"chyme" poems
I've been awake for too long.
Sleeping every night you'd think I would've got the hang of it by now
But the last year, sleep has eluded me.
Now I sit pre-dawn hour.
Preparing myself.
Settling an upset stomach,
Turmoil of emotions.
A sea of anxiety -
Chaotically churning chyme
As time goes turning on.
Fooled myself that I was neutral.
That I would be happy no matter the outcome.
Yet, here I am. Sweating fear.
Like I'm out gun so I have to out run bullets.
Radical Critical Acceptance.
Is my only line of defense
Against the offense of uncertainty
No point worrying about what I'm going to be dealt - pointless action.
Deal me the cards and I'll work from there.
We're all **** in the new dawn.
Naked in our actions, our motives
All wanting a plethora of letters
In a hundred different combinations.
So as that sun rises
Like a single old wise iris
Dispelling it's light on me
I wonder -
what will today bring?
Either way, I'm certified that I'm leaving.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
A bouquet hung in afterhour pantry,
A bell to ring the starved noise,
Two spirit's gathering extraterrestrial information,
A stairway chalked by toys!!!
A damp moistness to bleed out ourn Laugh's,
No docteretic sources,
Just serene gleams of minds alike inbathed!!!
Abundance of sizziling swelter,
Bogged heavy in due rain heat,
A voisterous composition,
The crow polishes ourn two's feet!!
I tasteth her plum need,
She gravels our toes,
Fulminations children breed,
In translucent clear clothes!!!
We wither in feathered juiciness,
Where fences are none to find,
Wherein camera's we make to shiver,
We break back's on massage oil chyme!
She reaches over to take mine fears,
She maketh me a warmsome bed,
Different valley's in singular astronomical view,
Both alive, yet so dead!!
Ourn peritonium's hunch in closer,
As ourn cartilage gets renaissance,
Were two alike, a Shakespherian Poe poster,
A darkness and light of Dupont!!!
Puzzles with missing pieces,
Though we ourn selves fill the gaps,
Where none can enter between us,
For ourn chapters are ammophilously wrapped!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I tell you all
I lost my soul one morning in October
still i can feel it trembling
with the mucous in my throat
the liquor coating of an empty stomach
denying re-entry
an expatriate exiled to the outer realms
the cells spoke to me in my elusive haze
what atrocities you brought with you the night before
volatile liquids
and billows of chyme decaying smoke
it was you who erased that patch of flesh from your cheek
the sidewalk merely a catalyst
a surrogate mother to your infantile stupidity
fathered by a not so impotent bicycle
what became was a dance with gravity
and you tried to take the lead
but that possessive ***** refused to give it up
and in a drunken stupor
thrashed you about
leaving you to the jagged teeth of concrete
costing you some epidermal friends
those whose sole duty it is to protect us
and your foolishness allowed their dismantling
so now we allow yours
so they did
with one swoop of my head
my body purged my soul into the poisonous sunlight
my brain a series of bombastic drum solos
i died there in my bed
soulless and aching
a drink in my hand....
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 4:26 PM UTC
*Leaving your home for a time.
Going on an adventure to mysteries places.
Always ending up a chyme.
Seeing all kinds of faces.
Meeting supernatural beings.
Defeating the evil character.
Doing things that always has meanings.
Always free of an inheritor.
Finding the love of your life.
And living happily ever after, and always extending?
Even in their afterlife?
Why never A Horrible Ending?*
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Chyme, Dirt, Mucus, Scab, **** Grime, Ostomy, Bag.
These are the things i believe in.
This is my ******* Religion.
If you don't like it get out of my alley,
I am eating flies,
and cutting myself.
**** You.
Cop Death.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Promises made by diviners: first,
the month of my undoing dissected,
uncertainty excised. Fingers splayed,
the prophet makes a pretty ritual
out of ribcage. Says: any bone
can be an oracle bone, given time.
Unhook the vertebrae, then.
Plate apart the musculature
and there’s fate, that red spool,
that hungry spine. Ask me if I
believe. I believe all prophets
are butchers. The small chime
is her fingers at my glass rib
and not my leaving. Ah, fate,
that tangle of guts, of chyme.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
I lay here in this dark room restless.
No yonder sound than the tick-tock of the clock that mocks my singularity;
my loneliness.
Every rhythmic chyme reminds me of the seconds away from you.
Time spent longing for your warmth:
your presence.
Oh Day, Oh Night.
Why oh day is there not enough time,
and why oh night do you drag on like time itself has ceased?
Because of your lengths, I am separated from my love.
with her I feel complete,
I feel important.
Like every touch is meaningful.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
zen manipulate electrons in various states\
migrate matter within range negate radiation\
indicate particles of ambiguous qualities heart\
rate acceding mean mug gimmickry deflower\
showman stalemate minute of the meeting\
bonsai tree focus attention on mental desertion\
of a post without permission leaving duty\
unconcerned possess contrite phase clout\
initiate conduction butterfly effect\
unconditional require dissertation variation
in the future scale systems of education\
consume clones dogmatic zone emphatic\
wormhole between widely abused encompass\
those sadly disturbing amused separate connect\
ions space time continuum chromium address\
headless tune ⍏ chyme divine combine celestial\
sign ⍏ bodies pine guide ⍏ shrine unleash\
out zipper little dipper stick
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
the whites of her eyes weren't bright last night
more dyed, like a smoker's tooth brush
chyme coming up, cheap ***** 7-up
after we felt lush, trying not to move much
so as not to wake her
so as not to shake her from a slumber
just to, in a haze, lumber encumbered
towards her days numbered
so i'll just lie there until her sky eyes open
i'll lie there until her sky eyes open
lie there until her sky eyes open
until her sky eyes open
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 7:56 AM UTC
I bleed out stars from my eyes,
sniff out noble gases.
I don't do physics but gravity seems heavy
though I like gravy but I dish out the ketchup
tuna swahili sashimi, to me, I rhyme
with this chyme as you read this; I waste your time.
Oh how I wish I had more time, I'm going down
Six feet under in a few months.
A funeral with thunder and rain, sobbing and pain, a cursed chain message- pass this on as I pass on or else get hexed, but last time I checked those don't work, like she and I, we didn't work out
that's why we're fat, sad, dying, and alone.
Rich with perfume and makeup- is how I imagine a breakup,
I need the facade of contempt shooting out from your lips as you bury me deeper and farther away from the earth that failed to keep us grounded together, supposedly forever.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
I picture my rage like a church bell, bang,
come now or hell! My fists bunching,
the storming forward. "Are you starting?"
Fear mingling with stagnant *****
into chyme. Screams engulf my mind;
you have been ******* around for way,
way, way too ******* long. Smack.
Fist collides with paper soft skin, kick.
You groaning on the floor, fight night.
Come first light the high subsides,
I will wash my bleeding knuckles and dig
your fractured skin from between
the semi-precious stones in my rings.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
We never had enough time
to romp and stomp and chyme
through fields and glades
like jolly little milk maids
but we still got lost in the by and by.
We waded through the sky
and chanced upon our first lie.
That we would live forever
that we could grow old together
but it will never be better than now.
But those were the days
When we lived in a happy haze.
Life was a dream
A melancholy scheme
to send us to the depths of sadness
to the depths of cold
where we will truly grow old
alone but bold
for truly we lived a life of gold.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Up with the sun, his mind razor-keen,
he hikes up his trousers and starts his machine.
Though barrels of funk feed their reek to the dawn,
he pays them no heed; the trashman rolls on.
Up alleys, down thruways, past storefronts and stands,
he guides his behemoth with rock-steady hands.
Though big rigs and small fry speed hither and yon,
he sticks to his creed; the trashman rolls on.
Down **** to Impostor, past each stinking bin,
he makes for the junkies and merchants of sin.
Though winos raise eyelids, though punks point and grin,
he straightens his shoulders and thrusts forth his chin.
********* and derelicts lurch from their sties.
Pimps and their harlots flash Jacksons and strut.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a pickpocket cries,
“What are you, buddy, some kinda nut?”
With hands on the levers, and brightly lit eyes,
The big driver leans out and coolly replies:
“No, sir. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the muck.
The gears maul the lowlifes, the fork rocks the truck.
Though hollers and screams shake his steel mastodon,
he longs to proceed; the trashman rolls on.
The truck passes perverts, creeps churned in its bile,
up Felon to Pusher, down Vicious to Vile,
where block upon block, where mile upon mile,
the hookers regale him with smile upon smile.
Near-naked floozies exhibit their wares.
But this man just glares while they trumpet in pique.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a drunk strumpet cries,
“What are you, mister, some kinda freak?”
His hands on the levers, with brightly lit eyes,
the big driver leans out and gently replies:
“No, ma’am. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the slime.
The gears maul the contents to streetwalker chyme.
Though hollers and screams are distressing and drawn,
his heart fails to bleed; the trashman rolls on.
Pining for virtue, he clatters along,
up Bully to Bigot, down Trollop to Spawn,
past Conman and Cutthroat to Thirteenth and Greed.
He steadies, caresses, and readies his steed. Virtue, indeed.
The trashman rolls on.
Okay. NOW CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, soulful readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
Golden trees light up the day
A winding path leading the way
Glorious hues of porcelain and blue
The peaceful presence of you so new
Wind bells chyme and I love their sound
Being laid sweetly upon crumpled ground
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
we try to simplify why we die
so its hard not to cry
when we lie
just to get by
and nobody, we know, can fly.
When there are 3 choices
on what to reply
with 1 decision.
Once you untie the lie
within the knot of time
you will see 42 outcomes
to any chyme or rhyme.
So, live now, have fun
and when you get a chance
to run, run. Run from
people like me that don't
know wrong from right, dumb.
No mercy will be granted, won't.
Be careful with who you dance.
Learn to let go of common romance.
Push past your distraction
with energy off your action.
Follow me, it would be alright...
Though if you simply think
I would be aside you in link
then perhaps I can sail to sink
drowning until my last blink.
The only thing that separates this love
is everything blocking our connection
to what knowing feels like in a desire.
I wish to destroy all matter in the way
and walk my path knowing the direction.
**** why not fly bye?
Game Over, then you die.
Greetings from the other-side.
I will be learning here too...
Accept the changes you ride.
Do not quit on your heart.
Fight for your life anew.
Love is the answer for all.
It can be known to start
you up after your fall.
God doesn't desire his followers attention
God's attraction is to the hearts of sinners.
God's will is for all of the convention
in heaven dimension after the rules
and hard work ascension has arrived
with prevention from the detention of hell.
If you are right
believe insight
tonight.
Magic flowing though us
all, always will, is
working with every move
toward something to prove.
Know when this monsoon
can consume all the room
along with hope, doom,
and allow more room
to create desirable boom.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC