Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
renniedreams Aug 2018
Galaxy gardener sailing a ship,
through endless horizons it makes a trip.
She/he looks into the inky canvas blend,
then scatters some seeds in the spacial rend.
What does await this brave lovely soul,
when we see the universe's gears roll.

Ionizing radiation penetrates through,
while watering can always holds true.
Space turf gingerly shovelled over seeds,
her/his forehead adorned with water beads.
Nitrogenous nutrients now nuzzled into,
the serene slumbering seedlings to be.

Galaxy gardener greets growing greens,
lively lushscious leaves forward leans.
Wormhole worn star systems she/he fixes up,
as does she/he proudly prune her/his wondrous crop.
Many a plant has grown under her/his care,
yet she/he never feasts on the fruits they bear.
Teacher's Day 2018, dedicated to all the teachers who've guided me thus far.
Robert Watson Apr 2021
I long for solitude;
The day's barking tyrants
Drained my reservoir.

Thirsty for life,
I search for my oasis
On life's arid expanses.

I witness the crucifixion;
I watch firefighters burn books;
I can't resist the sirens' call.

The ionizing words mutate me;
I read, and I'm pierced.
The tyrant's visage, shattered.
Try to spot the allusions!
Umi Mar 2022
A walking ghost,
Without as much as a form,
Attaching itself to those who heed not the warnings.

~ Umi
Kelsey Jan 2015
electric pulsed,
ionizing under fake sunlight
getting fake sunburn
          but a fire is a fire is a fire
and i'm still,
electric pulsed,
man or artifice or god
in whatever order,
poetry is the art of everything;
          less about love,
         more about recovery

its
waking up in your coffin
the morning
after you've dreamt
of a past lover
the pain
that heals
like the continents
                               d        
                                       r      
                                               i          
                                                     ­   f    
                                                                ­ t        
                                                                ­             .

to this end
there is a beginning
that feels like

                      god             to                 man                 to            artifice

(what is man to artifice if not god)

heavier
than the art of everything
the poetry of inky blood and red eyes
the distant solace
in pain
wherein, words
always run out
and the end comes
with a clash, we're all going.
not sure why, but i combined two topics. i am aware that this poem lacks any real cohesion, but it was an important thing for me to write out, so whatever. i like it.
Rachel Lacorte Apr 2017
It begins in the Uranium 239
On a plum pudding with a mine
She thought it was just an electron
Later in neutron
And now its definitely proton.

Where in her heart pumps like radioactivity
She ignores the theory of relativity
And in the day on she knew
That she had fall in love withtout any clue.

How easy to fly a kite
But hard to get him out of her sight
Beacuse love strikes like a speed of light.

All of these were ruined so quickly
Because mass defect came so early
"the binding energy of you and me got failed"
Because his heart was already held.

How I wish that radioactive decay was here
That transmutation will appear
So may alpha will protect her
May beta will support her
And gamma will comfort her
Though isotopes can't bear here
Half life is still so long
To stop this irritating song.
She can't help this chain reaction
Becaise its way to dangerous without undergoing fission.

I will be telling this with a sigh
In some where ages and ages hence
That ionizing radiation will be the way
To remove an electron from atom someday.
Sarah Clark Dec 2019
Half our bodies oxygen,
      by mass.
Transfermium Wars-  who knew?
      elemental naming controversy,
      my new favorite war.
Americium-241 in your smoke detector,
     alpha emitter, ionizing ****.
Dual atomic clocks- Ytterbium lattice-
     understanding would taint this fun.
     (Apparently there is a Time and Frequency
     Division somewhere).
Solid to vapor- if only we sublimed
     our way home, though maybe better
     suited for air signs. An earth sign, myself,
     sticking to terra dirtus.
2, 8, 20, 28, 50, 82, 126- the Magic
     Numbers in physics- full nuclei,
     like full bellies- maybe our magic years too...
     'cept for 126- unless you're a Galapagos tortoise.
Manganese blackening bulls in Lascaux.
Plumbum latin for lead, ala plumbers and their pipes
     of yesteryear.
Fire and brimestone actually fire and sulfur,
     still wrathful, though I always
     imagined brimstone as being a
     damning brick falling.

You won't be synthesized, maybe never discovered,
                yet we sense you near, proposed metal,
                silvery white and ghosting....
                              
                                      119.
Cosmogonic  Amphibology, Sub-Mythological root
The threshold, as a minimum rubric, must be in force from the Constellation of Orion, with barely a hundred millionths under the same eye as Oarion and his psychophysical space, sensitive to the falcado chariots and the water vessels on the backs of the probable Barnard Loop and its nebula presence. The icy impulsiveness brought him under his right shoulder and the lean hollow under his arm dissolving from a staircase, at the entrance point of Betelgeuse coming from the cosmogony of Eridanus and in tune with Ptolemaic astrality. In sibyl and with a bright metric triplet look, Betelgeuse Orionis, which is the scale of the Aulos and piccolos expelling hydrogen as an Ace in 240 scales of harmonies and in sounds of light, for cycles and years of Light. The binary of Oarion, is the pre-birth of the sub-mythological root, with binaries of Poetic Parapsychology, or Para-poetical; which is the trapezoid and the kinetics of the hunter Oarion arrowing towards the Pleiades and its nebulous plains, and with diametric diarthrosis in his synovial joints, with third militarizing joints already formed by hyaline cartilage, which join the two bones with synovial fluid, before reaching Hunter Oarion's deltoid, to awaken the Sleeping world.

Vernarth, in one of his adventures in Pela, escapulated with his arms the force of the friction discs of the Olympics and compensated his hands and shoulders, for this purpose, from Oarion and his dilettante Astro Betelgeuse, with giant arrows against matter towards the sky of its Constellation, encrusted with Odyssey beatings and turpentines in surly Hellenistic ones, being for May its amber trunk and arm trapezoid, in each hand a Xifos and Dorus, always with pathologies of dexterous hemispheres in their sagacious hands in Kopis swords, and in the memories of the wind that throws pain to the hiss of the combatant, when the meteorites decay in the Tyrrhenian Sea. With his brass-bronze club and Vernarth's corrosive breath, he proceeded to file the odysseys on Eos's ******* and peduncles; Goddess of the Dawn, in Dionysian beauty of granules, which brandished the granites from the bronze nail, watching her for large mega hectares, dissuade the Revenge of Enopion, turning her eyes that now shone in bronze and the lines of Hesiod, for whom it. against borderline stellar magnitude in the major and minor dogs, and in their a priori waves of misdeeds lending measurements in the eyes of Oarion, always henchmen over their Pleiades.

From this intricacy, Cosmo-is born the Vernarth Duoverso in incited towards the Horcondising, so that it is co-appropriated mythical in the origin of the universality of the Duoverse in the scapula of Vernarth, bleeding towards the cosmos that was born from her stellar.like bronzes that twist on the necks of oxen that urinate on the officers of Barnard's Loop, and its polyphonic magnetic exciter, on Orion's ***** falling on the poles, like flagrant Amphibology.

The Kanti Steed and the Oarion Nebula, to the compass of a waltz ionizing prodigious electron-free ion chemicals, on the neutral molecules of Betelgeuse, to proclaim on the nerves of the shoulders and its bronze club, as musical praxis and net harmony , giving way to the nebula and the art of the Duoverso, which shows the pristine astral days, how in his alchemical arm gushing chemo-astralities from the chest and his armpit that sheltered him in his maximum stick, cutting down roots of Olivo Bernar, after the Barnard's loops, in the midst of runaway stars that are systematized in their ionized bleeding esplanade, like Stellae Novae, who retro brings astronomical rites in the cosmogony and her pretext of going at night to sleep near her parents Poseidon and Euríale, which they cheered near the grassy fields to paste explosive clay on the sheet of his drunken face with smiling Ionic wine, in advance of scattering across the new world you Duoverso.
Cosmogonic  Amphibology
Can we agree to believe in anything
Before life fades away
We shake our head again each day
There are countless apples in deliverance
So we partake in escapes so impressive
That trouble comes to collect our autographs
We are infamous and i knew I needed you
The moment I saw you staring at me
While i made myself a sandwich
We are artifacts of another time and place
It seems the remains are fading and so are you
But please don’t fall asleep, tonight
I need your many faces to keep me company
We are tracing our contemporary lives
With minds and bodies underlined
Pining for a little beauty and perhaps an apology
I am opinionated like an article of clothing
A particle of compulsive residue
We are shuddering at the sound of molecules and ions
These non-ionizing operations of insight
And licenses of poetic defiance
We are appliances of self-discovery
Upholstered in our recovery
Eating mustard greens and banana leaves
A distant relative of organisms and multiple *******
Are we awake or just bumbling through our lives
Do we divide our time between essence
And deferential retribution
Contusions of fortitude sorted and surrendered
We are the sundry insouciance
That keeps plundering our own protuberances
Money for nothing and living is free
Breath is abundant and so we sing
There is harmony, melody and your feathery feet
Are all over the upholstery
Your company is cheap
So we take leaps of discomfort
Only to discover that we all equally
Hurt and burn in the firmness of determination
Commanding action with the least bit of understanding

— The End —