If it Spins it was Spun

By Garrison Gibson

Poetry of Garrison Clifford Gibson; More than one-hundred poems on cosmology, philosophy, theology, society and general aesthetics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304647061

Book preview

If it Spins it was Spun

Poetry of

Garrison Gibson

Copyright

©2024 Garrison Clifford Gibson

ISBN

978-1-304-64706-1

The Poems-

Dirt drifts in the wind

piling up like like poems

waiting for rain

to become glorious mud

Mud in your eye

the jealous eye of the beholder

resting in splendid repose

an eyestalk tall

extruding meters from the ground

where AI may see all that can be

Myriad creatures scurry and worry

fretfully finding crumbs

adequate for never-when

never known

particles of dust

in the wind to begin

Clinging to wheels mud is the deal

it shapes mysterious norms

conforms all blings to ring tone echoes

raps that whir

howling through sagebrush

cowboy poetry ranched

punching cattle

Greenest tiny growth

grass emotes

everyplace like an ocean

rearranging tan, sallow yellow bricks of colors

closest things to freeze dried dead

past punchers placed patterns

breaking trails for electronic fences

mending meaningless dividers for gold coins

To spend or not to spend

that is the question

weather it is colder hailing

or enduring outrageous rain

dirt doth show the snow

the way to flow

with freezes past

left to the summits of myths

Clods of time compacting past

warm flatness of high desert plains

with mountains able lost tectonic orogeny

well rounded to host remorseless dirt

electrostatic strong force brethren

coating fields with fixed sentient things

pretending rhymes with reasons

presence need be and become

tomorrow

with the will to outlast lush

verdant urges that overcomes senses

wherein politics rush

social piles of bones built

Nemissoolatakoos

overcome by the great spirit’s rivers

-Heraclitus never stepping in the same Universe

twice.

The final boss

goat poet prospects grazing

the field of dreams where raising

with dross sludge of poems befudged

are myriad cantilevered verses breathing

with life given from amateur hopes

beside Browning, Yeats, Keats and Pope

One final toss

a shimmering sonnet

the dark lady’s legs

below the mysterious bonnet

Wallace Steven’s insurance

provides countless sharp notes

to Wesli Court’s forerunning peer

the final boss;

William Shakespeare.

Would a dictum de omni for Gödel's paradigm

fill a set of all sets with doubts laid to rest?

satisfy a build up with many theories and means

parameters for testing material scenes

like 256 forms of syllogistic A, I, E, O dreams

where just twenty-four valid ones form proper tests

and reply with lyre's ballad rhymed lyrics

everything in the cosmos proves to critics

whirring levels of black-bird spun trees

chastise silence to spring quantum string mystics.

Gluons spin to light

massless tie-ins to the right

Africa's prime flight

Quarks dreamt on the coast

so much to learn; time is toast

-being is not trite

Gravity’s away

while life grows another day

the end not in sight.

If it spins

it was spun

for every hard thing had begun

hard links

soft links

more was to the better

God was good

Good is God

God is good

Good was God

isosceles tri-angles became silky seashells

broken down and weathered

pretenses of past tensors

even while waves signed

inventions abode

with conjecture and levers.

Phatend up universes

expand from morrows

bigger with life

depletin so much sorrows

A point a pint pitchin quick gillies

placin new shots with barbed tonguing grillins

shocked monkey'd Ukrainian landers

wicked war chordites confoundin lost peace plans

Too wild sprung all-go-rythms

carry up more nonce sense

directly illustrating singularity talk

unto crenelated ears.

S-What is justice and piety Euthy?

E-It’s what is fair and just, and God loves it.

S-I see; God loves it because it is just and pious or is it pious and just because God loves it?

E- Were you smoking crack in gaol Socco? Those seem like pretty fine hairs to split.

S- Indeed one soul in gaol had some fine green yet I did not inhale for I have been charged by Miletus, a youngster with a scraggly beard and a hooked nose, with corrupting youth and inventing false gods of science for the masses to worship with legal dope and free brothels for everyone.

E-None of that is true, plainly.

S-Plainly.

E. Now what is justice?

S-You don’t know Euthy?

E-Just saying, if you remember, because crack makes you forgetful, or is that age? Never mind; piety is doing the will of God in all things because God is good.

S- Is God good because he is God, or God because he is good?

E- God is a great mathematician that built the Universe with math. Everything is a triangle or a portion of something like that; strings, quarks, gluons; you know; a math Universe.

S-So sin is to provide wrong answers to questions involving the underlying order of the Universe?

E-Certainly. Would you like me to be your instructor?

S-Yes Euthy, I