"carbonate" poems
Fold you up like unwanted fat
cook you into a rocky stew
placed beneath a mantle of ice
far enough away to be misconstrued
You are old laminated time
And pillowed rock of incomprehensible
Earlier than any lime
Or sand, or sediment, or any kind
You are the grandfather rock
of mine
When I step with my inconsequential feet
living but transiently
I cannot help but be erased
that even you hath but one resting place
All the plants
and sands
and ever since the very first
we have always been ******
to this earth
walking upon your bones
I am sorry we cannot do more
but you know your creator
Speak in the same language
in amalgamators
of which we have forgot
and for that I can say
we are envious; are we naught?
Build softly, and carry us upon your thick
crust like pizza dough, cooking
and you let it sit
Let us win, set us up
drift us apart, leave us crushed
build us,
make us,
break us,
fill us
I want to be restored into your
stony belt and be redeemed
I want to become my own atomic fossil
to connect with the universe through long-lost
plotholes
and once again
hear the story
as a young lad
the way it was meant to be told
I want to eat dinner with my grandfather again
my real sweet stony-chiseled cheeked
father again
to be loved a boy
and a girl
and the whole world
a soul touched back into the deep
left unshackled
by a ***** or a queen
please,
take me back soon
rather than let me turn into
Laurentia
or Baltica
or Gondwana
alack
smacked into new rock to form
Urals
and Tetons
and Moher
back
Carbonate or Silicate,
and the end its the same
It won't be the end
for that fate rearranged
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
I just watched a news report
about ‘Direct-Air-Carbon-Capture’
which removes carbon dioxide (CO2)
from the Earth’s atmosphere
to reverse climate change:
Big fans **** in air
which is passed through liquid
which absorbs some carbon dioxide (CO2)
then the CO2 is extracted from the liquid
by chemical reaction to form
solid pellets of calcium carbonate,
thereby removing CO2 from the atmosphere.
One Direct-Air-Carbon-Capture (D-A-C-C) plant
can extract 1 megaton of CO2 every year
from the atmosphere –
which is equivalent to 40 million trees;
It would take 40,000 D-A-C-C plants worldwide
to stop further climate change.
I wonder
when will global society
become desperate enough
to avoid bad climate change events
like cyclones, droughts, floods
that governments will spend the money
to build these 40,000 plants
and save us all from climate change.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
Can we dismantle,
Just for a moment,
how one should behave,
and take a wrecking ball to social etiquette .
Watch it explode,
the particles like fairy dust,
let it fall through our frozen fingers,
as we rejoice in the downfall,
watching as the flames combust.
We'll be knights of valour,
Just for minute,
Become the acid rain
Hit the calcium carbonate with rigour.
Because it's tiring,
pretending
that everything's fine.
So will you allow me,
Just for a second,
Be messy and uncontrollable
So I'm not repeatedly saying I'm sorry.
Let my tears destroy the pavement,
Grant me some grace,
Sanction my wallowing,
I'll find peace to soothe my ailment.
And when it's done,
blown away fleetingly by the breeze
I'll be the same.
But my dear,
when it's concluded
I'll be hale and
a little more sane.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
so ****** in the face of it
at the end of it, your perception
on the nose of it
this feeling in my nose
this tingling wall
this numby crunchy face on my face that blocks out the light and the truth and the life .... that's how it feels .... sorta
how crazy does that read?
i'll bet it reads ugly.
i'll bet it reads sick.
it should because its a description of drugs crazy people, ie. people like me take to try to feel less crazy
they make your god **** face feel like it jumped rebellious,
eyes, ears, nose, throat, turned traitor.
Escitalopram
Buproin
Nuvigil
Lithium Carbonate
Quetiapine
Abilify
Risperdone
Harpoon IPA
Johnnie Walker Red Label blended scotch whiskey
it seems there can come a certain special kind of time in a man's life,
when he can feel weird and lonely enough
to type a few words
and call it poem.
******* Bukowski.
this is his legacy. the possibility to do what I'm doing right now.
without that disgusting, self-centered fool
I never would have thought to try and write these weird feelings I'm feeling.
a little attention,
that's what strokes this need.
a few incidental internet readers,
to read this strangely pointless pontification
on the bits of sadness that are me.
i wish i could find an open field
and lay back comfortable
in the crisp cold air
and feel the stars shoot through me
my heart pounding in the dirt
and waiting for *** or sun or wolves or rain
or anything else you might call "love."
i wish for more death
or more life
I can't stay here.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
The stench of battery acid in the morning
The slippery lubricant of littered snakeskin on the floor
Trash that once found liberation, salvation in the motion of its use
Now limp, lifeless, devoid
Abandoned without muscle.
The shadow of our wicked forms, braced against the balcony edge
Nerves alight, take fire. The steepest bet, a wager of the deranged sense
And that smell. It hangs in the air, still
Engulfs you as the animal sense is heightened. Without reason, all is pleasure,
All is primitive.
Out on the veranda, Diana dances. Part impulse, part stimulant. Her dimples stretching wider, farther apart as continents. Her hips convulsing
Man with the long hair, "You burn you burn"
Oh mother, we were created equally. Together in one cruel, carbonate mass of malcontent motives, of wicked intent. Selfishness attracts selfishness.
We are but a refrigerator door full of strange magnets, gleaming. Your southern fingers,
Dancing a slow tango down my spine. Your grip, lowering, sweaty and deliberate
Oh viper.
The texture of freshly cut grass and ***** crusted over bare toes. All smells of peppermint,
Bitter citrus flower.
Woke up in the morning, dowsed in kerosene
Rose petals sticking to the roof of my mouth
"There is no heaven, no hell," he said. Only us.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 1:27 PM UTC
synapses snapped
in succession
in order of
originality
subterfuge
cessation
bereft of
carnality
though Thought
through thick
fog doth fly
perception
conception
the perfect
eye
pineal body
purpose
unknown
pernicious
malicious
people
make it
as stone
is it the
god gland
?
are we
easily snared
?
pineapple
pineal part
fully
impaired
?
foaming with
fluoride
worst water
we drink
too tainted
toothpaste
we wash
down the
sink
calcium carbonate
crusted our brain
ordained
order of
omniscience
swept
down
the
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
The man in the shroud appeared at my door
Impersonating Three-in-One persons
With his Two-D visage.
He said if I ironed him, a reversed negative image would appear
On the other side of him.
But I wanted to know,
Where are the wine stains from the Last Supper?
He replied that he'd changed clothing
Many times since that day.
The flora was exquisitely exact, he said-
Even the Calcium Carbonate signature of the cave was there.
I asked if it weren't all just a fake
And he asked me if we had the science yet to make even one?
And then he raised his arm
And called down one giga-bolt of the Infinite universal X-ray
With which he burned himself into my memory forever.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:04 PM UTC
pumice
peat
mulch
humus
leaf mold
clod
loam: a rich, friable soil containing a relatively equal mixture of sand and silt and a somewhat smaller proportion of clay.
marl: Geology. a friable earthy deposit consisting of clay and calcium carbonate, used especially as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.
argil: clay, especially potter's clay.
bole:
noun
1.
any of a variety of soft, unctuous clays of various colors, used as pigments.
2.
a medium red-brown color made from such clay.
clutch
kaolin
loess: a loamy deposit formed by wind, usually yellowish and calcareous, common in the Mississippi Valley and in Europe and Asia.
slip
till: a stiff clay, a glacial drift of clay, sand, gravel, and boulders
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
with him included? the devil's dozen, or
the 13 -
then the hours of Horus:
noon - Simon Peter -
later with covenant
of the hour: holy spirit,
and the minute hand: son
and the second hand: the father
oh quiet the trinity handful,
given year zero -
hours 12 through to 1
Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew,
Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas
s / p.
s. a.
θ. j.
j. Δ j.
m. p.
b.
look at the ******* clock! something's awry!
Simon peter 12
Andrew 13
James 14
John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.)
Philip 16
Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.)
Thomas 18 (six)
Matthew 19 (seven)
James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight)
"θ" (nine),
Simon K9'ite - ten
Iscariot - eleven - clocks are wrong...
the year 0 a.d. is based on this,
twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d.
and v.
p.m. / b.c.,
hence the trinity / Δ -
an hour for the holy spirit to catch on,
son monetises the minutes
and the father being omnipresent understands within
seconds...
but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed
last year, i was intending to make wine;
hence the list of ingredients,
a) wine yeast;
b) yeast nutrient:
diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate,
thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous
ammonium sulphate, biotin;
c) pectolase:
pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate;
d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser:
sodium percarbonate;
e) fine fining A: silica sol,
" B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp
shells, contains sodium metabisulphite)
f) two months' worth of patience.
it's that time of the year where you make wine
(just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) -
and gestapo a curry -
a tarka dhal
and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk...
i love when **** decays, it tastes better than
when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible
but merely colourful.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
You are to be found far and wide within
Me and out, flowing through veins, inundating
Entirety. Ancient drops of you concealed
In stars released through showering debris,
Rendering existence possible, your absence
Intolerable, instincts in eternal search of you.
Intimacy in little opaque cabins made of glass,
Ceramic tubs, algae basins, riverbeds, by shores
Where feet don’t touch, blanketing granular materials,
Silicon dioxide in the form of insoluble quartz, calcium
Carbonate from shells and skeletons of organisms,
Corals and molluscs losing you forever, stranded in deserts.
I allow you all for you know how, to gently
Lick and lap thirsty skins, totality of my body
Hankering after vital substance as you take control
Of me, manipulating vibrations with mastery, unaware
Of your nature, crucial lymph, my only lover,
Forcefully penetrating cavities and pores.
I shut my eyes to your caress, yearning
For profundity, melting desiring fusion as
I unseal my lips to drink of you, inebriating
The perfect system longing to redefine
Itself through absorption, recognising
Its consistency, you within and out.
Your power soothes my consciousness, heals
My ills, paces my movement as your sound
Orchestrates, my heartbeat and breath to
The rhythm of universal quantum. You are old.
Billions of years constantly mutate your state
From ice to vapours, though I crave for you most
In liquid form.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
Close the curtains.
It's not that I'm not ready to see the crowd yet, it's that they've paid their hard earned money to stare straight through me. This facade doesn't have to be; the curtain call is nothing to see, and the shadows have always provided such well-articulated shade.
A facade. A facade.
A charade. We are all poor players, but do we symbolize the dreams of the wealthy?
Or does it signify nothing?
There's no applause, and suddenly I'm no longer there. The senseless tension doesn't deserve determined attention. Besides, there hardly ever seems to be retention or a momentum that carries us easily into the next sunrise. At least, that's my most honest surmise.
And I can't say it's a surprise.
So visualize-there's a hole in your heart and it slowly gets patched by white marble from the dam. **** what a thought-so much calcium carbonate and still so much relentless nausea accompanying dendral rot. I've had just about all I can hear on the subject of everything not falling apart.
Are our hearts so ephemerally wilted or permanently jilted?
I understand that I've had no filter. But you need to understand how sick I am of winter.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
I burn with the sun
My bones blister,
vitreous fluid thickens,
heart explodes,
coating my ribs with thick
slabs of muscle.
Even in the middle of Winter
I feel my blood carbonate -
the platelets popping against the walls of veins.
Walking South down Bell Street,
the entire way I could feel my teeth
melting down the back of my throat.
My friend came out to me
when we turned the corner.
When I asked her why, she said
"Boys are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
You know they haven't found water on Mars, right?
You can drink women up."
I told her that's not true
Mars has water.

Outside the grocery store
a bike tire sits chained to a lamp post,
every now and then I try and shake it loose.
It wasn't after I bent four spokes that I realized
they found each other through neglect and forgetfulness.
That Summer I found out you killed yourself
I stayed inside,
Had play-dates with razor blades
My bike tires went flat too.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Penetrate the Galaxy your memory the enemy
The point so meaningless
bones shudder
Misbelief, death is release
Carbonate energy
Space travel legacy
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
so ****** in the face of it
at the end of it, your perception
on the nose of it
this feeling in my nose
this tingling wall
this numby crunchy face on my face that blocks out the light and the truth and the life .... that's how it feels .... sorta
how crazy does that read?
i'll bet it reads ugly.
i'll bet it reads sick.
it should because its a description of drugs crazy people, ie. people like me take to try to feel less crazy
they make your god **** face feel like it jumped rebellious,
eyes, ears, nose, throat, turned traitor.
Escitalopram
Buproin
Nuvigil
Lithium Carbonate
Quetiapine
Abilify
Risperdone
Harpoon IPA
Johnnie Walker Red Label blended scotch whiskey
it seems there can come a certain special kind of time in a man's life,
when he can feel weird and lonely enough
to type a few words
and call it poem.
******* Bukowski.
this is his legacy. the possibility to do what I'm doing right now.
without that disgusting, self-centered fool
I never would have thought to try and write these weird feelings I'm feeling.
a little attention,
that's what strokes this need.
a few incidental internet readers,
to read this strangely pointless pontification
on the bits of sadness that are me.
i wish i could find an open field
and lay back comfortable
in the crisp cold air
and feel the stars shoot through me
my heart pounding in the dirt
and waiting for *** or sun or wolves or rain
or anything else you might call "love."
i wish for more death
or more life
I can't stay here.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:25 AM UTC
The Way of Things
Things start out simple, plain,
Get more complex.
All things start out minus blame,
Get more corrupt:
[It is] the way of things.
Non-beings, beings,
Gases, minerals, to stones
To seas become-an-earth
With complex life forms:
Trilobite,
Shells carbonate and calcium;
The oldest animal
That swam, then crawled,
That walked, then talked → become-the-us!
Take note and make a list:
Life, rocks so meshed, entwisted
They transformed the whole: this planet.
**** to hut to trade and product;
Industry and change of climate
(As we’re doing now, this minute)
Down to up and down again!
A long way either way. But then,
It is the way of things.
The Way Of Things 8.29.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC