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Frankie Gestone Mar 2013
He woke up in a rapid sweat, darkness surrounding him, his soaked pillow was pressing up on his neck as he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing cold run right threw his whole body. His mouth was dry and his body was in great pain. He lay there practically naked, but not just physically, also emotionally. It was like a catatonic state where the person’s body is paused in reality, but the actual person is far away and isolated even from himself. He wondered why he was so comfortable being uncomfortable and remaining frozen in time.  He saw nothing but the subtle moonlight that peaked through the blinds of his window. A point of existence, he feels nothing because all he has ever felt has drowned him. His numbness was being accepted and he embraced that if he remained this way, he would never have to feel hurt or heartbreak again. It’s better this way, he confirmed.

Eventually he got up out of his bed, walked outside to a nearby empty field. He looked up at the infinite night sky and contemplated the moon, the stars, and the endless space that sustained all of its existence. A tear fell down his cheek as he remembered the beautiful wonder of life and the universe; his realization that he is just a small spec of dust compared to all that is and all that is wonderful. Whatever happened to that universal happiness he used to feel? The feelings of the unseen, the cosmos, the mysteries that remain unsolved were all love. He then felt ancient and brand new at the same time-always being around all that is, but recently born into the unknown. The silence of the night swarmed him, and he suddenly embraced all the things he could not accept. The lullaby of the wind put him to sleep.

When he awoke, it was twilight. The sky was a lighter, deep blue and the sun in the far distance was rising in a fiery halo of mixed red, orange, and yellow colors, and the early morning clouds were clear and transparent. He heard the sound of a train horn in the far distance. He followed the sound with his ears as the sound became slightly louder and louder. Then, suddenly he could see the light of the early morning train.

The train had stopped as he approached it, and he hopped on with no hesitation or looking back. This runaway train was going to take him to where he needs to be, and he blindly and faithfully accepted that his fate was out of his hands now. No more heartbreak, no more reminders of the past, and most importantly no more drowning in his tears. As the train proceeded to move forward, he could feel fresh air gently touch his face, and all that he saw and ever knew were now flashing lights disappearing into eternity.

It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. He listened to the train conductor speak out over the intercom, almost incoherently, say, “This is Brightstone Park. Next stop will be Riverhead.” A nostalgic feeling suddenly came over him as he could remember that his very first kiss was in Brightstone Park with Jessica Garzi. That was not his first true love, but his very first heartbreak. Riverhead was a forbidden memory, as he knew a classmate who had committed suicide off the Riverhead Bridge. He had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is.

While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm. He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white. The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned. Her name was Midnight. She was not the friendliest cat to strangers, but she loved him, especially when he massaged her paws. This cat was practically identical to Midnight. Midnight was put down three years ago though. As he began petting the cat’s back, it ran away and jumped off the moving train. He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.

On the train he began to wonder how he got where he was, and in general how the smallest decisions he made lead to bigger events and all in all, everything was all connected. There are no isolated events, or isolated people- it is all proven fact and science. Everything depends on each other to survive. The trees depend on the sun to keep themselves alive; we give off carbon dioxide to the trees and in return, we receive the oxygen we need from the leaves of the trees. He thought about the potential of a seed-for example, a tomato seed. Within that tiny seed is unlimited potential of life: The seed may produce one plant of several tomatoes, and within all those tomatoes are countless other seeds. This is all from one seed. Then, one may take a couple of seeds from a picked tomato and plant them throughout the yard creating a garden. That original seed came from another tomato seed inside a tomato on a plant, and that seed came from another seed. When did this cycle of reproduction begin and when does it end? Is it just another form of the infinite? When a person eats a tomato from that original seed, he receives certain essential vitamins his body needs for surviving and sustaining good health. This good health will effect his offspring and so on and so on. When he defecates, that will all return to the earth for potential fertilizer used for other tomato seeds. This is the same when he returns to the earth again. His dust will fertilize the same world that he came from, for all things come from it just to inevitably return to it.

He continued to think about how matter is never created nor destroyed and the same for energy. Nothing ever truly dies; the form changes into something new, like how water becomes a cloud and the cloud becomes water. Though this comforted him, he noticed that a few feet away from him was a former coworker and friend, Natasha Karev. She always infatuated him and they became close friends, but he always wished it had continued and gone even further than it did. One night, only a couple of years ago, they were at a friend’s party. Both were drinking, but not so heavily. That night they bonded and got so close, that she admitted she loved him. He was never quite sure how real that “I love you” was, but it was burned inside his heart ever since. That night there were moments she would tell him how much she wanted to make love to another guy at the party, Kevin, but was afraid to approach him. She told him she desperately wanted to lose her virginity that night to somebody because she was eighteen and only getting older. This was like a sharp knife slowly penetrating into his heart. He remained speechless for quite a few minutes. Finally he decided to go up in a bedroom alone. To his surprise, she followed him up and kissed him. He felt her clothed body up and down, and she touched areas not many have touched before. She told him she wanted to have *** and that she wanted him to rob her of her virginity. He was speechless, but extremely excited. Then, abruptly, she told him she could not because everything was happening way too soon. Why couldn’t she just make up her mind? He sat frustrated in the darkness, again, all alone. After that night, they spoke and remained close, yet that night was never mentioned again. It was as if it had never happened. After about two years of an on and off friendship, they just went their own ways. There were no fights or disagreements. Life just separated them.

“You’re just a figment inside somebody’s dream. So far from reality, you are a dream within a dream within a dream.” Startled by this soft voice, he quickly turned around to see Natasha smiling at him. “Ha-ha! I knew I could scare you. Were you abused as a kid, or something?” No words could come out at that moment, but he hugged her tightly. She explained to him that she is getting off at the next stop to meet a friend. He was sure he wanted to follow her and see where life would take him. She reminisced and told him how she had been away inside her own cave for several months, but is now very happy to meet up with everyone she had lost contact with.

The next stop arrived, but he did not catch the name of the stop he was getting off. As he got off with several others, both he and Natasha met up with her friend, Valeria, who he found quite cute. She resembled Natasha a bit in that they both had ***** blonde hair and blue eyes. They walked right into a giant street fair with a crowd of people looking at the foods and desserts, the trendy clothes, cheap jewelry, and children play rides.

As he looked around, he began seeing many familiar faces. He saw Kevin, a childhood and grammar school mate there with another co-worker of his, Jenny. Jenny was a Colombian beauty in his eyes and who was a flirt and tease to him, but never actually gave him any time alone. Incidentally, he knew both of them at different times in his life and had no idea they knew of each other. Kevin stopped contacting him during high school without any arguments or disloyalties that would tear a friendship apart. Keeping his head down, he walked a few feet to discover another childhood best friend, Jack, who was with a mutual childhood friend, Melanie. Melanie was a best friend of his and also a first childhood crush who also had a crush on him. He thought it was odd because even though Melanie and Jack were also best friends, Melanie never liked Jack in a special boy/girl way. He felt a moment of heartbreak, but quickly turned away and kept walking. A little further up the road, he saw two more childhood friends, Chris and Jimmy, who as children did not get along that well and only hung out with each other in the company of him. How peculiar it was suddenly seeing them together after ten years, and as seemingly best of friends.

That was not all. Things were getting stranger and stranger. It was like all the people who had made an imprint on his life were now coming together around him. He saw his two therapists, one he had gone to as a teenager and the other as a young adult, stand next to each other selling prescription drug samples. Both stared at him with a blank face, but with a prominent smile. He could barely nod at them. Natasha directed them to a local bar. Inside the bar was huge and also had a second floor. He noticed the music playing in the background was, Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9 No.2, by Polish born Romantic composer, Frederic Chopin. He became fixated on the elegant eighth note, left hand arpeggios, and the sweet and peaceful fast moving seven, eleven, twenty, and twenty-two notes from the right hand. If he thought about the most beautiful song ever written and all that is wonderful in one, this was the song.

They all took a seat and began looking at people and laughing at their behavior. Everyone was wearing masks. Social masks. They observed how different people act when they are in social gatherings, and how if you carefully study their body language, it will become clear that what they are saying and trying to put out is not what is actually being expressed through the body. One young man was frantically shaking his right leg as he tried to flirt confidently with a young woman he had just recently met. His face began to turn noticeably red, in an embarrassed flush, and he was making sudden hand gestures and quick eye blinking. She, on the other hand, pretended to be interested in what he was saying; yet her eyes would often look around the room and her body was a good distance from him with her arms folded.

Then as they were all laughing, he abruptly stopped and looked ahead to see two drunken women making out two tables away from them. As his eyes focused in on them, he realized they were two of his former crushes, Claire and Veronica, who he had no idea knew of each other because in fact, they were from different time periods of his life. He began seeing former teachers and professors from each stage of his school career, laughing hysterically with one another. Some of his most inspiring teachers and professors were gathered with other teachers and professors he despised. A young, tattooed hipster woman entered the scenery with a little Cairn Terrier that had an uncanny resemblance to his recently passed dog, Petey, who was put to sleep when he was away on a vacation, unexpectedly. His sorrow began to overwhelm him for not being able to say good-bye and see him for a proper last time. Everything about the dog’s high energy, playfulness, and watchdog attitude was exactly like Petey. A tear ran and fell off his cheek from his left eye right into the hand of Natasha. He looked up at her and she said, “Your tears are my tears. For what pain you withhold, I take and share with you.” She then wiped her right eye with the hand that held his tear. Natasha’s friend began to speak slowly into his left ear in Russian. Though he could not understand a word she was saying, it sounded just like a poem based on the pattern and rhythm’s consistency. It made him feel free of melancholy, but then thought of Angela Antonaci entered his mind.

He thought that the last painful experience ended with the break up of his closest best friend ever to play a part in his life. She was his girlfriend for the last three and a half years. They had known each other for ten years before they broke up their entire relationship. She was thirteen and he was fifteen when they first met in a park. She was always all over him like a little schoolgirl and he would often get frustrated with her obsession over him, for he believed he was no big deal. She was the first person to ever make him feel special and important, and even though he would resent her likeness towards him, he could never keep his eyes off of her or stop himself from always coming to her when he felt lonely. After about seven years, he realized he was in love with her. He had always been in love with her from the first time they met eyes. His long road had always lead back to her home in life. Every time he tried forgetting her and moving on, they would meet again. That person people search their entire lives for, he had found.

He rose out of his seat and briefly said goodbye to Natasha and her friend and went upstairs. He wanted time to be alone and walk around until he suddenly saw Jessica walking towards him. He stopped and waited for her to say hello, but she walked right by him, as if he had never existed. He felt a little insulted, yet relieved as any awkwardness that would arise was avoided. Looking ahead, he saw Angela’s two best friends, Kate and Julie, with her high school crush, John. John was playing an acoustic guitar on a lounge chair, singing to the two friends, almost enticing them with his eyes and voice. His jealousy overcame him, as Angela had been infatuated with him on and off even though he had played with her feelings throughout high school and college. John would tell her he loved her and make her believe he was a romantic, then when she fell into his words, he would leave her and keep a distance for long periods of time, leaving her in despair.

The conclusion occurred to him that maybe she was nearby. He searched throughout the entire bar not finding any other clues that she was around. When he went downstairs, he saw Natasha and her friend asleep, as well as most of the bar, except for the bartender. It was like everyone just passed out from the alcohol or possibly inhaled some type of knockout drug. The bartender was watching the news forecast of a tornado watch and dangerous thunderstorms. The bartender looked at him and said, “It’s better if you stay in here. It’s dangerous out there. I recommend you don’t go out!” He just listened, but decided to leave to the outside anyway.

He walked three blocks through the heavy rain and strong winds. He took a moment to stop and look at the black and gray clouds above him. As he looked across the street, he saw her. She was with her mother, sister, and mutual friends of theirs, Chrystal and Mike. He also saw behind them, his own mother and sister. He ran across the street to her and she shockingly with excitement screamed, “Hey!!! Oh my God!! Please stay with us. I missed you so much. You have no idea. We have to get to a shelter away from this storm. Hold my hand…” Smiling, he kept walking with them. They walked for twenty minutes and entered a giant field. After ten minutes of walking restlessly through the field, they all stopped to catch their breath. Angela’s mom ordered everyone to hold one another’s hand. An enormous gust of wind pushed them all to the grassy ground. He began to shake violently as he felt the touch of death nearby. He wondered if this would be the end, as he felt unaccomplished and left with so much left unsaid to her. Thoughts raced through his mind like a speeding highway about how to get to safety. Unable to control and remain focused on one rational thought at a time, he blacked out for a minute.

Then there he was right in the middle of a storm. In so many ways, he realized where he was ending was where he originally began. All the imprints from all he ever knew came back all at once to watch him finally leave all he ever knew from this life. And in the last moments, he found himself with her. He held her hand, while she held his, and the hands of their family and friends. The world was so dark and cold. The wind became much more rapid and an enormous bright light from it came within just miles of them. He kept looking up at the dark black and gray clouds over them, never as frightened as he was now. His focus was on the great strength of the wind. Whatever melancholic thoughts he had of his life, he would not give up hope. Maybe he was just hopelessly hopeful, but holding each other tightly might, in some miraculous way, save them. Then suddenly a deep peace began to sustain his very being. He remembered whose hand he was holding- the only woman to ever understand every level of his being. He looked down at her big, precious eyes pouring out tears. Their eyes locked, as she had been watching him the entire time. No words needed to be said from one another. They knew exactly what they felt and meant. For the first time in his life, everything was all okay. All was beautiful. The whole situation was beautiful, not tragic. In that moment, he understood this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to be, for only in such a life altering moment does one comprehend the very nature of love and life. To just glance into her eyes and see the same person staring back in suspense, while all he ever knew was being born, growing, and dying simultaneously in complete acceptance. They began to fade and disappeared into the light.
Hannah Southard Oct 2012
Breathe in,
breathe out,
you have just successfully converted oxygen into carbon dioxide,
you have been productive,
you have done enough today to give the trees a job,
like a tired mother,
they go around un-doing everything you've worked so *******,
muscles relaxing,
tension releasing,
carbon dioxide expelled,
diluted by the oxygen,
lungs burning,
legs aching,
hands on hips,
bent at the waist,
a long red ribbon laying broken at your feet,
inoutin out in  out   in    out,
slowing until it is normal again,
your breathe catches,
heart beating faster,
eyes locked,
a great love epic in the making,
the carbon dioxide sitting in your lungs waiting for you to remember to release it,
screaming lungs silenced by a pounding heart,
insides so loud,
outsides completely silent.
lungs comforted,
heart calmed by the brain,
continue walking,
the trees following behind you,
fixing all the air you have ruined,
and giving it back to you, once again.
abby May 2015
how do you stop your throat from burning
from salty tear-stained gulps and gasps
for oxygen that is no longer there?
there is too much carbon dioxide in the air now
and i want to fast forward into a world
where i can breathe in sweet helium
and ask for it to stop.
because there are times
when it's impossible to breathe
and when my puffy red eyes
can't open more than a millimeter
because you have glued them shut
with your accusations.
i didn't want to be gas station concrete any longer
i didn't want dirtiness to be my middle name
i only wanted to cleanse myself of you and your fists,
you and your laughter
you and your hatred.
i wanted to be clean.

Luna Jul 2013
Why does it always burst to come out?
Is that why it hurts so much from the inside out?
Clawing its way up to my mouth,
Seeping out, Like sulfur, No doubt.
And in an accident we can't escape,
No more breathing for us,
For me, it's too late.
Jade Elon Sep 2013
I love the song birds
they sing in morning
they chatter in the afternoon
they (seem to) die at night
I love song birds
the song birds love me
Jordan Alexandra Apr 2014
To be said with a sigh
Elongated, drawn out from the mouth,
Nothing to go in but only out.
Staggering and releasing
What a sign of uneasy
As one might wait on time,
My use of carbon dioxide.
Moon Humor Apr 2015
~Many people rely on the convenient, easy ways of living in this age of fast food, plastic packaging and rapid development. Most people do not care to see why they live the way they do or what it takes to live in such a way. Toxic pollutants leaching into our earth and water should not be worth the convenience! Third world women working in dusty, cramped factories to make designer purses for fifteen year old girls. Garbage is America’s biggest export and it ends up in China, on the coast of Somalia... anywhere that American citizens won’t be bothered to see it.

~What does it mean to buy a pack of plastic razors? Some metal, some chemicals, some plastic, more plastic for packaging. Use a razor a few times and toss it in the garbage. Somewhere, maybe at La Chureca, someone will pull the rusted metal and plastic from the landfill. They might make one US dollar per day collecting scraps of aluminum, glass, plastic and other scrap metals. What does it mean to wear deodorant? The plastic stick isn’t reusable. The ingredients are highly toxic. Aluminum-based antiperspirants have been linked to Alzheimer's and cancer. Soap comes in plastic bottles, coffee makers made of plastic, water bottles made of plastic… hell, my plastic shower curtain came wrapped in plastic packaging.

~Americans are lucky. Indoor plumbing with quality water. Green lawns and exotic flower beds. Buy and use, throw away and repeat. Big corporations pay off politicians to pollute. Industrial waste, land erosion, low air quality, pesticides. Why are we so quick to trust an artificial sweetener being promoted by a company that makes poison? They call you a hippy, a conspiracy theorist. They tell you that you only live once and to stop being so worried about it all. I ask them, how can you look away? Deforestation and destruction are all around. Those that profit are not concerned with what happens to the land after the loggers and miners have left the ground scarred and desolate.

~Modern living is a hoax. Yeah, you get around quick in your car but at what cost? Carbon dioxide, greenhouse gasses choking us and everything alive that lives with us and cannot speak. Can’t you walk to the corner store? Can’t you grow a few things in the garden or in the windowsill? When was the last time you saw a sunset and didn’t take a picture of it? Dairy cows packed together so tight they can’t turn around for your glass of milk. The disconnect is everywhere. Overpopulation. Overconsumption. People don’t care.

~They can choose. They can choose paper over plastic. They can buy a water filter instead of 20 plastic bottles. They can bike to work. Anyone can lessen their impact, anyone can think more deeply and live more sustainably. But we’ve made it so easy to be lazy. We’ve become so dependent that we’re forgetting to use technological gains to make the way we do things better. We’ve come so far that we’re forgetting what brought us here.


‘We are slaves in the sense that we depend for our daily survival upon an expand-or-expire agro-industrial empire – a crackpot machine – that the specialists cannot comprehend and the managers cannot manage. Which is, furthermore, devouring world resources at an exponential rate.’ Edward Abbey

‘In the developing world, the problem of population is seen less as a matter of human numbers than of western overconsumption. Yet within the development community, the only solution to the problems of the developing world is to export the same unsustainable economic model fuelling the overconsumption of the West.’ Kavita Ramdas

‘Water and air, the two essential fluids on which all life depends, have become global garbage cans.’ Jacques-Yves Cousteau

‘Globalisation, which attempts to amalgamate every local, regional, and national economy into a single world system, requires homogenising locally adapted forms of agriculture, replacing them with an industrial system – centrally managed, pesticide-intensive, one-crop production for export – designed to deliver a narrow range of transportable foods to the world market.’Helena Norberg-Hodge

‘Throughout history human exploitation of the earth has produced this progression: colonise-destroy-move on.’ Garrett Hardin
Quotes from:
Okaybro Nov 2014
Consisting of elastic sacs with branching passages into which air is drawn so that oxygen can pass into the blood and carbon dioxide be removed

You planted flowers in mine and my body has not adjusted to breathe the different air.

I have forever felt at one with nature  and hold the desire to assimilate myself in to it
But Today my body is not ready
My body will not accepted that as nature  I will be stepped on
My body is A lot stronger then my heart is

I want my chest to be molded to hold all of which you want to give me
I want to say my carbon dioxide receptors will develope
like I can turn by body into something it is not
for you
but truthfully i know better

My body is resistant.
My muscles fight for me when i am on longer doing it on my own
When i don't understand that this is a battle to the death
I wanted to give you something and didn't even contemplate that you could to **** it

I don't think it was intentional
But you have uprooted all of my nourishment and put it in my lungs
and although it is beautiful I cannot digest from my lungs

My life as this is not yet over
I have drawn from my skin all of what it had and more
I have picked at my bones i have tried to push them closer together
I have tried to make my body pretty and artfull

upon finding out that beautiful starts with self acceptance
I worked on believing that i am beautiful
I was coming to peace with loving myself
I had become a garden of my own
flourishing off of what i had around me

When you arrived you began to dig up the roots I was using to cope
swinging your shovel around like you didn't know the importance of what you were doing
WHile you were teaching me that your acceptance of me was more important than that of my own

The mind of which i follow told me that this was okay.
My body called *******, not ready to be stepped on
You had felt me with the rest of your body
And planting the flowers in my lungs was so you could feel me under your feet

Your feet are not the ones i want to be underneath
When my body is ready i will go into the ground
And the bereaved and the grave diggers and distraught will walk across me and my body will become that of another nature

For the first time my body will feel completely solid.
Dr Peter Lim Feb 2020
In democracy we breathe in
life-saving oxygen
in dictatorship
in carbon dioxide's poison
*  my friend in Canada and I have just discussed ideology
We sleep with the duvet above our heads.
Alveoli struggling, but heart thriving,
Steadily inhaling your exhalation to the rhythm of your lungs.
Scents of what were coffee, cigarettes and beer
Are just metabolites; caffeine, nicotine and aldehydes now
But the one thing I cannot break down,
Is how you can lay so close to me
And I can still miss you.
Harder than when I was miles away.
So many words exchanged that could be explained with one touch.

When I hold you closer it’s more in hope
Of waking you than for comfort.
True, a cruder move than when you
Whispered to me and kissed my neck.
You’ll never know how happy I was to feign sleep for just a few more moments.

But its eyelashes not your iris-less eyes I see
Just eyelids separate you from me.
Funny how a thin layer of epidermal cells,
Can make me feel further away from you
Than the plane, bus and train it takes me to get here.

We sleep with the duvet above our heads,
Alveoli struggling, but heart thriving,
steadily inhaling your exhalation to the rhythm of your lungs.
Only CO2 left to share now
Means your oxygen deprived cells force you to
Slip further away from me, unconscious,
Of how much I miss you.
© 2011 Hannah Aoife
I'm such like a chemical equation.
May evening, 10 pm as the time stitch stick, I was ionized.

We were, perfectly just like Berilium and Sulfate combination did.

Slowly by time, it solved like a combustion struck by appearance of troublesome oxygen and we survived
whereas the beliefs evaporated like the hydrogen dioxide.

In the end, you won over it, finalized the equation by eliminating me both in left and right side.

Leaving me partially ionized, failed thermochemistry as the exothermic spread no waste and the enthalpy was hurt much more.
and without electron I lost.
i Apr 2014
breathe in
breathe out
carbon dioxide,
a simple,
process that
i just want to end.
not my best really,
If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace
We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space.
If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity
If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality.
Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety
the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity.
If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail,
so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail.
If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation,
existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations.
If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes
on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall.
If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call,
If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all.
If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only

If Only

M C Crowder
19th November 2018
I first wrote song lyrics in 1978, song lyrics not so long, but it's message hasn't changed
Tark Wain Jul 2014
A plant grew in a forest
beginning as a sapling in a crowded opening
two inches tall
with no idea of what it was becoming
it rose slowly
but consistently
as others rose above it for light
it reaped the benefits of leftovers
this plant grew
not to be the tallest
not to be the prettiest
but it grew
It took in carbon dioxide
and released oxygen
it did its job
it was a good plant

eventually like most things this plant died
after being trampled by a young boy
this boy visited this forest everyday
its nature was his greatest toy
he knew the surroundings by heart
from the tallest tree to the smallest shrew
he saw all in his dreams
he knew all the plants save for a few
one of those few was our plant
although it stood tall, it was not tall enough
although it was pretty, it was not pretty enough
it died unremarkable
it was a good plant
it did its job
but it died without a trace
because it never risked to take another's place

and so the boy grew older
he left the forest for an office
in the hopes that one day
he’d be rich enough to return
so he climbed the ladder
and said all the right things
he was a good man
he did his job
until he met a girl
a girl so powerful
so unmistakably perfect
he had to rise above the others
he left his job because he hated it
he stood tall to reach the sun
he took risks not because he had to
but because he wanted to

this man died poor
he did not succeed
there was no beverly hills
no millionaire mansion down the street
this man never climbed that corporate ladder
never got lost in the rat race
never missed the birth of his son
never broke a promise to that boy
he took a risk he shouldn’t have
an unnecessary leap of faith
he looked back on his past
the trouble he left in his wake
he remembered that plant
the one he didn’t see
the reason he is who he is
the man who became a tree

take risks because you should
because one day you will die
buried under dirt
while your life has passed you by
life is too short
too precious
to be a good man
to just do your job
Robert Ronnow Nov 2019
Empires and rivers, time and space, man and nature.
Yet nothing, nothing satisfies like clear sinuses and arteries.
The struggle to express and understand is seemingly futile.
Pope’s Iliad, Milton’s Paradise, Armand Schwerner’s Dante.

Chemotherapy, quatrains, everything rhymes with comedy.
Good luck saying anything useful. Solutions to the equations
Are called wave functions or orbitals. Armpits and genitals.
Three *****, two strikes, full count. First and goal. Global

So far, a few pages into his tome, Easterbrook has one useful
Idea:  "In almost every ecological category, nature for millions of centuries has been generating worse problems than any created by people. U.S. factories, power plants and vehicles emit about 19 million tons per year of sulfur dioxide, the chief cause of acid rain. Yet in 1991, the Mount Pinatubo eruption in the Philippines emitted an estimated 30 million tons of sulfur dioxide in just a few hours. Ongoing natural processes such as volcanic outgassing and ocean chemistry put about 100 million tons of sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere annually. Nature has spent vast spans of time learning to cope with acid rain, greenhouse gases, climate change, deforestation, radiation, species loss, waste, and other problems we humans so quaintly believe ourselves hurling at the environment for the first time."
One of nature’s coping mechanisms is species extinction. As for the

Being good or bad, rational or instinctual, violent or compassionate
Are survival strategies. The economist in you wonders
Why care about the future, the dead don’t live to see it.
Life is a river and the self is an empire. Read their poems.

Or any other mountain with a fiery *****.
Am I the only one here who is sexually aroused by certain landscapes,
      ridges like *****, gorgeous vaginas.
He wanted to get the world into his poem so he did. She wanted to know
      one person or place intimately
so she did. The substance of Easterbrook’s argument: what doesn’t **** the
      biome makes it stronger.

Being good is its own reward, but what’s good!
I can take you and you and you and you and win.
That tiny Buddha, intricately carved, among the hemlocks, near the
      stream cutting the gorge, a parallelogram of white birch bark for
      a prayer mat,
Is gone.

Did a selfish traveler or the original owner take him far?
Although he had reorganized the woods around him like Stevens’ jar
I find the woods remain organized and orderly without him.
I go home and the naming of things goes on.

"Each of the planet’s cultures is a unique answer to the question of what it means to be human. And together they make up our repertoire for dealing with the challenges that will confront our species in the millennia to come. Consider the achievements of the Polynesians. Ten centuries before Christ—at a time when European sailors, incapable of measuring longitude and fearful of the open ocean, hugged the shores of continents—the Polynesians set sail across the Pacific, a diaspora that would eventually bring them to every island from Hawaii to Rapa Nui, the Marquesas to New Zealand. They had no written word. They only knew where they were by remembering how they got there. Over the length of a long voyage the navigator had to remember every shift of wind, every change of current and speed, every impression from sea, sky and cloud. Even today Polynesian sailors, with whom I have voyaged, readily name 250 stars in the night sky. Their navigators can sense the presence of distant atolls of islands beyond the visible horizon by watching the reverberation of waves across the hull of their vessels, knowing that every island group has its own reflective pattern that can be read with the ease with which a forensic scientist reads a fingerprint. In the darkness they can discern five distinct ocean swells, distinguishing those caused by local weather disturbances from the deep currents that pulsate across the Pacific and can be followed as readily as a terrestrial explorer would follow a river to the sea."
Easterbrook, Gregg, A Moment on the Earth: The Coming Age of Environmental Optimism, Penguin Books, 1996.
--Davis, Wade, “Last of Their Kind: What Is Lost When Cultures Die?”,
Scientific American, September 2010.
Poetic T Nov 2014
And so the green balloons did grow
Inflated, nurtured over time,
This tree of air
Traces of other gases too,
Out side was warm
Internal temp minus triple degrees,
What had been barren branches
Now sustained as these
Strings matured forth
Buds of latex and rubber grew,
Liquid air exhaled as the buds nurtured  
Air expanded with warm the green balloons
Sprung forth in to life what once was
Small, now expanded fuelled by the
Cold fuel of the tree of white,
In the winds they did gesture
As if dancing putting on a show
Green balloons flourished there veins
Feeding air anew,
Blustery winds picked up
Strings did snap, green balloons did
Float away, drifting upon high
Into a sea of blue,
But as seasons change,
Green balloons became loose
Many floated away to places new
Those that did not,
Nourishment of air, no longer green ballons
Phenomenon's of gases changed
And green faded now this tree of air
Brought forth new shades of
So these colours did fall from the tree,
Floating not as before,
They did descend, slowly to the floor,
Biodegradable. they did fade
From view, not what they were before,
The life cycle of these green balloons
The tree of white grows evermore cold,
For seasons change and green balloons will
Grow again next spring  floating in the air once more.
All balloon poems/writes can be found by  balloon-series
Nature science & balloons
Aaron McDaniel Aug 2017

Try to remember what you were doing before you had to remind yourself to breathe

Try to remember why you had to remind yourself to breathe

Remind yourself to breathe again

Tell yourself that the reason you breathe is to replace the carbon dioxide in your blood with fresh oxygen, allowing for your heart to pump it through your body

Remember that time you felt your breathing slow when it was a good idea to replace fresh oxygen with her carbon dioxide

Realize that the Prefix Di- in Dioxide means two

Begin cracking your first smile in days because you think that a broken heart may consider pumping carbon monoxide

Check the batteries in your monoxide detector

Move your pillow closer to the window where the plant she called "ours" still resides, giving breathing a purpose again

Fall asleep wondering if your snoring bothers your dog like it did her

Wake up to your dog snoring louder than you

Consider buying a C-PAP, without knowing who it's better suited for

Catch yourself relating the C-PAP to the band-aid you're placing over your heart, since all it really does is help you pretend that your breathing isn't a problem

Question if breathing is a problem

Google encouraging posters with puppies on them

Find yourself on her instagram again at 3 am, a faux-down comforter the coldest place in a while outside of your own mind

Chuckle at the time you did an instagram series of her stuffing her face

Wonder what your next step should be

Ask yourself if everything is going be okay

Convince yourself everything is going to be okay, while goosebumps cover your chest

Fall back asleep, slowly, dreaming about whether or not you should change your computer wallpaper at work

Discover in your deepest sleep, that breathing shouldn't be difficult. It should be something we don't notice, but remind ourselves of from time to time, whether it's heavy laughter or heavy hearted deep breathes, hitting speed bumps on its way in

You're going to be okay

I had no clear direction. Only a lot of emotion and an old outlet.

Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
when i was born within the Chernobyl aftermath, and the nurse tried to **** me, in that she almost choked me, enlarging my heart, and when that didn't **** me, and they attempted to befriend me, and gave me a brain haemorrhage... and that didn't **** me... i started to think: what will? i can't say i'm in hell, i can only assert limbo: i'm not a monster, just yet... it's only later that i became *******, when they wrapped me in a blanket of denials, to ensure their society was a beacon of false hope and even more false love... that last bit is the cherry on the top... i once hated ridicule: now i started to loath playground like games of lies... i just started thinking: these people are a bit worthless... how could people i once respected become so... so... pointless? it's not a case of: oh poor me... i'm laughing... asking for the next quickened allotment of epitaph in marble... i prefer the pain rather than this kiddy game of denying something being true... that sort of **** just makes up for being thought about too much... it exhaust my mental capacity... limbo is quiet fine, i'm apprehensive where these people think they live... utopia isn't exactly a best-described vicinity... but when did people start to become so ugly? it's slow down here, the big bang just happened, or as i say: with the kettle boiling water... biology's darwinism timescale for a reaction, and physics's timescale of the big bang theory are not exactly fascinating for me, boiling my water to make a cup of tea... i am literally split-mind concerning these two "barometres"... it's just hard juggling these two (0, 0) coordinates... to stress a beginning... evidently juggling these two narratives leaves us living our lives on amphetamines... insect like... it's hard to even make time or emotional investment in: a death in a village... it's doubly hard to make adjustments for a tomorrow, giving our input in beginning: no one knows, billions and billions... years... and then back toward the befitting cranium... it really is man with an omni-characteristic, well... at least one of them... which clarifies itself in a way: given that we're no longer exploring this orb, globalisation ensured the tribe died... we can go in circles: round and round... there's never a clear vector in sight... no real unknown land to challenge... it's all been tamed... once the savannah, now the zoo... as one german noted: the melancholy of the completed house... all the work gone into constructing it, the thrills, all gone... it just stands as perfect, as it is already derelict... hard to keep track of a two-beginnings system... it's hard to find awe these days, i mean awe that might allow an Aristotle, rather than just looking stupid... i think that England really does require an invasion to shake it up a little bit, it looks so docile in its arguments... so certain: "poised" to conquer... i can get (0, 0) of the big bang, a big blank... my brain just became scrambled eggs... i store that **** in my head: i'll see forever-never-tomorrow... i store the monkey-suit in my head (the other (0, 0) beginning) - i'll begin to wonder: but the monkeys have it so easy! me panda! me and bamboo! darwinism has either killed of history that we made in the centuries a.d. / a few centuries b.c., or what they're prescribing us really can't fit into one head, or into a few, to make it into a crowd... because when a few ditto-heads ingest one wise monkey talking over another monkey... the atheistic crowd is the quickest to disperse... as with the constant banging on about the number of stars in the universe... i like to look at the number of carbon dioxide bubbles in a glass of Perrier water.

well, maybe because they aren't
my contemporaries... but i despise Chopin
like despise Liszt... the fact that the latter
smoked cigars is just asking
for me to abhor him... and that a poet
   succumbed to his virtuoso skills
with dire tears of
       a jealous thread (matt arnold)...
for me Liszt and Chopin battered the piano,
literally, battered the piano...
     could have slaughtered a cow also...
but then again there's a part of my that says:
well, if the god argument is infantile,
how about the nation argument, is that infantile also?
are we to be bleached entities,
or merely abstract pronoun users? you see,
   they stole Copernicus from the Poles,
and Mickiewicz, and evidently Chopin is no Pole...
but a prize nonetheless... so they keep him
as that rare thing: something born into an almost
inescapable state prone to disintegration...
   what with the monarchy being
     one of import, either a Swedish electer ruler,
or a Hungarian, or a Russian, or a German (e.g.
house of Sas) - a monarchical brothel,
   otherwise known as an aristocratic "democracy"...
    it's just a good thing i don't like him... i don't see how
a piano can be ***** as it has been by either Liszt or
Chopin, sure enough, nimple fingers,
joseph ii hapsburg, mozart, the film amadeus citation:
                                                               too many notes...
    a bit like me... for its worth, the piano is so delicate,
    so so delicate... how it becomes an instrument that
requires competitors, how you need more virtuosos
who can play the **** music than original from-scratch
composers... piano: it just asks for gliding hands,
it's not asking for these megalomanic
tunes that might leave you with a wish from an audience
memember: to break your fingers...
evidently nothing more than a death / ******* stare...
or why the true resting place
of Chopin is Japan... as odd as it might seem...
           plays the piano great... plays a woman
  like a bagpipe...
                  aren't the two related?
     and when i first heard *ola gjeilo
on the radio
i was a woman watching a romcom...
                              the whole northern lights album...
my: a feast!
         just one of the few contemporary composers
that i can invoke...
     so coming back to the piano:
   me more of a Debussy and Eric Satie palette...
they just glide... i can only imagine
       a flight of migrating swans,
   or ice-skating...
    Chopin and Liszt is a mathematical headache...
        solo piano and the gentleness of approach...
    and only today,
   a lesbian couple travelling to manchester...
one of them phoned the radio station
and asked for a request...
      i've been dying to note this song / composer
down for a year or so... always heard the song:
never the composer's name...
                   ludovico einaudi,
much to my taste: the piano still remains
   a wardrobe item of the orchestral architecture,
rather than a door of your fridge...
constantly yapping for: more, more, more.
you glide across it,
tease it, rather than taste it,
  or subject it to a rubric of quickened calculation,
it stuff the room,
the best you can do is make it sound airy,
    make diacritical echoes from it,
than actual letters...
           say: the acute above the o, rather than
the o and acute in ó....
such a delicate thing: the piano:
which is why i never understood Chopin,
or felt a need for a national argument
       needing him, propping him on a peddlestool...
having him as a national treasure...
                  i always remained true to
those who settled for gliding over the alphabet...
    rather than immersing themselves in it...
that kind of composition, that simply fakes lazy...
     they are the ones i admire...
     and yes, given that dialectics has been
completely forsaken,
   the best we can do is give an indulgence
in an opinion, and make comments of
   women, chocolates,
men: dialectics...
                    or at least that's how i find myself,
making diacritic comments...
   akin to piano (contra chess,
    white notes consonants,
black notes vowels,
or should i say: any letter with a diacritical
distinction is the black note,
vowels and consonants are uniform in white)...
Ironatmosphere Jun 2014
The sky is white
and flat
It’s like we are all living in an aquarium and they forgot
to turn the lights on
to turn the sky on
Our knowledge of how to breathe is slipping away
like the cloud that tripped and smeared they sky with buckets full
of one single shade of white

Waiting under the white sky
we stand wondering,
our breaths caught in our throats,
if they will turn on the sky
and let us remember
how to convert oxygen
into the carbon dioxide that is slowly destroying it
and us
Fah Oct 2013
Afternoon light cascades onto ocean skin ,
momentarily turning the water a fine gold shimmer -
light dances merrily , shifting as the plane turns southwards - Equator barrier broken

Welcome to the Southern Hemisphere !

Cloud islands mirror
ground islands .

Puff ***** create architectural feats not known to humanity.  
Flowing with the wind , creating substance out of thin air
the ultimate magicians trick ,
Above , thin wisps of stratus clouds brushstrokes seamless onto sky glaringly iridescent and soft all at once.....hey look! ..... way out in the distance , towering cumulus on their way to becoming cumulonimbus thunderstorms , steady growth of stacks even out when a cold air bank has been reached....the sky writes love letters to the earth

in his cloud postcard snapshots , yet - it is a serenade from them both

Earth offers the waters , the dust needed for the molecules to bind together -  sky transmutes them in his belly - with shifting winds and earth curvature the color palate spectrum .

the offspring , playing in between two worlds
belonging to no one arriving and departing , shape shifters

whole landscapes whirling in amongst themselves , remain unseen,  save for the few souls in tin machines hurtling along in the presence of natures finest high sky views.

Azure crisscrossed with opaque whites and rapidly turning dusk eggplant purples , wild and free form mingle with voluptuous orange streams of liquid light , hiding in the shadows the ‘day’ comes to an end ...

Does natures delicate hands sculpt the static water molecules knowing that there is beauty there ,

i have yet to fathom how such a gracious glory goes un noticed by many ,

luckily , for us , as we destroy every other aspect of earths eco system - the bold sky still remains ,

In the city doldrums and slums high rises
or slums on ground
or mansion view

the sky still bears dow the art works of sunset and rise ,
of cloud shifters and shapers , movers and shakers
still offers a connection to natures heart to remind us , of the magnificence that is our world. That is our home,

although - i have been told - under the surface or in this case , above the surface , here too has been attacked , pumping deadly toxic fumes into water ways
and lung ways

knowing all the whilst that this will do more harm than good

and here is where i , still struggle - i’m writing this on the plane -

a carbon dioxide emitting , fossil fuel guzzling , corporate ******* of a business .

but i need to get places , and go long distances in the shortest amount of time possible ..
Rick Dec 2017
Left in a truck with all the Windows shut. Stuck myself in a garage with the music up. Start the car and wait watching, dioxide is the dependency im depending on to keep me from pretending to be happy. Deep breaths in, feeling the poisen seeping in, cutting deep within the life ive lived without. It screams as its torn out.
emma joy Aug 2013
The three little pigs had it easy
they were destined to be blown away
into oblivion
expectations weigh me down in my sleep
and I have to greet the sun and the moon
with open arms,
and I'd rather be curled up in my bed of rocks
that I made with my own wretched hands.

My nails have dirt under them
so when they find me
when they dig me up
they'll realize
I was more alive than dead.

Perhaps perhaps that is true,
but I'm unsure at the moment if I can breathe anymore
without the man upstairs jumping on my chest
and rattling my bones like
windchimes in a blizzard.

They forgot to take me in from the porch
so now I am covered in ice.
Hypothermia is contagious.
I learned that the hard way.

My mother doesn't know any lullabyes
so I fell asleep alone all my life
there is no such thing as love in a world where
doors are always sewn closed.

My brother doesn't know the meaning of the word death
so he doesn't know who I am
or where I came from.
It's a divided house with splintered shutters
hanging only on one window.

My grandmother handmade the curtains so my mother
wouldn't have to spend any money on décor.
It is important to be fasionable yet frugal
she said.
Know your odds and ends
and always sweep the dust under the rug
at the end of the day.

Clean freak.
Shine the house. Shine her shoes.
I think she mistakes them for her soul.
But, it's okay
because ***** things teach important lessons in life
like who can bring the most to the table.

Honesty is the best policy.
I lied to my aunt so I could go smoke
her cigarettes and drink her *****
while she was gone on vacation.
She doesn't know I've slashed wrists
and doused pills with beer and dry martinis
on Sundays after church, but
Honesty is the best policy.

It's hard to explain to someone that addiction's not
addiction because you sound like
you've been shot
when you ask for the stuff you've been dying
to hold.
And they look at you as if you were the one
that ran over Princess Di.

Back up.
Back up.
Sit down. Breathe clean air and tell them that
you're not
you just like the way the word sounds
on your tongue.

Aftermath is fear.
always change last minute and as they
stuff the tube down your throat
you question if you are you
any longer.

People like that shouldn't rely on such
demeaning ways to be found,
but I can feel my skin rotting
and I'm terribly afraid
someone is going to cover me in
buffalo sauce and swallow me whole.

I was drunk
but does it still count
I've never truly known a woman
because I know the one for me will be
I am drawn to the things I can't have
and oh god
I can't have you.

I hear that if you lick the alphabet
they will fall in love with your tongue.
No one has made me fall yet,
that is no one I have tasted.
I don't trust they are worthy
if they can't look me in the eyes.

I pray to god no one ever inhales the carbon dioxide
I contain.
It is spoiled rotten with ash.
In fact, I am confident the dioxide
has turned black
by now
ephemeral Jul 2014
احب نفسك اولا
(love yourself first)
From the moment I met you,
I was intrigued.
Your eyes were like
A vast blue ocean
That would pull me in
Sometimes welcoming,
Letting me stay afloat
Just long enough to enjoy myself
Other times willing me to drown
And drown, I did
You pulled me completely under
Without stopping to let me breathe
I almost died
Except I didn't die
Just as I gasped one last breath,
You helped me back to shore
Made sure I breathed again
That was when you told me you loved me
And right in that moment I wanted to kiss you
I craved you the way trees crave carbon dioxide
And you said there were times
When you wanted to kiss me
And just for a moment
I let myself imagine
I thought of your strong arms around my body,
Keeping me safe, while wanting every piece of me
Kissing the scars that align my skin
Like a map of my regrets
Wiping any tears I cried away
And that was when
You pulled me back under
you shattered every piece of my already broken heart
"I can't love you, because I'll end up hurt"
Were your exact words
And if I remember correctly,
Those were my words to you
The first time we exchanged
"I love you's"
And as I remembered this,
A riptide occurred
Riptide (n): a strong current caused by tidal flow in confined
areas  and presenting a hazard to swimmers and boaters

you were a hazard to my state of mind
You ruined what was left of my sanity
But it was when you decided to block me out
That I was finally able to realize this fact:
I was so busy trying to stay afloat, alive
In your fatal whirlpool of an ocean
In the ocean of your blue eyes
That I fell too hard for you
Before thinking to fall
For myself
Idk I like the last section (starting with the riptide) best. Feedback?
Cecilia Lynne Jan 2013
I shot an arrow into the sky
aimed at a fleeting invincibility
that only the acidic youth and dopamine fiends
can pierce with bitter tongues.
Freedom for the burdened
with shots among the blue
to lasso the sun that burns our eyes
and removes the shadows we know.
If you are afraid--crooked mind--
that's the allure.
I, too, have loved my demons
but they will pick my brain no longer.
Geo May 2017
there is a plant in my room that,
with no rhyme or reason,
withers and droops and snaps
whatever the season.
at times when there is plenty of sun
streaming through,
enough for its buds to open
and leaves to unfurl
they remain closed tight
against the light
i do too.

there is a plant in my room that,
when oxygen is inhaled and
carbon dioxide absorbed,
it picks up its branches and tries
to let the warmth reach its skin,
to bring back its colour and bloom a little.
but the light does not warm any deeper
than a layer or two
and when the exchange is over and left
it droops again
i try too.

there is a plant in my room that
can sometimes forget its water
and its dirt that keeps it grounded.
though it knows that
its roots will shrivel,
and its petals will fall,
that the watering can will gather dust
and its tray will fill up stagnant
till the sheer weight of negligence
can tip over its *** and scatter its soil
i forget too.

there is a plant in my room that
knows one day the sun will stop streaming
and warmth won’t reach.
that no buds nor leaves will remain to hold tight.
that gaseous exchanges cease.
that layers will shed and bare branches.
that roots will disintegrate,
and that water will evaporate.
it knows one day it won’t find its way back
after tipping over one last time.
that its soil will find other
weeds to keep alive
and it will decompose.
and i will too,
for there is a plant in my room that
dies when i do
Vitamin Dee Nov 2014
When I first saw you, you stood before me and I breathe you in.

I took a deep breath… blew out any fears and concerns, I breathe you in, innocently, care-freely and wholeheartedly.

You held my hand and I breathe you in. I blew out every memory of any other before you and I breathe you in innocently, care-freely, lovingly, and wholeheartedly.

You rubbed against me and I breathe you in. I blew out hot mist, letting go of any weakness. I breathe you in, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely and wholeheartedly.

You looked into my eyes, I stared into yours and I breathe you in. I blew out my wants and needs and breathe in yours, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely and wholeheartedly.

I felt your pain from miles and miles away. I could even smell the salt from the sea. I breathe you in innocently, care-freely, lovingly, completely, soulfully, wholeheartedly.

Never could two be more connected or so I thought.

Now, I stand here confused and alone with your soul and scent entwined in mine, I breathe you in, but now, I’m breathless.

I can’t breathe... Instead of oxygen, my lungs are filled with toxic carbon dioxide, yet, I breathe you in and your breath is mine, innocently, care-freely, lovingly, soulfully, and wholeheartedly.

In the end, it turns out, I was yours but you were never mine – I exhale.
Mahesh Hegde Jan 2014
The Hour Glass represents us. Confused how.. Let me elaborate it to you.
You do see the sand that is seeping slowly off the orifice between the two bowls..
That sand shows the flow of love from ur heart to mine. But wen the flow stops. U just have to revert the glass and u vl see that Ur love is not just taken in, it is adored, processed, felt. Its warmth and the care that is hidden in it is scrutinized. And then it flows back into u.
This is the way we are. Due to this our love always wins from our fights.
U widout any selfishness and greed give me all that u ve got inside u, planting banyan trees of love to make it live for years.
And here, Its me, trying to provide the carbon dioxide and water for helping the tree to grow and feel the fresh oxygen, extracting each amount and inhaling it wid full greed. This greed, Which Comes like a reflex only fr u, is not a devil's one but a Loving one. How can it be possible to share u wid anyone else in the whole world. I cant help it. I cant share u. And I am proud of being greedy fr u.

This sand which keeps on seeping consists of all memories stored in it about us.
All of them, Staring wild eyes with the rays of Innocent Infatuation, Then the seed of frndship that we planted (Actually u planted), And then My extravagant feelings converting that seed of frndship directly into a plant of love, Then the rains and the hot sun that the plant faced between these paceful yrs we were together, Then the Era of wisdom that attacked me and made me construct a good shelter to protect this plant from heavy rains and hot burning rays of rageful sun..
All these memories. That we lived together. Which we now remember and smile, sometyms cry and sometyms even laugh after crying. And I promise to give u more, good, to be confident, fresh and best memories in this lyf ahead so that while taking our last breath these wud give u the best smile u ever had in ur lyf.
And if this hourglass, ever, accidently or unfortunately breaks, dont be sad. cuz these memories are stored in every pinch of the sand it contains not the outer body that consists it.
Love You
bobby burns Aug 2013
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Rose Alley Jul 2013
You talk about eggshells
I hear the crunch as I get closer to you
Thought it was glass breaking but it was too soft beneath my shoe
I can't stay out of your perimeter forever
When the diameter grows bigger and bigger
Pushing me farther away
I can still see soft silhouette

Your skin is so frail
Pale white made of the eggshells at your feet
You reach down time and again
When you're pierced by words
Cutting off oxygen
Penetrated by the carbon dioxide truth
You're not young anymore
Age is ageless numerals
You're not old

How many birds flew away from this pile of youth?
Each one once packaged like a gift
Leaving behind stacks of birth to sift through
You gathered them
Scattered them evenly around you
Put your appearance and self worth into them and
Waited for the crushing blow
Marching toward you from all sides
Your insecurities will swallow you and
The stomping will leave you angry and hollow

We are all hippy chickens
Making wishbones out of peace signs
Hoping for unity
Not realizing it's meant to be broken
A lopsided libra unbalanced
The powers that be
Expect you to follow obediently
Stand in line
You can't take just give
'Short people ain't got no reason to live'
Newman must have know
How difficult it is to create new men
One by one we attempt
To tip the scale in our favor
But the bigger Man
Can push it down with a finger
Like a toppling Pisa tower
A slow motion fall to the ground
A single direction agenda
The momentum gained
With each inch leaning

So stop clowning around
Sweep up your eggshells and
Go buy a dozen more grade A's and
Break them all at once
We don't have much time
CH Gorrie Sep 2012
In the form of transparent, bundled tumbleweed
it allows us to breathe, the continuation
of carbon dioxide creation, the movement
of clouds and mists and birds, certain natural disasters,
being able to skim bays at a full sail
or the next step a plane takes after taxiing.

It includes us in the endless repudiation of itself
that it can't seem to –  no matter how it may try –
reverse or cure, bringing earlier
peoples to know it as a supernatural force
(there was simply no other reasonable choice available).

And for some reason
it keeps engaging in pyromania as it aids and abets
whatever impulsive firework-lighting-thrill-seekers
or placid cigarette-****-litterers did or did not
purposefully do.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
for all it's worth, this "clear" distinction between subjectivity, and objectivity, well... it has no place in america... america doesn't understand that its "free" speech bias is too ingrained in subjectivity... in emotion... america doesn't know dialectics, simply because it always cites there being a distinction in debate: americans! come on! they're hot-headed cowboys, and not old & senile socrates types! all he really said was: i'm on my way out, why not? you say too much, you end up saying nothing... then again: you say nothing: but then give a look, and ****! a tolstoy novel drops from a frank sinatra song: as carelessly, as a penny.

don't know about you, but this is how i feel,
most of the the time,
having digested a few minutes of
a youtube video...
    might as well **** on me, kick me
a few times, then pour petrol on me,
then **** me with a wine bottle -
while holding a gun to my head,
threatening me: you ****** don't moan:
i'll pull the trigger...
    literally? i find looking at ***** more appealing
than hearing this *******,
i'd rather spend the night with the essex
foxes laughing into the night, all the night
through... or dogs barking...
why? well... i swear to god i'm in
a *thesaurus prison
; esp. coming from h'america;
i'm bored, this verbal diarrhoea is
******* me off: can you please shut up?!
can you please shut up: 'cos i'm trying to think!
i know, i know it's an unfamiliar concept
to you *******, but some of us:
actually do, enjoying this faculty,
   the "non-sense";
i don't see the point of arguing for free speech,
it just end up a thesaurus debate,
wait, better: a thesaurus prison -
  out goes the dictionary -
and yes, the "art" of rhetoric / sophism =
hates the dictionary -
  in all honesty, i'd love for someone to
make the "schoolboy error"
  of asking for a meaning of some obscure word...
i'd love to see it taking place...
    but my prime beef? the spin,
the thesaurus prison of free speech law making:
can't you be content with the freedom to
think, that you have to throw a banana tongue
into the broth?
        i'm a man, so yeah: i sometimes
sound incoherent, perhaps grunting to say
yes, or shrugging my shoulders to say no...
but i don't like this thesaurus prison
of the american dedication to the freedom to speak...
it really does come down to a game of a thesaurus...
look at it as this:
   all this glorification of individualism...
that's celebrated, right?
     the concept of individualism is sat on
a peddle-stool, and glorified...
    the first icon, bowed before, sacrificed for...
but enter this "freedom of speech" *******...
and yes, the thesaurus prison
  of what "free speech" invokes...
  the shittest, most boring game ever allowed
to run the "upper" tier of civilisation:
i'd prefer the freedom to **** in congested
public places...
    you know, it's more painful to have to restrain
a **** on a crowded train than
it is: saying some ******* non-dialectical
    the freedom to speak whatever you want,
well, sometimes it doesn't attract dialectics -
and that's crucial...
   if you're not a ****'s worth of a "maxim",
and you don't attract the bothersome
cloud of flies that's dialectics: who, the, ****,
gives a **** what you have to say?
  there's no point in having a freedom
of speech: if it sometimes, only sometimes,
attracts dialectics...
  and who can guarantee that happening
every, single, time?
  +, all this talk of individualism?
   hence the thesaurus prison and a complete
mind-**** to add...
  some american called solipsism
a mental illness...
        oh, right? you sure?
  don't you think the concept of synonyms works?
individual : solo -
           ism : ism -
      not akin?
             if solipsism ≠ individualism:
i'll shave my head, tattoo my *** in hieroglyphs,
and put on a transgender persona
asking people around me to call me
sandy; ****, the bothersome ***** just
became double the bothersome,
and turned into gnats.
   and yes, the only "voice" i like to hear:
is the one that downs a ***** ms. pepsi
          what's the point of "free" speech:
you have no dialectical interest in the speech?
might as well wish for
a helium breath rather than a carbon dioxide
breath, and blow up enough balloons
for a girl's birthday, filling up an entire
room with them: to surprise her.
Vernarth says: "ideal of our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos, before our subtle bodies, in which they will be opened to us, and how we parabolize, before this pretense of Saint John the Apostle, in the head of mediumship to reach the longitude wave to Hellenika. The interactive vibrational ones will go with the expression of deep reasoning, to pontificate the Mandylion with the Vas Auric, for the effect of the iconification of the idiomatic monologues, for such edges of  Saint Jude Thaddeus and Veronica, and for such an event facing alien forces before the Messiah, that they are like a coherent gadget before the intermittence variants. Channeling to the Cyclades, they will go from east to west wading the waters of the Aegean and Mediterranean, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse, for inter-consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogeniture in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti and the Archpriest in Hellenika , with high degrees of awareness of light and the conclaves between both homilies synchronous. Of great drowsiness before the Anemoi winds, they will go through near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the ominous chthonic divinities, for such deities in the Mediterranean substrate, identifying themselves more obviously with Anatolia, which from prehistory has continued to the site of Troy, in a cheesy plan to unite loyalists of Agamemnon, to defeat Hector, between farmland and agricultural revolutions and Akkadian worlds BC, in peripheral outposts, to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydros influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature, with those of life and survival after death that is at the center of the concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods was transformed during the II millennium BC. C. as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etcetera. Given consciousness, the light will be channeled, in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the retro channels of the Cyclades, which go from Rhodes and Kímolos, for the discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to listen to what you want to hear and not to the real message, the egoic mind that does not come from serials of daunted egos ..., prays with signs of technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligences, from egomaniacal administered consciences, being strident and iconoclastic for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire…, in my mind I go towards the vessels that navigate the andurriales of the elusive identity, trapping it in the totemic animal stratum, in its tracking psychology, but seer of its present ego. Today I will use my Leonatus cap, to separate the anger from the large shadow that clouds my sadness, and from my own victimhood of reduced meekness, which spews violence, blaming it for a ruthless sort of depressive shame and exclusive of everyone's own fear for everything . I will blindfold my eyes against illnesses that will heal in three days, to straighten the ecstasy that grows thicker towards the guillotine, staying on Golgotha without Golgotha, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull, which trembles in my hands, until the Dream becomes vaporous with anger and harmless destruction before your egos, which throb rozagant towards the host entity and the scarified madness. Awakening my nuanced, subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sorrows that hurt my worst self-destructive amorousities before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti, with his science sheltering itself when yielding over the defeated springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of sorry and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duo time, Duo space, in one I get excited, in the other I retro project, in unreal worlds of epistemic and channeled images ignoring them, in free astrolabe when decrypting my Duoverse, between the Tsambika templets, with the decoded and mutated annelids in trisomy , in ancient trees of plain doors of the Bern Olive Trees. We look at what gratifies and weaves together what weaves the positioning of the approaching stars of the universe, like leaves in psalms, worthy of all-powerful serials, in redoubled humors on the encompassing intraterrestrial chthonic tridents, in tricks of intuition, before skewing my sword Xifos, as an original replica of a night's dream in Tel Gomel, full of alerts that make me laugh chew it in the middle of my mouth on the jerky and the strains of the bear, towards the counterweight of the message of light and lag of the high astral as a bear less. Bustard and angelic breath in withdrawal and in dissolution ... unfinished planet ..., now if I see you channeled and incarnate! Diva emotion, here I analyze my audacity and courage towards being fed up with my omniscient prosopon, such an omniscient telepathic. My soul lies, and my emotion also, because in this way I will treasure the courage of panic, by surrounding myself with the fears of carrying the universe that is resting on the underside of my back at a cost "
Harassment of psychological channeling, against the horns and sights of a peaceful energy confrontation, will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos channel with the stark human finitude of life and finite and non-eternal existence, ad portal with their Aspis Koilé. Unconscious they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Walekiria, without ever really taking the time to tell her, what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her and her reliquary poem, from deflagration in flame, to insidious break of commitment of fear by telling him that if they revive, they will be others, but if Hetairoi extra Hellenic towards the light of the incarnate vermilion ..., and in a state of loop as "Being of Light". Oh phantom phenomenon that does not scare me ..., rather it disenchants, clinging to my skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me ... As conjecture and presence of Greca life ..., having to promote the matter and atmosphere involved where the valuations, should be tempered in the pressure regulators and the contribution of biodiversity, of the species for the insular life and its chemical balance in the Aegean. The theorem will state in the image of Vas Auric, as sounds of homeostasis, in classrooms, properties of the intervened annelids are consistent, capable of keeping them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes in the noise of the intervened patios, towards an environment through the regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards your (metabolism), trying a form of dynamic balance with the sparkling properties of Cinnabar. As a self-regulating biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment of physicality (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) more noble with the species that make up life in the compass of two islands unmanned by beings from Gaia, rather as an entropy in magnitude physics for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by intra-dynamic beings that nobly associate, for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure, measuring them in numbers with Gold in their population, from high numbers in states of zero, compatible with the laws of external physicality, for the purposes of watchful guardians, if Gaia's engine is turned on, before this psychic and spiritual combustion?

The laws of this system of closed circuits and channeling will tend to maximize entropy, expiring inhibitory reactions, for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen from the worms, making an express signal of the levitant carbon dioxide, to carry it from Tsambika, in a sigh of two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle, for the clouds in mole of carbonate dioxide, battling over the surviving necromancers and their conditions of activity and reproduction, maintaining these habitable conditions for many and many, in classes that did not enjoy of the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look like a turbo generator and appropriate laws underlining the extensive fibers concerned, a mole of molecules, in said of equality, of said hypothesis of Vernarth as sub-mythology, rather resting on the growing ivy  to its setbacks, and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties of open skylights, and properties in tune, with the severe penalties that hurt, even the tolling of the bells and their pain as the millennia pass! Fear, insecurity and frustration will not fit because in the cavity with them, they will cut the abenuz Diospyros, with its stamens usually in sixteen plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; like those of female flowers, being greenish or being converted into staminodia. Diospyros with ovaries generally tetralocular, or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel inseminating demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zephian of Horcondising, before the vibrational migrations begin in Hellenika. Just as in this pact with silence and meditation and burning toxic flames, under vulnerable high frequency insolation ..., waking up in Gaia like a sleeping fairy, and invested with extra light shaman, with degrees of synergy and with the simple science of blizzard ... , with low puffs of air of bread and cinnabar burning in the first hosts of hummus, as the homily began.
Mariah Button Mar 2018
Icy cold water runs over my hands and I do not move the handle,
I let it wash away the soap without concern for the temperature.
They say that drowning is painful, you feel the burning in your lungs,
You kick and struggle as you fight to get rid of the water and carbon dioxide in your body,
Or you can let it in, your head will feel like it’s exploding.
Your body will feel heavy like several pounds of rocks weighing you down,
But you won’t struggle, you feel a lot of pain at first,
Then it starts to pass and you’ll feel relaxed.
I think about that as I turn the water off,
I go back to my room to watch another episode of some show I'm not paying attention to
I focus on the screen physically but my brain is swimming.
My thoughts are ripples, and then waves, then they are 100 feet high,
A tsunami of pain tugs me into the deep blue purgatory.
I wonder how many water molecules are in this storm,
How many tiny things made this enormous tidal mass.
I breathe in the salt and the sea,
I breathe in the clouds and the sky,
My feet graze the sand as I sink deeper.
I can imagine the coral cutting my insides as my lungs begin to burn,
I feel the fish swimming into my head as it grows like a balloon.
I open my eyes and it’s beautiful,
Miles of empty nothingness surrounds me,
The sun is hitting the water just enough that I can see all the shades of blue,
All the colors that make it so vast and endless.
Icy cold water surrounds me and I do not move,
I let it fill me up and wash away my pain without concern for anything.
They say that drowning is painful and you can feel everything,
I guess I had been doing it for so long that I forgot how to breathe
But now I do not struggle and I let myself sink, and I cannot feel a thing.
First one I felt comfortable enough to share
Leelan Farhan Aug 2013
You're the cracks in my skin
the blood that I bleed.
You're the carbon dioxide
that I unleash
to stop you
from suffocating me.

You're the pounding in my skull,
the cartilage damage in my knees
slowly ripping life from me,
with no mercy
despite my pleas.

You're Satan's kiss
-- you're a personal death wish.
You are agony
But you're agony that I miss.
                 For when a blind man regains sight,
                                  it's nothing short of bittersweet
                 -- a painless torture technique.

© Leelan Farhan
    August 11 2013
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
I just watched a news report
about ‘Direct-Air-Carbon-Capture’
which removes carbon dioxide (CO2)
from the Earth’s atmosphere
to reverse climate change:
Big fans **** in air
which is passed through liquid
which absorbs some carbon dioxide (CO2)
then the CO2 is extracted from the liquid
by chemical reaction to form
solid pellets of calcium carbonate,
thereby removing CO2 from the atmosphere.

One Direct-Air-Carbon-Capture (D-A-C-C) plant
can extract 1 megaton of CO2 every year
from the atmosphere –
which is equivalent to 40 million trees;
It would take 40,000 D-A-C-C plants worldwide
to stop further climate change.

I wonder
when will global society
become desperate enough
to avoid bad climate change events
like cyclones, droughts, floods
that governments will spend the money
to build these 40,000 plants
and save us all from climate change.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
i used to be, what you might call husband material, and i stress that i used to be; i can count the number of girlfriends i had with one hand, no relationship lasting long enough to celebrate anniversaries.

i moved up in life, i'm still drinking
a £10.80 bottle of scot club whiskey,
but the mixer has been upgraded from
a £0.17 bottle of coca cola to a £0.55
bottle... and noticeable differences,
waking up with a hangover i used to
drink up the leftover mixer in the afternoon
(obviously the mix to get rid of insomnia
is really effective - naproxen is a more
effective version of paracetamol;
and in relation to the poem
*rock bottom england
, everyone's
abusing antibiotics these days,
people are making viruses cleverer,
all this darwinism against theology
has made us teach darwinism to viruses,
one cough, one sneeze and you're dead),
so yeah, conjunction usage like a comedian
on a stage, you never know what you're
going to say next, a bit like an r.e.m.
gimmick salute to nirvana, about
how many times you can say yeah in a song
(man on the moon, smells like teen spirit,
indeed i'm in that age bracket if you're asking,
i know more about steve tyler than swift tailor),
anyway... what was i saying?
oh yeah, the £0.17 bottle of coca cola is
over-fizzy, they jazzed things up with excess gas,
too much carbon dioxide,
it's too acidic,
i know because yesterday i bought
a bottle of pepsi, drank it today
and i didn't get heartburn... well, serves you
right for buying the cheap **** i thought,
so i upgraded to the £0.55 bottle
and guess what... no excess fizz!
but that's how it goes, the best albums
to listen to when walking in english suburbia
are burial's untrue album,
very experimental dub-step that's not really
about dabbling in a pigeon or chicken strut,
i.e. no "drop" that's a signature of drum & bass...
and susumu yokota's grinning cat,
both albums work perfectly with the illumination
on suburban streets of essex
(oh look, urbanity - consciousness -
suburbia - subconsciousness -
the countryside - the unconscious);
so the talk in the supermarket was
a guy stacking freezer products damning it
all with, quote: 'money is the vilest of evils
of this world',
true that i said out-loud walking back to
the automated cashiers with another £1.50
bottle of amstel beer...
england was playing the Netherlands
and was winning one nil,
a bad joke about the flatlands
and how the dutch were good when
johan cruyff played, getting to the final
in 1974 losing to west germany,
and how the germans cheated playing
in unplayable circumstances with poland
in a bog rather than a pitch, the rain man,
the swift polish players were no match
on a dry pitch, with the german heavy cavalry;
so then on the walk i peer into this one house,
a massive blue aquarium in it,
Poseidon's wallet... and i thought...
was i rich enough to own a house,
or if i were to be like a moralising Confucius,
teacher of humanity, i'd replace all
modern fireplaces that televisions are,
and install aquariums in every household.
The Napkin Poet Dec 2016
To make wine,
Grapes are crushed then poured into fermentation tanks.
Once fermentation begins, the grape skins are pushed to the surface by carbon dioxide gases released in the fermentation process.

I am the only fruit who has the necessary acids to make natural, stable wine.
My tannins add a bitterness and astringency,
But I must be picked at the right time.
My acidity and sweetness must be zen in balance.
The right ones are sorted through, but not all of us make the cut.
Unable to be served as sweet wine, too bitter.
Some more sweet, not bitter enough.
Simply picked at the wrong time, their peak unwanted, forgotten.

After being sorted we are destemmed and crushed.
Our roots ripped from us, dignity stomped upon.
For years, it was done manually, by foot.
Now, preformed mechanically, systematically.
But hey!
"Mechanical pressing has brought tremendous sanitary gains as well as increased the longevity and quality of wine."

Grape abuse continues, white wine grapes are quickly crushed.
Why do you ask?
To keep unwanted "color" from leeching into the wine.
But red wine,
Red wine is left in contact with it's skin, forced to acquire more color, more flavor and additional tannins.

After being sorted and crushed, I naturally ferment with in six to twelve hours.
This continues until all my sugar,
Is converted to alcohol.
To produce dry, wine.

The final stage is aging.
I am bottled with a cork,
Put on a shelf.
And ironically,
await my optimal fruitfulness.
Universal Thrum Sep 2013
Is there one word that holds the power?

The breath created by humble lungs
The frequency resonating a once unheard ******* thrum
And cunningly shaped by a Loquacious tongue

To awaken the minds of the sleepers

Or is it emotion soothed by an ancient vibe

Of Universal Love

But what is Love?

Like a tender mother’s hug Found in the eye of your first friend
Before gazes averted strangers
And embraced the world by steady trust within
Separate tables pushed together
Greetings warm with heartfelt laughter
Everyone singing their own song
As a global chorus comes
On like a rushing blast of heat from the opened oven of love
Forward like the sea foam after the rip tide fades
Onward like the feathered wind, invisible
Yet its presence manifest in ethereal ways
The crescendo of 7 billion voices strong
The thumps of our brothers’ hearts beat out a mighty tune
Pounding the drum of a once deafened ear
The fiddlers from the forest meadow and the rushing of the leaves
Reminding us of our nature
As Oxygen consumers
And carbon dioxide providers

Have you heard the killing of trees?
No, but its seems to be all the Rage
Everywhere I go, seeing tree stumps line the way
Yet green grows evermore
Our living spirit chooses life
Because of darkness
The Light must shine

If I am You and You are Me and no one gets lost in-between
the cracks and the gaps of the sidewalks separated by all too distant train tracks
and the windows of the restaurant protecting the paying customer from the reality of the man
on the street corner
surviving the long night of the soul
Urban deserts, Moniless pits
Filled with human suffering
but human all the same

we are One
Different faces
Different Eyes
Different names
Wandering the Earth
Waiting to be saved
Or for those on top
maybe just judgment day

— The End —