"litmus" poems
Mine
6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve
5E; MIT
I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.
20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.
Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Seeing.
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?
Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
_have_ asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."
An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not
but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!
~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago
Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke
2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?
Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot.
x-art.com. December 6, 2011
I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.
But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but **** you, James: it is mine!
I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!
~D.B.Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
Alone at my desk all day
but for voices on the phone
and the persistent one-sided conversation
with myself, I miss that easy intimacy
we have when, as darkness falls and
afternoon welcomes evening,
you call and say 'I'm making tea'.
Being but a short cycle-ride away
I leave my work just as it is,
though not before measuring my progress
in thought and deed with one last look
and that delicious standing back from it all.
In the kitchen you are pouring tea.
As I pass through to remove my coat.
I rub your back, a gentle greeting
(a single up and down
with right hand fingers brought together).
Then, holding your dear body briefly to me,
we kiss.
Our conversation smiles
and I delight to watch your face
and hear the to and fro of your regional voice.
I delight in such accustomed intimacy
so many years of tea together
in late afternoons has forged.
As different as the yin and yang
there is a chemistry
that acts upon us both;
I think we pass the litmus test of love.
Do you love me? Do I love you?
You - the friend I turn to first;
You - a companion true in this life of shadows.
Once we would stand together at a mirror,
stand with smiling pleasure
and see the 'fit', a very noticeable joy;
the two of us a corporate one.
You in my arms: I in yours;
A mutual hug caught in our reflection.
And the wonder that this should be as it is.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Let lore luster lax,
Lingered love leavens.
Let love loop lilac lei lavishly.
Listen lovelorn lilt, laconic liken
Lisping liturgy, limping litany.
Litmus-leaking longing, languor lengthened.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
I stood upside down on the watery
side of the sea line and looked at the
world I was standing on, the stars
blew out and re-appeared like the people
walking past the cafe bench. The guy
with the newsboy cap, made his
rounds around the city, a white-out inscription
on brick caught his attention:
“You anticipated
this time in another place.”
The daughter of the woman
behind the flower stand
draws chalked fish completed with
succeeding circles to indicate
bubbles, bubbles on the asphalt.
She was right: I had learned
to breathe underwater and as a litmus
test I turned my eyes to the single
tree on the island. It shivered
like seaweed. I went up to the stand
and purchased the ugliest peony,
the one with petals that were
chiseled like frozen waves.
I gave the lady
my last quarter and as I
turned around I saw the face of the guy
with the newsboy cap, only this time it was infinitely larger,
peeking over the horizon like the sun
when it first rises. And then, a hand coming up,
from under, fingers tapping from the other side,
taps reverberating through sky,
as though there was inside and outside
and this whole time I was
in an aquarium.
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 8:45 PM UTC
Profound profanity, he says, is the key to germination.
But why, I say, would one ever want to procreate?
For the experience, he says, which is about the journey and not the destination.
I can understand this,
it's like riding a bike
a stationary bike
that goes nowhere but see, you're going! Going and going.
I do see
and so does he
so what do we do?
Not a whole lot, just sit and talk of trains and temperature and how pirates walk.
He likes to do litmus tests of our saliva and hang them in the windows for all to see
that we are not acidic, but on acid, and sometimes a bit base in nature,
like the trees and the crysanthimums and corinthian columns in Greece.
We traveled to Greece, once, on our stationary bike
it was beautiful and real and there was much salt in the air-
they grow olives and fish in the trees
and their water is just teeming with rust.
We put our rust on buttered toast like cinnamon and munched at the oxidized metal,
crunching like captains and cheesin like goats
just a random bunch of fools with our silver and tenticals and suction cups of steel.
We are like robots, fighting crime and boredom with music and shrugs
because frankly my dear we don't give a ram or an aries or any other kind of anything.
We simply do not
because we will not, and refuse, above all else, to sleep without a star in the sky.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
human detritus deaf to empathy
misanthropes bound by apathy
just above the dotted line we
signed our own death warrants
guilty as charged
existential and intellectual suicide
we'd rather gouge out our eyes
bury our heads in the sand
than give a moment's pause to
consider our own arrogance
**** sapiens
we carved our legacy into the globe
and we will rest in the husk
of a massive unmarked grave
a solitary chunk of floating rock
adrift in outerspace
"the fate of every successful species
is to wipe itself out"
can we harness the courage to turn away
from our vapid lives before it's too late
can we unplug our minds from the machine
extricate ourselves and learn to breathe
with lungs instilled through millennia of
evolution before we suffocate in ennui
humanity is on life-support
it's tempting to pull the plug
let Mother Nature reclaim her earth
from an entitled race of
self-destructive fools
coddled from childbirth but
there is a nascent impulse that
echoes in every heartbeat
living within our blood
to regard one another with the new eyes
science has built each of us
no longer can we trust self-styled
leaders of the free world
the impetus rests within the crux
of self-acceptance
anarchy is the litmus test
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Rinse
Repeat
A simple man, trapped by society,
Raised to feel indebted to his family
His fantasy is printed and framed
Above the job's lobby. A beautiful
Scene of the mountains in Nagasaki.
