"radiated" poems
A strange weather pattern
Appears up in the sky,
And a strange sludge splatters
Into onlooking eyes.
Menstrual matter falls
From the great godless clouds,
The people struck with awe
As they run, scream alloud.
A trickle turned downpour
Of radiated blood,
Now drowning in a storm
That yields a *** flood.
Dropping violently in pints, gallons, and leagues
We become fossils under a ************ sea.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
I must’ve known you in a past life
You feel so familiar
Even when I didn’t know that I knew you
I knew
There was something in the way
The warmth radiated from your skin
Caramel macchiato I drank you in
The baritone of your laugh
You were so familiar
Yet we had just met
Your silhouette
Was one I had seen before
But not in this lifetime
Were you mine in another one?
Slipping through my fingers like silk
Always one grasp away
But you’re never gone
The way you remain like the rain
Soaking grass in spring
And I’m thirsty for you
For endless nights talking in darkness
Till light came in again
And never running out of words
But even as we spoke it felt so deja vu
Don’t I already know you?
How do you know me so well?
Like your code is written into my cells,
I feel you on a molecular level
Your soul intertwined in mine
But never fully actualized in this timeline
Years and years come and go
But your “aww” and chuckle never fade,
I hear it like you smiled that way you do
Like it was yesterday
Time a construction that doesn’t function
In the realities in which I know you
I have known you
You’ve been mine and I yours
In lifetimes before
In present, eyes closed I manifest
My me’s and your you’s
Subconscious whispers traveling
Through time and space
Dimensions unknown
But I know
It’s you and you know
It’s me too.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
To future conquering civilizations
in galaxies far far away . . .
don't worry about polluting the air,
our smokestacks have shot dirty-bombs
into the clouds for centuries,
mixing rain drops with the
black grime of industrialization,
transforming our children's tears
into cesspools of sulfuric acid and ddt.
We've also drained the bayous and swamps
and between you and me
don't even bother landing in Africa
there isn't suitable drinking water
for miles, you see.
You can thank years of colonization for that.
In fact, you may not want to land
on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Thursdays
in LA either-
on those days the air quality index
is 175 and far too unhealthy for any
biological organism to survive.
But at least you won't die of malnutrition
you've got decisions:
McDonald's or Burger King
choose
cholesterol and diabetes are your shock troops.
Send them in immediately,
there won't be much resistance
we've got these things call lazy boys
and daytime t.v which have
enslaved the population and decreased
the distance
between fully functioning
human beings and mindless apes.
Don't worry about bringing weapons
we've got those too
we've perfected the art of blowing each other away
there's not much for you to do.
we destroy cities with fire from the sky
and our mushroom clouds rise
at least ten miles high.
And god can't see, there's too much smoke
in his eyes
and our radiated children die
with radiated sighs.
While we are on the topic
don't worry about us spreading
propaganda
we've lost the ability to communicate.
We've learned
books turn a peculiar dark yellow
when lighted and burned.
And forget erasing history,
we've done that too.
Our subjugation of native peoples
is masked as 'patriotism'
under the red, white, and blue.
But don't get me wrong,
I tell you all
of this not to dissuade,
please come and attack,
please come and invade.
Here, I'll even turn
on the lights . . .
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art
And she radiated art
And art was her life
And we
All loved her
One hundred percent
And every
Girl
Was her
Best friend
And the priest
Doing the funeral
Hadn't met her.
But her parents
Paid him like he had.
And they told the priest
"She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art.
And she radiated art.
And art was her life."
And so that was what he
Told the
Congregation.
But when
A quiet person like her
Dies
No one ever finds out
That she
Hated art
But
In fact
She loved Forensic Science.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I like using fire as an analogy, a metaphor, the punchline for most of my poetry
I often describe the heart as if it were a hearth, while its beats were the heat it radiated
I see it—sometimes a roaring flame, often times a steady bonfire, other times a dying match.
It could scorch you if you aren't careful, but it also provides you warmth and light. A sort of clarity. Comfort.
It allows some of the toughest things on Earth to become malleable and mold itself into something new
It turns the bitter into sweet, the biting cold to teeth-sinking warm, the tasteless into delicious
It allows the spirit to soar with columns of smoke to the heavens while the body becomes fertilizer for daisies
It takes beauty, and burns it black and ash to the point of no recognition
Fire is so precious, and dangerous, and essential, and beautiful, and ugly—just like this hearth of a heart
Tended and regulated well, it's the greatest discovery of mankind
Allowed to burn out quick, or spread out of control, then it's the accident that burned down London in 1666
I believe I should end this by saying: find someone who will tend to your hearth as if it were their last dying light, instead of a person who would simply roast marshmallows with forest fires
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
1. don’t be afraid of getting hurt
because in life there are times
when we need to be vulnerable
an unmatchable brilliance is radiated
when you bare your soul to another
and are privileged enough to be shown
the deepest parts of their spirit in return
2. write often
no one has to see it, you can scribble
on napkins and throw them away
but please, allow yourself to know
the freedom of letting words seep
from your heart and relieving
the heavy strain of carrying
so many smothering thoughts
3. never promise forever
because not once have i met
a person whose forever lasted
and i can’t say
i remember a time
when my forever has lasted, either
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
we explored one another,
similar to that of how the seven sins
would explore their vices,
corrupting their virtues.
but that's what made the garden blossom,
grow with intense passion that radiated
with a melancholy glimmer, with a dipped
and ragged vine of sweat and sheen
arousal and desire.
craving, begging, mewling, whining;
gluttony, craving for the excess
sloth, craving for moments of rest,
envy, craving for a bearing of arousal,
lust, craving for a touch, a sinful taste;
greed, craving the moans and swatches,
wrath, craving for sullen destruction,
pride, craving for the fall of a bereaved apology.
our garden;
a place of virtues, a place of our vices.
you showed me the deepest things,
darkest epithets of what was to be explored,
blossoming a crimson rose of pure desire
in the pit of my abdomen, vines of thorns
wrapped firmly around my hips
and the soft ashen flesh of my wrists
soon to be accompanied around
the thin circumference of my ankles.
the shark divots soon finding their
way around the swells of my breast,
and the tremble of my inner thighs;
body arching, lips quivering,
ecstacy of your words,
your seed planted garden that
became a part of me.
I found the cardinal sins in
the dropping countenance
of your words, of your demands, and of your wishes,
and i bathed in it,
soaked myself up in the lavender of
your scent, the scratchiness of your thorns.
our garden was the place to cast our sins,
delve into them, and it ruined me,
but oh how I solely craved it.
our encounters, our actions, our experiences
putting even the seven deadly sins to same,
forcing them to turn when catching a glimpse
of us. The swells of their cheeks blossoming
with that of a rose tinted hue.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
I smoke every cigarette in the pack
long enough that the filters melted
and my lips blacken
like the nightsky,
when you stepped down
the granite staircase
in a burgundy bouclé dress
that radiated brighter than
the chandelier overhead.
All we ever had was enough.
Now I smoke to remember
the nights when the fog
followed us home
and the music of us
slow dancing in silence.
I pack my bags
and I leave my keys at your door.
You hold me close and you whisper:
"What the hell are you waiting for?"
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Her skin looks pale,
White shedding brown,
like a golden brown velvet
strewn across a skeleton
made from Cleopatra’s frame.
There is nothing to it,
her sway is flawless
in her stilettos,
O’ God those stilettos.
She pave the roads with
blossoms of Primrose
and Calla Lilies, as the tip
of her heels stab the earth.
Her body melts cotton candies
in winter,
her curve bakes pastries
in snowy mountains,
It was an unbelievable sight,
like a sunrise, she climbs the edges
of the highest of peaks,
like the wind, she enters a heart by
the creaks; like a creep.
Perhaps nothing shall stop her,
Her footsteps continue to pierce
the soil, making a sound close to the
cracking of my knuckles.
She made people snivel and weep
when she enters the room
with her slender black dress.
She makes heads turn almost
to their full circle,
it would be death to steal a
peek, or glance, a peep.
She is the sun on earth:
hot and highly radiated
but too tempting to be left alone.
She is like the still waters:
calm, clean and serene
but too quiet to know the depth;
and still willingly jump in.
It is like believing again.
She is like believing again.
She is tiny as is her name,
It shall rhyme as the bell shines,
Her hair, her coiled twisted hair,
is much like herself: curled, twisted
bended.
Yet she is, perhaps, the twist in life,
the curl of wind on her bosoms, or
the bend of spines when eyes turn
to gaze at her splendor.
It is uncertain what she is,
but I know, vaguely.
She, like a Zinnia, shall be the
decoration of this planet.
She shall be, though exaggerated,
the reason for our existence.
She, corrupted and dangerous,
shall reclaim her spot in divinity
and shall forever more be
my source of inspiration.
Like a stream of clear water,
gushing down the torrent
ovately,
ornately,
creatively,
purposefully…
She shall see herself,
breathe herself and know that
only she is the one she could
deliberately fall…
…or fail.
The black sand shall be her dress,
the grey rocks shall be her stilettos,
that clear water be her conscience
as she takes on the world.
With her cursive eye shadows
she will see the funny side of
life; she will see it thoroughly.
She, regardless, will persist
and resist the failure
of herself, with the moist
creek on her seductive lips.
She is seduction.
She is temptation.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
she was the sun
and the moon
simultaneously
when she entered the room
the rays of her smile radiated
and warmed the skin of everyone
in her proximity
she resembled a light summer breeze
that made the curtains dance when
the windows were left open
but she was more dynamic
than a simple ray of sun.
when she exits the room
and is left in the presence of herself
the shadows of her soul shake
like flowers after the first frost
she becomes an earthquake
as she goes to war with her mind
she was the best of the light
and the worst of the darkness
she lives as an eclipse.
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
One day there was a bright glowing canvas, a pure sparkling white
It was beautiful, but not complete
Then someone came along and drew lines on it to form flowers and mountains and streams, it was more beautiful and it made the natural white look more distinct
Then one day someone else added color and the canvas radiated and became more and more complete, it seemed whole and functional
Suddenly, one day someone came along and slew the canvas, destroying its color till it showed black, and an ugly black
The canvas seems so drab so empty without its color, so lifeless
People refused to help the canvas, refused to anything about the canvas slayer refused to listen to the canvas’ plea
Instead the canvas slayer’s free to roam free to hurt and damage other canvas
Who will restore the canvas?
Who will bring justice?
Why is the canvas slayer free to roam while the canvas feels imprisoned, crushed, victimized?
Why is the canvas treated like a criminal?
When will the canvas feel free, joyful and peaceful?
THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO VICTIM'S OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND OTHER FORMS OF ABUSE.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland,
With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven.
Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made
The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh,
Yellow with the hint of light.
Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea.
And delight in a conversation of philosophy.
Maybe you'll pay, maybe me.
The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon,
with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall
Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud.
They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke.
The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts,
The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech.
Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar,
Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking
is dangerous.
Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars.
Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game.
Not hidden, no worries, around the corner.
But yet again man made.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
I tried to take a picture
Of everyday I was with you
I tried to take a picture
Of all the happiness you bring
I tried to take a picture
Of the flowers that you sent
The ones that were red
With that very strong scent
I tried to take a picture
Of the day that shined so bright
The way the sun radiated yellow
Giving us its light
I tried to take a picture
Of the nights by the lake
Where we sat in the blackened dark
Smoking getting baked
I tried to take a picture
Of the smile on my face
But I turned the camera around
To hide the clear but staining tears that raced
I tried to take a picture
Of the love around me,dear
But an uncompromising flash burnout
Causes me fear
I tried to take a picture
Of the happiness you bring
But what I captured
Was the truth and its sting
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 2:31 AM UTC
the sun has that certain haze
as if it were the dead of Summer
and heat radiated through the air
but
this is a tease a reminder of those days
because indeed the air is fresh
and sharp as it should be in Winter
at the seaside a roaring song and dance
those distant waves appear as a range
the ridges of a desert mountain top
and
silhouetted at depths with the vibrance
of sunset hues bringing shade to the wild
while preparing for the cool of night
the reflections are shorter now
and I lose sight of that glowing orb
as far off clouds take shape to dip
then
colors shift to violet, navy and maroon
leaving a bruise to bumps in the night
and dream of an August day by the sea
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 9:40 PM UTC
Your eyes.
I can't stop writing about them.
I can't stop dreaming about them gleaming like sunlight beaming into the windows of my soul.
And I've been meaning to tell you-
Heighten the blinds.
I can't stop fiending to be the reflection in your infliction
The mirroring of eyes, my line of sight in your line of vision
Our pupils don't just collide, they cause a collision
And uh,
The precision of your gaze fogs all coherency to a haze
And it's seeming
There's a thousand words teeming off the levees of my lips
But you got me in a daze and the waves crash silent
See inside I'm screaming
They say the flames radiated from desire are the fires most violent
And I feel your vibes like radiation;
Hazardous to both mind and body.
Detrimental to the soul.
I believe in whole this is not an illusion
They say the eyes never hide from the truth
-and the truth never lies-
See, I've already eyed your eyes
I'm not convinced this is confusion
I've come to the conclusion that
If I confided in you,
Could you agree it's a delusion
You've been opening the window;
You want to be
Inside.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
the warmth from loneliness never felt so cold and cleansing
the warmth from two hearts colliding never felt so caressing
smiles stretch wider than the sky and i can’t help but swallow up the ones i hold dear
past, present and future all in my windshield and at the tips of my hair caressing the air i breathe
it’s always been preconceived
the pain the consciousness and the way we bleed
i’m a nomad in the desert feeling like an ostrich feather
freedom just isn’t as potent as it once was
and my dreams are a little more out of reach
but i’m still the wanderer whose ideas are clean
all the eyes that radiated love, i never forgot
because you showed me some kindness in places i forgot
the adventures that shook the time and the tunnels that gave us vision
i handled the concise misunderstanding that led to my downfall
it led me to a waterfall up north where the weather isn’t warm
saturation was gone but i still felt like i was home
i’m going home
i haven’t been there in a while and i’m sorry
please don’t worry about the nights i’ll never show
i’m co-existing with the night
he’s showing me the beauty that comes with walking alone
i made a home inside my bones
the address is tucked into the underlying of my sternum
i don’t apologize for the pictures i’ve burned and the bridges that ignited along with them
i live my best life when i’m desperate for a solution
we’re all just warriors of the unknown
traveling in a stream of nothingness trying to find out the art of everything that’s unknown
there is no home for the outgrown
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
Whem you see a obstacle you can wait for it to go or do something drastic the fact that someone like was born with a crap hand does not mean something great can happen truth is I can hide and watch and wait but I choose to live and overcome that obstacle a Prievous year I had a flaw of love lorn as I will always care for her but I may found something so I thought I was hurt I radiated disappointment in my eyes but hey I like a challenge I may have become that guy who's a loner a guy who isolates himself from others but I tell you something what I want I will get this time what's gonna stop me a another fellow a judgemental authority figure all I have to say is obstacles are meant to be smashed
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
One day there was a bright glowing canvas, a pure sparkling white
It was beautiful, but not complete
Then someone came along and drew lines on it to form flowers and mountains and streams, it was more beautiful and it made the natural white look more distinct
Then one day someone else added color and the canvas radiated and became more and more complete, it seemed whole and functional
Suddenly, one day someone came along and slew the canvas, destroying its color till it showed black, and an ugly black
The canvas seems so drab so empty without its color, so lifeless
People refused to help the canvas, refused to anything about the canvas slayer refused to listen to the canvas’ plea
Instead the canvas slayer’s free to roam free to hurt and damage other canvas
Who will restore the canvas?
Who will bring justice?
Why is the canvas slayer free to roam while the canvas feels imprisoned, crushed, victimized?
Why is the canvas treated like a criminal?
When will the canvas feel free, joyful and peaceful?
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
The clouds separated the Sun from my life for too long
I wondered if it even existed
And if it existed
Would it know I existed?
It's warm companionship eluded me
I was frozen in the wastelands
I donned my armor of ice
And embraced all that is frigid and bleak
My feet turned into rockets as flowers bloomed all around me
I rode headfirst into the sky on a jet of pure nature
I cut through the friction in the air
And exploded through the clouds
The Sun's disorienting light loved me
Without vision I flew to it's warmth
When I reached the Sun I kissed it on the mouth
and we danced around the galaxy
And the Sun radiated our love to every living creature in the universe
But the Sun abandoned me out in space
The Sun returned to giving life to all
And I am but one
I just thought that maybe I could help it give life
Because at one point I was a star
Now I'm just dust
Is it so selfish to want it's power for myself?
I've been floating in darkness for a while
And I feel very Alien: Isolation right now
But this is no game
And Sigourney Weaver couldn't fight my monsters
Game over, man
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
My darling you do know right?
That I love you in spite of every ‘in spite’
And forever would love you this way
I know you’d wonder-Why did I leave then?
Well sweetheart, have you ever seen
The sun and the moon intertwined?
We always believed that I
was your apple sauce
And you my pork chop
Either went missing
The delight shall remain incomplete
But love, you do know it hit both of us
How weak was the foundation of this structure
Infallibility is not something each
Relationship can afford
With which I perfectly agree
But only if it were for errors committed
Honestly in love
This moon would have defied
The force of gravity to reach his sun
Even when it meant burning his identity
My ashes would also have
Whispered your name girl
If only our attempts had been honest
Just for once
For the eyes drifting upwards
Did see us together at times
But hon, we were never intertwined
If only our apologies had some substance
If only our love were more than just pleasure
If only it were based on truth rather than fraudulence
If only we had recognized OUR relevance
I’ll not waste much of your precious time
End I shall this sorrowful ballad
With these final parting lines-
“That every night this moon re-lives
The vivid memory of
The light radiated from his sun
That helps him hide the bruises, ugly scars
Dark holes in his soul from
The world’s gaze
Shining brightly every crepuscule
Following a similar phenomenon
As that of the celestial sun- giving its light
From millions of miles away to its celestial moon
The distance in no way affects the connection
between the two
Cupcake we both know that the moon
Will never have light of its own
It is the sun that will forever be the source
And the miles will forever exist
And must be maintained
To prevent the breaking of hearts beyond repair
Prevention is a necessity
Since the sound of such an apocalypse
Might remain unheard
receiving none’s attention and solace
For sound does not travel in space”
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
A volley of gunfire
A stream of offensive epithets.
An amazed girl
And an enraged boy.
After every volley of gunfire,
There was a respawning individual.
Steam could be seen emanating from his ears
Anger radiated off of him.
The girl watched carefully
Taking note of every action.
The sounds of battle could be heard
And the boy kept getting aggressive.
Innovative and anatomically impossible suggestions were made
Names were called and yelled out
And the game continued
“I effing stuck him” was repeatedly yelled.
Finally, after a long rant,
The boy jumped with ecstasy
In the heat of the final battle, he won.
Now he wouldn’t have to fling his controller
The girl applauded him, thankful for the blessed silence.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
Hush child let me tell you a tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
There once was a girl
Who believed in the paranormal
And would turn at the slightest sounds in a whirl.
Hush child and listen to my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
She would always turn on a light
To illuminate what lay in the shadows
When she went about in the night.
Hush child and devour my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
Living alone was she
When the darkness sought her out
And attempted to corrupt her psyche.
Hush child, now listen closely to this tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
As she left the door to her room
She froze where she stood
As she gazed upon her doom.
Hush child, pay attention to my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
There stood a man in a top hat
Across the hall
He seemed ready for combat.
Hush child, do you hear the truth in my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed?
The man stood across from her
Staring and nothing more
But his dark silhouette was a blur.
Hush child, hear now this tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
As they stood there
Watching one another
The girl felt a flair
Hush child, accept my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
The girl took a step back
Closing her door
With a resounding SMACK!
Hush child, for this is my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
The girl was frozen and feeling insecure
Staring at the back of her door
For what she felt was simple and pure.
Hush child, it’s almost over, this tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
The man in the top hat
Across the hall
Radiated evil, pure and simple as that.
Hush child, the end is near of this tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
She stood staring at the door in her room
Never wanting to leave again
For fear of having an early tomb.
Hush child, give ears to this tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
There once was a girl
Who believed in the paranormal
And would turn at the slightest sounds in a whirl.
Hush child, just listen to the tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
She would always turn on a light
To illuminate what lay in the shadows
When she went about in the night.
Hush child, this ends my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed.
She lives in fear of the ghost
For she knows he will return
When she thinks she is safe the most.
Hush child, do you believe my tale
Of a ghost and a girl
When darkness assailed?
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
There was a girl who’s favorite bedtime story was Rapunzel.
The mother's definite betrayal of her only daughter, casting her away into a lonely tower for a mere cabbage, fascinated her.
The witch intrigued her and the story was read countless times by a girl too young to understand. And yet, pain seemed to seep from her eyelashes
and whisper small words.
Her face radiated an ember light that was visibly diminishing.
The lines in her forehead and blue under her eyes held a pain no girl should know.
She’s leaving and she’s not coming back.
She’ll leave this world, and the fairy tale she so desperately clung to, hoping to lay down somewhere warm.
Where the blue above her cheekbones will drip off into a river so crystal it made her eyes sting a little.
Shes making a happy ending by making an ending.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC