"biochemical" poems
Here oh postmodern nihilist
the grave awaits
your death
wish:
Life
a
struggle
escape it
death
so tempting
grasp it
and take its era with you:
Keep it
away from our church's
our schools
our civics
and further culture.
Lo, the children
black as the hell they die in...
Its inordinately subjective unconsciousness;
confused emotionally with its ineptitude of reason.
Blaming its former God,
for their own doing.
Wanting to save that world upon themselves left behind from such a rejection.
Lest they live in a Christ so unjust.
As to not know all men equally,
but to judge them--in their distinction.
Creation
your natural law
emphasizes that which we do not want to come to terms with.
If only we could make us all inter-dependent biological beings of mechanization.
Chain me to genetic determinism and biochemical reactions foremost -- lest my soul affirms inequality:
Liberty exulted
by the risen Lord:
Supremacy/Autonomy
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Men and women all born to a creed
no creed an advocate for evil deeds
Savagery of the Peshawar kind
has more to do with an evil mind
that does not think nor analyze
blinded it is by emotions unwise
Biochemical imbalances of the brain
and a body bereft of a conscience
is that what makes them take an AK47
and wreak havoc on defenseless innocence
a satanic act born of frustrated cowardice
that seeks to hide in dark disguise
behind the shroud of distorted beliefs
that seeks revenge as heavenly relief
Those that make their own earth a living hell
Which God and what paradise waits for them pray tell?
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Enzymes directing life force through biochemical processes - nutrients from bountiful soil fusing metabolic, synchronic pulsations and creating existential tonic
Developing a constellation of ideas; a symphony of fresh and innovative designs oscillating between various meditative and educative representations at increasingly high, metaphysical levels of vibration.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
To physiciologicaly love some one
Do you have to talk yourself in to it?
Can you one time open your eyes
From a blink
And realize i dont love this person
I need this person to feel how i want to feel
How i think i should feel
To live directly from the heart
No thought more powerful
Than the systematic thought
Comprised as a future setting
The mind in the motion of
Calamitous decent
Into the distant abyss
A following into sympathy
A brightened bliss
Of a systematic reprograming
Of why do i always think of you
When a star burns out
And a fire does settle
A distinct remeberence of
Hey
This burning in my body
When i let my mind
Drift away from. You
Is not anything but the universe
Humming the wind through my ears
The way things should be
Hearing how under the love you give me
Without even knowing it
I am complete
Even when im. Alone
Snd youre alive
Happy
Even alone
With the figment of imagination
Of other people
Being able to handle you
Why wont any other mind perceive
The distinction between
Me chemically loving you
The way you insist your ways
And dont see my own
Because youre so worried about your body
And i frown but inside smile
Because i am the same way
And. You are far too scared to admit it
I am what you wished for
Because youre body was
Either wishing your mind wasnt
And you always decided
But wait. A minute
I wander into the desert
And all i can think about it my band
Hidden some how from the stars
Not there viability
But their influence
Since their pull has way more vibe
Than we would ever think
and so would other people to you
The way i lose pull of the world
And you notice
But only like it for a second
Untill you grasp back
At the blanket you call time
And the way i make it skip for you
Would you even hear all of this
Read into it in your own respect
Because. I love you and i wish you were but only because spirtually i wanted to fill the pop boop bebop
Biochemical rap once
Response
With the fact that you are the best thing that could happen to me
I have no idea why
But you are all i want baby
This is from the heart
But logically i can not depart
With the fear
That you will never love me
The same way
Sister.
The wind dies down untill i mention
That it is all we have in common
But the embers
Oh the embers
1122
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Tamed not
I cannot believe in this beating so much
Let rot
We need to calculate this, we’re *******
You Lady Laz-
No, you my Plath
With your heart in reverse
Your hand on mine
On the relation gears
Your lover and his shadow’s near
You cruel shrew
You insatiable cage of bones
******* like a goddess at daybreak
I do love you.
This, my confessional
This, my pornographic revival
Eat me
**** the air out of my
Thin second coming
**** the miracle marrow
Of my bones, make a soup
Say a spell, yell, melt.
A mouth like a witch
Hands for my itch
Bit chiseled by bit
Us, lower in an atmosphere
Hidden from the house on the hill
Hands full of placebo-sex-pills
Tiny wrists shaking in fear
Tamed not
The muddied housewife
The war plot
The trapped door trigger shot
God is love
Love is biochemical
Love is the bathroom stall
Holes everywhere
In the walls
In everyone
In the suspension
I cannot believe
In at all
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:52 AM UTC
It is my conviction
That life began inside of a dimly lit corridor.
Not with a flash of brilliant light,
Inside of the creator's grand hall.
Not even in the decency of a simple room,
No.
It was an accident that happened when the Gods tripped over their robes,
Simply walking
On their way to the heavenly mess hall for coffee and a drag,
Shaking the proverbial gold dust off of their feet
So that it slipped through the cracks in the marble
And crystallized in random little patterns,
Wherever they happened to step.
Beauty, some are bold enough to call it.
And I'll find it on my face sometimes,
Those golden remnants,
When the weather is warm and I've eaten a little less that day.
I will linger in my mirror to see where they've landed
As I whisper sweet nothings to myself,
Wishing I were worthy of these repercussions of
The Great Biochemical Accident.
But once in a while,
Someone will come along who tells me that I'm wrong.
Once in a while,
Somebody has enough gall,
Somebody has enough, call it grace,
To peel those golden freckles from my face,
And to hold them gently in their palm,
Perceiving them to be precious.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC
The choice to cut is a signal .
I am trying no more ,
Taking a break from doing my best .
There are reasons why one would do it .
To ease the tension ;
Express emotional pain ;
To punish the body for its history ,
Or alleviate inner rage .
To express shame ;
To provide biochemical relief .
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Twenty-five trips around the sun and feeling as if life has just begun
Solar consciousness experienced within botanical biochemical synergy; quite an exothermic symphony
External Prajna helping the light body activate; seeing sacred geometry in a pineapple and longevity in an apple
Metaphysical abilities blossoming like the flowers in May; interconnected connectivity emanating from the colorful array
Idiosyncratic and unpredictable mind; sublime thoughts in a polka dotted realm, infused with light sitting under an ancient elm.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Physical and spiritual ecstasy
Sharing a meditative experience within this circular flow of energy
Wave after wave of cosmic telepathy
Diving into our heavenly destiny
Biochemical magic; tremendously healing and aligning chakras pleasantly
Absorbing the suns energy and visualizing the manifestation of longevity all the while detoxifying and transforming monumentally
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
We all thought he would
Stay here forever, like
So many other lethargic
Sons and daughters of the slough
Who may never have learned what the mustard fields were for.
I escaped early, lucky I
Guess, but never quite let
Go of him, and another year
Gone by, like battered ships we return.
Those eyes are intense and
Hazel in the oncoming
Headlights, buzz-cut
Hair black as the ruins of Haystack Landing.
Once you’re told, you remember what the mustard fields were for.
“I’m different, I mean,” he says,
**** even at dinner with family. I
Freak out, get paranoid, like I’m
Fighting for my life in the Sonoma hills.”
He sighs, “I know you know,
When I come back from
Where I’m going, seeing you is
What I’ll want the most, but--”
I wonder if he knows what the mustard fields were for.
“I’ll probably be real different,
Probably need a lot of help.”
Passing elevated acres of mustard, we
Pause; he says, “Gotta stop for gas.”
This soldier stands in sharpened
Contrast to this rural, liberal
Community, these Victorian
Cathedrals of a quiet isolation.
They will never tell you what the mustard fields were for.
I wonder then if something about our
Air here makes us want to reach out,
Aspire for our names and badges
Across the expanse of war and peace.
Like the murky waters of the turning basin,
History hides a silent violence.
Hatching, we find ourselves inoculated against
Human strains of moral dystrophy.
I went into the world knowing well what the mustard fields were for.
They’re still here, still growing, those
Slender, musky stalks, golden heads
Sweetly pastoral in their floral bloom,
Soft biochemical carpets in a cultivated sprawl.
I know now, I know **** well what the mustard fields were for.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Give me..
**Give me that good ****
You know, *that good ****
We're handed pipes instead of pills.
Told to smoke pain away something that's been breed 4 generations deep.
A poverty in the sheets.
An allergic reaction,
nuclear,
biochemical -
skin abrasions, lacerations -
3rd degree burns on our hearts.
Drink away the pain to sooth the burn.
To silence the scald.
No one even teaches you to hold yourself.
Instead they tell you to find someone else to do it for you.
Make you unable to be whole.
To be three fourths **** up.
Bandaging your own self inflicted scars in the bathroom sink.
To be metal jackets made of sorrow.
To be blacked out Saturday nights, too hung over to go to church with your family in the morning.
To be so high, you never even get low.
To be light bulbs busted, stayed bright too long.
That good **** ain't good **** when it turns you into the kind of slack jawed, numb monster your mother is ashamed of.
We are a generation self mutilated - no, no - self medicated.
Raised by television sets, they made cigarettes look ***
They made suicide look pretty,
And binge drinking look cool.
They made it normal for kids to pass around bottles of liquor at 14.
You're too young and too fast, and **you're trying to not ******* feel ****
I've been you.
I am you.
So no, it ain't no good ****
*I don't have any good ****
Cause nothing is good, if it's never been bad first.
If it's never been broke, and broken, and sick.
If it's never cried itself to sleep.
If it's never seen its own reflection in broken pieces of glass and felt akin to the shatter.
You have to feel every inch of the low to make any high worth it.
And let it be a homemade one.
Let it be love.
And lust.
And the sun, and good art, and loud music, and jukebox laughter, and your family telling you, you matter.
Don't let it be synthetic and manufactured. Don't let it be bought on street corners, let it be home grown, and natural.
Raised in the corners of your mother's smile.
Let those good moments be you.
Let those moments be life.
Let them be the warmth before the scald, let those be the moments before you fall.
And I know it hurts.
It hurts to be a volcano victim.
To be so irrevocably in love with life when it can burn you so badly.
Believe me, being numb means nothing.
And yes, I know it's hard.
Hard to be 14,
And 17.
And 21,
And 45.
I know it's hard, so ******* hard to exist every single day.
I know the bouquets of heart break, feel like chainsaws and forest fires.
I know the boys hurt your feelings.
I know your parents don't understand you.
I know your teachers don't listen to you,
I know you hate yourself
And I know you shouldn't.
Because baby,
A pipe,
Or a pill
Or a bottle
Won't ever do any good **** for you.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
beads of salt and sweat edge
the Cuban sandwich zest from
the tip of my tongue
flavors of my own theme song
echo in my throat
I'm merry ******* footfalls
on hot concrete snares
and the groans swinging
between my thighs take lead
singing cat whistles
along Main Street
snakes will be snakes
and tight cotton shirts
is asking for venom vial shots
don't worry though
those are my brother's loosened trousers
I'm a sweet gardener
I hold doors open
and voted for Hillary
I'm blinding reflection
standing over the hill
but don't shake my thoughts
with your pepper singed howls
cleaning you up messes my stride
dress like a lady and
monsters look for prettier things
oil stains dripping through
the elbows of my shirt
writes working man sonnets
across noir alley doorways
named Touch But Don't Tell
keep quite and use the suggestion box
and don't blame me for chromosomes
genetic randomness isn't my fault
biochemical cocktails don't drown babies
you just fill your bathtub with them
why do you need life jackets
to fill my shirts
empty your oil can and get a promotion
so you can buy your own
I'm tattered sheets stuffed
over hotel window rails
you're a frail damsel selling dreams
I won't buy, I peep keyholes
save digital copies and call the cops
stop screaming and let me save you
your fingers compress a sweaty glock
rioting my stomach
your tones too ******* loud
remember I loaded the bullets
so at least credit me the shot
beads of blood and sweat
whisper cat o' nines tails
see I'm your martyr
but only on favor street.
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 10:32 PM UTC
Our nation is
a living organism.
Alive with biochemical
pulsating cells.
Apoptosis,
a cell death
of our nation
are set and
already unwittingly
programmed.
Takes a
multicellular effect
if not checked.
Cell changes and
death is eminent.
Changes includes
blebbing,
cell shrinkage,
nuclear fragmentation,
chromatin condensation,
chromosomal
DNA fragmentation,
and global mRNA.
Apoptosis ,
a falling off occurs.
Our nation is
threatened and going
through same
process as above.
Our acts must
be put together.
There is a
suffocating,
crippling misery,
and destitution.
We are desperately
sliding both into
chaos and despondency.
We must get
out of this
cloud of frustration,
with a profound
physical presence of
sour people grieving
daily,
Don't let them
become too rotten
to infect everyone.
It may be
contagious.
All ships must
sail in one direction,
Or very soon
we all go down.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
here is the tablet take two
round yellow yum yum pearl delicious
always home to take my fix
swallow it down with water spit
***** lethal anyway
I’d shoot it up if I could
the sound of the orange sea
almost two years are measured
pill bottles collected in the drawer
mama said mama says mama will say
another habit she wants me to kick
I wouldn’t take it if I could
my lines are broken
my hands shake
my blood doesn’t coagulate
all to stop Kitty from coming around again
her cycles my cycles our cycles of overjoy and despair
fire and brimstone and eat me up so tired of being tired
whatever is left of me only me is there
fits in a tiny bottle like ashes like pills
like lethal overspent energy like fission
Kitty the mushroom cloud monster
elements which don’t mix well on the orange sea
daddy said that its my brain
biochemical broken reception
spinning and spiraling into oblivion
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
It’s a strange sentiment
The desire to shame the intimate
Soft skin to soft skin
Hard muscle to hard muscle
Flower to flower
Rooster to rooster
Animal instincts
Desire to biochemical desire
Tongue to lips
Bear to cub
The wildness is a thing of wonder
Nature is a thing to treasure
Condemn how they feel if you will
But I will celebrate their lust
I will praise their love
And I will embrace them
While you waste you energy hating them
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Just as the sevenfold revelation
Finishes its great unraveling
It is burned to ash
Even as I think them
The words lose meaning
Revelations as delicate cobweb strands
If I could just put them down on paper
But by the time they are written
Have become
Trite, cheap, frivalous
Mere shadows of the first-thoughts
I wish I could draw it for you
It would not be a schematic
Or a biochemical roadmap of the mind
Not a diagram of a chambered heart
But an equation unsolvable
In fact it is hard to tell where the absolutes end
And the variables begin
It is a secret part kicking and tossing itself inside
Just begging to climb it's way out
Of the primape body in which it is imprisioned!
As the body casts the shadow
So does it cast it's shape on the darkness of eternity
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
There will be regret, so much regret, I know this
Yet
The alien thoughts of rebirth quickens in my gut, thickly moving with determined osmosis, to drive the very tides of my blood
To ultimately insinuate itself
Into the fibers of my nervous system.
Climbing up and into the pithy stem
To feel with my starry-ed synapses, to see with my own eyes
The parasite's willowy dendra
Protectively cupping the soft mass of my brain,
Tenderly releasing biochemical panaceas
--The Mother of me--
I rise, a new creature,
Half of me mercifully dead,
Full of possibilities.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
Vigorously I scribble down my thoughts
In hope to express what feeling I've caught
And transfer it to paper form
Hoping for it to become airborne
Just so it infects those without my mood
So through writings they reflect my attitude
Like a biochemical invasion of the mind
The virus spun in these webbed thoughts of mine
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
I'm a biochemical construct
mechanical of flesh and bone
software-infused hardware being,
another release,
an incrementally updated
version of humanity;
all off my data cells
come with prerequisites
I had no knowledge of;
the veins of my dreams
were blueprints and schemes
in my mother’s blood
in my father’s skin;
I scribble but cannot rewrite
the me, the I,
procedurally generated,
processed by algorithms;
and the purpose is clear
perpetuate and iterate,
move on with baby steps
not merely in time and distance,
but beyond existence
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
I’m a tightrope walker, strung between
the hedonistic abyss of winter break and
the unforgiving canyon of organic chemistry.
The stack of spring syllabuses are a prophecy whispered
in Latin. The story they tell haunts my dreams - wherein
each biochemical is a monster lurking in the shadows.
“I’m not in a tailspin, that would be unfair,” I tell Lisa, “I’m in a lull.”
“It’s like that awkward time, between a hangover and drinking again.” she laughs.
Sure, I envisage late, week night study grinds, and sleepless
hours, but the price of serious things isn’t trivial - success and hard
work are, unfortunately, yoked together, like Shakespeare’s double shadow.
A tough spring curriculum won’t stop me from
taking 3 or 4 minutes to dance with roomates
when a head-banger like ‘Spiral City’ plays or
enjoying sudden, late night jelly bean melees.
And then there are the spring things that spark joy.
Walking to class on a brilliant spring morning,
with birdsong, a warm sun and fragrant breezes.
Laughs stolen in the back of classes,
gossip and secrets exchanged over
guilty coffee and croissant indulgences.
Skipping through crowded halls, drawing looks
‘cause we’re clapping aggressively to each other, singin’
“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh!”
“Ok,” I think to myself, putting my hair in a ponytail,
“I’m ready for spring semester - bring it on.”
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 5:53 AM UTC
*The biochemical snow emanates bopping dejected the extended, short existences of winter,
Twisting and wandering in knee deep whiteouts that scream and moan,
The chemical spirit, at first light mildly falling in inverse star-shaped fragments,
Beseeches virtue before the wheezing shovels, the scraping ploughs,
The ghosts departed back to air in a crystal tune,
A triad stinging from the bare breach in grade school melodic period.
From the willowy walkway down the timbered trajectory,
Snowflake burdened branches combinate into a rhyme with the masked sun,
The raw, stripped light in overdue the hemlocks,
Stillness shattered only by the cracking cold.
The rivulet is icy over, yet liquid runs,
Underneath, under, deep in its veiled preserve,
Life, the anonymous shadow,
Scuttle’s from stone to stone,
Mingling up a smidgen of gravel from its silent inactivity.*
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
We always make sure to hold each other.
We always cry to be wrapped in
each other,
heated embraces,
breathless kisses;
trailing bodies and entwining limbs.
I pen this wrapped in your abandoned
bed sheets,
the lingering smell of you staining my skin.
I sprawl over where you laid,
hoping to take in as much as I can of you.
I pen this while we’re disentangled,
to let you know something.
Please don’t loosen yourself from me.
Please, I worry when I wake
in your bed to find you were never
once there; you were never once taking me in your arms.
I pen this because I’ve realised what
makes it so painful,
to imagine you lost from me;
a distant, faded smudge in a photo album.
You’re a biochemical addiction,
a drug I can’t seem to avoid, I can’t seem
to stop taking my daily shot.
A sheer addiction rooting me down to my
bare bones.
I pen this because what we are is purely
selfish.
Relationships are purely narcissistic.
Lost in reflections of each other,
I want to love you as much as I can
while I want you
to love me as much as I can only try to love myself.
I pen this to open up the box of secrets that
sleeps between us.
To open up the lies we paint on each other’s skin,
when we lie in bed and dream across each other.
We bury our hearts in the beautiful rubble of
romance, ecstasy, heated passion and blissful reunions
of bodies and loves.
But really we cover our insecurities.
We believe we are worthy only when we know
we can be desired by another.
We believe in love, only when we are the object of attention,
not in our own eyes, but reflected in yours.
I pen this because we are each other’s poetry.
The sketches I get to make of you,
the colours you can pull out of me and place
on your canvas.
I pen this,
because it’s so impossible to let you go.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
What does it take for a quick fix ? A photo opportunity , pictures of you in the public mix ? Front page headline ! Standing by a storm sewer like Hernando DeSoto , exploring a wild expanse of territory ! Are you General Pershing ? Leading the " Doughboys " into battle on the western front or the new Panama Canal in west central Georgia ! It just so happens that I could possibly be the fourth cousin removed of our benevolent Mayor , an admission certain to generate a call to action , genetic predisposition to selfishly imbibe , supplicate ulterior motives , altruistic behaviors , uniformity of life in general ! Organisms in the battle of propagation , securing the ranks for future generations ! Each step plotted , precious energy allotted , risk reward calculations , minimal expenditures create maximum benefit , the secret to longevity , the Fountain of Youth , trapped in a culvert , water seeks its own level , 'tis a fact your honor ! For as waste trapped within cell walls , you to shall pass , your biochemical makeup will one day rain upon this Earth , trapped in a ditch in Chattahoochee Hills , with an indifferent public official oblivious to your plight , trying to complete life's cycle with all your might !
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
love
is not a cake
with only so many pieces
it is a force
ever replenishing
bursting forth
from your innermost
it is what you
can give to others
and yet
your self is only
its temporary vessel
however much it may be based
on individual biochemical reactions
love is the cosmic power
that holds together
our universe
it can
lift you sky high
flatten you against a wall
take your breath away
leave you wordless
throw you
into a dreadful abyss
misle your senses
make you talk gibberish now
beautiful words then
it devastates you
one moment
and give you unspeakable happiness
right after
it makes you care
for your progeny
as well as for your elders
it makes you do strange things
in daylight
and in the dark
it makes you walk for miles
to see the one
it makes you
help a blind woman across a busy street
throw money into a beggar’s cap
donate to charity
it makes you burn with desire
to share your utmost self
with an other
illuminating the few days of your life
with the hope of eternal brilliance
it can do all that
because it is
not a cake
but an ever-replenishing force
yours
as long as you live
and the cosmos’
as long as it exists
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
One of the great joys of Life
is doing what One is told can't be done-
thinking about what One is told not to-
I enjoy finding out first-hand
what's up with our reservations
then scrutinizing rationalizations.
I, for one,
refuse to respect mere appeals to authority
without some sort of prerequisite validation:
For far too long
have we gone along with being told
we must hold such toxic philosophies
so very close to our Hearts and Souls
by what is eventually revealed to be
rather disingenuous authority.
*"If your Spirit feels a little sick,
just keep suffering through it:
that means it's working.
That's how it's been set up.
If you can't stomach it,
we made these pills for that.
Though, they'll cost you.
The price One pays for biochemical placification is steep.
Side-effects include but are by no means limited to:
a loss of health, wealth and even parts of your Self;
but please don't worry. It's for the greater good..
Don't you want to be under control?
After all, it is all you've ever known,"*
quoth the Infallible
as they **** People dry
even in broad daylight-
body, mind, and bank account-
for their own economic, political, and social sustenance.
What is that if not a form of a form of vampirism?
The infected bites on our necks are metaphysical.
Demons in Prophetic clothing,
but I guess they dress for success.
-
See,
I try to look for Light
where others say there's only Darkness,
but I also see Darkness
where others see only Light.
Interpreting Adversity as Opportunity
works wonders for creative problem solving;
learn how to entice your Imagination.
It will pursue things on it's own if you let it.
Your intellect will thank you for the playmate.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC