"celsius" poems
Your flame glows
And flame throws
Insane vibes
Than makes my viens flow
My body over heats
To temperatures Celsius unknown
our bodies taking measures
Heighten pleasures
Too bad to be a miracle
Too good to be forgotten
Memories clone
Yet, it's heaven sent
by principle
Our bodies quake with sensations
Unbelievable
Reaching heights without ******
unachievable
Take loving making to the next decimal
Feeding our appetites until we are plenty full
And our eruptions stop exploding
And we lay there motionlessly stile
Calm as a lonely
lake as satisfied as ice is chill
Cooling each other down
like the wind does the sun
Looking at each other like our work
here is done
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
*Tender touching on creamy silky skin.
Hearts pounding like jackhammers.
Sweat dripping, warm rain.
Sheets melting.
70,80,90,100 degrees celsius!!!
Pulses rising,voices rising, music rising.
White rose moving down your spine tingling your sensitive senses.
Oh how you sing my name, I hope this song never ends.
Loss of air, loss of sense of self, two bodies in one.
Rose pedals broken under two lovers forms.
Waking up in a rose garden to the sound of your voice.*
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
you pledge allegiance to a certain type of government
a nation that is ruled by fat men
in ***** dens that cloud the air with smoke
that waters your eyes so you can water their poppy fields
all the while with your right hand over a heart
that beats feverishly with the influx
of toxins that mix with your blood
diluting the poppy petal red
with clear atoms that bubble on spoons
in the shape of bone crossed skulls
they rule with iron fists clenched around
green paper that they take from you and your people
and sell fresh needles as necessary happiness
to counteract the sadness they have created and placed you in
they sit there with smoke rings coming from o-shaped lips
that ring around the perpetual cycle of
supply and demand
supplying addiction and wrapping it in itches
and demanding your free left hand
scratch that itch.
scratch that itch so hard that your skin opens up
and the pain requires more relief.
the nation you live in waves its flag with
173 stars representing Celsius and not celestial
because space is far away from this place
and offers too much unknown for you to think
that unknown is the opposite of the sadness you know
and maybe there is happiness there
where hands are free from swollen veins that act
as puppet strings.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
strawberry frenchfries dipped in chocolate fondue.
cry me an 8 oz cup of water when i step on you with my giant blue shoe.
dance through the forest with gnomes stapled to your shoulders.
hide your foil gum wrappers in manila folders.
left and right. front to back,
oxygen in the atmosphere may lack.
pluto and jupiter intertwine when night falls.
orange and green leather sewn to your ragdoll.
licking the excess frito crumbs from under your fingernails,
eyes pealed to the scenery of wacky inmates in jail.
selfish yellow and blue fish yelling at dr. seuss,
reading books in sunrooms drinking orange juice.
camera flashes and ripped dollar bills,
making chocolate pancakes on top of cherry hills.
hazy eyes drowning into a dream,
winter nights as cold as ben&jerrys; ice cream.
red hand chasing numbers on a clock,
movement of legs turns muscles into rock.
acid drops from black heart clouds falling onto driveways.
little kids on scooters munching on happy meals while saddened by the loss of sunrays.
23 degrees celsius and shine forcing itself through.
ice cream trucks and roadraged humans trying to get through.
bumble bee roads with lines and street signs,
teens boredum, smoking dope, drinking ***** getting fines.
police on the prowl everyday, every night, seeing through lies,
keeping their sight wide-open like a mouth in surprise.
fettuchini alfredo at fancy restaurants.
ice cold water knocked over on a ladys lap.
words missing letters, conversations missing sound.
apples and basketballs losing shape and sense of round.
flat chested skinny ******* slipping through cracks in wooden floors,
obese transexuals getting stuck in between doors.
puzzle pieces glued to the top of a bald head,
veins appear blue but blood is red.
blowing kisses, blowing out candles
cats,dogs,birds wearing sandals.
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
It is angel impact bullwhip vivid
Stampede fingers landscape obedient
Jail bust escape laughing run
Spillway thought stream fuzzy essence
UGG boot toe tubs and water stings
Earthquake tyrant Celsius fools
Pin lake petrol ice filled deserts
Spiky flames in outer space
Sculpture freak show withering exhibit
Fathom emergency breathe and ****
Nut shell gorillas invisibly cracked
Cow fed nirvana BBC
Shades of zero audio cauldron
Same vein madness virus mansion
Culinary horror infection procedures
Geyser rich nutrient pea-pod turmoil
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
The sun looks and feels as though it seeks revenge
The sweltering heat exarcabating the chronic fatigue that plagues this youthful body
All of the grumbling and screaming turning into a silent whisper
And subsequently, a yawn
I feel oppressed by mother nature
The wind is blowing in fiery-like gusts When it touches my face I can feel all the energy oozing out of me
Justifying this idleness
The air smells of wilted Jacaranda tree blossomings, strewn across the lawn
Which would be blissful if inhalation of these smells didn't spur on pesky allergies
It feels like the end of days
I yearn for the feeling of relief in the air and within myself when the infinite skies flare up and release the rains
And the pleasure of hearing the water murmur when it flows over the stone work in the front yard
Endurance
Endurance.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
tonight the sky.
dark palette.
the stars are projectors.
the paintings of them are in
perpetual motion,
carry the zero.
conflicted still life.
of spathodea.
of pomegranate.
of her own folded-up *****
it's all in how you interpret
the brushwork.
girls can tell.
a reassuringly dull sunday
turns to intrigue.
the busy girl buys beauty.
people are places and things.
lost affections in a room
in need of images
or at least explanations.
she looks for it.
she listens for them.
the sound of existing.
the sound of a quiet room.
a rainstorm or possibly the sound
of someone taking a shower.
blind little rain.
autosleeper lowers her head.
the economy of sleep patterns.
and little else celsius.
tonight the sky.
tomorrow a place where
one can ruin oneself,
go mad, or commit a crime
with paint.
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 9:07 AM UTC
"What tempature does love freeze?"
asked the five year old ice scientist.
Her character sheet read: "Mage".
She preferred "Scientist".
In the beginning we said "An Ice Scientist can freeze anything!"
So she asked "How cold?".
Google told us "-300 degrees Celcius".
The Ice Scientist spent the rest of Dungeons and Dragons
discovering the Freezing points
of
"ALL OF THE THINGS!"
"I want to stop the Bard
by freezing the Queens love"
Roll for it.
"Nat 20"
The Queens love freezes.
She refuses the bards advances.
"YES! ...Wait, What tempature?"
70 degrees.
Love may freeze at any tempature.
"At 211.5 Degrees Celsius, Adrenaline Freezes.
Did you know that?
Your heart stops racing,
No more sweat, dry mouth.
The initial fight or flight reaction slows.
you see less red."
"Mom stopped buying Epi-pens;
they're only sold in packs of two,
said she's "Boycotting epinephrines codependency"."
"Adrenaline helps your heart beat!
Did you know that?"
"At 128 degrees celcius Dopamine freezes.
Did you know that?
With desire frozen
no sense of reward
you sleep more, eat more, slip into depression.
You aren't addicted to anything anymore!
unmotivated!
upperless!"
"Mom gave up coffee,
gave up chocolate,
can't even have ***
"Dopamine makes you happy!
Did you know that?"
"At 121 degrees celsius, serotonin freezes.
Your well-being crackles on a car window.
The remaining strands of happiness, form icicles!
You can't regulate your mood,
appetite, or sleep patterns.
You are unpredictable and sick!
Serotonin heals wounds,
did you know that?
with it frozen, the scars you've collected
stay open!"
"At 0 degrees celcius water freezes!
you are made of 50-60% water!
half of your body is FROZEN
at 0 degrees!
Did you know that?"
"At -2 degrees celcius human blood freezes.
Your hands go numb,
like when you have no gloves on?
Then your toes! Arms! legs!"
"I think I would like the numb feeling
being frozen,
like Elsa.
All those tingles are the blood warming up and moving around.
Did you know that?"
I didn't know any of that.
you're very smart.
"Yeah...
...What tempature does Oxygen Freeze?"
Well, munchkin, let's google it.
Oxygen freezes At -218.8 degrees celcius.
"I bet it's hard to breath with no oxygen,
like when we get panic attacks".
Yes munchkin,
our panic attacks
are like a frozen lung.
"Do you think beautiful trees have frozen lungs?"
Do you mean winter trees?
The ones that look like glass ornaments?
"Yes!
the beautiful ones!
Like me!
You said trees breath,
When they're all beautiful
Are they having panic attacks too?"
Some of them.
There's no way to tell them apart.
Remember, Munchkin.
Trees always thaw.
Like the Queens love.
Like my love for you.
It just takes time.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
- 6 degrees Celsius
From my balcony,
yes! the atlas
of my balcony;
with the music
of the masters
pouring forth,
from within,
I follow the stars
direction Norway
and Sweden
while around the corner
one looks
towards Iceland
and 'those islands'.
Cleeve is just across the way
and Paris and Brussels
down the road.
This is my mainland!
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
i sit
wondering
if
Fahrenheit 451
is called
Celsius 232
as my moleskin burns
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
bitterness of iron:
remove the milk
in bate of oxen blood spills
a bovine scent coagulates --
two membranes,
five and nine in aluminium
warp the boiling point --
two hundred, ninety degrees Celsius,
left standing, half a day:
cardboard instruction sets carbon constriction
imprinting
burnt hair, burnt hooves --
the taste of not eating
a liver, raw --
Where is the nameless face
carrying cups of coffee, bought
on a journey
somewhere, and nowhere et al . . .
kindreds, wrapped in the smell of decay:
the uncured hide around his hips,
or was it his wrists, never touching?
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
It was all faintly lit gloom
where her silhouette wouldn't betray
if she was sleeping or awake
amid the thick smell of disinfectant
the world debarred from the room.
I trust not one of you, she would say,
*moving germs, a tribe of dirt,
that's what all of you are*.
Countless times she would dress and undress
drenching herself with dettol
changed linen time and again
and her only pursuit of happiness
was denying even the closest an access
to evade disease only she knew.
Others would find in her
a diseased mind.
When she died
men were hired to burn her
and the celsius ensured
she had a germ free passage
to the next world.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 9:13 AM UTC
The boiling point of water is one hundred degrees Celsius,
or two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit.
Every morning,
my wife boils water in an old fashioned kettle,
because the new one that beeps,
well, it broke.
Somehow,
she broke it.
So every morning,
I wake up to the obnoxious whistling of the old fashioned kettle.
The slow rising,
higher and higher,
louder and louder,
the whistle pierced my ears,
like a spear through one ear,
and out the other.
I just couldn't take it anymore!
One morning,
I woke up with a monstrous headache.
I rolled over in bed and asked my darling,
"Do you mind not boiling water this morning for your tea?
I have a horrible headache"
"Sure" she said kindly, and went back to sleep.
Finally,
one day without the screeching kettle.
I slowly drifted back to sleep.
But then,
I was awaken!
A hideous screeching noise was coming from the kitchen,
slowly rising,
it got higher and higher,
louder and louder,
the whistle pierced my ears,
like a harpoon through one ear,
and out the other.
I just couldn't take it anymore!
I jumped out of bed,
took no time to put my pants on,
and charged out into the kitchen.
"What's wrong dear!?" my wife shrieked, frightened by my sudden anger.
I did not even listen to her,
I grabbed the kettle,
opened it up,
and threw the boiling water,
onto my wife gorgeous face.
The boiling hot water sizzled on her cool face.
Her skin began to bubble,
and burn.
The aroma of burning flesh,
filled the air.
She cried out in pain,
as she fell to the ground.
It was then I realized,
I was going to go to jail for this...
So I proceeded to smash her face in with the kettle I was holding,
until she was unconscious.
I checked her pulse.
She was dead.
I looked at the clock.
5:34.
"I can deal with the body in the morning" I said to myself,
as a grabbed a cold glass of water.
"Looked like you reached your 'boiling point' there, Jeff" I thought to myself,
as a chuckled.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
1884.
A simple number.
Four digits,
Four numbers,
Containing
1 thousand
8 hundreds
8 tens and
4 ones.
1884 calories.
A simple number.
Four digits,
Four numbers,
Containing
1 thousand
8 hundreds
8 tens and
4 ones.
7882656 joules.
Enough energy to heat 1884 grams of water by one degree Celsius per gram.
Wasted on me.
Which means to me
A day of careless eating.
Fat packing itself onto my skinny body.
A finger and some splashing.
I fixed my issue.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
You pledge allegiance to a certain type of government.
A nation that is ruled by fat men
in ***** dens who fill the air so heavy with smoke
it tears up your eyes so you can water their poppy fields
and all the while with your right hand over your heart
that beats feverishly with the influx
of toxins that mix with your blood
and dilute the red poppy petal
with clear atoms that bubble on spoons
in the shape of bone crossed skulls.
They rule with iron fists clenched around
green paper that they take from you only
to sell you back fresh needles as necessary happiness
to counteract the sadness they have created and placed you in.
They sit there with smoke rings coming from o-shaped lips
that ring around the perpetual cycle of
supply and demand-
supplying addiction and wrapping it in itches
and demanding your free left hand scratch
and you do, you scratch so hard that your skin opens up
and the pain requires more relief.
The nation you live in waves its flag with
173 stars representing Celsius and not celestial
because space is far away from this place
and it offers too much unknown for you to think
that there is a different world besides the one they own
and maybe there is true happiness there
somewhere where hands are free from swollen veins
that act as puppet strings.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
He swam across an ocean to steal a concubine from a potentate,hauled himself ashore in some oil rich state.
Whitebait for sharks that roamed in the sand,fish for the cannery,what kind of a man was he?
His saving grace,her face which monitored each move he made until he reached the palace gates,
then flinging all aside he cried may God have mercy on this humble man who only tries the best he can and from the harem,a girl called Celsius ran into his arms which opened wide,time to hide ,time to run,
time to burn,the desert sun does not play games nor names the bones which bleach upon its sands.
Holding hands they stowed away on a short haul trawler out of the bay and here where fear was laid to rest
the best was yet to come.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Winter introduced itself like a
Sudden death in the family.
A -28 degrees celsius day has fingers
Thin enough to reach through glass,
Leaving its ice on the inside of
Windows.
I find candles and carry firewood,
Preparing for a cold one.
Out here, blackouts can last for a day.
My iPad and portable modem have
Battery enough for one
Poem.
Such are my priorities.
I empty my fridge into the snow,
Thanking the gods
For my beer.
Don't try to reach me. I'm remembering
Life from centuries ago.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
Bitcoin’s easy if you try
So simple now - I’ll tell you why
It’s not complex - oh contraire
You can buy it anywhere
Cash App makes it really slick
And others too - just take your pick
Venmo’s fast, try both - compare
You can buy it anywhere
PayPal offers Bitcoin buys
Get some while you order fries
Buy on Coinbase from your chair
You can buy it anywhere
Use Voyager - or Gemini
Buy it low or buy it high
So many options, I declare
You can buy it anywhere
Use Crypto.com, or FTX
Buying bitcoin is better than… a kiss
Do it quietly, or with fanfare
Just buy your bitcoin anywhere
Binance, Celsius, or just use Strike
Buy bitcoin (safely) on your bike
Think for yourself, and stay aware
You can buy bitcoin anywhere
May 9, 2022
May 9, 2022 at 11:19 AM UTC
9:13 p.m. on Wednesday
sitting, bolted to this bar,
next to tired tropes and worn out jokes
I've met a million times or more.
And the drinks all swirl together
and they start to taste the same
going down
or coming up.
It really doesn't matter much.
If the streets looked any different,
they'd still bear familiar names:
trees and states and Presidents--
Left turn, snowfall, sitting fences,
walking home
and getting old. These towns all
look alike, with weeks spent walking
in the cold.
And the salt on the sidewalks
might season your footsteps--
sure--
a steady, frigid cadence
carried through like a threat:
shallow and petty, from downtown to home.
Alone on the sidewalk,
it's 7 below.
And I don't know
what that is in Celsius,
but I know there's no home
for at least
another block or 2.
I came clean in muddy puddles,
***** slush and snowbound streets,
in towns that looked alike.
Tonight, I'm headed for clean sheets.
So close the doors, unbolt the patrons
Thursday morning, 2 a.m.
And it never feels like half an answer
when I push my front door
shut again.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Waking up to calendars to dos
To kids to yous
To video calls to wars
Waking up to history
Waking up to waking ups
Having coffees having breaths
Having work
Talking projects
Celsius
Sunshines
Cats and cups
Books and bills
Loves and lives
Waking up to walking corners
Zebra crosses
Goals and grades
Exams and exits
Curtains and mirrors
And miracles
On the membrane of times
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 7:08 AM UTC
*my my, ain't it June?! Juno, why have you given these poor people snowballs?! it's June and my central heating is on, it's close to 10 degrees Celsius, Bavaria is flooded, people embraced Einstein's relativity of the collapse of the = sign using a parabola, forgetting the basic Newtonian: cause & effect - the moment i coupled Socratic abhorrence of moral relativism, i took to dislike relativism kindred of: claustrophobia and agoraphobia... at some point Einstein's relativity equates space as time, rather than what Newton would suggest trans linear: algebraic squared, Newton still resides in cause & effect, space = ~space, given: 1 = millimetre, kilometre, and any other division... likewise with time... 20th century fashion being the perfect crop of quantum plagiarism, although in the 21st century the dance loop jumping between decades, back in the 20th century a linear expression, an evolution; quantum physics doesn't deal with linear excavations necessarily repeated, it's just repeats what is unnecessary. global warming and the mini ice age, June's here, Einstein too, Newton too, relatively speaking we're aether imprints... speaking via causality we're leaving a carbon footprint - well, **** me, two plus two... it's still scientific negativism, dietary requirements of modern man overshadowed all the scientific progresses in the field... never mind the cure for cancer! never mind that! as long as we can dress a diabetic in Lycra for bariatric surgery - never had i had i heard of such gastronomy, should it have been a pork chop smoked using zyklon B.*
we are living in the age of scientific negativism,
atheism a third limb
and our existential concerns reduced to
hamsters, calories and treadmills:
the basis of all modern inquisitiveness /
Aristotelian awe reduced to rubrics of dieticians
rather than theologians: at least with the latter
we could see the simple mind, hunched
in prayer... with the former we are experiencing
robots repeating the daily 2000 Kcal intake requirement
for a flat stomach... honestly, i prefer the praying
type, than the type regurgitating facts concerning
their diet - at least the former state of affairs
kept them shut up and mumbling, gesticulating
a type of shadow boxing while befriending
Jacob wrestling with an angel - at least that!
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
it should have been
41 degrees today.
the hottest day of summer.
i prepared.
i wore shorts to work.
it rained like
noah's flood.
i didnt see it coming
but i heard the rumbles
like drums from hell.
i wrote words for jane
and i never thought
id ever show her.
i read her two poems
and she liked the one
that wasnt about her
much more.
it should have been
41 degrees today.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
Etched spicy words on squares of glass.
A little bit cathartic.
Release the words of fiery flies.
The world may read with perfect eyes.
Creeping increase in temperature,
Freedom of letters,
Immature.
None can see or feel these words,
Dispatched on rise in Celsius.
A puddle in a pile of dust.
One thing is that, of that I'm sure.
(c)LIVVI
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:53 PM UTC
May 2, 2015
Saturday
What are figures anyway?
Are they accurate
Or simply just a mere calculation,
Converted from Fahrenheit to Celsius?
And as this infernal summer sun
Blasts itself high in the noon,
What are figures really?
What are figures anyway?
Let the waterworks fall,
Those cumulonimbus clouds cry
Tears crash upon the asphalt;
Nevermind that it’s summer,
Just let it rain.
And all would be well
If you just let the love flow,
Regardless of the statistics
Of the population of broken hearts
That fall in love
In the cascades and ruins of untimely rain.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
I've always said that
I'll give you anything you want.
What I wouldn't say is I'll climb
a mountain for you,
or catch a grenade for you
because that has been overdone
and frankly, nobody really does that.
What I can do, what I promise to do is:
when your bones are down with the flu
and your head feels weighted with dumb-bells,
I'll warm up my mom's secret chicken broth,
bring it up to you on that thin brown plastic tray
and patiently feed you until the sparkle
in your eyes return.
When you're cold and shivering
I'll take off my shirt and pants
and shoes and socks
and slide beside you on the bed
and let my body heat diffuse through
all the tiny pores of my skin to yours.
I'll share with you until my body thermometer
reads minus five degrees Celsius.
And when you meet moments of laughter,
of joy or great excitement,
I promise I'll hop onto a three legged stool
and do my crazy funny dance with you.
But I can't say all of these things in the split
of a second, when I'm lost your eyes.
That's why I sum it all up and say
I love you.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC