"granule" poems
You are the systole to the diastole
Of my four-chambered cavity
You are the pulmonary rhythmic control
That fills air to my capillary.
You are the Pituitary Gland
That drowns my bloodstream in dopamine
You take my brain to a wonderland
Drunk and overdosed in Seratonin.
You are the only Mitochondrion
That powers all cellular activity
My Cytoplasms are in motion
For the sexiest Golgi Body.
You are the ultimate synapse
In my every granule of neuron
That gives an involuntary prolapse
To both my dendrite and axon.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
The sea strains for the sand,
pulling, grasping at
each precious granule,
Their lovers embrace
shattered
with the rise and fall of the tide.
But I am not the sea.
The sky is not my sand.
"Reach for the stars"
They say.
How?
When I am bound.
Chained to the rocks
Shackles made of iron
Caressing my feet
I reach for my sky
My haven, my light
But I cannot
For my wings are far too
Small, To carry my weight.
And I fall
And fall
And fall
Until I am grounded.
A fallen angel
Yet again.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Feelings Travel Poem
3/15/2014
flying creatures
end up crawling in your sneakers
when they lose their will to fly
traverse among the clouds over continents
but those that swim are worse.
swimming creatures
they'll weave through your dreams
leave an island to be lost at sea
thinking you can't see
what's under the murky emotional water.
walking creatures
take their time on the gravel and grass
surprisingly harder to find
like little fuzzy things,
granule grains engrained in my eye sockets.
small enough you can fit a million of 'em in your pockets,
ready to reveal whenever.
What do the flying creatures, walking, or swimming
all have in common with me?
That they carry their feelings inside tiny hearts beating
and their feelings travel all the same.
sometimes feelings fly,
sometimes they swim,
sometimes they lose their will to walk and crawl.
Hear this creatures.
no matter if you're feeling so small,
trapped in between life's walls,
or feeling nothing at all,
those feelings you'll carry at all - times,
Because feelings travel.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
granule
a glint
then, in love
a grenade of sunlight
the morning is sharply taken
bathing off of shots from the reflective snow
Dec 26, 2022
Dec 26, 2022 at 10:01 AM UTC
ᚠ Φ
F
Θ ᚦ
no explanations
exist within a geometry outside
the circle, only architecture, sole,
yet the sole geometry of architecture
is an encircling, a lifting,
and had i wrote my poetry
in the comfort of rising beyond Marx
is socio-political schematic i would,
but i rather talk to scaffolders than to poets,
i'd rip my heart through enough thin
veil to prove it so that i shared an entombing of lips
wholly bodied with one! i rather!
care for this ******* Parisian princess
in your divorce as best you can...
i kept a cat for seven years before my neighbour
decided it was time to ***** affection
to an animal neither tilling for ably feeding
to instead choose his daughter as my wife:
i rejected feeling no compass of conversation...
the cat died, i went into the graveyard and dug
a gravestone out and buried my cat in
the moonlight: don't ever come across me and my pet!
you killed half the intelligence that was me!
**** you! humanity engaging with humanity
it plagiarises as itself an ownership to suit puppet
strings like it might tailoring,
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POST COLONIAL NATIONS SEEK NEW *******
TO CRAFT THE LOST COTTON BUDS INTO
GRANULE CEMENT SET! POLAND ******
EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
MAMA RUSSIA! PAPA PRUSSIA! HOSANNA! HOSANNA!
LAUREL LEAFS AS I SAT ON THEM! THE CROWN
OF KING TU-154...
ROMANIA DONKEY DON QUIXOTE!
WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP GREK IZLAND
CORFU! then the postman comes with my jealousy
as within reach of hope to attain old age...
(snigger)... i hope i don't... i want million
dollar baby's truth to wake me.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
*She said she liked her coffee cold and dark
like the seas separating her bed and Denmark:*
harsh and bitter and brown in the largest
cup we own, so when drinking it
your nose would drown
into an abyss of cheap-coffee-granule-
buy-one-get-one-free ****
and delivered with it upon the stolen tray,
taken from that shop's Kitchen Must Haves display,
was a plate with two triangles of lightly toasted
toast laid out like the ankles of my late Grandma
(but we weren't together then so, to you,
it just looked like some toast arranged nicely on a plate for us two);
also on the stolen tray from that shop's Kitchen Must Haves display,
was a lovely array of cut of up fruit arranged liked
canapés at every cheap-wedding-buffet:
grapes cut into unfathomable shapes
and slices of kiwi our fingers could never negotiate
and avocado which was there just to cure invisible
weight gain and bad morning breath,
but that's what Google told me so
I can't take it as a guarantee;
and in all of this I was apparently making a fool of myself
because serving you a delicious breakfast
to the sound of Frank Sinatra's Moon River
is not what we discussed, ever- even last night or last week,
in fact, we never talked about this horrendously
unique breakfast.
Happy Anniversary.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
Its just ink.
Though I lay it down
They say I lay it down
From the depth of my inner
To the facade of my smile
Matters not if in the end its just ink
From the thick of its grip
No gripe that it fits
Its said I laid it down
God knows I ache from its motion
But crushed I am that in the end its just ink
I think of all the glamour
Inhale every scent she wears
Tear apart my heart to get the darkest crimson
Mix it in the well, they say I's lays it down
Brand it in my skin. But to her its just ink
Its a link, a moment of some progress
The greatest of our progress.
She said I laid it down, but we both shared the crown
And though just a granule on the shore
An annual creed of "Adore", not sure
Why its just ink
We watched the moon sink behind violent waters
Every night from the window, broken clouds soar with loud hues of pink and purple
Not every moment is a high hurdle to scale, its why the pen sets sail,ill will, I lay that down
Good moments are grand ones, so why those ascribed only known as just ink?
Just think.
A past where ballads were written on the battle fields
Pledge our allegiance now to a flag that waved under duress
Love stands grander a chance by that test
A scream is like cannons while a tear is like bullets
Hit the page and leave holes. I bared arms now I lay them down. These wounds no longer just ink.
-Xin-
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
It is hard to tell sugar and salt mixture apart by merely glancing or touching. I wish I could master the art of segregating them without any arduous chemical process.
According to wikiHow, one may assess the grain sizes of salt and sugar. But they too, acknowledge that table salt and granulated sugar do look very similar; the differences in these 2 is minute.
Option 2: Acquire a sieve sized in between the 2 grain sizes so as to let the salt through. However, this method is clearly not fool proof since not all salt and sugar grain is of the same size. A salt granule could mask itself.
The best way to separate salt and sugar is by adding absolute alcohol to the mixture as only the sugar will dissolve, salt is insoluble in alcohol. Then after, proceed to evaporate or boil off the sugar and alcohol solution and you will be left with salt.
Much like in life, it requires more than looking or tactility to tell between genuine and the pseudo. It takes time, takes processes and occurrences. I once more wish I could distinguish them easily.
Then again, as much as I am grateful for the sugars in my life, excessive amount of sugar isn't all that good for the health. Salt heightens the sweetness of sugar; it teaches me to appreciate sugar better. More importantly, salt, to a moderate amount, does good to the body too.
As such, I am grateful for both the sugar and salt in my life. Sugar provides a sense of joy, while salt is vital for personal growth.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 3:35 AM UTC
he reminds me of constellations.
not the kind you read about,
or the kind you can see.
but the kind deep out in space,
the ones like waves
swelling within a vast sea.
he is like smelling salts.
waking me up
a little more
each day.
in fact, he is the granule of sugar
looming over the edge
of my morning coffee cup.
but he is also the moon,
shining her smile
brightly upon my ever seeking eyes.
he is the sun,
my reason for waking up on time
and still being a bit late
because i hadn't the time
to admire enough of his beauty.
and, right now,
he is the stolen breath
that just made my heart skip a beat.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
if I had to choose my last breath
i’d choose it with you
and only fantasies create
a sort of granule gargantuan glee
if i had to choose between
letting go of fear
and touching you
i’d choose you every time
if i had to rebuttal the claims
of my own body insecurities
i’d let go of them
for you
if i had to challenge myself
beyond a thousand measures
go past fear itself
i’d do it for you
and maybe it will take forever
but i’m willing to make the case
of loving you so gently
i’m at ease with the whole world around me
and i just keep thinking of
oranges hanging loosely in a plastic net
just dangling about to
plop down on the shiny wood
floor clean of dirt or
rest them lightly on the white
porcelain kitchen counter
without a care in the world
because that’s how you make me feel
unbound and synchronized like
the clunk of a VHS tape
fitting nicely into place
re-wound and ready
for the movie to start
and if i had a wide choice of manly lovers
i’d choose you every time
you’re not what i expected
for a woman in her prime
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
Wind whips, whistling in the seat belt,
Crooning along to the emotional ululations
As I succumb to the emphatically teenager-like emotions,
Grand in their extremity,
Both realizing and fully embracing the cliché-ness
And dramatization of every quip, gesture, glance.
My mood soars irrationally with the voraciousness of my tires,
Devouring every granule of cement at velocities upwards
Of 30 miles per hour.
Jason Mraz and I make an excellent duet,
As I’m quite certain the disgruntled woman a lane over
At the stoplight thinks as well.
He sings of skies “getting rough”
And I allow my eyes to wander to our own ominous clouds,
Creeping from the east like panthers prowling in search of prey;
I appreciate their slate undertones and umber rumples,
The gold shining from behind and within, tinting their edges,
But I turn my attentions slowly, with a bittersweet notion,
To their fluffy brethren, friends of Magritte,
Iridescent and captivating as they weave among the rays.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I remember being proud of every granule of dirt
Raw beaten earth,
I built my temple out of.
Every water molecule in my crimson blood
Carefully selected to carry an essence
That I protected,
with the support of glass bones
Wrapped in healing wounds,
Putting everything I have into
Forgetting how to flinch
Regardless of the brutality life
Tries to dress me in,
Or smother me with .
Work through psychological damages
Practice away my
st stu stutter,
putting away broken syllables un uttered.
I will rise, you can not keep me tonight
I hunger
to fight,
Walk right up to the dark like
I never new the way it turns you into nothing
If you think im crazy,
Maybe your right
but im reminding you of something,
something that you tell yourself can't exist
something you let go of , something that you miss.
A sort of irrationality that's still making perfect sense,
plays in your morality defies your common sense.
This is the only chance I have at persisting to laugh
And
I
Will
persist.
The only way for me to stay bright
The only way to keep light in my
dimming eyes
Is to shine and let them see .
Something about existing, and persisting
In vulnerability is more than frightening
It is freeing.
I AM, as surly as
I am being,
I’m lifted, I’ve missed this.
I hope you catch the meaning
The thought of missing it
Leaves me feeling guilty
Like my will was straying,
praying to nothing
For things I had but wasn’t seeing.
I forgot to believe
That I was impossible
and that i'm breathing.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
The pit in the ground was dug
Then they came
A troop of wild javelina
Boasting their wares
The circle was drawn
From deep within the soil
As they danced in revelry
And the salts were cast
Into the air
Each granule dancing
With jubilation
From its blessing
Before reaching its
Final destination
Locking in the wild javelina
Paving way for the work
Before all Gods
They took their wares
Consecrated goblets
From the netherworlds
And held them to the skies
As they were filled
With rain of fine wines
The javelina crafted Cabala
Well into the night
Filling the pit
With the exalted wines
Moments before sunrise
The javelina dove
Into the pool of wines
To the center of all things
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
T'is a far far better thing I do,
to write tributes to new poesy chicks,
when seldom sufficient is heard
an encouraging word
than repeat yellowed ancien
tale~tell stale revelations
of an ole man's
forgotten glories and
never ending
tribulations
research uncovers a single
tributary,
a common origin, an irony river,
for their source,
tributes and tribulations,
one and the same
herein, this aging
tribune
defends the new poets
even as his own defenses
erode ever faster,
daily the surf takes him,
granule by granule
thus, t'is more urgent that he
construe and
contribute,
formally and officially,
attribute
the old guard's passing mantle, cloak,
making no
tribologies
frictions tween young and old,
fictions tween old and old
reconfigured as pretend new
this the natural way,
this luminescent fractious friction,
gives birth to
an Einstein~energized
triboluminescence
heat and light
the by-products of the
tribe
of poets
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
Staring at the hourglass
Counting each tiny grain of life
Moments that passed before
Resting in a pyramid pile, the lower half…youth
White and pure, unwanted beach’s breath
Identical but different…used
Age remains atop
Seeping in centered illusions
Falling through a narrow passage
Seconds, minutes, hours…it descends
Plain and boring, nothing much here to see
Routine ruts of tired steps
Then…one granule an unusual shade…effervescent
A single speck glistens…morning glory blue
Illumined before my eyes…finding the middle
Spinning in the gritted whirlpool and I realize…it is you
This is my time of love…I see it clearly
As it moves lower…leaving me…spiraling towards memories
Frantically I shake the container, it changes not
Losing you…watching…in panic’d wave smashing the glass
Tiny slivers lace the pieces, sharp, razor like
Sifting through hysterically, searching for you…my fingers
Sliced and oozing…crimson floods the mound
Everything is tinted sorrow…it all looks the same
You are gone, swept up in life’s saturation
And still I bleed…tears mingling
Drenched in loss of a broken heart
Lying in a dampened dune of garnet puddles
Becoming one with the earth below…
I have lost you…I am out of sand….
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
I weave words within
an ephemeral
tapestry. a seamstress,
or a scribe of sorts.
either way you hear it;
the song remains
the same.
I understand and I do
not: a simultaneous
quantum superposition
(or superstition) for
an unutterable blazon of
infinity, encapsulated
within a granule of sand amidst
the eye of a great tempest.
I cannot claim a prophet.
no. I do not merit
such bravado.
no testament to my
works and days,
nor presumptuous air
of religiosity.
my fingers sketch out a
tempo through the
c
u
r
v
e
s
of letters,
a form which
sings and dances
for those who cannot.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
A foreign plane of wind and sand
A tiny granule cuts my hand
A barren place devoid of life
Peaceful and yet full of strife
The ground hectic the sky clear
Falling sand is all I hear
My personal hourglass
Where my thoughts contrast
The sun has set
The Moon has rose
The cold a threat
As my eyes close
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
I sift through a sea of pebbles—coarse grit and polished faces. This is how it feels to touch memories that have long faded—photographs with white edges and yellow corners. Perhaps here in this infinitesimal rivulet of cumulated sand, perhaps here I once was in hell. My skin remembers these tiny details—the claw-like pinpricks of granule and stone as they swim into the gaps of my fingers. And here come the worn but smooth edges.
Longing for the past should not be called anticipation, but it paints the back of my throat with the taste of salt and sugar and leaves. But the long winding path leading to more pebbles is masked by the ceaseless onslaught of undertow, fascia rippling as if shaken by quakes not just of the earth.
I wait for the tide to calm, for obscurity of undulation to halt. I am still waiting. I want to see what is beyond. I will touch the images from before as if they have tangible form. I can still taste the sea.
But I want to see what the rest of the river is like. I want to know the future.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Intently silent and skulking
Bleeding polyester paranoia
For some time I stand behind you
Creating mindless afterthoughts
However far from distance
See those solid veins
Where crimson tears rain down
Breaking the wary vase below
Shatter the lens of the polaroid joke
Taking the salty hand
And mix the unruly strands
Weaving uncertain eulogies
Dead leaves and shattered bones
Take form, opening endless eyes
To days less travelled
And nights awkwardly hidden
A simple granule changes time
Where a heart slowed- stopped
Whirring quietly- pausing- to breathe
Then nothing matters again
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
maybe God is teaching me a lesson
that i can't really seem to comprehend or grasp.
because waves of disappointment crash on the shorelines of my chest
way too often
and i immensely feel each & every euphoric granule of sand
being so easily washed away.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
bury my feet in the sand
each granule is a reminder
of how minuscule I am
sharp cold water rushes
angry against my shins
the shock leaves me gasping
but soon I become numb
walk along the edge of the earth
where the blue meets the gold
the sunlight kissing my forehead
my smile is eternal gratitude
it is moments like these
that remind me I am alive
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
Once upon a time, when time
is not yet the time I called mine.
That it's seems none among you
didn't have it yet, but we knew.
Thus, we just have the same petals.
I crossed the irritated river rather
than to skip my mother superior,
jumped up to the last rock of ages,
Frontally, I had bitten those arrow's edges
Thus, book's wings are immortal.
I got smelled crazy grass,
saw a crystallized granule,
a beans can pop my lust,
and watched a riot's failure.
those aren't mine but a warning signals.
I saw an abandoned cat who adopt me,
A surrogate flower with an opened gate,
She told me about her petals, silent sea,
wounds from fortifying the book, it made
Her rugged but its a pure story of past trials
I found that i'm just petal without "s".
A rocky river with its rackety drift,
Just a spark frailer than a atomic blitz,
and null, a shoot with a smallest leaf.
How strong she is that she made me feel mortal?
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Pen to page, my pointless proverbs
Kettles on, forgot the water
Wasted time is wasted space
Letdown, seems its all it takes
Clean the *** and purify
Only me, myself and lies
Canopy of granule paste
Gagging on the rancid taste
Chorus warbles into gain
Amplified the great white plain
Stale thoughts of how and why
Leave my memories mystified
Boiled river's steaming stew
Bubbles deep inside of you
Cankers soar across my lips
Leading these into abyss
Candy coated carmine stain
Sway the crowd to your disdain
Pen to page, my pointless proverbs
Dont know why I even bother
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
The water sparkles like the time
I spilt sugar all over
Your kitchen table
Each granule reflected the sunlight
A smile splashed across your face
The silver fish re-emerge
Jumping in parabolas
To see where they are going
I don't think they know
When they are down there
And the frothy shoreside
Reminds me
Of the milk that rushed to the floor
After my clumsy hands betrayed me
I'm glad you weren't mad
I'm glad you didn't slam the door
Your wide mouthed laugh was there
To console me
You don't know
That I love you.
That I need you.
If only...
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
bring it back around again
just to open up the can
earthworms call omnipotence
flying chickens have no fence
easy as it goes and goes
blithering mind seize the soul
granule stimuli reap my face
sweaty palms bound in grace
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC