If only angles could be calculated by degrees of truth,
Counted along perpendicularities measured by parallel reasons.
If only spheres were round,
Found amongst the globes hovering in the heavens we've named Space.
Circling nuclei like electrons to an atom, orbiting thoughtlessly around a point that never proved itself.
Heat and light suffice reason, it seems.
To be and hither thither, round about we go, whether poisoned entrails grow.
Math were to be the way to see,
Rather than moth to flame,
Until recently, it seems.
Counting pasts and futures has become futile, when the present takes both for granted.
If only we could count the circles round we've been,
If only we could swing in tune to frequent hymn,
If only we could see that out is what's within,
Then we'd learn of curve, sine and reason.
Atom and Nucleus
Particles invisible to the naked eye;If there is, it's imaginary.
I realized that the atomic particles surrounding my throat were related to magic.
The sound in contact with each other;It was the breaking of pieces of ice.
I looked for the core in the earth's crust,but I couldn't find it.
Because it wasn't there,I thought about it and planned it.
I combined water and lava in the central position.
too much of a release
is not a bad thing
when a simple morning
touch and a certain song
by dusty springfield is playing
so gently while sipping vanilla
cream coffee starting up the day
with Thanking God for her Smile
of Reassurance
good love from her is never too
much of enough
sweet kisses so southern that her
saliva tastes like melted butter on
potato rolls always too little and too
fast like temperamental time
however i rejoice and Praise Him for
the privilege of it all is hidden by big
pictures of big things
this is why i don't cheat.....it leaves the
open to devil red changes that one is never
ready for
all women are detectives and investigators period
her smoke, flavored with scathing scorn, is not
what an unwise man wants
with that in the back of my mind, my knowledge grows
tenfold.....and as a result, i got her good side to keep me
warm.....
This has started again,
This is something else,
What is it again?
I am keeping to myself,
You are looking delicious,
Gimme dat ya know I want,
Gimme dat, I will fly.
Am just celebrating life in silence,
Keeping my thoughts and emotions lipped.
I am shocked at how
You got yourself back together,
How you climbed off your heights,
Just to realise
That this love is real,
This love is rare, consuming;
I had a found a way to go,
That way was going nowhere;
That is what you have come to;
I just realise each day,
I have this energy for you,
We are nucleus,
And this can hurt and heal itself.
You and me are just
What we give love,
And what love has to give us,
We were not chosen by chance,
We were made in the stars.
Nature’s beta decay:
Neutron becomes proton,
Negative electron
Now emitted and a
Neutrino created
(Nearly massless). The new
Nuclide is more stable.
4/29/2017
For contest Pleiades N
Sponsored by Kim Merryman
Mothers are rare
so many of them
call themselves
a mother
but mothers are all gone
children are rare too
we see present only their leftovers
unable to communicate without screens
children are all gone
through speakers there is a pronunciation shouting
request for all fathers:
would you please be so kind and
pick up those words
spread all over
before they
hurt someone.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Nucleus
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2014
Your
N T
E • E
C R
center
Is
the nucleus
to
your
being -
It's
the way
to
peace,
within
you -
I am a woman trapped. I have come to know the true feelings of my sworn
enemy. I have become Pandora's box in human form, the keeper of deadly and
mysterious knowledge. I have to make the decision to lose my voice and leave
my loved ones sightless or abase those close to me in a struggle for our justice.
When did right become wrong? Seven lives rest on my fingertips so I cannot
wash my hands of this dilemma. It's suicide. Somebody's going to die and since
it's killing me... who will it be?
What goes on in the gist of his mind?
He anxiously awaits the moment to hold his first love again,
to confine her in his palm and formulate a rhyme so fine,
a line so devine that when the array of stanzas
intertwine a quatrain is solified....
formed and cultivated-
born and recreated-
It's inconceivable to knock a rhyme off it's axis
as this echo of Aeschylus passes thy passion to the masses
repeatedly asking Jesus of Nazareth
for the endless tenacity on a regular basis with tastes of mastery....
formed and cultivated-
born and recreated-
Whatever this talent wrote last dawn had the tendency
of the late Edgar Allen Poe it spawned through his misery.
He breeds with prominent loves readers aw at his little seeds
that endlessly inspires blossoming writers charmed by his poetry.
formed and cultivated-
born and recreated-
What goes on in the gist of his mind?