"catalytic" poems
They're huddled 'round their periodic lunch tables,
square and socially pyramidal,
and I'm at the bottom.
But they're just fluorine factions,
bullies at heart trying to steal my e-lectricity
with their negativity.
Because I'm light,
Ultra-violet violence to the eyes,
Magnesium burning.
Anti-matter meets matter.
And that catalytic, cataclysmic energy is attractive.
And they see me. They see, see, see,
But I've got too many Cs on this side of my false, metallic personality.
I'd better balance myself
Or I'm not getting a good reaction.
Classic ionic, ironic idiocy.
I've bonded with you,
just compounding the issues.
'Cause you're a complete acetate without a solution:
now all I've got are problems.
Dot Diagrams are dotted lines separating you from me,
because over the years what was a bond
became a partially negative charge
against me.
I was your oxygen, and you were carbon
-ated, bubbly and explosive.
We would Combust.
But now all's left but to see, oh, two
of your new girlfriends flanking your sides,
'cause we've decomposed, split, gone off to better things.
Monatomic monotones lace my speech,
and I'm pining for something to complete this emp-d shell
that is myself.
'Cause I miss what we had.
We had chemistry.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
My father is an old truck
Sunbleached red
Breathes broken bottles
A faulty catalytic converter throat
All the smoke trapped inside
But the nicotine helps his brain function
Cinderblock sturdy
But skinny
A single pillar holding the roof up
A man built in a time when you had to tell things it was time to die
Leave them in a field somewhere and forget about
How do you write a love poem to a car of a man
Built in a time without airbags?
A car of a man who crashed with you inside so many times
You learned about rebuilding from experience
From trial and error
And how do you forgive a man who can no longer tell you he’s sorry?
Trucks
Don’t feel
Don’t give up
Don’t hurt you on purpose
Sometimes something inside just breaks
And no one catches it
And maybe you crash
Break a nose
Black an eye
As far as I know
I am not a broken man
But I’ve learned where all the parts go
And if I am my father’s son
A mechanic more often than a car maybe
Then I will be fine
The truck is dying
And beyond repair
You forgive it for that
It is old and past its time
And maybe it can’t say that it’s sorry
But there is a field somewhere that you plan on leaving it
To collect weeds
And rust
And be forgotten
So you forgive it
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Bonfire
Lit up this entire
House of ornate desire
The ceilings set afire
This hopeful spark
Turned into charred logs
Bonfire.
Bonfire
I’ve watched us
Be damp timber for too long
Till we struck the match
Shrunk to the warmth
Choking on our own confessions
Asphyxiating
In this smoky haze
It wasn’t love
Bonfire.
Bonfire
This night is already over
Our story a distant chorus
Your silhouette
Departed
With the last red
Of the Bonfire
We were a catalytic firework
Now we’re out of colours
The winds carry our ashes
Bonfire.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC
What's the deal with binaries?
Such pinhole lens.
If you feel wrong, then,
ask yourself, Who's standing
in my salt circle?
What's the deal with sorting hats?
So limited.
If you feel out of place,
ask yourself, Who's speaking
to my lowest disgrace?
You knew as well I as I did
this catalytic event would happen.
For only so long, can you grind
your face in the acceleration,
before you ****
with the aperture, then what?
Great opening, come to closing,
Let's love.
Great opening, come to closing,
Let's love.
The alpha myth dispensary, dead,
I see you running free, safely packed.
Mr. Wolf, I want some of that!
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for our long-lost chaste.
Eden has come and gone,
Yet here we remain in throngs.
Confused by our own existence,
We look for God’s assistance.
Unknown emotions start stirring,
A transformation is occurring.
Metamorphosing into man-made monsters,
Dropping bombs onto unknowing youngsters.
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for God’s long lost embrace.
Eden’s now a myth,
Telling of Man’s zenith.
Unsure of our own existence,
We turn to Pain’s assistance.
Catalytic events annihilate Man’s innocence,
GOD HELP US! We can’t find the cure to this pestilence.
Race against race,
Man against man,
Child against child,
The innocent cadavers are still being piled.
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for our disintegrating face.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
I need a release, a relief from this pressure.
A cessation of the flooding,
An infestation of the catalytic chemicals that feed my brain
The battle for attention is overwhelmed by anatomy,
keeping me on the fringes of insanity
I can't control it, only roll with it, embrace and encase this energy inside
Projecting my being;
rejecting the snares,
the lack of cares that fill the air
Cognitive dissonance entertains and persuades the whispers within
as they swirl and whirl their tracers are all that remain
The red of satisfaction yet to be attained,
a heart unrestrained and a feeling still unnamed.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
i was born at the heart of a ribbon jam
my analog pulse
tap
tap
tapping
out the lyrics of my fight song
since day one
india ink sludge blood has flowed
from my dog-earred heart
straight through to my ball-point fingertips
my DNA lays in cursive wait
leaping from the pages
into the light
at every aching plot twist
card catalogued depictions
not of how events factually unfolded
but of how it seems they could have unravelled
if this were a paperback i'd planned to read
and re-read
alike
but alas
when the lights go out
that's it for this round
and i'll be down for the count
no matter how hard i fight
but words...
words know not death
solely evolution
they change their shape
their time
their place
a word can only fade
like aerosol on dust colored cinder
a single word will outlive one hundred empires
one thousand governments
ten thousand authors
and so
it's within articulation that my loyalty lay
and in my words that i'll find my home
here
in the lowercase swoops and loops
of the 'A's
and the 'E's
and the 'D's
and the 'G's
...and those little cursive 'Z's that hang just the same as mom's old hammock
yeah
home
with every inhalation of stale inhabitation
i'll exhale a poem
my regenerative reincarnation through catalytic creation
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC
{ “Awareness : He began to decipher the instant that he was living, deciphering as he lived it, prophesying himself in the act of deciphering the last page of the parchments, as if he were looking into a speaking mirror.” -
Gabriel Garcia Marques }
_________________
Mirrors of Mercury
Who is Shams and who Rumi
is like asking who is fork and who
knife when apart they sing not
a single song to nourish blood
with versal love
mercurial reflect
Who is mirror and who reflection
Is that me ? I ask you
watching your slender bones
move in soiled leather boots
wild slow eyes reflecting YES !
when maiden across the room
gives wicked laughs of NO !
mercurial translate
Who is this dissident beret
alongside the chair ?
Is it self ahead on a future road .....
will someone stroke my back
give ear, lip or cheek
urging body to be young in
takkies and snazzy jacket ?
mercurial question goals
Aah ! Poetic Mirrors !
inking reciting assessing
give respite from a million
images of Self as I circle an
unveiled Flow of Fate
fully awake to naked
poet
mercurial observe
catalytic soul
Copyright © Ghairo Daniels | 2017
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
I've got a feeling that I say a lot less
than my words wish to or attempt to express
I am a catalytic for healing, revealing, and relieving our mutual distress,
but trust, I'm as broken or more than the rest,
and i have something to give but i'm not sure what that is, so,
I'll do my best to release each thing that is in my hands,
to align and realign my motives, to show and show again,
the only thing i know is
exactly what you need.
I will allow nothing,
horrific even or grotesque,
to make me leave,
because you are beautiful and beautifully addressed,
as a daughter of a king,
it is a privilege for me,
to be so barren,
in a way i am undressed,
I will fight my best not to be ashamed of everything i throw before your feet
emptiness unfurled, i will not fake comfort
but i pray i do not fear to cast my pearls,
after all, you are not filthy, nor swine,
but clean, and a girl.
I would know you.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
She swoops,
the talons of her barbed words
sinking like weights
through his delicate porcelain skin.
Snarling,
baring the oh-so-sparkling canines
usually reserved for tearing flesh
from bone,
she persists in stopping
his
ironic descent into manhood in its tracks.
What shall she do
when met with a crossroads?
A strange thought for one taught to give up.
Her rampage ends abruptly
a torrent of sweeping water that
renews trodden patches of
disturbed sand,
she embraces him, her son
and through rasping tears, begs for him to smile.
Tentatively,
he twitches
the corners
of his chapped lips
upwards,
praying, hoping, wishing
he has what it takes to pacify her.
Pressing her salty-as-the-sea
cherubed cheeks against his,
(inheritance is a beautiful thing)
the melted particles
of what once belonged to
her
browning
orbs sink into the grooves of his
laboured smile.
She hoarsely whispers,"Bigger my boy, I need to see".
A sick delusion
Was harboured.
Searching her son's
swimming eyes
she pulls at her ragged robes.
He can't do it.
They both know it
despite the pearly,
reflective teeth that lay whimpering within the cavern of his mouth.
They were of course, fabricated moulds of
pent up, angry, volatile chemicals,
a circus of reactions and catalytic encounters.
He doesn't want this madness.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
In the soft sulfur mines where these days went to waste,
You learned that knowing the recipe could ruin the taste,
And as those pictures of diamonds turn back into coal,
Pain killers comfort the head, but leave damaged the soul,
Your mind wanders through alleys where false lovers roam,
Leaving you with souvenirs and stories, but no place to call home,
You search for life here, between the miles and goodbyes,
While buried deep underneath these cold granite skies,
Where you dream about bright lights and running away,
Only to wake up with nobody listening and nothing to say,
Caving in before your catalytic converter heart starts to stall,
Your only mark on the world, another scratch in the wall.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
muffler exhaust pipe,
post catalytic breath,
ten F 'n above.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
we were a classical case
of too many chemicals
catalytic affections
that infect with their tentacles
grab hold, render me wrecked
in the best of ways and the worst
sweet poison that sates something
only to instill a greater thirst
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Those doe-like eyes and your rosy lips
Make these liquid emotions collide and swoon -so when they mix-
Infectious is the way I feel them bloom
Inside my heart so smitten;
I swear you love it too.
I swear you feel it too.
And I swear this space grows with graceful Hues: Orange-Purple sunset lulls that pull
The strings of our two souls
So catalytic, the strum that hums nascent Blues.
Listen...
It sings You and I as a
Primordial premonition of truth, the Downpour like Tuesday Rainfall.
And You?
The pluming sensation reigning in my Skies, breathes when I feel you feel me...
When I love you wholly, surely you'll see us Truly.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
If I saw you coming at me I would growl
at first sight of your woodland form
at that beard that hides the face of a lion
GROWL
You're standing here so close that I smell your breath
a thick cloud from your pearly mouth
a strangling reminding me I missed my chance
ROAR
Beat your chest in your defense, you know I know you won't back it up
(You were caught purring too many times to be a threat)
Stare at my eyes like you'll lunge, lash out at this pout and rip right through
(You were silent for so long and in all ways plain gone)
Mon
key maybe
go
ri
lla
More
like spineless
hu
man
boy
Should you see me slinking to you I should think
at first sight of storm incarnate
at last your chance to cement your meaty fist
HOWL
How is this anything? You just stand there.
How is this anything? You take me in.
How could you now, with tools to prevent, invite the catalytic tempest?
YOUR HOUSE IS MINE
Cower
As I howl
howl
howl
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
I have this
increasingly annoying
affliction with affection.
I'm sorry if my
insularity doesn't comprehend your sincerity,
I've just had the actions of others be
catalytic to the inner cynic
in me.
I try to push myself to feel
an inclination, but it ends in agitation
instead.
I've realized it's
unfortunately an idiosyncrasy
of mine, though I hope to someday come across a
carrefour in life where I'll find my paramour
who will understand.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
I'm not the way home reminds me
I waft through the world obtaining the ideals
Of unanimous prophecies
Spelling it as if it is so
He turns towards me and hands me the fine tip of a needle
open arms
Wide
Swings the words through catalytic loops
Soulmate
Forever
He says
Till the final throws of life come through my eyes
I wont breathe still youre mine
But I'm motionless
I freeze as the cracks take their form
The natural progression of ice melting
It signifies nothing
Nodding as the moonlight
Devours
I sit still for hours
Cigarette after cigarette
The thick chews of ginger candy
Wrappers clothing me
I'm the skin
Holding our bodies as they morph into one
As the paint fumes poison us
Rats tickling the walls
We lie
To ourselves
Above the sheets on the bed
I tell him I want to see the world
He perks
confused
"Aren't I your world?"
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
no one will notice
but at the restaurant
pressure treated wood stuffed under her sweatshirt
her frame soaked up into my ribs
pushed together hard
like the bones in our hips against the seat
to feel her guttural pulse.
in the space we share-
dive into the slow-burn stove in her voice
a flashlight passing through the red edges between your fingers with your hand held against it.
catalytic cells in tiny metal boxes breathing on the back of you neck.
nothing left between us but our elbows on the polyurethane-killed table
nothing happens.
we imagine splashing our faces with cold water in claustrophobic places- under pressure- pushing down into submarine voyages-
we take our time-
we open up our faces to the sleepless weeks, lying on the floor to stretch our legs
there is want of words between us,
but languages can't do enough to satisfy us
and looks can only hold us for so long.
and the contents of my head is old refrigerator meat-
leftovers found in the back after too long
[she doesn't see.]
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
What if years after the butterflies, and after the fire and ash has settled there is nothing but the pooling of guts. The detritus that lies smitten with various bacterial lineages, and a hot ooze that overboiled from the seams of your heart now are being slowly engulfed; Mesmerised by the steady beats and thumps, the fissioning crowd wells in awe, clawing, a cacophony of enzymes heaving toward the heavy membrane. Swell; where trichogramma turns to ask the orchid floating among the horizon: what do parasites contribute to an ecosystem?
Perhaps the cumulative swarm of such chemically catalytic beasts, towering, twisting, spitting emulate the acute plasmic oxygenation of a flame. A perhaps.
Such are perhaps.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 5:06 AM UTC
Renegades
Passing days
Falling apart
In harmony
A catalytic
Cacophony
Of ugly words
And her
Disastrous
Poetry
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
most instances when i initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
and madly scratching itchy hairs
dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo
hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby a generic home
er run (hitting) mill
(on the floss sing false teeth)
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy Joe,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea
(Egg heads, merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst of tangential thread populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),
trucked since time immemorial
inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate
coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. **
Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile
self determining tour de force
whereat fingers of the lefthand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expended leaves (of grass)
finds me Walt sing whit man nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
My body causes
a chemical reaction,
with the help from
the laws of attraction.
I store a nectar
my pheromones release,
it serves a delicious
butterfly feed.
Oxytocin
is what it's called,
in my belly is
where it’s installed.
The butterflies swarm
when oxytocin’s produced.
They come to digest
the catalytic juice.
Flipping and turning
eating ravenously,
filling me with bliss
a divine ecstasy.
There is no other feeling
that I can compare,
when the butterflies dine
from my stomach lair.
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
A thousand washed out hallelujahs drown the sewered streets
as the homeless are arrested for their burdens,
dying in their cardboard graves.
A generation sings,
sings of their lust for an un-abandoned indignity.
Hollowed protest carried only by listless tweets
and insatiable delusions of grandeur are used to spike their drinks.
they’re spiraling forward with catalytic fury saving only ashes from the hell fires started by their own torch.
They stand before you screaming-
LOOK AT MY NAKED BONES.
You open your eyes and there’s a band on their chest who’s songs they don’t even know.
With eyeliner so think you can’t see their iris to know if its blue or gold.
You wouldn’t know naked if it peeled your skin down to your bone.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC