There's an endless cycle of living,
Where it's not always good or all bad.
It's constantly circling around taking and giving,
Seemingly lost, like a chaotic nomad.
While surviving along the two-dimensional plane,
Appearing to obediently follow only that of time.
One can only search about aimlessly,
For some reason to an obtuse rhyme.
However blind, there is a direction, that
Leads to an unforgiving cause and effect.
When the sums may become insurmountable,
No matter the levels of disrespect.
Yet beyond this flat, geometric reasoning,
Alternatives are seen, not from a circle, but a sphere.
As a multitude of tangents take new form,
Bringing new hope, along with old fear.
This revolution seeks to close its own circle,
Though its path will be curvilinear in its quest.
Since its journey may evolve with new experience,
Allowing for growth in the universal test.
It exists firmly in the realm of fiction,
Where time travel is bantered back and forth.
While allowing no control or direction, it might
Easily end up East or West, or down South or even North.
As a dimension, science is fully supportive,
Since Einstein formed the merger to those of space.
Bringing gravity along to bend it further, so
It's curvilinear, not just straight to retrace.
Here the mind seeks to warp the curvature,
When the math becomes circular in the end.
This leads to the question as to whether,
We can seek the past or the future, when we spend.
Mankind's journey is of endless curiosity as
We seek to understand our place in the universe.
Through this exploration, we come up on the theoretical,
That blends with hypothetical paradoxes to disperse.
The essence of time will be continually pursued,
By wondrous minds in physics and beyond.
One can only hope that our imagination shows wisdom,
And we don't breach the fictional boundary as a vagabond.
In the old days
castles were built from sturdy solid rock
with arrow loops for arrow protection
and curvilinear structures irregular to the eye.
They were built with survival in mind
appearing uniform grey from a distance
but up close like a monument of
mosaic humble rocks.
Castles were built to outlast civilization
Protectors of ancient people they were a safe shelter,
crowning the landscape with their touch of old charm.
Castles only crumbled when it was their time.
the heart of humankind is built like a fortress
it is a military historian that never lets it guard down
it serves and protects without counting the cost.
So, are we castles or are we crumbling rocks ?
Something in her voice that had me tick
Curvilinear edges on her face
A smile that smiled
Lips that spoke charm
A face kindred to the moon
Her body screamed seduction
A goddess of attraction
Within proximity i couldn't function
She was perfectly perfect
His charm was the tipping point
Deep voice, fire in his eyes and a vocabulary marinated in "love"
words far reaching like a cupid's arrow to the core of my delicate heart
A definition that defined the marvel of creation
His intelligence was second to none
But our thoughts and imaginations
Fantasies and dreams
Could not manifest in the face of reality
We were but the opposite sides of the same coin
We fell in love with "an idea"
Alphonse Mucha of Art Nouveau
with posters his design juice did flow
An example would be 'The Rose'*
curvilinear flourishing dreamlike pose
stretch artist, A. Modigliani amplifies
sketching curvilinear bodies, weak eyes
his far-fetching figures still mystify us
despite his premature death to meningitis.
May 10, 2022
Running up the stairs, riding horseback,
A looping curvilinear boomerang.
You and I let’s start the motion of soft attack.
Riding in a rollercoaster along the heated tracks.
Oscillating like a pendulum and the flapping of bird’s wings.
Let’s vibrate through the night like freshly struck guitar strings.
Together we will be a rocking chair,
While rotating like the Earth channeling a jet stream of air.
Crazied, like stirred up dust of Brownian motion,
Or the changing rhythms of water in the ocean.
Let’s take the night by surprise,
And with the motion, we will ride!
It was 3AM I suppose, or to be precise
A complete hour of sleeplessness and
I was walking behind or rather following
The footsteps of that decrepit old body.
Her hoary head signified semaphores,
Illuminating and reflecting a way onward,
Onward to a curvilinear farness.
Her bent shuffled maneuvers were like
The surges of the tides that rise and
Culminate on the shore becoming arches
And while I was at the verge of losing myself
Amidst the labyrinth of her creased
And sagged skin
I realized that it was me.
It was kinesics with my distant aged self.
I just traveled
Through the furrowed copious vacuum
Of clairvoyance created in my mind.
~Nayanika Dey
From: India
Copyright ©: 6 July, 2016
Doors are closed
Doors are closed, windows are closed,
The vessels know the noise they have
And I enter into the suspection of dreams
That sometimes cover the bouquet of my brain cells
with enthusiasm and thrill unknown
Decrease the moments
So dear they speak
Not only do we freeze the signatures of pleasure with the glory of our own songs…
Say those unworthy jars squarish curvilinear.
Wow, the exuberance of wisdom so alone I see
And get my precious mind wrap its disease
Into the carpet of truthfulness and sensitivity.
Do not hide it from the happenings of today and tomorrow
Let it all swallow the stern smile so patchy on the wooden plank
And let the space utter the galaxy of short stories
Sparkling on the twinkling variety of stars wrapped in the beauty of the vacuum.
Talk about it,
Let the lost untold bounce once again on the transitory wall
Let not the waves gather into a lake
And let the freshness so maintained speak about the spring created first
in the first seconds of birth.
Rashmi Pitre.
copyright
Swooning in chorus to your rhapsodic tune
Your soothing Sonata crests to the billowy moon
Your animalistic rhythms o'er every truant part croon
Blithe melody softly careening over every pallid dune
Bass drum taps lightly; milk flows from hardened paps so roon
Exploring in cadence each curvilinear line artfully hewn
Riding each stanza in your seething, swaying balloon
Coursing over each ripple in your silver shoon
Each crevice, crater my hands carefully prune
Sifting out silty pebbles with a sculptor's spoon
Dipping harmoniously into your deep ocean; gleeful loon
Ruddy ballast anchoring ship in your salty lagoon
Curvilinear
Basic element of art….
Moving point in space
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
Colors around a central axis
Curvilinear lines spiraling
By Robb A. Kopp
Stingray cutting deep murky lines
Curvilinear through the ocean
By Robb A. Kopp
The love of the curve
the slip, the slide, the drift,
the ride.
The road’s May West hip,
the wayward Marilynesque
crest of the mountain sides.
The curve of the moon,
the bun of the sun,
a toasted morning bride.
Arise, unfurl
like Shirley Temple’s curls
or the smoke from homes
where man bides.
The love of the curve
as in orbit we spin
or the proton nuclear ride.
Relax, slide, slip and unfurl
just come along for the ride!
Lighting
up the world,
trailing her veils
in curvilinear
patterns
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loie_Fuller
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