any facts to build upon.
Are you with me?
It’s like constructing a building using Lego’s without the cornerstones. Thus... ‘the walls came tumbling down.”
Jericho in Palestinian territories is not a location for Sedwick
Case at hand:
A place to find
Unlike any other kind
May not exist
Will keep on my list.
Alternatives... drop it come back later
Conclusion... finding Nemo was easier
Will search for Monarch in Utopia.
Categories:
notations, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
Dimensionless boundaries seem to please
Till the existence of some soul finally cease
The modern world registers human reach
Technology still humble to break its peace
Heaven made of splendour beyond we think
The journey to space gave imagination a hint
Shine of stars brightest to make eyes blink
No one can capture the glory of it all in print
Saints call it Garden of Eden with Holy spring
Wish to be its part once the death bell rings
A place of rebirth where blessed souls sing
Joy ride of heaven charity is thought to bring
Scientists research on subjects they are keen
Delve into the universe to see heavenly scene
Galaxy and stellar remnants as heaven deem
Unearth some life at Moon is the basic theme
Ah! Is it all heaven as Humans believe and speak
Then why the elemental explanations still weak
The kingdom of God is at transcendental realm
Universe caress it as the possible Holiest Place.
Accessible by humans after virtuous living days
Lightened by “Serene Stars” , guided by Milky Way!
Nurtured by “Mild Moon”, good errands pay
Rekindling positive hopes the shining Sun’s rays…
O’ Heaven – an abode for man’s final destination
Showers love to all without discrimination
“Execute good” thus embraced by all religions
Looked after by God and all its manifestations
“Seamless Heaven” spreading far its feather
Inexplicably wondrous like the womb of Mother!
Scientific notations only space travels can gather
For divine sessions – Just be true to family and nation
Spiritual Sight will be gifted in afterlife
To feel the truth of nature….ever and later….
Categories:
notations, faith, hope, imagination, lifegod,
Form:
Rhyme
Seven minutes lingered, an interim of residue,
a trembling partition between continuance and conclusion.
The body rehearsed survival, a theatre of reflex and delay.
Then the stage went silent,
a horizon drawn flat, an axis without a pulse,
and the world sank into a white silence.
Afterward, an emergence.
Not awakening, but reclassification.
not darkness, but a chamber of neutrality,
where remnants of existence drifted in an ordered abyss.
No faces, only the abstraction of record:
gestures catalogued, errors weighed beside their opposites,
the arithmetic of a lifetime balanced without judgment.
No weeping, no pleading, just the hollow patience of cattle.
An attendant present neither stern nor merciful, only procedural,
spoke as if reading an inventory.
Then a designation was issued.
At first numerical, then nominal.
Identification persisted, even as the self no longer did.
The chamber resembled judgment,
yet nothing of judgment occurred.
Records lay in sequence: notations, erasures, marginalia.
"An account, not a verdict." The clerk read,
Errors and kindnesses balanced in two columns.
The result: Passable.
A new dossier appeared.
Families arranged in archival order,
faces attached for reference.
Instruction: Choose.
The choice was not preference, but compliance
the necessity of continuation.
From abstraction into assignment,
from absence into recurrence.
Thus the cycle proceeds:
not reward, not punishment, but iteration.
Existence drafted again,
not as consequence but as mechanism.
The soul does not inherit.
The soul does not stumble.
The soul is allocated, reinserted,
until the ledger of moral requires no more.
Categories:
notations, absence,
Form:
Free verse