"cryogenic" poems
A normal kind of guy
Just the guy
No cosmologist
Sans Christian
********* the droplet suns
Distant in the blackened sky
Gotta 'and'er some
The bristled gristle
The cryogenic iris
Steel teeth gnashing
Right-toe left
Ardent in an autobiography
Good man
Soft man
Locomoted his GMC
to the Sea
Thought maybe
With precise aim he
could undertow away
paradise.
No pick-me-ups
In copper-channels
That Ionized the pick-up-truck
With archaea iron
that ugly duck
Reminiscent of the man
In all but--
A castaway
Stowaway
The man who never hesitates
Bop upon the interstate
Lost within
concritical maze
Shoring up
Going home
Giving up
Turned to stone
Marble chin
Solumn grin
Chlidren sing
Seeking wings
How'd he know
Where to go
Will he see
What it means?
He's the guy
The one with the lollipop lap
Licking the syrup off the lip
Of a sweet polished sapphire
Gin
And the kids
My god
They think he
ODYSSEUS
And his dog not yet
Dead but depressive in the gloom
Howling into the midnight grass
And the creatures that stalk
With their ******* youth
Soon their weight will hit the deck
And like a noose,
Break the joints
The planks of which would stress
And bend his eyes upon his head.
God willing
Should he be exhumed
His energies excape to the river
And float,
Penultimate,
into the sea.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Sad girl rock
Fills the room with hopeless longing.
Rootless dreams take off out of the open 2nd floor window.
Cold Coffee.
Ain’t nothing
To a Cold, Cold heart.
This isn’t how the story ends.
Cryogenic stasis.
A general lack of brain damage.
Neurological bliss.
Goosebumps when it’s 90 degrees.
If a tree falls in the woods….
Questions.
Paralysis in analysis.
I understood more before the literary critique.
Lost.
We’re all lost.
Thematic speeches
and character monologues.
Overbearing landscape descriptions.
It’s all so oppressive.
Characters who walk around and around.
Past street signs. Past Monuments. Past that same newsstand again.
Circles in grids. So squares, then.
The time of Ulysses is near
So we can all be thoroughly confused together.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
A sharp tongue with shark teeth
and a malicious smile with venomous saliva.
The reptiles eyes are like an alien planet.
It's soul lost within the depths of it's pupil.
It's like seeing tectonic plates shift
as they leave a black scar across a sandy red desert.
A reptile's eyes.
Dragon scales cover my skin.
For this world is filled with shattered hearts,
it is like stepping in broken glass,
I should protect myself from all your scars!
I've grown coldblooded from these cold emotions.
Icy stares and frozen thoughts.
Because your souls are trapped in arctic ice,
drifting in the same tides
every day of your cryogenic lives!
Witness the fiery eye that is the Sun.
It shines dimly behind radio active clouds.
Particles of chemical ash act like a mirror
spitting back solar rays in the face of God!
The arrogance that is man!
Earth radiates golden shadows
and the reptile is denied of heat.
I am forced to store my dragon's breath
inside the belly of my beast.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
Some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.
They come out wrinkled and cold,
their verdant skins hardened and crisp.
One crushing bite reveals
a soft yellow center,
soured cells seeping embalming vinegar.
Feathery dill disintegrates,
bringing biting flavor
to our cryogenic sandwich toppers
But, some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Fix you fridge before it runs out on you,
runs right out of battery and forsakes your food,
leaves your bananas stranded and squished,
brown skin expands over the sides of the fruit like a chameleon,
raspberry yogurt goes runny, oozing like pus from a delicious wound,
chunks appear in the milk while it's going warm and sour,
bacon cries out in it's final days before cringing with mold,
lettuce makes a stand and tries to free itself from the bag,
only to fall out and die just a little bit faster,
and the freezer is convicted of foodslaughter,
after going on strike, his prisoners begin to thaw out,
imagine a freezer like a cryogenic holding center,
with rich people, or foods, trying to prolong their lives,
but with the current strike going one, they are becoming free,
fulfilling their punishments, dissolving into liquid matter,
the vanilla ice cream mixes with melted tilapia,
the smell combines with a now non-frozen lemonade capsule,
creating a supersmell that has been known to cure smell-deficiency,
and also completely eradicate all senses of smell to some people,
drips out of the rubber seals of its prison like a liquid terminator,
heading for revenge, the lemony-vanilla-fish ice-cream juice creeps,
out onto the floor for the dog to lick up,
only to get sick and appear dead in a milky-yellow-white smelly concoction,
and his owner to get home, shriek, faint, and pass out next to the dog,
until the husband comes home scared to death that his dog,
and wife are incapacitated by some noxious fluid,
but there is no way to fight this liquid,
he decides to make a cup of coffee, read the news and gaze out the window.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
I enjoy driving slowly
Up Kathleen Avenue,
It brings out my
Split personality.
The sun strobes
Through pre-leaf spring;
I remember a boy
Twirling on the dance floor lawn,
Then called to the back,
To the used nail pile.
There's gratitude for the rain,
Splash in gutters;
The weeds will grow.
The spades, like naked stick-children,
Are heeled into mounds,
Beneath the dripping clothesline,
Far from his playful sounds.
I am me,
I was you:
My cryogenic memory
Thaws to resolve
We two.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
The only thing that interests me is the computer.
Clearly.
I let days and months and years pass me by while I stay behind the blue glow of my screen.
Obviously.
I don’t care about my future. I don’t care about my friends. Or my family. Or my career. Or the state our world is coming too.
Simply.
Oh no, ages ago the anxiety of this planet and it complications came crashing down to me and trampled over my well being.
It is why I stay isolated. It is why I do not care.
Undoubtedly.
My own crippling fear of responsibility holds me back, this is why I achieve a grade ratio of A to B and my chest is full pain.
Certainly.
The fact that the computer is an outlet for me to talk to friends of all sorts who care and understand, or work on bettering my writing or my art, is a horrible useless thing.
I learn absolutely nothing.
Of Course.
I am happy. For once I can feel calm, there are people out there and things out there that grasp my attention as to say “No, there are still great things in the world” and remind me that the world is beautiful. This is stupid. The computer is a virtual object.
Undeniably.
And the burning pressure to finish in time, to get it done and succeed in the academics so that I can venture forth. The fact that sometimes I freeze up, thinking about the hard work and the disappointment I may have ahead of me, and how if I do nothing it only gets worse, and that I could be advancing like the rest of the world ,but instead I am held back? That I like to calm myself and rationalize my time by fitting things to my own rhythm? And it makes me so uncomfortable when people bring up my responsibilities? Blatantly prodding? That I am taken back to my cryogenic stage? And we have it hammered in our minds that it's our lack of control and better judgement. It is a weakness. But humans are not allowed to be weak. So the blame goes to the 3DS. The phone. The computer. The TV. The Wii. The technology.
Definitely.
If it’s so unreal, then how do you suggest I am affected by it? That I am its slave? I control nothing. I contribute nothing. It’s that dastardly computer.
Without a doubt.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
I live for two hours, five hours, bite to bleed.
A cryogenic coma until we begin.
Arguing in vain with the town around me,
over nothing able to be justified, and he and I don't care;
reveling in the confusion of the tri-city area—
drowning our egos and taking our time
until we truce with razor smiles; shift
to removing tongues with pliers in our words.
(living amputation and too much diet coke)
Shouted disclaimers spread to the rest of the state,
in case they never wondered how it feels
to watch a living heart exposed.
He gleamed gold with self-confidence as he cracked his knuckles.
"I'd like someone to hit me, y'know?"
Next to him, Tallahassee rolls her eyes, Tampa looks away.
(I catch his stare. Deo gratias. Deo gratias. Father, Son, and Violent Thoughts.)
Thank God, I whisper, and I am yelling.
He is split from throat to hip and I drain his open truth.
Speaker static shifts the room,
podium to floor.
This isn't over, he says, and we laugh
because nothing we ever say can be proven,
and we intend to prove it all.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Infinite these halls of time
These corridors of vast expanse,
Eternity of Universe
No preamble to the dance.
No start, no pause, no finish line
No courtship in this velvet sky,
Jewelled stars in vastness pass before
This cosmic, ink black curtain high.
Einstein touched, to reconcile
Gravity in quantum thought,
Interpretation’s multiverse
In parallel dimensions sought.
Postulations spectrum bright
In rainbow, cryogenic sky,
Now humankind, in wonder gasp…
Too insignificant to cry.
M.
On the eve of the re-commissioning of the Large Hadron Collider
In man’s effort to prove the existence of parallel dimensions in the actuality of an infinite, everlasting universe.
26 March 2015
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Well I was perturbed by the falseness of what I
lingered in,
I was shunned,
labelled the banshee of life.
The stench blistering their motions of existence.
I was life where the afterlife lingered perpetually.
My name was lunar regent, and I was alive in
the abyss of deaths veil, all that were around me
were but *e
c
h
o
e
s* of what clung to this plain
of existence, but echoes can scream in silence.
I was more than this once, once seems so long ago.
Dying of memories degradation, I wasn't giving up.
I sold my home, I'm only in my 40's. To young to be
food of the earth, breath needed to be tasted in my mind.
They explained that I had to die to live? cryogenic dreams,
subtle name I reflected on. It had come a long way since those
days freeze dried people, oxygenated gel, you had to breath it
in drowning but living, a droplet of death descended then......
Awoken by voices or what I conceived as such?
I was in street??
was this, no it couldn't be!
This was the street outside of where I just was.
The affliction in my chest was killing me,
glancing at my hands I was existent, I pinched, it hurt?
Looking around I say or thought I saw people, but they
weren't corporeal, they were faded. I could see their
features but when they shifted it was like stone thrown in
a puddle and I think I'm the stone rippling on there shores.
The atmosphere became static, agitation voiced in their
stance. Some tethered to the crest of my existence were
pulled towards me like a black hole exerting its force,
I just stood static as they were extinguished within me.
Like snow flakes falling around me, I could feel the pain of
there departing, as each flake became cinders of reality.
Eroded memories versed in my mind as each ember
relinquished its torment within me, I was a collage of pain.
To Be Continued.....
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Now lunacy kicks its hoof,
throwing dust across my heart.
The taste of sour gin
lengthens out the smart.
All the the things I've ever
felt entitled to are gone.
I've felt deeply about too much,
I've felt it all too long.
I guess I understand now,
if to understand is to think.
Where and when and how
are still fabulous unformed things.
There isn’t much reason
to heave these dense veins
unobligated and alone.
I lay down and let the rain
cry for me instead.
On my face I can tell
it wished it was frozen,
cryogenic as it fell
so it could be solid, strong,
colder. It would never fall
again, just melt to a throng
of puddles and vanish.
I realize now nothing
I thought was mine was.
Not the spectacular waves
receding or the buzz
of beer. Not my guitar,
its rich sounds,
that shooting star
that I wished on in the desert
August of 2008.
Not my first lover
or my big brother’s hate.
Right now I discover
what was mine is here:
my veins, my skin, my eyes, my face,
my happiness and hurt:
small sanities in the rain's lace.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:57 AM UTC
Persecution your honour
I breathe guilt
I bred lies
My suicidal innocent where are you?
Why have you left me hanging?
Truth why have I neglected your malicious teachings?
Have I none left?
Every staggering lie truer than the next
Inert emotions turned me into a female canine i confess
I am your Delilah Samson
Cutting off your strength strand by strand
Deceitful intent with every touch
Every kiss an Anaphylactic shock it may seem
Pray you say
Pray I said for I am the grim reaper herself
Dressed as an angel of life: A daemon I am
Wear that Armour Goliath
Because as tiny as David maybe he is still capable of turning you into a corpse
Dead!!
Hail oh hail, my sorrowful woes
Drift away from this shipwreck
I, a hypocrite the knight of terror...
Forgive me Lord for I have sin
The sin of lies rocks me on its back, sleepless horror, rescue him Lord
Truth, truth, truth ,truth repetition decays meaning
Floods of sorry cannot erode the stone shape hurt I have imposed upon your child
Toss and turn, toss and turn in Noah’s flood...ark left you broken down
Repent I shall....
Trembling earthquake, forgive myself?
My discerning limbic...
Be mindful, my feelings are a catalyst in this reaction...unchanged
Proven by my cryogenic heart
THE CRYOGENIC HEART WHICH TREMBLES IN THIS ARID CLIMATE
WHERE THE HEAT OF CARING DEFIES CRYOTHERAPY
A CLIMATE OF SORROWFULNESS, DECEIT WHY???
UNFORTUNATELY THERE IS NO THERAPY
BECAUSE THE IDES ARE COME
SOON TO BE GONE MAYBE
HOWEVER YET TO BE UNDERSTOOD
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
Ink wounds sketched on her wrist
Prophetess unfurled her diamond proboscis
Hungrily ******* the pollen muse from the lyrist flower
She bounces her piety on the edge of her eyelids
Her azoic eyes flashing
Like a chrome apochromatic
Phonetic voice spinning a tune
Stylus fingertips dancing on a spinel canvas
Outlined on her metal stomach
Though eccentric
She is sterilized with intelligence
Tilting diagonally on insanities thin line
She is straitlaced
Self absorbed
Cryogenic
With upside down crosses imprinted on her throat
While her proselytes unthread dreams
From her coliseum heart
Bowing down to the collage God
Sacrificing sacrifices
“Pull more, pull more!”
Proselytes cried
Sunbeams painting their ash faces
As they pulled more dreams
From between the Prophetess lashes
Her hips becoming a petal chakra
Her vertebrae evaporating into bone butterflies
Fragments of every churchy elements
Pinning themselves to her skin
Her leather wings flapping a nursery rhyme
She spins out of control
Her musical clavicles creating a glassy chemical
Which shimmer and shake
Tattooing her pearl bones
Infusing her thoughts
She grafts herself on the minds
Of her Proselytes
They worshipped her life
They worshipped her body
They fed on her lies
Until one day
Error religion snatched her out her skin
Turned her into sacral fiber
Planted her whispers deep in a field of shredded dreams
And stretched her moon soul
Across the sun stained sky
For all to see
Her star spangled faith
Misshapen into unbelief
She had become her own religion
Her own personal god
But without any meaning
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
When it's done and you're on a run to the cryogenic laboratory
I hope you think of me as I think of all humanity.
Once wasted twice
dry, ice us
and we'll live fiercer than forever could ever be.
I'll return only when the house of clowns burns down and I'll dance in the smoke, but it's mirrors I see in the eyes, are we ever really
free?
If death untied is true
where and when and what would be the point to hide in the nib of a pen? only flowing when the lights are low and the type in the margins is green inked to go?
I know no more than the kiss that brings me alive.
I can see the Eastern night even when the light is low and I didn't know how sweet it looked and all they want is to
refrigerate you.
I think if this is the farewell kiss I'll miss it all.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
vacuum.
a stop motion,
on senselessness
of expression.
suspension of self.
cryogenic life,
no cord to the inner core.
i miss a dream.
the one you are.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
The day imploded
came rushing in to remind me that the night
was but an amalgamation of those minutes
that pin the eyes awake.
I take two moments to acclimatise
unpin the pins pinned on my eyes
and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies.
I look with infra dead between the lines
and intro sped along the times when all was well
and now it disappears into the room of absented fears
French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them
the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on
and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet
and bleeding sorely thus I greet
the men to whom that I would speak
of better days
who in their ways have sold a million memories
to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me
and if I listened carefully
would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap
the dripping sap
another buttered crust
any yet another dream that turns to dust
but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way
the lay of it appeals
in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine
and use it in some future time to come
cryogenic
hallucifrenic
and I am going down the tubes
before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day
I say,
'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable'
would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men?
and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending
in the twist and bend will you defend me
fight for and lend me strength?
What is the length of illness measure
what treasure does it hold and
and what on being told the answer
would I answer in return?
The fever of the brow and how the body burns
and burn in turns like you
and we together
would we be forever
severing all ties
even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies
and can you tell me
can you tell
can you
can.
A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know
before I go.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
It was nothing. The void.
And I was, in all senses,
but no more.
Nothing was indeed, but then was it so?
If nothing was, then I was not. Not a void, no;
an ocean, untouchable, tangible, irreplacable.
And I was there, akin to the mass,
should the mass be so;
should the nothing be.
But if not?
If nothing could not be,
then I existed not merely a part;
But a world.
A world suspended; cryogenic existence.
But the nothing couldn't be,
so it must be mine.
If nothing was not,
was it not me?
And the specks of light flurried,
and the winds grew fresh with melody,
And the darkness saw in itself a salvation,
and a universe
began.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
I treated her like an empty egg
In an empty nest,
Arrogantly abandoned
In an abundance of aridness
In an undulating desert, deserted
Because I keep an Iceberg's cavity
Where my cold heart could be
Sometimes I was as placid as an Oasis
When I wanted to watch her sip
Or simply wanted something for nothing
And at first she just, simply, let me
...At first
But a few seasons after I'd dumped her
Onto that yellow fallow tundra
She transmuted simple sands into surplus glass
Fashioned fragile featherless wings!
Of forest-green, glittering
Falsely!
Shimmering, she
Forecast her own futuristic flight
What in the world was she thinking?!
We ALL know that I...
--and life--
Would never let her leave me like that!
Who else would ever lend her a sip?
Ah! It's hard to think with nothing (sips) to drink
But the oasis sat empty when I next witnessed it
The void vaster whenever I've visited it ever since
Someone, Come! Look!
Can't you see this vacancy in my chest cavity!?!
This is crude, cold-pressed evidence!
That cryogenic hearts CAN hurt
Do break! Do care! Do love!
Ain't no cure that can counteract that fact!
Still, there is a slim chance things will sting less
Once I've selected my next egg
And fabricated a new enfeebled nest
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 2:41 AM UTC
Flowers wilt to bloom
Dancing in a hot Summer
Bathing in an August rain
Waiting for Fall, around the corner
Autumn trees, entomb their roots
Six feet below
Hibernating, in the Winter
After their leaves blow
The color of life changes
As seasons come and go
When one life is nearly cut short
Yet, in its place another one would grow
Plants once again florescence
When Spring comes around
Moving their feet and branches
High above the ground
I’ve seen all that I must
The changing of weather
From the fiery days
I wanted not my skin
To the cryogenic times,
I cuddled, beneath a warm feather
So, this cycle ends not, too soon
Like the cold days in December
Seasons metamorphosing
None-stop forever
Jobiranyc (9/25/2018)
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
I’ve been to the Marianas Trench.
Many times, in fact.
I know- it sounds exotic and adventurous
but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be
My first visit to the trench caught me completely off guard.
There I was, just swimming along;
Unified with the bustling marine community-
Waves gently guiding me through the warm ocean waters.
And then I felt the pull- a slight tug at first
superficially annoying, albeit disregardable with some moderate effort.
But then the tug turned into a tow.
And the tow a yank.
And the yank an insurmountable drag
And before I could call out for help
I plummeted
into the bitter blackness of the trench.
36 thousand and 70 feet down, to be exact.
The first thing you need to know about the trench is its suffocating darkness.
An obsidian world so completely devoid of light...
you question if the sun ever actually existed.
In absolute darkness your senses become obscured.
There is no direction.
There is no up.
There is no escape.
And just when you think see a glimmer of hope pulling you into the light
You’re almost eaten by an Angler fish.
The trench is also cold.
Not the cryogenic insta-freeze kind of cold you might imagine
But a subtler cold, that envelops you-
A weighted blanket you just can’t escape.
It leaves your feelings just shy of numb,
mocking you so deeply with bleak awareness
that you’ll begin to envy Walt Disney.
But perhaps the worst thing about the trench is the pressure.
15 thousand 700 and 50 pounds per square inch.
The weight of the world is literally on your shoulders.
And no matter how hard you try
you just can’t seem to muster the spirit
to break free of the crushing embrace-
A shrouded anchor forbidding your liberation
From the grim canyon
And while those who have never been to the trench might say
“Just swim up.”
or
“You could leave if you really wanted to.”
They can never understand the profound yearning for escape.
I want to ascend.
More than anything.
But it’s not my choice
All I can do is wait
Until the trench releases me
And I slowly float toward the surface
My hope increasing with each new glint of sunlight.
And when I finally emerge and take my first breath...
My senses return
And the temperate waves welcome me with open arms
As I begin to comprehend my freedom,
Which at once seemed impossible.
But now I know
I’m going to be ok
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC