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Rachel Eileen Dec 2016
Heat
Calcification
Incalescence
Swelter
Suffocation
Ar­ctic circle above 32 degrees Fahrenheit in December
Leaking lakes of Methane gas in Siberia
Scientific data to price
Changing 2 degrees
has caused *mass extinction

Melting glaciers
Oceans 7 centimeters higher
Drought in the Amazon
Changes in migration
Disruption in pollination
Heatwaves:
high death tolls
Decreased plant growth
Zika in Florida
Ignorance from the government
Refusal of proof
**Nonbelievers in the White House
an angry poem about climate change; including many facts I learned from my Environmental Biology class.  This isn't a political poem, it's a poem of facts and truths.
We sit
While unspoken words
form scar tissue
On our bitter tongues
Raymond Johnson Jan 2014
the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right

maybe it's related to the fact that there is no more history on the history channel

and the only thing the discovery channel wants to investigate
is the depth of our bank accounts

the word 'integrity' has become archaic. obsolete. unnecessary, simply, because nobody has any anymore.

whatever happened to learning for the sake of learning?

who was the sick greedy ******* who decided that it was okay to charge money for knowledge?

our youth are being put into ******* for the knowledge necessary to survive in this society

of inequality.

in the 21st century slaves toil away in classroom as well as coal mines.

and those who dare to resist the path of post-modern peonage laid before them are doomed to a life of minimum wage mundanity or constant criminal risk.

there is something to be said about the quality of our reality if we are constantly seeking mind altering substances to escape it.

i too have become a slave. and a large portion of those who read this message have as well.

our souls signed away at the dotted line, sealed within great paper phylacteries adorned with the sinister sigils of Sallie Mae.

the chains of our debt will never let go of us. even upon death our progeny will have to hoist our burdens on their shoulders.

and for those of you who know not of our *******, i bid you welcome, like a Brother greater than I once said:

"welcome to the united snakes, land of the thief, and home of the slave. the grand imperial guard, where the dollar is sacred and power is god."

if your total net worth rests below a cool few million i suggest you stay away.

silly me. silly me, silly me, silly me. after all this country was built on generation after generation of genocide, **** and fraud, codified into the laws we hold so tight and so high, how naive was i to even expect civil discourse and equality from a naturally sinister state?

cloaked in the fog of pure ignorance we the people paradoxically bear the weight of our fraudulent federal government on our backs while simultaneously parasitically depend upon it.

parapets and gaudy domiciles all built with the blood sweat and tears of the disenfranchised. soft music composed of the screams of children dying from predator drone hellfire missiles lilts through the hallways.

news flash: the illuminati and the reptilian overlords are not trying to control your mind.

this is not about pineal gland calcification and third eyes but about the systematic disenfranchisement and subjugation of every man woman and child in this unfortunate nation.

they impose harsh sentences on small time drug crimes and outsource our only sources of economic stability.
left with no upward mobility, we then resort to any means necessary to simply survive.

'the world is your oyster.' they say. and they conveniently fail to mention the fine print which emphatically states that you may only possess the oyster shucking knife if you are white, male, and upper middle class.

this is not about checking privilege and white guilt. this is about the way that this ****** up world works. about the sinister cogs turning behind the scenes.

and if you dare raise your voice in resistance you'll find yourself staring at cinderblock walls, spools of barbed wire, reinforced steel bars, and armed guards for the rest of your sad life. your enclosed inmate existence making the coffers of the prison-industrial complex even deeper.

some say we should raise our fists instead and fight. and i say to them good luck fight the world's most technologically advanced military in its own home territory. Guerilla warfare and armed millitias stand about as good of a chance and gorillas armed with sticks and stones when the enemy possesses satellites that can see your face from orbit.

and i hope you don't mine being despised by the public of the modern world when you're slapped in the face with that dreadful catch-all term that is 'terrorist'.

but we can't just sit here and let the vines of greed asphyxiate our vitality away.

so herein lies the eternal question that i pose to you:

what are we to do?
this is my first attempt at a slam poem
Cameron Haste Jul 2014
Crystalline gliding.
Clippin' cuticles in cubicles
& itching for a kaleidoscope
dance
with The Phantom
sidling ridged in the ceiling's fold.

Glazed eyes from a friend.
honey crueler.
Polymerization twists coffee sweats with briny tears
& my pores breath the calcification.
Beet red eyes sting like molten hiss
& pollen still buries it's way deep  
into the tree trunk,
Bleeding like a sour calf
just to stroke a
coconut leaf
in the musky village.

I live inside a cantaloupe
so I can't elope with status quo.
Sipping puddles & licking groggy mud spots
so the Queen calls me swamp belly.
She looked like she was carved out of rice.
bitten & frail steps
with gentle linger
teased soft grass
in the concrete canal
where the streets glistened
with mustaches  drenched
in honey brown ale.

His brain is a tickled cauliflower
encased in Papier-mâché,
Lima bean boogers
&
nicotine stained chestnut shells.
Gears torque and crudely animate
his sluggish form and peanut butter
body.
Diabetic eyes,
that bark like a sloth &
lay a thick layer of custard over their
last nerve,
intrigue mine own to stare
into the vague emptiness.
make up your own meaning
Sometimes, you must take action
In order to avert a calcification of the inner self,
A slow and sad decline.
My brittle heart was dessicated,
A cuttlefish, broken and alone,
Upon a windswept shingle beach.
Now, it pulses, it throbs,
The bass beat background to my life,
An eternal dance of joy.
Sometimes, life will gift you a great friend, a kindred soul,
Sometimes, you find someone
To revive you, make you whole.
Truth is as solid as stone,
melting quickly with the application of heat,
falling into whatever mold is left in place,
trickling from container to container,
searching for an empty vessel,
draping over negative space,
and so I drown in well meaning ambition,
or perhaps pervasive confusion,
the vague insinuations of men who claim understanding,
yet do not give freely their true philosophy,
for you must be careful when fighting against monsters,
for fear of becoming abominable as well,
for if you stare into the abyss long enough,
they say it stares into you,
and so I find myself chasing shadows.

Soon calcification sets in,
and I am left staring at a product of liquefaction,
through the process of petrification,
no words escape my lips,
and truth falls on deaf ears,
a lone statue in a forest of fictitious geometry.

The fear is swallowed by the search,
and in finding nothing there is peace,
for the quiet breeds tranquility,
rest is found in solidarity,
in loneliness there is solace,
for if God reveals himself in nature,
his absence is revealed in human behavior.
A.P. Beckstead (2014)
CJS May 2014
//
A locomotive
Floating down the tracks
singing in falsetto

Flashes of skin against skin
erratic breathing
Blinding calcification of desire

The sound of eggshells cracking,
of bare feet on tile flooring

Laughter     Not mine
Frequent idealizing, projecting

The soft whirr of a washing machine
and her lips pressed against my own

The click of a disposable camera
and shoes scraping against gravel

Embrace     intertwine
enveloped by her being
intimacy that puts the world in stasis

A locomotive
Floating down the tracks
Singing in falsetto
Restivo Jun 2010
Yours,

          You have caused the salutation and signature of this letter to reverse. You belong only to yourself and I suppose it should be the same for me, but you will always hold something of mine. I am not less because of it; I have and always will have the full complement of myself. But you carry something that is me as well.
          I am angry about this. Why should you have some of me to take away, like a doggie bag of our year and a half? You should be stripped of me, I want to reabsorb that piece, I want to be greedy and have all excesses of myself back.
          There was something else too, something that was not just me but something that we created together, something that we shared and was more than you plus me. It has died now; you cut it in two and each half has perished of loneliness. That is what I feel like I have lost. A part of it died inside of me and compressed itself into a hard little ball that sits in my heart. Sometimes I forget it is there and then I feel its calcification against the soft parts of my body and I collapse and re-realize what it means.

Mine.
The fleeting, yes, my heart’s desire

the barely-there, a wraith

Ephemera, whispers on the wind,

impermanence my faith.


I tremble before the eternal

faced with nature’s stand

Beneath a soaring mountain,

being scoured and withered to sand.


In the shadow of mighty forever

I teeter above the abyss

Toes inching and sending down trickles

the landslides remind me of this.


I sleep in perfect hollows

and cut my teeth on bone

The glory of calcification

rolls in my mouth, I am home.


Cascading the ones gone before me

throughout my own blood by their dust

Absorbing a lifetime in seconds,

turning my fillings to rust.


Temporal consumption thus rendered,

my heart winds to stillness sublime

How quickly we flash to our endings,

how rapid the animal time.
Mike Adam Jul 2016
Seeping through the
spongiform

Water and limestone
salts and
calcification

Accumulated wealth of
language.

Oh, my girl,
put those hungry eyes away
She dances before the echo

Swaying to the ways
of calcification

From the reverberation
pounding on the
Shalerock's walls
solid dreams are fossilized
flickering within sparks of quartzite expectations
Lesley Nov 2017
Our scars show the wars
Past tears & growth
Birth, trauma the healing over
The telltale signs
of living for better or worse
Reminders of pain, loss
Gain
What has been here &
now gone
Choices we made
Toxic spills
cleaning up
The calcification stone rub of our sentence & prison years
, Falling down
Falling up
the ****** **** gauzed over
Second skins

Words harming me and mine

bleeding on the inside

cuts tear scars sear
the burning of rhyme
chaos in mind
Faded welts from forgotten paths
but not forgotten for etched in flesh
Rivlets bumps holes
puckered scars
aberrations in our universe
The pink red welts
The wriggle worms

mind slashes time
our years our fears

Our scars & battles
Survive these days
our ways
past memories
ripping apart the darkness
Letting in the light
Green glow of heart
Glow of hope
The truest carefree smile
Full breath of life
No holding back relax

Our scars only signs
Our miracles of flesh and light
Revenants left behind
Momentos
Memories
Souveniers from the roads we traveled

I wish to store my scars Away in jars
I don’t mind the reminders

but please no remembering today.
Jakk Calico Sep 2018
It’s funny
On those days
Where my head pains
More than my heart,
It seems the universe
Grants seeds
Of new Hope.
On that beautiful,
Begrudging, persistent
Day, when the addiction
To the darkness—
Numbnity— returns,
You will be tested.
The threshold of
Pain in your mind,
The calcification
Of your teeth and bones,
And the softness of skin
Will be tested.  
And on that day,
You will have a
Sustantial conversation
With yourself,
Through someone else—
A lover silently
Snoring next to you,
A clerk at Family Dollar
With a gold tooth
Who laughs and says
“You like these, huh?”
As you purchase your
Fifth juice of the week,
A mirror image
You do not completely
Recognize,
God or the devil himself—
That will torment you,
Force you to ask
The difficult question
Upon the scale
Of evolution.
Those days,
Will plant seeds of hope.
Only if you listen
Organic taxonomy, as a pre-ordering order, classifies the harmlessness of language before the invasion of Alexander the Great. Although there were implosions of the Greek language, its transboundary taxonomy would shift towards Judea. Precited is its pharyngeal-laryngeal tracheo variant, which in this assertiveness and occasionally, predisposes emphasis on orthographic rather than phonetic incidents, citing Galilea as a precursor of the Aramaic and taxonomic thesis in Gethsemane, prior to its expansive conventionalism of enrapturing him in his differentiations. Any letter could be interpreted as a physiognomic form or as tools of manifest imperialism, execrable or blessed coexisting as languages or keys of communication in images and symbolisms of languages spoken in rituals of systematization and obfuscation of a metaphysical Messiah, always infant, for when it is like this, the water will speak to him of dialects and adults in the oriental language, attending inscribed in the appointments that are related to the language of a great Extra Universal heritage.

Vernarth's Aramaic is an ***** composed of a gradation of valuation and generational expansion, opening combinatorial evolutions with the matrix of "Ethereal Spatiality", towards a channel or rib with a common end in what is done on the margin of Faith and it is predestined on the basis of object and substance, as a systematized organism, for groupings of species within the biological language or not, as well as in the fissure of a clady of some lichen fungi, which would form the optics of language as a spelling and not as utilitarian concept. Amplifying what a camel is; This is how it is importunate being its **** consensus with the "S" backwards in a perfect camel, the "T" also being a perfect Cobra approaching the three S's of the Syriac Aramaic alphabet. The "Y with the L fused" a large elephant, and finally the "H" as a pelican simile, such as the pelagornithidae or Pelagornithidae, fossilized in the emotional collective of rock tribes, progressing from elephants, camels or pelicans in search of a letter language and consonant shapes attributed to their jaws and pharyngeal-laryngeal substrates…, observing long vowels, like the language of an organic universal alphabet. The matrix is timeless, branching out of the mechanics of natural and phenomenal selections, if it is metaphysical or is providing creation on the infinity of calcifications or depending on the size of its geo-referencing, it will provide energy exchanges for information predictive purposes. of orders and adaptations of the scientific calcification space, but with a test error subject to the random use of nucleic acids and viral states adaptable to the Duoverse  biosphere.


Vernarth, dives into the ponds of the Aegean and survives, just when network volcanoes were swallowing all the seas in the world. He swam being only part of the arms of the sea, tattooing with his gaze the chthonic nymphs, before envious and cheating ogres with gills, which multiplied more than any mythpoetic. Its power of convergence is inhibited by the poetic myths of primordiality and cosmology as a natural branch in nautical miles traveled by arms, without knowing who crossed them survivor in their advance, and treasured the brawling and plunging on and under the baked clay objects, perhaps as an implantation of muddy and hyper-flood language, empowering itself in its translation from Syria to Patmos, and linear B Mycenaean languages to Syriac Aramaic, in the will of multisystemic subjugations and Greek-Syrian and Greek-Aramaic imperial conquests, in their total autonomy and taxonomy, until the conforming thread in which its tissue and language denomination were lost as an organic species of the Duoverse, supplanting the Historical Universe, like fireballs igneous comets, which are discharging from the axons of a trident towards Castor and Pollux in an electric charge that would originate the wayward herds, towards the shores where nothing can be more than a human ..., but Better!
Expansion and Aramaic Taxonomy / Part 8
Lucy S Draper Apr 2023
practice practice
til it's condition
an image of social rendition
that's harder to escape
than to enact
open your eyes a crack
cleanse the calcification
change the questions you ask
and it all starts to collapse
stop perceiving yourself
as a product of past
at peace in the present
choose to be at last
3.27.23
The next dose is waiting.
Each day I pop open the cap
I get flashes of a life I lived before prescriptions told me to stop crushing my drugs into easy to snort powder.

No ground down
parachute, no
more credit cards
lining up fine particulates in pretty rows to share with people who only want a quick buzz.

The glory is lost

I miss that instantaneous
transfer of sensation
as the substance
makes its way into my dull aches and my sharp pains, peers into echo chambers in my mind. Calcifying my emotions into easy to chip away chunks.

Forgetting how sobriety meets the calcification like the Titanic meets an iceberg.

I'm sinking fast as I
scramble to my contacts,
trying desperately to
buy just
one

more

hit.

I remember digging pieces of xanax from the carpet,
the pieces that got away the first time,
little nuggets of gold for us to mine that flicked themselves away when we tried to break them down the night before.

I remember these days vividly. I don't feel shame in the memory,
as I pop the cap back onto the bottle of my medication, I can only really feel longing.

Maybe the addict in me
just doesn't want to let go of something that felt so good.
Maybe addiction is just one of the few things passed down to me that I'll never be able to throw away.

Maybe I just need to take my meds and get out of the bathroom.
I had to check
not only the time
but also the day,

this is the way knaves live their lives
balancing on the edge of knives
in case you were in any doubt.

We need shock absorbers
to absorb the shocks
take the knocks
to save us before we crash
down on the rocks,

it's
too late for some.

Already I feel the
deceleration
the calcification of these
old bones
but
I will not give up the ghost
not while there's still a chance.

As near as we are
we are still far apart

it's one way to start
if we mean to go on.

— The End —