My very initial response to your comment and question, as well as to your own speculated answer to such, was "How can I possibly know if he is joking when he hasn't used an emoticon?"


For me, a poem that works and is by my personal standards a 'good' one [translation: not a legitimate assessment of quality, but one that I really like or love] is, amongst some other factors, one whose images impact me at the time and then stay with me.
With Manna's poem, the first stanza has a feeling of a bit of struggle to it, probably because of the term "manage" and sets up an expectation of hearing about the event of beauty.
Immediately, it's there... this image was impacting for me because I love drums and I love dance and I love dancers who dance to drums. I've seen that kind of worshipful interaction between them, and they really are symbiotic, as the drummer sees the dancer hearing and responding to the layers of rhythm, he increases them and lengthens his playing... as she sees, hears, and feels what he's doing in his drumming and that he's obviously enjoying her interpretive dance, her own creativity is heightened... and the two evolve in response to each other in that fashion. It's very beautiful to watch. The elongation of her body through all of her appendages... and the source of her rhythms really being her solar plexus and hips, those places so closely associated with birth and primal emotion... was dynamic and vivid.
The two squirrels with their love affair, as if inhabited by twins of love and fighting, reminded me of "the homicidal bitchin' that goes down in every kitchen"... whose impact is suicidal in the bedroom; though I've still not been able to wrap my mind around where Manna suggests this impression is given in her last two verses. Maybe I'll get it later.
The moon and the sun are clearly seen in the sky... those mornings where they actually appear together, as well as in the eclipses.
The last two verses take me to different realms of interpretation, so as images they are quite as precise nor lasting... though, certain elements of them remain, they create more of an impression than an image.
When I selected that particular equation from that link you provided 'over there,' I specifically imagined spheres of connection between the drummer and the dancer, as though they could be dotted in as an overlay to a real photo... and I saw their connection in the same sense I described above, with their inspiring each other to greater heights of expression.
This also seems demonstrative of sexual expression.One of them is a converging IN wave and the other is a diverging OUT wave. (kind of like Manna's sun and moon)
Your demonstrations with your son were, once again, inspired in the way of teaching toward true understanding. Delightful to imagine a father going to these extents with his son. Even though I've also experienced the effects of your experiments, I've not understood the reasons for their being that way. I've had the rope 'torn' out of my hand by the impact coming back, as it also seems to increase a measure upon its return.
It really doesn't matter to me who writes a poem, as what touches me doesn't enter my heart, via announcement, as though a butler's at the door. What touches me justs bursts through unannounced.
Regarding the 'round robin' transpositions, my immediate thought was that they begin with love, they end with love, and that love is the constant energy that enervates them, propelling from one realm to another. I feel that's probably far too simple for the kind of scientifics you had in mind for figuring this out, though

This is also very true, including what followed it, that we really don't know "Manna" as a person, at least not the majority of us. It's nice to see that she got to experience the ripple effect of her poem.Anyone who posts a poem to a group like this is in some way dropping a pebble into a bathroom sink keeping in mind that the pebble is also all waves.
I don't know if I've figured out a single, solitary thing here, but I sure do like Manna's poem. Sometimes, there's just no accounting for taste; yet, I believe I can here.
~ Lizzy