"alkali" poems
Donuts, o donuts,
Wheat Flour Enriched
Soybean,
Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated
Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated
Cocoa Processed with Alkali,
Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate
Sodium Aluminum Phosphate
Aluminum Sulfate
Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin,
Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin,
Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides,
Citric Acid, Enzymes,
Natural & Artificial colors & flavors
Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate
and Potassium Sorbate
To Retain Freshness:
Eat 'em up yum.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
“The most important scientific revolutions all include, as their only common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the cosmos.”
Stephen Jay Gould
Give me
vacuum tube torus Lorentz-Klein interference receptors
dual noble-gas maser integration processors
at least one
prosthetic Gaussian carbon-coated ribosomal Tesla coil
an anthropomorphic hierarchical temporal meme-pseudopod
some
support vector k-nearest neighbor algorithms
reverse engineered quantum optic die-cast silica motherboards
self-assembling three dimensional electro-active protein polymers
maybe even
a superconducting spectral alkali resonance analyzer
paired with
harmonizing piezoelectric kinematic thermal modules
dipped in
subzero Kurzweil-circuit nanite neurotransmitters
and voila!
God.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
~
*From the initial dawning
lithium sky met infernal waters
and it all went awry
the light of happiness
constituted halos
leaving intimate words
paperclipped, tongue-tied
and love bruises
upon inner thigh
the wellspring enveloped
char and holm
with faint kissed alkali
abating the stormy umbrage
as if a softly whispered lullaby
and suddenly along this watermark
only you, me
and the need to multiply*
~
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 9:51 AM UTC
Hydrogen, a gas
Fusing in the night sky stars
As we watch in awe.
Helium, such a
Noble gas, lightly lovely,
Filling our balloons.
Our first alkali
Lithium, lightest metal,
Stabilizing moods.
Beryllium, a
Metal that makes alloys which
Are strong and don't spark.
Do your laundry, friends,
And experience boron:
Borax detergent.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
Go on, my Son, go out and box,
don't wave this chance good-bye,
Switch from Southpaw to Orthodox.
The Judges have it Fifty/Fifty, an equinox,
apply yourself. . . apply,
Go on my Son, go out and box.
Keep it crafty, like the fox,
acid to his alkali,
Switch from Southpaw to Orthodox.
Jab, Jab, Hook! Unpick the locks,
it's time to modify,
Go on my Son, go out and box.
Unloading pallets of concrete blocks
until the day you die ?
Switch from Southpaw to Orthodox.
Win this Round, escape the docks,
would I tell you a lie ?
Go on my Son, go out and box,
Switch from Southpaw to Orthodox.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC
Is there a heaven for me?
The remnants of my life
Only filled with ill-disposed darkness
Living with an unstable family of alkali metals
It's hard for me to live up to what you expect from me
Unable to grasp the simple point of living
Living in a world filled with corresponding atoms
Atoms that don't combine only collide
To form an atomic bomb
Waiting to explode
I'm just looking for a solution
To the problem that's within us all.
The point of living in a world
ill-disposed with darkness
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Even here, miles from town,
Joshua trees raise twisted arms,
like dancers locked in a song’s last note.
I lower myself,
not as a hero in the final act
but as an old father grown tired,
disc inflamed in the back,
knuckles scraped, work
too new for such an old body.
My youth spent bent in labor,
family cut away in anger.
Before I rot away in some churchyard,
I kneel with the fool’s wish
the spring could wash it all from me.
The sun drags its red spine
across the ridge.
Stone steadies my shoulders in its cool grip
I dissolve into cloud,
a child warmed in arms of water,
its breath rising around me like ghosts.
Rain breaks, sudden and brief.
Creosote exhales its sly, eternal smell.
A cairn rises from the sand,
stones balanced without name-
its long shadow
measures this sand in silence.
Alkali on skin,
sulfur edge to air,
dust on tongue.
Gravity presses,
bone across rock,
and heat seams my back-
a mercy scraped thin,
hours from the outskirts.
A mountain hangs upside down
on the pool’s surface.
I drink not my reflection,
but the earth’s fire gone gentle.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 2:06 PM UTC
well, the Oedipal resurrection is a real
chestnut, what a spectrum!
at one end Edward Gein (the acid)
via 7 of pH scaling
and at the other Kaiser Wilhelm (the alkali),
and all those madmen in between,
what traffic! well, someone has to be sick
for someone else to earn wages, ha ha!
testicles in Tchaikovsky's nutcracker,
enter Santa Clause in soprano singing:
** ** ** that's what happens with Oedipus
resurrected, why not resurrect Hercules?
you sick or something? they rather resurrect
Oedipus than Christ to create the Antichrist...
the sickness spreads.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
Across the blistered gibber plain where flies die in the sand
Through swamps of prickly sago where rotting death is planned,
To stride in windblown tussock hills where wind vanes carved their say
To saunter groves of green tree fern where moa giants did play.
In clearings cut with alkali, tusked elephant would loom
With crevassed hides, Methuselah, once aged in terms of doom.
Whilst high above the rocky crags of ancient mountain high,
The keening screech of kestral soaring up to deep blue sky.
Heavy boots in crusted sand where tiny lizards flee
Amidst the rust red rubble of volcanic rock and scree,
To clamber up the ignimbrite, great Vulcan's steps of stone,
Encrusted with thick epiphyte in lichen's mossy home.
Up into the altitude where dark cloud clusters here
And the threat of rolling thunder indicates that rain is near,
Torrential in it's downpour with sudden squall of gale
Surmounted, all quite suddenly, with a blinding blast of hail.
Staggering to shelter in a tiny alpine hut
To find hot coffee on the woodstove and a curvy, hot young ****
To find us frollicking together beneath a patterned patchwork quilt
Was quite beyond my imagination's comprehensions built?
And afterwards in slumber through the curtains of our room
I watched, in fascination, at a hanging, frozen moon
And wondered, in amazement, at the doings of the day
And speculated, sleepily, where tomorrow's prospects lay.
Blearily I stretch out from the covers, nicely warm
To nullify persistence of that alarm's intruding horn,
Yawning into morning I remove myself from bed
With panicked realisation....all dreams evacuate my head.
Vanished are the alpine hut, the dolly bird, the caves
The crash of rolling thunder and the plunge of mighty waves,
Gone are those phantoms which dwelt inside my mind
Devestatingly dismissed until re-dreamed another time.
M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
The water lies
opaque,
and still on the highway,
glistens, then evaporates as
you draw near.
O’er the left,
windswept, dry
to a brittle chalk white,
that barren floor of
alkali.
Just to the right,
subdued, honey-hued,
a flame that doesn't glow
as bright.
Clamped by the vice
of dread,
as the road before us spread,
farther than our own eyes
would bear to see.
Wisps of feelings had,
trapped hot against the
rocks,
on the hills
rolling by, beside and beneath.
Misplaced words,
quipped obliviously,
snuffs, buries
the flame.
This soul sits
opaque
and still,
riding across the highway,
as dry as the ghost of that sea.
When you draw near......
You end me.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
In the field
where roses sing
a lonely man approaches.
His face is haggard,
stained and scarred
yet strong as he encroaches.
He won't stop
to think of rest
though long his quest has taken.
His ka-tet broken
friends all dead
yet his resolve's not shaken.
He goes up
the ancient steps
and sees his precious moments.
Why does he smell
sweet alkali?
Is this a form of torment?
Thirty-eight
he sees his love,
sweet Susan dead from fire.
Oh Char-you tree!
He feels such guilt
but keeps climbing the spire.
Up he goes.
He ponders this:
Mayhap it goes forever?
But, no. It can't!
His life is long,
but not that long, however.
To the top
where one last door
with ROLAND on the surface
does call to him
and begs him come,
for was this not his purpose?
There engraved
upon the ****
the guns his father gave him
wrapped in a rose.
But they are gone.
No, even they won't save him.
Past the door
the hot Mohaine
and alkali await him.
He begs mercy
but ka has none.
The Tower it did bait him.
Roland, he
begins anew
and remembers not a thing.
He marches on,
the Tower waits
among where roses sing.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
The thin, clear layer that forms on rendered fat is glycerine.
You can mix it with nitric acid to make nitroglycerine.
Mix that with an alkali nitrate and something like sawdust or paper mush and -Boom!-
Dynamite.
I learn things when I listen.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
i love my life, i can describe it, ok, ok
encapsulate it in one word...
FREE-FALL
or BUNGEE!
(see what i mean
about not using diacritical insignia,
bungee v. bunji - ji like genie, oh ****
i.e. oh gee... jive in 5...
steps... is this
a taste of alkali metals dipped into water?!
it better be! never seen a rust instrument in
an orchestra - seen a brass, but never a rust instrument.
Bowie's Jeans Genie - glue, jaded and jotted down
gluttonous - but oh gee and j, glee and Cabaret (or
Caba ray, hey, w'ah hey! Cabaré! olé! sound-eater
octopus that é is... say e, go on, say it!)
now we're talking perfectó muddles and ukuleles
(ó meaning shoved away, salute, missing H...
not a parabola this time... i.e. per-fect-oh!
the little scalpel hovering over the circle
is intended as an exclamation mark...
you're going to have to shout it!
including the silent H... the day when
diacritical marks are given equal status with
punctuation marks - the word as sentence in equality
given its punctuated status of acknowledged syllables,
diacritical marks, slits, cutting ins,
and when that day comes, i will not be here;
so when will umlaut become a colon (:),
and macron a hyphen (-)?
it's called painting on a blank canvas for the time being:
working on the skeleton, fashion, addressing
the lack of tailored attire.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
Battery crucibilums. Épreuve. Light staples the individual.
Remotion kernels reunion.
Alkali services and Malsenior
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
To the French couple whose lives were claimed on August 4, 2015 by the desert on the Alkali Trail, White Sands National Monument, New Mexico,
Of this flown away couple
Whose existence was stolen
In the winds of a dry desert
Remember, arid earth
Their last journey
Their tired faces
Trudging, panting
Walking, they kept walking
They were your children
France, they were parenting
And in the landscape
Their image reunited
With the hills far away
With those who passed away
In the winds of a dry desert
In the New Mexico
Of an arid America
They keep on walking
Their remote memory
On this long, long path
Looking for some glory
A futureless glory…
August 12, 2015
Lyon, France
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
Sinus headache's
no excuses
Tylenol and water
Suited up
against the cold
laced up loosely
on the wounded toe
zipped up hoodie
time to go
Not too chilly
Little wind
Cloud formations
Promise cotton
candy pink
By the time
I top the hill
Left foot - right arm
Right foot - left arm
I’ve got rhythm
I’ve got music
Joyful, Joyful
in my mind
playing in
an endless loop
long blocks up
long blocks down
small mountain
in between
to make it
add to
one point
nine-eight miles
Wide cracks
in the blacktop
road
Step across
not on
My mother had
a painful back
almost all
her life
Someone sprayed
black tar
across the gaps
But they got filled
with grit instead
and random
ciggy butts
a sucker stick
from Halloween
and one
blue shiny bead
Left right left right
Left foot - right arm
I take the uphill corner
at speed
and miss a step
Left foot - left arm
the pace is
out of sync
Now the street
goes down hill
Pick up speed
Mustn’t trip
No one’s awake
to help me up
A stretch of
alkali-looking
sidewalk
runs beside me
only on one side
The other side
walks
in the street
I guess
300 elbow lifts
fill 3 dead ended
corners
Time to turn
and climb
the hill
rubble left by
glaciers melting
oh-so-very
long ago
Scarred by
ATV tracks
Steep and crumbly
Caution is my
middle name
Heartbeat up
where it belongs
I stride the
ridge
and wait for
Sunrise
God is
somewhere else
today
No hues if
bubble gum
Dark clouds
stay dark
Til shining gold
behind them
bursts
to mark
another day
I survey
the town
below
and offer up
my thanks
as holy
meditation
then I turn
back down
the hill
for my short
walk to
home.
ljm
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
Chair Man
He made a decision to clean the factory chimney out.
Did he know it would be messy?
I look out of my window and see so much smoke emanating from the chimney.
It blanketed the fields in particulate sulphate alkali acid.
I was so happy! I could be a zombie now.
I ran down to the fields and danced naked in the grass.
I was in a real pea souper of man made chemical arsenic fog.
Right away it happened: zombification!
My skin bubbled like acid and fell off in tatters.
My lungs filled with liquid and I drowned in my own blood.
Every orifice streamed liquid, a real **** burn. Won't be using it no more.
The only gals for me will be ones I eat.
The smoke thins and I see a watery sky.
The pause between before and after.
My life and my very body have changed for the better.
I feel my teeth turning into steel shards that yearn for female zombie flesh.
I go in search of my first victim.
As I stroll thru the summer grass I see her. Mrs Peters from the farm.
She looks disorientated.
I close in.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC