"argon" poems
And so the green balloons did grow
Inflated, nurtured over time,
This tree of air
Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Carbon
Dioxide,
Argon,
Traces of other gases too,
Out side was warm
Internal temp minus triple degrees,
What had been barren branches
Now sustained as these
Strings matured forth
Buds of latex and rubber grew,
Liquid air exhaled as the buds nurtured
Air expanded with warm the green balloons
Grew
&
Grew
Sprung forth in to life what once was
Small, now expanded fuelled by the
Cold fuel of the tree of white,
In the winds they did gesture
As if dancing putting on a show
Tree,
Branch,
String,
Green balloons flourished there veins
Feeding air anew,
Blustery winds picked up
Strings did snap, green balloons did
Float away, drifting upon high
Into a sea of blue,
But as seasons change,
Green balloons became loose
Many floated away to places new
Those that did not,
Deflated,
Depleted,
Exhausted,
Nourishment of air, no longer green ballons
Phenomenon's of gases changed
And green faded now this tree of air
Brought forth new shades of
Yellows,
Purples,
Black,
Oranges,
So these colours did fall from the tree,
Floating not as before,
They did descend, slowly to the floor,
Biodegradable. they did fade
From view, not what they were before,
The life cycle of these green balloons
The tree of white grows evermore cold,
For seasons change and green balloons will
Grow again next spring floating in the air once more.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
I bent my toes over the tub
like talons on a sunbaked branch
and clenched the curtain
in my gloved hands.
I sprayed Tilex on a scouring
pad and scrubbed the black mold
riddling the ceiling and caulked
edges of the shower like leprosy.
My lungs filled with nitrogen,
oxygen, and argon as well as
sodium hypochlorite and hydroxide,
spores, and mycotoxins.
I staggered backwards, trying
to find solid ground but found
only a dazed, curtain-wrapped
fall to the cold linoleum below.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
I wandered the desert wasteland
A pack of burning sun on my back
It tore my eyesight in two
Oases loomed and dissolved
Nothing but blue sky overhead
And circling scavengers
Helium shot to my brain
The taste of tainted blood
And numbing wounds
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 9:09 AM UTC
The place where the oceans meet the shore
our lips met,
yours dilapidated, ancient;
mine freshly squeezed orange.
We lived,
Avid, weightless for a few days
Giant red, argon balloons floating
Under a velvety, green sky.
Yet when the time came,
You stayed at the Hamptons
I chose a lonely cottage by the bay.
All that remained of our kiss
was broken beer bottles
In sandy beaches turned stony
Angry waves disappearing
the shards everyday.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
Blue is for detachment, the lateral, the second thought
The dragonfly’s wing, that blue, the company of a shadow;
The curtain of dusk, the blue of solitude;
The blue of people, their blue hair;
The abandoned blue of loss;
Astute blue, foreseeing who wakes and who sleeps;
The blue of blue jays, one tear of a fallen angel;
The blue of what is forgotten;
Blue of juniper, blue of sky;
The blue of rivers, the blue of fingertips;
The blue of feathers, their glossed barbs;
Poppy seed blue, recently harvested;
The blue of argon, the arm, the path to refuge;
Blue is for hope, a sanctuary, the final word;
The turtle’s back, that blue, the pulse of veins;
Wind chill, the blue of absence;
The blue of trees, their blue branches;
The paralyzing blue of fear.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
I am moving on.
I have my eyes set on the stars,
My mind landed on the moon and my heart exploring the planets.
It no longer hurts when they talk about you, neither does it stain when I see you...
I've moved on.
I'm not in search for a chemical equation to help me feel complete, I am not trying to find myself a covalent bond, an ionic or even metallic bond.
I realised I am like the noble elements,
Like Neon, Helium, Xenon and Argon I am complete without you...
I am the perfect balance.
I don't need you...
I'm happy,
I've moved on.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
i sit here
now
with thoughts
in a line
stacked
i like them that way
refrain
an endless longing for your teeth on my wrists
so that you may get
it in
argon
all along
all gone
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
In your breath are magic spells
Which wisp and curl on every word,
And as they waltz, your rhythmic voice
Becomes the sweetest sound I've heard.
There is such phonetic grace
In every phatic word you place,
But should your lips eclipse my name,
And let it slip with warm acclaim,
Or better yet, in passions flame,
Should you, with love for me proclaim,
Then science, to its knees will fall
As air will hold no oxygen,
Nor argon, neither nitrogen,
But beauty, magic. That is all.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
Evening cleats The Bay,
As cavalcades of passive argon, sulphur on
the ogham slicks,
to treacle ways toward the seeding
cooling of the hours,...
The sleights of crimson, fringe
the bruising cower of the West, to
brightly die behind the leathered hill.
From a wrist of tallowed amethyst,
a Tiercel purls a last ellipse, and in
his sinking helix ships, the Sommes
of curdled estuaries, to brood
the closing Mill....
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
It doesn't matter where I am
I will breath your love in.
I could be consumed by fire
But your love would
Extinguish,
Douse,
Rain
The flames in to submission
You are the air I breath
Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Argon,
Carbon dioxide,
Its what I inhale but the
0.01
Is the taste of love,
I wouldn't drown
as your love
Oxygenates the water,
So even though wet,
You keep me from sinking.
There is many ways your love saves me,
But know that any breathe I take, I inhale your love in.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
I've always had my eye on you...
Did you get that? Ion?
It's not like you're all that beautiful,
It's just all the good ones Argon.
But like Oxygen and Potassium, you're OK
And you'll find I can be quite caring.
I'd really like to bond with you
But not covalently. I don't like sharing.
I've dropped an electron, but I'm feeling positive,
I'm prepared for living large,
Maybe you're feeling a little negative
But at least on dates there'd be no charge.
I know that you're oh so Noble
So I've not much need for tact;
No matter what I say or do,
You probably won't react.
This happens periodically
And shows no signs of ceasing
My face is going exothermic,
My enthalpy increasing.
I find you so sublime
Though I hope you don't disappear
I know together we'd be golden -
A! U! Get over here!
My soul is blemish-free
So I'm making no apology
I know that we've got chemistry -
But I'd love to have biology!
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
I believe in the match, white phosphorus,
scratch of Bic lighter spurting like a miniature sun
in the deadpan havoc of the darkest night.
I believe in the neon sign, blare of argon
red like lava. The invitation to come inside a place
where everyone is a saint in rehabilitation.
I do not believe in a steeple. I do have a church:
it is full of cripples carrying their hearts like a crutch.
It is full of ***** fingernails, swollen thumbs,
epileptic prayer circles, a choir of bums, riff-raff,
pulled off the street into the warmth of this fiery song.
We are all martyrs burning, like pyres, exploding
in moments of sorrow like gunpowder. God is not
in this church. We are too far from his icy heaven to hear
the cold menace of his manic threats. We are aflame,
making heaven out of the hells we were born into,
the ones we had no choice but to carry like a deformation,
but making our heavens the kind where work is.
We have built heaven out of pillars of words. We
have scorched even the newest of testaments, sifting
through its ash to divine new meaning of resurrection.
I do not believe heaven or hell are nouns. I do not
believe they are adjectives. They are verbs! ******* it
they are verbs: boiling or churning with photographs
of every failure, every success, every bruised knee,
every severed tie, every father that did not love us,
every mother who could not save us, every lover who
kissed the dark sides of our light hearts. I believe
you make heaven, that you make hell. I believe in
only the fire, crackling like skin molting from sunburn.
I want only to be consumed. The world is too far ruined
to douse this from me. Let me burn. If you look closely,
there are doves in the smoke, my bones glowing branches.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
Magnetic seas, scum-fissures - mild peril,
frenzied light - cosmic bore,
crystalline-scope - heat warped eyes ; trip-blur
argon-beaten ; neon fanatics - breath-burn,
radio-venom ; searing vellum,
extra-terrestrial sickness - nebula-rain
peroxide stars blotched rose-swell,
tattoos of space-sadism
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Wander worried rambler roam.
Wander down the path of a riverside wood.
Step by step,
Shuffle to and fro.
A Forgotten industry remains.
Man made mines,
Dug out quarries,
Fencing, barbed wire, power lines, and pressure treated wooden poles.
Littering the landscape.
A blood letting favor, favored low.
A hydroelectric dam.
Murky and historical waters enter its mouth,
and then,
exit from its other side.
Constantly ******* and spitting, and churning turbine whine,
Spinning gear stuck,
clamped to the spine.
Luck may have it that these waters may never go dry.
Luck may have it that these currents stay 'live.
Merrily manic, it flows.
Strong and bold,
sparkle, sprung, sold!
Pushes and rolls,
gives and goes.
Cold.
Electric mother glow.
Neon, argon, blazing blast,
to give city speckled lights a mast.
A grip to grasp, to squeeze, to cast,
shadows in the night.
Yellow, orange, red, and blue,
the shades of dreamers,
with their sorrows leaded, heavy,
holy truths.
Unspoken tomorrows, last goodbyes,
mouthed silently at last
in their heads a film score out of time.
The air is baked, the land is spry.
The sun is shattered through prism pines.
I carry myself upon the leaves, of dead footsteps, make believe.
Native footpaths of long ago
and red sandstone trail of men to behold.
Come to this place and let sights be known,
Come to this place and let sights be known,
histories of ours, histories bygone.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
groommmm
hair hair haior, god **** nice little bottles of argon oil always brushing through the trend lines, going to the mirror for a look, one step at a time, marches at slow smokey march at a time, look right? The flight jacket, the night jacket, no jacket, sweet **** sweet **** got nothing, nothing to wear, nakedness! Understated or understated, daring, daunting, flaunting, or cautious and cunning
draping yourself with silks for purposeful purposes, pushing for posh just for pastime, your packing a great reward of pios compliments, or respect unspoken, either way next to god, genuine, lovely
or not, or just of hastle, of constant tagedy, of struggle, of daily rotine driven you crazy
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Beneath the tough,
Fraying keratin
Atop my porcelain digits,
Is you.
Shrinking.
Forgetful.
Perfect.
When you,
The swollen flesh below my fingernails,
Breathe,
I feel the sting of Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Argon,
Circulating about my
Vulnerable
Exposed
Tissue.
The sting is subtle.
The sting is beautiful.
I strip layer upon layer of tough,
Fraying keratin
Just to feel you respire.
With every advance into your territory,
You retreat.
Fortify the barrier.
We war until you are nothing but bare,
Tender tissue,
Bleeding brilliant red fear,
Surrounded by delicate,
Pale,
Porcelain,
Skin.
And it is all so beautiful.
The image.
The pain.
You.
I wonder if I am beneath the tough,
Fraying keratin,
Atop your porcelain digits.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
The crippling noir
of that vaguely African horizon
devours the Argon flare of the
city's last words before the fugue.
That dimly lit control panel faded
into a broccoli tipped oasis
as I sauntered down the incline.
Viscous, swamp water murk
seems to fill my lungs as I
descend into Salem's lot.
Lighting is
Everything.
*************************
My bowels kiss my muscle wall,
churning,
as her eyes mold into an uninterested
satin color;
like a drop of milk in a kettle black
cup of coffee.
Admiring a vampire for its
reluctant seduction.
He would drain it before
it lifted a curly clawed finger.
I bet he feeds off blister pus
and verses from a half smoked
Cuban.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
A frigid February night,
the moon resplendent in its fulgor,
while a prevailing bristled cold wind
dashes across my dry face,
I inhale the cold, brittle air:
nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide,
whistle through my lips,
like a trice ballet, it delivers life into my lungs
hoarfrost, as huellas are left behind,
in remembrance of its path.
At night I feel at ease,
beyond what
an aubade can offer.
Gazing up into the dark abyss,
I am overwhelmed by the
union of neighbors that float above me
in sync with the moon:
Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Mars, Jupiter,
and the assemblage of mythological
Greek god’s only visible before dawn,
watch me, observing my every move.
Winds encircle the night,
disrupting the stillness of
the undressed oak trees,
their branches swaying back and forth
as to wave hello, or is it a goodbye?
Winterberry hollies dance at their feet,
untouched snow glistens,
and mirrors the dazzling assembly of stars.
Within the woodland, mysterious sounds
echo through the silent, cold:
a cackle, a flutter, yipping creepy sound,
nature’s orchestra coming at me
from all directions,
cautiously listening, as I attempt
to decipher the resonances.
I exhale.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
We are on the brink
We must fight to survive
We must fight to live
Our energies collide
But we must not turn them to fire
Fire which burns all in its path
We must cool the meshing waves
And turn them to creation
And ask ourselves
Why do we do it?
We must awaken
Our deepest morality
Mine our consciousness
To create coexistence
Never should our bodies turn to arms
Never should we destroy life
Smiles and laughter alone
Should decorate the faces of the young
As they gallop into the future
Those who have exploited others
Must repay them
Those who have done wrong
Must put it right
Those who promote imbalance
Must rebalance
We must find a way
To create a home for everyone
The natural earth is our joy and guide
The very birds and flowers
Rivers and seas cushion us from our basest desires
The diversity of nature
Shows us the way
The fine balance of nitrogen oxygen
Argon and carbon dioxide
In our air
Allows us to breathe and metabolise
We are loved, embraced, nurtured
By our universe
We must fight
Endure
Struggle
And work
For our very future
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Morning grey through crooked blinds
but blind shall see via the conjurer who's arms are
black with midnight oil
and fervor fire lit in the
interim ecstasy
(5:27am)
Entwined in this familiar
formless space where only
warmth circles the vacuum like a
depression's exorcism
I got two hours of sleep,
Argon bellow behind the pillow
muffled with lips
back to the cooled wall
yarn of arms
resting heads
complimenting an imaginary pine forest
and titled poets sit mocha infused and spell-cast
afterwards watching lights wake with winter
Peter Sivo Band's "Come My Love"
At the time of writing this,
the daughter of a spectacular madman wrote me a letter
just came in the mail!
"KEEP THE BEAT"
I will, oh
I will.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
my body, wormholed, my face, in the mirror, shaved, uneven, hair, everywhere, cloaked in skin, argon oil, love net, through the mirror, the exterior, fascination, frustration, chaos and discovery, juxtaposed with personality, away from me, away from me, the chorus line sings, a man who takes care of hair does bettair,
COOL
CAT
CREATE
COMFORT
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
Britney Spears
The queen of conformity
Heterosexuality
The ****** of ******
Excuse my French I beg
But she is the angel
O death
For many girl starve
Or murderthem selves because of her
She is my most hate celebrity
And people argon poor marylin manson
Tics.
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 11:34 AM UTC
you hear my song
as the wind blows
it sings tunes
of generations past
times before record,
that were necessary
for now.
my song whistles
through
corridors of rock
races with the geese
drifts through a monarchs form
provides space for the hummer
its wings buzz
moving faster than my mind.
DONG DONG DONG
the bell welcomes my song
it touches me with
vibrations
I am tuned to.
which radiate down and out
along the locs
through to the soil
nourishing my
mind,
her smile.
the pitch of my song
depends on the medium
in the dawn and dusk
low and warm
at noon
charged to sing
inspirational seeds
so they can sprout, and
be left alone.
to send her children
into the wind
and then turn to dirt.
this is my song
wind song
bits of me release themselves
are carried off with the wind.
commune with bits of you
and ancestors,
circle the sphere
wisp through bamboo,
I breath again.
I taste you.
I breath the molecules,
out again.
they start their path
with the wind
again.
recombined, except argon.
the one wholly breathed
since the beginning
the wind will circle it
around until the end.
these bits of consciousness
will touch every lung
that needs it
connecting everything that is it.
I hear my song...
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC