Try to often and readily avoid
What makes others annoyed:
During prayer pressing android,
Invading others’ spaces, yours void,
Another appetite getting cloyed;
A plane stopping from being buoyed.
Try to singularly avoid
A killer knee on the neck of Floyd
Leaving A Triangle to draw A Cuboid
A Circle skipping for A Trapezoid
A Human making out as A Humanoid…
With others’ dreams I’ve never toyed.
The Rubiks cube is round, observed at atomic size
To see reality you must enter, take a peep inside
I’m not saying pull it apart, searching out a pivot
But rather a microscopic journey, for our tiny visit
Photons on its surface, weaving around in circles
Can pass through with ease, external to internal
You see rotating squares, cuboid annoying design
Yet molecules in blank space, spiral together blind
Mosaic patchwork colors, atop firmaments of skin
Projections of light appear, as matrixes flow within
Pictels turning relentlessly, of indiscernible pattern
Interior fluxes created, hexagonal poles on Saturn
Poppycock you say, it’s merely a frustrating puzzle
Millions of us have tried, and most of us struggled
In truth that’s kind of right, solutions are in dearth
Lessons from history, of our once flat planet earth.
If the Rubik's cube was round Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
04/01/2021
From the way she walks, her heart is clearly on the high side
her gracious looks sinks every confidence in so much sand
chances have come and gone, he cracks an empty barrel
she makes it laborious for an admirer to be single
can it be this difficult to mingle and seek consent?
His promises of their bliss still came out in singular tenses
together with his panics, he’s evidently not a player in the game
expressing a not-so matured exposure not far from his cradle
he’s an amazement with the need to step up much higher
he goes into hiding, follow ups are superfluous
he can only get her type in a planet that is cuboid
his lack is cute, so she ditches sophistication
to amazingly give his plain heart a realistic chance.
Glorious golden, wheaten, woven.
The Sunhive hangs, safe and secure, in the cradling arms of the old tree.
Full of syrupy sweetness, strength and wisdom of its small, mantled gold and black, dwellers.
At its warm soft womblike centre the bees, in safety and comfort, prepare their Winter Feast.
In peace and good health their Queen freely roams her golden halls.
A stately progression through her realm.
An empire free from earthbound unnatural cuboid cells.
Safe and sound and high above the ground
The bees happy and content,
Secure our future, selfless and without intent.
A present
A small
Somewhat spherical
Somewhat cuboid box
A box containing a Buddha
A Buddha in a box
What to do
Buddha's in a box
Take it out?
Were it?
Swallow it?
Put it on the mantle piece?
A year later
Buddha's in box
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