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"hazardous" poems
Lighthouse, He Is. To be the light for which a ship seeks To be the beam that travels the seas To be the star from a distant shore To be a sign of hazardous boundaries To be the guidance for safe passage I am your Guiding Light I am your Protector I am your Safe Haven I am your Lighthouse I am He above all I am your Lord By: J.S. Petralito March 25, 2012 God Bless
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Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Lighthouse, He Is.
Seniors sluggishly step Trifling tunnels suddenly turn tame But boredom befalls from bountiful blessings The lengthy labyrinths lead to a lair of light However, hazardous hiking harms healthy equipment Determination among tunnel dwellers dwindles down drastically Can crawling to the coronation corridor ease the contagious condition?
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Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Senioritis Showdown
Chemicals - hexafluorosilicic acid and sodium fluorosilicate Derived from the phosphate mining industry, both considered highly toxic by the EPA These hazardous wastes are dumped into drinking water LIES ... Fluoride - it's so good for your teeth lies the dentist, lies the doctor, lies the politician Lies the dead fish in the water
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Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Portland - Toxic Fluoride - (hazardous waste)
I can hear it The whistle and rustle as air surrounds and fills the sacks of my lungs I can feel it The heavy tightness of my chest with every exhale I reach in my pocket "Shake" "shake" "Puff" "puff" A sudden relief of my lungs smooth muscles loosening Dopamine fills my body Sigh I exhale and walk away happily daunting the next oncoming of an attack by its hazardous side effects A fish out of water
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May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
Asthma
There's a sister who floats with hungry collarbones and a razor-edged smile. She smokes sadness when she isn't ready to exhale. She is beauty in fine art and wrath the colour of thunderstorms; the rain comes when she smiles. Holier than thou and quick to judge, with antiseptic perception known to bring out the things you were not aware existed. Addictive, those imprints from her feet will stamp all over you; nimble fingers puppeteering those who fall out of her thoughts. She is selfish and always leaves, leaves, leaves. She ran away at the first tremor; she did not stay to watch the concrete crumble. But she picked me up when the concrete friction broke my knees, lashed tyrants with her tongue and prowled behind the boyfriends that came and always went. This sister whom I project; the image of her I mirror. She is love and laughter and moods that taper and flare. She is a cluster of persons, a bomb liable to a detonate on a short fuse. She is trouble ailing in the best possible way; her flames light up the shade.
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Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Hazardous aesthetics.
When Gods tried to churn ocean For nectar with Meru mountain Firstly it was poison which came Because of its severity all life forms Where in great threat All Gods prayed him He decided to take the poison And save the world Which eventually made his neck Blue in color So we call him Neelakanta He has a third eye So we call him Trinetra He is the destructor of Evil He wanders in Cementary To pacify and soothe the spirits By doing Shiva Tandavanam (dance performed by shiva) And saved us from those spirits Shiva is his name Chanting his name can save you From any hazardous situation
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Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
861. Shiva
Through frost-thick weather This witch sidles, fingers crooked, as if Caught in a hazardous medium that might Merely by its continuing Attach her to heaven. At eye's envious corner Crow's-feet copy veining on a stained leaf; Cold squint steals sky's color; while bruit Of bells calls holy ones, her tongue Backtalks at the raven Claeving furred air Over her skull's midden; no knife Rivals her whetted look, divining what conceit Waylays simple girls, church-going, And what heart's oven Craves most to cook batter Rich in strayings with every amorous oaf, Ready, for a trinket, To squander owl-hours on bracken bedding, Flesh unshriven. Against ****** prayer This sorceress sets mirrors enough To distract beauty's thought; Lovesick at first fond song, Each vain girl's driven To believe beyond heart's flare No fire is, nor in any book proof Sun hoists soul up after lids fall shut; So she wills all to the black king. The worst sloven Vies with best queen over Right to blaze as satan's wife; Housed in earth, those million brides shriek out. Some burn short, some long, Staked in pride's coven.
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4.2k
Vanity Fair
I think things like "weigh my belt" That weight dowth felt thy girly wirly smell hand made sew maid for two plums pie I cry I cry I almost pass away way to the future down down to below. Oh how can I be so naïve before the summer glow a basement bash of feet below below a hazard haggard waist wasted on the belt loop of his father a potter plain before your very eyes a seismic ray of disbelief a cobble stone of sticks and leaves. No I could be a sailor man and I could eat things from a can and inching toward a rubber band Damsels in distress they're not impressed by you or shallow deeds deeds begin to play beneath my skin and things that float away and inching toward the silos of a tribal super plane a racecar a racecar I'm ******* erasing it  all
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Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
hazardous waist
Quickly flashes by like a cheetah sprinting through the forest Hazardous electrical storm which causes damage Strikes through with it's force Bundled in the cloud's wrath and fury It leaves with the satisfaction of the sight's ruin.
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Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 3:24 PM UTC
Lightning
i smoke cigarettees too **** much. this is how you know nothing original will be said in this poem. i use cigarettes as a social crutch. i don't know about you but when i'm in the mood to be honest i'll tell you i smoke cigarettes because i want to be 'cool'. because let's be honest: i can't think of a poet a musician an actor an olympic swimmer a hockey player a president a priest a **** a serial killer or a psychiatrist that's worth mentioning that did not smoke yes, i know you can and go ahead, but let me first make a point instead let me be honest, if i can smoke a cigarette and maybe be alone for 5.75 minutes then maybe a thought will occur to me something outside this ******** world and it will be good enough to write down, just maybe. let me be honest i don't need you with your judgemental eyes and your cursory glances walk away from me at a party i don't miss you i am with her. i garauntee if you asked Whitman Hemmingway Freud Phelps Obama about their actual relationship with smoking tobacco they would have similiar descriptions. but go ahead, tell me about the hazardous effects of cigarettes let's talk about the cancer and the tar and the disgusting phlem that i will constantly have to eject from my throat-hole when i'm fifty. go ahead, tell me about ******* people over and ripping their minds out and the sickness and the disease and how it's all so wrong. it's as amusing to me as it is to you. Mcdonald's will **** you. Pall Mall will **** me.
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Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 12:34 AM UTC
cigarettes
Your eyes. I can't stop writing about them. I can't stop dreaming about them gleaming like sunlight beaming into the windows of my soul. And I've been meaning to tell you- Heighten the blinds. I can't stop fiending to be the reflection in your infliction The mirroring of eyes, my line of sight in your line of vision Our pupils don't just collide, they cause a collision And uh, The precision of your gaze fogs all coherency to a haze And it's seeming There's a thousand words teeming off the levees of my lips But you got me in a daze and the waves crash silent See inside I'm screaming They say the flames radiated from desire are the fires most violent And I feel your vibes like radiation; Hazardous to both mind and body. Detrimental to the soul. I believe in whole this is not an illusion They say the eyes never hide from the truth -and the truth never lies- See, I've already eyed your eyes I'm not convinced this is confusion I've come to the conclusion that If I confided in you, Could you agree it's a delusion You've been opening the window; You want to be Inside.
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Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Insightful
Yeah it's one shot one **** Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed Bullets feedin' ya last meal Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill  now you leakin' out like oil spills Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind Thoughts intertwined   ****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell The ashes burning fermentin' time runnin' slower than molasses My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul   **** longer than Repunzels hair follicles Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin' Fools givin' chase and to tastes of demonic faces My flows replenish like **** laces Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste Adversaries don't wanna face Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya 'til ya   A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial My soul sour as a pickle no tickles Could move me or influence thee my legacy Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills Rememeber All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
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Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
One Shot One ****
Yeah it's one shot one **** Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed Bullets feedin' ya last meal Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill  now you leakin' out like oil spills Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind Thoughts intertwined   ****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell The ashes burning fermentin' time runnin' slower than molasses My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul   **** longer than Repunzels hair follicles Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin' Fools givin' chase and to tastes of demonic faces My flows replenish like **** laces Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste Adversaries don't wanna face Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya 'til ya   A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial My soul sour as a pickle no tickles Could move me or influence thee my legacy Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills Rememeber All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
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Tripping past windows, turning to look but missing the image (I’m going too fast) too slow I’ll never make it not like this Heart pierced by each short, asthmatic breath by each spastic, hazardous thought of you I’m late (for a very important date) very important, even though it doesn’t exist (this is all in my mind) a silly dream I play out to calm myself running down that road with a goal in mind, a goal ready to leave at any moment but because this is my dream I make it all happen (just the way I want it) Maybe in real life, the train would pull away ten minutes (ten seconds) before I arrive but in my mind, I get there just in time to wrap you in my arms and pull you back.
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Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
Anxiety
The ground was turned We sewed the field Toiled though, Night & Day We sewed the harvest of WAR, Seedlings of Death Bullets were littered to flower Different calibres Bearing the fruits, Those picked ripe on the branch Magazines Armour piercing Tracers, Explosive, Rounds, best not to drop. C4 planted watered with Nitro-glycerine, Like a ripe melon it grows Till it is plucked form the stem, A war head hangs heavy lest it falls, Wiping out the harvest & more, Planting the seed of destruction Is a hazardous Job, One wrong step And a spoiled mine Can take off, Toes, Legs, Insides, Spill out in to the field of WAR Feeding those objects That would spill more blood Once harvested, This field full of the seedlings of WAR.
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Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Sewing The Seeds
Why do artists **** their arts? Journalists obey corporate bosses. Doctors peddle drugs for status. Lawyers work for robber barons. Bankers' havens for barons' taxes. Kings start wars for hefty profits. Charity's done for the sake of publicity. Vanity today is a thriving industry. Shopping's done with borrowed money. Bankruptcy levels; not seen in history. From hazardous things; profits aplenty. Poisoned wells we leave our progeny. These lunacies have a common cause, To win 'the rat race'; at any **** rate, Even earthly mother, we brutally **** How much is enough, to be content? Pharaoh's wealth was greater than most, But while he drowned, it saved him not. Instead, strive for a righteous life, Bonded to mother, free from desire. For we're not islands, or rats in a race. And when we stand on Judgement Day, Our wealth that day will have no say, Our deeds that day will lead the way.
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Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Strange Times, These are Indeed...
I could rest my head  On my deathbed  And say oh darling I die more alive than ever Resume!  I please to spend innumerable days Inside this coffin,  As the gleaming sun shines  From my chest  And burns every bone  Tightly sticking  To this temporary structure  A million times! A million times!  I went straight to the bottom  Travelled the depths of this sea  And saw no more than solid darkness Deafening,blind, heart-wrenching; hazardous A sea of dead glee. But a chest of untouched hope The only treasure I stole  Emptied in my veins Seething with my blood As I lay in my deathbed Tina RSH © 12:15 PM
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Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
Deathbed
Some days I feel like I'm the only one sitting on land mines of havoc and malarkey in hazardous debris These bones, This body Can't hold the weight of the weary world My mind thinks otherwise You see the **** upon my face, disdain you say My flow of emotions, rolling, unsettling I hold an exterior of persistence Climbing the highest mountain Pulling, pushing, holding, (my inner guides lead me) Tenacious, determined, forceful, unshakable (my hardy heart wont deter me) One day you will see my silhouette from the mountain top - Just wait my dear
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May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
Capricorn
as i'm laying down tonight i think of how exhausting it is to wash you off my fingers even if it's not like i ever get to hold your hand or touch you, for that matter. but everynight i have to wash your essence off my fingers like trying to get rid of gasoline but always ending up setting myself aflame. and that despite knowing how dangerous and hazardous that **** could be you just couldn't stop because you love the smell of gasoline that fills up your lungs like pumps of adrenaline right before the stench of your own burning flesh chokes you to death. most nights, i wash you off like paint. you can tell that i'm trying to forget what i bled after your face appeared on the plain canvass when my hand automatically reaches up and perfectly colors your lips, and i couldn't help but resemble them to pastel pink petals of the roses growing in royal gardens and i know i'm fooling everyone making them believe that such expertise is achieved because your bottom lip have felt my gentle stroke when i don't even know how your lips would feel when they quiver under a curious and longing touch. so i watch the colors spiral down the drain. i watch my hands brush against each other so intensely, trying to scrub the paint gone even if it won't go away. even if the blood is clean. even if i look clean. how can loving you secretly be ever clean? i'm scared it will never go away. i am a painter in my own sense, capturing a glimpse of something so intoxicating and aesthetically forbidden then turning it into something tangible. this is how painters show that their hearts collapse with just a name with just a glance not meant for their way. and they paint what little of the hope that shouldn't have been there in the first place and every night. every single night they would aim tirelessly to turn it into something they could allow. something that could exist not only in my head. something that i can call mine even if you don't know that i am yours and i knew this because your face have begun to fill every blank wall in my ******* house and i wonder how it is possible to fall in love with someone the whole world believes you shouldn't. they say that when we turn our hands into fists it is the size of our hearts. and sometimes after the long hours of painting i wash my paint-stained hands clean of an abstract myriad of yellow and blue and black and red. red for blood. red for love. red for fire. i wash my paint-stained hands turning them into fists so maybe, just maybe it will be the same as getting rid of the colors off my young broken heart. colors for you. yet i always end up washing them off with ******* gasoline. and you still dare to call me 'smart'
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Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
please read my confession
as i'm laying down tonight i think of how exhausting it is to wash you off my fingers even if it's not like i ever get to hold your hand or touch you, for that matter. but everynight i have to wash your essence off my fingers like trying to get rid of gasoline but always ending up setting myself aflame. and that despite knowing how dangerous and hazardous that **** could be you just couldn't stop because you love the smell of gasoline that fills up your lungs like pumps of adrenaline right before the stench of your own burning flesh chokes you to death. most nights, i wash you off like paint. you can tell that i'm trying to forget what i bled after your face appeared on the plain canvass when my hand automatically reaches up and perfectly colors your lips, and i couldn't help but resemble them to pastel pink petals of the roses growing in royal gardens and i know i'm fooling everyone making them believe that such expertise is achieved because your bottom lip have felt my gentle stroke when i don't even know how your lips would feel when they quiver under a curious and longing touch. so i watch the colors spiral down the drain. i watch my hands brush against each other so intensely, trying to scrub the paint gone even if it won't go away. even if the blood is clean. even if i look clean. how can loving you secretly be ever clean? i'm scared it will never go away. i am a painter in my own sense, capturing a glimpse of something so intoxicating and aesthetically forbidden then turning it into something tangible. this is how painters show that their hearts collapse with just a name with just a glance not meant for their way. and they paint what little of the hope that shouldn't have been there in the first place and every night. every single night they would aim tirelessly to turn it into something they could allow. something that could exist not only in my head. something that i can call mine even if you don't know that i am yours and i knew this because your face have begun to fill every blank wall in my ******* house and i wonder how it is possible to fall in love with someone the whole world believes you shouldn't. they say that when we turn our hands into fists it is the size of our hearts. and sometimes after the long hours of painting i wash my paint-stained hands clean of an abstract myriad of yellow and blue and black and red. red for blood. red for love. red for fire. i wash my paint-stained hands turning them into fists so maybe, just maybe it will be the same as getting rid of the colors off my young broken heart. colors for you. yet i always end up washing them off with ******* gasoline. and you still dare to call me 'smart'
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Mirage of red passion coursing emotional courting Love being placed hopes being fostered an inner dawn offered Seeing worlds flourish strength arisen like lazarus nothing remotely hazardous How one person can paint your world anew dripping in the glory imbued
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Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
Red
Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen... I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves, And a low whistle by the water's brim. Still! Daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,- Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives, Who follow gleams more golden and more slim. Look, brook! O run and look, O run! The vain reeds shook? - Yet search till gray sea heaves, And I will stray among these fields for him. Gaze, daisy! Stare through haze and glare, And mark the hazardous stars all dawns and eves, For my eye withers, and his star wanes dim. 2 Close, rose, and droop, heliotrope, And shudder, hope! The shattering winter blows. Drop, heliotrope, and close, rose... Mourn, corn, and sigh, rye. Men garner you, but youth's head lies forlorn. Sigh, rye, and mourn, corn... Brood, wood, and muse, yews, The ways gods use we have not understood. Muse, yews, and brood, wood...
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2.4k
Elegy in April and September
Two cats engaged in a hazardous starring contest, the first that blinks - CONCEDES!
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Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Natural selection
The lightbulb on the roof Is flickering with proof That the mind is dangerous It's a poison in our youth Our thoughts are hazardous There's war inside of us How are we still alive? The abyss is cavernous That to which we strive We know will never thrive We're told we should surrender We weren't destined to survive Our wounds are feeling tender Our hopes are getting slender We're buying what we're told From the catastrophe vendor Our brains fill with mould Our bodies grow cold We'll die before we get old.
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Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
Weltschmerz
The Most Hazardous Drugs In The World Are The Ones That Originate From Our Own Minds.
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Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:46 AM UTC
phenylethylamine overdose