Long Measurable Poems
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To this brokeness of women, the world flopped and flipped out.
How life flawed and tampered the ice of the girlchild!
How green became red images to their eyes is still a misery to our flammable fable eyes:
of happiness gallopping towards sorrow,
We are here to locate the wind that
Caused their pains before they split into Imo and Abia.
How would I tell them of tomorrow unknown?
How would I drive into their thoughts and make a meal of time?
How would I tell them the river in our throats embrace dryness?
How would this earth continue to evolves and envelopes in their palms?
For they are our earth, women is the world!
Life to them is a wet roads with dry leaves...
Our hands have waved pity into their eyes to give solace,
Our legs have walked into their thoughts for glee embraces...
For the girlchild, for the innocent ones;
For those life peeled through their skins,
We have this to say:
We will never allow hunger to walk on the street seeking for you!
We will never allow cruel men come near you,
We will seek for men of goodwill to guide the chest of your virginity.
We'll build a temperament alter of men
That will curse rape that walk in their thought.
This sand you walk on were your mothers who went fighting your course!
Many of them were trapped by evil men whose wealth blinded their eyes...
This is home again, our souls are home for you and your kind to stay and merry.
Looking at this busy sun on the idle cloud, we'll hold violence to ransom,
ransom for breaking you apart,
ransom for holding your innocent mind
Your images on the walls of dangerous men shall be retrieved back...
You will not be like a village defeated by war,
You will not look like an orphan when men like us exist.
You are the water soaked in the eyes of our dreams, dear children,
Make haste to conquer fears and doubts as you pour yourselves into yourselves.
We pray as we fight, you'll not mingle with a wrong men like water and oil.
This is our plead to pleasure your body
to the measurable deep barging silence.
You are golds to the eyes
Your are the gleaming sky...
You are the song in our throats splitting into cities of great wordiators.
To this world, we'll listen to this love notes rendered with a calm voice,
For you're the world itself.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Tired one day of work and its toil, I went home to recover, or recharge my batteries as my friends would say. As I gathered my thoughts after doing my usual after chores, I sat and listened to music, as I often do. It seems to work for me as a Mindfulness technique. As I listened, I wondered what it would be like to have a conversation with my soul. We all hear, read about it and it's importance, to our being in the here and hereafter, yet we k now nothing of its real entity, consistence, base and its contributions to our present makeup as a human here and now. Who breaks the ice? With what? A joke, a memory? A right or wrong done to someone? Can we even have a dialogue that's meaningful, potential? I would want to know what my soul thinks of me? All the things I've done to myself and to others. How does that track to my end? Is there a defining criteria to one's soulful viability/outcome to its human end? How are, or are they, the positives/negatives/neutrals weighed? Accountability for ones actions, blatant or sublime, inert or etheral, candid or insipid? There can be no invisibility of measurable actions or a common denial of blame, stupidity, inaction, ignorance incongruent to a human's capacity to be universal with one another in all scopes of living/dying regardless of anything we hold as a norm. I would like the soul to tell me what it thinks of me, who I am, have become, lived, given hope,helped without reward, missed, been selfish, denied, hurt, a full record of my deeds, and then some. Why I feel the way I do in any given second of my life and what it means? Will I ever know any of the answers we strive to know which we think will make us better in the long run? Can I recapture, make restitution for past wrongs? Fix current/past ills of my being? "What do I want", you ask. If I am Wise to all, I can be Forgiving to all, If I am Empathetic to all, I can be Compassionate to all. If all I do, say and be is with truth and meaning, then I am a real being of the soul with an omnipresent intent, from all that I am within to all those that I meet without. We are then combined into one vast inclusive entity here, now and forever. "Present realities, Finite dreams, annoint Universal hopes, keeping them alive and well in any human scope of eternity". The soul rests--for now.
VECTOR
I am scalable Because I am measurable. I have a magnitude, which I express it in unit with gratitude. Physcists call me Scalar, maths make me popular.
I am also scalable with direction, For my complete specification. My direction is significant, magnitude too is important. An arrow is placed on my head, It’s my sign, as Vector I lead.
Vector algebra is interesting, all problems start resolving. My addition is commutative, Needless to say even associative and distributive. Dot Product is Scalar, Cross Product is vector.
Vector gradient , makes scalar field variant. Divergence causes Net flux per unit volume, Then fluids automatically spume. Curl results in fluid rotation, leading to whirlpool detection.
Vector algebra is meant for solutions To all natural phenomenal complications. The applications lie in all dynamics. scientists stores them as informatics.
Here I am,
In the first fling of youth-
In what sterile field did I find this anti-fecund missive?
This stretching of a hand, drenched in rubbery black; accompanied by a smell; a sewing, cloying end-platform.
If I lean over this precipice, does the parched land stretch to a rising mirage?
Or does it taper at a recapitulating vista before the headlands of my own Æterna?
How many cycles now? With how many hinterlands, and how many headlands?
Did I reach toward the question, then become abject before the limit of my limb?
Or did I feel around in Darkness, with a capital '?' in the face of the lucid meaninglessnesses?
Did I strive to touch a mark- or did I die inside a cloud?
Was it in the valley time stenches- or in the white snow of lifted Passions?
Here is a proximity:
The colour of reality is a nonsensical question.
The depth of the gyre is not a measurable quantity.
The light that springs unbound, with a wiling, tithen, syro illumination-
Does it make the Cathars redound upon a laddered absolution?
May the world allow my apocrypha?
Or am I repudiated before the grand narrative?
Each hallway;
Each Fuzon held orb of Basiliskery.
Did I give it a shot?
Was it worth a notch?
Am I sitting amongst friends?
Or in the depth of a drying fen?
Low-Brow, High-Sighted; Lending-Lovely, Leaving-Lonely; Refrain-Comport, Exstat-Deport; As at Peak, As Beneath; With, Withing Withouts; Is It Red, Is It Blue;
And is the grand life coalescing in you, And is the loud lie deafening to you?
I am sane, And I am plural.
I am you, As I am me.
Blistering in cracking skin,
Lodged beneath the galed porch,
Lined inside a briny mind,
Tethered to a fury,
Gifted through barmene,
Lathered with a scold,
Trapped amongst the unkept,
Lost without a head.
The wild wind is rising high,
And atmosphering these flickering bulbs,
And driving back the floor filled houses,
And paving over these concrete veins.
A bell tolls behind the mists of the Overimage.
Du Hast.
Dost Thou
Want
To see?
Book cause I spend an inordinate amount of time reading...
out loud.
As a hypothetical argument
yours truly doth not aim
to be unfortunate recipient
of misguided, misjudged, and mislaid blame,
nevertheless I make dubious claim
and baldly recede (ha – hair ye, here ye)
from heady assertion
to make bold statement
such that literacy supersedes numeracy,
between said measurable
ambiguous, exiguous, and irriguous
confusing, perplexing, puzzling pillars
of cognitive, demonstrative, emotive,
facilitative, generative... intelligence,
hence not consonant
far from the madding crowd,
until the return of the native
and perchance ludicrous
to some above average dame,
who might be prone to exclaim
contrariwise, and squarely frame
mathematics more powerfully
(id est - greater than)
basically versus stringing words together
yielding cogent, decent,
effulgent, fluent... result
(that may not add up to a hill of beans)
crafting supreme unequaled poem
predicated upon cockamamie scribe,
(one whose unexcusable
laughable puerile mien
modestly trumpeting his outstanding talent,
hence he expects and deserves
posthumous lettered fame),
née, he already
appropriated, leveraged, wielded
volumes of his speculated worthless material
synchronized to be broadcast
immediately upon his demise
(after the grim reaper
steals dem lovely bones
to avoid self embarrassment)
avast treasure trove awaiting
distribution across webbed wide world
(including all manner
of social media platforms)
after discover re:
visa vis artificial intelligence
courtesy agency of smart machine
to custom make similar
facsimile thereof brilliant literature
where good things come to life
to emulate and evoke
mental landscape and thought processes
of one humble human
Matthew Scott Harris
while supremely, soundlessly, seamlessly,
echoing beloved refrains
from computer generated verses
that would be indistinguishable
from Joni Mitchell's
original song titled the circle game.
I'm not even sure how I should start this
This is a lot different than writing about my own hardships
I'm not writing about relationship breakups or being in love with a girl
I'm writing about the pain and tragedies we're seeing in the world
I know some will laugh and tell me I'm nothing to do with politics
If you get offended, that's your issue, I've never been an apologist
You can disregard it, but I choose to acknowledge it
No parent should have to see their child die first
Why do so many people Need to die first?
Why do so many attacks need to happen for security to be on high alert?
For a month or so, then they'll be normal again until the next attack
Security should be on high alert all the time, how hard is this to grasp?
This will mean nothing, the government won't listen to my words
We want world peace, but honestly pigs will fly first
I want to be positive, but it's difficult to see love ahead
When everyday I turn on the news and see blood shed
Terror attacks, bombs popping more than Champagne bottles
Politicians lie to us, more campaigns bottled
I'n writing this and trying to be Respectable
But I'm sick of people trying to make these tragic events Measurable
None are worse than another, they're all Equally tragic
People disappearing so often but sadly it's not a trick to do with magic
From Paris, To Germany, Turkey, Orlando, Manchester, Palestine to Syria
They're all tragic events, but the news will make you think some countries and events are superior
To the media it's just a job, so they don't have any sympathy for an event or the family
They'll ask you questions 5 minutes after the event, and question your sanity
This was a hard write
Rest in peace to everyone who lost their lives
I hope those who need it, can use my words as hugs
This world needs less hate and a little more love
I apologize for any country or event that I missed
But I have a lot more to say, I'll have to write a part 2 to this
Court hiss sea hove The Irish Times,
this hum mere ruck can bloke
kin esse spy climb mitt till impact
desiccation ravaging with choke
hold thee aim rilled isle,
which haint ok key doke
cuz won hoot rook froom sun
whelps like heretic burned at stoke!
- - - - - - - - - -
More to the point (meaning jaw
ken minus **** faux
hackney poetic strung bow
Willy Wonka barely understandable
twanged and twinged) accent
hen reed how, accomplishment
in garnering alarming
news-worthy ailment
while this Unit Aryan ensconced
within beef hoar tee four comfortably
numb burred battlement,
here at Highland Manor,
I pay (if totally tubularly pennies rolled)
approximately equaling bedazzlement
17,500 viz copper cent,
per month gratuity clement,
sans Grosse and Quade
associates co-management
offered rental assistance congruent
(predicated on social security disability)
to occupy one bedroom
apartment kept air
conditioned 60°Fahrenheit
perfect for concupiscent
activity, albeit unfortunately marriage
shot thru with celibacy
suppressed sexless existence
more difficult to control
than catching a tiger by the tail,
hence this damned delinquent dependent
Dickensian dada cooly cruising thru
cyberspace espying embodiment,
how measurable heating up
Gaia, i.e. Mother Earth (she) evinces
no illusory figment, and just by a fluke,
the spontaneous Google search,
keyed revealed tumy mine eyes,
wretched webpage showed
stark rising temperature gradient
Dublin, Ireland experiencing
worst drought since
records began 168 years ago
where Irish Water (utility)
warned Dublin would run out of water
in 70 days, a “worst-case scenario”
necessitating hyper-efficient
protocols immediately inherent.
Tomorrow’s another day, when
this present is dead and done
In reality one rotation, on
earths path around the sun
The position can be calculated,
but what lies in store unknown
Our planet’s measurable, not
unpredictable like skin and bone
And what happened in the past,
ripples on through today
Unnoticed in black space,
random events still come our way
Set forth in motion, from an
indivisible speck of creation
Seeded is life, seeded is death,
seeded by quantum vibration
Does evolution even matter,
is what we see, what we get
A generation tries find purpose,
then hands over to the next
Accumulations of knowledge,
with caveats of past mistakes
Our monkey business perhaps,
one condition we cannot shake
Are we simply apex animals,
who developed higher brains
Beasts of untold genius, primal
instinct runs through our veins
Intelligence driving us mad,
at odds with ethics and morals
A fixation on mortality, conflicts
of minds causing quarrels
What is consciousness, from
which dimension do we view
Electric signals in our heads,
or cosmic portals seeping through
Wherever this source comes from,
and nobody knows for sure
So many gods and theories,
small wonder life’s obscure
Cryptic forces build reality,
but not readily understood
Dark energy, Higgs fields,
the shape of Genomes in our blood
Crucified by curiosity, because
of our advanced minds
Is the price of being too clever,
really just making us blind
What brings manifestation,
should we look for reason at all
Why not sheer oblivion, how
come an infinite large and small
Born to die is simple, living
forever way too complex
Does truth lie in the medium,
where chosen ones intersect
Where are you Jesus
Where are you Muhammad
Where are you God
Where are you Buddha
Where are you Allah
I’m wide awake,
in this land of nod
By
David Kavanagh
I have a flash for you ...
Think you can hang with me??
I doubt it ... I keep a pretty quick pace, if you know what I mean!
I may be very small, but I'm pretty special ...
Just the knowledge of my existence
Has led to amazing things!
Things like lasers, Bose–Einstein condensation, Quantum field theory,
And the probabilistic interpretation of quantum mechanics ...
I'm a very particular particle, you see!
A very elementary particle ...
The quantum of the electromagnetic field,
Electromagnetic radiation such as light,
And the force carrier for the electromagnetic force!
I am as fast as fast can be,
Traveling at the speed of light in a vacuum,
Even though I have no rest mass at all!
I am also special in that I can exhibit the properties of a WAVE, too!
I can be refracted by a lens and exhibit wave interference with myself,
And I can behave as a particle,
With definite and finite measurable position and momentum!
I've been applied to photochemistry ...
I've been used for high-resolution microscopy ...
I've even been utilized for measurements of molecular distances!
Recently, I've been studied as an element of quantum computers,
And for applications in optical imaging and optical communication,
(Like quantum cryptography) ...
Too fast and far too tiny to hold, so I doubt you can keep up!
But, oh, am I important!
Einstein knew how important I was,
Even when people told him I didn't exist ...
He KNEW, and persisted!
Oh, you should see what I'm doing at CERN!
You will, you will ...
And it will blow your mind!
You see, I'm traveling light ...
And I'm very, very bright ...
But you can call me ...
PHOTON!
** EIGHTH PLACE in the "Traveling Light" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor. **
the man lay dying &
like many men before
he was suddenly surrounded by an
intervening troupe
whose mission it was to make him
like them
“before it was too late”---
now,
whether or not “too late,”
is a measurable amount of time,
outside the obvious notion that
one’s death is one’s death,
all she wrote, etc. etc.,
understand that there are those
that believe there is a life beyond &
that there is a boogeyman in the sky
watching over us all &
torturing us all,
in that dual love/hate psychosis
which the
interveners aspire to.
to “protect himself from himself,”
to “save him,”
the interveners claim that they are
coming between him & the force
that he hasn’t submitted to---
“if you just make your peace with him,
all will be well,” they suggest
like a mafia don wanting a service
in the future,
capitalizing on the desperation that comes
from a person in dire straits
whose life has already been compromised
by an illness.
thrusting the cowardly & dishonest wager
of pascal, the delusion of “eternal happiness
in the hereafter,” and the possibility of
all the wrongdoings of a life somehow
being “forgiven”
(as if all those living,
breathing, humans involved, were to
forgive him as well, by default, for all
the wrong that he has done to them)
in his face,
these savage idiots put all their energy
into making one more notch in their
belt, one more “conversion” prior to a
person’s death, one more action which
they feel no regrets or misgivings
about---because “they did the right
thing”---
they “saved his soul.”
and they do so with an authority
gained from nothing,
a hubris that stems from nowhere &
the audacity
of a fascist dictator forcing that first
will into complete submission.