"pulverized" poems
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Calamitous collapse of structure forged
With steel and concrete built for time,
Since Roman times a formula endured
With engineers additional design.
Why, then, did this structure fail,
Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong,
Shear and plummet in an instants time
To crush and doom this bridges song.
In teeming rain a silence hung
Where watchers gaped in stunned awe,
A magnitude of devastation lay
Pulverized in valley floor.
Astonishing this expanse of space
Where seconds past, huge edifice,
Imbued with its’ charge of lives
Unknowingly to meet abyss.
Innocence has lost its’ life
Blame resounds around the room
Someone shall pay the price
For negligence in causing doom.
Truth be told it’s shared by all
For Italy has lagged behind
Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse
Because of economic bind.
Time to reassess the plan
Time to weep and bury dead,
Clear the rubble from the land
Rebuild well then forge ahead.
Blame not the engineer
Nor the man who drew design,
Blame not the hardhat
Who poured the concrete in the line.
Reassign the budget spend
To infrastructure, pay its share
For sentiment is running hot
To axe the fool who pares the fare.
M.
Storeman
Civil Infrastructure
Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
A swerve and crumple
the too-low Miata meeting
the steel of a
semi's rear.
top speed impatience
becomes
a mangled massacre
of twisted plastic and metal.
Bone just powder in
a pillow of pink
red-streaked
pulverized flesh.
my jaw agape as I pass too slow-
existential dread is the hand
contorted upward
a few fingers missing
or lost in the mass-
A horn brings me back.
People too late
to care.
I contemplate stopping
but I'm late too-
and there's nothing to salvage
for me here.
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 11:37 PM UTC
C'mon out to the rattled caves
the deep-sea malaise
rested in the grey metamorphs
of an ancient coastal chain
Where Sisyphean slips of tectonic rifts
pull the molding clay
like play-dough
and old rock that turns anew
churned into
great catacomb stele
Babylonian towers far away
from the great
Mesopotamic
interstate
Surrounded by the immumerous trees
the military sharpness of their pine
quills writing their mark in the dirt
for a hundred turns or so
only to be rearranged
into the great intercontinental soil
Truly
multisolipsistual
And on the aggregate
held open the mists
of the vast expanse of ocean
beyond L.A
and stole the fruits of the tiny parceled condominium rainwater
from distance far away
angry men shouting--
"Give us back our life blood, GOD **** YOU!"
Filling the tanks of their fleshomobiles
running around and sweating it out
trading it for cloth and wiping their brow on
brown shirts
perturbed and disobeyed
But that great man with the chin muscatche
brought the rough riders out of their dome
into the frontier, riding trains
Off they go!
Seeking paradise in the sands
and the trees
and the coastal breeze
dreaming
of a world owned and seen
by the world
by man
and by all these things
It would be grand
But that rock has been seen before
in Luarentian islands long ago
or perhaps a great FUJI-SAN of the west coast
worshiped by critters and dinosaurs
You are late to the game, sweet dreamers, you!
These monuments give to honor due
not you,
no sir did you build these things?
did you mold these things
with the patience of a father
with the consequentiality
of the womb
and a motherly affection
for all things true?
the gift is for you,
remember your father's gifts
sweet princes of the earth
because they will outlive you.
And I walk along the stream
stepping upon these little bits of Yosemite
Pulverized mountain rocks
Renal Stones of the diseased
to which the water flushed out deeply
and cured the grey things from all that left them
displeased
hoping for more than just selfies
and sticking it to god's face
laughing at half-dome
climbing it and getting the better of ourselves
Believing we have achieved bliss
When in reality,
there is nothing to this which we can reach.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
a passing balloon piece,
his, within in a message,
makes the imagery explode
with numerous contractions,
even confusions, and requires an
explaining explication and a fresh
application of sealant
men see the words ~ think war or football,
women think of the lyric, phrase in a sad
love ballad that means recall, and a
moistening tear drop that liquifies but doesn’t drop
but that word, pulverized, has an enormity
attached, that conjures destruction total,
s battlefield’s aftermath, tree stumps cut
down, synchronized with bodies in parts,
sole souls departing
without reasoning/justification
the lineage upon her face,
pulverized by sorrow and
no expectations for the morrow,
gaveled into existence,
by losses and carried
for a length of a term ill defined,
as “life”
with no hint of irony, for it’s not life
when it’s spent reminiscing remembering
the dismemberment of what was a
joy taken instantly and perpetually inexplicabe
the tragedies multicolored in black,
a solid stolid state that nary a meter,
talking centi’s here, pinch of breeze
and /or hurricane alters status quo,
both of us have long known that, but
we nonetheless pick up grains, single
alphabet scrambled pieces to put the
whole together again, but it’s a cause
hopeless cause we be
are
pulverized inside so
the chorded chore is
a double whammy
and still
and yet
we say
but,
for we cannot stop our fingers
from their appointed rounds
and we think in term not of hope
but a thought out louded,
the eternal question,
what if
we do not try?
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 10:18 AM UTC
I lay down
your creamy expanse
unto the marble surface,
as if milk made love with
the stars in the galaxies.
I write you out
as pleasant simmer
of pulverized charcoal
and bloated glycerine.
I splatter and spread
fine dusts of Carica
in temperate motion
to touch the sleek edges
of the vanilla branches
on your person.
I hold and dip
my feathery digit
amongst rose water
to grasp the flowers
that frames your face,
like light morganites
that hail from the west.
I cast you off
as the blue sea engulfs
the life from the waters
where life swims with
stable beginnings
and whirlwinds of stories.
I finish you
by letting molten pearls
lither your dark onyx orbs,
surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond,
like shooting comets
finding rest on land,
as lightning's faint and close
but never quite touch.
I made you
with intrinsic detail and rawness
to give you the life
that you may never have.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 8:52 AM UTC
Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.
a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.
"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.
By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.
My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.
As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
our love is immortal without a fullstop
-l.r
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
I'm covered from head to toe in resin, acrylics and epoxy,
Some pulverized rocks my son gathered from the Chattooga River,
Now reduced to a burnt ember dust.
I added silicone sludge and a little baking powder as well,
And once mixed, this dicey concoction is beautifully toxic,
So I waft the air and inhale it.
Painting a colorful sunset is too easy, I prefer black and white,
So with a wooden board the size of a door,
I get to work with my rubber sledgehammer, blowtorch
A gallon of poison and flammable spray.
The passers by have seen this look in eyes,
From The Shining or possibly their preachers,
You know, the same look that's a sight to behold.
Slamming the hammer down with brute force
And purposed abandonment,
I paint my sunset and wrangle the stars later.
A shower won't do me justice>
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
at what point in your life do you realize the futility of chasing the elusive
acknowledging all your past love stories are tragedies
stillborns, held briefly, remembered daily, for the rest of your life
to meet the paragon that matches your impossible list of requirements
the odds are against you, possible, just highly improbable
to find the unicorn on a merry-go-round of painted, wooden horses
mindlessly, repeating the cycle, searching for the one, in a universe of stars
how many times must you be pulverized in the online emotional meat grinder
craving the unconditional love, acknowledgment, validation of prince charming
to be kissed, caressed, cherished by the bad boy on the harley
romantic love is a dangerous illusion, a mirage in the desert, la fata morgana in your heart
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Leaves aging gray covered with dust,
Iron losing its will to cope up with rust,
Flowers withered losing their lust,
And the hope pulverized by the broken trust.
Days swiftly passing by like a river flowing
To those memories from the days of yore they are holding,
With mournful souls they are living
Each passing day feels like dying.
Not much do they have, still surviving the wave,
Crawling their paths, on which the traces will engrave,
Swallowing the curse and exhibiting the traits of a brave,
Succumbed to temptation, still prolonging their grave.
Holding on to what is still left of them after being broken
With bruises all over - purple and swollen,
Hearing those painful words that remained unspoken
Their hearts lost, stolen.
As love never fades, but grows each season,
People do change, for love is the reason,
It reigns in any region,
A salvation emerging, shining like a beacon.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
Pulverized,
it lays
translucent.
Once virginal white,
now stained
with impure grey.
It's smoothness,
destroyed
by abrading gravel.
Stray foot falls,
imprint it further.
Surviving buds
not yet fallen,
shed dew drops of sorrow
for petals lost.
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 3:22 PM UTC
prey tracked
relentlessly pursued
mass of zebra
whacked
pulverized
to the ground
powerful jaws of lion
employed
in the gruesome ****
throat of prey
exposed
oozing scarlet ****
lion consumes
a bloating portion
for himself
deference shown to lion
an uninvited hyena
joins in
snarls and snappy retorts
go between the two
hyena knows
the borders
at nature's table
with
lion king
both delight
in the zebra's
ample flesh
and its sweet
warm entrails
they savor
every morsel
above in stark
glared filled skies
anticipating crows
circle
frenzy intense
hungering craw
needing
needing
squawking
to announce
arrival
descending in unison
blanketing the zebra's carcass
beaks tearing
the meager scraps
from the bones
welcome
sustenance
at natures
all too sparse table
each creature know its place
crow has a place reserved
scavenger on the rim
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Across the street,
Live the community of the old.
a network of inbreeding
left the branches of the family tree
entwined like a pipeline of too many years
that swim through the convoluted paths
forever,
sealing in the contents,
preserving the past.
Long bedraggled tresses
brush close to the latticework ground
Not a comb has come close
To break the wild knots that weave.
Nets buoy their authenticity
Forever wild,
Even though,
the world survives
on bowls brimmed with metal screws
The phantoms of depletion rise,
They are weightless, until
Pulverized
and they tumble,
Like hostages
They get caught between
The wisps of eternity.
Backlit sunset,
Illuminates the evergreen leaves,
The bulky necklace of frozen memories
Decorate my stiff neck
I am a victim of too many days spent
Watching screen protected versions of nature
that I forgot how thin skinned leaves really are
How the nervous system of enigmatic veins
hold DNA of their ancestors
Now, bathed in evening light
When heat from the stars erode from the sky
They are nothing but silhouettes of the past
Faceless, like torn out pages of a history book
shunned for its omniscient wisdom
so that the ashes can be planted
burying the past in the ground
standing still in the present
but reminding me,
the future is always as high as the sky.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
sweet, full, red apples
plucked, crushed, pulverized to chill -
loved in scorching heat.
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 9:38 PM UTC
when you love,
you’re a country,
pierced by daily border
exchanged crossings,
to your closest neighbor
and though,
one rerun~returns home by night,
to your prior defining borderlines,
somehow
the externals of the container has
had its internality's modified
for the lines that prior defined
have altered
by passing the
point of prior,
now by thousands of
tiny holes breaching the
thickened protective lining,
by love punches ‘n kisses of
pinprick punctures
the resistance,
pulverized
<>
you are changed,
new language combos spoken,
embrace another with a
bilingual tonguing,
a real treat
to entreat each other and
that hyphen,
that little tiny
linear
~
punctuation mark is
reflecting your creativity of a
Singular Duality
it is mark that
speaks to a new
U~no individuality,
blended and connected
somehow a duo of
someone’s pulverized lines
forms a single stronger
chord
first a puncture
then a patching
finally
an adhesion pleasuring
and a new working word:
composite
the opposite
of
opposite*
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
UNCHARISMATICALLY, he frowned his displeasure.
On his hunting ground, the rough-coated trooper lunged
into a human intruder.
Predation was a constant chore where extracting food
could be hard work in a competitive and heavily armed environment.
Feeling lucky he grinned, grinding his fused toothplates,
then grabbed and pulverized the passing meal, aware that
overgrazing could destroy his future.
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 3:04 AM UTC
I cannot fathom the scribbling in my brain into poetic queues as of now. I am in excruciating pain but I am liberated. I am dying on the inside but somewhere behind my rib cage is a thump. Less of a thump, more like a knock. The love of my life is tearing me to shreds and the universe is softly tapping its knuckles on the door. Through an addictive relationship I have discovered my origin.
I am a healer. I am an angel and I can do no true harm to a soul; I heal even those who are the radial balance of my suffering and bleeding. I have an expendable heart; it has been squeezed, sliced, punctured, chewed, stepped on, scraped, pulverized, shattered, cracked, drained, dried, bitten, and hungrily ****** on by the mightiest of leeches. I stand before myself scarred but glowing like the chest of a newborn child. Once again my pain has given birth to me. I am new, the world has not made me an ******* I refuse. I will love. I will care. I will heal and I will push through my crucifying pains of being leeched. I will continue to give what cannot be returned to me.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Heartfelt confessions
With jovial eyes
of sincerity
Blossoming affection
With pure and
Delicate mutuality
It was sunrise.
It started blooming
Like redolent flowers
in springtime.
Sensible to meaningless
Talks in daytime
Secrets unraveled
Under the ineffable beauty
Of the cloudy sky
Unblemished hearts
Had grown to love
As innocent as
The newborn child.
Nearly twilight
Lovers in paradise
Exchanging thoughts
Priceless stories
Hands intertwined
Creating future
Dreams, plans.
Thinking, forever
Is in their hands.
The night of moonless sky
Was the time to bid goodbye
Forever is over now
Castle of promises somehow
Turned ashen gray
Dust and sand
All blinding the eyes
As one heart escaped
And the other remained
All shattered and pulverized
A quiet midnight
Nothing but a silent cry
Resonates the room
Recollecting
Ephemeral moments
Indelible memories
Both ravaging
The soul and heart
Hopeful for
A kind of dementia
To erase all
The wounds and scars
It's clear dawn now
A curve in the lips
Hiding , enduring
The pang of
boundless ache
Wishful of the
Forthcoming sunrise
To bring about
The celestial fate
A Better tomorrow,
A beautiful aftermath
Of the twisted
Playful life
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
My existence is taunted by the mesmerizing aroma,
The delightful demitasse of her Mocha brown essence,
A mere arm’s length away yet still an unreachable distance,
The inviting warmth of her crema’s supple surface,
Intensifying temptation to unending heights.
Espresso feelings brew for an eternity,
The barista’s pressure refusing to cease,
Steaming desire straining at every point,
Ever seeking release from the torment.
Ground, grated and pulverized am I,
In the grip of my addiction –
A tortuous thirst that can never be quenched.
But for the warm dark brew being wrapped in the sleeve of another,
I would pour her in to the most precious Italian ceramic bowl,
Embrace her warmth in the palms of my adoring hands,
Breathe in her rich exotic essence,
Explore her complex depths each day till the end of time.
And still I’d wake each morning anew,
Longing in my never ending desire for another sip,
A deeper understanding and appreciation,
My lips longing to embrace but one more luscious drop,
Love’s ambrosia - the hot dark brew.
Stuart Zukerman
Vancouver, B.C.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
Suspended, intoxicated,
Their faces spell out a word I can’t read
But I hear them, I hear them
And I let their ringing voices, their systematic joy
Lull me into another daydream.
They infect me, slowly,
Molten lava flowing to a standstill.
Have you ever seen hardened lava?
It’s dark, expansive, a plowed field ripe for sowing.
But it’s sharp, did you know?
It’s glass, obsidian razor blades that tear at your skin
Not only sharp, but silent, too-
You look down, and you’ve lost a finger.
You lose the point of your cheek
The slump of a shoulder.
Before you know it,
You lie there, disconnected pieces bloodied and pale,
In a field of expansive black.
I am shredded, pulverized
The words batter at me, hail and rain on a bowing windshield.
Between the crack of my lips
And the rats nest pressed to my faded walls
Is a numbed mass of slush
Protected by a barbed wire fence.
Sleeping Beauty’s castle in a wall of thorns-
But to keep out, or to keep in?
Protected, or jailed?
I slumber, curled and warm,
A feather to blow, a dandelion to destroy.
When the prince comes calling
When the clock strikes midnight
When they ask me to spin straw into gold
I swallow another pill.
I drift into another night of distraction, of
Reaching hands and wax lips that melt
A rainbow of crayons onto my lap-
Anything to avoid tomorrow,
Avoid the fists and knuckles of responsibilities
That press, suspended against my throbbing temples.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC
From a flowering plant
From a naive heart
Harvested and opened
Roasted and transformed
Broken and darkened
By life
By process
Ground into powder
Pulverized
Boiled and burned
Strained
Drained
Not even a fraction
Of what it once was
But the result
is
Delicious
Sustaining
Beautiful
Experienced differently
Enjoyed
Interpreted
Or
Suffered through
Differently
Drink up.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
When the fog burns off and the air's pulverized
diamonds and you can see beyond the islands
of forever!—far too dramatic for me. It hurts
something behind my eyes near the sphenoid,
not good. I prefer fog with fog behind it,
uninflammable fog. Then there's no competition
for brightness, no Byron for your Shelley,
no Juno eclisping your Athena, no big bridge
statement about bringing unity to landmasses.
All the thought balloons are blank. The marching
band can't practice, even a bird's got to get
within five feet before it can start an argument.
Like dead flies on the sill of an abandoned
nursery, we too are seeds in the rattle
of mortality. A foglike baby god
picks it up, shakes it, laughs insanely
then goes back to playing with her feet.
I have felt awful cold and lonely and fog
has been blotting paper to my tears.
My dog is fog and I don't have to scoop
its **** with my hand in a plastic bag.
There are sensations that begin in the world,
the mind responding with ideas but then
those ideas cause other sensations.
What a mess. We stand at the edge
of a drop that doesn't answer back,
fog our only friend although it's hell
on shrimpboats. There, there, says the fog.
Where, where? You can't see a thing.
by D. Young
21 Feb 2014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
one of the Orient’s oldest
and most beautiful important cities
inhabited for thousands of years
by generations after generations
of craftsmen, merchants, artists, dynasties,
famous architects of all styles and religions,
the western end of the old silk road
home to over 2 million citizens
until not long ago
a few weeks of modern warfare
were enough to destroy
what hundreds of generations had built
for their living as well as their sense of beauty
rockets exploded churches, temples, and mosques
artillery pulverized ancient palaces and new houses
barrel bombs and poison gas
killed the people
on tv we now see acres of urban wasteland
miles of rubble with no life
except for occasional tanks and soldiers
proclaiming victory over these ruins
in the name of a dictator whose regime
has become a puppet in global power games
no matter what the cost in lives or things
to destroy is easy
building things up is hard work
with friends like these
who needs enemies
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
Stop telling me what to do, how to speak, how to feel.
I'm not listening to you anymore.
You don't control me
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me
For many years you had me restrained.
I listened to every word that left your Lips
Like the wind blowing through the trees
I listened
And I felt, and I heard….
And I hurt.
You don't control me.
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me
And no matter how many times you afflict pain on me,
Leaving me bruised and scarred
I will not listen.
My ears are clogged up to your voice
And I will not listen.
My feelings you cannot manipulate
And I will not listen
This mind control you once had over me is pulverized
And I will not listen
You still try to speak, demanding attention with every word that leaves your pitiful mouth
Like you are the teacher and I am the student
But is it not time for the student to become the teacher
I will annihilate you, extinguish you, nuke and shatter you
Until you are the one begging for my forgiveness
Until you are the one deal dealing with the pain I dealt with for far too long
Until you are the one that everyone abhors.
You see…
I've been dealing with you since the 5th grade.
You are the pesky mosquito in my ear that I cannot assassinate.
You are always there
And I can't eradicate you
You don't control me
I am reclaiming my body, my life
I am reclaiming me.
Depression, anxiety I am terminating your hold over me
This relationship is deceased.
Your words are mute in my ear
And I cannot listen.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC