When you’re forced to abandon that long anticipated game, don’t blame the rain for stealing away that terrain just because this way is the only foe you see: I saw the clouds progress to the control of the invisible wind bringing those drops towards the play Yet the wind is not the culprit, say, since without clouds would the rain soak up the plain? The sun– that helioradio ball of gas unable to contain all that energy, endlessly spewing since 8.3 minutes before you even began to punt. But ho! you forgot about gravity, that attraction of the nearby dusts collapsing these in a giant sphere fusing to produce these “byproducts” radiating the convection drafts. What causes gravity then, you pray, let me put a rifle to his head. Perhaps the Big Bang or the Planck Time– who inflated our universe?
In a classroom with chairs that roll, aligned as perfect rows, the organizer can’t but mutter, at the end of the speech from the guest lecturer: “they can’t help but in circles fall, they can’t help let entropy grow.”
Catabolic catharsis is when the poem crumbles. All that’s left are letters drifting line by line waiting for the idle soul to initiate pareidolia, an anabolic ablution reforming words in another structured pattern, translated and transcribed.
Must I let nature fight against itself when all that will avail is lost heat and time? I mean, the derivative of nature is still nature, right? Or is it humanity, and the derivative of that technology? If that’s the case what is there to fight since they occupy different dimensions and depend upon each other for survival? I gasp, gasp—no, technology’s the integral of humanity, and that the integral of nature, for through all those efforts we know and can create. Still there should be no war, no need to be so harsh, on the one less that worked to create you. Whose side are you on? Nature has given up on a cohesive agreement to maintain society for they realize the synergized effort will only lead an integration of nothing. I shall keep suppressing, hushing the beasts to return me my sanity I am no longer fond of broken habits.
In an exaggerated image (where I show the fastest moving molecule), I attempt to link the phenomenon of diffusion with claustrophobic tendencies to show that it is in fact not a fear, but a normal reaction. This is a worthy scipoem to write, but as I said before… I am of images rather than words these days.
We love the weather, that–I don’t know exactly what this is even though with what I have–naked observations, raw smell, distant experts, etched experience and soaring satellites… I can declare what should happen the next after the next before that after that I can’t even whimper with confidence –us poets! Even in the pouring rain we wonder whether the trees will survive this torrent, whether the sun shall evermore arise… when all along we know it’s a cycle, and are so conscious of it that we feel the need to create an imbalance so strong that we endorse the rain, points it as the tears of human disaster, only to forget this continuum continuum from which it matters little whether or not we feel.
Found this online. Not sure who made it, but I think this is the general perspective scientists of different fields have towards each other…. and I guess #scipoets would be way way way left of those sociologists? Of which field are we an application?
I’m way beyond my boiling point but I don’t see any sign of bubbles– have I too much salt or oil? If too much salt then I must shower myself with some fresh morning rain hoping to be fresh again; if too oily what can I say but that without action those muscles will atrophy.
He may as well have been a banana left in the freezer: weathered, calloused and frostbitten–given his tropical nature– but when peeled and revealed his within is much firmer, vibrant and delectable than those who were given the perfect condition and slowly left to rot.
Sometimes all it takes is a push, a slightly above zero net force without a constant gravity or friction and it will start. Even if the opposition does increase as you gain momentum remember all the weight you’d gain, those followers, supporters, family members that will maintain this energy within, without and any where in between. And all it took was that effortless push.
A few days ago I learned what makes snow white, soft and crunchy instead of clear, tough and slippery, despite being just as water as ice.
It’s actually the crystals, invisible to our eyes forgotten in random orientation. They are microscopic ice cubes intertwined into columns, needles and plates, reflecting, by the same law in physics, their unique waves from above, returning all, completely, the colors of the world, which combined, in our eyes, mark the purity and sense of space.
We can’t always resonate. We can’t always stay at that frequency so perfect–up to certain place after the decimal– that we simply just oscillate with an amplitude that great. I will be tired, you know? I will have days when I cannot ride the train even though I have overcome my motion sickness for them because old symptoms relapse because my biological memory will suddenly remember that I physically did not want to stay at that frequency, that I was my own soul, 0.000001 below, but nonetheless unique. And if I were to lose to that place just to stay with you forever, I would never have the chance again to realize what it means to ride the waves together. I would only be riding you.
Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade.
When Earth was displaced as a devotee of the Sun, She never accepted this fact. She simply, forgot, over three hundred more Revolutions, that She was not the real fun. For all She could see were the asteroids Near and the forevermore enslaved moon. And she knew for sure that no matter what nothing will change soon.
It’s hard to imagine that the average world is dead –of dark and low energy irradiation–when all around life teems with wonder, albeit with struggle and dread that too is buried underneath the bustling life abound. It’s hard to imagine that really is the average world when even at night there is no such corner as dark no such color as black attached with fear; truth be told it’s become a pollution–not an amazement–to the sky. It’s hard to imagine of a world so empty when to me it’s about “cherish, relish, embellish” and then “reduce, reuse, recycle”–I’m trapped in this closed imagery of abundance calling for an endless, careless abuse. Until perhaps when the mother Earth we must leave, will we finally realize what normalcy we brought to cease