"geology" poems
let it not be confused
let no one else's name
ring throughout these sentences
let this be a hatchet
let me put this to rest
this is not a test
i don't want to think
about shipwrecks anymore
i am tired of folding apologies
into origami birds
and placing them
at the headstones to your tantrums
this is not is not geology class
these are promises
written on razorblades
*& if you are getting choked up
then maybe you should be*
maybe we should be buried
with our telescopes face down
my mouth is full of sorry
all for being honest
we are falling out of orbit
we are burning bystanders
so cast away your callous condolences
because no one is clapping
in this waist deep water
this is not a baptism
so do not tell strangers
that this was a chance to drown
any differently
i am not a catalogue
of constellations you cannot name
this is not mythology
so stop believing your horoscope
i am not a wishing well
i am just a wall for you
to paint post nuclear fallout & antonyms for catharsis on
we destroy the things
that are not ours-
the wanton ways
we embody wrecking *****
and then cry over the rubble
this is not a heap or a mosaic
this is leaping
off a thousand story building
with no one to catch you
at the bottom & maybe
that's why some quiet moments
are so fragile, maybe that's why butterflies have mimicry
your words are black powder
and poetry is your musketry
i guess that makes me your blindfold
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
How neatly a cat sleeps,
Sleeps with its paws and its posture,
Sleeps with its wicked claws,
And with its unfeeling blood,
Sleeps with ALL the rings a series
Of burnt circles which have formed
The odd geology of its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,
With all the fur of time,
With a tongue rough as flint,
With the dry *** of fire and
After speaking to no one,
Stretch myself over the world,
Over roofs and landscapes,
With a passionate desire
To hunt the rats in my dreams.
I have seen how the cat asleep
Would undulate, how the night flowed
Through it like dark water and at times,
It was going to fall or possibly
Plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
Like a tiger's great-grandfather,
And would leap in the darkness over
Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night with
Episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams
Control the obscurity
Of our slumbering prowess
With your relentless HEART
And the great ruff of your tail.
22.6k
Earth's lower mantle
is composed of magnesium iron silicate.
The lower mantle is 2000 kilometers thick,
so magnesium iron silicate makes up 38 percent
of the Earth's entire volume
leaving it the most common of our minerals
but You,
You are not magnesium iron silicate.
You are painite, our rarest kind of mineral.
You are painite reflecting all that is good and bright in the world.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
tues.
exhausted piano teeth mozart pere
gnashing slashing sound barrier
stretching zoology beyond the bird
cannibals in the a-z azimuth
weds.
mirage of red awnings all-night resort
cannibals in the azimuth stairwell décor
thurs.
cold as leprosy embraced
yet somehow curled
fri.
frail departure voice to ****
height hair duck drake
cold as geology young rocks flame
(hidden within the blink of eye)
4.9k
I am unsure of the geology
of where you’re from.
I expect there exists
shelves and sheaths
pale grey-yellow
like serum in the blood
and rocks resembling
sun-weathered lobster
carapaces.
all of this enclosed by
a festoon of green pine—
its regalia cut sonic
and naked
wrung and wrung again
by august.
on the edge
a cabin is hemmed on
the skirt of ocean—
spikes of molding logs
propped and resting
akimbo.
a wave comes in.
a wave goes out.
a wave stays to shake
your hand.
introduces itself as
sensate verge
and wonderment.
home.
I can only imagine what
it is for you.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
Earthquake
somebody (!)
shook my couch
nobody (!) there
but me
and geology
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
Did they live the life projected
In their high school yearbook?
Did they take the wife selected
Why not take a look?
Geeks and Dweebs and Superstars
Smile back from ancient pages
Going back to high school now
To read the writings from the sages
Voted "The Most something"
Gave one a certain goal to reach
But, the weekend after graduation
These titles were lost on some lone beach
Did Mr. "Most Likely to Succeed"
Ever make his millions
Or is he working at the daily grind
Like so many other billions?
Most Likely to Become a Mom
That's a title that's too cheesy
What exactly did it mean?
Is this girl just one who's easy?
Most Likely to become Prime Minister
Not a chance in hell 'round here
Debating was not a skill
That we were taught I fear
Did the person picked "Most Likely to....
Have a leg up on the rest
Were they picked for popularity
Or were they really just the best
Our "Most Likely to win a Nobel Prize"
because his Chemistry marks were great
Is now working as a bartender
At a bar that's open late
"Most Likely to be a famous rock star"
Now, there's a title to hang on to
Ours, works in geology
So, they didn't miss by far
Look back and laugh at what you see
This book is just a snap
Of people from your life you knew
Some who fell into the trap
A title of "Most Likely To..."
Shouldn't determine who you'll be
For if it does, then you must
be someone who didn't learn to see
We had a girl get shot to death
She never got a yearbook name
But, she was killed robbing a bank years back
And now that's her claim to fame
Doctors, Lawyers, warehousemen
They were all there in our school
Some were picked "Most Likely to.."
Most were not, and that's cool
If you know a "Most Likely To..."
And they became what they were told
Close the book, and leave it shut
You're the one who struck gold
You made a choice to move along
And make a life, to make you ..YOU
And you didn't need a high school tag
To say..."Most Likely To....."
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
Eskimos have a Gazillion
words for snow. We have
teraflop words for coffee.
Wikipedia it!
But don't get distracted
by the Tales.
Recounted stories of empires
held together by zeitgeist brand,
a belief, a set of ritual,
buying in bulk, a role of thumb,
opposable heuristics.
They've clustered history
in bunches like expanding
matter, as if it matters
who was king or Augustus.
Empires & civilization
held colloidal by the quirks
of geology and brand
feeding food-forward
with ritualistic sacrifice
in Megazillion iterations.
From Fertile crescent to Nile
Valley silicon, when we bind
ourselves to brand,
and move in belief,
secure in synchronized stability,
then comes the rubric cubes
miraculously built high
upon slave backs, holding
pyramidal server tombs.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Who is the law of this land of lunacy?
I have rubbed my nose in an upward direction and have arrived at no logical conclusions.
So, as we walk across this trestle of heightened vulnerability, I am reminded of gustatory uncertainties where monetary recompensations are the focus of subjective rock-bands.
I fully appreciate the various instruments as they perform in Aberdonian synchronicity.
How timeless are the cries of those from the depths of the abyss of unfathomable galaxies.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
let the lying begin
first, it's ***** - not ***********
don't pretend its scientific,
like geology, physiology.
It's just *** raw and without boundaries.
you watch. you fantasize. you deny.
then when your conscience questions,
you lie, first and foremost,
to yourself.
what's your favorite category?
got a favorite site?
or you like to explore,
never satisfied, more?
more.
Let the hunger games begin.
who can lie with straightest face?
filter me off of your list,
unless you ready to follow me,
to where truth rules,
no punches pulled,
raw is real. *** is raw.
real is ***
otherwise, why would you still be reading this
poem?
gotcha.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC
FULL TIME DEAN'S HONOR
PHI THETA KAPPA SOCIETY
PRESIDENT'S HONOR
0944 ENGLISH 103 3.00 C SU
0174 MUSIC 111 3.00 A SU
1682 MATH 115 5.00 B NDA
3041 SPEECH 101 1 3.00 B SU
1619 MATH 125 5.00 B SU
4040 SPANISH 1 5.00 A SU
0271 THEATER 110 3.00 B SU
0845 CAOT 064 1.00 P CS
0939 ENGLISH 211 3.00 A SU
3448 HISTORY 043 3.00 A SU
0941 ENGLISH 102 3.00 A SU
1569 HEALTH 011 3.00 A SU
1696 MATH 112 3.00 B NDA
3450 POL SCI 001 3.00 A SU
3479 PSYCH 001 3.00 A SU
0921 ENGLISH 101 3.00 A SU
1550 GEOLOGY 001 3.00 B SU
1812 PERSDEV 020 3.00 A CS
2920 PHYS SWIMMING 1.00 A SU
4542 GEOLOGY LAB 2.00 A SU
4652 MATH 105 3.00 B NDA
Assessment: Completed
Orientation: Completed
Counseling: Completed
Consumnes River College
Transcripts Not Included
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
the October wind grazes
along fields of my skin
but August still lingers with suffocation,
humidity continually seeping
as rustling leaves made a girl
knowing colors would change
permeating a hint of cinder
from the stems, the bark, the branches
hooves cautiously drifting
drawn to low static
the flow of chemistry
over pebbles and geology
my reality is laid to rest
but awoken by peaceful dreams
naturally creating moments
art by which exists in visceral beams
we learn that the wind carries infancy
the substrate holds discovery
the water reveals change, if not time
and the brain develops meaning
-belonging only to seen ambience
-to which includes ourselves
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC
Success is a mere construct that is subjectively incompatible with professed spirituality.
Butter may spread with ease on a slice of bread, and it may not.
There is something appealing about the grains of sand which lodge in obscure places.
The texture of nature is truly fraught with the bliss and tragedy of North African mysticism.
Geology may be ancient, but so are the sensual indulgences of Cleopatra.
The construction of wonders remains to be perplexing; and I haven’t cleansed myself in milk.
Cairo is the epitome of occult curiosity where Anubis reigns in contemporary economics.
The All Seeing Eye promises safety at the cost of homage.
Identify yourself. If freedom doesn’t exist,
then why does the abode of the dead eagerly impose determinations?
Fly the flag. God bless America.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
1
Late afternoon
leaving the city
the bus route intersects
the terraced houses,
row upon row:
right to the valley floor,
left to wooded heights.
In a bay-windowed room
a child sits at a table
beachcombing the net.
Tea is past
and there is gentle talk of
volcanoes , the Verungas,
and gorillas in the midst.
Outside, and a floor below,
a garden nestles into the dusk,
a blackbird settles itself with song.
Later, at the same table.
there is a silent grace.
A shy five year old
in scary pyjamas
comes to say goodnight.
For supper: a goat’s cheese flan,
a simple salad,
pink wine,
strong coffee.
On the mantelpiece:
the familiar jumble of cards and photos,
a collage of family faces distant shores.
On the walls:
grandmother’s woven rug,
her grand-daughter’s textiled strata,
an embroidered geology.
2
The next day,
so bright and clear,
the garden bench is warm by ten.
We sit surrounded
by the evidence
of this growing season:
emergent plants, the possibility of fruit,
even declarations of vegetables.
As ideas flow
across cake and coffee
so the shadows move,
shaping depths, enriching tones
on greys, within greens.
In the midday sun,
the garden becomes
a wild tracery of lines
as perspectives
distort, corrupt, thicken . . .
and space opens everywhere:
foliage as yet transparent
no shelter to stalk and stem.
Their very arteries revealed,
plants bask in the fragile heat
of ‘just’ Spring.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
The sun, slanting westwards
chases me with competitive spirit;
speeding through, interstate highway
from Hyderabad to Bangalore,
long stretches I see, are waterless seabeds
reminds the oceanic origin of all
sense of time vanishes, I am an unknown
creature of the sea, an explorer of underwater geology.
Like life, it's a winding long drive
lonely too, like one often finds, oneself in spite of many loves,
just incessant voices that soon lose meaning.
Speaking to myself, quietly, alone
I realize this, calmly, in life-
one is alone in many ways .
How curious,
the sun, my co-traveller,
caught sight of me,
and graciously gives me
a smile of recognition,
still continues the chase playfully,
from my right,
I like his verve
he too finds fun in our run.
He becomes red all over,
decides to set in the west
he signals,
above Nandi Hills
his spectacular farewell show
makes me slow down and watch.
At the height of the display, he vanishes
like a magician, taking every drop of light with him,
leaving me to find my way
through darkness, that I have to dispel myself.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
Relic
Artifact
Buried
These are words that describe my love
And you.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Walking without words and I wish there was talking,
To drown out the noises.
Don't think of the people, or places or faces
They burn and it's burning, drilling holes till I'm brainless
Left completely shameless.
Wandering.
Aimless.
Your rain's the same but I can't help but think first,
I have no frame for reference ,
Can't help but blink away away those drops of helpless helpless
And this mess has me choked on maps,
City streets grown too big, too fast
And I lost track of those ones, the paths already used,
And now i'm just confused, displeased and displaced,
My sense of direction has fallen from grace
And I'm bawling, geology sent sprawling
From all hours till dawn in here we're all wanderers
and our soles don't sink in.
Where have we been?
Where are our souls going?
Give us arts but still the lost are throwing out this sense of
'home'.
There, that word, it lurches
Verses.
Music.
Maps,
They're useless.
We are rootless.
We are growing, shoot-less,
Our searches frantic, fruitless
And passing by we have footsteps we're tracking
But.
That's where they lie,
familiar and lacking.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Our mystic alabaster satellite
rules the midnight sky
casting shadowy silhouettes
of all our trees and houses.
Rational tri-millennial me
chooses not to bay about it
or worship its fabled godly essence
(long since neutered by geology).
Casting aside the chains of time
I sidle up to Cenozoic me
munching on a leg of venison
staring at that improbable hanging ball
suspended in the southern heavens.
Wonder and vexation cloud his hairy face -
hunting vainly for a clue.
I whisper in a secret tongue
that only he and I can comprehend,
"You may not get it yet, grandpa
but soon enough you will."
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
Just try and hit me with
a car
a fist
or anything worse than
well
I have not been hit recently
Despite skateboarding through traffic
Maybe my tall white anger
is enough to stop
geology itself for one slow moment
Or satan is on my side
Or someone is watching me recklessly
Take on an inertial framer of the references
to all 3 azxisy
I cannot be stopped
from pretending
to be in a private universe
Publicly I may require some protection from
Hitting famously the one thing I have been trying to avoid
Selling Out
well
honesty & arrogances
I have been BOUGHT IN...
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
To deny entry
Is to deny God's theology
Based solely on someone's geology
And just because they might be!!
Why do they have to plea??
I cannot understand why the debate
or why there is a disagree
I can see why they would flee
So would we !!
To live in a war torn nation
It's only human to want liberation
and some salvation
Lots of separation
from the fear of termination
To deny them entry
based on unfair thinking of affiliation
is it's self an abomination
Not what I thought we stood for as great a nation
They are men, women and children !
Ten thousand of !
Not a billion of !
Where is the love??
From all of !
They are human !
Not kind of !
Not to be disposed of !
REFUGEES
Someone that is FORCED to be
!!
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
First, a lonesome rider comes gently
murmuring in the dark,
riding a white stallion into a bang.
Second, the sweet chaos of quarks…
play fighting like children
on a trampoline.
Third, the life and the love
of unthinking minds, and of molecules meandering
along our DNA, adapting.
Then the sensing things
find their place; crafting geology,
time and taste, into a land of empty waste.
All impressions teeming, ideas wild, dressed
in sterile suits, this is the reaping
upon the fearing eyes.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I ask you, one who knows them all
who walks like Jesus, bathed and masked
into the cave where upon we ask
Who is the fairest of them all?
And in these moments of ferocity,
bright like burning Pohutakawa trees,
I cower beneath the fury of the sky.
In the timeless and fragile imagination,
I ponder teething things, creeping
and making their way to Matilda’s
earthly paradise. Take me now;
oh raise me, spirited Fig,
to enlightenment.
Though in my awakenings, whilst light
finds entry to the eyes
through a liquid sand,
I wish all the treasures of the lands
ka whawhai tonu ma¬tu,
ake ake, ake!
I wish to find a nightingale
with its blood drenched upon a rose,
staining my withering suit,
as I pass from fascination
into gentle death.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
A stone terrain waits
A landscape deserted
Devoid of real
Or imagined explorations
For it turns inward
At a tangent that
Precludes inquiry
It has an articulation
Of slow deliberate movements
Where particularized
Geology has painted it
Cut off and disconnected
By an estrangement of creation
Other existences only serve
To magnify its sense of isolation
Its blank uncaring non-geometric
Dimensions of observable
Unquantifiable location is obscure
And unrealised
Producing an immediate
Initiated sensory experience
Of unreleased silent appraisal
But why does it wait?
What for
Does it anticipate or foresee
Some expected prediction
Of apocalyptic presentiment
Is it recalling color?
Or is it experiencing
The present like floating in a dream
Alas there is no clue
To its tilted yet frozen expectancy
A stone terrain waits
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
*
with
layers of
of timely geology*
carve me well...
*granite
hardness
hollowed
deep
&
through
such cannons
rivers
run...
flowing
snaked
in
fingers
scratched
across
an age of
dust*
- floored-
*with
mouths of
silence
open
in
blue
shallow
depths
of
breath
&
abandoned*
~buried~
***finds
***
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
You ******* *****
You ******* gape worm of a *****
I know your mouth. I know your taste,
you can't drown it out with your speech.
You ******* **** ****
You’re a ******* ****
You **** my exaltation with just your gait.
I have more passion in one breath.
I have more heat in one heart beat.
I have more mind in one ******* neuron,
and I have more pain in one decisive step.
**** HUMANS THAT THINK THEY ARE.
"REAL WOMEN"!!!!!!!!
After this is over.
I fill a ravine with blood
with my blood
I cry and wane all my pleasure
out into the sand.
I am the bank of my own painting.
The river of a sad and destroyed human.
It shoelaces the geology of human collectivism.
this is the evil between humans,
love between two.
It divides us,
into separate universes.
I carve your name into space.
On my thigh.
I make space.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Her skin was like the result of a volcano.
It flowed on, and ebbed to the touch.
At any moment I felt it could
Erupt, and destroy me.
I was conscious of vast oceans
Of molten lava beneath,
As if she masked
Shifting tectonic plates below.
Amidst her peaks and valleys,
Glaciers, Wind and Fire,
Pounded material into submission.
To lie next to this
Reservoir of energy, this
Hot and heavy
Heavenly body,
Rotating and Revolving
To its own rhythm,
Was to dance
With life.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC