"corrosion" poems
I crawl from the ground
Black roots release me
From my grave,
Wood
Splinters,
Earth,
Torn from
The underground
I walk as my roots of black
Spread across the land,
Like vines they spread
Suffocating,
All other life around.
Decay,
leave,s its touch on this land.
I walk the land from the grave.
The roots released me
From my rest
Now I poison the land
With each step
Corrosion
Withering,
My roots saturates the ground
Decay,
Erode,
Decompose
I am dead but my legacy,
Will be death as my roots suffocate the land,
All life is drained
There will only be
Extinction,
Oblivion,
Darkness,
Where ever my roots take ground
As I fear no other
What can the dead fear
As all that surrounds, is death all around.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
We’re looking into each other’s eyes;
it’s 4am.
We’re sat in a hospital room, I’m reciting your favourite verse.
You’re ragged and stitched together;
I just wish it was from being loved.
I just wish my love could make you Real.
I knew from day one, no one and no thing,
not even love, could take you away and finally
set your soul free.
So
I gave you all of me.
It wasn’t hard to give away.
Within moments of witnessing your smile; the one
held in your eyes widening your stare,
you crushed through my ribs with warmth and love,
held my heart in your hand, promising no matter
the distance and land between us, my heart would remain
safe – beneath your bruised chest.
Tonight, I’m alone.
It’s been 17 days since I last saw you.
I’m in the park where we always walked,
where our love was made tangible by etchings in wood.
The bark now crumbles
and the decay mirrors the gradual corrosion
of what was once, and will
never be, again.
© Sia Jane
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.
The place was magnificent day or night.
By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.
By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.
We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
Tough girl isn't afraid of much
Tough girl is strong
And brave
Tough girl has mastered the art of apathy
The science of not giving a ****
She is confident
And swift
Tough girl has trained herself not to care
Walks with confidence
Keeps her head up
She is a whirlwind of resilience
Withstanding each disaster
Every hurricane
She refuses to let the world break her down
Her skin
Is a combination of metals
Her smile, a shield
Bone made of iron
She is incapable of corrosion
Her heart always guarded
She is unbreakable
Knows how to put up a fight
And win
She doesn't give in
And no matter how hard people try
To bring her down
She doesn't let them get to her
But I
Am not her
Our resemblance is uncanny
And I have the ability to pretend
To fake a sense of pride long enough to believe it
A concoction of false courage
And intimidation
But she
Is not me
Tough girl is everything I have ever tried to be
Having spent hours practicing blank stares
And learning how to walk
Like the ground below you isn't breaking
Trying to breathe like there isn't a storm building within
Resistance is a skill I have spent forever trying to build
But I am not solid
I am not tough
I am softness that wears rough around the edges
A jacket built of barriers
With barbed wire skin
All of this protection
And I somehow still manage
To frequently break open
I am not a super hero
I can barely save myself
Let alone anyone else
And as much as I wish I was
I am not tough girl
As much as we look alike
As similar as we seem
I am not she
I care too much
Think too deeply
And love too passionately
But I'm starting to realize
That maybe
It's not such a bad thing
Maybe the girl
I've been trying to be all along
Is not as put together as she seems
Those who appear fine
Are often the ones coming apart at the seams
I may not be tough girl
But I can still make believe.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I didn’t know you. We lived in different worlds and lived different lives. We were strangers. You were just a random beautiful face that I thought I would soon forget not because you are not worthy to be remembered, but because I was not worthy to remember you. You were art. I was just passing by.
You didn’t know me. The things that keep me up at night, the shadows and the clouds that I have lived with. The corrosion and the gunk in the gears of my mind that contaminated my relatively peaceful heart. My underrated, silent suffering.
I don’t know you. I had no plan to, but the universe decided otherwise. Suddenly, you were not random anymore. You were art, and you remembered me.
You don’t know me, but you saved me. You don’t even know it either. How your words and the simple things slowly lifted the smoke from my eyes, making me see the world that I’ve been missing. I never realized I needed saving until you did.
I wanted to know you. I wanted to think you were an angel sent from above, but angels eventually go back to the heavens after they’re done, don’t they? So I wished you were human. As human as I was, in this forsaken, fractured world together.
I still don’t know you. I don’t know what makes you cry at night or what cracks you up in the middle of the day. Your soul is still a mystery to me. I know your favorite color and your favorite food, but these are meaningless things in your bigger and beautiful universe to be explored and understood.
You still don’t know me. I still haven’t got the chance to offer myself to you. Time and circumstance made sure of that. You still don’t know about my dreams and desires. You don’t know about the world inside my head, constantly whirring and exploding in activity.
I know something about you. You are not an angel, you don’t go back above to report an accomplished mission and take on another one. You are human too, wandering this world with your own shadows and clouds. Maybe you also need saving.
I wish I could know you. I want to see the demons lurking under your bed, and the dreams you try so hard to protect. I want to see you weep and know the reason why, to see you smile and laugh and never wonder why.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Looking back at life brings on a shiver:
landmarks and stygian fragments,
radiant corrosion.
Will my feet still carry me home?
The morning breaks,
turn the blue skies on!
we're committed now,
guided by a God few know.
On Earth the math is made up,
8 billion people
and 1,000 questions,
out here the days
are numbered differently.
But in the ether aura
there are silent obligations:
we're trading passengers midflight
--the jester and the acrobat inside the LEM,
Marco Polo on the rocketship,
we're eating the survival kit,
making postcards of the trip.
All spoils for survivors.
Post signs for a near perfect disaster.
You are on my mind.
You are in my heart.
Are you in my blood?
I would die for you.
If this is goodbye, remember,
these things happen...
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 8:39 PM UTC
let's take a trip down memory lane:
endless alleys of admiration
capture the moments we took for granted
these loveless sidewalks
radiate desperation
as we watched the little things
slip our attention
let's take a trip down memory lane:
the city streets pulsate your name
and embody the countless emotions
that we both possessed
but can you tell me -
do you feel this boundless
corrosion found inside my chest?
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Rusting of ironed-love, never to forgiveness,
my eyes can perceive no beauty of sunsets.
Ignite the light, warm my dearest night,
prepare for the time, stones in the sky collide.
Deliver no pain, shout for joy, strengthen your faith,
for everything will be back to its normal state.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
I’d never noticed the
Freckles
On your
Shoulders.
But then again,
You’d never noticed
The scars.
Specifically
The ones
On my chest,
And if you had,
I’d never
Heard
Anything about them,
Or, “it.”
It had been awhile since we’d
Last crossed paths,
Encounters always
Ending in
Collision,
Connection
And corrosion come the first
Morning after; but welcomed.
You looked good though,
And that’s how it’d always
Started,
But beautiful nonetheless –
A world-weathered skin
In the form of a twilight tan,
The vulnerable smile
With a small curl displaying
Aggressive sexuality,
And a dress, your cloth,
A critical juncture,
Of both cinema and satori,
A’flutter in the wind.
“Gift-wraps,” aside,
I’d always return to the
Form and curve of “You.”
Simply you
The half I could see
Leaving the other
Somehow elusive side of
You
To my imagination and
Memory
Of prior gallantry.
Unspoken words
Pave paths between the
Tables we now occupy.
So to,
Acts of predation await,
Perched and ready for
Gardens,
Accepted, the resulted chaos.
I wonder,
“What’s she thinking?”
As I capture a wink
And steal the sunlight
Bouncing of her
Shoulder’s freckles.
It’s an intoxication
At its finest.
Accordingly,
I sip my
Beer
And in echoes mumble,
“I want you, want you,
Want you.”
Luckily,
You wanted me too.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
Sweetbitter kiss caressed
lips. esophagus. stomach. chest.
inaccessible 'till death.
untouchable--so close to the chest.
unable to put out fires, burns
will have to rest
where they lie smoldering, watching
eyes walk bye.
I close my I.
Carry me, now--not home
not to neverland
not over the rainbow
Just carry me softly in sweet-smelling acidic things.
--a little corrosion does a girl a world of good--
sing me songs, wolf-in-sheeps-clothes, that my mother used to
and bring me gifts on angel-dusted wings,
nothingness never before made greater feeling.
Our lives themselves strived for meaning while we strived for the reason for being
the way the great cold faceless hands created
our unyielding . . . softness
separate from and not unlike a feather
equal both in whimsical light, lack of value, disease and helplessness
great beauty, plainness, and utter insignificance
Us little things are great only to those with great imagination--
light in the clouds,
break in your fever
blip on your radar
the fast one before the flatline always seems so much shorter than it should. Shorter than they said it would.
I relax
sweet relief
sweet goodnight
we'll wake up and try this one more time.
we won't get it right-- you can't
get it right
give me this bip, this sleep, this chance.
********* we'll still try--
to get it right sometime.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
My boyfriend (Peter) and I went down to New Haven Harbor today.
Let’s face it, we’re surrounded by oceans,
and most of them are downright inhospitable.
I live near the ocean, (pointing) it’s right over there.
I love the ocean, tripping over whenever I’ve time to spare.
The way I’m fawning over it, you’d think I know it well.
But I really only love its edges and undulating swells.
It’s like a book that I’ve judged by its cover,
a beautiful stranger taken as a lover,
or a pie when I’ve only tasted the crust.
I love something, I suppose, I’ve barely even touched.
Peter says that black, inky “outer-space” is a low-viscosity liquid,
another, even vaster ocean that’s more dangerous and rarely visited.
The air that we breathe is an ocean - our own, vast, atmosphere -
in it swim creatures too small to see, but to the naked eye it looks clear.
It flows, eddies and swells - birds swoop in it so you can tell.
Of course, the ocean has issues - it's hardly news - corrosion, erosion, sharks and drowning - and the way the ocean lets the moon and air push it around.
What I love most is its motion, and how it reflects the sun and the moon.
Did I mention that hanging-out by the ocean makes for a pleasant afternoon?
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 10:35 AM UTC
i am getting close to hopeless
my emotions are out of focus
soaking in the frozen coldness
poison potion, no open closeness
no hand to hold or chosen motions
coping with a social corrosion
broken soul of eroded notions
lowly tows of imploding oceans
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
the soul of bees
proximity to the hive mind
recurring swarming. accumulation
cloudy cobwebs, the insects that were caught in your corrosion
your corridor zone
glide up her back alley grey train on the wish biscuit
the rochochet eagle
the prizm mandala, triangle
and the tree prizms, how is your teleScope working?
how is your VibroScope?
who is your ally through the great dark
the cavernous mystery
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
This is my shelter
My helter skelter
So tear me from the lonely diversion,
as I am the melting corrosion
This is my place
My ugly face
I fall to the angry sea,
as a withered man, I plead
This is my view,
My broken pew,
I cross my broken fingers,
as time spent and destiny lingers
This is my penitence,
My own resistance
I am not strong because I am weak
as life stops, I can not speak
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
Women Stereotypes
10w40
This is so popular, proven to have high performance even if it is synthetic. That does not make any sense realistically. It strokes engines brilliantly. The most expensive even on sale. It does not deter dirt.
3 in 1
The lubricant can be trusted the fact that it dries quicker, penetrating the stuck locks as well preventing further corrosion.
Exotic Graphite
As exotic as graphite is, it does a good job by providing a long lasting lubrication. It repels water too! It’s cheaper that the rest and it extends life. It makes a proper logic economically. You pay less but get more!
Lubricant Affordability
3in1 and graphite deter dust and are cheaper than 10W40.
Does that make you more ambivalent?... ;0)
Anticlimax lubricant ambivalence has reached it’s ******
Armed downhill by the rusted adjusted shielded knight.
Pasted in exquisite oil, no distaste or aftertaste.
Dunked in abluent..........Dented but affluent!
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
forever coded diaries since I found trust lost on her and him. I hate that the only people willing to listen to me are getting paid for it or beside me in purgatory. don't assume I'm being over-dramatic; I'm not saying my wounds hurt the most, but understand me: deal with half the **** I have & then walk a straight line again.
I am the one who dies a little every time I wake up & realize I'm exactly where I laid myself down. I am the one who breathes corrosion, feeds distortion, bathes in corruption. I straddle fences & hem and haw, biting nails & wraps arms around legs to hold self together. I am the one who cares so much I cannot care. I am the one that uses each breath to fuel my obsession with asphyxiation. I am the borders of the spectrum I see the symmetry in opposites, I pause on polarities. the Yes! Sure. Why Not? I am the moment & I wish that I wouldn't have to live in it. I am the lifter, the sorter & sifter of things my parents over looked or over turned.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
the waiting of
knick knack paddy whack
the toxic
neurotransmitters
the corrosion
of my 7th branch
the thought of
the reality of
sometimes lonely
on a little
planet
every *****
thing
evaporated
water
you draw me
your hand
covered in
lyrics
a limerick of knuckles
a sometimes waiting
patiently
a sometimes never
to come
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
It's a Thursday evening
and over par for the course I'm sitting
in a sandtrap.
The lie is bad,
I'm buried next to a watering hole
in the wall.
I can't get out.
The half truth is I'm a drunk
a sea of sorrows.
Even the dolphins, I shed no mercy.
The real truth is I'm ***
anchored to a barstool,
barnacles from the dead sea
hanging on the four legs.
If this bar stool ever came to life
the voice would bubble to the surface,
get me to dry dock.
How fortuitous the wind in my sails,
finding every sandtrap
and waving at the mothballs.
Blind to letting the barnacles take it's course.
Corrosion creeping up on me, like its
relative.
Who cares about the long lost voice
or the red ants at his picnic.
Or if Uncle lost his strokes he never had.
Did someone say shipwreck?
I order another double,
with fire in my eyes,
adding another burn to my stomach.
I look at the bartenderess
and my eyes don't lie.
She's my type.
My head tilts this way and that.
I see people starring back at me.
If only they knew how the ball bounces.
Logan Robertson
12/21/2018
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
I do not love you in the most common sense of the word.
I do not love you softly with doe eyes and tender kisses.
I do not love you bravely, for there is nothing brave in my actions or words to you.
I do not love you kindly or sweetly, gently or patiently, considerately or reservedly.
I love you like a storm was loosed on my entire being from my first glimpse of you.
I love you like a match loves to be struck, or like a nail loves a hammer.
I love you like a page loves being scarred by the ink of a pen,
and I love you like a pick loves being scraped across old strings over and over again.
I love you violently, and entirely. But, most of all, secretly.
I love you scorchingly and searingly, as if all the pretty words you've ever bestowed upon me were mere kindling.
I love you like an atom must love the universe, a thing by the grace of which it exists, but a thing also which it couldn't possibly ever grasp.
I love you behind my heart and behind my eyes, to shield such a vulnerable thing from the corrosion and harsh grinding of the world.
I love you brokenly, and bitterly, and for always, because I will not admit to loving you at all.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 6:03 PM UTC
To become aware of the single moment that needs interpreting
To be jolted from sleep between sheets creased in the tribulations of dreamscapes
Clammy hand pressed to neck you remember yourself
And before it slips and crumbles spiraling up to the cosmos it is captured
Pinch your eyes together and draw the cool water from the well
A friend’s arm around your shoulder; a sweaty smile, meandering through
The crowds of faces, each one drab and still, motionless for you
Tendrils of tenderness wandering o’er a body consumed in secret greed and corrosion
And the cheeky faced attached returning curiosity masked in love
Flitting up and down the stem of the one you knew to be yours
Yearning for her to open her petals and reward arduous labor
The repose of correcting ages of missteps and the satisfaction of
Correctly placing lost experience
Enjoying the rhythm pounded out by drums of progress, and then pacing
To one all your own
Reasserting brutal individuality in spite of legions upon legions of conformity
Then ironically setting the trend
Once seized, every vague trapping melts down weary head, past hunched back
Beyond knees bend to reach toe tip
Revitalized by the comfortable shade of your whole self, the parts unwanted, unseen
Usurped, intangible, inconceivable, and most illustrated purely glow
A self if surely sacked, a reanimated soul now softly speaks, and sexuality is assured in
Each slow step
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
***Always with the separate rooms, same separate landlocked pontoons. Another follow up, billow of rank stank air, stale like the calming still of shell shocked monsoons, into the deep dark abyss I stare-
Heightens my senses, that still begotten presence of quarantined ill begotten dimensions, left stark and in the dark with nothing but the whistling of our declining pensions-
Repentance ask it of yourself, there's always an extra bottle on the tippy top shelf, reach high, you don't have to lie now, go ahead and lay that lye down-
Corrosion never felt so **** good...***
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
With a heavy gait
She trampled on the heart that loved her fiercely and without reservation
A thorn she was, disguised as a lily
To him, the prettiest of flowers
Pulling back the veil to see she was the poison gnawing at his heart
What followed was the corrosion of the love he felt for her by the ludicrous vile flavour of her deception
Her ignition of an empty flame that should have never been lit
Was nothing new
Started fires only to leave them burning along with her paramours
Feeding off of hearts and basking in the victory of her betrayal of souls was the only thing that sustained her
The red woman in the midnight blue dress
Possessed a beauty beyond compare
With a frost covered heart
And snake scales beneath her fair skin
It was her who murdered love.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Glimpsed of innocence
Casually met
Words from strangers
A lot in common
Wine and smiles
Unsolicited lies
Cool distaste
Remnants of disrespect
Cracks in the ice
The inevitable rift
Fragmented faces
The corrosion of moments.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC