"osmosis" poems
"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love
We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands
She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up
I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't
She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Buds burst forthwith outward
Leaving the private world of
Growth to be anew
The foal steps lightly
First on air then grass
Smoke rushes in hunlike
Ostentatiously in combat
Purity is its own demise
Osmosis and entropy reign
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
.
Aimlessly wandering
with a feeling of agitation,
caught somewhere between
browsing with interest
and prowling with intent.
Distressed and unsettled
like anticipating trauma,
mooching with an emotion
that something is imminent
yet its nature remains veiled.
The horizontal line defines a stability and yet,
it has started to list off to one side.
Tiny perforations promise fragmented logic
by osmosis revealing the storm implied.
The tap of excitable energy is dripping slow
threatening balance with a flood rip tide.
Empathy walks with the expectant father pacing
and coils of despair knot so deep inside.
A nervous anxiety
grips psychology and waits,
caught somewhere between
bleak submissive acceptance
and stark naked panic.
© Pagan Paul (22/05/18)
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Yet I Am Ready
Watching the waves eat away the castles made of sand
Staring at the way wind is churning at infrastructure land
like a big bad wolf who found the fear and lean foundation of a brick house
I am ready for her hand
I am all ready
Traversing fields filled with fruitless wonders
burning tundras rolling thunders
A Man attempting to put out its grand made funeral pyre
with nothing but a Jack and Jill bucket filled with reverse osmosis electrolyte infused hydrogen oxygen expired prayers
I am Ready for no man land
I have a radio already
Listening to Nokia raven chirps and bubble bee gyrations.
Evergreens whispers as wild blooms break concrete and asphalt and building plans
giving smiles to homeless man and woman
dreamers flowering in the night lights that were supposed to replace stars
I am ready
for the woods to takeover the hoods
for bear feets to take over the streets
for napkins to become extinct
to write with my god-given red ink
so that my being will dye into stone and dirt
To leave my DNA on my mothers belly and hear her cry
As she covers my mouth closes her eyes tearful from radioactive winds
let her know that I loved her and hugged her every chance I could
I am ready to give up me for we have not given back enough
We have devoured the essence and forgotten how to seed and harvest
the nothing has become us
which is why Earths flesh is colored rust
like blood mixed with scratching dust
we have bruised the body
and wonder if we can blame something someone else
but US
Every time the finger points the object of our deflection disappears
Rearrange the letters she was trying to help us HEARt
Rearrange the letters EARth is trying to make us Heart
I'm trying to make us Ear
These MTHFCKRS are among US.
We have bred them with our love lust
still unaware that they a fungus
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
they save a life to **** it from us.
they manufacture fakes to stunt us
These MTHRFCKRS have become US
Ideas devoid of what we need to come up
She must go now and rip it from us
We must shed our blood just to fund us
Cause these MTHRFCKRS have out done US
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
Matter can not be created nor destroyed.
Is it the same with love? I wonder.
Perhaps just our love.
One does not create it,
rather falls into it,
proving it's existence.
Love is never lost,
changed only.
It is a chemical reaction,
serotonin
and oxytocin.
The dynamics of our love have shifted.
Once drowning in a volatile sea,
I was obsessed.
Then lying on a dry cracked bed
just as damaging.
Where did the love go?
Into you.
Osmosis of love
through parted lips,
gyrating hips.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.
He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.
We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.
The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”
We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
osmosis
through our faultless immigration
Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
WALLS (Verona)
Mon ami tu vas
where star-crossed hearts' confessions
hides your saint in bricks.
NAPE
Warm whispers of lips
down smooth meadows of your neck,
my familiar bed.
VATTO
Gang signs, ink, and blood
****** in a low beamer
Cool kissing his gun.
BIGOT
Burning up with hate
like an oil spill on one's soul
heartless mouths pollute.
NIJINSKY
So divine such grace
words not made to embody
Ballet when God speaks.
OSMOSIS
Blossoms in winter
bursts of Japanese kisses
how to love haiku.
BLUR
Tears are no longer
loose and quick to disarray
how sight understands.
BARRIER REEF
Great walls dividing
Vast cold deeps from Summer seas
"Hail Metropolis!"
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
HORSE OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR
Auden & Isherwood
strolling in China
trying to soak up
The War
by the process of
osmosis
staining it
with words
observe
(at first what seems)
green horses
but turns out to be
only white horses
painted green
for camouflage purposes.
That evening in Canton
also offering them
the futility of two men
trying to put a rat
into a bottle
a woman who lived
in a beehive
pouring water
into a sieve.
War knocks
over the inkwell
spills
into men’s lives
covers the white pages
of their wishes
makes the idea of Hell
...all too real.
The spilt ink eating
the words of men
who send letters home
and die in pain
never to return
only in other’s memories
& useless dreams
marble memorials
while green horses
champ the grasses
the bridles & the bits
clanking & glinting
in the hot sun
of Now.
as this last lost evening
dies.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
Like a cell drawing in pure water, rejecting unnecessary, undesirable molecules.
Like a virus spreading multiplying, taking over with vigor and tenacity.
Like the bubbles on the burbling lips of a toddler, growing and popping and dripping.
Like a ronin samurai without a lord, coming and going like the wind.
Like a thought that just won’t quit, a feeling that burrows into the bones.
Like the intensity of a fire, when a steady wind presses the seat of the fuel source.
So is my passion for life.
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 8:48 PM UTC
The bad seed :: takes root :: roots extend :: in the head :: A constant branching :: budding bursting :: away :: and away :: and away :: roots branch and extend :: The Holy Schism :: Mother's breast :: bisected :: salt and milk :: curdle :: then settle :: into the nine creamy layers of Hell :: roots extend :: bury into Her pith :: bisected :: a honeysuckle rut :: Mother screams :: a poisonous :: foam :: spraying Her wither around :: killing :: the sacred cow :: :: :: there :: there She is :: the pretty blight :: the slit :: in the stem pursed tight :: down lower :: over two hills :: to a black and blue lagoon :: Mother in bloom :: Her putrid flower :: slaps open sloppy :: wide :: open :: for osmosis :: for curdled spore spew :: sucking flaccid :: with lips and teeth
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:55 PM UTC
Learning through osmosis,
that's what you desire from me.
Pages and slurs of facts,
saturating the air with verbose greed.
Musing behind dark lids,
so much every night.
Sleep- now reserved for the reckless,
enough night terrors in daylight.
Battered by sharp whistle,
together we must tread.
Eternally catching up,
to the expectations in your head.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Paint my screen with love.
By virtual osmosis, perhaps I shall smile
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
somewhere between the
first date and the last date
Joni Mitchell,
she, me
encapsulates
I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate
in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni, the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love, with the accelerator,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"
this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate
*I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet*
and he could
rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of a robust
anticipate
thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette~wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful for a
floodgate
overture spilling
months, days, minute minute moments (tiny time intervals),
of the fated faded last date later, the next eve, next day
or the next of never,
comes the
deflate
but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight
*I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away*
a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he himself
reflates,
drink another case,
onto yet another
magical mystery first
date
pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...
serenade
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Osmose with me
Into perfect symmetry.
Our membranes transfer me to you
An you to me; its chemistry.
And when in your proximity
Your energy sets mine in motion;
Moon's effect upon the ocean.
A privilege, surely, 'tis to feel
Not shared by stones or trees or seals.
Chimpanzees can't understand
but they come close.
A human thing it is to feel
And that is what I value most.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:18 PM UTC
.
I am part soul,
I'm here for a kiss.
I grasp at her stars'
photosynthesis.
My long lost Atlantis,
a rose from dead seas.
She shows me the doors,
but hands me no keys.
I'm the fallen columns
all scattered about.
"Twenty thousand leagues!"
I heard someone shout.
She's my chipped chiseled stone
below the mucked mire
that leads me beyond
Calcutta's cold fire.
Ah! Lethargic genius,
there's gathering birds
where dogs lap at the *****
we mistook for your words.
She hides in my veins
while it's raining outside.
She's my universal
osmosis suicide.
She really is...
.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 4:32 AM UTC
There's a mansion on a hill
I've seen it numerous times
But,
I've never been inside
It's said to belong to an old woman
Who is very selective
in who enters her domain
Either you're an insignificant servant
And you slip inside
Through a back door
A tiny molecule diffusing
from high to low concentration
Or, you're a personal servant
Then, you gain special access
Still, through the back door
Water molecule
Diffusing through osmosis
After that are ordinary guests,
aided by the butler
through the front door
Facilitated diffusion
Molecules carried or channeled
And finally,
the VIP's
Welcomed by a great procession
Through a special VIP door
People,
invited by the madam
with great effort
Active transport
From low to high concentration
Requiring added energy
But despite this selectivity
of who can and cannot enter
That old mansion on the hill
And the jobs it provides
Is essential to the livelihood
Of the people in this town
Just like the cell membrane to our bodies
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
the word salad stares at me
fearless photons fencing with my eyes:
“the cockroach,
the blind dolphin,
General Custer,
theft by osmosis,
the death at the diner”
and other auspicious beginnings
that pull me to the screen
like daily lotto numbers
I keep buying them, on credit, for pecking
and time are not real currencies
and whatever silver or gold
is there for the mining
hides well behind boulders
placed there by eons
of parsimonious patience
I will never have
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Women can be men
Men can be women
People can be people
We didn’t write the feeling...
Stars can be supernovas
Meaning can be mending
And paintings can bend
And walls can return...
And shapes of architecture become earth
Lovers can be lovers
Leavers can believe us
Lights, camera, action, order, disorder
Dysphoria, euphoria
Academia, abracadabra
The moon, *** sun and laughter
Instantaneousness
Osmosis
Fear, friction, distance, pure bliss
Bubble toting aqua world
Top this...
Freedom, collaboration
Emancipation, cognification
Celebration...
Millenniums of us saving, changing...
What we actually are eventually...
One surging sway of soul-light soldered angels
Morphing from an oceanic abyss…
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
I am unraveling webs in the scathing sentence of intolerable desire,
A prison of prints and pictures barred by beautiful blondes,
Rigid, icy, spaced by invisible thoughts between them,
Rows hypnotizing one after the other, belly-dancing while they wear their smiles.
They break from their line formations with socket wrenches in their right hands, coaxial cables in their left hands,
And they slink and slide and slowly salsa to my mattress against the wall
As they adjust and tighten their wrenches upon each of my arteries, and feed their coaxial cables into my ears.
Their strawberry perfumes force me to note new appetites in my concrete lungs.
They melt into me, and I melt into them, and we roll into a clay figurine against the plaster wall.
Their hair burns red now, or brunette, or perhaps all the colors of a rainbow of self-inflicted hypocrisy,
And their breath is exhaling like ceilings fans, softly and slowly, out of my lungs,
And I can no longer distinguish which of us is the other anymore, nor do I really want to.
We are a cosmosis;
We are cosmetology unstable, madly desired, and awry,
In an osmosis of imagined consummation.
We are beauty in its ugliest truth.
Eventually, we dissipate, disgusted from transformation,
And I scuttle up the wall, a brown recluse,
And the brunetteblonderedheadsilkskinned keep their cosmosis,
Walking as a ball of arms and legs on six foot-tall toothpicks to separate and reform their bars again.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
You had me at
“I didn’t know you had brown eyes,”
the day I wiped my security locks of hair
from my face
to get a better look at you.
Look in my eyes like mirrors.
The reflection of my sentiment
made you Narcissist.
And the osmosis of our gaze
blessed you beautiful.
You are welcome.
I gave all.
Eyes, and ears,
and mouth, and rainbows.
Until you left me Mr. Potato.
My barren anatomy makes for a
raw piggy bank of deja vu.
Your silver dollars clunk through my Hollow.
Never rust.
You wonder why I
never let go.
Bankruptcy has me petrified.
Putting park walks into penny stocks
waiting to cash in on
two kisses during Christmas time.
Hoping you invest as much in me.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
She opened me up
and let the butterflies inside
of my stomach
and my head
and my toes.
She let the light back in,
where the light has not been
for a very long while...
I am in love with her.
Kissing is enough (sometimes)
and touching (is sometimes) not necessary
and looking into her eyes is definitely enough
to make every single cell inside of me burst
from osmosis and love.
She knows me like I know the stars in the sky.
I know her like she knows vinyl.
She can read me better than I read books.
And I can make her wake up in the middle of the night
due to the sound of seduction in my voice
during the day.
Leigh, I have fallen for you.
You are intoxicating me.
I never would have thought that
I could be filled up again with happiness
and love and joy and those **** butterflies...
You make me want to draw like Picasso
and be just as intelligent as Einstein
and make poetry like Lang Leav.
Surely, I have shown you the love I feel for thee.
"I love you's" and random cards and flowers and
kisses and touches and poetry and my voice...
I love you so much, you mean more to me
than any star in the sky.
You are the beauty in the sky from dawn to dusk
and the sweetest voice from the angels in heaven.
You are truth and lies and so many things I
am addicted to. You are something I have
added to my list of addictions---
But, the best part of this "addiction" (love) is that
you are amazingly good for me.
Some may say no (due to being homophobic)
but I guess that is their problem.
I guess all I am trying to say is that
I love you Leigh.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
lets be two naked
self conscience individuals
and sit in a half full
half empty bathtub
we'll fill it with freezing water
that evaporates when our skin makes contact
we are magnetic
and static
and our clothless skin transfers
heat through osmosis
our necks are sweating
and beading
and drips down the stunted hour glass
love handles filled with sand
and that sweat is freezing
but evaporates down my body
ripples in the water
we have not moved in hours
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC