Remeber that toast from yesterday morning honey? Yeah what about it. It tasted like cake what was it. I fried the leftover poundcake into french toast. Hazelnuts and coconuts and whipped cream. I was faboulous Darling where did you get the idea. The gy at Cafe Mongol told me it's what his wife does when there's lefteovers.Editing, and distribution process. Jargon: why are you saying this Honey? Oh nothing I left the sheet music on the table did you move it? Yes it's in the draw by the door. Thanks I found it. Did you know they rebanned the 12-stringed Yatga in Mongolia? No honey, I couldn't give a damn. It's a banned instrument why is one here. I guess I'm some sorta "MUSICAIL OUTLAW" I guess.The Glass Armonica will arrive at the auditrium tommorrow. We might have some troubles do to it's abilty to cause muscle spasms. Yeah Honey! Well I'm off I'll be back after my workout.." Might the threads unravel i will depend on your love for my concern"! Yeah I love you to Honey. Put a block of ice on it Cool it off that way. See you later.
She's a superposition
of a tiger and a cat
Open the box, with permission
Still won't know where she's at.
Can't decohere a wave.
Can't tell her to behave.
She’s everywhere and nowhere
It really isn't fair.
(bridge)
I tried to use logic
No clean line to pursue
Every glance became a question
Learn an answer, lose a clue.
(chorus)
She’s my quantum woman
A personality distribution
What she's thinking is insane
I'm only certain of her name.
She takes every possible pathway
Some cancel, some align
Interference in my brain waves
Complicates my mind
We’re telepathically entangled
What she knows, I feel it too
But the moment that I measure
Something can't be true.
I've tried intuition
I've tried tea leaves too
I have a sense of mission
To know who I'm married to.
The social worker said forget it
She's still your better half
Quantum theory drives men crazy
Only a genius can do the math.
Have you ever noticed, how things come in parts,
distribution, to the lonely hearts.
Our lives, lived by the pieces we contain,
as thoughts pour in faster, than our bleeding brains.
Here’s a part, there’s a part, gather them up you see,
trying to fit them together, to make you and me.
Parts and pieces, scattered like the sands,
we gather what will fit in our hands.
We hope we have what it takes, to make it through our day,
and yet we lose pieces of us along our very way.
Who could know, who can tell, just what parts are you,
is it not written, in those thing’s we do.
what’s your part, what’s my part, aren’t they all the same,
the only part of difference we have, is written in our name.
If we put our parts together, what you suppose we would make,
would we have all the parts that it would take.
No things only come in parts, for us to sort out,
in these words, I leave no room for doubt.
As we build each day, with the parts we have, you see,
waiting for the next parts to finish you and me.
When our part is over, we become complete,
no more in this life, do we have to compete.
Free formed American letters
Aisled constitution
Assent
Report
Confer
Signature of alphabet.
Legislation
Derivative of signatures
Posthaste
Carriage
Distribution of wages
Post War Conference
Numerical Assignments concur
Exchange of freedom
Mandated registration for return
Postmaster
Post mastered
Door frame
Hearth
Circulation of the times
Of America
Objective as Coordinate
True beauty, indeed (to all number-theorists),
reveals the distribution of the primes.
Beauty, too, is courage, the defiant fists
of a defender that we praise in rhymes.
Beauty are oaths, that Prince Hector all times
keeps to shield city, child, and princess bride;
or King Priam's grace for thoughtless Paris's crimes,
rather than wrath for his treach'rous regnocide.
What beauty is not, is Euclid mortified,
if Riemann's Hypothesis's not in sight,
or the Zeta function's proof verified
(for the spread of primes) gives zero insight.
But beauty is what frames your lovely face:
which even shames Helen of the Trojan race!
Showers of stardust on continuous flow in Cosmos
sprinkling splendour in dark turquoise sky,
silvery spangles glowing as blooming stars.
Wonder of periwinkle stars twinkling
glistening glittering
on tapestry of stardust.
Stardust sprinkles lovely lustre on Autumn leaves
Stardust shining in Moonbeam
along with amorous dream
on meteor showers.
Bursting stardust in cosmic glow
with trail of silhouette on Milky Way.
Nebulae showing asymmetric distribution
of stardust in opulence.
Luminous starry sky pour stardust
like showers of blessings
from parents and grandparents
once so close, but now no more.
Starburst : Flakes fine
spread stardust,
blinking sparkling !
Shiny lattice of shadows to cast
a network of rue and rapture
to capture sensing
sprinkling of stardust.
Reaching soil from from one end of the earth to the end.
Anointing nutrients of life to growing existence.
Insisting on equal distribution and fairness of quality.
Nesting in the clouds until its due time.
This or that Volume 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Edward Ibeh
Last year, I and other family members took supplies
to assist an area devasted by a tornado. There stood
two large vehicles; one was from the Red Cross and
the other from the Samaritan Purse.
In the middle of all the destruction stood a
church facility serving as distribution center.
For me, there was no doubt as to why that Christian
facility was still standing. One word sufficed: God.
Why don't storms continue their devastation?
Why do they bother to cease and desist?
Why do ocean waves usually cease at the shore?
Why isn't there multiple volcanoes all at once?
Why has mankind not self-destructed? God.
Why does knowledge come gradually over time?
Why are so few people ahead of their time?
It's not a mystery that you and I are not in control.
Why is the earth the only planet known to have
Air, wind, water, trees, wild vegetation, etc.? God.
Being at the helm does not mean I determine my destiny.
There's so much more to follow that we've never seen.
051724PS
Let no man ever put asunder
Dominate, exploit, or plunder
The freedoms of this institution
Promised in the Constitution
The laws enacted throughout the land
That are fought by those with their own hand
And impedes their legal distribution
Must face a final retribution
You may know the greylag from a Mother Goose Rhyme.
This sort of goose lays 3 to 5 eggs at a time.
If clutch size distribution is uniform, I'm
Pretty sure the egg number will likely be prime.
He died and found himself in the bardo
A buffet was spread out with food and drink
A sagacious elder was distribution the coupons
But when approached he greeted him with a wink
You may drink if you have quenched a fellow souls thirst
You may eat to the extent of the hungry you have fed
But the akashic records show you’ve done neither
And have not lived a life by love and light led
What I wish to speak,
every endeavor would dilute
the essence like Plato’s forms.
Can a shadow imitate heat?
Lost in translation, best to keep
simple, lucid as a hand
stroking cheek.
But hands slightly tremble
in the slightest of moments,
shadows you can’t help but witness
in your vision’s corner,
however brief.
I crave to show what I can’t speak
in purest form, then collect
all potential meanings
as if each held the key
to all secrets beneath
every star that gleams.
If time’s an illusion, what of me?
Simple queries hold the key
to grand possibilities.
Everything’s trembling now..
We can only touch what seems.
He touches her, she touches he.
What is there but revelry
in unkempt distribution?
The patterns of art,
songs of new and old,
mock solutions and whisky
in a cup of tea.
But there in silence we see
the thing in itself.
Softly tugging your sleeve.
Kiss me harder,
and softer.
Hold me tighter,
and longer.
Dream.
A Lombardian young man nicknamed Stan;
delivered Amazon stuff in his van.
They didn’t pay very much
being so out of touch;
so he skedaddled back home to Milan.
We mortals have eyes to see,
ears to hear, noses to smell,
and abilities to feel and taste.
Under normal circumstances, we are
blessed with these senses at birth.
After birth, things go rapidly relative.
A pessimist sees a glass half empty of water.
There is no rain and the wells are running dry.
Soon, there will be no water for us to drink.
An optimist sees a glass half full of water.
We are overdue, and any day now, it will rain!
There will be plenty of water to survive and thrive!!
A REALIST sees a glass with a certain amount of drinking water.
It may or may not rain. So, we must prepare for possible pain,
conserve the water we have, and develop a plan of distribution.
I
The prose & prosaic lives pursuing career
From apartheid in Africa to US freedoms (1983)
Poets voices muted, too much hunger
The luxury of democracy, enduring systems
Of dispossession, of marginalising, silencing
With vigilante foes of one's own kind - for fame? -
Yet systems of food distribution, & of medicines
Need democracy, too, urgent reform
Pandemics reinforce the civilized caste sytem
II
Is there a military-pharma-cyber mafia?
What will my pen say - or my spirit say -
When the prosaic careers go silent
The itch to write nudges me to poetry
For the likes of Patience Worth (d.1641)
Quaker girl worked fingers to the bone
Yet desired art of writing, exploring ... Now
The unraveling of time: Pearl Curran became her pen
400 years later! There is a colonial captive
A hidden teacher-philosopher from Old Afrik, here
Telling of a tax-technology-robotic civilization
Of new high priests, go-betweens in art, science, family
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