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Blog Title Photo

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Number and Rhyme



Mathematics of meter and rhyme,
Makes asthmatic all cheaters of time.
Equations with numbers, say we're encumbered,
By meanings that feed us yet die.

Octopi seem free-floating, an achievement worth noting,
     not made just of neurons and jelly.
We've forsaken our shells, for a nervous system from Hell,
     and mastered the art of beguiling.

A tendency towards poetry, feeds fantasy.
Thus prosody in parody, gives destiny to ecstasy.

Life tenancy in poetry is a residency, unfortunately,
But jumping to finality, turns weaponry to ecstasy.

A sentence does time, to restore language of rhyme,

An equation, not persuasion, gives occasion to duration.

When I know all Gnossiennes,
. . . Then I'll go 'homme parisien'.
Just a mote, with poetry,
. . . to play the notes of Eric Satie . . . .

If I can't write a rhyme, I'll have to just drop you,
With her name set in time, a gal who out talks you!

What art is there to crunching numbers?
If it makes you smart, but leaves you dumber.

When poetry of youth is gone,
 . . . adultery hears truth in song.

 Icarus fell, on wings of wax,
  Gold as well, before April tax,
  Bitcoins say that Gold is dead,
  But goldbugs see a craze ahead.
  Those coins from computer chips stumble,
  So Icarus and the Tulip bubble.
  "Don't fly too close!" old Dedalus said,
  "Else you'll fall to sea like Lead."

Though Natalie writes some poetry,
She knows she's not seen eternity.

Back in the throbbing eighties,
A popstar came shopping from Hades,
She died her hair blonde, for producers she conned,
And drugged them in order to stop mating.

Words fall to earth and push up fruit,
The writer gives mirth or hides like a newt.

And in what heavenly yearning sent,
All that Poetry on Earth had meant.

A tendency for poetry, is also freed by fantasy,
Thus prosody or parody, leads ecstasy to destiny.


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