"contaminants" poems
Hobbling out of bed
Half dead
I'm led
To the bathroom
The shower a vacuum
Of my powerlessness
But first i ****
Then get in
**** out the contaminants
Of my ***** habits
And i scrub
I scrub off
The plastic love
The mean mug
And tug on my ****
Plant a vision til it pops
And drop
To the shower floor
Tilt my head back
And gurgle to the gods
For more
Scrub the grill
Lay a towel on the floor
Suit up for a war
Two sprays of cologne
And im out the door
Headphones on
Angels atoning
To the morning
As im floating
Through the fog
Descending in my grog
Along the path
Like a lab rat
For a slab of cheese
Through the swamps
And trees
Trampling
Dead things
And leafs
And im seen
By nobody
As i ascend a hill
To the corporate power
Where ill cower
For nine hours
Before reporting home
Going to bed
And waking up
To do it all again
Its blue collar zen
And im bored
So fraking bored
With my chores
Id rather scribble sounds
Into forms
Verbal storms
Visual cores
Implored
To explore
The tortured
Terms in torrents
Of turbulent
Talks with dead gods
And im born
Into the horns
Ive sworn
To protect
In widows peaks
And deepened
Speeches
I'm infected
With my perfection
Torn
In the muffled traces
Of noiselessness
Among the space-less
Distances
To my sentences
Taking out the crackles
And recording
Over the blemishes
Relishing
The fragile moments
Of eloquence
In **** jokes
And threatening
Gestures
Jesting
The restructuring
Of molesting
Verbiage beat
Over the mic
Delusions enticed
In my writes
Of fights
In long sleepless nights
Of rhyming
With bad timing
And mumbling
Of slimy things
Bubbling in the cuts
Dubsteped to **** fits
Sunkissed in lacking curtains
Disturbing the certainty
Of sleep
And cheapening
My dreams
Rolling over
Planting my feet
Upon wood floors
Hobbling toward
Tomorrow
Sorrowfully
Repeating
The same thing
Washing away the sleep
And fleeing
My creativity
For the rest of the week
(in progress)
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
The oceans flow and bring with them hope.
The tide comes and washes our sins away.
A means of finding a way to cope.
I hope this waters are calm enough to stay.
A levee is built to hold back the flood.
But still some sediments seep through.
The pollutants build up like contaminants in blood.
Flowing toxins deep inside of you.
I look up for a moment and notice a cloud,
The sky and the ocean are one in the same.
Both with tremendous ability to burst aloud,
While suppressing it's power in a matter that's tame.
I look back down as I drift to sea,
And a smile comes across my face.
I realize that everything within me,
Is a possession of this enchanted place.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
God curse developers
Who bury waste contaminants,
God curse investors
Who prey upon the weak.
God curse the Nazis
Who terrorize minorities
God curse the leaders
Who lie each time they speak.
God curse the despots
Who subjugate their people,
God curse Big Oil
Who swamp the world with greed.
God curse the Jihadists
Who slaughter indiscriminately,
God curse the poor
Who bleat about their need.
God curse the haters
Who bleed the world of latitude
God curse the moaners
Who take away the hope
God curse religion
Which robs us of tomorrow
And God curse the rest of you
Who limit me, my scope!
Marshalg
@thebach
17 May 2011
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
I have this
theory about
irony, tyranny
and irrational
national emergencies
you see, when
the foul wind
blowing south out
of Washington DC
fails the smell test
but compares well
with, say, ********
cat **** radioactive
batshit contaminants
but, hey, try any
old way, you still can’t
iron any wrinkles out
of the fact that what
lies in the murky bottom
of the Potomac
our leader drinks in
also flow through
the faucets to sink, then
down the ********
of our so-called democracy
and into the lagoon
down on the links
of Mara-a-Lago.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:00 AM UTC
12/22/2018
I’m walking through the halls
Trapped in by suffocating walls
I’m walking through the doors
Over the decaying floors
Who has walked through them?
And where were they walking from?
A broken desk
Or a secluded bathroom stall?
Memories and laughter or
Tears and sobs evermore?
Have these hallways heard confessions?
Or witnessed just depression?
Have they made memories of laughter ?
Have these windows shown truth of all of the lies?
Or only a glimpse of an aggravated sunrise?
Are the walls shrines of the past?
Holders of all questions asked?
If the curtains wave in the gentle autumn breeze
Is there still an ill wanted disease?
The dilapidated ceiling watched over inhabitants
Still built perfectly built but falling apart
And visitors that were seen as contaminants
The unwanted one
The one no one would notice if they were gone
The same one that screamed for help here
For anyone to be near
Or the one who was popular
A class A top gossiper
The one with a sharp tongue
But no one knows that it’s wrong
The hallways whisper the secrets
Of their strongest weakness
The halls tell the stories they may
Of friends on their departing highway
And the friends who are just meeting
Smiles, laughter and a warm greeting
I’m walking through the halls
Trapped in by suffocating walls
I’m walking through the doors
Over the decaying floors
Waiting for a voice to hear
For anyone to show they're near
Waiting here forever
I won't leave this place, never
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
Most of the time,
I find it difficult to harvest
the proper words from the curve of my neck
where the skin dips down
and shakes hands with my chest.
The fine hairs raise and fall,
the color of wheat,
exhaling what others want and inhaling what I need.
In,
out,
in,
out.
Using my primitive tools,
I rip
the necessary parts of speech
from my throat
and use the so called precious arterial mud
that is equatable to manure
to fertilize my lungs
so that although I am dead,
my voice
is
not.
Sometimes,
I can pluck
proper phrases
from my eyebrows;
I can hunt them
through the tall grass that sits
upon my livid plains.
I imagine my pencil
is a spear
and try not to look
when the graphite
pierces their pure bodies,
killing the meaning
as yet another mediocre artist
paints them upon the lines of his notebook,
wounding
the effect words have on the world
because if they are used too often,
they mean nothing at all.
Occasionally,
my ink pen
forms a circle of deep blue
into which I can cast my line
and retrieve the perfect letter from a sea of ephemeral pieces.
I am merely part
of a larger industry
that traps
the delicate curves
of spines
and sharp points
of serifs
nestled between ascenders
and shoulders
into nets
made from blue lines on bleached paper.
I desperately cling
to the descenders
that hang past the edge of the cliff
because by God I will not die
even if it means shooting something as beautiful as that
which I rely on to keep me afloat.
However,
there are times,
when that is too much effort -
too much exertion required of my small, inadequate equipment,
I am left
to abandon the ink-laden sea,
to discard my fields of words and phrases
in search
of a way
to pull the plug
at the bottom of the bathtub in my brain
and watch as the opaque,
grimy,
filth-ridden water circles
around
and
around,
exposing things
I never knew were there.
In those milliseconds
where the contaminants drain away
and there is complete transparency,
I find what I am looking for
before I am even certain
what I needed in the first place.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
We are like a tattoo,
forever there changing.
We cover the Earth's beauty,
like a scar of the skin.
As time passes, we change.
We spread in all directions
slowly fading, sinking down,
down into the skin of the earth.
Contaminants!
We overlap,
lose our beauty in the concrete jungle.
We become ugly.
Loosen out grip on nature,
but we envy its eternal youth.
We want to go back to our original beauty.
We can't.
We grow old.
We continue to fade until we are a form with no beauty.
Till the earth is covered.
Humans are Earth's fading tattoo.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
I’ve watched the western coast decline in pounding surf and howling gale
I’ve noticed how the rising tides encroach, to day by day impale,
The crumbling cliffs, the drifting sand, the ever creeping surging sea,
The violence of increasing storms…. and how it all impacts on me.
The polar ice in melting sheets cascades into high warming seas
Islands in Pacific sun now inundate with cruel ease.
Swathes of forest in Brazil encroached by axe and palm oil gain
Climatic balance counteracts to guarantee tomorrows pain.
The ocean strewn with plastic waste, choked in tides of human ****
Churning chimneys bellow forth across the blue globe, poisoning it.
Coal’s contaminants are burning holes across the crystal sky
And leaking nuclear waste contributes now… to killing you and I.
Wealth and politicians howl abuse at they who caution loud
Climate change, they disavow, is but a ploy to woo the crowd,
**** the future for the now” is the mantra held by they
Who wield the club to rule the roost and pocket spoils themselves….today!
Overwealmed by monstrous change, management relinquish charge,
Service and supply collapse with climatic refugee collage.
Hurricane and wildfire spread in league with rising seas
Of course the leaders wring their hands and call on God to please, .....appease?
A vision of this shrunken earth with coastlines vastly higher now
With cities drowned, Atlantis like, where millions, dispossessed, do prowl,
Where law and order, gone, is now replaced by desperate **** and take,
Where the rich and famous bastion arms behind their futile walls of hate.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls...It tolls for thee
M.
30 July 2019
New Zealand
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 8:44 PM UTC
marked: hazardous materials.
special handling required;
contaminants. corrosives.
radiation. explosives.
pathogens. psychosis.
before even touching this
you need to know this:
it was a cure for war,
a solution to pain.
it was something that should
never be attempted again.
it was chaos, it was peace
it was the last second of time
before either of us chose to speak.
now the moment has passed, the HAZMAT crews amass
i mention casually as they put on their gloves
"is there usually so much destruction"
replied "what do you expect from love?"
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:56 AM UTC
Rehabilitating through escalating rhetoric emanating; animating fascinating literary representations of the subtle decorations encircling this imagination
Magniloquent passages full of enigmatic contaminants; imparting the multiplex peculiarities of an introspective, retrospective detective
Indulging in perplexing idiosyncrasies and infusing ethereal rhapsody into the universal tapestry.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
A ripening sky-
dotted ambiguously with
molten fibers--
*the sculptor’s daughter
And her flesh shavings.*
How corrupted,
the christening angels:
the sunsets they cry, and contaminants they hide.
Our faux harvest of a blessed apple,
slaughtering the whole barrel,
Ripping out their cores.
Zipped through bursts of
squints and charcoal,
inky, starless
irises--
*Dolly Misandrist; not human;
one after the other, sliced those sonnies up,
Knocked them down like chess pieces.*
Perhaps she wanders, and flees-
filled with - fire -
spilling over with sin;
perching on her
Shattered masterpieces.
A flock of birds,
ringing around the carcass,
pounced to tear apart their evening meat--
*they chased Dolly the damsel to the state border,
She was fenced in by boys and their
grandfather’s pistols.*
Cleared her throat to plead one last swan song,
but was interrupted by the scraps
of bread they threw into the duck-pond.
*The first boy shot her right between the chest-
“You shouldn’t have been such a **** Misandrist.”
Eyes-
“That’s for my brother.”
Head-
“Ladies don’t come first where you’re going.”
A speechless, frozen moment passed.
Blank stares. Open mouth. Nothing coming out.
“That *****
The trees scurry from beneath
the ocean of stars. Come Sunday morning,
the church pews are full.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
I was happy in our love cloud;
Just to know someone was there.
He didn't need to love me, trust me or adore me,
He simply just needed to care.
His arms were like a blanket,
A cushion to lay my heavy heart.
He made up every little puzzle piece.
He completed me, from the very start.
Our cloud continued floating,
Ascending in a windward way.
Our love had grown much stronger,
Growing a little more with every day.
I could find no other like him.
I wished to live forever at his side.
I'd never thought about the future,
Or ever wished to be someone's bride.
With him it was so much different;
I became oblivious to his petty lies.
But after I covered all his fake smiles,
I began to see his evil eyes.
Our cloud had gained pollution,
With contaminants that could have caused a storm.
And once we drifted too far to return,
Our cloud had taken a different form.
The pain came down in droplets.
Not a single thought was even spared.
Our love had bursted to pieces,
Scattering all that we once shared.
Now I'm looking from this angle.
With the clouds gone, the stars can now shine.
And, despite how much I loved him,
I realise.. he was never mine.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
I can’t stand the thought of
sitting on a street corner,
writing on the curb
with white chalk in the rain
Outlining puddles
in runoff contaminants,
bleeding into the asphalt,
following cracks and crevices
of the last poem I wrote
in permanent ink,
when the sun danced
across her smile
and my words
brought blue skies
to the pages of
my heart’s desire
I hate chalk…..
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
Silken sweet is the sycamore's song,
where robins roost and raise their young,
and smooth smells of chrysanthemums run
to see the sordid spring.
The shiny sheen of nature's skein is too delicate
for my Velcro eyes, which tear and wrench
the tranquil strands into a tangle of rough satin;
be my sandpaper soul that skins salamander to
brawny bones and bores raucous cores like
maggots and ****
Raw sewage seeps, creeps carefully into
the spaces of Her starry quilt
until squelching squishes escape
my hoarse rasping whispers
and see the calloused corpse that casts its rueful shadow
into bright days, silver nights
to a twilight that will not end.
Caustic contaminants cross my veins and cake skin in
corrosive gasps; fumes funneling fingers of pus
pancake pores of porcelain dust to a mortar
of blemished touch.
May I bathe in boredom's ennuinous ***** so that I may emerge
blessed, reborn best as salty caramel springs,
let the day spray sparing tea into me and cleanse
careless cacophony.
Burrow my body,
leave quelled, cool Calvin to play the fool
and be me for the day.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
*absinthe, abstinence, containment and contaminants
fables, allegories, morning glories and spanish-fly
sandpaper, parchment, papyrus, wallpaper and apartment complexes
we wait upon stardust and staircases while salivating waiters
stare at large platters of empty newspapers and crossword puzzles
sweet dreams of symphonies as burning buildings fill our skyline*
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
*reckless wanderings
hereby ignored for
choicest ribaldry or
shock capacity in a
city contained within
itself-- world's largest
chat room; as self-con-
tained contaminants
stain toughest psyches*
●○
°
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
We cure the meat with coarse rock salt, malt vinegar,
coriander, black pepper, garlic, paprika, and time.
We cure the meat until it’s a dried-out husk of rawhide,
until it’s inured against the winter, the rough journey ahead.
We can’t inure ourselves so easily, brine ourselves
against the bacteria and contaminants, and harshness of life.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC