Poems
~ in their final stages
Maxims of joy
“Do unto others as others unto you,”
the golden rule that implies, confronts:
“Place yourself in the shoes of another,”
Gain their perspective, their pain
so you may assess your actions better.
Yet, we often shamble rather than leap
to view, to a point , “quantum” or not;
instead, we reserve the lie,
the white-linen table cloth,
not for adults but for children unafraid,
eager to squirm, bolt from their seats, kick off
their shoes, to dip and wiggle in freedom, imagination’s depths
we, adults, imagine gone.
So, when, and if, spouting cynical
wisdom, stop and wonder, spin around,
don the shoes of another and dance anew
for as long as you can endure,
suffer the pain,
liken to whenever you step inside a book,
when a child slips underneath the table,
exploring another perspective:
It could be you
and your pain, your view from inside that fort
crafted from a child’s play dream.
The field that gave Us
Gravitized, grounded by fate,
limited possibilities, states,
avenues of potentialities to partake
as mass dictates when and where,
whereas the quantum superimposes
possibilities one can only fathom
if our everyday were a sublime mess,
probability of probability sets.
Change or not to change: Be pleased
that you can’t change everything,
where even the improbable
may spontaneously interfere
with your field, fluctuate your quantum,
your grains that are particles,
neutralizing your imbalanced charge
your head positively seeking
your negative legs.
So, slide FTL into the gravity well,
collapse the wave, postulate
the assembling of mass—
our reality taking shape—
where position and momenta know time,
our beginning and end,
our significance,
the spark of our terrible
beautiful consciousness.
Solar prominence
Take a walk, a yearning wail
through walkways darkened,
devoid of light interference;
walk into your place imagined
where she or he waits,
light forgotten by stars diminished,
where every future includes you,
where the world maintains nothing
but the two of you, your coupling—
brazen passion, everything consumed,
undone by the death and birth
of the universe—
your truth, your innocence.
Walk into the dusk, that space subdued,
follow the lead and lead the follow,
entranced in your rumba embrace,
to the beat of boom, hip, sway, move.
Now turn, postpone your troubles,
lost as the two of you are,
and let euphoria,
guide your movements.
Hold him or her close through the entirety
of beyond, of the song; and if disaster
should await the two of you
when your senses are no longer
entwined, overlain,
prominent in release, your solar wire,
all-embracing the largest planet understood,
don’t forget the moment
when you stopped, took a deep breath,
waited and walked into the music.
[Geniuses] aren't real until
Question past
Search present
Answer… future
To represent my pain, I have found only two [ ] thus far
akin to my mind, fortunate in time and space
and we went our separate ways…terrified
of the emotional mind that plunged too dark, too deep
and I used to think this way as the Present [ ] is apt
to our globule, dewlike awareness until
I made a pact with the future, garroted the flow,
where searching is far easier, the past,
though the question would hit me in the future
had I but known as I vainly attempted my search presently—
now no more
What is a [ ]? When was the word, coined,
I realized distressed.
popularized in my past as We
paint those long gone a label [ ] that would had
made many laugh.
The answer, that reverse method, but better “emotion-logic”
was there Ripe for me to grasp like so many before
—You see, I was wrong twice thus far
They [ ] are everywhere—
picking a flower, the meaning, between granules, the real:
Punching a fist through the atmosphere
To
Be make make
Heard listen care
There are multiple ways to read this poem: I prefer to read the first stanza from top to bottom, then from left to right; same for the last stanza. Furthermore, one may pause where there are empty brackets.
​
Optionally, the word [genius(es)] can be inserted into the empty brackets, negating the pause suggested above.
Along the battlements
From the tower, one may survey our work,
but “the promise land” is far, farther
than one might believe, unattainable,
where a few decide the lives of many,
cross off names, deny pleas
shifting our reason red, further
and further away: dreams,
galaxies
denied by our reach, leaving sentiment
barren
—welcomes spent.
Still, the narrative,
lies tactically arranged,
extend, far and wide, light
reaching back in time, stars misaligned
because the present, and certainly
the future,
can’t exceed the reach of gravity,
events seemingly unrelated
yet consequently interconnected—
the mirror beckoning blame.
Thus, ghostly space ripples from a few
kilometers to the breadth
of the universe.
Nothing can overreach this, regardless
that its force is by far the weakest,
barely a whisper, a proton’s width
indulging fear, we, victims of comfort.
Shy away, pretend that nobody flees
poverty, violence, rape,
should a girl find it all along the way
to the promise land—
welcomes spent, walls holding
channeling the desperate through a vast desert,
our well-located moat,
tempting the strongest force,
atomic, which holds us together,
to break apart in our ignorance.
Open mic recording