The clear air clears the clouds
Of the the solvent factory
So he sits and stares
Ever unsure of his trajectory.
Rinse
Repeat
The quality of his life is priced
At $4.50. If he can't get his fix
Of burritos and churro sticks,
His world turns to bricks.
His grip slips.
The slight weight shift on his hips
Strips his exuberant demeanor
Like a lunar eclipse.
Rinse
Repeat
When he tries to adlib the script,
Life and love kicks him in the intelligence.
His happiness doesn't take precedence
Over the dead presidents he needs
To keep his residence. It's evident
In his directionless aggressiveness,
He feels irrelevant to his existence.
So, he slows the pistons of his brilliance.
Rinse
Repeat
His silence has made him forget his presence
He's become convinced that washing metal prints
Isn't against his will. That the fulfill-
Ment of another's vision is the pill
To his sickness. Like the use of litmus
Will heal his mental limpness
Between 9 and 5. The only thoughts
He completes are rinse and repeat
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
a chemist in love:
I think you must be acidic
(and I merely litmus)
because the way you kiss me
turns me red;
a biologist in love:
I think you must be ipecac
because the way you touch me
makes my stomach flip;
a physicist in love:
I think you must be seismic
because the way you love me
makes me shake;
a physicist in love;
I think you must be seismic
because the things you say to me
make me shudder;
a biologist in love:
I think you must be ipecac
because the way you touch me
makes my stomach turn;
a chemist in love:
I think you must be acidic
(and I merely litmus)
because the way you kiss me
fills me with dread.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
... is loving in the face of
TOTAL REJECTION.
SøułSurvivør
9/10/2017
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
Paper, it even sounds cool
Remember Paper Mache at school
Paper is a versatile beast
Paper can be folded and creased
Paper can hold your chips and cod
Paper holds the words of your god
Litmus paper turns a different hue
Paper you use when in the loo
Newspaper to get all your lies
Paper comes in many a disguise
Paper anniversary first year gone
Blank paper ready to write on
Sand paper’s rough but smooths things out
Paper cuts, paper tickets from a tout
Paperless office never to be
Remember paper comes from a tree
Rice paper, sugar paper, paper that’s embossed
Printer paper, blotting paper will absorb the cost
Carbon paper, gold leaf paper, cotton papers too
Origami, baking paper just to name a few
Paper for your love letters, notes to her indoors
Old discarded wallpaper to line your chest of drawers
Paper table cloth and napkins, paper plates and cups
Paper when your computer fails you, just for your back ups
Paper planes, Christmas decs, sticky labels to remind
Envelopes and stamps, paper roller blinds
Wrapping paper for presents, to make someone’s day
Fivers, tens and fifties, to help you pay your way
Paper mills keep turning, magazines and books
Paper muffin cups for bakers and for cooks
Paper bags to shop with, bunting to celebrate
Fancy tissue paper, paper to laminate
Paper for all of mankind, paper pocket diaries
Paper trails and shredders, papers for your enquiries
Paper in the wastepaper bin, paper piles so high
There’s nothing like a piece of paper 1,2 or 3 ply
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 5:49 PM UTC
The litmus test for loneliness, is the approaching dark
and the clawing hand
that pulls you closer to your resignation to become engulfed in it.
An empty café
bustling only with,
The screaming thoughts that stack up in your mind like poker chips. The same expression frozen stiff makes you fake a smile
when least appropriate.
A jester at the funeral,
Human touch just strikes you as unusual because an open hand is like
subtle subterfuge, syphoning your soul for personal use.
Emotional exposure erodes a stone demeanor.
Loneliness is like an open road with no street signs pointing home.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 11:54 AM UTC
the red girl turning blue
means she's falling for you
displays her love's basic
your charm has done the trick.
the blue girl turning red
means your chance is bleak
displays no love is bred
your sight makes her acidic.
the red girl remaining red
the blue girl remaining blue
in this worst case I'm afraid
she's neutrally looking at you.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
The Apostle Paul, pronounced a bitter curse [1]
If you preach Paul’s Gospel, then site the chapters and the verse
-
His Gospel he wrote down, and sent it to a Church [2]
To the Church that was in Corinth, “the scriptures” they did search
-
An example they did have, from Berea did this come
They searched the scriptures daily, to Paul’s curse they’d not succumb [3]
-
“According to the scriptures” is the BEDROCK preached by Paul
The chapters and the verses, learn them learn them ALL
-
To preach “another gospel”, upon you Paul’s curse will be
You will burn in Hell, Paul’s TRUTH you did not see
-
Salvation is of God, take heed to what Paul wrote [4]
Know the chapters and the verses, be able of them quote
-
This is the litmus test, between the ****** and saved
To know not these Holy Scriptures, means you are depraved [5]
-
The depraved will burn in Hell, Paul’s curse will be fulfilled
According to the Scriptures, with death you will be killed [6]
[1] Gal 1:8
[2] 1st Cor 15:1~4
[3] Acts 17:10&11
[4] Jonah 2:9
[5] 2nd Tim 3:7&8
[6] Rev 2:23
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
You were singing the blues when I met you,
Singking your heart of misrule,
Into an ocean of second thoughts.
The saddest note on your table;
A pen unwilling to write,
Its ink afraid to swirl.
I took the seat in front of you,
As I opened my soul like a blank page.
Your hand began scribbling again,
Writing our next days with better hues.
Until you decided that my page was full,
That there's not enough space for your stories.
Now I'm stuck with these scripts of red,
With your handwriting all over it.
These traces of broken promises and misgivings,
I'll try to erase it all or rip it out.
As I open a new sheet to another stranger
You play your songs of blues again.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
I'm bionic
Misfit
Mischief
These are words that pop up on my auto correction keyboard.... then I think
**** ...
this smart phone really does know me
better than me
A leaf blows catches wind
And frolicks down the streeet
Attach a go pro cam and catch some moments hopefully
Mold it cope with
flash photography
Molten lava seeps beneath the seats of the deceased
increased tensions building filling streets with the police
riot gear and gas masks
flying beer and possibly
biased fear in the stratosphere
I nearly stear clear of the mere thought of
Baskin in the omnipotence
Set aside our differences
And balance the arithmetic
With a litmus stick
Sign, seal it lick and stick
A stamp
deliver quick
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 5:57 AM UTC
What exactly are we afraid of?
feeling liberated or being berated?
satiating my thirst for love seems easy
but the thought makes me queasy
the reasons complex
my head's a clouded mess
rotting piles of plastic phrases festering while resting in crowded corners
not neglected nor respected
because it's infected, contagious and spreading
setting the tone for the rest of the night
it's like an internal fight
but there's no winner
i'm just a beginner, or better a sinner
maybe some food or dinner will put to rest
this litmus paper truth test...
my head is like a jail
and i'm stuck in a head arrest.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
--- <3 ---
My heart is a litmus paper.
A red.
Sometime s a blue.
An unusual gray sometimes.
Just for the cheer.
Acidic wit comes to rescue.
My heart is a litmus paper.
--- <3 ---
My heart is a litmus paper.
It cries for love.
It caresses the hate.
Its my soul pumping life to my body.
A red, sometimes.
Sometimes, a blue.
--- <3 ---
My heart is a litmus paper.
Take it , or leave it.
The conclusion is in your hands.
Yes! Right there.
Be it or believe it.
My heart is a litmus paper.
--- <3 ---
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
you’re like art or something --
i don’t understand you and i always think i’m supposed to.
you remind me of stealing from my parent’s liquor cabinet,
i can’t look at you too long without feeling like
i’m gonna get caught up in something.
i can’t look at you too long without feeling like
i’m breaking some sort of rule.
now i know that love was the first time i saw weezer live,
that love was losing your voice because you’re singing too loud,
that love was pressing you down the backseat of your car,
that love was censored out of this poem.
too explicit. too tongue and teeth.
love was an honest liar.
love was at least 70% proximity, maybe.
love was not a victory march, just the drive the home.
we are terrified of it, maybe that’s why we like it.
there is no litmus test for love. just trial and error.
just… a lot of error.
love is hotel room we’re never going back to.
we existed there once
but we time ran out and had to return our keys, go home from vacation.
there are no good poems that come from that.
just 2 AM and missed calls and quiet.
see, i am bad at doing simple things.
my hands shake too hard and ruin dreams.
i hold too hard or push even harder.
baby, you were never hard to love, i just wasn’t any good at it.
see, i can write three page poems about the curve of your eyelashes
or the way your laugh sometimes gets stuck
in the back of your throat like a secret,
but i cannot seem to look you in in the eye
and be honest with you.
so tell me what to do when you’re staring god asking if he exists,
tell me what to do when every shot you’ve taken has missed.
tell me what to do when you’re standing on a dance floor
after all the music is gone,
like the fifth of july when all the fireworks have faded out of the sky
and all that’s left is casings and matches.
tell me what to do when you run out of words.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
oh yeah, there's enough Bolognese sauce to go round... round and round the Bolognese sauce goes round, while we milk the cow for the Béchamel sauce! raw eggs the sushi apéritif; eh, Bologna! tiff piff paff bara boom, Arab dead naked in the sand as described by Camus... so forget the mama mia... eh?
the world's too big for us
to encompass a global individual;
not even a bottle of whiskey will aid
the idea... and a Dubai Lamborghini
will not craft an Indiana Jones adventure
either, a global individual is a
mistaken litmus test... a failing...
listen to the peepsqueak pokémons,
i'm not even in possession of ropes
for a stalker motive...
globalisation gave us the distancing safety...
god help us with the internet auto-suggestive
of its narcissistic ownership by rich youth...
**** them to hell and their monopolization of things,
have they even registered the notion
that adverts can be bypassed via pause and forward
and the mute buttons? or did they just spend their
father's inheritance on bling-bling to show off?
here's the mansion... and here's the Hilton gutter...
welcome to Paris, ******
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
Just be open and honest, transparency is a way forward.
Ego, lies, deception, mind games are just a thing of the past.
Carry your heart on your sleeve, one should express all, how they feel. People might hurt in the beginning but as the time goes by you tend to connect with only like minded people, likely with the one with an open mind and crystal clear heart. Someone who wouldn't be scared to reciprocate the honesty, selflessness, love, respect and trust.
This is the way to filter the odd ones out of your life, its a litmus test
Those who are wiling to be by your side through think and thin, the most difficult times until the end regardless of your past, are the only one's who deserves a fair chance, rest all are just a waste of time.
Remember, if you don't ask you don't get what you need, don't assume others would know what you want, as not many are good at reading minds and hearts.
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 11:09 AM UTC
I am in need of litmus paper;
A wriggling creature indeterminately featured follows,
It does not sit nor stand no feet nor hands just wriggling waving scribbling in goopy slop, no stops
The smell of burning band-aids trailing in its wake.
Savage monstrous floatation above a tile sea,
Its motions are elegantly sick, delightful barf,
And I think I am thinking I'd like to know what it thinks,
But then, I know I should never truly know.
I am in need of litmus paper.
Is it an acid, base, or an accidental space
Filled, yet out of place, a dogma to my face?
Recurrent in its situation, killed once, but a reactivation?
I am in need of litmus paper.
Somewhere, I find, I am in the trail it leaves behind.
In this sign, I am afraid.
As it situates, conscious or unconsious,
Wriggling along, regurgitating from behind itself over and over again,
Halving itself, then fusing whole again,
It stares ahead, using an invisible force, inward eyes inside a blank face, to its next traversed inch in the slimy tiles.
And I think,
I need litmus paper.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
"Catching him in his utmost real expression is almost impossible"
She sinks in despair,he manifests hydra-headed,beyond her grasp.
He doesn't fight contradictions; seeds sown for diverse harvests are him.
He plants a fervent kiss on her lips,"This is patented you" she concedes .
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
I think you must be acidic
and I just litmus
because the way you kiss me
turns me red
...
You are acidic
And I was a base
I felt everything at once
and then nothing at all
...
You are acidic
and I am only human
You are long gone
But the burns are still here
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
There is something
other than a man
about him
eyes bright,
lips
locked
tight
his fingers
are not that
much longer
than mine
they too
know
chemicals
the touch of glass
between your bare
skin and acid
I tap words
through the sheets
with my finger-
tips
dot dot dot
dot dot
dot
and through the
haze of sleep
he smiles
his mouth titling
towards mine
we don’t call it
kissing
it is the pleasent purple
colour of neutral
litmus paper
it is our data
spreading
from the corners
of our mouths
into my
cheeks
my body betrays me
and colours them
red
but it is more
than a flush
of a fantasy
made present
to be able
to touch
this man who hides
(and lies)
to know
this light touch
of a man in
a mask
which he allows
only me to
see
through
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC