Toe Poetry

[austintorn@aol.com]

From Euclid's straight line
Shine
To Isaac's golden apple
And its gravitational extension of geodesic grapple.

Issac’s apple tree is still not bare,
That falling apple waking him there
From his silly pursuits of alchemy
And of banishing the holy trinity

Ironically, he worked at Trinity College, unbanned,
The only one there who was not an Anglican.


A catchy little tune
That most anyone can croon,
By the curved silvery lighted rune
Of Albert's expeditionary moon.

This moon was still there,
Even when no one was aware.


Dr. Einstein's waking inspiration
May yet sweep the sleeping nation
At the slightest provocation.

Maybe, but few are going along,
Since the “bed gravity” is too strong.


An unrecognized solution
That could start a peaceful revolution.
Big Bang Gangology’s further confirmation
Of their favorite libation -
More denial and debate
With the orphaned Steady State.

The Steady State is of an orphan’s fate
Since it is a parentless uncaused state.


Behold Albert's resurrected Lambda smart bomb
With enduring aplomb.
Benevolent bomb
Leaves all the buildings and people intact;
Takes 4-D space-time to get them back on track.

Gravity is the 4th dimension—
That of everything’s expansion.


Asked the teacher what gravity was,
An' all he said is what gravity does.
Said I wanna know why,
Not how things fall
Teacher said nobody knows that one at all.

(good rhyme with ‘was’ and ‘does’)


Asked the people on the 6 O'Clock news;
They said on that we have no views.
Same thing happened in a physics lesson -
A picture of Newton gave a puzzled expression.

Like Dorian Grey from his fine times,
Newton’s theory changed into Einstein’s.


Still wanted to know what gravity is,
So I went outside and continued the quiz.

In the darkness I alit from the Wiz,
And tried to make sense of this world of His.
Now I’ve found the answer to life’s dark quiz:
One must live this life by what light there is.

If nothing is, then there is no quiz,
No right or wrong from a testing Wiz,
So I’ll just remain the same as His,
Living out this earthly dream, as is.


Asked a mathematician about all encumbered
And he took all day saying gravity is numbers.
So I lit one up and, went into suspension,
Tintanambulating beyond the 3rd dimension.

‘Twas a new dimension
Of another extension.


The answer appeared as a gentle kiss,
So I wrote another poem and it goes like this...

A Brief History of Rhyme -
A Celebration of Space-Time
Almalgamation
Liberated from extended Fragmentation
(The dreaded thread)

Poetic science appliance.
The exclusion of politics from science.
A scientific paradigm shift alliance.

Einstein's presently abanded
Unified Field reinstated w'out mathematics.

G=4D


Scientific 'mainstream' panics
At the joining of Einstein's field
With Planck's quantum mechanics

Infinities arise from the singularity,
But then maybe that is the answer, verily.


Democritus foresaw the invisible atom,
But since then his discovery is found with substratrum
From antiquity,
And ubiquity
The continuous wave was the rave.

Until they invented the wavicle.


Faraday found the cathode ray.
Thompson uncovered electrons one day.
Rutherford encountered protons a different way.
Understood Maxwell's waves beneath the celestial hood,
Discovered electromagnetic fields as no one thought he would.

The wave emitting electron could not be subdivided -
At first it was whispered, then openly confided.

Yet along came smaller mysterious articles,
Of Max Planck’s curiously indivisible 'particles:

(They could never walk the Plank)

Transforming a mystic world of electrostatics
Into a truculent tangle of quantum mechanics.

Conceptual doors were opened for the entrance of protons,
But no comprehensive vacancy for the residential photons.

Other atomic tenants varied in weight, height and disguise,
But the photon is always the same null value and size.

An undulating atom might change its balance or valence,
While the unchanging photon showed no such talents.

Vigils are kept to find it changing its station,
While its stubborn identity confirms in black body radiation.

(Lucky that photons don’t pile up on the floor)

At dollar conventions where no change is invited,
Twenty nickels sit down to an audience excited.
The quantum takes for granted inclusion,
While greenbacks resent the currency intrusion.
To and from spherical shells the electron darts -
While the unchanged quantum arrives before it departs.

(Here today; gone yesterday)

If you’re looking for a message in here,
It’s of Max Planck’s quanta and Niels Bohr’s spheres.

Invincible in principle,
Newton’s Mechanics are sure as shooting,
While quantum mechanics are robbing and looting.
Evolutionary experiments are eclectic,
But the final conclusions are photo-electric.

(Robbing Peter to Pay Paul)


As though these convulusions are not enough,
Reality panned out some other stuff.
The only certain universal permanancy,
Is Einstein’s constant light-speed
And Heisenberg’s indeterminacy.

(That’s for sure: uncertainty)


Einstein’s fort was special & general relativity,
While his Nobel Prize was for photo-electricity.
Uncle Albert having firstly proven to be right -
Ahead of Brownian motion and the speed of light.

(The first real verification of the atom.)


This century old issue of size
Is how Einstein won the Nobel Prize -
How the peace loving master-blaster stayed alive,
In the timely year of 1905.

Anaxgoras of pre biblical days
Took big and little to greater heights and stays,
He said "There’s always something larger than large,
And always something smaller than small."
Perhaps the smallest-large statement of all.

(He was a small medium at large.)


May this admonition of illusion
Be this brief sonnet’s conclusion.

The 20th century path has been historically rough -
To the point of surrendering enough of this stuff.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Shortest Poem

Sunshine, fresh air,
Existence everywhere.

The above is far from being
The shortest possible poem.

Me,
Thee.

This is short, but probably
Not the shortest, as it has six letters.

Is this the shortest rhyming poem,
Especially about the TOE?

I,
Why?

How about

Me,
We.

Well, that ties the record
So now we need a three letter poem.

Aye,
I.

This again tied the record,
And it still makes sense,
Which of course is always a requirement.

How about?

Hi
I.

Is it not significant enough
Because it is only the start
Of a lower-higher self conversation?
Or do we know that from that?

Or, like the phrase repeated
at the Cheech and Chong show:

I
Hi.

or

By,
I.

Now we must reach
The two letter poem of two lines of rhyme…

I
“I”.

Meaning, for some,
That I am the same as “I”,
The soul or consciousness?

Or to question it the other way around?

I
“I”?

(But they both suffer from the flaw
Of the rhymes being the same word.)


W,
2.

Not in the IRS sense but, double you, too.

I wonder if they give a Nobel Prize
in Poetry for these gems?

I forgot about using digits,
So there could be more by using those.


Then, finally,
There is the 0-length letter poem entitled

“The Zen Poem of Nothing”







(Hey, it’s not there, but it really is,
Since nothing rhymes with nothing,
Plus the poem has a title,
Which makes it qualify as real.)

[RascalPuff]

Poetry for all times and places, poetry for all rhymes and spaces.
Where are the dimensions and where are they not, boundless dimensions of color and thought; infinite dimensions of cold and of hot.
But countless dimensions of space there are not.

Dimensions of music, of wine and of thee, of these there are many, but of space only three.

A 3-D you anna 3-D me, munching 3-D apples from a 3-D tree. 3-D up an' 3-D down, 3-D apples to the 3-D ground. A 3-D fall anna 3-D 'thump'. 3-D sugar inna 3-D lump.

3-D east an' 3-D west, Sir Isaac Newton did his 3-D best. 3-D universe, 3-D math - 3-D projectiles onna 3-D path. 3-D smooth and 3-D rough; 4-D Einstein singin' "Three ain't enough."

4-D amplifier and 4-D gear, singin' 4-D lyrics into 3-D ears. 4-D guitar an' 4-D strings. Albert's 4-D song about 4-D things.

3-D professors onna 3-D jag, stuffin 4-D physics in a 3-D bag.

If yer lookin' for a message in here, it's of 4-D headaches from a 3-D beer. 3-D professors tellin' 3-D lies, gettin' 3-D money for the Nobel Prize.

3-D scientists onna 3-D pension, refusing to recognize, space-time gravity is the 4th dimension.

(Variations on this thought provoking vignette appear else-where on the net. Copyright 1979 - 2009, by K. B. Robertson. All rights reserved. With proper accreditation for authorship, may be reproduced and distributed for recreational-educational purposes. Condensed book <not for sale> freely accessible via http://forums.delphiforums.com/EinsteinGroupie

[austintorn@aol.com]

The Friendly Place

No one here gets up in the morning
To look for what’s wrong with the world,
But to see what’s right about it.

All are abducted by good cheer
And not by alien spacecraft.

Even the Hare Khrishnas
Are happy and not pushy.

It is the warmth and the flowered air
That helps to lift the spirit.

Sometimes we have breakfast
At the shore with the birds;
Other times we sleep away the day
If it rains or it is chilly.

Cozy, cozier, and coziest;
Balmy breezes caress.

There are no deadlines, no clocks;
Just the lightness of being.

All nonsense is bypassed.

Money is piling up.

A brassy sea.

Sangria.

[austintorn@aol.com]

[Being Fling]

Our roseate hearts are cleansed by the dew,
And lucky are we if the day finds us new;
As every blossom on the bush blows full,
We hail the wonders that morning bestrew.

Spring grows a clutch of blossoms to propose;
A zephyr blows nature’s page to disclose:
Spring, departing, caresses the summer
And from this one kiss blooms the summer rose.

Spring’s last breath awakens him, he’s living:
The life-force passing to summer from spring.
His clover spreads, vines grow strong, roses cling—
All from the kiss of which spring dies giving.

The rose has thorns to keep the beasts away;
As such they preserve the fragrant bouquet.
Her petals unfold, meeting the light of day;
The queen of flowers melts my heart away.

Life’s hardships can be softened by beauty;
Its weaknesses can be strengthened by truth.
As roses blossom like realizations,
Beauty itself blooms from the well of truth.

Soft breezes blow, caressing us two
As we kiss the roses and drink the dew.
Reason and passion soon merge into one,
As truth and beauty make their rendezvous.

The rose is the flower that the bee cruises,
Meeting there the butterfly that love chooses;
We unfold the petals of the blossom,
Then drink the nectar of love’s sweet juices.

Her scent is ripe and her name means nectar.
Exotically blossoming I found her,
And buzzed my way into her flower,
For I was the bee and she my partner.

The Rose was pure white when it first was born,
Until Eve kissed it with her ruby lips
Or ’came it red when Venus fell on a thorn,
Rushing to the aid of struck Adonis?

Or did the Rose sprout forth, all fully blown,
From the heart of a Goddess, do you think?
Or was it out of Cupid’s nectar grown,
When he poured to Earth that Heavenly drink?

Or when the nightingale, with hope forlorn,
Overpowered by the Rose’s perfume,
Impaled himself in love upon her thorn,
Then revived in the beauty of her bloom?

With the Rose the Earth is rich forever—
It’s born from spring’s dying kiss to summer;
It wears all the gems that the dew has wreathed,
Blooming wherever summer’s breath has breathed.

[Mikal]

Lady Nature reclined in thoughtful musing….

She thought drearily how she would soon have to be an expression of cheerily patterns..
Oh she mused, this pure white gown I love so, that has
Shaken forth patterned snowflakes, crystal icicles and endless snowmen bear in mind…
The mystery of my movement of flowing robes has troubled all with countless raw and bitter winds.

I shall have to lay aside this robe and don my coat of many colors…
Brown for the earth, trembling green for fragile new sprouts…red for the roses, white for the lilies, yellow for the dandelions...
An abortion of white and an absorption of endless creative color language…a blurring...of all life whirring and new life stirring..

This robe will be much lighter…so as I move I will enthrall all with soft springy breezes, the sound of little streams trickling, waves touching the shores...and I shall strike the heart of every flower to open into unfolding…

The snow shall melt away, the icicles drip away, igloos shall grow smaller slowly..the face of every snowman will atrophy and in every tick of the tock there shall be this constant dying sound of my creations.. scolding…

I shall catch all these deathly gasps…this melting, dripping, disappearing…disfiguring and endless ticks and I shall mold them into the life of spring and springing..

People shall sing…spring is sprung…never knowing it is my magic to work with death and dying things to make new life and my breathing into these things is the bringing….

Regards Mikal

[austintorn@aol.com]

If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

[labelwench]

Clouds had ruled the sky and when the late afternoon sun finally broke through, it was brilliant, but without significant warmth, as it was well over the yardarm.

The trails to the horse pens and hay sheds were slippery with ice, and the surface pebbled by the pellets of snow, bequeathed by a series of furious squalls that had darted through in rapid succession.

No riding this day.

Nor had there been any melt.

The pile of sand which was being traversed by buckets to resurface the earthen floor of the barn was frozen too hard for the sharp edge of the shovel to impinge.
The rivulets of yesterday’s melt remained as they had been last evening.

Spring was frozen in time.

[austintorn@aol.com]

< 4 >
— Pity the Poor Sultan —

Where the river runs, far from Sultan’s throne,
We live by the stream-side, just us alone.
We’ve found the perfect equilibrium:
Poor but rich, home yet free, great but unknown.

< 5 >
— Thought Experiment —

Hence old or sick, you might regret or pine,
Giving all to have back some better time;
Now you are young and fine, so, be glad, smile—
Ne’er again will you live this life of thine.

< 6 >
— The Fluttering Songbird of Youth —

The child in us was warm, playful, and bold,
But vanished, ere we knew, leaving us cold.
Now this we know: The day we stop being
Playful is the day we start to get old.

< 7 >
— Self-Less —

When younger, I knew not my elder same,
But, when older, I told my younger same
That youth must be young—he knew not my name!
It was my younger self that was to blame.

[Meem]

Forever Child

They tell me what I am seeing when I look to the sky
They tell me there is no reason, no question why.

All of our answers are found in books
not anything was found by forever looks.

Tonight the clouds are more like fog or mist rolling through.
A few black holes pass here and there windowing the stars that hide.
Look up, look up forever child into the forever dark of the forever night sky
Forget, forget forever child as you watch the dance of the forever light.

And as the wind rustles leaves, sways the arms of trees, the clouds close the window into the dark. I can't see any more of the forever sparks.

Perhaps this is why I am forever blue.
Tonight the clouds are more like fog or mist rolling through.

It is forever night
soon to be forever day
forever asking
how is it things came to be this way
forever how
forever why
forever will be forever
happily ever forever
as long you try

forever questions
forever answers

the window is open to gaze on the forever dancers

Forever overwhelming the foreverness
forever the stars, my happiness.

"Forever child
forever why?

I could almost explain it to you, but you stole my reply.