"preforming" poems
A catalyst is a chemical that speeds up reactions.
At least that’s what I learned in chemistry class.
Catalysts sometimes are the major factors in a reactions and without them,
The reaction could never happen.
Catalyst can be lab chemicals,
alcohol,
drugs,
coffee even,
or a person.
While lounging around one afternoon you were talking physics
And I turned it on your head and spoke of chemistry,
Knowing full well that I was speaking of our personal chemistries.
You were right, the physics of a relationship gives us the laws,
But CHEMISTRY can predict the outcome.
If you do the math and follow the directions,
you can determine the product without even doing the experiment.
Unless the reaction you are creating has never been attempted before by the scientists preforming the experiment.
They can flip through the books,
Read the essays,
Study the theorems,
Even attempt the calculations,
But if they don’t do the actual experiment,
They will never find their outcome.
Some things need a push,
A catalyst,
For them to form a bond,
React,
And combine into a stable combination.
Hypotheses must be TESTED, ACCEPTED, and RATIFIED
Before becoming a law.
No matter how based in logic your hypothesis might be,
You need the universe and its fundamental laws to back it up.
There are still surprises left in the universe.
Maybe you and I can be one of them.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights
fill my radiator
change the oil
and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it
he dumped me via text
before that
there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization
my over-use of metaphores and similies
the way i personify the night
and practice preforming poetry in the shower
he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack
and somewhere in between
i stopped asking myself what it means
threw up my hands
and learned to enjoy the ride
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Thoughts adrift near and far
Wandering as a dandelion seed
It flies preforming for me
Swirling up down all around
At last it lands on my shoulder
I take the seed in my hands to see
Definiteness is lofty - out of reach
All I know is
-----nothing-----
The End
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
The other night I snuck into the Grammys
It really wasn't that hard you see
I was dressed as the Daft Punk dude on the left
My own mother wouldn't have recognize me
I was on the elevator at the Ritz-Carlton
When one of those robots stepped in by himself
So I knocked him out then tied him up
And left him bundled up in the stair well
I put on the suit and the helmet
It's not hard to fake a french accent in those
The only problem I encountered that evening
Was the strong desire to scratch my nose
You know I was the life of the party
Mingling with all of the stars
For awhile I sat in the row with Shawn and Yoko
Still don't know which ones from Venus and which ones from Mars
I'm sure in the circles that those two hang with
They are as normal as all of the rest
Of course most of the rockers I met that night
Put normality to the test
I was a little nervous about preforming
But I just put my boogie shoes on
The only one there who would notice my radical rhythm
Was Stevie and he couldn't see what was going on
When we went up to accept our award
I waved and mumbled under my breath
I must of made it sound mighty profound
As the crowd all clapped and nodded their heads
I really had the best of times that night
Partying like it was 1999
Prince wasn't there but who really cares
When your behind Beyonce in the Mambo line
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
“Good morning [redacted] high school! Today we will be preforming our lockdown drill.”
“Please remember it is just a drill.”
Just a drill is what they say as if I’m not practicing what could very well
be the way I die
Just a drill this time but what about next?
You want me to hide in the corner
Quiet as a mouse
The lights turned out
Make it seem like we aren’t there
But we are
We are there
Being hunted
In a place we are meant to learn math
Not how to use a tourniquet
It is just a drill
But it wasn’t drill for other kid
The one who didn’t go home yesterday
The one whose mom is crying?
Maybe the first grader who can’t wear light up shoes
Because he might need to hide
I am not their target practice
If I don’t stand up for my rights
Who will
That’s the thing about my generation
We don’t know when to stand up
We’ve been taught to
Sit down
Be quiet
Paint yourself as the black sleep
It’s just a drill
Until it’s your child.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:35 AM UTC
My radio just went silent
Another episode of mimes
Most of them are reruns
That they play from time to time
I'm pretty sure I've heard this one
Where they're in that tiny box
Not sure if they're trying to get in or out
Either way I wish them luck
I don't know how they do it
Mimes on the radio
Oh listen, it's the pretend to fly off with the umbrella routine
Truly a favorite of them all
You can pick them up on several stations
Though I'm partial to AM59
Out in the middle of nowhere in a rain storm
Seems to me to be the best of times
So if you find yourself in radio silence
Don't reach to change the channel out right
Just sit back and enjoy
The finest in Radio Mime
WAIT A MINUTE...THIS IS CRAZY
Is that three mimes that I don't hear
Preforming the famous Zambolini Mime Trick
In which two mimes died last year
I don't think that I can listen
The silence is killing me
Don't they know what they're attempting
Is pure insanity
Someone tell me when it's over
It can't take the suspense, this heart of mine
For there is nothing more exciting
Than an afternoon of radio mimes
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
My momma always warned me
She’d say
“Baby doll liquor runs through our veins”
I was making a family tree for health class last week and a third of the people hanging from the branches had beer bottles clinking next to them.
My grandfather’s favorite hobby was downing a bottle of jack and carrying out the cliché tradition of beating his wife and kids
Just like his father did.
My dad learned from this vowing never to forget what alcohol did too his family
My uncle he drinks just trying to forget.
My mother has a similar background
She remembers riding into town with my grandma to buy her granddaddy’s medicine
It was only until she was older she realized the pharmacy was an ABC
The “medicine” cheap whiskey
As the elixir slid down my great grandfathers throat it trickled into the workings of our tree
Infecting its core
Yeah my parents would always warn me
Against the dangers of alcohol
Don’t drink the punch at parties
Don’t be like your uncles
Don’t end up like your aunts
But what they failed to tell me was depression runs through our veins too
They taught me how to ward off being a drunkard
But never told me to stay away from the dark spaces in my mind
They never taught me what to do about the numbness
And in my house people are more ashamed
Of going to therapy than alcoholics anonymous.
How do you protect yourself from something already inside you?
You see those relatives of mine
They were doctors
Preforming at home blood transfusions
Replacing the bad blood with good beer
The dark thoughts with white wine
Until the depression swimming through them was too drunk to see straight
We nurture our family tree with PBR and Prozac
Helping the roots twist and grow so they can grasp for the younger generation dangling from the lower limbs and I mean
Hey we all need something to make the feelings go away
And they say alcohol’s not the answer
But it sure as hell makes you forget the question
We all need something to forget the questions
And Like my kin I picked my poison
Because I felt it
The liquor in my veins I felt it
getting warmer
Hotter
Hot
This liquid in my veins it gets too hot.
I’m slitting my wrist to poor myself another shot
It’s not what it looks like momma
I just wanna feel that buzz and my blood is all I got
I picked my poison
I’m like my uncles
A crude copy of my aunts
I’m an addict
Just not an alcoholic
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
They're out there on the streets
I can see them as I crack my blinds
They're passing by so silently
I'm to freaked to step outside
I know that if they catch me
They'll put me in an imaginary box
And keep me there til midday
Where they'll have my brains for lunch
Or tie me up with an imaginary rope
To an imaginary tree
And force me to watch them preform a rendition of Thriller
Like a bad episode of Glee
Yes, those Zombie Mimes are freakzoides
Long before they became the preforming dead
I've been uncomfortable in their presence
Could it be because of something they once said
Wait...now here they go
Pretending to walk against the wind
Will I ever be able to venture outside
Will this silent madness ever end
I don't know where they contracted the Zombie virus
Or even how this all went down
I only hope and pray it doesn't infect
Any of the Circus Clowns
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
You know those moments in life where your thoughts are SO LOUD? Blaring over all actions your preforming as you watch them race and bounce through your head. All the sudden I realized how badly I would give anything just to be able to see him face to face one more time... Just to spend one more night together, limbs as one and hearts beating together with our chest plates pressed tight together.
As I sit there in the shower and let the wave pass I laid down on my back and just let the water hit me wherever it pleased. Staring up at my shower, watching the water run down and the little droplets on the ceiling in such a perfect formation, life just felt so poetic down there. Everything I was feeling had imagery of perfect poetry lines scribbling down in my head mixed with the oh so fitting vision I was looking up at. It was beautiful.
You know that feeling where the whole world is spinning around you and you're kind of in the eye of the storm? At a stand still? That's where I was. Or, maybe everything around me was still and I was the one spinning. It was calm.
All I know is my heart was radiating like it hadn't in months and I genuinely felt beautiful as I hurt for everything we would never be. I saw a beauty in myself and in the connection we had... I felt it on his side to. Do y'all think that's possible? When you've loved someone to be able to "feel" each other? It's also very possible I'm insane or something.
My heart is warm and hurting right now and I was close to positive I had a point to make when I started typing this. It's 1:30 am on Christmas Eve.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
8/17/2014
Her name was Joy Jenny Jeffers,
known only really as Jenny.
I loved her for the way she’d sometimes
sit up in bed at four twenty three am,
the linen bunched all around her naked
knees,
and she’d proudly and dully proclaim
to her imaginary friend
perched on the wall:
“Frankly, Frankie,
I don’t
think this
relationship
is going
anywhere”
I’d laugh, call her a doll
“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”
with a slap, call me Jenny,
she’d plop back in the bed.
(This all happened
in the dark,
don't you remember..?)
I loved her for the way she would
put wildflower honey
in her black coffee
and one time, hungover, she poured in
canola oil,
which she drank anyways,
Which would prompt a swift
“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”
as i drank my St. John’s tea
laced with Bacardi.
I loved her for the way she hated
animals and music,
for the way she burned off a strand of
hair when curling it,
for the way she blinked when an eyelash brushed up against her iris.
I loved her for the way she said Frankly, Frankie, and I loved her the very same
when she started preforming old tricks
in front of new patrons,
when Frankly Frankie became
Frankly Johnnie or Frankly Helen,
I loved her all the same,
And in this i realised i didn’t love Joy Jenny Jeffers,
but I loved the way a certain woman
got an eyelash out of her way,
fixed her earrings when they caught,
comforted sickly children halfheartedly,
and I loved the way a woman went about waking up at exactly four twenty three am every night or morning to say
"Frankly,
Frankie,
I don’t think this relationship
is going
anywhere.”
With the linen
all around
her knees.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
They're out there on the streets
I can see them as I crack my blinds
They're passing by so silently
I'm to freaked to go outside
I know that if they catch me
They'll put me in an imaginary box
And keep me there till midday
Where they'll have my brains for lunch
Or tie me up with an imaginary rope
To an imaginary tree
And force me to watch them preform a rendition of Thriller
Like a bad episode of Glee
Yes, those Zombie Mimes are freakzoides
Long before they became the preforming dead
I've been uncomfortable in their presence
Could it be because of something they once said
Wait...now here they go
Pretending to walk against the wind
Will I ever be able to step outside
Will this silent madness ever end
I don't know where they contracted the zombie virus
Or even how this all went down
I only hope and pray it doesn't infect
Any of the Circus Clowns
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
Having Heaven is over rated anyway.
You could exhaust ecstasy.
Never mind nirvana.
You torment me with your bashful bliss.
Nothing could ruin this rapture.
I'm Preforming in Purgatory trying to win you over.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Well son...
*It all began in Fairyland
In the lab of the mystical toads
As trash throughout the land had gotten way out of hand
Along side of the pixie dust roads
The system they had wasn't working
Leaving empty all the garbage cans
And everyone of the Fairies backs were hurting
Bending over picking all of the trash
In an off the wall guess Teddy Toad thought of this
Something the Fairies all liked
A horn on a horse as a matter of course
Then the trash men could go along for the ride
So they took a horse and Duct taped a horn
Cause we all know Duct tape works wonders
But it never fit right in its slip and its slide
In the taping of over and under
Science soon prevailed in the cell from the horn of a cow
Mixing it up with one from a horse
Purely by accident they just happened to chance
Upon what is now the Unicorn
Who's very first job was giving litter a nod
In helping to keep the streets clean
But before too long the Unicorn evolved
In the preforming of different activities
From the up turn of nose in sneezing rainbows
In the prettiest of sunny weather
To giving kids rides as they grew wings to fly
The ones mixed with birds of a feather
Or the burping of clouds when they opened their mouths
That only know how to rain Skittles
That sometimes floods the streets in candy knee deep
Running sugar sweet straight down the middle
So if you're ever confused on how Unicorns were first used
Or had any doubt to how they came about
You can set your mind at ease
You now know they were created because Fairies all hated
Bending over picking trash off the streets*
Goodnight son, sweet dreams...
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
She twirls around the room
in a silky blue dress.
As if she were a ballerina
in a wooden music box.
Preforming the melody
inside her heart.
As the bewitching moonlight
shines upon her
making her as bright as the sun.
It reflects on her chestnut hair
that gently caresses her shoulders.
So blinding
but leaving you with the feeling of wanting more.
She smiles so brightly
that it warms the room.
Melting all the walls
you once put up.
As if she were a magician.
As if she could read your mind.
She whispers under her breath
so low that you cant hear.
You try to read her lips.
Cherry colored lips
They mouthed the words
you wanted to hear the most.
But before you could figure out the last word.
You wake up
and realized
It was all just a dream.
Just a beautiful dream.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC
Once I was told to look within my chest
Imagine Romance, allowing it to stand
Respire life, preforming it at best
To paint it with a gentle hand
Twas from longing love's command
Of this which I best understand
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 10:43 AM UTC
I’m from vegetable gardens, pink lemonade and board games.
From tall, golden sunflowers blooming in the summer to soaked mittens resting on the radiator in the winter.
I’m from twinkling white lights arranged beautifully in the bushes surrounding the pool and from thinking that the Canada day fireworks were so incredibly magical.
I’m from my teddy bears and dolls cluttering the basement floor to fresh cut peonies sitting on the kitchen counter and filling the house with their familiar scent.
I’m from ‘elbows off the table’ and soft boiled eggs in little painted egg cups.
I’m from wondering what the hundreds of old books on the bookshelf could possibly be about and from watching Shirley Temple movies over and over again until I could recite nearly every word.
I’m from choreographing dances to classical music and preforming them in the backyard.
I’m from ‘goodnight’ and forced bedtime prayers.
I’m from Gudrun and John better known as Nanny and Poppy.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Interrupted by my grandson with a telescope.
I think…
that never happened to many old men,
I feel,
special, y'know, like
I am and something like
this happened only because
I exist as this child imagines I am.
I am useless, unless I am
yet, after all,
Good at games grand father who knows stars
by name
and planets on planes intersecting our own.
_ I _ settle to see less sense intended than taken
as my reaction
results in a ripple
through time, to this place you imagine exists
as you read random lines
preforming perceptual preceptorial exploits
making peace
past all the battlefields imagined,
as legends go, we know the tropes,
all were digitized, the battles being refought result
in the same ever afters observers imagine.
No sane child can imagine studying war
no more moral interpretation
art implication
prepostper-full three decade dose of teleostic vision,
and unforgettable jingles
on the radio.
---
hit the road, Jack, jack of the lantern, lighter of lamps,
watcher in the night,
we have no need of warning,
we have drowned.
Goodnight Irene, goodnight
I'll see you in my dreams
------- farawayfaraway faraway
Home
Sometimes I live in the country
Sometimes I live in town
Sometimes I have a great notion
To jump into the river and drown
see ya'round' sunshine.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 4:08 PM UTC
I painted a portrait for my mother to show how deep and clever her words with courage throughout the years help influence the realistic platform I aimed my talents & dreams towards. Seeing the bigger picture decoding Da vinci in a poetic format at a young age steady preforming my purpouse using a composition through metephors as my stage. Standing strong without a doubt of the future yet to be...
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Rappin like I'm strappin. Cause every time I rhyme it's a crime of passion. Directing these words to take action, splitting these ******** into fractions. Killing wack rappers for your satisfaction.
Bring back that boom bap for a new vibration. Cause we need to move this nation that slowing to stagnation. These new spitters have no inspiration. No words for the kids that spectating, they raise kids into self hating, unappreciating the knowledge awaiting.
You see.
My reason for breathing is to keep you believing in the dreaming worth seeing.
Rhyming to those who need some healing. The children need to know its ok to have feelings.
There's a king or queen in these young beings.
But you teach em to struggle from the beginning.
But I preach the hustles O.G. meaning.
Teach em your mental muscle out weighs and out pays dope dealing.
That when you die the last thing you take is your with your *** is cash and bling bling.
Teach these kids to run with no legs... Lil tink tink. So dont close your eyes, life passes by in a half blink.
**** conforming I'm preforming to make them think.
This country is not weak we're just on the brink of finding that missing link to confirm the only belief... wich is love, and only our love should reign from above. One love is the riches of all lives, from saints to thugs and that's because...
you matter, I matter, matter of fact we are all made of matter, and equality is still a missing factor. This country was built from immigrants, and it's insignificance has lead to neglence and ignorance. But our omnipresence could be start of our new independence, get out the past and rise up to the present. We have a presence that could change us from the accused to the defendants.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
They're out there on the streets
I can see them as I crack my blinds
They're passing by so silently
I'm to freaked to go outside
I know that if they catch me
They'll put me in an imaginary box
And keep me there till midday
Where they'll have my brains for lunch
Or tie me up with an imaginary rope
To an imaginary tree
And force me to watch them preform a rendition of Thriller
Like a bad episode of Glee
Yes, those Zombie Mimes are freakzoides
Long before they became the preforming dead
I've been uncomfortable in their presence
Could it be because of something they once said
Wait...now here they go
Pretending to walk against the wind
Will I ever be able to step outside
Will this silent madness ever end
I don't know where they contracted the zombie virus
Or even how this all went down
I only hope and pray it doesn't infect
Any of the Circus Clowns
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
-
you relearn coming home
-
You find out how it tastes different
From when you were a little girl
(It’s far less rust tinged these days)
You name everything inside of you
anger or shame
So you never have to look to closely at the hurt
(It's mostly pretending you are something other than empty)
You relearn steady in chaos
you can still patch up
****** gaping holes with shaking hands
Lies leave your mouth faster
Than anyone has time to get the safety off
You relearn two faced
that one you never really let go of
it feels the same as it always did
Like a party trick you could never stop preforming
because it isn’t one
You know liar
The game is you are almost always
Telling a truth
- What does learning to come home mean; why is it the first place you learn to run from
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 10:47 PM UTC
I don't understand why anyone would want to hear what they expect when they ask me what I want to do with my life.
I know what they want to hear.
"Go to college. Get a good job. Settle down. Have a family."
Why would I want to give that answer?
I would hate to draw a map and go a predetermined course.
I would hate to know what's coming.
Where is the adventure in that?
Humans created many of the problems that they seek solutions to.
What would I learn by preforming an experiment if I already know the outcome?
All I know is that I want to experience.
I want to fill myself with everything that I can, and I want to be.
(b.r.o.)
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC