The party was great.
Wine flowed freely.
I was proud for my award,
A professor of Literature,
Even though I was young,
Tall and handsome, an attraction to most.
Suddenly Rita, a friend, grabbed me by my arm,
And smiling said: “Isn’t mathematical disciplines
Great tools for differential equations.”
I stared at her, thinking of insanity.
Who cares for mathematical equations?
But she insisted that differential geometry
And those of topology were important.
“Sweetheart,” I retorted. “John Donne would do better.”
She did not think so, as she grabbed me by my arm
And led me to the samples of fine wine.
“A pseudo holo morphic curve is so smooth,
I’m sure you’ll agree.” My nerves were now frayed.
I led her out into the garden towards the gazebo
And gave her my best sample of a French kiss.
She did not desist. It was fun.
Perhaps there was something worthwhile
Thinking on geometric equations.
Categories:
morphic, conflict, kiss,
Form: Free verse
We are ecological science
and con-science
and unconsciousness.
We are story
and egological storyteller
and unknown
unheard
unseen.
Earth's humane act
and actor
and theologically transcendent stasis.
The dance
and dancer
and deaf
and frozen
The song
and singer
and silent
muted
anticipation
and anxiety.
The play
and player
and absent
uninvited
worker.
The thought
and thinker
and feeler
and numb.
The garden
and gardener
and consumer
and starving.
The Earth
and EarthTribe
and Ego
and Interdependent
DNA and RNA place-timed relatives,
matriarchal regenerators
regenerations
degenerations
ungenerated energy
entropy
untropy
anti-morphic
metamorphic
metaphor.
We are leftbrain either/or polynomial
rightbrain polyphonic
ecopolitically polypathic
positive trust energy democracies
health/wealth
ego/ecosystems
bilateral
bicameral
binomial nonzero-sum balancing
The science story,
and consciousness storytellers
and yet unconscious
unfelt
unknown,
The patriarchal history
of and for eco-matriarchal mystery.
Categories:
morphic, analogy, birth, caregiving, creation,
Form: Political Verse
Wood Hills Creek
All is quaintly quiet on Wood Hills Creek
The day after Christmas a silence unique
No shaking hands or exchanging of smiles
Only symmetrical snow as it pleasantly piles
All is fractal frost on Wood Hills Creek
The air chilled and damp a barometer bleak
No warming of hands and hearts left cold
For Christmas is over now back to the old
All is blasphemy bitter on Wood Hills Creek
With shivering silences no words they speak
Goodwill toward man nowhere to be found
Only merchant materials that keep us bound
All is lamentingly lost on Wood Hills Creek
As greed gracefully falls a morphic mystique
The Spirit of Father Christmas left far behind
Until next year...just one day...to be kind.
Dec.21.2016
The Day After Christmas - Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays...
Categories:
morphic, christmas,
Form: Quatrain
The crater of pragmatic world.
Burden of having systolic soul.
Time has the enigma to manoeuvre
you leeward and wee-ward.
Space has the power to breed unbreakable emotion.
Justifying the irrational behaviour is like
contaminating bruised sanity.
Pacify the thought of rejuvenated aura.
Deep down lies the wounded heartbroken rhythmic solution.
We call it pragmatic world.
Its insignia of coliseum of benefactors.
That regards you to be dead poet.
Which generates the creatures that resembles.
The undetected, undiluted, unassailable, unaltered.
Realm of the cosmo.
They protrude the energies of love.
Love as in morphic of the globe.
It all flies back in till the core.
So the pragmatic souls.
Retrieve the greatest creations.
And their unremitting behaviour to keep ovulating...........LOVE
Categories:
morphic, caregiving, heart, hurt, i
Form: Free verse
and serving the current in a moment of need
at Faster Then Light Speeds, flowing in Vents
a server serves first the dear who dared a client
and testing a lode in the bone of San stones
tHere came indeed, a script to be Born.
Port.O.morphic in the node of a net, works.
Loving code to expose a Q in the U of an Ark
Electrified sparks in the heart tingle a spine
And what was once hidden begins to shine
Seeing that To Please is the Juice in the Vine
Ecstasy pours into Mind as the Wind...
... there are know, Miss Spellings...
Categories:
morphic, love, peace, people, philosophy
Form: I do not know?
Tracing pathways through the day
Circuits closed in time and space
Proscribe the rat and where it runs
Describe the speed, define the place
Beyond, the sun arcs through the sky
While gnomons mark its silent pace
Somewhere in another time
Upon another face.
Inside, the striplight firmament
Gives ordered life its seamly lines
And strange time flows through cyberspace
And into our designs
Machines know all and count the days
And catalogue each tick and tock
We glide across like skaters on
The ice face of the clock
There is no land that can't be mapped
No level up that can't be reached
Converted we embrace the way
Yet are unblessed, unpreached
No grain of sand may hold this world
No human eye may look upon
The mind's eye views horizons held
Within the silicon.
And elsewhere in the shadowed space
Beyond the sun's stark realtime light
We live our lives crepuscular
And spread our wings by night
So morning finds us unprepared
As barbed alarms slice into sleep
Extracting us from morphic fields
And dreams of tamed electric sheep
Categories:
morphic, allegory, fantasy, imagination, introspection,
Form: Rhyme