Poems
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Repost: Science and Art
Science and Art Posted on November 9, 2012 by reginaholt String theory and string cheese incidents bring about the bosom of the boson that is ferm as an ion in the midst of heat, rain or shine. Open or closed, open or closed. Which do we want? Can’t we just have both? Symmetry and order but a chaos that brings on the most brilliant of artistic creations that make up nature. Will it stay hidden in a black hole for another hundred years Or reveal itself out in the open? The fate of the universe or silly marketing? String.
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Poems gotta come out
Is it yours Songs in a dream How many are we To recognize As new As our own As something to get down On one knee And tell him of these If there are many Which ones to pick The heart goes boom Is it yours Is it song Does it go the long Way to spark The catalyst heart
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Death By Catfish
Pathology report on a death, Something is not right. Pain where there was none yesterday. Hurry catch those! Hundreds swim at the bottom in clusters, where they are going matters little, I’m hungry! Round them up junior, I’ll help you, never mind untraditional kind, you take the port, I have starboard. A fete of a feast on tender meat, but watch for these spines discovered, They must be positioned just so, watch me junior, one gulp. Now it’s your turn, Eat to your heart’s content. Slow over time, a uncomfortable feeling It nags in night’s resting time, abates with first dawn. Next day is the same, And the next and…
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Signs and Symptoms
Symptoms, clues, spots, A look that disappears within seconds. A slight change of color, The lingering of hesitation, The quickness just a little more sudden, The blind look just a little listless, Bumps that rise and resurface with stress, Clouds that reveal themselves thin and smoky at first, The sight of respiration in the form of condensation, The sniff and drip, sleeve damp Cheeks no longer pinkish but flush with deeper color Heat that radiates from within in the suggestion of fever. Fear surfaces. Red flags, stop signs, traffic lights Heed or ignore? Indicators that show themselves in ribbons and bows Otherwise in a tangled mess. Another form of camouflage…
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Science and Art
String theory and string cheese incidents bring about the bosom of the boson that is ferm as an ion in the midst of heat, rain or shine. Open or closed, open or closed. Which do we want? Can’t we just have both? Symmetry and order but a chaos that brings on the most brilliant of artistic creations that make up nature. Will it stay hidden in a black hole for another hundred years Or reveal itself out in the open? The fate of the universe or silly marketing? String.
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How Many Notice
The boy sitting ever so still, Not small, but not full grown. Black rimless cap immaculate and new Black are his pants, shoes, jacket about the waist. Crisp white shirt. Not going to school this day. Head down, face not seen. Clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies, Sitting among orange, red, yellow leaves Still on trees in clumps in a peak of brilliant color. Does he mourn? No movement. Not a soul outside with him And yet there is movement. Traffic still drives down the road. Do they see him? How many notice? How many stop to say a prayer with him? She did. It will be okay. It doesn’t…
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write it all down you say
write it all down you say keep your head up check your posture close your eyes and listen let the words show up on the paper let the thoughts and feelings that plague your day show up in art form is it art? many say it is that, i believe do you think that thoughts could be art? what would Van Gogh say? what would Michelangelo have to add? would you be intimidated to be in such company>I would place yourself in a new place enjoy and observe the things around you rejoice when the pain is less keep moving when the pain is more love the people around you…
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Confusion
Confusion Bewilder Be Wild! Be in the wilderness Be in the forest Be with the trees Be with that which is not known. ~Regina Holt
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Rosemary
She yanks the beige flowered towel, Down from the rack it tumbles to the floor. Scowling, she vows to place it, Within the closet, deep. Washing sweet soil covered hands, Reaching for a safe towel, She considers the finished act, Honor for him, gone now. Rosemary small with potential for Robust growth of herbie memories, Gently placed in the soil To remember when synapses fail. Water, sun, soil, love; Rebirth; new form. ~Regina Holt
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Field Day
In her purple Field Day shirt and white tennis shoes, Her hair pulled up in a pony tail, From a hurried morning ready, She stands there with anger in her face. “How dare you just sit there?!” She continues on to explain, “I don’t care if you think it was my fault, I know it was yours.” “Why would you not do it?” “I was counting on you!” “We have nothing now, It’s your fault, not mine.” With crossed arms, she stares it down, Indignant, wanting an answer. There is no answer, Only oblivious kids of her class, Waiting their turn with different reason, They wish to climb on it.…
