"metallurgy" poems
She rises above Monamoy Point
on her wake—a Tenebrae of carbon
Then bolts back
careening cross blue-black—
through her lucent clouds of hair
from which on radii spray a diaspora of stars
Mistress of Metallurgy
tempered, tampering
Darkness forged to alloy with light
Men have always wondered...
how anything could be so round?
To arouse a sullen tide
her fingers palpate night-water’s lead
tingling light of limbs so spread
to her lover!
Close him in—
a pewter path of trembling touches
that ends in the small of her back
Men so wooed, still shudder
“How anything so tender...?”
could expose such stone!
She eclipses the sun!
She commands the sky!
...to hone his steel on that!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
all of my toys.
a parallel universe of
marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!
i remember my cheap svelte revolver
back in 1998 bought from
the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.
i used to run off into the sunset
toting my gun high with pride
shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
over my rendezvous.
now my gun has withstood the
tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
brokenness as it yearns to
be retired early in the peak
of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
it to unsheathe the grime
of the unspoken stucco concrete.
i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
of a santan over the fields
where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
and intricate.
i heard my black revolver went
somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
caught within the heaviness
of all things that mean greater
than all other joys,
no other days could ever
surpass how
i made
a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
that i keep.
good ole black revolver, 1998.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
My heart was leaden. Now, is gold
to purify, to temper shame?
Embracing you may strengthen, fold.
A flux of alchemy untold,
in ev’ry frown you’ve made a game;
What once was leaden now is gold.
I wonder if you’d cleave or scold
if Metallurgy weren’t my name,
for holding you has made me fold.
“Our beauty’s something to behold,”
so confidently you proclaim,
“we once were lead and now we’re gold!”
But if we only fill a mold,
could love continue on the same?
Can holding you maintain this fold
away from all that’s cruel and cold?
Still soft from passion’s blissful flame,
embracing now; together fold,
To blend, somehow, our lead and gold.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
You were mine
You owned me but I thought I bought you
To the right, straight on ‘til morning, priceless
Tundra frontier vast expanse of possibility final
Let’s settle down
Our place very fine
Satan’s little acre
Where work got done you oversaw
To the left, we kissed deep, drunk each other
Families commingled extended
Biblically umbilical making babies
Behind the audacious bleachers
Our promise broken unfulfilled
Until our hot integrity solders this metallurgy
Together again like joint work power coupled
With terpsichorean abandon unleashed
I’ll stop the world
Board the white van
Emerge my own man
And you are his
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Sleeping,
I had
not a dream
but
a vision,
seething
of desires
suppressed;
seeking
your warmth,
your fire,
your light.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
if you think you're made of steel just remember:
the fire love brings is hot enough to melt even the strongest metal
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
Romance for me is about moments of connection
to feel something larger than myself
To witness the cosmos in and from the eyes of another
To be vulnerable, raw, wild, honest, open, books of discovery
Moments that make me feel deep and lush
Hypnotic. A whispered word. A brush of skin. Shared desires.
Late nights. Moon light. Inside jokes. Thoughtful words.
Laughter. Fireworks. Fireflies. Campfires. Rainy days in.
Pillow fights. Pranks. Trust. Live music. Cold beer.
Carnivals. Confidence. Honesty. Legos. Little round ice cubes.
Sledding. Gingersnaps. Aggressive Sports. Motorcycles.
Clean lines. The horizon. Walks. Avocados. Wine. Bare feet.
Morbidity. Sarcasm. Wit. Presence. Midnight. Open arms.
Yellow Curry. Coloring. Puzzles. Abandoned Places.
White chocolate. Fruit jellies from Germany. Motown. Violins.
Art Nouveau. Intimacy. Decorum. Curiosity. Metallurgy.
Alchemy. A well told story. Absurdity. Whimsy. Shade. Shadows.
Things that are slightly off. Heavy blankets. Bubbles. Silhouettes.
Glitter. Smirks. Poise. Grace. The melody in a laugh.
The blush of cheeks. The thought in a touch. Poise. Grace.
Night time insect and frog lullabies. Autumn Forests.
The way a hummingbirds and dragonflies fly. Outtakes. Freckles.
Tickles. Rain. Fog. Strangers. Dancing. Finger foods.
Warm apple cider. Open windows. Wood wind chimes.
Squishing my toes in dirt. The moment a smile begins.
Mood lighting. Candles. String lights. Sherbert. Snuggles.
Warming my **** by a fire and sitting down fast. Treasure.
Lightning. Beethoven. ******* Challenges. Delayed Gratification.
Desired anticipation. Seduction. The wind. Cedar chests. Calliopes.
Austria. Vistas. Fingertips. Dangling my feet. Whispers. Spirals.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
As I sit and sip a glass of wine,
I think about all the mistakes I've made,
Loving you is one of them,
Deprivation I felt when you left,
Destined were we for each other,
Rapturing was your soul,
Full of lustre and captivation,
Drawing me closer to yourself,
Where, vague to me was wtitten on your forehead, beware,
Zeus and poseidon weren't even that strong to set us part,
Metallurgy and chromatography were weaker than I thought,
Our lives together shone,
The radiance and heart amidst our relationship was at spark,
Why'd you go and vandalize what once we fought for?
I was mortified by society from that day on,
Promising to myself I'd never fall,
Destructing all chemistry to keep at halt,
Never have I moved on from that day on,
Never will I even ponder upon that thought.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
well, sure, philosophers argue against the sophists,
or what they deem: the art of rhetoric,
the act of speaking persuasively -
and that's grand, it really is... but then
some sophist comes along, say antiphon,
and he says: i have an argument against
the anti-rhetoric of philosophers,
i have an answer against thinkers.
a sophist's argument against philosophers is tiny,
like an atom, it's tiny, because it's but a single word;
now words are atoms, and letters aren't,
in the same way that chemists see elements
as if atoms, and do not go beyond Fe (iron), Pb (lead),
Xe (xeron) N (nitrogen) -
because then their main endeavour is lost,
as would be the case in metallurgy -
i.e. there's nothing practical to do with the concept
atom in their field; given the chemical alphabet of
concerns and mandible parts is based on the system of
elements -
e.g. a + b + e + g + i = being
alt. c + h + o (quantity of each) = ethanol (2c, 6h, 1o);
oh i'm pretty sure sophists have an argument against
philosophers, because what that argument is?
a fucking thesaurus;
that's what i've noticed philosophers do,
they engage in applying thesaurus rex in their
rhetoric... a sophist would apply rhetoric to mean one
thing, but actually another, which is called subversion
rather than rhetoric...
he'll say one thing, but mean another, that's beyond
rhetoric, that's subversion -
that's how sophistry evolved over the years,
rhetoric (a), sure, but "rhetoric" (b)? that's the art of subverting
your eloquence at a persuasive argument;
which leads into: **** sapiens? really? such a thing exists?
i'm inclined into **** schizoi* - a split man,
a multiplication of gemini.
but why philosophers and a ****** thesaurus?
well, they're using a rhetorical approach based on that ****** book,
they're juggling their arguments via synonyms,
they're not exactly genius alchemists in that respect,
first they say concept, then they say idea, then they might
say inspiration, or they then might say idealisation,
and then they go bonkers and say talk about a chair,
and say: chairness or chairiness
they go beyond standard adjectives -
and given that, look at the close proximity of what they're
trying to say, and the nearest possible "puzzle", like the word:
cheeriness;
cheer, chair, cherry!
trying to expand on the word chair can be
rather misguiding, considering you can very literally have oak,
and that's it!
there really have to be literal cul de sac
moments in philosophy, where a proper use of coherent language
can become manifest; which alligns itself with the zeitgeist
debacle of "proper" pronoun usage.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
and at every turning -
it's an "ethno-centric"
conundrum -
either random outbursts
of the modern tongue,
that can't be said:
is repressed -
indeed kept intact -
and yes, sometimes merely
hidden, until
it self-demands a presence -
and those: are the sweetest
moments i can ever and never
will forget to fathom:
that seemingly long lost essence
of what i am grounded in -
and fervently explore
in the tongue of acquisition,
that i can confuse
an english psychiatrist
whether to think me
a schizophrenic, or merely bilingual;
so lets not kneel before
the altar of stigmata & taboo,
but therein is the common fear,
and how it feeds and
encourages a respect through
that same commodity,
of being common.
thus having relinquished one's
state of infantile pressures of language -
you can move toward the beyond...
indeed, i have nostalgia
not so much for a country,
but for a childhood -
upon several return visists
i find the land and town of origin
unrecognißable!
why? the child i was and remember
isn't there!
the metallurgy factory that
employed 15,000+ men shut down,
and thus the bright itching dodo:
a town of pensioners,
old communist and deßerters...
i pledge no allegiance to either flag
or land or a former ****
but language?
well, i can allow its
spontaneous emergence
as it sways me in this appropriated
tongue...
but let's be frank,
certain prejudices can be translated,
all to well, in england,
as too in scootland -
i didn't spend 3 years
among the picts for no ****** reason,
ah you see,
if the americans have a derogatory
term for this western slavic
group i am and i'm not part of -
thank you very much for
the supposed "derogatory" term
****** - you said beautifully in my
mothers room, thank you once again
for not confusing with poles and
mahogany polish - thank youn paul;
but you want to know a secret?
what do you think the polacks
call germans?
no clue?
*schwaby / szwaby / swabians -
shvaby*...
polak, polski, po polsku, po ludzku
(a pole, pauleesh, in pauleesh, in **** lingua).
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC