“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label speed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speed. Show all posts
Friday, January 17, 2020
Counting downward
How many times
have I worn a watch
(consistently)
until it stopped
being consistent
so I stopped wearing it
?
Why try
to rely
upon such fragile devices
(like butterfly wings)
that beat on deaf ears
while years
go by
like hours
?
Like most of us
I check the phone
for answers
to more than
Hello?
(without a pulse
that I can count)
How fast was it All
going
by day, by night
-impossible to tell
ourselves or the others
without a second-hand
account.
Artwork by Winslow Homer, wood engraving, 'Another Year by the old clock' c. 1870 in Public Domain.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Second helpings
It would be asking too much
if someone said
wait one-thousand-milliseconds,
one hundred jiffy's,
a billion nanoseconds, or a Fermi
but really that sounds silly,
so seconds it is to please be quick-
witted, reactive to surfaces
as echoes and sound is also a wave
that warbles along at seven hundred
and sixty
miles per second,
superficially.
Just so you know, it is all calculable by
a minuscule measurement of radiation
and reach, emitted by caesium (-133),
tiny things we cannot see nakedly
invaluable like love and currency.
Honestly, you should know also
that it takes 6 full grown alligator
seconds to gain any kinetic benefit,
by stretch or strain,
of any muscle-through release or gain.
And all should plan appropriately,
it takes twenty-one seconds to pee-
really
on average
you have been warned
seconds and faith
take quantum leaps.
In one unjust second, a bullet barrels by
two thousand five hundred feet
while a snail sidles over a puddle
cruising 1 chasmic centimeter
and in that same moment
we swallow, we make thoughts,
we blink, we take it in, more than oxygen-
we reminisce wanting more from before...
the world changes drastically for one
second, and
again,
firsts are never enough
for any one
Now.
Painting by Johannes Vermeer, (b/w 1655 and 1667) 'The Art of Painting' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Speed wobbles
Racing
past
one
gets the landscape
by
an Impression-ist wrist
At
the window, the color box spilt
noting
the puffs on the palette
pushing
by, running in streams
the
mouth waters, dipping brushes, the tongue wiggles
if
I could reach out, put my hand in
this
water colored river, grasping
gasping
for shape, I'd find only
orange
I’m
afraid
to
hold, still life
that
poses as natural
representations
of still-yet this is also
dead
and buried plaster in acrylic
and
the fiber bleeds, canvas cracks
like
us, as personal whims
which
color where
wafting
pass a blended note
complimentary,
nice to the eye
you
catch mid-air, a mood, a tone
holding
it there, while it is thrust forward
continuously,
ever
taking
souvenirs
wherever
you go, grabbing
blades
in the wind
at
the expanse,
taking
it all together
in-
distinct
as
rain on glass
racing
past.
Image by Georges Seurat, 1882 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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