prepared parabola
when high on chair and noble
will be great and global
Karen Krutsinger
Murder should be
spelled MURDER.
Comments Turned Off
Horn Haiku
sorry that comments
by you will have been turned off
why I do not know
Now 8,960 poems and
shooting for 9,000.
Had to do this as an
edit correction.
advertising has
been big pain in you know where
turning on and off
cursor triggers things
commercial starts appearing
which is my dismay
my life will trudge on
day by day will grow older
until very end
God will be waiting
while saving a place for me
how lucky I am
Horn Haiku has been
a comfort waiting for me
so will carry on
When Neptune's
nostalgic sighs,
weave ruffled rosaries
of brocade ink,
bleeding from
blackberry wrinkles
in torrential time,
I wonder if
herculean eyes
of my earthen heart,
are afraid of being
abandoned by the
electric rhapsody
of life's alienated
aroma.
Swinging on the
translucent
parabola of a
frozen rainbow,
my fate is
skewed as a
cantaloupe
silhouette, of
helix-shaped
maple pamphlets,
where, bluebirds
feast on decaying
seeds of love
and sing
hemlock-croons
in those magnolia
gardens.
But,
what if stars
were edible and
I devoured their
ivory scintilla,
submerging
cosmic potions
in my arteries,
iridescent with
clusters of
quasar's quivering
rays and pulsar's
pistachio glitter?
So now,
I collect
volcanic ash
from rust-orange
ruins of dahlia's
dreamscape
and embalm
them with
paradise-pink hues
of distilled empathy,
for my swan-white
halo of faithful
silence, is still
glowing with
sombre yet
glossy shine
of the linen sun
and I inhale
the fragrance of
my marshmallow moon.
Don't ever vouch for drunk caffeine
That it can't one show one's coffin,
Now,my heart's calm rate quickening,
Later,taxed vessels weakening
Turns it out a search for a lift
But towards Descent final drift.
One begins to question its source;
A system is being moved with force.
The waiter in every cola:
Eaters it won't make a Zola;
Even one drags by the collar,
My best movement A Parabola!
What would you have stimulated;
Samson's bearing simulated?
At the sight of caffeine stiffen:
I'd stop a long chat or briefing.
I don't know from where to start
My feelings cannot be expressed in words
An endless number of thank you's
would be less to show my gratefulness
And I know, just one sorry after I commit
any mistake makes you more than happier.
When your lips form an upward parabola
I feel I am drifting in an ocean blissfully
But when it is a downward one
I feel I have sunk down in that deep ocean
Now you would have understood
What I want is you to always keep smiling.
You are an Angel for me
who bestowed me with this beautiful life
And the most adorable and prettiest
part of it is when
I am in your arms
and you are in mine
And we both using our whole energy
to hug the tightest!
Anybody can consider this statement as moot:
Negative real numbers cannot have a square root.
When working with real numbers with values less than zero,
the squared product will be positive; so where do you go?
In a parabola, all points except zero lie above the x-axis.
Many students get confused because of this.
This placed mathematicians in a bit of a quandary.
That was until numbers were invented that are imaginary.
Sweet 16, Sealed in Wax
Nothing compares, can't hold a candle,
To our togetherness in love,
Hand in hand we share our "One-dle",
As a ship in harbor, we nestle in our cove!
Nothing's like sweet sixteen,
Enamored , married & matched to Barbara,
"Aishes Chayil" humble yet royal queen,
She has "tzniusly" survived Chaim's parabola!
16 annuals as one, traditionally one gifts wax,
Not diamonds nor strings of pearls,
Our companion hood Bananagrams max,
Together, our joy unfurls!
Also known as Blooma Yehudis,
"Blossom of Thankfulness" is her label,
Such crocus lotus presence is greater than Buddha's,
Barbara's loyal! Her love sturdy as a cable!
Sweet 16 flies by like an arrow,
Bezrat Hashem, we'll be together for many more,
This verse is composed in Chaim's marrow,
There's affection aplenty yet in store!
Barbara's put up with O.C.D. plus Ataxia,
How? Chaim in gratitude, quietly thunders & wonders,
Worse than raining "Cats & Dogs", worse than "Hailing Taxis",
Barbara patiently endures Chaim's blatant blunders!
20 Year-Old Poems NUMBER 3 Passover Tree Swallows
Easter came a week into spring!
And diving like jets in ongoing wars
But reminding me of Jesus rising
My Easter encounter with tree swallows
Recalling too, “bats” at the Ponte Vecchio
Passing over me – assuredly – Tachycineta bicolor
Imitating sonar-powered dive bombing
Like peregrines toward me – O now averting
Collision at right angles, a loop, parabola?
Face to face with the whites of their bellies
Eye to eye with those iridescent male backs
So many today, they might be gnats, sweat bugs
Delighting my heart in this promised land
My exodus offers two options at my Lake
Hug the water to Cash Trail
Or wander among old Maryland trees!
Or meander with Laurel Trail lazily …
On this quiet, gray afternoon
In the finest spray of drizzling rain
I stop and give homage to all THIS
(c)Deo, shalom, shalom Friends. amen and amein
Lured to the moon-splashed ledge by silver streaks
of valorous fish leapt to trace the slow sloped
parabola of atmosphere, I reach
the liquid and let the curious crests grope
my naked feet, muddied from midday rain
still gathered on the trail leading back home
in puddles held by a void. A distant train
lumbering, I hear the Earth’s quiet sigh, a groan
of age burdened by youth, a mother’s pain
to find her son swapped her Buick for shoes
and dirty socks. The imprint of heavy tread
traces the path to sleep the woken refuse,
where I’ve chosen to crush the tin-can instead.
The light on the train through a strengthening shower.
The man rested his paddle carefully
next to the bundle.
My favorite time of day.
Dusk.
The light was soft,
The water still as lakeside glass,
insects skimming over touching,
laying down a perfect parabola
and then touching again.
He still felt her kiss and touch
on cheek and hand.
He smiled at the bundle.
Everything I need and more.
Sometime back a ways,
paddling easy in a light chop,
he had forgotten to worry about it.
What did doctors know.
Resting, he had taken a cookie
from the bundle and ate it,
looking at each bite before.
Dusk left him and the canoe went on,
paddle easy,
paddle strong, paddle easy, paddle strong.
Surely, he had crossed it by now.
And surely who gives a-
His sudden laughter startled a Great Blue Heron.
It flew up, its wings a miracle.
The man let the canoe drift
and looked to the beautiful darkening sky.
He took another cookie from the bundle.
I am ready.
I am ready.
Unfurled are my sails
Upon a sea of unknowing
Wind of change guiding me
On a ship called “Fear"
The gentle tap...tap...tap
Of water from moisture ridden sails
Falls upon teak, underhand
Steering me from peace of mind
Trials and tribulations before me
Waves on a great expanse
Pound against my consciousness
Reminding me of mortality
Hope is a distant horizon
Parabola, near the setting sun
Adrift on an unlikely road
Where water meets the sky
Naked in this state of being
Stripped of all acquiesced
Still searching for reason
I succumb to faithlessness
-JJR 3/22/17
I
do
have a
Message for
one Harry Manback
it does regard his long Lost Keys
don't Blame Hoffman for his Disposition, you Jerk Off!
You Lied when you said you didn't hold The Grudge as a Reflection of Intolerance
Makes me so Disgustipated, you should Crawl Away
you're a Hooker with a *****
who likes Prision Sex
when Sober
Hush H.
it's
true
Cold
and
Ugly
repugnant
like Ticks and Leeches
say what I want, not serious
But Jimmy in his Mantra thinks otherwise of you
to him you are the Bottom of The Pot, or like Rosetta Stoned on an Opiate
a Schism separating us Right in Two, Stinkfist!
ne'er you'll have Forty Six and Two
like Fibonacci
Pushit and
Jambi
seems
nice
Here's
a
Swamp Song
Eulogy
(Useful Idiot)
Four Degrees of No Quarter gave
to The Patient caught in the Aenima Undertow
skewed into a Parabola
Intension candid
Part of Me
needs to
Sweat
tears
Now
my
Third Eye
becoming
Vicarious through
the pure Lateralus Triad
A Parabola By Picasso
On piece of paper painted picture of a parabola
And started cutting it off with a small spatula
Put plaster of Paris in protruding plastic syringe
After seeing ugly color I then started to cringe.
All the color on parabola had just been sprayed
Out in bright sun is where finally had been laid
Poor parabola outside until it all did dry
And then it was sold to someone passing by.
Parabola and artist they both did part
Now in galleria is perfect, priceless piece of art
On who for this artful should we place the blame:
Did you know Picasso happened to be his name.
An observer of Picasso paintings was half-lit
And chewed up Picasso picture bit by bit
By creator he voraciously had been beguiled
When it was spit out all of the people smiled.
So even though you may not be the smartest
And on picture of parabola worked the hardest
Ray of hope on it appeared from out of the dark
All the other great artists gave it a glowing remark.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
arc - parabola
life - our parabolic bow
ends that never meet
Dear Love,
I may not be good with
words
because my English
is not fluent, but What I feel
deep
inside my heart
persuades me to express
myself
mathematically. Every time
I see u, u
simultaneously divide my
life into
two equations. Because my
feelings for u cross -
multiply on a daily basis, u
inspire
me to be greater
than zero. Your smile keeps
me in
touch with the
special angles of my heart.
You
make me feel relaxed on
the X-
axis where Y is equals to
zero. When I come
across u, I feel like I'm
turning like
a parabola and
meet you on the turning
point
where I can utter 3
words to you. Words that
describe the mid point
of my heart. Without u my
heart is
like a semi circle.
Because
u stole the other half. I will
appreciate if we could come
together and solve for x so
that we both
stop to be vertically
opposite and
start to be
corresponding angles. I
know u r
intelligent enough to
understand that when it
comes to
trigonometrical
world, we r all positive in
the first
quadrant.love you so much
Folded in cloth, her eyes did shine
Parabola shifted by pi, ‘the daughter is mine’
Said in front of others,
How did you feel inside?
Okay let’s make a confession
It was on mother’s guide.
The girl grew up,
As broadens a brook.
Papa followed Mama,
She had a beautiful look.
Mama hugged the life
Papa was reluctant
But the daughter believed in him
Someday, he too would be resilient.
Then occurred an accident,
Mother had to go.
Daughter was left with father
And he got a blow.
Papa, papa, she said
In everything that followed.
Little did she know,
She would never be endowed.
Then 10 years later,
At 4 o’ clock in evening,
Daughter didn’t come home
The thought itself was aching.
For maybe he didn’t want her
He was a dad within
Was it already too late?
Got a rush of adrenaline.
Went to the police,
Took help of a neighbor
Nothing came in hand,
Except the morning newspaper.
"10 year old, raped and murdered"
Stood the headline distinct.
The face was translucent,
But the apparel succinct.
Dressed in mourning stands,
He who didn’t care.
Daughters are not a burden
They are gifts ultra rare.
Respect them, accept them,
Without them, the world is despair.
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