lovecanbereal Poetry (146)

Forced to study
Mathematics
I forced myself

To force that force
Of useless poetry
From my mind

The Beauty
Highest
Escalon the

Power
Of
Elegance in Her
Majesty

The paradoxical
And insoluble
Nature of her Voids
Has left me broken

Yet the finesse
Of her axiomatic
Logic is still
Beautiful

I stared too long
And hard
Into that
Abyss

And I am broken
And yet remade
By the Logic
Of the Great Men

Now I sometimes
Read her again
And find that
I still love her


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She flew her glider off the Blorenge*
For she had a bird-like skill;-
And the flimsy craft was orange;-
('Twas launched from that mighty hill).

It took a long walk to arrange;-
This courageous act of will;-
To first mount this rill (or range);-
(The braveness does impress me still).

Her name was Angela (or 'Ange');-
She lived down by the old stone mill;-
Her surname could be "Gorringe"?**
Yes, I think that fits the bill!


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A goat or two is good for you;
They're better than Ayn Rand;
The Lord (you say) made all these goats;-
When he made the sand.

Well, your beliefs, are your beliefs;
And my beliefs are mine;
All I say, is love these goats;-
Until the end of time.

Whether one believes or not;
(It is a tricky thing);
Though, if one loves a goat enough;-
Your heart will truly sing!


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The words of be real
Are smoother than silk
There's very few poets
Who are of his ilk

As the casual observer
Can quite clearly see
There's precious few poets
That are finer than he

His verse and meter's
A fine-tuned Swiss watch
Words flow from his pen
For this bard is top notch!


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The literary spirits alive here I see
Though I doubt you'll ever be as good as me
It seems I've started a poetry slam
So give it your best, cos I don't give a damn!

My verse and my meter are finer than yours
Be real is a poet whose muse never bores

On poet's corner his high accolades
Increase as the posy he writes there cascades
So give it your best I doubt you'll compare
To a poet whose words can dance like Astaire!


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The fella's ok, he's just a bit old
A maths geek comes in from the cold
It's not representative
When he's argumentative
But when making maths blogs
He outdoes most the slobs.

These blogs help me relearn
Mathematics I've spurned
When my wild days
Left my mind in a haze.

But now I am sober
(Much like a judge)
Notation is clear
For math, you can't fudge.

Knowledge comes back
I once thought I'd lost
I'm on the right track
I've paid off the cost.

Be real is now here
With a laser-like mind
Soaking up figures
And things of that kind.

Maybe in blog land
Things would be more pleasant
If those would understand
Who act like a peasant

The lady's mostly ok
(She is good too)
So on with this blog
With less hullabaloo!


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Don't knock the poet
Who puts work here for free
Just so you know it
That poets me

My words not obtuse
Or like Dr Seuss
I'll leave that to others
To act like a goose!

With wit and with flair
Be real has been there
The verse of Bereal
The poetic real deal!

If verse is sub par
It will not go far
Others may read it
But they will not feel it

Bereal's been around
the block once or twice
He's an excellent Poet
So take his advice:

Drop into the corner
(As I do the blogs)
Widen horizons
And don't be a snob

I'd challenge some here
To a poetry slam
But then their fair faces
Would be covered in jam!

There's other ace poets
On the Corner with me
So don't be a bigot
Click on there and see!


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I talk to the old codger
But he's an old dodger
As sly as a wisp of smoke

In due proportions
Not gross distortions
I now beseech
You old bloke

To present the question
(That's just a suggestion)
In format that's not from Mars

Or have you been reeling
From lack of feeling
And falling down in bars?


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The paradox of root 2,
Pythagoras knew what to do;
The first thing was;-
Not to eat a bean;
The second was:
What the hell,
Does this "pi thing" mean?


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There was an Ancient Astronaut,
Who was floating up on high,
He spied the puny Earthlings,
With his telescopic eye.

In a galaxy far older,
Than the one that we are in,
He saw men fly to the Moon,
In spaceships of shiny tin.

The astronaut, (he thought),
'Well, that is a good start,
But these people are still primitive,
And some they have no heart'.

'If the best of them can find a way,
To travel 'cross the void,
Then to burn with Earth's destruction,
Is a fate they may avoid'.


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To feel too much is surely a tragedy;-
To feel not at all is a monstrosity.

Poets are sensitive, (this is a fact);
And that's a statement I won't retract.

So when you click, to read words deferred;
Some previous suffering may have occurred.

It's in the nature of Man, to make his art;-
And in most cases, it's from the heart.

We make our art to tell you something;-
There are times It'll strike as lightning.

So read words here with perception;
Feel the poet's skill and direction.

Thus poets must write to cure past ills;
We swim in words like fish have gills.

And words retained cause indigestion;
So write them down - (just a suggestion).

Some must pray, and some must grovel;-
And some must write in verse forms novel.

For me, I don't believe in much;-
(Though I have the poetic touch).

Metempsychosis of the poet's soul?
(Well, it may at least be possible).

Reincarnation? - mere poets as mystics?
Through the agencies of Quantum Physics?

And if it is true there's nothing after,
Then I will have the final laugh here.

Is Reality as deep as we imagine?
Or is Nature just a fractal pattern?


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Lost among the algorithms;
Is some verse profound;
Buried in archival pages;-
That you may not yet have found.

Some profiles deleted;
(By members who have gone);
Now Endlessly repeated;
By the algorithms song.

Hark the unknown Poets!
In this sea of cyberspace;
(The question marks don't show it);
But the words retain their grace.

Much, this verse is excellent;
(Though they have sought not fame);
And some poets, - they don't care;
If they leave behind a name.

Next time, you are stopping by;
Just spare a thought or two;
For those fine unknown Poets;
Who wrote just for me and you.


© lovecanbereal
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