"implosion" poems
Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Sprawl of the nazarene toothslayer,
Nucleotide bombast explosion;
***** of the eftsoon soothsayer,
Pyramid galaxies implosion:
Breathing quintuplicating matrix
Somersault to ceaseless meiosis,
Goldbeating phlanx initiatrix:
Amphimixis apotheosis.
Lifen gyrovagues aerolitic:
And fixate Atlas telescopic!
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
Tonight, I spoke into the darkness,
No stars to light my way,
The black void all encompassing
My words drifting up in ribbons,
I waited for something, anything to happen
I felt a rumble that was akin to ripples emanating from a drop of water hitting a puddle
I was small next to the impossible,
And when it spoke back, it changed me
The blank canvas of stark black was pierced by blades of light,
The sky becoming a shutter in a rain storm
Blowing open and closed
The words came and wrapped themselves across my body in its entirety
Constricting my air flow
I felt myself shatter
An implosion of feeble glass
Ricocheting through a skeleton of paper, reflecting the brightness above inside ripped skin
I was nothing.
I didn't exist.
I floated in an incomprehensible place that had no end, no walls
No ceiling or floor
Just illumination in every direction
I opened my eyes
And was blinded by an incredible radiance
I shut my eyes tight and swatted in front of me
My hand struck something metal and I yelped in pain
I shot up and stared downward
Towards the desklamp unplugged on the floor
Breathing heavily, I sat upright in my bed,
Struggling to pull away words that had already sunken in
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
Expansion of mind,
Implosion of self,
My consciousness is fragmented,
Crystal shards laying on the floor,
Scattered about,
Lost in the wash,
A river flowing beneath the soul.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC
.*i'm still an advocate of caesarean section... i believe in animal rights... it's just plain cruel exposing a European ****** to a pan-African phallus of a fetus head **** isn't it **** "technically"? **** me... forget the ******** **** the latex... the ****** ******* one pregnant women ************ and talking Freudian implosion will do.*
personally? i hardly think
******** **** is what men turn
to when excavating
***********
ever watched
pregnant
women
************
while filming themselves?!
ever watch pregnant women
film
themselves ************
ever?
in the beginning there
was the word,
and the word was god...
you hear the talking
of pregnant woman ************
**** me...
who the hell needs ******** ***
when you can **** off
to a pregnant woman...
jerking off, talking *****
paradoxes of Freud
about her yet to be born
son
watching her **********
who the hell needs
******** ****
just watch a pregnant woman **********
oath of god...
hand on my heart...
it doesn't actually encompass a
desire for intricacies of latex...
just a pregnant woman
************
*** mad... *** mad...
*** mad...
******* *** mad as hell...
Freud? pale as an uncooked
pancake dough...
the **** that comes out
from the mouth of a pregnant
woman ************
believe me...
i ****** off to one of them doing it
helpless.
nice try... thinking
a man would turn to ********
***********
can't turn to more ********
****
than a pregnant woman,
************
while talking, Oedipal,
*****
try... try, ******
try to bash that fact out
of existence!
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC
For love to flourish
Some ideas on life we need to punish
And for unity to feel unified
Some old philosophies should be denied
A universal charter of peace
One that imprisons any aggressor with no signs of an early release
Third world or new world, rich and poor
Eternally searching for so much more
At breaking point and primed for implosion
Standing at the towns gates and cheering totalitarianism on its arduous march into expulsion
As masses we move in uncertain terms
Living to absorb , to almost defend the disease, the genetic germs
The crowd ask questions, seek answers of clarity
Settling no more for the disgust of others impunity
Maybe the balance will tilt
And the toxic flowers of the current state of affairs begin to wilt
Global humanity free to exist and have an honest future of preservation
Not just confined to a future in some wildlife conservation
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
I have been invisible before.
My thoughts and justifications were transparent.
All anyone could see were my actions;
the way I failed and stumbled,
and ran head first into doors that lead me down path after path of distraction.
At least they seemed like distractions,
oh, but they become my destruction.
I spent my time quietly imploding,
only to change my mind last minute,
and suddenly explode.
I changed my mind,
but my body stayed stock still.
I stood in front of the judges
and while my tongue was granite,
the urge to run from the podium had never been greater.
I wished to be invisible.
I wished to go to a dark corner of the room and finish my implosion.
Out of sight,
where I could hide and self destruct without a sound.
And then if,
or when,
I picked up the shrapnel,
I could re-join everyone on stage at graduation.
I could hold my head high
and with a smile,
pretend no one saw me crumble.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
It's two minutes past the deadline
The coffee he spilled has seeped into the wooden table
As if leaving a masterpiece of stains would somehow make it right
The boom caused by the implosion of his future still echoes in his head
As he lifts himself from the shallow puddle of confidence
That has almost dried up whole
The dirt under his fingernails is a reminder
Of the time he spent trying
To get this tree of missed chances and what-ifs
To grow again
His car keys and his passport he uncovers
From under a pile of broken promises
Maybe he can push back time
Following the sun
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Beyond the butterfly feelings
In the whirlwind of our intimacy
A full option sensual desire
Distance distancing distance
All at once till we hit the ******
The zenith of pleasures and feels
Like the breakthrough of Miracles
Sounds of Soughs, ex and in hales
Hot Moments of breathlessness
Scratches of speechlessness
Mouth agape, dead-in-moments
long squeezes, short grips, sweats
Body vibrating, breath whispering
Emotions revealing, turn ons
Passions imploding, hard ons
Intense kinetic motions of kardias
Slippery shining fleshy mammalians
Till the moment of implosion: ******
That sweet ecstasy moment when
all that exists is what you feel
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Summon up the courage
keeping up the cover
A Minefield of memory,
I see you uncover
Irrationality implosion -
Energetically, explosion.
Do you really think,
in our realities
that a happiness
love, might continue?
When emotions are temporary
& feelings too fleeting
Listen
when I announce my selfishness.
Listen,
as I manipulate.
Jun 17, 2023
Jun 17, 2023 at 7:50 AM UTC
The ****** poet mainlines inspiration by the gram.
chasing away the gnawing emptiness.
Fill the void with creations formed in pain, molded in your likeness
to keep at bay the loneliness.
The ****** poet and his muse paint the world in inebriated metaphors.
Burnt spoon blackened souls gather on the fringes.
Creating living seas of tortured, tumultuous shadow.
The end comes like an implosion.
Destruction turned inward one last time.
Not a result of action,
but of choices made in moments of self-loathing
when the junkie’s muse was nowhere to be found.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
I hovered down my cursor
Towards the Facebook icon
My senses were in fervor
For one notification.
I clicked the drop down button
That was drenched in crimson red
My mind had an implosion
As I decoded what it said.
Someone sent a game request
To me when time was lush
My day embarks another quest
In the game of candy crush.
A ticket, life, or power-up
Could be the thing I need
To clear the way and reach the top
And in the ranks I'll lead.
A move that swaps a jelly bean
Perhaps could form an "L"
A wrapper bomb then could be seen
Explosion it would spell.
Maybe an orange lozenge
Could pile in lines of four
A striped bomb could come in revenge
And wipe out lanes for score.
A bunch of yellow lemon drops
I'll surely link to five
In time a color bomb would pop
And clear the candy hive.
Heaps of lollipop heads in blue
And purple cluster sweets
Could get swept out in a row or two
By coco wheels or jelly fish.
How lovely it would be to see
A medley of combination
Bombs and power-ups in spree
To a rainbow candy motion.
Two wrapper bombs would be enough
To blast two groupings clean
Two striped ones make a checker stuff
Where blocks have ever been.
A wrapper and a color bomb
Blast off a certain hue
A color bomb and a stripe in clump
Stripe out some colors too.
Perhaps of all the tricks I've seen
The one that serves me great
A duo of color bombs would mean
The end of all the slate.
The sun may rise, the moon may set
I'll be there to sit and play
A sweet treat is all I need to get
And I'll complete my day.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
allow me to celebrate the ant
summer miscre-ant in my kitchen
picking up pieces of pieces "to go":
a crumb of Meow Mix, a crushed Cheerio;
applied the usual eco-safe spray
detecting this way too feint for they
amassed to quest their innate objective
exploring and toting the prime directive;
hymenoptera tents with doors
four on the floor: cafes of poison
for caulking the cracks in the walls hadn't solved
the stay-past-your-welcome guests involved;
soon numbers diminished but still a few
creeping through unrepent-ant
I swept thrice per day to starve them out
yet brooms are too thick all crannies to rout;
surrendered and wondered, perhaps they are teachers
attempting to bypass my brainy block
too thick to buzz with what the ants know?
I squat as a toddler to take-in their show;
for hours observing them (off and on)
until an implosion of comm-ants sense
challenged my globalized conception
exposing my mind to ant redemption;
the ant is now my writing totem
trouble though they'll be next June
within this mantra is what they knew:
one moment one crumb to carry and chew;
insight's relative I realize
ants have their own frustrations with size
but ponder the ant when writing time's little:
at peace with a piece of ant-agonist vittle.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
The line between necessity and decency...
Is often blurred by laziness
Fancy that!
And when you do, the implosion of a galaxy
Is easily possible based on the Unit of Humanitarian incompetency
The fat man eating doritos on a couch
The ****** who won't study
The Goat that lays no eggs
Good night
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
The sunny day of January invited the sun's radiation that burns skin as fire could burn through paper.
Perhaps that was why everything we planned was a heat-up and dramatic hope.
Perhaps like the partly burned coal, our hope too burns itself to the emptiest cinders of all.
The hopeful plan we once had was dramatized to create illusions of the fantasy we'd like to live in, but a reality that we could not create because the reality is, we are nothing but the matter of expired fire.
We are the ashes of what we left behind.
We may have stopped giving off flames, but we still have some combustible matter in us; and soon, what follows is, for the better - an explosion, or for the worst - an implosion.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
What is a world without being judged?
Without competition or criticizing?
A world where there is no room for improvement
Everything is set in stone, not perfect just you take what you get and deal with it
Where there is no place to showcase your true potential?
No rhyme or reason to try
Less amazing things happen, maybe even nothing spectacular going on
A place doomed for rebellion, implosion
A stack of cards with no foundation, just ready to cave in
A world without love, or feelings
It all dwindles down without one another
One thing could be missing and change it all
And our society would be a soso-ciety
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Burnt umber in the morning
As the planets do align,
Ominously holding
To the Zodiac design,
Reminding us that somewhere
In the Bible, it was said,
That by the twelfth year of this century
Whole populations would be dead.
They say it is upon us
Those children of the moon,
They say the fingers of our destiny
Shall fall upon us soon.
Calamitous catastrophe
To befall the western world
That fiscal debt implosion
Will result with fraud unfurled,
When abnormal plate subduction
Along the continent's divide
Will magnify the earthquake swarm
Across the planet's hide.
When enormous ring tsunamis
Emanate from deep at sea
To cascade onto shorelines
To wreak extreme calamity.
Across the globe, Astrologist's,
Say something huge is due.
Their whispers quietly amplified
To percolate to you.
What little can be done or said
It's very hard to say
Because authorities worldwide
Refuse to recognize this day,
They won't readily acknowledge
Those symptoms verily to hand,
The frequent natural disasters
Occurring in each land.
Contagion is contagious
The whispers may be wrong,
Perhaps the future holds for us
A vastly different song,
But when the moon is full and white
And I look into her face,
I discern a bleak anxiety
Destined for the human race
I see mother nature poised
To take the heavy, upper hand
With an implacable demeanor
And un empathetic stand.
Burnt umber in the morning
As the planets do align,
Ominously holding
To the Zodiac design,
Reminding us that somewhere
In the Bible, it was said,
That by the twelfth year of this century
Whole populations would be dead.
Marshalg
@theBach
In the cold moonlight
20 May 2010
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 3:04 AM UTC
What if
in every black hole,
created by loneliness
and forgotten words,
lies a galaxy
created all its own —
remnants of the implosion
scar the beauty
but will
remain a perfect
imperfection
of the new creation;
from what was believed
to be nothing emerges
everything.
Structured by the hands
of a god,
a perfect tracing of
what is needed --
survival is not an option.
Lose yourself in me.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
The moment Your mind touches mine,
Implosion.
Explosion.
Captivation.
Complete and utter Devastation from Singular existence.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
write at midnight. edit in the morning.
write on a mountain. edit on a beach.
write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality.
write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones.
edit in the cold dawn light without excuses.
write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains.
edit in silence.
write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon.
edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog.
write inside, cozy under a blanket.
edit naked, cold on the front porch.
write asking questions.
edit demanding answers.
write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty.
edit bespectacled or with a monocle.
write like a mass ****** edit like a suicide.
or better yet
write like a homicide. edit like a detective.
write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you.
edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest.
write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty.
write during a fit of hyperventilation.
edit during mammoth exhalation.
write with complexity. edit into simplicity.
write, as Hemingway did, drunk.
edit, not sober, but hungover.
see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache.
write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion.
write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus.
edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground.
write during violent collision.
edit during calm separation.
write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower.
edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater.
write among raucous laughter & banging skillets.
edit in secret while the kids are asleep.
write like a sadomasochist.
edit like a psychiatrist.
write while running on your tip-toes.
edit while lying flat on your back.
write in several languages with abandon.
edit beside a translator dictionary.
write as you are engulfed in fire.
edit with an extinguisher.
write with careless fluidity.
edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee.
write with a full bladder,
standing up,
jitterbugging,
squeezing the tip of your *****
closed--urgently
squirm & trickle
your ideas onto
the porcelain page.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
They said our 20s were supposed to be easy
They never said that i would have to
Count backwards from one hundred to
Curb a breakdown
They said sedation will calm you
Down
But no one ever considered
That my neuroticism is what gave
Me my power to write
No one prepared me for the nights
I dont remember
For the car accidents that happened
But never really happened
The accidents that only existed as scars
On my car
That my splintered mirrors
Only showed a fraction of my illness
I was never supposed to be the person
To leave the party early
Because there was an anomaly in the wallpaper
I was unable to ignore
No one prepares you for the enemies
You make of yourself
Or the holes in your memory
Where your dignity leaks out
I never knew I could tell the time
By counting my tears on my tile floor
And that springs of my
Bed would twang the sad anthem id never sing
Because i was bloated with
The probability that
My anxiety was
Scrawled on my skin
That my anguish was apparent
And my life floated in a glass
Half empty
And ever-transparent
I believed
No one would want to be with
Someone with so much baggage
I had to check in in order to get on a plane
Ive spent my 20s on the verge of
Implosion
I was never meant to
Crave sterility
And the absence of emotion
What if my mispoken words
Were perfectly aligned
With the trajectory of my life
And that I was meant to
Teach people
Through this story
That even the
“Wrong words come
Out right”
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
fruitful fusion attempt is futile
check initials, official refusal
mutual solution brutal removal
essential pupil proving useful
amplified emphasis is corrected
amended but certified detested
time invested in suggestion
hard headed and hectic method
confusion of mission emotion
a hand woven illusion implosion
caution in frustration spoken
no objective inside exploding
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC