"octane" poems
Before his teen age
turns the pages he dies
a life through years
of neglect for the frail
bony frame drowsy feet
dark sunken eyes
wandering the street
craving white pure
pleasures and dreams
sores moon crater arms
tributaries of ****
star marks parched skin
dry bloodied screams
of glorious pills injecting
intoxicated stuffs
forbidden fruits
trappings of worldly heaven
addictive octane ecstasy
tiger terminator of
a young man flourishing
now depleted sad
youth corrupted by a love
pursued but lost
eyes vacant trailed tears
pleading please forgive
me mom and dad
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine
There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind
Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair
You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent
That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
All the pretty birds
perched on leafy branches
chirp to the waking morning,
“I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?
I am here. Where are you?”
And the puppy dogs
all starve for something
While the cats of fortune
laze about the alleyways.
But the pretty birds
all the morning long,
“I am here. Where are you?”
The tardy businessmen
and their non-fat lattes
squirm in BMWs,
Honking at traffic
with the most colorful swears,
“I am here! I am here!
I am here! I am mad! I am here!”
High-octane housewives
power walk the parks,
Gabbing. And the old folks
tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks,
Mumble to long gone loved ones,
“Where are you? Where are you?
Where am I? Where are you?”
But those ****** birds-
Those pretty, ****** little birds-
They have it figured out.
They know the secrets
to Happiness:
‘I am here.
Where are you?’
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:27 AM UTC
She breaths octane
gas polluting my heart,
and paralyzes my emotions,
love straining to restart.
Blue blistering toes,
pneumonia-driven prose,
she aches the bone inside of me
delivering a cold.
Moving towards
my aching soul,
she finds my
emptiness, tenfold.
Gaseous toxic dust
confides within my lungs,
her selfish evil breath fills me,
permanent distrust.
She drinks blood through
my straw-thin veins,
detracts my serenity;
swallows it all the same.
Disfigured masterpiece discharged
and broken on a hospital cart,
you're jealousy tears me apart,
I wait for the autopsy chart...
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 8:53 PM UTC
the Internet sets
higher aspirations
a teaching guide,
on how to
go beyond and deep into
the fast lane's curved and wide,
stretching
the straight and narrow
longer than lasting,
lasting no longer than
memory feelings
blurred overlapping burnt edged video recordings
pores pour oil and noise,
differentiating little between
beginning ending continuous
in the mind, from the walls,
Santana Rob sings "Smooth,"
but it is
the guitar wailing controlled penetrations.
a national anthem
of driven perpetual needy fomenting
outspoken physical truths
you don't care how you
got there,
where you are,
anybody's name,
high octane high performance
*** today,
is not for
the shy and the retiring, sissies,
we all got the necessary expertise,
with violin accompanist of pharma teaching aids
recalling first time tumblings,
exhaling
deep down throated rumblings,
rushing
fumbling ********* an ****** innocence
rushes of surprise and discovery,
success of feeling successful,
the shame of miscommunications
think I'm gonna watch me
a romantic comedy,
write her a love poem,
come up from behind,
caress her *******
kidding kissing her ear lobes,
then entering her entry point,
her neck
even when she is
armed
but forgiving,
busy chopping dinner's vegetables,
make them make them
give up the hidden
soft atonal squealing
like a
piccolo on steroids,
high pitch teasing,
pinched by air ****** intaking
I'll play the bass,
hitting those low notes,
********* my own strings,
deep ooh's and aah's
diode emitting,
the drug employed
is unadulterated
wanton but wanted
desire
this won't be the poem of the day,
no mind,
it already is was and
will be...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Airwaves awash in the new gospel barrage:
calling forth the neighbourhood hack,
Abe Lincoln toon in towering hat,
the corporation is coming -
will you not
collaborate my friend?
Everything good that you ever dreamed of is here:
Marbonite floored flats with self-terraced roofs;
The swankiest of cars, in imported hues;
Your arm candy drools,
now, brands, bigger brands!
All in your grasp, now, in community gates
shut safe as society decays.
Skies spitting frogs? Pestilences amass?
Listen to the Gospel according to Bane:
in the desert, smell octane. Hallelujah,
everything we make, from watches
to headscarves - your underwear is cheaper
sourced from the next so-lala-land.
Forget your sources tiny of incomes varying:
Bakers, cobblers, tinkerers, we also have
a uniform for you. Oh you rustic
tradition-bound bandy bumpkins!
Abandon your alleyways, and
welcome to the ghettos...where
What you eat, to where to retreat:
we cure everything from heartache to panache.
Wash away your sins in wonder medicines;
Waters can part, yes, see how the Pharoah
is disarmed; Big city dreams, dream
global manna beams. All that is needed for
salvation, is a little bit of classification. Are you
left-wing or right? Center-left or center-right?
The powerdrill tearing down edifices
resonating through noon. A crane arm's shadow
hovering high by the moon. Tablets from skies
now proclaim the new gospel for the land,
the airwaves are awash
of the miracle of Witwatersrand.
The corporation is coming, to a store near you:
Amen! Will you not, then, collaborate, my friend?
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
Andrew Gn
Probably the most prolific Singaporean designer, Gn graduated from the renowned Saint Martins School of Art and Design in London and the Domus Academy in Milan before joining Emanuel Ungaro in 1992. He launched his namesake label in 1996, establishing a fan base among the Parisian high society and A-list celebrities such as Jessica de Rothschild and Sarah Jessica Parker for his luxurious fabrics and exquisite embellishments. Gn was awarded the President’s Design Award in 2007 and is stocked in all the major continents, with his atelier based in the Le Marais district in Paris.
Ashley Isham
The other Singaporean high fashion designer to hit big time in the international circuit, Isham established his namesake label in London in 2000, and is a show fixture at London Fashion Week. The label is known for its sharp, contemporary tailoring and high-octane glamour, and is a hit among film, TV and music stars as well as British royalty.
Aijek
Self-taught designer Danelle Woo creates easy-breezy, ultra-feminine pieces in sustainable fabrics. Aijek is stocked at multi-label boutiques in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia, Latin America, the Middle East and the United States.
Depression
The neo-Gothic ready-to-wear label’s stark, minimalist designs are stocked in Hong Kong, Belgium, Japan and the U.S., and counts celebrities like Adam Lambert and The Black-Eyed Peas as fans.
Sabrina Goh
The feted Singaporean designer stocks her easy-to-wear pieces from her namesake label at multi-label boutiques in the United States, the Fred Segal store in Japan and a London-based online store Not Just A Label.
Max Tan
The avant-garde label features experimental silhouettes and a contemporary artistic flair, and is stocked in Europe, the Middle East, San Francisco and Taiwan.
Benjamin Barker
This stylish menswear brand founded by designer Nelson Yap in 2009 now has two stores in Melbourne and offers custom tailoring as well. It also offers shipping to Australia and New Zealand via its website BenjaminBarker.co. .
In Good Company
The well-loved minimalist label with unusual silhouettes fronted by designers Sven Tan and Kane Tan is stocked in Hong Kong at Kapok, at various departmental stores in Jakarta, Indonesia, including Sogo, Seibu and Galleries Lafayette Jakarta and in New York’s Saks Fifth Avenue.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
Light steps sound from the basement stairs.
A case of home brewed liquor in his father’s hands.
Bizarre, cancerous bulges from cap to bottom.
Plastic explosives from corrosive neglect from stow-away rooms
in white neighborhoods.
His father with a bronze idea, all of them with a destructive mind
A twenty-two saloon rifle bottled up too,
like a maniac gone off his reds and blues,
ready to fire out
with remorseless recoil.
High octane, high explosive, high art.
Cartridge clicks into the chamber.
Son like father, his aim is true.
Like twelve year olds with cherry bombs
we blast a hole right through.
******* boom! Rancid swill rain
staining the biting bright snow
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Verse 1:
Why am I so disconnected?
My soul is screaming out to me in a passionate furor.
Sanguine and red hot flames are running down my spine;
I’m blazing through misfortune with opulent eyes.
I see death all around me but in my heart there is hope,
Time has healed past welts now the Lord shall cleanse me once more.
In time it has been revealed to me that the Lord has the sinew,
to fight off the eternal of death and the Cimmerian.
Eternity is all around me, your flames scorch me whole;
I lie on the bed covered in anxious goo.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has granted me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul.
Verse 2:
My spirit lies in front of me separated from my soul;
I’m an incorporeal being who no longer has a definite form.
You’re the one I long for and I know that you’re all I see,
“I truly wish that you would take to time to actually notice me!”
Why can’t you see that I would lock your heart away?
I’d store it in a chest full of my sacred and cherished dreams.
You’re my goldmine, the apple of my eye;
You’re that mellifluous melody chanting in my ear.
You’re a divine masterpiece and I love you with my eyes;
I wish I could eternally gaze upon you and make your beauty my muse.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Bridge:
Holy and pure is that pearl with your name inscribed,
Your name inscribed upon it and it befits my enamoring crown.
I want you to adorn me with your brilliant and glimmering gems;
Please complement my apparel with an extravagant diadem.
I love the eyes you possess, those diamonds that seem to gleam;
I desire your magic spells to fuse me with your soul.
I went insane for but a moment but to me it has been revealed,
That sanity belongs to the one who cherishes His dream of love.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Something like octane
distant
profane
It's a longing
believing in belonging
taken by the need
salivating from memories
Something like octane
burning
insane
Resonating shouts of joy
spark controversy
Bipartisan all of us beset
By greed for what we ***
Something like octane
charged
heart engorged
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
Dying days
I'm looking for a way out
Feelin' like a ghost
Itching for an overdose
Action
Reaction
Action
Reaction
Strike the match
Hijack a limousine
Dying for a taste
High octane gasoline
Action
Reaction
**** satisfaction
Read my lips
Nothin' to live for
But the eight ball
Nothin' to live for
Gonna burn it all
Dog bite
Distraction
No satisfaction
Stayin' numb
Action
Reaction
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
Fresh Direct
Exit
I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.
Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.
Refill
My woman, my number one fan,
Grabs her pillow, mashes her face
Into my iPad warmed chest,
Without asking permission,
Thus fulfilling her mission critical.
Restoring the balance, refilling the tank
With high octane mystical, thru skin umbilical,
A first edition of the day blended mix named,
All's Well That Ends Well.
7:45 am
July 14th, 2013
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
I'm not gona take my life.
Cause it's not mine to take.
It was yours which you gave.
Now this burden to bare is my fate.
My hearts filled with love.
Slowly gettin drained.
And its gettin refilled.
With all this pain.
What they are refilling with is high octane.
Wish i could sell my soul.
Just for 1 happy day.
Too bad i cant..
Its not his to take.
Wish i could sell my soul.
too bad i cant..
Cause thats not a deal i can make.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 6:56 PM UTC
*my house shoes shuffle my gait across linoleum earth
and a thin layer of bisquick and dander. last night's raid
on the larder and this morning's coffee quest, collide
in the long slant shadows of a slow moving star, on the rise
like a yellow souffle with a nuclear heart.
i imagine a vertical carousel, grinding 'round the house
of my muffins and octane. dragging pin lights and globes
over the horizon... marching an infinite parade of other worlds
above my crust of stone and blue oceans, crashing a thousand miles
from my domain... i envision the void on a string of pearls
and deep sea horses galloping 'cross the gap...
i toss sugar into a ceramic misadventure from the state fair
and sip remarkable from the lip
of space. and consume*.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
383 small block, double-hump heads,
fuel injection, supercharger
a midnight cruise
flaming hot licks on black lacquer paint
street lights blowing past
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Road signs, blue eyes, blonde hair,
cherry red lips framed in a billet mirror
long legs hang under
a plaid mini-skirt straddling
a 4-speed.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Exhaust fumes, tire smoke,
high octane fuel, perfume
waters both mouth and eyes
Detroit steel never smelled this good
Red fingernails dig denim at 5500 rpm.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
Chrome bumpers, chrome grills,
chrome smiles, chrome thrills.
That’s chrome, baby.
That’s chrome.
© 2010 C.T. Bailey
Apr 9, 2011
Apr 9, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
I know what makes your burn
It's the dim of a moonlit night
and the saunter of lips up hills and valleys--
It's the crackle of cigarettes
atop our pleasantries
and the spill of sweet talk
made unchained by our mouths
To be covered in love until the following dawn
dripping drops of lovey-dovey morning dew...
To be terribly in love until the following dawn
drinking shots like doting lovebirds do...
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 6:20 AM UTC
Entombed in chrome, steel, and speed,
Humanity slays the night
With headlights,
Banshee engines screaming
V8 defiance,
High-octane ghosts in the exhausts
Bellowing spectral smoke,
A motorized mausoleum
Driving away from nature
And slipping into darkness
In the midnight heart
Of a graveyard city.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
methyl (1R,2R,3S,5S)-3- (benzoyloxy)-8-methyl-8-azabicyclo[3.2.1] octane-2-carboxylate
Cahn Ingold Prelog
Whose rules are these? Press
on my lips boy, fill my face
and my hands with love.
Fill it up with confetti
little pink hearts that flutter
like Eskimo kisses or snowflakes.
Chop it doll. Link my elbow.
I'm so in love with a boy
that doesn't even drink -
I wonder if he loves me too.
He doesn't.
I wonder if he knows
that without him I'll get in with the ******* crew.
I know the chemistry of it. I can read the IUPAC.
I can breathe the molecules
I can taste the bad decisions I'm making.
I eat junk food and drink too much
€3.99 Revero
so I can stomach bad things.
Your saliva swims in with the bile.
How many times have I puked
behind cars
or old convents? Too many.
How many boys have I loved? Too many.
Anyway,
uni is finished soon.
I'm going home. Home again.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
propellant
that's
what
you
are
High
Octane
Petrol
Gasoline
Jet Fuel
Methane
Carbohydrate
Rocket Gas
Gas
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
the love I have for you
hauntingly beautiful
you make my heart a raging storm
then a calm stream after a storm
you are my tornado, a hurricane
blow me away from feeling normal
your love feels like a breeze
you provoke my emotions with ease
my match, I am your octane
let's turn this spark into a fire
I am scared but this is what I truly desire.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
Today I am a crumpled can.
I am a satsuma left to shrivel in the sun.
I am a star gone supernova,
I implode, cave into myself
With a kind of sick brilliance.
In my holocaust of thought,
There is no peace.
There is only war.
There are only battles to be won.
I am no longer allowed to lose this race.
Normally my veins are filled with blood,
But today it is octane and oxygen
Chemicals clashing and consuming me in flame.
I am luminescent with disease.
My skin glows bright with fear.
Inside my skull, something is raging.
I keep my head down, cast my eyes to the ground,
Concentrate on forward movement.
I cannot think for all that sadness and fear.
I didn't know my eyes could hold so many tears.
Today, I am a crumpled can, a satsuma left to rot.
I sit on the sidelines and wait for my walls to give in.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
you pulled my hand with such a slight effort, like you were taking a teenager for shopping, you were the girl with a sapphire bandanna, and your hair lacking composure, not ready to be stroked by the Roman ghosts, which for unreasonable tenacity have always created a war between your hobby and your will to die, and the peace treaties on the shelves of your heart have compromised with the guilt under your fingernails, and transposed to eulogies I always read from your lips when you said 'Your perfume smells like graveyard poetry festooned with dead roses', because this is exactly what you subjoined on the last line about your deceased father, you never understood the reason why i didn't want you to get in contact with my collarbones when we hugged, and apparently I wouldn't let you sleep leaning against the headboard as you told me about witchcraft and ancestors, you remember the skim milk we used to have? In the afternoons of hopeless radiance, when you reached for my ribcage, and whispered it was the only bulletproof jacket you'd wear if bullets had to fall in love with you, all this because we believed in the prophecy of 'us against the world'
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
just a few more moments with I and I, just a few more bounds, the world really isn't about me at the end of the day, no, the world functions as a system, where there is pull and push but at the end a ravine, stuck and unstuck out of time, the perception, from the highest points and the lowest, girls, men, women, things, animals, eating up their own souls for the cold dip into the lake, we try our best to communicate, but voices are chordless under ice, we do what we can to make it better, a bit more kindness, just a bit sweeter,
I'd like to
slow down
the right type of distraction, any distraction, conversation, another....interpretation
another book, tell me should should should or hear or hear or feel
another way, another outlook, another ending
my restless bones bound for ****** for mud, for roller coaster, for high, octane fury, some sort of a blazing high lighter fluid disaster, tossed into the fire, and imploded in seconds, check to make sure there are no parents
the principles that brought me thought at one point now churn in uncontrollable dynamic
I'm not sure if there's any going back
at this point...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
Where there's smoke,
there's fire.
This burning
is not cliche,
nor peculiar,
it's a natural
hormonal-thing.
She spins me
round and round,
makes such
sweet
lovely sounds,
sings to me
with those precious lips.
I am warm to the touch,
in a trance with her,
her dripping words,
her sensuous vibe
& I feel zombie-like,
she fuels my desire,
high octane mama.
Touch me.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC