"phosphorus" poems
When you were a phosphorus angel
There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
When you were holding my hand
Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.
And I was,
Because you were my existence
In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
Underwater.
And you were the storm
That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
In a rain of sorrowing embers.
I was the reconstruction
Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.
Life is big,
But so little in time,
I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
"Calcium Phosphorus Oxygen Iodine Sodium Sulfur Tantalum Dysprosium. Oxygen Radium, Protactinium Radium Manganese Nickel Sodium Potassium Oxygen."
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Today is one of those days that makes you feel just nauseous
Today is not a very good day to be so self-conscious
Today is one of those beatdown days
The days that make think you’re in a phase
Of life.
Today is like the day you find your crush kind of hates you.
Today is the day you’re almost starting to hate food.
Today is not the kind of day you just give up and faint
Into the arms of some unwilling, kindly saint.
You think today couldn’t be worse but just imagine how it could.
Actually never mind it’d be stranger if you would.
Today is one of those days you think is about to **** you.
But maybe that’s just because you aren’t seeing the whole view.
Today is one of those days that makes you just a little bit cautious.
Today is one of those days you wish you had something like phosphorus.
Although I'll never say it loud,
I think my story I have found.
Today might be a beatdown, but you have to see tomorrow.
Because sunrises are beautiful to take pictures of.
So I hope I see you tomorrow.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
Silhouettes emerge from the night lunar tide
lives still wriggling in their net
ghostly figures from the sea silken wide
reaping riches from the waves in spate.
The night a luminous smile wears
the belly is fired up for a bite
dried leaves would burn under stars
brewing another day under moonlight.
Mariners when not venturing into deep sea
release passions on the shallow shelf
harvest hope though the catch is measly
breathing in the winds the aroma of kelp.
I feel having long belonged to this place
wading breakers in the phosphorus' glow
gathering in my net a strange happiness
craving home when the tide is low.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
The Syrian process is a serial problem
When the disenfranchised
Cause a landslide
Of historical hatred
The key that ignites
Business and commerce
Wildfire hearts
And boiling skin
The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera
The blockade of the forceful armada
The coalition forces
Run wild like horses
The bombs keep falling
The people cry
The engine keeps stalling
The car dies
The white phosphorus
Brought by the white prosperous
Can burn to the bone
And wounds can ignite up to three days later
But the people of Raqqa
Are used to reigniting scars
They're used to searing flesh
That melts like tar
Where this will go
No one knows how far
Machines must be sustained
Hearts will be untamed
Lives constantly rearranged
A human rights activist attempts to send a report
What he's witnessed in Raqqa
Injustices; perceived and objective
But Hellfire
Turns the Internet cafe
Into a senseless violence display
The dirt, blood, and bodies
Mixed and spread like the art
That was ignored to lead to this quagmire
Whether this calamity started
At the Melian dialogue
Or a market diagram
Or a martyr's diatribe
What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds
But who will save us?
When noble protectors are blown up
And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
the world is a wild and weary place,
fully sunk in spiral ******
fully strummed in skin water waves.
bound by death from the very first verse:
first love.
first this.
go forth my machines, be fruitful and jettison.
color says hang at the edge of our lips.
smell the books.
remind us; books.
& before the big blue vast takes it all, that
sunstruck lomographia light,
transposed no-makeup california girl, she
walks before me along the boulders of the wharf.
real summer breathing.
our bodies, piled
and starbleached ripe. [like heap of buffalo skulls]
maybe then a futuristic dinner, where everyone gathers in floating space pods
singing hymns beneath,
above,
between
the lights and music.
reality is: blacktop shards against my knees,
something burning as it trickles to my chin, man of me
living the city glisten, city green
& pink.
city midnight and barely breathing.
destroyers, we are.
and what? what am i, father? man of industry?
man of workwelded science? secure as the armadillo,
armadillo picket fence.
am i of halfbreed phosphorus?
americana?
built on love and hate and television.
nat geo channel: [a gecko licks dew from its eyes
on the coastal sand dunes of namibia]
money. women. go west young man.
be a hand tightening ribs.
be a quaking echo of mammalian design.
a paradigm of seed my fire.
quest for fire.
for uncut diamond; like foggy strawberry rock in the africa-boy's fingers.
or cut steel; phallus of toyish death between a brazil-boy’s fingers.
pulled teeth; bits of wet fruit in the young afghani’s hand.
& icecream trolley; pedestal etched iron; denim and *** and
microwaves ::::::
white man: what I got ? what I got ?
manifest destiny: gold bricks and beer.
blood soaked socks.
cyprus burnt umbers.
tribes decomposing at the bottoms of styrofoam cups.
like coin-op wormies.
& eighteen inch circumference blades make round rolling high pitched songs deep in the skin of old mother earth.
old baby cakes.
old life in slow motion, all motion, all
of particle cannon treatise.
40 ounce bounce.
watery us
below.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Hunger and Desire grew
'til bellies everywhere were
ruined for sustenance,
so in went the troops to wage
war against ideas and
when they arrived there were no
soldiers to speak of
so they set up tents
and didn't go away
they sang drunken war-songs
until the moan of starvation bellies
sang louder and more terribly
"That must have been them
the whole time!" they said, and
suited up for the charge.
So they trained their shells at the city
excited to see if target practice
had done them any good
but all they did was mortar themselves to bits
squadrons of video-game experts
sent drones overhead to drop
Hallmark cards titled "Why it's your fault"
and coupon booklets for American
chain shopping outlets to come
but they only marginalized
and condescended themselves
"Bring in the reinforcements!"
they cried, even conscripting
their hapless targets. This mob,
too, was a hungry belly
bellowing for satisfaction,
a cannibal ***
simmering
So they set up tables and stacked
boring paperwork, filing away
spirits broken by shrapnel and white
phosphorus
but they only resigned themselves
to imaginary lines and the plunder
of Control, insensibly
****** themselves to death
while they watched,
perplexed.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
What place luminescent
joy has in a winter storm
I know not, but between
the labored breaths and
windy retaliation, it
shines
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
I move through the woods in ritual
The trees have shed their leaves like
Third sons and eldest daughters,
They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands
and bears them away from home.
A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb,
Their last embrace.
Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch,
melded amber and crimson,
the dregs of sun in their veins,
offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat.
At home, I press them between pages,
tiny spells of weight and gravity
cast to keep their color.
I know this magic,
Autumn and I are kindred in this,
Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth
cradles of remembrance,
nets always cast back into memory.
Like all memories
There are a thousand useless,
The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot,
the seconds that dripped by unmarked.
But we hold the fragile, happy few,
High upon a shelf
the glowing phosphorus of laughter
The currant red of a last kiss
Returned to and returned to
Like an unanswered prayer.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
It's as if there are a million candles in my mind
I see flickers of light in every distance
I hear exploding phosphorus
Movement
Sound
Light
It is you my darling
You are lighting each candle in silence
And the light is beginning to grow
I can see it now
With each new burst of air my life changes
Warm
Soothing
Light
Do not speak of it
I want only to watch it happen
Because I want to remember
And not wish for anything more
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
Keep your catastrophes closed,
This rotating orb is far from its last lap.
With stones and sticks, clothed in skins
We survived the extinction of countless species.
There is no indication, no dark premonition
That can reverse reality.
Earth was dust, it is now water,
And it is iron and nitrogen,
Phosphorus and hydrogen,
And it is us, even we bend to her order.
We were molded from the elements,
Latent electricity and infinite energy.
We were not crafted to be an index fossil,
Eliminated by polar shift, or apocalyptic storms.
We Will Endure!
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
buy me on the black market like the instability I am.
watch me hurtle through negative space backwards,
the planet-wide catastrophe of a sun-sized storm in me.
Call me Carbon-14.
it’s the latest piece of my galaxy-sized identity, another chemical
small enough to wage nuclear war.
you’re witnessing my radioactive decay,
the deterioration of everything I used to be into
everything I might be,
a kind of reaction that happens when one of my ‘downs’
becomes an ‘up,’
no aces up my sleeves or full houses of face cards in spades,
but I’ve got straight sevens,
protons neutrons electrons, carbon to nitrogen.
beta decay, the mass production of passive procrastination;
second in command, sidekick sidetracking heroes.
Call me Nitrogen standard 14.
watch me decay into the air that you breathe,
seventh most common gas in the Milky Way galaxy,
keeping things fresh and stainless like my steel armor,
try and make me combust but I’m fireproof, bulletproof,
balanced and on my toes in a defensive position,
fists raised for the fight that you’re going to put up.
my axis is more stable than yours. step into the rings of saturn,
ring the bells to start the rounds, champion takes home the stars,
wraps orion’s belt around their waist and buckles it tight with nuclear waste.
everyone loves an underdog story, but only when they know,
positively, that the underdog will win.
with you and me, it’s a 50/50 on who exactly has the upper hand
and who exactly is going to win, but I’ll make bets with the elements around me,
the carbon that I used to be hashing out 20’s and oxygen
claiming she’s not one for gambling.
baby, you’re in my lungs, you’re in my corner of the ring.
she’ll slip in a 50 like my chances, and I’ll pretend that I don’t notice.
phosphorus is too fiery to root for me,
he’s more of a heavyweight believer than me.
Call me contagious
when my knuckles bloom across your jaw and knock away
all of your sensibility, stability, bruises like moons
as the mirror shatters every reflection of who I used to be.
Call me Carbon-14, but know that I am radioactive,
actively changing, reigning champion of breaking perceptions,
and you’re just the impression of the death that I’m carbon-dating.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
You came like wildfire
Indistinguishably incendiary
Struck my butane skin
With phosphorus fingertips
Clouded myopic eyes
Saw the ashes to ashes
Flushed lackluster lips
Whispered dust to dust
What you left me with:
A collection of burnt bridges
A drawer of regrets
A heart of hieroglyphics
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
The night is dark against your fair fur feathers
And your wingspan holds true against the glass.
Legs splayed against the pane, hard and fast pressed against the portal to my world.
You'll do anything to touch the light.
I cannot blame you, I have been there,
Outside in the cold warming yourself with the thought of a light bulb
Feeling the phosphorus of that explosion with your eyes and ears
Longing to be a part of what is good.
No, I cannot let you in, for
I am ready to selfishly bathe in this illumination
The moonlight will do for you
So I suppose I'm just as bad as the others were when
They kept me out.
Window panes and light refrains
From being yours, but mine.
All you shall do is hang there and wish
You had a light switch of your own
Ready to make your own world bright
Ready to lift you from the darkness
Ready to help you spread your wings
And fly in the day like all the other successes.
With just a flick.
Poor moth, it must be
Cold out there.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
I left the home of the meadowlark
For a land found more oft' in my dreams.
A more noble land than my native park,
With its rubble of meaningless schemes.
And the song that the meadowlark sang to me
In my heart will forevermore burn.
I can only say that it seemed to be,
"Once you've gone you can never return."
So I set my course for the highest mount
On a path where few have tread,
To the great unknown where the masters roam,
Through the valley of the dead.
Neither bard nor sage ever wrote a page
Of diabolical lore
That could ever compare to the evil found there,
Past the gates to the valley of horror.
Men had left their bones as stepping stones
Which glowed with a phosphorus light.
They lighted the way for my feet of clay
As I stumbled through the night.
But I sank in the mire of my own desire
While I groped along in the dark.
And I thought I would die to the mocking cry
Of that dreadful meadowlark.
Then the helping hand of a dying man
Reached to pull me back on the way.
And I rested there in the August air
Where I longed for the light of day.
And I sang a song as I traveled on
In the light of a new day's sun.
'Twas a song of hope I could reach the slope
Where great battles had been won.
When I reached the glen at the mountains end
Then I knew my journey was done.
I took pleasures there and with utmost care
I sought for a course back home.
And now I knew that the bird sang true;
I had aged in the course of time.
And the past I had scorned; now I deeply mourned
And with sadness learned his rhyme.
Although your road runs true, you can never undo
A life born of your own desire.
Nor, ever return from a destiny earned
By deeds lit from the souls own fire.
And the song that the meadowlark sang to me
In my heart still continues to burn.
I can only say that it seemed to be
"Once you've gone you can never return."
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:19 PM UTC
Be wary of the
paradoxical, neglected sentience among the departed minds
Seek the route which makes accessible...an absolute truth
oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, calcium, nitrogen, phosphorus
The composition of life
The creation of awareness, drifting from your nature
live irresponsibly, expose the fear to danger
it will devour the inessential anxiousness
and set yourself free
release from obligation,
release from routine duties
the masquerade of conditioning
no longer possessing you
bare spirit,
confront yourself
See the illusion, its deception
of your perception
remove the veil and feel
intensified anguish of the acknowledgment
of authorities dominance
to invent and forge manufactured minds
to divide us, impregnate the beauty
with depraved psychosis
then label it with sanity
taint them with vanity
to take the present moment
as an opportunity to breathe
here and now, everlasting liberation
reality, what is sincere?
What is truth?
It’s an option you determine
sight, holy sight
creating this world, this dread
this opportunity to break loose
undress and **** the reality in camouflage
reborn through a perceptual experience
the wilderness is within
the blinking 4th dimension
will soon carry us away
to an enigmatic change in sensory perception
the ego, self importance, it will pass away
is there a choice, a selection of setting?
When you zoom out of earth
examine closely the size of this
universe, we are microscopic babies
from the womb of infinite mystery
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
gets up from chair, and breathes in deeply
people are made up of so many things, it's amazing
1. Oxygen
2. Carbon
3. Hydrogen
4. Nitrogen
5. Calcium
6. Phosphorus
7. Potassium
8. Sulfur
9. Sodium
10. Magnesium
i guess paying attention in biology did pay off
i remember when i was 11 years old my brother showed me a movie clip where Charlie Chaplin spoke in-front of tons of people
he said "we think too much and feel too little".... i finally understand
and if you feel sad, i hope you can find a therapist, or i hope you can afford a 12 pack of beer at the liquor store to ease what you feel right then
walks out the house
looks around and smiles
i found hope on the corner of arapaho and shiloh, it was 7:32 pm, i remember because i texted myself saying "dude you're finally happy"
no more desires of being dead ever came to mind
i found out what a man i can be if i pushed myself and loved without regretting, without being scared of falling for things for the wrong reasons
i found out to learn everything and grasp whatever came my way even if it brought me to my knees
i'm going to die fulfilled
i feel like rhyming, sorry, i'm not a good rhymer, but here i go....
garden of green leaves
glistening tress
scented hives, buzzing bees
we lie under shaded trees
we pray to who we're afraid to deceive
if we do, we rot even if we pleaded on our knees
summer breeze, ******* and THC
don't leave
addictions are hard to let go when i love you like grinded holy mary ****
i'm not a good rhymer, i think the song that goes like "versace versace versace versace versace"
was better than what i just w. r. o. t. e.
haha.
it's getting dark, i need to go to sleep
turns off light
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Lost
It is
Bigger and more incredible than the poet can imagine
Spider web nebula dripping purple blood dust
Twisting galaxies more numerous and ancient
Than the mind can comprehend
Storms rage on planets
Millions and billions
Of centuries away
The scream of devil winds
Are only a whisper on my ears
The ancients payed tribute to golden suns
Pulsing in the night sky
Calling them holes in Gods floor
Calling them angels
Each star a heaven
If they only knew of
Red dwarf death soaking moons in heat
Craters full of silence upon the edge of a meteor
Negotiating through the black infinite
Until they impact with force enough
To split planets
Fingers
Of comets
Blonde and blue trails through the void
Sapphire moons reflect scarlet sunlight
Obsidian asteroids circle a glass planet
Phosphorus gysers shooting into orbit
The living heavens
Twisting about a central nucleus
Balanced and growing
Suns coming and going at a whim
Super nova tantrums
Are a flourescent brilliance
God making fireworks
Billions of planets
Some dead and dry
Scorched black by suns
That are millions of times brighter than our own
Maybe some planet
On the edge of a small galaxy of no cosmic importance
A young boy writes his own love poems
To a girl who has no idea of his longings
Planets untouched
With golden seas filled with gigantic beasts
That warm themselves on volcanoes
Misty Jungles hanging with vines
Maybe intelligent alien eyes open
To the light of twenty suns rising
Galaxy after shining galaxy in every shape imaginable
With every planet imaginable
Little neighborhoods
With little streets
Where tiny comets circle
The same planets year after year
Titanic hurricanes
Raging vortex
Tornadoes that can rip the crust of planets off
And toss them into deeper space
Yet...the United States says we need no space program
Because we have more important matters
Like taxes and guns and drugs and war
White people are more important than black people
My god is the real god
You are wrong
You are foolish
You aren't good enough
You don't deserve life
I am right
You are wrong
I am right
You are wrong
................................
For the rest of my life
I could soar at the speed of light-
And I would hardly break the golden bonds
Of our lone-quiet-minuscule-spinning Milky Way
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC
pluck not the light
that blooms
tucked away in roses
which illuminate
the caverns of the
heart
for the petals
glow with phosphorus
the stamens spark
embers embracing eons
the stems are
entwined in the fingers
of the age old dreams of
enlightenment
the thorns
draw the blood of
angels
and
demons
alike
pluck not the light
of the blossom
which heals
wounds
wound
'round the
soul
touch not the
graceful
flower
from
an
alternate
gravity
it is not ours to hold
it's roots
reach down to
STARS
SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/4/2016
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
the krishnachura and the champa
both of them
have the only-one unsheathed afternoon
both of them
have the same-one broken harmonium
how long more the eyes of terracotta
would roam in the sun
the uneven fate-line
is written on the green slate
the sound of the vocal chord is also eloquent
as if it were some bare trees of wood-apple
around the swimming
there are some scattered scrapes of slippers
the colour of whose straps
is blue
and some tales of the faded sky
i return home with the night of
phosphorus
i return with those waves of the
mid-night that have no translation
i lay them in order
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
sea
foam
clouds
barely
hide
the
sky's
sea creature
*the
MOON*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/5/2015
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
The law says: every action must be accompanied by a reaction.
So when I slipped out of bra and ******* and spread myself open on the kitchen floor,
I expected that he would at least put down the crossword puzzle. No response, though.
I rose up and emptied the saucepan over him.
I went on a course: 'Poetry-writing for beginners'.
I made my similes illuminate the dark, like phosphorus flares.
My metaphors danced the can-can, naked, around the market square.
The teacher said: "Yes, very clever dear. But your imagery clothes a void,
Where the poet's deepest thoughts and feelings should be".
That was when I unstoppered the nitric acid bottle. She will probably keep the sight in one eye.
I joined my local writers' discussion group. At the last meeting, this was the consensus:
Music was subordinating sense; my attempt at profundity was just a lazy mysticism.
They suggested flushing out the drivel from the windmills of my mind.
I added bleach to their cappuccinos. They were left speechless.
I looked in Yellow Pages, and found a personal poetry trainer.
He said, "From now on, you let other people see your poetry only when I say you may.
I shall hold you back until every cadence convinces;
Until I hear the extraordinary, the important and the authentic sing from the bedside table."
Eventually, we were both satisfied.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:37 AM UTC
Take this violent heart of mine.
Someone pulled the pin with a kiss
spit shrapnel and blood,
cut your lips without meaning to.
Cough enough smoke, and your eyes water
phosphorus breath.
Born under the rising of a red sun.
Blood spilled this night and every night
between sheets of rain and steel
cold, heavy, stark as my eyes in the morning
when waking to the sirens.
Foxhole of fear and foot-shooter,
What am I good for?
Men may cry peace, peace,
but there is no peace.
Not in this violent heart.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
They said
“You are different now!”
I told them – it is the rule of nature,
But I am carrying hardly
One percent difference;
Rest was set by the spiral code,
My base is also ninety nine percent same as of you!
They laughed and replied life is link in the spiral network
Our base was designed on sugar and phosphorus!
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
If he were a canvas,
My fingers through his dark hair
Would be gentle whips of cornflower
Or the shade of the southern shores
Aching for sun kissed sands.
The deep tint of the midnight hour
Is the feel of my palm on his cheek;
Unspoken words spark between our skin,
Igniting as I am red phosphorus and he is sulfur.
If he were a canvas,
Our breathless laughter
Is a warm canary radiating
Across all the dark spaces we ignore
Like solitary candles in suburban windows.
Our hushed voices on the pillow
Is the gold with which the sun shines;
The reflection of my heart in his eyes
Is silver like a glowing full moon.
If he were a canvas,
My lips gently grazing his forehead
Are a soft powder pink,
Like the petals of an awakening rose
Or the shade of clouds draped in dawn
But when mine meet his, amaranth.
A ceaseless incandescence
Of raw desire and a hint of diffidence
From a flower seeded in our gray matter.
When he touches my skin
It’s in shades of pine and dandelion and wisteria
And suddenly I see the painting
Has covered the painter in romantic chaos
And it is the apron they put on display.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC