"catalysts" poems
A catalyst is a chemical that speeds up reactions.
At least that’s what I learned in chemistry class.
Catalysts sometimes are the major factors in a reactions and without them,
The reaction could never happen.
Catalyst can be lab chemicals,
alcohol,
drugs,
coffee even,
or a person.
While lounging around one afternoon you were talking physics
And I turned it on your head and spoke of chemistry,
Knowing full well that I was speaking of our personal chemistries.
You were right, the physics of a relationship gives us the laws,
But CHEMISTRY can predict the outcome.
If you do the math and follow the directions,
you can determine the product without even doing the experiment.
Unless the reaction you are creating has never been attempted before by the scientists preforming the experiment.
They can flip through the books,
Read the essays,
Study the theorems,
Even attempt the calculations,
But if they don’t do the actual experiment,
They will never find their outcome.
Some things need a push,
A catalyst,
For them to form a bond,
React,
And combine into a stable combination.
Hypotheses must be TESTED, ACCEPTED, and RATIFIED
Before becoming a law.
No matter how based in logic your hypothesis might be,
You need the universe and its fundamental laws to back it up.
There are still surprises left in the universe.
Maybe you and I can be one of them.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
✨
**The Detractors
Are the Altruists
The Catalysts
Be
The Change**
✨
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex,
Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into ***
Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey,
Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky,
A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss,
Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss,
Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires,
Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires,
Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity,
Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality,
Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets,
Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze,
Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles,
Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles.
- 02:17AM -*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Roaring in my ears,
Fire in my soul,
Deafening, all consuming, treacherous:
The violence with which my body trembles
is enough to make me want to collapse.
Every nerve in my body is raw
raw to the synapse,
down to the electrical impulse that jumps
the gap and creates
a chemical that induces
some kind of process
that I have little control over.
Happy, sad,
Lust, love,
Confusion, pain,
Pleasure, resolution:
All just chemical reactions of the brain to stimulatory catalysts.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel;
for there is no tunnel.
Yet if there was, I would be too afraid to travel through
the dark to get to that supposedly
Desirable end.
Electrical impulses that control every thought,
every feeling, taste, touch, smell and
how they have an effect on us.
Simple yet complicated beyond understanding, and yet we breathe,
Continue our lives with only the faintest idea
that we are controlled by the chemicals contained within us.
Perplexing. Deeply thought provoking. chemical producing.
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
There is no floor
Below the water there is sand and dust
My feet disappear below the mist
And below that is a floor of nothing.
Lock and key, relative conductivity
Separation of anxieties
Generally elementary
Universal energy
Scientific inquiry
Empirical discovery
What a bunch of crap.
I bathe in fake white plastic
I swim in silent smiles
Dionysian warfare paintings
Classical textual narrating
Fitness, happiness, soporific movies
Genial tendencies, braced for ingenuity
Waiting for a paroxysm to bring forth neologisms
That test the boundaries of scientific truth
That recapture the errant minds of youth
We could make new buildings or lose a tooth
I hold the latter higher than that
I tilt the ladder there and back
Assiduous and wont, *** for tat
All a game, a joke at that
Your domain, provoked and trapped
Impressionistic spinal taps
On canvases of green and black
All from within cerebral shacks
Wind hammers palm trees on windowpanes
Wind tears down houses, rips apart planes
Wind doesn't move me, yet seems urbane
It's so jejune, it's all the same
I'm tired and lonely, powder remains
Pink like reagents in reactive flames
Quick like catalysts jumping inane
Frontal lobes retired my brain.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
i sat alone
collecting my thoughts
i was caught up in
a beehive of an evening
infested with dreams
drunken feelings
fixed catalysts
kick starting the slow burn
down to our cells
chemicals mixing
+ im overreacting
as i imagine half my life
hanging from the ceiling
WE'RE ALL JUST CHEMICALS MIXING
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Dreams echo in the
winter of words. Catalysts
or chains? ...perception
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
What is deep I want fiercely.
What is heart-moving I need to feel.
In what is adventure I wish to partake
and live to fulfillment.
If time and chance allow me to dive
into experience I shall leave the shallows.
With wings boldly grown
what is known as free flight I want to try.
I intend learning the meaning of life's
hidden music.
If there are tunes sweeter dreams feed on
these I will start to sing.
So come forward potential.
I have mantra's mystique to re-invent inner
sensory limitations.
With what are catalysts for energy change
I want a positive avalanche.
If love means completion I shall barter no
more and surrender willingly.
What is bliss I want to fill with and give
my best to the saga of living.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC
Separated by progress
We live in isolation
Socially stagnated
Growing ever distant.
Focus further inward
Without hesitation,
Cutting off future conflicts
Before they even happen.
Perspective and reality
No longer separate
Echo chamber catalysts
Shattered-faction fragment.
Elitist tactics brainwash
Entire populations,
Localised abundance withers
With dying vegetation.
Doomsday clocks lurching
Our salvation diverges
Shouting to the twilight sun
We share but false elation.
Entire regions' designated
Means of production
No new doctrines allowed
All hail consumption.
Ever directionless, at a loss
Regressing into violence:
Revolutionaries' proudest
Of our failed revolutions.
Living out our dreams
Of solitary bliss,
Live alone in harmony
Or die in the abyss.
What piece of work is man
That chooses inhumanity
A species in a chasm
Led by mere savages.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 6:26 PM UTC
1.
steel-coloured streaks of clouds
(or questionable chemical trails)
driving lines through
the surface of the sky.
the concrete pavements,
smeared in patches
of ashen blackness
veiling the bleak horizon
in a tattered smokeskin.
the sun here is as supine
as the ruins that will lie,
smouldering deep beneath
its’ silvery shadowed outline.
the clouds here seem
formed of steel,
only very odd often
are they revealed.
hiding daylight,
dimming our dreams,
like catalysts to loss.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Funny how we all woke up
standing still
with our arms reaching for the sky
in a blue twilight too young for dawn.
Some mornings it was movement
that dredged our eyes to the vivacity
of sunrise
or sometimes it was soft sounds--
maybe our calico pattering and puffing away
the morning dew across the kitchen floor.
But when we awoke there
all standing together
(shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand)
it was like the assimilation of earth and beyond
had come to pound down our door
That day was to be our
[up]rising
birds singing after a thunderstorm
or water trickling into a desert
we were to be the catalysts
but weren’t afraid.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC
My heart yearns for what once was
my mind fighting to hold the line in a quiet battle
Time, relentlessly persistent in its attempts to erase
dragging my life forward into fading memory
Moments attenuating, absorbed by the past
distorted in all but the essential
But their essence is distilled in my soul
dormant in an archived strength and purity
Occasional mindbursts of beauty are released
refusing to be contained or denied
A certain scent in the air, a certain quality of light
a lyric of song, a touch of breeze...all catalysts
Spontaneously transported into a joyful state
I'm consumed by a déjà vu of carefree ambiance
Bejeweled compartments spill their contents
washing over my mind in a composite nostalgia
Familiar waves of concentrated being saturate
my existence for a compelling glimpse of the idyllic
In those fleeting reveries of peaceful contentedness
I feel completely at home within myself
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Deep in wood’s twig embrace
She lies beneath the leaf tessellation
Her hollow skull and hollow chest are friends with the burning winds
She is hallowed in her sloping waist
With child
She is mother bony
Woman with skinless face
She is grinless
For her jaw was stolen in ages past
Yet she is blessed with child
Her middle is heavy with boundless boy
A boy fated
To be *******
Emperor
Tyrant
King
To be lord of the shattered lands and even their scattered men
Destined to be crowned in fragments of skulls and silky fabric reds
He shall mate with fire
Be father of arson spawn
His face will be carved in Mammon’s silver toys
He will never be forgotten by any of history’s tedious scribes
Yet first he must be born
Now the winds are chanting
They push at her pudgy waist
They are chanting for the birth of the emperor ******* king
They desire the tyrant
They are the slaves of God
For they are catalysts that mold the shapes of futures’ lords
They will sing triumphant
When he is pushed through dusty hips
They will congratulate their oldest and most silent friend
He is birthed with great force
The spit of cadaverous womb
Crying shrieks in the forest
No one living to clean him
By spirits’ force he is taught
To eat the last of mother’s skin
To grow to be the friend of the whispering burning winds
He shall grow into great beast
With strength to wield the lance
He will enter the kingdoms of men
Appearing as a wild God
While he is shaping his role
His mother will often laugh
Ever since he left her
Her body was never again the same
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC
Coming out of the sleepy terrarium auditorium,
Whispering consciousness of rotten handfuls,
Then a great stranger, obelisk tall and stretching,
His hand and giving me a clue of what to do next,
A searing and scathing, loose triumphant look,
I almost tried to shield my eyes from its beauty,
Sound spilling out of the speakers in cacophony,
Climaxing and exhaling like a tired holy shaman,
Tranquil and pondering existence,
Wondering and re-examining what was the real reason,
Somehow it all seemed to melt away and each chattering,
Capsized example fell on the ears of catalysts,
Somehow the morning light had seamed through the curtain,
Training the new apprentices of next abreast,
Sitting in the waiting room panting and wailing,
When will it be their turn,
To change the minds of America,
While setting fire to the office building next door,
One of the commanders of chaos sat back in an easy chair smiling,
Further melting away layers I saw the,
Saints,
And,
Devils.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
give me some sort
of interaction
I find myself now
yearning for it so
I'm lonely it's no
secret, no surprise
and certainly no
blessing, no dream
nor nightmare
unleashed upon me
I can't tell you what
that could mean
I wouldn't know what
to do with you if I had
you, sympathetic lady
I don't know much of
anything anymore, I've
yearned so fully lately
I need some feeling to
distract my mind from
the things I've seen
there is necessity
in my yearning, the
warped clarity it brings
I need the touch of
a woman
I'm tired of the scratch
of any other girl
batted eyelashes, pretty
lashes on trusting backs
it's all anticlimactic
yet I'm still so confused
by women
enigmatic woe-
catalysts
flowers bloom
in their step
cradling art
in their wake
I wish I could lie
pacified with a soft
warmth at my side
till the weight, gently
lifted from my back
sets upon my eyes
ah, love
I grow so bored with
feeling lonely
I'm so exhausted
with never knowing
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
Medals are bestowed upon my frame
My attendance convinces me of the same
Rubber bands snap
I clap for myself
Rewarding my shelf
Green lit boxes tell me about progress
Who do you think are?
Red lit boxes?
Stop the squad car.
Catalysts become coupled
Into sweaty grains
All sounds are muffled
Pollution second handed me my life
I can’t breathe.
Bronchial ****** with a knife
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 6:02 PM UTC
tangled in my bed, you’re holding the bits of my smile that i didn’t even know fell out.
there, in the the gravities of messy sheets and intimate eye contact,
we come upon the part of the story when it reaches a climatic point of dizzying anticipation,
the type of expectation
that whispers sweetly on my skin as if it had the plot of our collision written on it.
here is the precipice of something scary; my tentative hands outstretched—
a coincidental incident; your hands reaching back,
folding me into your body.
everything is the same: the sun still came up to light our faces and
this little town hasn’t changed.
but everything is different, oh god.
the day i sat down in a mostly empty hallway
was the day that i realized i am the worst of unintentional catalysts.
the blush of borrowed luck stains my knuckles and i clench my fists in hopes that it will stay
before i let a safe house like you shelter a storm like me.
i’m so afraid of breaking you.
i’m afraid of my own vulnerabilities.
i’m afraid of letting people into the places where there’s still some wholeness to me. i know—i’m a walking contradiction.
touch and go,
stay and leave,
everything seems to fold.
what is that saying.
“the best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry”?
never had a plan when it came to things like us but please understand
there are certain fragilities i can’t fathom in me and that i’m afraid of my destruction as i am of my own creations.
but for now, this is the first chapter in our book.
this is the first day I wake up.
this is where we start.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
She never knew how much fire
she had inside
She was never told
to dim the flame
She was always burning
Burning everything she touched
melting hearts and igniting wild fires
She was never told to be careful
"not to play with fire"
for she was an expert
that meddled with danger
She was never told to silence the sparks
she let them echo in places where
they'd reach those who need some
spark in their lives
She kept going
moving forward, fire never leans back
She held on catalysts
that fed her flames
She grew more and more
for she was never told to settle for less
She was a fire sign too
what a coincidence
she sometimes found solace in reading
her compatible partner
but never relied on them
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
i could tell you stories that have mystery and ******
the hero solves the crime and gets the girl
he brings order to the world
i could tell you tales of woe with villains of so tragic
you'll watch your back when you think no one's around
stories for you
with a twist of plot and a happy ending too
protagonists and catalysts
and villains who's untimely demises are surely not to be missed
tragedy as shakespeare would have wished
stories for you
with the star-crossed lovers that make you feel brand new
listen to the stories
all for you
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 9:20 PM UTC
you got this rattle in your chest
like the timing belt in your heart's been limping towards death since birth
it always hurt to listen to
so here
here's the message at the bottom of the bottle
you spend so many nights studying
as if perhaps
you might actually remember what it read when the sun assaults your head come morning
here's what you been begging every fair-haired eve to whimper
as you slip her a dose of your hand-crafted love-sludge on her boyfriend's couch
this is the truth i learned about you seven years ago
while you spilled your guts on my favorite boots
you really were cute
all campfire-light and anguish as you visably contemplated introducing your hand to my chest
you're different
not just from me
but from everyone you meet in every pub on any street
and for some reason
you seem to think that means that they don't see you
they see you
you're scared
not of dissappointing onlookers
but of disappointing yourself in some manner you can't help
so you help yourself to whatever opportunity you can find
to exhibit boisterously the ******* you think they see you as
you're too smart to be so stupid
and you're hurt
i get it
i've heard your monsters howling through your head
everytime you ever used my bed to rest it
but that's not an excuse to pull the dumb **** that you do
that's not a reason to abandon whatever sense of self-worth you once grasped
oh
handsome boy
the wounds of your past are not handicaps
no
pain catalysts enlightenment
and i meant to tell you that night
'long the river in the fire light
that you're going to be alright
that you'll survive
so long as you give up the act that you're the only one who's ever felt like that
hurt just proves you've still got feeling
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC