"catalyze" poems
Loosing this battle.
Hoping I don't catalyze.
Found myself mooing in meditation.
Lost in space...
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
With the sunrise: emerges a world of cruelty,
Though natural like a running stream, and a flower’s beauty,
We see it when fires rage on and volcanoes erupt;
Even more when animals are maimed and poisons corrupt.
Yet none I would venture,
Can compare with human horror,
Who spilt rouge over lust, greed, prose and power,
They would gladly raze cities, massacre families and abhor,
In cold blood or warm, killing more makes man dour,
And Whether to catalyze or antagonize we’ve made time; seconds and hours,
But are we a product of the world’s cruelty or is the world a product of ours?
Perhaps it is our own; after all it is our curse,
To evolve is to make great, even evil,
So making greater our hearse.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
I would like to think of myself as an intellectual, but really I’m just a regurgitation of the adolescent caste system with academic anxiety and a learned fear. Well, I suppose that is a bit harsh. I used to be social ***** now I am a lowly intrapersonal custodian (let us never mind my inter-personal mess-managing, please?), though I am far from clean. __________ I have found myself flitting back to this page from time to time and mentally inserting here a terse, self-degrading statement that could re-catalyze my pitiful little verse, but never actually writing it. I hold it heavy in my head where it shall remain, apparently. Apparently I don’t feel the need to read my flaws, transgressions, and fallibilities back to me. Perhaps I haven’t yet articulated them, and they’re just skulking around—hunched apparitions haunting my subconscious. (Death smells like dog treats: perplexing, but you want to touch your tongue to it so long as no one will know). I must slay them all, eventually, or else perish. But! It is not the transgression itself that I fear—my behaviors are observable, even tangible, I can stare at them for hours. It is the dark implication of the transgression—the churning matter only detectable for its outline of illumination—that gives me trepidation. How will I move-on? How will I grow-here? Like an impossible little spur that nestles between resistant skin and unknowing fabric? Can I penetrate the protection? My security is maniacal; it is evidence of crazed disillusion. I am the raven clawing through infinite veneers; I am tangled…
Out ****** spot! Out, I say!
I must regress to becoming the white blanket.
I must know nothing but God.
A simple cloth.
A towelette.
Rags!
Rags!
Rags!
…
….
…God?
…Hello?
…Is it too late to become
…plain?
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
The screaming in my head
It's getting louder
What is happening to me
I just wish I could sleep
Just to be free
But I keep running
I've got to find you again
For that feeling you catalyze in me
Like wet flowers
Like hot blood
Breathe.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 5:22 AM UTC
Naziism gained it's foothold in Germany
when the Reichstag was burned down:
this gave them the pretext needed
to suspend the rights of the Citizenry indefinitely
to ensure "security".
Sound familiar?
It should be frightening how similar it in fact is to modern events:
This rhymes with modern American legislation:
CISPA, the PATRIOT acts, the NDAA, etc.
Governments have always used such events
to catalyze and capitalize their own motives:
Tread lightly.
We enter a new age of Oppression with each passing administration;
we are not immune because we are hubristic
if anything, we are more vulnerable for it.
Sieg Heil,
für Gott ist mit uns.
Wir können nicht verloren
denn Gott ist mit uns.
Sieg Heil,
Amerika über alles.
Sieg Heil,
Das viertes ***** wird herum.
Sieg Heil.
Sieg Heil.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
As the crow flies south from capital city
With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity
Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers
Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing
Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise
Starting with a quiet historic ruse
Contesting over which of the two
echo shadows for optical repeal
the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues
That keep a running legacy since time before our time
and / or
Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills
Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves
Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider...
the wind
to form a fair measure of mediation
From the human view
All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest
In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west
To approach from afar
The destination appears to be a resting
shape of an antiquated location
splashed with opaque aromas,
sensory weaving visuals,
and
Melodic tones of nostalgic definition
Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body
this multi-strip string of singular select shops
Is the alignment initiative in the countryside
forecasting a manifest
for the hazy occasion
Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland
That nearly only hope,
could create
Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat
Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west
And opening into the
Woodland Hills of Little Nashville
———-—————————————-——————————
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
With rain covered kisses, transforming my placid wishes
I can't pretend
I'm ready to **** you like space and time is about to end
So as I transcend my byzantine brain beyond the bend
My heart starts beating like a gong,
Both, high above the throng
You in that turquoise thong
The crescendo in my gaze,
A potent phase coalescing our ****** rage
My tongue sinks into your supple skin
No longer can we play this subtle game,
A salacious urge pulsates through our veins
Bare our bodies blossom raw, hypnotized in lucid awe
We connect like naked puzzle pieces
Our navels entrenched in a holy bliss
Arranged as mirror images
Our corresponding parts catalyze the chemical kiss
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC
Hello,
my name is so and so
Have you heard of such and such?
"No, not very much."
Well let me tell you...
The sledgehammer
catalyze the caterwaul of lies
Unhinge your mind,
grease it
and rehinge it,
Because; everything is out of balance
A pendulum disturbed by the devil's malice
while he dances
through our glances and drops the knowledge
of how the money you pledged is wedged
in between stacks of paper and salary checks
The blues in the night-light dance with the stamina
of broken dreams. Well, let me tell you of the suffrage
and my lack of knowledge or power–or both–to discern or summon
a strategy for navigating this slanting ship
capsizing with the weight of the world
in the Suez Canal.
The doctrine of a dead man's cackle
enforce the shackle
of the child's ankle
The unswerwing arrow of my intent,
Pegonia arrowhead
plunge into a heart of lead
to find the hidden treasure
x-marks-the-spot
of another bitter man
"For every pledge donor you get
5 children died
in Tibet."
And so will they continue to
What can I do?
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
I want to be that muse that inspires your
practiced velvet fingers to kiss the ivory,
caressing the keys of a baby grand just to
catalyze gentle notes into another set of hands,
hands that tickle my heartstrings into a composition
that surpasses the harmonies of angel's .
You’re the composer of my heartbeats,
sounding a subtle symphony of
nervous twitches,
and the flap of butterfly wings
into a melody that makes
Even the man in the moon hum along.
There are dynamics of your soul
That lie deaf to untrained ears but
I’m listening intently to
Every phrase that
Flows from fingertips instead of lips.
Hold my hand and teach me.
Be the virtuoso that plays
With the chords of my veins
creating a vibrato so loud
it pounds my atoms into place
like puzzle pieces.
And as I lie awake at night
I listen to the music that flows from your
Heart beat into my soul
Filling the veins in my limbs with
Rhapsodies and Sonatas
So when I fall for you
And scrape my knees
I’ll bleed in G minor
Drawing 4ths and 5ths across the sky
Making God himself
Listen so intently to the
Greatest concerto ever written
that he'll invite the Devil himself up to heaven,
saying
"This is why I created
Mankind."
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
Sits down with the nervous ping on the skin and
sits shivering in the warmth of confidence
and the concoction of nervousness.
In a few moments, what could be but
a few minutes to that of a few hours
the two come to such minute differences.
A single move forward or the delay for
a major progression can lead to the
end-all for one or the other.
In every move comes that sense
of instant regret, that maybe I should
have done it all different.
Maybe in that idea I spun the web to
catalyze my own structure, safety, and
the units of infantry.
In silence, the heart screams against ribs
and the mind plays it off as though it
were really okay all along.
This is not the sort of sport for the weak.
This is not the sort of sport for the scared.
This is the hardest game ever constructed,
and only the defiant and the brave
will take on such a risk.
--
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
tippity tippity tap
tap tap tippity tap
tippity tap tap tap
And
stop.
This is not it.
This is not art,
this is no way for me to start.
This glowing screen
this cold machine
can never catalyze my dreams into
communication
conversation
or fire my
imagination (nor can
The mincing of a pen
across neat lines). Writing only hurts my hand.
And so,
I stand.
Re-align the ol’ synapses
Click my fingers and my HOUSE collapses!
And THERE,
Planet Earth, with a grin, says,
“I dare you! Throw form to the winds!” And I,
I want to blast my words from the sky
with a big, black blunderbuss,
scatter the survivors to the four corners of heaven!
I want to ****** my fingers, scraping in the grit,
Frantically digging in the glaur and the grime for runaway rhyme
I want to haul my metaphors in, thrashing, from the sea
Hold them, know them, set them free!
I want my similes to flatten me
Like rhinos on the rampage
Tell me your stories, in everything you do
Make a bonfire of biros, a pixel pyre
And dance your poems as the flames leap higher!
I want to write with my FEET across a Scotland-shaped sheet!
I do not want to be neat.
To tether in letters,
To file for forgetters.
Words on a page are birds in a cage,
Poetry unspoken
Life, unwoken.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
Your eyes,
they catalyze-
an anaerobic exercise
of my loosely stitched heart
& sepia stained scruple
If you squint once more
i might rationalize
a brief grasp,
graze,
and galvanize.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
In our world of clamorous wailing and insertions our entrails are left out on the curbing bloodied and useless.
If only we could fish ourselves out of our own wistful delusions.
Every creature has its role in our worlds tropic cascade, but our true delineated roles are being the cogs to catalyze our machine.
Never dethrone someone of this quality; Sometimes the seemingly most meek are the most mirthful and life changing.
Don't render yourself a graggled block in the machine due to your insecurities, love and love indelibly and you will be set free.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
In terms of metaphysical well-being,
do not attempt to find external solutions to internal problems.
Though external solutions may, at best, catalyze opportunities,
they tend to serve as a temporary comfort or distraction
rather than a cure for the nature of the problem at hand;
A "bad mood"
is a great opportunity
to tune your Consciousness.
Life is full of those moments;
the purpose of them
is to learn from them
and grow.
Look outward for information.
Look within for understanding.
Actualize your Godself.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
Oh, the way you inhabit me
I shudder, etched inside of me is the feeling of dying
Pulsing, your emanations
Consume me and I refuse to release you from my clutches
Struck breathless instantly
You offer little reason, but you return my robbed passion
I glimpse at your grave eyes
And I feel the tide of the sea within me start to part for you
You catalyze my stolen gaze
I almost feel you shudder and rush in my sodden esophagus
A soft pink suckle
I euphorically asphyxiate for you, on you – with you
Unuttered, my subconscious
Fabricates the smell and taste of your flesh using your words
My body is left ravenous
To the conjecture of your apparition as it levitates above me
Below you I kneel – impure
Please let your sensory invading of my aquatic mind cleanse me
I chant a plea to your figment
Imagining your tongue feeling the words move inside my mouth
My glistening incantations drip
And I feel your stirring when my lips part for evening prayer
I awaken an appetent beast
Rising to dominate the submission hibernating in my sharp bones
My locked jaw wants it all
I won’t release you, so let me taste your last watery breath
I shudder, etched inside of me is the feeling of dying
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
Though use of line breaks is art,
it needn't use them at all to be so.
Punctuation isn't necessary, per se,
yet some tend to opt for it anyway.
Sometimes rhyme serves only to detract,
but it can also catalyze familiarization of the abstract.
Meter is a byproduct, but it can be deliberate;
some people like pop, but others jazz or prog;
rhythm means more to some than others,
and some recognize in places where others do not.
Some find it unnecessary to consider; a waste of time.
Some find it to be balancing and are compelled towards it,
and would have it no other way.
Whatever it means to you
is what's truly important;
you have to feel something
so you might as well express it.
Those who will understand
will truly understand-
though that is a different group
than those who may well say so.
Be not jaded: they overlap!
The Traveler does not so much choose the Way
as the Way seems to Shepard certain Travelers;
how is it that can be?
Call it:
God, Tao, Zen, Consciousness, or the Universe itself;
it is all and nothing; inside and out,
it's neither a thing, nor nothing,
so tread lightly and embrace the paradox
because it really is irrelevant
how One chooses to effigize it-
it's what One has within already
that will serve as One's salvation,
and that's really all that matters.
Should we seek to harbor that of others, as well,
we could become as we've seldom been known to be.
In any case, we'll meet in the light;
whence we've all come, to begin with-
whence we've been ever since-
whence we've been blinded
seemingly of our own volition.
Be conscious of what makes you Live
and then help it to actualize,
all the while seeking that others
may do the very same.
Blessings upon thy Path-
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Something has been planted deep within me,
Oh so deep, I can feel it molding to my soul
So powerful it pounds to the beat of my heart.
Something has been forming within me,
Only it bends and folds and twists to your voice
Say something, anything – catalyze its creation.
Something has been growing quickly within me,
Opening my eyes to the power of your smile
Smug yet shy, crippling my awareness of its emergence.
Something has developed within me,
Operating both my mind and my heart
Shoving past my bones and crawling to your being.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
We are raised to fall in love. We are wired
to find someone, something, to make us happy.
We are told that it cannot be done alone. Hand flat
against my thigh. Neck crooked, arched in the broken
bone agony of release. Round rings of red inflammation litter
the surface area making up the forearms where ember
once touched skin. Each stroke of the canvas sizzling
into life with a calm hiss. Whites of sallow eyes are
juxtaposed by the dark rings around them before shutting
themselves to darkness. Another stroke, another hiss.
Head tilted back and our body is not our own. Her face is mine.
Our face is our own twisted in slack-jawed ecstasy.
Another, another. Clenched hands stretch lifetimes
across paneled floors. Remember the first time.
There in the laundry room. Pierced skin. Burnt flesh.
Remember the pain. Another, another. The ********
revulsion of knowing it is never going to end. The feeling
of emptiness. The feeling of never being whole again.
Another. Knowing that the body is only the conduit.
The surface area on which to catalyze reaction.
Where we end and we begin. It is all one body. Our hand.
Yes. Our neck. Yes. Our face. Our forearm. Our needle.
It is all one body. Another, another, we need another.
Melted into one. We twist and moan and **** and
bleed and bite and destroy another and another
and another. We are all the same. No longer feel
the cigarette, twisted and held in cauterized flesh.
Quickly. Each ****** each stroke a beautiful painting.
Colors blur the walls of vision and we are all the same and we
are all the same and we are all the same. Another.
We are raised to fall in love. We are raised to fall in love.
Another, another. We are all the same. Where do we end.
We are all the same. We are raised to fall in love.
Where do we begin. We are wired to find external happiness.
The needle in the haystack. Where do we begin.
There is a disconnect between the ideal and that first,
****** ****** There, in the laundry room, needle in my
arm and inside a girl I don’t remember.
Each stroke paints a perfect picture. Her face is mine.
Remember the first. Remember the last.
We are all the same. There is
no end. There is no beginning.
We are all the same.
We are raised to fall in love.
There is a disconnect.
Each ****** ******
each whispered hiss.
Oblivion.
Here we come, happiness.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
Your stare an aphrodisiac; a small heart attack, systematically stimulating, straining my self control.
Your hair provokes my amorous glare, tearing down the walls of insecurity and worry.
Your eyes, even behind the lies, a sweet surprise as luminous as any sunrise;
save your good byes, no need to cut ties.
Your thighs catalyze my emotion quicker than any wave in the ocean.
Your flaws, minuscule in demeanor, as beautiful as a souped up two seater.
You are a movie and I'm just sitting in the theater.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
rip all my hairs out hoping they access a brain cell to help me wipe my memory like a shaun white, snow tidal wipeout
strand by strand hoping to find a destresser to pull the plug of my brain's photobooks
you catalyze my grief and a cobweb nostalgia
silk an admired commodity yet **** out by a creature who has it handed to it at aggregated birth
stuck in this mess
but i have my fist clenched around a web which is as adhesive as a 48 hour hardened glue
glued to you but i'm acetone fused and it's only a serum's distance to an isle of distant cries , haunting melodies of f# major vocal hymns and
a sand filled paradise where wild life flies and quick sand awaits to offer a gorgeous, satin, embodiment of warmth.
yours deceivingly..
that good old horrendous feeling
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 2:54 AM UTC
Unfortunately,
I have found myself
at the end of another
failed experiment.
SUBJECT 17 has yielded
no results substantial
in deviation relative to the others.
No exceeding qualities
or aspiring hopes,
only the same shallow devotions,
same tangible-driven emotion.
I have only managed to
catalyze tolerance in the
subjects toward my behavior,
with no noticeable steps
moving toward interest.
Give me one woman
who enjoys Hem like me.
One woman
who cares about literature,
or good music that provides
something deeper than the melody.
I've been looking for too long.
17 times I've given myself up for
the experiment, 17 times I've
stepped out on the limb.
However, the poet's life is not a life
of acceptance, interest, or accolade.
We are tolerated
by the subjects we surround
ourselves with,
until they grow tired
of our late nights spent
with attentions elsewhere.
Leaving us with ourselves,
until we realize that isn't
such a loathsome place
to be.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC
So I sit
Reading about chaos
Zoos of strange and particular attractors
Thinking that about sums it up.
You're in my dreams
The tides of time
Holding me in your sight
for as long as I might
pretend the light
is right
at night
You're in my dreams.
Catalyze
Synthesize
Shrink down, I'll meet you at Jupiter
I have me, and the world I create
Let's weave,
let's meet
Biodynamically recreate the paradigm of speak
Speak.
A world awaits on each syllable
With sentences speak double double speak.
And so I sit
Reading about chaos
Strange attractions
Particular attractions
Let's rip it to pieces of numbers and see what happens
Happenstance approaches.
According to you, you are
right where you are
which is here.
Heresy!
In it all emergence occurs
everyday is new, and you are as the sun
Bringing a seed to the palm of a lover is all I have
and time.
I have lots of time.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
I lock onto you like an enzyme,
to catalyze your rage, and force you to bind.
Allowing your own vitriol to dissolve you,
reduce you to nothing but a stain.
A harmless puddle of organic matter,
once an angel,
now straining through my fingers,
harmlessly trickling down the drain.
It is where people like you belong.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
I sit down to write
Create beautiful prose
It’s been so long
Yet my mind goes blank
Where is my heart?
Where is my brain?
Where are my words?
There’s no passionate emotion to draw from
No inspiration
I wish my tears could fuel pieces of art
But I don’t even cry
I wish my pain could catalyze my creativity
But that pain is so repressed
This lack of feeling suits me well most times
My personality is made of jokes
My heart is bulletproof
But in poetry
There’s no inspiration
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
Somewhere in the world is a treasure
that has no value to anyone but you,
and a secret that is meaningless to
everyone except you, and a frontier
that possesses a revelation that only
you know how to exploit.
Search for those things.
Somewhere in the world is a person
who could ask you that precise question
that you need to hear in order to catalyze
the next phase of your evolution.
Do what's necessary to come face to face
with that person and listen to what they
have to say.
Feel empowered if you use your power
to empower others.
There's a reason why the rear view mirror
is so small and the windshield is so big.
It is because where you're headed is much
more important than what you've left
behind and it allows you to search for those
things. Jon York 2022
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 12:20 AM UTC