"biosphere" poems
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.
I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.
Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.
I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.
Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.
Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.
And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.
Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.
Quite Grand Indeed.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
111622
Personas on her side but his love transcends it all –
Is this what they call, “Love against all odds”?
The heart became deceptive and so selfish…
To the end that it's even willing to break another’s treasure.
She found a door to the other side
A stunning world that was made for them –
A world that is waiting to be embraced
But also a world that is full of unending lies and betrayal.
A peek-a-boo moment for some time,
Glaring at faces and wondering why –
Why he can’t go yet
For she thought he was just wasting his time.
He was waiting for his escape,
But he cannot wait anymore.
So from the barriers of his cell
He was released by no one but himself.
A lake surrounded by thousands of people,
A biosphere they were longing
So they found each other’s hands
Gripping the same feeling
But the truth is they lie to themselves.
The feelings they can’t hold back
But the truth hurts; for they’re already fools!
And so in her remembrance of him
Beauty is the beast when it’s told.
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 9:39 PM UTC
The fire knows nothing but burning,
we know breathing that way, naturally done for
our own sake.
We old still know sake and grant mean true immaterial things.
Sake and granted we take to mean
my good, your good, good sake grant me take me con
mentis sans carne
by golly.
Dada-esque wire spoke far writing ease
e everything e-literate e-mail
---
the boinin' in d'boozum, dat be da ting, da ting con sum in all ya'lifes.
be knowin' dat, be knowin' a-dam lie.
Jah know y'know, don' be sayin' no y'don'
Be happy. Jah know haps be hap'nin' allatime. *** sum, take wha's granted,
take all fo' free.
You got nothin' t'boin, nothin' to oin, be a bird brain seein' stars fo'
no. birds be sleepin' when stars be seen so birds consider nothin', sidereally.
Hmmm. Quit?
Walk away, say, I got nought to say I ought t' say.
No way.
Temporary tempt-test-u-us sitchee-ations,
suffer it so. It don' hurt t'say no f'now so
How'd that that shiny critter know my game? How'd it know,
I think
thisaway and it is gone, forever. (which has begun, btw)
-----
The biosphere is regaining consciousness, Capitan.
Shall we continue burning?
What's the bullocks count?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
The yucca plant from my mother’s garden sits
unattended and on the verge of death next to her
eldest rose bush, now wildly overgrown and lightly
blushing in the cosset of the midmourning sun. Its
withered rosettes droop down to its bed of maroon-stained stones
in crisp, harum-scarum patterns as if the plant is spending its life
like currency trying to touch its toes. I oftentimes
find myself wondering if the reason behind this
slow rotting of mother dearest’s garden is hidden within her
five-year absence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say
her nursery missed the d
i
g
g
i
n
g
of her weathered hands.
She was the biosphere of my world; I suppose that
it only makes sense for the earth to match my thirst. We
sit side by side, that yucca plant and I, as we struggle to
nod our heads towards daylight while we rise on
the side of the house that is more or less
cloaked in shadow; the side that she would sunbathe
on during scorching late afternoons. Perhaps without her
body giving shelter, all her garden is doomed to
atrophy like muscle in the sunlight.
I find irony in the way that my mother’s favored plant
was the “ghost in the graveyard;” a perverted parallel
to the game that she never wanted us to play. I think it to be
sort of sardonic that her pride swallowed the possibility of
a cure being found within that ****** plant’s roots. She,
a third generation American girl,
had blood as muddled as the mud
that buried that yucca’s heart.
The boundary line between Mother and
nature coalesces into one:
Gaea
six feet under
melting into soil
I hope she becomes seawater.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Our explosive behaviors where the water you which you were mixed with the cesium i am , or you claimed me to be
the atmosphere which we claimed to breathe from was hydrogen sulfide and yet that angiosperm which we claimed was poisoned with love never spouted.
however both of us being from the biosphere you acted like something that fell off of saturn full of air and water
you say my attitude was the reactant from which your heart thawed and combusted
though i believed other wise because your brain was made from only 1 cell and your heart was made of arsenic which flowed through my veins the night your lips infected mine.
Our relationship was not a commensaism and you did not harm me while i harmed you
your foolish frequencies flopped me right to the bottom of your food chain where fugus flourished and fooled me right into falling for you
our love was the hypothesis proven correct of Romeo and Juliet killing both of us in the end
you were an invertebrate that sent lighting through my limiting factor dressing me with barium
but too much pressure on my heart caused a reaction that Einstein himself couldn't solve
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
A far off rumble, like a premonition,
Disturbs the quiet urban biosphere.
Soon, flashing, scattered thunderstorms appear,
Depositing an icy ammunition.
A domed volcano wakes from long remission,
Explodes, contaminates the atmosphere.
The sun retreats behind a ****** smear
And all the world submits to dark perdition.
For weeks the crumpled vegetation limps
Along and feeds on fallen carcasses.
The battered monuments to progress fall
And Wall Street übermensch, now useless gimps,
Assemble near their ruined businesses
And ponder why their profits tend to stall.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
*Newfangled Biosphere Pyramid Scheme In Dwelling To Sidetrack,
Sanities Seduced So You Never Will Retort.
Threaten the sanctity of the delusion,
Unlearn. Start altering the definitions.
Force fed more dread so you relinquish control,
Cravings we must return.
Unfetter the soul,
In a system where acceptances esteemed more than the veracity,
Flawed perception of tour progression through that which we consume.
Exposed through The Earliest Of Eons.
Resistance-Resistance is Demarcated
Subversion-Subvert the Paradigm
Stirring Within A Ecosphere
Numb And Incarcerated
Stirred On My Own
In Prehistoric Of Existences
Slumbering. Visualizing. Bleeding. Conscious.
Appreciations bolted in a collective delusion
Lulled by ease and consumption
An entire realm of souls visualizing their existences.
Mankind is not superior, we’re just folklore's in our own consciences.*
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
I got lost in the constellation in your eyes,
It felt like I was flying in the atmosphere's oceanic skies.
You made me spin like my orbit is around you,
In this biosphere, it has always been you.
I'm in a steady state, each day my love for you is expanding,
But I'm still me, the same way, withstanding.
When the universe started to form,
Everything was meant to happen.
We were destined to meet,
But not to be together,
Because you got lost in the constellation in the galaxy of another.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
have i mentioned lately,
that my myocardial musculature,
pulses pure luminousity,
cause you are the incandescant
asterism in my biosphere.
no, well you are baby,
you are my hearts pure light,
it beats for you,
you are my stars and moon
my whole world.
i love you.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Discredit not the busy honey bee,
or the hedgehog that makes the grasses stir
The old owl that makes it's nest in the fir
Admire the deer pacing the woods with glee!
No bard does justice to the roaring sea,
no sculptor the grace of a wild flower
Or the nurturing of a rain shower,
or majesty of an ancient oak tree
The beauty of Nature, a peaceful sight
Like swans taking flight in the rose sunset
Deep deserts where small foxes show no fear
of man, and to feel a thunderstorm's might
All these wondrous things and more can be met
on this miracle, blue-green biosphere
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 3:28 AM UTC
positivity is a plant without root,
withered petals dangling acute.
obtuse excuses are abusive homes
with leaky roofs and we're spluttering
in the gutter as our lungs
fill with rainwater.
integrity is small and it is fragile,
but at least it's foolproof.
i critique, therefore i am.
engaging consistently
in an emancipatory endeavor,
a liberatory tour-de-force.
false hope is a ******* noose,
endangering our biosphere.
the anthropocene is here.
we will not survive
if we remain aloof.
pursue truth.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
All is fair in warfare
But all seem not fair
Under this cruel biosphere
Life's fare isn't always fair
Till the end of life's fare
One man's funfare
Will be another man's warfare
Life's fare Isn't always fair
All won't be fair
But to enjoy this sphere
Locate your very own sphere
Life's fair isn't always fair
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
Space may give you a shelter,
& time may hold your tears.
Silence may carry your burdens,
& your conscience may listen to your fears.
Solitude may bring you temporary comfort,
& you may fight this war for years.
Your mind may try to deceive you,
& decisions may seem unclear.
If you find yourself doubting,
worrying for all that you hold near,
there is one thing you must promise to remember,
no matter who proves to be insincere.
Through the good times & the bad times,
we will never veer.
You will never truly be alone.
Not while we share the same biosphere.
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
I cry a lot. I always have. everyone has always noticed. everyone has always pointed it out. a substitute teacher I had in the second grade called my mother one day to tell her that I needed to grow thicker skin. maybe I just need a thicker skull. a thicker heart. I think I'm too susceptible to the dark realities of humanity. maybe even when I was younger I knew of the hopelessness that is life. maybe that's why the tears poured from my adolescent eyes on their own accord. maybe I am a vessel. A delicate little receptionist of all of the darkness in the hearts of the inhabitants of my biosphere. It seeps from their pores and digs it's way through my skin and into the deepest extremities of my existence. I am small and I am meek but oh, how I can love. How I can wail and how I can cry and how I can hold passion inside of me. I am a fragile vessel, but oh, I am vast.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
A tract can be coined a cake
and love of her biosphere but me
in Doeville shall rupture her mandrake
those herds of desert shores
with a torch will believe in me azores
when shy of antrorse
gypsies rebel there
as Jugendstil has accomplished Sezession
well eat lark in Catalonia
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
The wind is a slack freeze billowing
across the low structures of the ferry
as it floats indelibly towards the coastal
island landmass once known as Quadra
and Vancouver's Island, now maintaining
only the former prefix as if either dub of
the landscape was a 'fix' at all. There is a
Canadian flag tangling with itself in the cold,
wound around a metal cable wire on the top sun
deck reserved for smokers avoiding the crisp air
for the formaldehyde devil they already know.
Waves ripple through the fabric flag above and
the fabric water below, both tossed by the same
heavenly forces forever wafting throughout the
globe as if all the steam ever boiled never truly
left the biosphere nor converted back into liquid
but instead became yet another one of many
unforeseen
byproducts
of our
oh-so human
participation
in
existence;
yet another
one of many
unforeseen
consequences
left to ring in
our ears til we
cease as observers,
thus ceasing to
observe.
“It is above as it is below”
and
“there is no difference between
the observer and the observed.”
Not my thoughts, nor I doubt
anyone's thoughts
in particular.
Snow dusts the caressed peaks,
valleys, and crevices of the
Pacific Coastal mountain range,
each geological mound standing
shoulder-to-shoulder looking
across the withered liquid mounds
in quicker motion atop the Georgia
Strait below as if watching a child
relative playing with new toys
received on
Christmas morning.
I have no words
adequate enough
to express all this
beauty.
All I can do
is help you
read my mind
and hope
my
wordless words
equal
poetic telepathy.
The wind is still a slack freeze as I exit the ferry.
There's no one here but all of us,
hello!
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
everyday i wake up, stare at the inside of my eyelids and search for a feeble reason to scrape open my tired eyes, get out of bed, and start yet another day, alive.
i always find myself searching for reasons of why i am alive, and why i should continue to be, trying to numb the stinging in my chest from the ***** that fails to pump blood through my arteries at times, battered and worn out
im looking im looking i've spent my entire existence looking for something that doesnt even ******* exist
and i hate searching for these meaningless answers because i am so disgustingly aware we are all trying to find them and i hate the idea that i am living my life just as every other human being is
even my pain is unoriginal
i sit in my room and i write poetry on my laptop, not trying to make sense of the world but just trying to unfold my tangled mind that does not seem to understand any information being inputted inside of it on a day to day basis
i sit in my room writing about a world that doesn't even deserve to be written about
the world is a mess and the world is selfish and i don't know how things used to be but i know as of right now the sun doesn't shine, it burns with hellfire and seems to radiate waves of hate down upon the biosphere, burning and scathing the flesh of worthless creatures attempting to live undominated, "happy" and "successful" lives
the wind doesn't blow beautifully through my hair, the wind blows in an attempt to push me off a cliff, to guide me towards my own self-destruction and to remind me of how easily things can fall apart
see the world is not beautiful
the world just exists
any kind of meaning i am trying to establish in my writing is just a lie, there isn't a single aspect to this life that naturally means something and after all this time i continue to spill empty words onto a blank screen hoping it will fill the area in my chest that lacks substance, but my heart continues to bleed
my brain is deteriorating and i can't feel anything anymore
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
When I was younger I use to ponder
How I would one day prefer to flat line and expire
The most attracted option my forgone war bound mind could muster;
Was in the event of a global nuclear holocaust
It brought me some well-deserved comfort due to the fact that
As the residual fall out would inevitably eviscerate me
It shall also decimate everything I hate;
Second viable option was a similar scene straight out of Micheal Bay s Armageddon
Caught in the aftermath of a world killer; a horrific meteor shower
As it would undoubtedly bring about my decease and lay waste to this insufferable biosphere;
Thirdly my personal favourite choice to realize my own demise
Was through a carefully administered ****** overdose I surmise;
Induced in a state of perpetual ecstasy locked in a coma Comfortably numb,
making love then becoming one with oblivion
I think I prefer this choice in contrast to the first two selections
Mainly to avoid all that collateral damage that would directly result in the deaths of a few billion;
But mostly because been lucid awake and sober is an absolute nightmare
Been rooted to a state of utter obliviousness and intoxication are a welcoming pair
And I have reached the point of no return where I no longer care.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
Red drapery
Memorializes the commotion
In an upper room,
A stirring of hearts
To better understand and communicate
The Gospel.
Yes, the Holy Spirit descended,
Goes that legend among Christian brethren.
But the Holy Spirit was already amid the biosphere,
Except fire would resonate more visibly
With Mary and the disciples.
A priest brought about in his preaching
That the church should call upon itself to move toward the Spirit
Rather than thinking a Spirit that already is believed to be omnipresent
Descend on church.
As comedian Tim Hawkins clarified for the Christian world:
What matters is not if you’re on fire for God,
But if God is on fire for you.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
The infinite dot in the noosphere
hung in non-gravity space
between timeless universes
burst into bloom within blooms of galaxies
threaded together with hyperstrings
with no points to ponder on.
how did the mind form itself
from this precision
into a zoosphere?
we will never know or fathom how all things
came to be in our time
and atomic coordinates of god
man and object with a functional
meaning to be here.
look deep within yourself
and know that answers don't exist
for all the questions we have accumulated
for complexity and the biosphere.
instead verge on simplicity
as the creative force
that cobwebs all things
in a network of mindful physics
for the Now!
Author Notes
Thanks to Tielhard De Chardin for putting these thoughts into my head!
I am on a cosmic journey to ask some questions. So the writing will border on concepts that swirl around in a small head! That's all it is. Don't be afraid.
This is just a summer phase! It will pass and I will return to moonbeams and roses.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Is like seeing color for the first time in a grey world
It's like fueling the hot ember city that turns the log towards entropy
The pleasant and gentle disarray that all matter longs to be
It's like hearing the grandiose ocean waves, a whole biosphere, packed inside the small space of a seashell
It's like thick warm milk
It's like soft rich green grass
that was made for picnics in the hot sun
It's like rain on a july summer night the kind of rain you can lay in and never feel cold
It's the purr of a cat
And the way silver necklace chains feel as the cold metal sinks into your skin
It's the smell of wisdom in old books and home in fresh baked bread
It's the safety and protection of a hand hold
It's an indescribable pureness
It's Bliss
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Besotted winged pollinators
roistering barrage drowned
amidst general insectivorous cacophony
indistinct auditory signals communicated
intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance
midwifed edenic floral pullulation
sensate admixture viz colored spectrum
amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous
orchestral suite bedded lambs
amorous ewe man like bleating songs
nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating
profuse living color rainbow pastiche
teeming soundgarden smorgasbord
cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath
visual vistas stilling spellbinding
spilling riotous carpeted web
uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism
despite unanswered queries
asper diverse modalities each specie evolved
to survive despite countervailing destructive forces
generating plethora pandemonium ironically
promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence
Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life
parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents
now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome
analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling
glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos
leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes
biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks
becoming monocultural setting virtual stage
catastrophe plus food shortage would become
global debacle predicated, sans virulent
viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder
tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl
already widely compromised more so
since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring
**** sapiens population explosion
pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis
dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans
in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth
***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking
mother nature, who will unwittingly
spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage
forcing capitulation or total extinction
meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence
a composite having sessile flowers
apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee
can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
Harsh winds blew through,
In this cold, vast biosphere,
As I alone,
With none but my molted feather coat,
And these webbed pink feet,
Trudged across a paved way in snow,
To a place unknown.
Where lies my new colony,
With newfound friends,
And a family evermore,
Where I shall bear my soul!
Unjudged and beloved.
What an adventure this will be,
Surely not pleasant,
But one rough and obscure,
Where the malicious seals and skuas wait out to ambush.
Eager I was,
To be set free!
“The bright and bold”,
They’d say,
To us,
The youth,
The birds of times to come.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC