"hydraulic" poems
Wish I was Meccanoman with
replaceable bolt on bits;
a pop off detachable arseole;
n grease ******* on my ****
yeah; wish I was Meccanoman
with a gearbox for a brain
n a cabriolet flip top hair do
-- as protection from the rain,
my feet could be two dustbin lids
held on by wire n rope;
maybe double up as landing skids;
- but no good on a slope.
the blood - of course;
synthetic oil;
with that I'd never get sick,
pumped 'round by the bestest
- induction coil,
powering my foot long
- hydraulic ****
Yeah; wish I was Meccanoman.
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Vitriolic hydraulic push
Pull of sorghum
Sticking sweetly in my veins
Molar studded oatmeal cookies
Crunching like a bad dream
Dull rhinestone eyes
Losing more and more shine every day
Sluggish swole-bellied synapses
Firing in my brain
And I'm crying oversized tears
Drowning like Alice in Wonderland
I know you couldn't bear to breathe my air
Or share our bed
Or eat my cooking
But
"Did you know the capital of Uzbekistan is Tashkent?"
No.
Did you know I keep Austin up every night
Begging for your scraps?
Hedoesn'tlovemehedoesn'tlovemehedoesn'tlovemeandIdon'tunderstandwhatIdidwronghedoesn'tlovemeAustinmyheartisgone
I can still smell you
On my sunday dresses
And I'm afraid of the washing machine
And dryer sheets
Afraid of what they'll take from me
I had religion
I had faith in you
And I can still taste the body
Of Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ!
All night
Not like I lost anything important right?
Well
I'll probably never see you again
But my daddy's got a shotgun
Just in case
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
*C'etait vraiment une belle soirée,
la plus-que parfait soirée de toute ma vie.
C'etait un soir amaranthine.*
I have seen God,
and he is pistons on iron.
Grey-blue eyes, saltwater pools.
That squeelin' a'screechin whimperin' whinin' hydraulics,
Can you feel the hydraulic boom-boom bass-bass..
He is a man crying "Hey,"
he is a woman selling jewelry
he is wraps and rounds, garnets that glow,
he is 'Tree Fort' musically meditating with meditating musicians,
he is a writer writing in the woods,
he is burning paolo santo,
he is iced off dose,
real European ****
(Boom, boom. Bass, bass.)
he is Scorpio sun signs sun shining,
he is a man's heart shining.
Won't you look at all these hearts,
really have a look at them,
and tell me that they aren't the most
**beautiful
creative
spirited**
hearts that you've ever seen?
Scorpio, I love you. I really did love you. And how I've loved you since.
*It was truly a beautiful party,
the most beautiful party of my whole life.
It was a night amaranthine.*
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
The roller coasters never used to the scare me
it was always the lines which I feared
waiting and waiting and waiting
allowing my mind the space to run wild
with images of crushed, collapsed, metal
the loops and the speed never scared me
the rickety clank of the old tracks
or the hydraulic rumblings of the new
these things never scared me
it was my own mind which scared me
the certainty with which I knew
that I was never going to wait in another line
ever again
that after this,
all would be like before I was born
the hazy dark silence
of an unconscious mind
But the roller coasters?
I always used to enjoy the roller coasters
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Wi yer eyes stingin n wet wi tears
N muk bungin up tha nose n ears
N a white rimmed ed where thi's ad thi hat
Up tha floats on't lift like a drownded rat
After twelve hours tha's pretty dun in
Whilst t'other folks as been kippin n dreamin
Tha's bin diggin n drillin like summart daft
Now up tha floats on't hydraulic raft
The cold morn air meks tha lungs urt
Cause tha's bin breathin muk n dirt
Fer nigh on forty years or more
That most folks wudn't ave on't floor
N as tha washes all't muk away
Tha knows thas sum that'll allus stay
N whilst outside tha luks nice n clean
Tha's stuff inside thi th't'll never be seen
Until o course tha's gon n died
N them docter fellers tek a look inside
N in amazement they'll stand n stare
At all that muk th't shudn't be there
N wen tha's ded it'll be nowt new
Not too a bloke what's lived like you
Fer now tha's on'y six feet under
Wen undreds is what thas bin used to
N't Crowner'll say thi ad a natural death
Not like them th't had their last breath
At sixteen, seventeen, twenty or more
When sum big explosions brought ceiling t floor
But a doubt if tha'll think it wer thi turn
As tha lays there nattering t worm
Crawlin in n out o yer ears
Not much t show fer sixtyodd years
Still what else cud you ave dun, that's it
But follow yer old man down pit
A mean even his dad was a facer tha knows
Kem out at thirty wi' ands like claws
Ah well it's time fer sum grub
Then half-a-dozen pints't pub
Wi an hour or two o noonday sun
Then back t wife fer an hour o fun
N be six next morning I'll be feelin well
As I teks yon raft t bowels of 'ell
Thirty shillin a week be summer the reckonin
Ah but then they can't see yon worm beckonin
Remember this is a 'Performance Poem'
and the style of writing acts as a
speech prompt. The accent is loosely
Yorkshire. A 'Crowner 'is an old word
for a Coroner.
I hope you enjoy it.
© David Irwin Phillips 2008
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
Love is so complex;
too grandiose to comprehend,
too intricate to explain,
lost in some ulterior realm,
in a universe that is foreign
where the only thing of which I am certain
is that I am in fact
lost in you.
My body goes on autopilot
as my hands grip the sterilely frigid steering wheel,
speeding 20 miles over the limit,
body going through the motions
as my mind slips back into love,
into the all-consuming mesmerization,
grasping at song lyrics like straws,
searching the vowels and consonants for the
y - o - u
that I hear in them.
Reality comes and goes,
but you remain,
even in the moments most mundane;
sipping the koolaid slowly,
injecting your poison deeper into my veins
as I struggle to prevent the come-down.
What I feel buried deep inside...
it dries out my mouth,
creates craters in my stomach,
esophageal spasming,
I fight to catch my breath at the sight of your name on my phone,
the sound of your voice as you speak my name.
A thundering tsunami bursting at the seams of my
pale skin, my rosy cheeks,
the ferocity of my burning love
scraping against the bone and cartilage
to rip through me and
devour you...
And the only way that you
allow me to love you,
it's so small, it's so
momentary,
you only able to drink one
drop
at
a
time,
an entire hydraulic system,
streams and tributaries,
rivers and oceans,
forcefully squeezed,
funneled into daily droplets.
Dreaming of the last time I tasted you,
the times you used
to intertwine your body
with mine,
lost in incomprehensible ecstasy,
I can now only love you
through the simplicity of
conversation
and
of sitting by your side;
however,
even in its relative infinitesimalness,
I anticipate, yearn evermore for the stillness,
for I know that if today were to be my last,
if my hands were to slip off the steering wheel,
my body becoming sterilely cold,
your name would be the first word I would
speak
in my survival,
the last thought I would think
in my demise.
And though those moments
do exist
where I grow impatient,
frustrated with the walls you've built,
the dams you've constructed
to guard against my love's roaring riptide,
I would rather lose myself,
drop
by
drop
to you,
love you in the most minute way,
if it means I can
love you
at all.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
I think this thing is broken
Come in here and and have a look
Observe closely the mechanical functions
And hydraulic flow
Fold your fingers above your eyes
And squint your peepers just so
You'll notice that the battery is smoldering
Flashing red lights and billowing smoke
The human that used to live here
Didn't even have the common decency
To leave a suicide note
Perhaps there was nothing to say
The information is readily available
Even to this day, I tell you
It plays just like a record
Spinning it's own glorious fables
Stored for eternity
As an unbalanced charge
That became stable
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
in school
we learned about hydraulic fracturing
when they would send pressurized chemicals into the earth
until the earth began to “frack”
well that’s what i felt like
when your words rained down upon me so hard
my brain began to crack
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
garage tools
orbital sander sanding away
big it up for the orbital sander
getting sand on now now now
hear the orbital sander sand away
orbital sander
orbital sander
orbital sander
sand sand sand!
like his mate the orbital grinder
give it a good grind
grind away on the go
watch that baby grind away
orbital grinder
orbital grinder
orbital grinder
grind grind grind!
hydraulic ramp going up and down
no car is too heavy
fantastic hydraulics
touch of a button up down up down
hydraulic ramp
hydraulic ramp
hydraulic ramp
lift lift lift!
laser gig perfectly aligned
laser beam on target
crash damage repair perfection
laser accuracy beyond compare
laser gig
laser gig
laser gig
laser laser laser!
boss is doing a ******* eppy
the tech is too reliable
he bosses and bullies
his young apprentices about
sweep the floor
male the brews
fetch the butties
you ****** slaves
boss boss boss!
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Old car batteries, jumper cables and a squeeze toy
lay strewn about the playpen,
saliva and battery acid intermingle there,
a jagged-toothed mobile slowly revolves overhead,
the arc-welder spits brilliantly as we mend teddy’s arm.
The walls shudder from pounding machines downstairs,
the scent of spilled hydraulic oil and grease waft in,
is dinner cooking?
Teddy’s arm is healed,
the weld a rippling scar,
we take him by the arm to the forge
and draw a bath,
climbing in we turn molten again.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
You will discover that there is a problem.
However, the errors are bad. Your happy
prostitutes are the light of Israel.
30 km from the Kibbutz Magdido.
What is surprising is the Greek language.
Yes, I can say that it can not be done.
Girls, girls, girls? Pros and Oregon mean?
Youth 1 LC who makes prostitutes,
What are you doing, what is it? This network
service when this happened.
This is the third part of it. *****
and her daughter The girl, a girl? Great
revelation The Oregon program at the airport.
That was Bob King Pine's problem.
from Osaka T companies; Joshua is based
In the words of San Ignacio de Independiente.
States, prostitutes and other foreigners should not
In other productions, Timmy with that. Matt J. J.
Matt, San Diego, Roberto. Sao Paulo, Brazil.
India, the women of Paul Bahia in Canada, in this case,
What? Satisfied with your finger? children, prostitutes and
daughters This feature is huge.
30 videos and bad ones. Sir, nobody is allowed
To be clean, after three minutes. More. Where 1
1 hour; girl? Oregon School of Girls? Northeast?
The Persian words are the most common. TO; except
for John in New Zealand. San Diego, CA,
In God's place, Robert. Apostol Pablo
It reminds me of an India, Robert Blake.
United Kingdom, Ireland, Ireland
Pakistan now. This will make the girls;
little girls
Oregon is a great resource for you
That the Lord has sent a letter to another.
The assistant has been sent.
Legislation to maintain it. second
use [Central Park] Carl Explorer
Many rockets under water.
Application The service and Google.
It is not connected, citizens are at the beginning.
Now imagine that this is just a real rock.
bring the impressions started
To celebrate homosexuals or whatever we are. the plumber
Heart stones and hydraulic system. CEO
control; due to the recent increase
The war movie of the goats, let's write in glory!
1 try this? I am welcome for more information.
Use some features at the top of the mountain.
This is what Robert says. But now
The hipocampus was born.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
I wonder if people feel the same,
questioning, pondering,
not knowing in nature,
I wonder if the masses as they walk the streets,
tiny ants carrying a thousand times they're defeat,
see the light refract and carry back,
images form and recollect,
cellulose film with a story to tell,
I wonder if the girl that gives me the smile,
had depth in wondering the same,
had she known the butterflies that ran through my skin,
a feeling of jumping from a formidable cliff,
not for hate, degradation, abhorrence, malevolence or animosity,
but just the opposite,
to show the love we carry
in the arms of adoration,
hydraulic hearts
pumping fidelity, fondness, and friendship,
fueled by breaths of fresh air,
in that smile we shared,
I wonder if the ones who hate,
can also love,
does the man covered in mud,
slopped in filth, mayhem and blithe,
lye by choice,
or is it easier said than done,
would a good man cover himself in blood,
if honest true and to the point,
so I'll sit on this bench,
birds chirp as the children play,
dogs off leashes,
running amuck,
but who can place blame,
as being put on a leash,
restricts our breath,
causing no smile,
not to breath our fresh air,
to pump our hearts,
giving us love,
so I lastly wonder,
had I had the nerves,
to just say hi,
would you have stopped
or just said good bye,
will I be the man I wish,
or am I the man in filth?
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
Hissing hydraulic brakes
your face
was hiding.
April wind was howling.
Empty streets at 6 a.m.
A song of dust in squinting eyes.
You hunched your shoulders,
pulled your hood back,
smiled sunrise. Bus doors closed.
We'd always leak away
and trace these city limit lines
'til the night bled into day.
Bend footsteps back t'ward sunburnt lines
that cross the map
of the town we lived in
for all these sun-seared years.
Sat South of love and East of friendship,
but we feared nothin'!
Yeah, we were pirates,
with smoke mouthed muskets
in hand. With full sails. And bold grins
inscribed across each face.
And, back here, I still roll
through days
on waves of
Autumn wind and memory.
Empty streets at 3 a.m.
Walk with our ghosts; still haunt this town.
You took your chances,
and a Greyhound
just past sunset--headed West.
We'd always leak away,
drive out past city limit lines.
And we'd drive until the day-
light bent rays back to eyes' red lines
that crossed the map
of the talks we'd lived in
for all those wondering years,
West of white lies and North of silence.
Guess we feared something.
But, now, what was it?
And, now, where are you?
Out West with full sails and clear eyes
inside a sunset face?
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
Hydraulic fracturing
Is ecoterrorism,
Pollution,
Hide the name:
The Chemical attacking,
but they call it fracking
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
**** and cigarette smoke mingles with exhaust and the smell of cooking food
The homeless and the elite businessman walk side by side with tourists and hipster girls, and so few stop and stare, to gawk at the urban sprawl of the city, regally scraping at the cloudless sky, fingers hoping to grasp at god
The trolley bell, the scream of distant sirens, the shuffling of feet scraping the ***** sidewalk, the hydraulic hiss of brakes, the music of construction workers pounding and making and fixing, the blare of traffic horns and laughter and serious conversations of passersby in so many voices and tongues all combine like some cosmic tune, a discordant harmony that speaks to the very nature of city life
I feel the wind blowing through my hair as it carries pigeons and trash and the branches of the trees wave their greeting to the people, a friendly universe choked by stone and asphalt and metal shapes, but life will not be constrained, and so the city prospers and we go on and on, not as cogs in some machine, but cells in a body, growing, changing and shaping the whole
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Let love be performed, as required.
Let desire flow, as it will.
Let excitement mount, as it must.
Let synchronized pleasure commence.
Let the hydraulic imperative be obeyed!
Now is the moment of peak sensation.
Let rhyme be used where it helps.
Let rhythm bounce when it can.
Let words speak to the heart.
Let form magnify sense.
Let the poem take flight!
Now is the moment of inspiration.
Let love grow stronger with age.
Let friends share our happiness.
Let thought guide us to wisdom.
Let our children be our epitaphs.
Let life be savored.
Now is a moment of reflection.
But ...
... Affection outlives passion.
... A good poem needs time to be born.
... Life might not ever make its meaning manifest.
Now is a moment of partial understanding.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
Counting the steps you take.
Your fingers touching mine.
These walls I built up over time.
Slowly, you take them down.
This violent facade.
Eating me up inside.
I want to scream but I can't.
This is who I am now.
I distance myself.
Scared of getting hurt.
But you approached me.
And became my world.
I still detest how I acted back then.
I pushed you away.
When you tried to understand.
But the facade I made.
Crumbled down.
The only one I loved.
The only one I trusted.
You stood there, captivated by me.
Wishing I wouldn't go.
Everybody's words.
Like swords that cut deep.
I can't forgive them.
Can I even forgive myself?
So I let go of the anxieties.
Because despite my actions.
My true nature is love.
I love you, Shuichi - this is to be known.
These lies I built as walls of protection.
Break down and cover me.
Suffocate me.
I let myself be crushed under the weight.
Much like a hydraulic press.
Even after death, I will still love you.
You spoke to me, loathed me.
But I still love you.
And that will never change.
You ask why I lied.
I lie all the time.
It's my only defence.
From the people outside.
I know you don't understand.
Maybe you never will.
But that's okay.
My heart is open for you to accept.
After all,
"I" am just a "lie" that makes up "me."
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
Cold hydraulic hand drops her body
onto the bloodied floor–
pigs, sheep and other cows
thrown in a pile.
Hand the driver the paperwork,
plus the cheque, the charge to remove.
Pots of glue are cheap, leather jackets are not,
and not a penny we have made
from this black cow who in eight years
had seven expensive still-borns.
In spring she watched
as the other calves found their legs.
Felt indifference when the calves started school,
where graduation is awarded in three different categories:
medium, rare and well-done.
Her first calf, all red
bar a white tuft on his head,
killed her.
A lone magpie squawks from a bare tree
as I am handed my receipt. Record of transaction
if officials from the Department inquire
as to BNNZ-00-12T.
The calf looks on,
deteriorating behind a closed grey gate.
Snow briefly falls.
In the fields the sun casts long shadows
of trees and sheep. A breeze blows.
The work continues.
Next morning
no need for the chain
that dragged his mother with the tractor
to the concrete yard.
A length of rope will do.
Not yet a number in the system,
the only record of its existence–
a drag mark through the ****
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
Great, I think she wants back in my life
She walked out when we possibly had a future maybe with two kids a happy husband and wife
I'm still bearing wounds from our last encounter
It's ludicrous what I had to go through with this *****
Oh wait I shouldn't say that even though she ripped my heart into halves and almost flatlined me
So even though I swore I wouldn't do any more rhymes about her I'm going out of my solace to lay my feelings to rest like a hydraulic mattress
I'm glad this has happened in a cosmic sort of way because no matter how hard it became alive I stayed to prove not to just to her but myself that you can survive heartbreak of that density those few weeks felt like a nomadic crackhead wandering the centuries yet it interests me that she expects me to say something to her first which is why I'm putting all of my problems and angst into this verse
I'm open to being friends again I'm all for that because what happened shouldn'tve happened at all but don't you dare play with my heart again because of you do I'll burn you like a succubusses ***** after an STD
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
Waist deep.
The thick black syrup meets skin
A sharp black/white line
Across the pores
Like a moving limb of day/night
Across the distant craters of the moon.
To tread deeper and pulls the surface down
The mirror-black surface bending, pulling.
A meniscus
A relativistic bending
Of space and time around a star.
Deep below the surface
Wiggling toes are sluggish
Movement of legs are impeded
A tug at each hair on legs and toes.
And the hydraulic squirt of the liquid
Below the soles as your weight shifts.
Ah, but sometimes shallower now,
Withdrawing belly skin pulls with it
The deep brown-black rubbery surface
That will not be left behind.
It will not relinquish this new intimacy.
What horror comes with the rising depths?
Liquid darkness comes over shoulders, chin and cheeks.
A sweet salty taste now upon the lower lip.
A tug, a pull at the chin with every breath
Every attempt to lift it above the surface.
Fear. Darkness. Unknown.
Over mouth and nose.
Sticking to eyelids.
Thick and warm into ears.
A bubble of air tries to escape from under your chin
And tickles as it pulls up on the hairs it passes.
The cool open air irises-off above your head
Only a momentary depression in the top surface.
Until there is no record, of your having passed here.
Silence.
A sweet and sticky seal, impermeable between this world and the void.
Silence.
Push up now with strength in frightened legs.
The suction is immense, the pull strong.
It does not wish to let you withdraw.
But you push and breaking the tension of the surface
You emerge.
Great thick layers of darkness remain.
Hands claw great gobs of blackness from nose and mouth.
A gasping, stuttered pull brings icy, bitter air.
Standing now, a black shadow-ghost emerging from tarry blackness.
Velvety and warm was the invitation,
Soothing and intimate was the gentle touch,
Silent and heavy was embrace,
A smothering, airless dark at the end
And silence.
But sweet, oh how sweet and warm.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
over the years
life leaves its traces
on our bodies, our souls,
in our memories
the moment when a broken twig
just barely missed the eye
of a cavorting child
the first time promises
turned into cheats, betrayal, strife
adding injustice to the loss of trust
the day when suddenly
you could not read
the writing on the blackboard any more
and needed glasses
the time when playing the piano
got so painful that you had to stop dreaming of a pianist’s career
love’s first elations
followed by despair and disappointment
some lucky instances as well
have kept you kicking & alive until this day
crashing through the old glass door
mostly unharmed
with your first scooter
during a summer job at the steel mill
seeing just your leather working glove
and not your hand
disappear into the hydraulic power press
getting away with just a crick in your neck
when your idiot friend caused a car crash
that left only small pieces of your glasses
in the wreck
out of them all
the scars of loss
or threat of loss
are such that never die
your little son saved
by last-minute surgery
sitting at your daughter’s bed
for several days
until high fever finally abated
your mother’s unexpected death
on the first day of spring
the slow and dreary suffering
your father bore with desperate pride
a few more years
all these engravings
and many more
written by the flow of time and space
are waiting just around the corner
from your daily living room
mixed in with fonder memories
of joyous time and wonderful events
together they have shaped
the person that you are
your life, your world
which you still try
to understand
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
as i watch the candle burn
the wick disintegrates
wonder when it'll be my turn
to join the invertebrates
distant echo repeats
the sun sets ahead
the oak roots meet
the foot of my bed
a collection of scents
for only $9.99
down the aisle i went
for the three hundredth time
melt into a mold
a mindless distraction
an umbrella, rose gold
with hydraulic retraction
collect ash and soot
from time spent waiting
for a longing fresh look
at the end's very beginning
a battery powered candle
with translucent white plastic
burns surprisingly well
poison fumes are fantastic
i set it all on fire
and watched the polymers melt
i heard a copper choir
the burning heat i felt
i can't get too close
lest i run the risk
of singing my own nose
or encoding a compact disc
Jan 17, 2025
Jan 17, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
God made rivers to flow!
Never stop, ahead they go!
By making the dam,
humans trying to tam.
The water, thus conserved,
To serve the mankind, it's reserved.
The earth, is nourished!
The life, is flourished!
Dam too has a limit
To hold the force hydraulic,
Then to release it gradually
Using the force controllably,
If unreleased, then catastrophic
Flushes out!
Washes out!
Lashes out!
Everything!!
Learn to hold your inherent power,
and release in a controlled manner.
**Be a reservoir of emotions
upto a limit!
and utilize them constructively
for benefit!**
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC