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Molecules of two elements, nitrogen and oxygen, comprise about 99 percent of the air. The remaining hoity toity 1% includes small amounts celestial seasoning luxurious riches as argon and carbon dioxide. (Other gases such as neon, helium, and methane are present in trace amounts.) Oxygen is the life-giving element in the air.

Earth's atmosphere is 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and 0.03% carbon dioxide with very small percentages of other elements. Our atmosphere also contains water vapor. In addition, Earth's atmosphere contains traces of dust particles, pollen, plant grains and other solid particles.

Even when the air seems to be completely clear, it is full of atmospheric particles - invisible solid and semisolid bits of matter, including dust, smoke, pollen, spores, bacteria and viruses. Some atmospheric particles are so large that you will feel them if they strike you. However, particles this large rarely travel far before they fall to the ground. Finer particles may be carried many miles before settling during a lull in the wind, while still tinier specks may remain suspended in the air indefinitely. The finest particles are jostled this way and that by moving air molecules and drift with the slightest currents. Only rain and snow can wash them out of the atmosphere. These tiny particles are so small that scientists measure their dimensions in microns - a micron is about one 25-thousandth of an inch. They include pollen grains, whose diameters are sometimes less than 25 microns; bacteria, which range from about 2 to 30 microns across; individual virus particles, measuring a very small fraction of a micron; and carbon smoke particles, which may be as tiny as two hundredths of a micron.

Particles are frequently found in concentrations of more than a million per cubic inch of air. A human being's daily intake of air is about 450,000 cubic inches. This means that we inhale an astronomical numbers of foreign bodies. Particles larger than about 5 microns are generally filtered from the air in the nasal passages. Other large particles are caught by hairlike protuberances in the air passages leading to the lungs and are swept back toward the mouth. Most of the extremely fine particles that do reach the lungs are exhaled again - although some of this matter is deposited in the minute air sacs within the lungs. From these air sacs, particles may go into solution and pass through the lung walls into the bloodstream. If the material is toxic, harmful reactions may occur when it enters the blood. Fine particles retained in the lungs can cause permanent tissue damage, as with Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (black lung disease), caused by buildup of coal dust in the lungs, and with silicosis, which is caused by the buildup of silicon dust.

If the air is still, given sufficient time, all but the smallest airborne particles will settle to the ground under their own weight. Their rate of fall is closely proportional to particle size and density.
For example, vast amounts of fine volcanic ash were thrown into the air by the eruption of the Indonesian volcano Krakatoa, in 1883, and again by the Alaskan volcano Katmai, in 1912. In both instances, the finer dust reached the stratosphere and spread around the world high above the rains and storms that tend to cleanse the lower atmosphere. In fact, many years elapsed before these volcanic dusts entirely disappeared from the atmosphere. Since a two-micron dust particle may require about four years to fall 17 miles in the atmosphere, the lingering effect is not in the least surprising.
Dust storms are also prolific producers of airborne debris. Europe is sometimes showered with dust originating in the Sahara. In March 1901, for instance, an estimated total of two million tons of Sahara dust fell on North Africa and the Europe. Two years later, in February 1903, Britain received a deposit estimated at ten million tons. On many occasions, Sahara dust has fallen in muddy rain and reddish snow over much of southwestern Europe. During North America's droughts of the 1930s, dust storms blew ten million tons of dust at a time aloft in the heart of the continent. Occasionally, high winds swept the dust eastward 1800 miles to darken skies along the continent's Atlantic coast.

When the wind strikes the crest of an ocean wave, or a calm sea is agitated by rain or by air bubbles bursting at the surface, the finer droplets that enter the air quickly evaporate, leaving tiny salt crystals suspended in the air. Winds carry these salt crystals over all the Earth. Normally, airborne salt particles from the sea are less than a micron in diameter. It would take a million of them to weigh a pound.
Salt particles play an important part in weather processes because they are hygroscopic - they absorb water. Raindrops usually form around tiny particles that act as nuclei for condensation. Generally, each fog and cloud droplet also collects around a particle of some type at its center. Tiny crystals of sea salt make better condensation nuclei than other natural particles found in the air. Thus, salt particles in the air help make rain.

Dust from meteor showers may occasionally affect world rainfall. When the Earth encounters a swarm of meteors, those meteors that get to the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere are vaporized by heat from friction. The resulting debris is a fine smoke or powder. This fine dust then floats down into the cloud system of the lower atmosphere, where it can readily serve as nuclei around which ice crystals or raindrops can form. Increases in world rainfall come about a month after the Earth encounters meteor systems in space. The delay of a month allows sufficient time for the meteoric dust to fall through the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, large meteors leave visible trains of dust. Most often their trails disappear rapidly, but in a few witnessed cases a wake of dust has remained visible for an hour or so.
In one extreme instance-a great meteor that broke up in the sky over Siberia in 1908-the dust cloud traveled all the way around the world before it dissipated.

Large forest fires are among the more spectacular producers of foreign particles in the atmosphere.
Because these fires create violent updrafts, smoke particles are carried to great heights, and, being small, are spread over vast distances by high altitude winds. In the autumn of 1950, forest fires in Alberta, Canada produced smoke that drifted east over North America on the prevailing wind and crossed the North Atlantic, reaching Britain and continental Europe. The light-scattering properties of this dense smoke made the Sun look indigo and the Moon blue to observers in Scotland and other northern lands.

Wind-pollinated plants are the most prolific sources of foreign particles in the air. This is a problem for people with allergies.

Spores are closely related to pollens. Spores are the reproductive bodies of fungi, which include molds, yeasts, rusts, mildews, puffballs and mushrooms. Tiny spores are adrift everywhere in the air, even over the oceans. Although they resemble pollens in general appearance, spores are not fertilizing agents. Instead, they are like seeds, and give rise to new organisms wherever they take hold. Spores have been found as high as 14 miles in the air over the entire globe. Most fungi depend on the wind for spore dissemination. Once airborne, spores are carried easily by the slightest air currents.

Once, physicians were taught that infectious microorganisms quickly settle out of the air and die. Today, the droplets ejected, say, by a sneeze, are known to evaporate almost immediately, leaving whatever microorganisms they contain to drift through the air. Only a relatively small fraction of microorganism’s human beings breathe cause disease. In fact, most bacteria are actually helpful. Some, for example, convert atmospheric nitrogen into usable plant food. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, microorganisms, however, can be very dangerous. Most propagate by subdivision-each living cell splits into two cells. Each of the new cells then grows and divides again into two more cells. Provided with ideal conditions, populations multiply quickly. Fortunately microorganisms do not thrive very well in the air. Unless there is enough humidity in the air, many desiccate and die. Short exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of the Sun also kills most microorganisms. Low temperatures greatly decrease their activity, and elevated temperatures destroy them rapidly. Still, many microorganisms survive in the air, despite these hazards. Among the tiniest of airborne particles are viruses, which are on the borderline between living matter and lifeless chemical substances.

Earth is the only planet we know of that can support life. This is an amazing fact, considering that it is made out of the same matter as other planets in our solar system, was formed at the same time and through the same processes as every other planet, and gets its energy from the sun. To a universal traveler, Earth may seem to be a harmless little planet in the far reaches of one of billions of spiral galaxies in the universe. It has an average size star of average brightness and is joined by seven other planets — which support no known life forms — in its solar system. While this may be fitting for a passage from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, in the grand scheme of the universe, it would be a fairly accurate description. However, Earth is a planet teeming with vitality and is home to billions of plants and animals that share a common evolutionary track. How and why did we get here? What processes had to take place for this to happen? And where do we go from here? The fact is, no one has been able to come close to knowing exactly what led to the origins of life, and we may never know. After 5 billion years of Earth’s formation and evolution, the evidence may have been lost. But scientists have made significant progress in understanding what chemical processes that may have led to the origins of life. There are many theories, but most have the same general perspective of how things came to be the way they are. Following is an account of life’s beginnings based on some of the leading research and theories related to the subject, and of course, fossil records dating back as far as 3.5 billion years ago.

The solar system was created from gas clouds and dust that remained from the Sun's formation some 6-7 billion years ago. This material contained only about .2% of the solar system's mass with the Sun holding the rest. Earth began to form over 4.6 billion years ago from the same cloud of gas (mostly hydrogen and helium) and interstellar dust that formed our sun, the rest of the solar system and even our galaxy. In fact, Earth is still forming and cooling from the galactic implosion that created the other stars and planetary systems in our galaxy. This process began about 13.6 billion years ago when the Milky Way Galaxy began to form. As our solar system began to come together, the sun formed within a cloud of dust and gas that continued to shrink in upon itself by its own gravitational forces. This caused it to undergo the fusion process and give off light, heat and other radiation. During this process, the remaining clouds of gas and dust that surrounded the sun began to form into smaller lumps called planetesimals, which eventually formed into the planets we know today.

A large number of small objects, called planetesimals, began to form around the Sun early in the formation of the solar system. These objects were the building blocks for the planets that exist today. The Earth went through a period of catastrophic and intense formation during its earliest beginnings 4.6-4.4 billion years ago. By 3.8 to 4.1 billion years ago, Earth had become a planet with an atmosphere (not like our atmosphere today) and an ocean. This period of Earth’s formation is referred to as the Precambrian Period. The Precambrian is divided into three parts: the Hadean, Archean and Proterozoic Periods.

The Earth formed under so much heat and pressure that it formed as a molten planet. For nearly the first billion years of formation (4.5 to 3.8 billion years ago) — called the Hadean Period (or hellish period) — Earth was bombarded continuously by the remnants of the dust and debris — like asteroids, meteors and comets — until it formed into a solid sphere, pulled into orbit around the sun and began to cool down. Earth's early atmosphere most likely resembled that of Jupiter's atmosphere, which contains hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonia, and is poisonous to humans. (Photo: NASA, from Voyager 1). As Earth began to take solid form, it had no free oxygen in its atmosphere. It was so hot that the water droplets in its atmosphere could not settle to form surface water or ice. Its first atmosphere was also so poisonous, comprised of helium and hydrogen, that nothing would have been able to survive.
Earth’s second atmosphere was formed mostly from the outgassing of such volatile compounds as water vapor, carbon monoxide, methane, ammonia, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrochloric acid and sulfur produced by the constant volcanic eruptions that besieged the Earth. It had no free oxygen. About 4.1 billion years ago, the Earth’s surface — or crust — began to cool and stabilize, creating the solid surface with its rocky terrain. Clouds formed as the Earth began to cool, producing enormous volumes of rainwater that formed the oceans. For the next 1.3 billion years (3.8 to 2.5 billion years ago), the Archean Period, first life began to appear and the world’s land masses began to form. Earth’s initial life forms were bacteria, which could survive in the highly toxic atmosphere that existed during this time. Toward the end of the Archean Period and at the beginning of the Proterozoic Period, about 2.5 billion years ago, oxygen-forming photosynthesis began to occur. The first fossils were a type of blue-green algae that could photosynthesize.

Earth's atmosphere was first supplied by the gasses expelled from the massive volcanic eruptions of the Hadean Era. These gases were so poisonous, and the world was so hot, that nothing could survive. As the planet began to cool, its surface solidified as a rocky terrain, much like Mars' surface (center photo) and the oceans began to form as the water vapor condensed into rain. First life came from the oceans. Some of the most exciting events in Earth’s history and life occurred during this time, which spanned about two billion years until about 550 million years ago. The continents began to form and stabilize, creating the supercontinent Rodinia about 1.2 billion years ago. Although Rodinia is composed of some of the same land fragments as the more popular supercontinent, Pangea, they are two different supercontinents. Pangea formed some 225 million years ago and would evolve into the seven continents we know today. Free oxygen began to build up around the middle of the Proterozoic Period — around 1.8 billion years ago — and made way for the emergence of life as we know it today. This increased oxygen created conditions that would not allow most of the existing life to survive and thus made way for the more oxygen-dependent life forms. By the end of the Proterozoic Period, Earth was well along in its evolutionary processes leading to our current period, the Holocene Period,  or Anthropocene Period, also known as the Age of Man. Thus, about 525 million years ago, the Cambrian Period began. During this period, life “exploded,” developing almost all of the major groups of plants and animals in a relatively short time. It ended with the massive extinction of most of the existing species about 500 million years ago, making room for the future appearance and evolution of new plant and animal species. About 498 million years later — 2.2 million years ago — the first modern human species emerged.

Did You Know? The first modern human being was called **** habilis, the first of the **** genus. This species developed stone tools for use in daily life. **** habilis means “Handy Man.” He existed from about 2.2 to 1.5 million years ago. There are earlier species related to modern man, called hominids. The images show the skull shape and probable appearance of **** habilis.

The PreCambrian Period — accounts for about 90 percent of Earth’s history. It lasted for about four billion years until about 550 million years ago. About 70 percent of the world’s land masses were created in the Archean Era, between 3.8 and 2.5 million years ago. Rodinia, widely recognized as the first supercontinent, formed during the Proterozoic Era, about 2.5 billion years ago. It is believed that the oldest human family member was discovered in Ethiopia and lived 4.4 million years ago. It was named “Ardi,” short for Ardipithecus ramidus.
When I reached in to clean off the glitter on your face,
Did your throat ache because of the unheard voice?
When I said: relax I won't kiss you
did the unheard voice say: "I wish you would!"?
This then music that was denied

All the times I didn't touch you,
did you shiver and get chills?
Did my wondrous breath caress your hairs then?
Did your follicles once wake?
Leading to yawning pores
Inviting the warmth,
of a touch, and the moist excretion of the connection
thereof

And your dry lips with lines dividing symbolizing the walls of your soul yet to be broken
and your bright eyes when the right words are spoken
Or the nerve-wrecking look that had me choking
I was myself and I truly was, maybe you thought I was joking

Was it the distance or questionable persistence?
The fear maybe, that had you critical of what you should feel
Perhaps the vicissitudes of fate that have a stationary couple reel
Or the gravity of occurrences, where I had to keep up appearances
Maybe just you. Maybe just me. Or the doubtful We.

In all reason; logical to think that perhaps the feel
that keeps me away from you
and you feeling like a slave when with me
if you believed and trusted, we could have eloped
Escaped the prison of doubt and insecurity, uplift the hope
Use the ladder of surrender
climb down the 'chance' rope
and then we'd elope

But you stayed with the other guy who says what you want to hear
who drives the car that has them cheer
who sports a profile that gives him credit
Never minding your heart's merit
I leave and enter the wild
I am a wolf from afar
And a die-hard romantic at heart
These are the melodies that live on
Unsung hymns of love lore
May they be heard deeply and penetrate as the sound of spores.
kris evans May 2014
cusp a dandelion in your hands.....
close your eyes.....
and blow the spores away.....
make a wish....
and believe it will come true  one day......
coz when you look at me you can either see hundreds of spores .....
OR MANY DORMANT WISHES WAITING TO SPROUT....
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Poetic T Oct 2015
Could he have envisioned that this
Would have ended this way, moments
Were dwindling to one last breath.

"Why are you doing this?

All was silent, they just watched in anticipation
As into air he stood, silently swinging , no words
Were spoken they just looked at each other.

"Help me, please,

A faint voice echoed in the trees, not yet dead
But slowly as if not tortured enough, now time
Was slowly killing him, hanging by a thread.
Weeks pasted and where his breath expelled,
Stillness graced his essence, decaying pieces fell.
Blighting life, puffing mushrooms spawned.

When all that was him decayed and that final
Thread broke, cascading did he fall and released
Upon the air, spores fell like pungent snow.
In twigged solitude a bird ingested that which
Bathed the expanse. Eyes were blue adjacent to
Feathers charcoal and then it sang a song.

Inside voices corroded and it was of two echoes,
It glided upon heavens wishes, landing on the
Ledge of one who watched his step into oblivion.
Knocking three times on the window, attention
Was grasped and he headed to see this curiosity
That sat unsettling glare piecing towards himself.

"Hello there black bird,
"Do you wish me Ill will perched upon here,

Tapping on the window sill, feathers fell with
Each impact on pealed paint. His eyes squinted in
Thought, that's Morse code you are knocking.
He threw open draws, its contents scattered in
Haste, an old envelope and pencil were his scribe.
"Ok little fella lets see what you want??

.-.R .E ...-V .E -.N --.G .E
.-.R .E ...-V .E -.N --.G .E
.-.R .E ...-V .E -.N --.G .E

And then the bird was vacant of life, its feathers
Like tar laced the window keeping it ajar.
"What the hell..,
Confusion spread on his face, and with that this
Bird, expelled on ripped flesh. Spores that soaked
Essence upon the unsuspecting surrounding.
Inhaled, choking as consumed from within.

"Knock, Knock, Knock,

I know your still in their, I'll let you see what
Greets those who stood on earth while I walked
On airless steps. Inside was a voice, pleading for
Freedom unsure of what was done. A noose was
Shown through eyes both seen. In that moment
A silent scream, and he smiled in glee, seeing within.

Breath was musky as growing inwards flesh was
Seeded and soon expelled would his soul again be.
Memories seen, thoughts listened upon to know
Where the next would be. A pick up truck was in the
Drive, red white and blue? he spoke to himself.
"Could you be anymore redneck,
Beer cans washed on the drive way, he shook his head.

I saw inwards but no reason for my moment, as not
Worth a thought to recollect. I remembered it all
The consequence of life still gnawing at the rope.
I recalled  the infinite time of my own death.
Not released feeling the essence of ones self decay,
My substance raging on soiled earth below.

Streets past and the house was stared upon, to
Knock the door, to see the others surprise on
My words spoken, I glanced him just returning
Home, paper bags of whatever. No importance,
I undid his seatbelt and upon the curb I lifted I
Heard his screams as through the mass we flew.

He greeted the windshield, majestic exit though
Shards, quiet not a sound. Where blood has seeped
So did the bloom of my gift, spores welcomed his
traumatized vision of a friends torn flesh. I saw not
Through closed eyes, but once again I was taken inside.

Words were spoken I recall, as he still held tight the
Noose I had put around his throat, now stained in the
Blood of two not only one.

"No, No, what have you done,
"It wasn't me it was theeeee...,

I cut him off their lies I saw from the inside, I was just
A pawn. a random moment of... memories entered as
If I was their  before it had begun.

"Come on you only life once?

"Are you serious what if were caught,

"If we bring anyone here who knows of this spot?
"Its a twenty minute walk, come on she said she'd help,

"She, I remembered now their were three. I was
In the bar, she brought me a drink or handed me a bottle?
Rage flared as I smashed his hand against brick wall.
How did I not see, that it was opened before, I was
A play thing which she took to them and my death.

I heard a voice in the back, his hand was broken, I
Let him taste the pain over and over again. I opened
To find her, a bullet wound to her leg? I paused his
Thoughts rewound this moment, and played it out,
She was going to **** me, him she'd had enough.

I spoke in his voice words grainy as spores bled
From his thoughts,

"Why did we **** him was it worth it?

"I was blinded by love,
"I thought you would love me more,

"You killed me out of love, he didn't die you know,

"What, what do you mean?

"We walked off, but he was breathing life till death,
"I wasted away, and we still breathed,

I recalled the moment I came to being not sight, not
Words just anger, then I was upon air I thought I was
On the voyage to a better place instead I find myself here.
Where did he drop it, I search under rubble and find it.
She crawling, screaming her life ending moments away.

I walk behind, straighten my sight and see one shell,
One decision her or him, I walk into the kitchen,
Scattering objects in frantic moments and their it is drain
cleaner, I open the fridge and drink the first few gulps.
It fizzes on contact, I swill it in with a cocktail stick and wait.

Its barely been a minute and I see her exiting the room,
In a calm voice I apologise and offer her the beverage,
To calm your nerves, to sullen the pain. I wait eagerly
For her to swallow it will only take one but she resists.
I take it from her smashing it on closed teeth. Drink your
Fill, as you poisoned me I complement upon you.

Confusion filled a scared face I felt remorse, pity, but
Then it faded as I recalled my fate, blood gurgled, as
She was eaten away. a single word, her last
"Sorry,
But words mean little to one who used them, as before
I gave her my answer, silence. What was I to do, he
Was left, standing more or less. he screamed silence.

You, them took it all away shouting at him self in the
Mirror, I could see the fear etched in his features.
You killed me for nothing but boredom as if I were
Hunted for the ****. Well you know what they do
With injured animals don't you??

"Please don't **** me,

his voice grainy as it was with fear spoke out.

"I'll hand myself in show them where your remains are,

"I'm here,
"I will never let you know peace,

He went to talk again but I lodged it in, gagging as I
Pushed it further in, know how it is to die slowly.
As I pulled it out, on his throat I released my pain
And he felt what little time there was to hold on by
A thread. Breath drowned slowly in blood, his head
Tilted sideways his reflection gazed as lights went out.

I was expelled at that moment, unseeing, feeling nothing
But relief, as I was blown to the wind and into oblivion
I swept but I did not go alone. I am released of my burdens.

A bird land on a window sill, scratching words into painted
Wood, knocking gently on the window. A woman opens
It cautiously hold onto a little one, only to be greeted by
a small bird.

"Hello their little one,

The child smiles and the bird chirps a tune, a smile
Spreads on her face "I recognize that,  as the bird
Taps down scratching the last word

I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE

A tear rolls down her cheek, as the little bird
Flutters away the child speaks his first word

*Dada Dada,
Claire Waters Jun 2013
liturgies of lethargy
lull their sleepy tongues,
and run among my stumbling dreams
towards the visceral setting sun
keep the soldiers’ safeties off and order no retreat
you can’t afford to chip your teeth for the price of being numb
stay glassy eyed and leave your pride
behind the backs of bus seats
with notes, sharpie, and lies
these men are not what they seem
this world is a messed up dream
while the elite claim to delete the supposed deadbeats
as if they deplete the city’s concrete streets
i want to scream
they’re really the secret
to keeping the working class alive in the heat
to keep the coffee shops open on every street
to keeping the cheap soda purchased
at the indiscreetly laundering cover up convenience stores
you would only see when you’re walking pavement
breathing in the scent of cigarettes and pollen spores
Kevin Eli Jan 2016
One early morning along the quiet forest floor, a little mushroom popped it's head out of the ground. Looking in wonder, he pushed passed the dead leaves and dirt to reach for sunlight below the canopy.

"STOP!" said the forest. "You have been unruly. We have seen you try to grow with discord and disregard, denying the order. And what are you, alien? Identify as plant or animal!"

The little mushroom responded, "But I only did as you did; made a home. Like the rooted trees pillar in our leafy halls, as the moss nestles among the rocks, or how the birds nest in their hollows, why am I so different? I am both you and me."

The forest inhabitants pondered. In this time the mushroom grew and died. It took too long for the trees and the birds and the moss to agree by the time their fellow forest friend had passed.

The trees, too slow to interrupt, cried out to all, "What have we done?!  we may not have thought him as beautiful as the rest of us, but the mushroom was a part of this forest!"

As a parting token, the little fungi grew a network of strands below the trees roots to support them all, feeding and protecting them even in death.

With it's dying breath, it dropped it's spores, to which would grow bountiful among the forest floor, among the trees and the rocks and moss. They had not known it, but the little mushroom was a part of a greater fungi, miles across. It had been there as long as the forest, keeping the trees company since time began, before humans, before us.

Only the trees had the knowledge to understand the little mushroom, but their voices were too quiet, too slow. So the trees let the mushrooms grow in their branches and on their logs to give them a home.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Thinking of Eve Seeing First the Shiny Thing
The subtile beast, she saw eating of the tree she was
told
would **** her
if she ate it and she believed,
if she even touched it, she would die,
though die was something of a mystery.
What, she thought, is happening here?

The shining serpent thing
is living and eating the fruit of knowing
some thing known to this thing,
unknown to me, this shining serpent can't speak, needn't, but 'tis a beguiling
creature,
a scoff-god swallowing forbidden fruit
as nothing happens. Not dead,
what ever that may be,
why should I? Curioser
and curiosum it says, with its eyes,
"you shall know, as God knows, you shall not
surely die".
(those Kachinas, I imagine dancing off in time,
singing as the chorus of snakes,
"we hold such things as men can't hold in hands")

Oh, no, wait and see. We, you and me, we play no
past roles, no deed is redone, thoughts are rethought.

Everything has been thought, the object of thinking
is to think them again. Mr. Goethe made note of that fact,
when he thought, everything, excepting what I know,
is temporary at the moment, I recall the idea of

God knows what, but it ain't accidental,
and it ain't the misperception of decept-icons dancing
on the head of a pen.

You got that right - question - quest ions symbolize what
you do not know, so, who knows? Question marks
Symbolize the act of questioning. It's a primal need,
Wisdom, the principal thing of which
more is always desire-enabling.
Somebody beyond your knowing imagined that  right.
Would you believe the algorithm needed to program
perception of a who'll-go-rhyme,
or an I'll-go-rhythm positive knee-**** response
to the ***** of a pen or the whisper of a word,
which it is supposed, was written
by 100 monkeys with typewriters,
whacking away endlessly, balancing precariously
on the edge of the first 100 turtles
in the stack? What are the odds, eh?

Life has a plan with no plot, ought we think?
We shall not surely die, we know now, that's a lie.

Beyond believing lies, we know now, how and why
we are naked, by our own cognition.
We told us we are naked.
We, now, know that,

but here, in the pages of the book of life,
we are no longer subject to the ******* of fearing death.
Here, there is no more condemnation.
Believed lies re-cognized here,
affect no fear, we know,
the final foe fell. "It is finished" was no lie.
Take comfort here. Be still, and know,
rest prevents any
re-triggering viruses left by
the lying messenger's old fables, told as prophecy
or fair-tales oft sung as epics
pre-determining the possibility of evil winning in the end.
The words that built the lies remain,
not the lies. Evil never had a chance, life isn't fair.

The basic plot is a man-made thought, the purpose is not.
Life goes on, death never could have won
and now its power serves
to make eternal waves that keep thinkers thinking things differently.
Loneliness, after all is said and done,
is not
as common
as one might think. There's always
Details, details, details
God only knows.
Saying such a thing idly is vain.
Unless, you know, God knows.
****, that, too.
None of that here, you know.
no condemnation
Socrates was a joke, nothing new under the sun,
beyond that is no mortal's concern. Believe me.
Knowing nothing is far more difficult than men imagine.

Tongue in cheek was an old clue in fair play,
your gramps
could poke out his cheek like he had a snake in his mouth
struggling to break through sealed lips.  
Then he' tells a
fish-story and claims the magi know it true.
Tongue in cheek, so to speek, I see some missed conceptions
fructify from spores spat idly as ****** hells and damns
from tinkers tinning pots with crazy making lead solder.
Which meandered my other me to lead
Lead soldiers. I led the boys to war, that's what they were for.
It's all in the plot to make men of boys so we can help God
defend Heaven, in case…

What?
Good versus evil and all that whole lie.
Or is it faith we must defend?
How reasonable is that? What can **** an idea like
one of the big three?

Eve knew knowing good and evil cost her.
She paid attention to
the truth of all she so suddenly knew.
Otherwise,
she could not attempt the task of bringing
Able into the world, after the pain of Cain.

Oh, please, let Cain fulfill the promise, I cannot bear the pain,
said Adam in his shame.
Eve, on the other hand,
knew hope for joy she found in every
birth, and there were many twixt Able and Seth, all girls.
Cain had been gone for decades ere Seth came along.
Eve was o'er-joyed at the boy whose son would somehow
bring to bear the final sacrifice of travail and pain to
manifest the sons of God to play the role pre-ordained
for sons of God and their sons to play, wombed and un,
each, in his own way, the one creation groaned for,
the missing, wanted, desired, one, an
only begotten with just exactly your DNA,
one in 8 billion, a rare element, indeed.
You know.
Nico Julleza Oct 2017
Behold,
The embers of the sky,
Telling myths, a winters night,
Winds blowing, trees bowing,
Often, they whispered a voice,
Warming toes, a freezing nose,
An aurora, a sight out of coast.

Behold,
Each glory of design,
Sparkles wooingly outshine,
An epitome of colors playing,
Often seeking its own grand,
Forming from an artist hand,
Someone will but no one can.

Behold,
As memories out spores,
Bound of keys, tied with thee,
A Moet of an enduring heart,
Sprung out of an idled dream,
A man-woman of abstract art,
Weaving as embers sky depart.
#Ember #Sky #Love #Inspire #Behold

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
He was known as the local Mycophagist
In the dales, the woods and the hills,
What happened was sad, for he wasn’t so bad
Just a tad underdone, Toby Gills,
They say that the cord was around his neck,
He was born with a carroty mop,
And a pale white head, he was almost dead
When the doctor had called out ‘Stop!’

They cut the cord and they let him breathe,
The damage was already done,
The blood had been stopped to his carroty top
So they said that he’d always be dumb.
But he found a niche where the fungi creeps
And went out collecting the spore,
In a year or two he knew more than you
And the college Professor next door.

He studied his mushrooms with loving intent,
He knew about hen of the woods,
He knew about bracket and shaggy manes, magic
And paddy straw, they were the goods;
He fostered his lobster and hedgehog and oyster
And coral fungi and stinkhorns,
But didn’t discern between fly agarics
And toadstools that grew in the lawn.

He grew his spore in a deep, dark cellar
And sold to the folk who came by,
And never would judge between Widow Weller
And the ordinary witches of Rye,
He’d sell death caps, and pigskin puffballs
Not thinking to question them why,
Or who would be eating his laughing Jim’s
And whether they knew they would die.

The air was thick and the air was damp
And he fell in the dark one day,
Scattering toadstools into the air
And their spores had floated away,
He breathed the spores right into his lungs
For he hadn’t been wearing a mask,
But ****** them in right over his tongue
And they came to his lungs, at last.

I happened to see him out in the street
He was finding it hard to breathe,
He could only take a couple of steps
Then sit on the kerb, to heave,
I tried to help but he waved me away
And his eyes were yellow and cruel,
Then I saw what he’d thrown up on the kerb
Some yellow and red toadstools.

The man was a walking toadstool spore
They were popping up out of his hair,
Pushing their way though his carroty top
In a bid to get to the air,
And his skin was blotched like a puffball, he
Looked up at me, and he cried,
As a giant toadstool grew from his throat
And he lay on his side, and died.

David Lewis Paget
Cate Nov 2014
am I


special?

see, I thought I was.

but then I woke up
after nothing happened
and you were cold
and I was hot
and I didn't want to touch you
and you felt dead.

and then,
when you woke up too
your eyes never found mine

and your arm felt forced
around me
out of some sort of
unspoken understanding
you thought you knew

and your head was
empty

and so was the jar on the floor
and I wanted you and I wanted
more.

we are rotting-
overtaken by the spores of
our split decisions.

Your eyes


just

don't excite anymore.

C.e.M. 11.26.14
Zemyachis Mar 2014
spores! spores!
fluttering demon spawn everywhere!
fluffy white bleached miniscule chimney sweep umbrellas
cascading down like so many newly born spiders
on their silky web shoots
coming over the hill and roof to attack
traversing miles to my nose
which weeps
in sneezes so magnificent
they'd frighten off an elephant

I tell you, for every reproductive winged plant seedling I will counter with fifteen crumpled white tissues

evil evil pollen, the curse, the allergy, which trapped me in the castle in my youth, on many a lovely spring day
Fahredin Shehu Apr 2012
Black
Empty cans
No liquid evaporated
In the air full of pride
Polluted grains of soul
Lost their consistency
Pure fluids of light
Erupts as marshmallow bombs
Death squad penetrates deeply
Aiming to meet Anubis
A Tsunami whirled its wish
Passion and glutton declared independence
The dream of becoming a parallel nation
To co-habit with leukemia of creativity
A *** drive 4×4 retired
A crippled veteran of passion
Bags for the mercy of soulless utilitarian army of human entity
Better said plankton a ****-plankton of miserable creatures
Even worms and larva are disgusted by our hatred
*****, a skunk of fear
An eclipse of love that spans for ages
From birth to death
A spectrum displays its ripeness
******* liberty as blast
A dazzling dance of shaped and amoeboid forms of manifestation
Truth
Bitter the honey with suffer
Powder a chamomile with royal jelly and ginseng
All of sudden a wind blows
Spores of the old pines
White
The soul of parallel nation of Angeloid
Is striving pleasure of life?
Lives now
Perpetually woofs a rainbow muslin with
the divine light
Inter-woofed dress
Newborn immaculate fellows
Perfuming
Oh those smell of paradise
Mint, Neroli, Oakmoss, Amber
A bouquet of divine pleasure
And Acacia kissed by a queen bee
Yes the queen of Enneagram
Of course
The work produces sweet essences
Oh Sarmouni of our Millennia
Melt the cataract-ic lance so they may see the beauty
Heal the flu so they may smell fresh ozone
A charged circle of light and love
Overwhelm
Remove the pulp from the reed
So may divine tune perform light?
Tao
May be your torchbearer
In the dark valley and by then you may
see a spectrum
That encircles an infant fear
For an eternal life
Yet I kiss that that time sequence
Where Jin and Jang harmoniously co-habit
I a Feng Shui of Love
Defragmenter of hate’s files
Zipper of dark matrixes
Arranger
So you may know they do exists
So you try them in order to enjoy the sweetness
of life’s honey
In this porcelain valley
Where goodness and mischief
Hand in hand are gliding furiously
Alas pure the morning with dew of love
Oxidize hate with apple vinegar
Sing to celebrate both solstices and have a cup of vine
That swoon you
That filters all starry
Cells of brain and ganglia
Perfume her navel with rosewater and kiss, kiss, kiss
Do a divine Tantra
With all visible and invisible and semi-visible spirits
Kiss topaz of her eyes
Kiss ruby of her heart
Kiss diamond of her nail
Kiss cooper of her feet ankle
Kiss jade of her bones
Kiss sapphire of her cells
And a flame-y waterfall of hair
And a silky *****…
Oh…kiss and kiss and kiss whatever belongs to her
Make her a necklace
With your purest and noblest spermatozoids
Then call her as you wish
Wisdom, Hikkmah, Sophia
Or simply Goddess that makes you Angeloid.
—-
Arabic for wisdom, we disregard language we are concentrated
on substance on quint essence
Greek for wisdom
L T Winter Apr 2015
She's ghost-bound
Dead,
Counting silent breath
On airwaves--

And oaken elephants--
Weather through
The distillation
Of time-

We're time-travelling
Whispers; nanoseconds
Catching spores,
Spelling--

She's mine-
My only one.
Been a while, since words spoke.
LS Martin Dec 2016
If my heart were a garden meant to grow and flourish with each person I gave it to
*Then I've been watering dead plants for years
Sometimes I watch
the man in the benign pastel shirt
and the drab khakis
with the receding hairline
and the thick glasses
cross the street
with a package in his arms;

And I think to myself,
"There goes a good dad,
mild mannered, loving -
trying to make his way
in this savage world."

Then, almost instantaneously,
the doubt creeps in:
"Or, he could be a monster,
who beats his kids,
or his wife,
or sets fire to homes,
or has adolescent prisoners in his basement."

From then on I question everyone I see.

That lovable looking old lady
with her sun hat
and disabled parking pass
might shout racist obscenities
from her balcony
at poor black kids
playing in the park across the street.

The clean-cut young man
in the shirt and tie
with the papers in his hands
may spend his weekends
filling envelopes with anthrax spores -
one for each name on his list.

I can no longer see
the father whose arrival from work
is anticipated by a loving family,
or the grandmother who delights in
handing out the most Halloween candy
to every kid in the neighborhood,
or the industrious young professional
striving to make a meaningful contribution
to society.

I wonder if the darkness I see in them
is a magnified reflection
of the darkness I know
that lurks inside of me.
Shevek Appleyard Nov 2022
Starting up you're all I want to touch
just us, half naked
weekends wasted
stripping, sniffing, sipping
its star splitting

you stain my brain
and thoughts on my sheets
its been weeks and I'll always choose you over sleep

you're smug
cos you think I'm in love
but you know I'm caving
the hum of your presence I'm craving
the lull of my lust misbehaving
all senses wavering
I stare my issues in the face

spiteful inflictions influx your world
this happiness is on borrowed time
as a sun bleeds beauty
my heels ***** with demise
staged under skies of potent paradise
and I've lost all sense of myself
smothered by mental health

there's toxicity to our proximity
that renders all possibilities for me
I sigh to leave behind heavy lies
but at least I'm half free from anxiety
and I can smoke again

yet there's more bad decisions in the shape of you
and we know its not true
but I decanter out the decadence
so I wont feel possession
obsession can maintain you
don't use it to sustain you

the complications spring my elations
hallucinations that restores clarity
tiny triggered spores open doors to expose your vanity
egos obscured what our reality ignores
as we explore each other's minds and sanity
potions of emotions keep the notion
that were not too eager for unhealthy devotion
we climb on frantic antics and struggle with the semantics
of what we want to say...

if we enjoyed being bored
not living for drama
reserving our pain
and deserving our karma

my cat scraps the shadows as
my mind maps the gallows
feasting on conspiracies of negativity
but hardly mindful to see
they'll always be a distraction
an infectious interaction
that puts things off track

mellowed attributes and more attention
make room for romance soon to be rotten
a spark of love so soon forgotten

apparatus attitudes
practice in ventriloquism of truth
an alchemist interlude
as I manoeuvre to conclude
these epiphanies are constant
then snoozed away
I don't owe you
in blue to choose these lazy ways
days of ***** are hazy with
drunken clues, to forget the thoughts
bought from the hangover before
this is gifted guilt but I know me by now
and its obscurely ordinary
to be deliciously disgusted by you
All Ido is contemplate evaporate the hate that shades over my  gloomy mind that rains over and kinda say, Hate to love and love to hate.
Live passed not knowing the future wait, holding breath color changing face, Sick and tired, admire by those who shape me into a different place.
im higher than the heavens gates, still feelin fire that burns in to agrresive state, passive and passin the judgment process into the ballin fist state.
Stop messin and stressin im confessin im not in the bestest shape, dont remind me.
Daniel James Sep 2011
-10-
Regular Albert Whisker,
FE Squadron,
born 1939,
joined up at 18.

First time away from home and loving it, sir!

-9-
One day,
I’m just minding my own
at the airbase in Stranraer
when two officers appear
out of nowhere
and they ask
they ask if I’d fancy a long weekend?

Why not? I say.

Why not?

-8-
We’re staying at the Governor Clinton Hotel,
It's in New York.
Everything laid on.
Trip to Broadway and all.
Three whole days of paradise
All on the MOD.

-7-
Oh Gor Blimey!
What a sight when we stepped off the flight
onto Christmas Island for the first time.
Crushed white coral dust.

Like nothing I’d ever seen.

-6-
Our job is mainly to just do our job
which is mainly just military driving.
Land-rovers, lorries, tankers and that.
And avoiding the island ***** -
three times a day, they'd all crawl up the beach -
but they didn’t pay us for that.

-5-
Someone showed me their diary today
and it had a letter ‘H’ under today’s date.
So I’m working on the beach
when the tannoi sounds:

“Sit down and cover your eyes.
Testing will begin in five, four…”

-4-
And there was light.
A flash right through your skin and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard.
A flash.
Through your skin and bones and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard in all my life.

-3-
Then it was over.

Nothing much changed.

-2-
Except the mushroom cloud was there for quite a time.
And the Canberra bombers, the white ones, they flew through the cloud like little spores.

-1-
Then one day they just said “You’re done”
and we queued up to fly home to England.

Saw the new ones, the ‘moonies’, getting off the plane.
Sad to leave I was, yeah.
It was a good posting.
And nice weather, never rained,
Not rain at any rate.

Then, not long after, I was sent home for good.
They said I’d caught a cancer off a someone and
for me own good
I had to be discharged.

-0-
Sad really.

It was a good posting.
This is Albert Whisker's story. He was involved in Britain's first nuclear weapons testing programme on Christmas Island. To see an animation I was involved in scripting, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yP5XXZUhpz8
st64 Oct 2013
see me fly close to the sun

watch my feathers trail and hopes plummet

all round the air

falling through the sky
  




evening pond..
cranes' beaks probe
last of daylight melts in rosemary-blue




lunar-moult occurs once
fins have fill of lacrymal-oceans
pedestal left behind when raiment-sown
into the slow-weave tapestry of awakening
sweeping over this landscape with seminal-flow
changing forever its inside-face


hear the unsignalled-whispers of the moon-child
it all lies in that feathered-hope


squiggle.. squiggle.. this message portent
on the palm of your sentry-pod
rustic purple on wheat-coloured earth
green-eyes smite the clouds its freedom
moving.. ever-moving.. then dissipate
into brilliant air
temporarily changing the sky's face
as the sun's eyelashes slowly meet




crawling onward
on the surface
of never


edging slowly to the sides now..veering
wait to fall..




can't ignore the ever-giving spores
lithe stems in a trance-like dance
yes, there is beauty in this non-stop dispersing
of that which asks
nothing in return







somewhere

there must still be

a massive glitch

in the time-score*





st - 9 oct
~ notes ~
life, she is a strange thing..





sub-entry: shed



I'll catch the garment
that the moon will shed
invisible-rainbow to vision-eyes


in the next life .. .. ..

(descend thus from the sun, ye lowly-soul
find yer hiding-place 'neath craters of old..)
LC Apr 2022
fragile umbrellas are strewn
across the cluttered forest floor,
nourishing strong connections
from all over the world.
their gills are loaded weapons
that fire spores into the air
at the speed of light.
if we blink, we miss it -
and the umbrellas multiply.
Escapril Day 23! Prompt: blink and you'll miss it. I've been thinking about nature a lot lately, especially fungi, which are so interesting. Fun fact: fungi are more closely related to animals than plants! I never knew that, and that fact blew my mind.
Anyway, this poem was inspired by fungi. I hope you enjoy it 😊
C S Cizek Jul 2014
I bent my toes over the tub
like talons on a sunbaked branch
and clenched the curtain
in my gloved hands.

I sprayed Tilex on a scouring
pad and scrubbed the black mold
riddling the ceiling and caulked
edges of the shower like leprosy.

My lungs filled with nitrogen,
oxygen, and argon as well as
sodium hypochlorite and hydroxide,
spores, and mycotoxins.

I staggered backwards, trying
to find solid ground but found
only a dazed, curtain-wrapped
fall to the cold linoleum below.
This has been my morning so far.
Leigh May 2015
A ripened sky splits and bleeds
Mangled reds and blacks;
An instant melts as heat from
Clustered newborn suns --
Blistered from the wounds --
Collects and beams 1600 feet
Earthwards from Fat Man's
Plump and pompous underbelly.

The pure-light pin-***** stopped
The city's pulse for a moment;
Collecting remnants of the
Beating hearts (of artists,
Doctors, students, parents,
Preachers, rats, and peasants)
To plant on rotting soil -
A hellish fungal pustule.

The swelling abscess breathed
But once and burst to
Ripple excess outwards
Soaking up the landscape;
Ingesting miles and spewing
Spores towards septic skies to form
A mass of mushroomed
Might and pyrrhic triumph.
.



.
Erenn Oct 2014
These lines on my neck
Scars scarred of regrets
Reminding me everyday how i’m blessed
If the rope didn't break by chance
If those 'angels' hadn't come in time
I’ll be in a place where heaven & hell doesn't coexist

I live my life differently now
Every day breathing in spores of hope
Everyday with families & friends pulling me back-
from my melancholy past
Every time i intend to plummet

These strangers that i now called friends(angels)
Saved me from myself
When they saw someone from their pane
With a hope pulling end
They cut through every enmity
Cutting that rope of contempt

As I dropped
Head first kissing the floor
I knew then & there
Why my life is so eminent
Why let love end my existence
Why there are still people who cared
Why leave when there's-
so much more to live for

All these answers gushing in
Making me realize
Just like a rope
You can either use it to end your life
Or you can climb your way to the top


*Choose before you lose to the noose.
There are many form of suicides. And all of them are obtusely deluded.
More or less painful or the quickest way to die.
But hanging yourself by a rope that helped you to pull difficulties in life is just a stupid way to die.
So if u want to die, My best advice is wait.
Wait until you aged.
Wait until you can't remember your sins.
Wait until you cant remember why you wanted to die.
Flaws are meant to happen.
But don't let the intent/influence of suicide fool you.
You can never go back.
I assure you.
You can never ever come back.
We put on snow-white dress
and camouflage blacks inside
Best friend is the worst enemy of man!

Leaving with a lot of do's and don'ts;
Deformed envious man pluck blooming flowers
to pollute the blue sky!

Though viruses fly around like fern spores
How orchids can bloom without care?



Poem 24
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Brandon Conway Jun 2019
outgrown the cradle
generation ships cruising
the stars are all ours
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Lectures by the river side
My my, my poor unfocused mind
Lost in the summer sun
Why, why do you run

Falling falling
Dynamic falling but into what and where

Too big to small
It’s locked
Flood the door

Weather the storm
3 seagulls
And ones extinct
Yelping from the ocean floor

Nautical and aviated creatures
Spinning, singing
Joining the jig
Go by the prophecy

Getting drowned
Getting dry
The rodent
Is out of time
The twins

honking paradox
stories missing their plots
lungs give out
as you give in

how do you do
that’s manners
pudding, pudding
who’s got the pudding?

tales of greed and trade
tales of gluttony and shame
fabrications of a hard days work
cabbages and kings

take a walk
we’ll share a talk
follow follow
into the dark

a loaf of bread
to bide his time
while I devour
you are mine
weep for you
oh I could sing
broken promises
of cabbages and kings

oh Mary Ann
she isn’t home
but she would be
but she can't

the gloves are lost
as she grows large
cant believe shes back again

the lizard
slithers down the chimney
shrieks in fear of her size

smoke the monster out
toast the *******
spark the fuse
so misunderstood

back to small
it still comes
the flower bed
over run

roses daises daffodils
an astonishing scheme of bright colors

tulips joining the 4 part harmony
in the golden afternoon
music to my ears
growing dying seconds and years

morning glories and butterflies
taking up my time
but I don’t mind
ill sit and smile

no pedals
no stem
no seeds
I’m a common ****

sit and relax
vowels and syntax
Smokey interrogation
caterpillars transformation

I see what grace meant
Looking back on it again

I’m three inches high
Now goodbye

One bight can only take you so far
The consumption
Of a mushroom
And its spores

Now that’s right
But what is left
No where to go
But some where to get…to

Striped and smiling feline
Seems like he’s hiding something
Knows something
I don’t

Points me in all directions
For no way is bad
But every which way
Is surely mad

364 days that aren’t mine
But I"ll cherish them like they are
But why
Because I can

A loon, a hare and a rat
Teapots and party hats

Blowing the candles out
Making your wish come true
Feed your head it’s the thing to do

I never got to sip my tea
What a pity
Speak in riddles
Tease in rhymes

A few tears here
A realization there
Do I ignore
Or continue to care
The roses are faux
So that she wont know
Oh the color red
Spilled blood of the dead

A place where they hail a crown
A place where heads roll around
A nonsensical monarchy
In a vast world of anarchy

Of with my head
Put me on trial
So ill be dead
In awhile, good

Wake up
Wake up
Nothing but a dream
Yes yes but what could it mean

Day dream of silliness
A place where somethings amiss
I dare not go back again
Gaze through the looking glass
To see the wonderland
okayindigo Mar 2014
when I was born, I had
nine lives left, I was bereft
of scars, delicate as fireflies
in a jam jar
(the kind I’d punch holes in the lid for,
the kind I’d bring indoors
and set on my bedroom floor as a fairy nightlight, until I got bored
and one by one they died silent as the pollination of fornicating spores.)

anyways.

9 lives left, age: 2 months
but then one day daddy looked the other way and splash!
the baby’s in the *** and the ***’s still hot
(there are witches in the air but we don’t care)
looks like soup tonight! yum yum
third degree misery etched on her body,
one life done.

And nothing to show for all of her fun
but a twisted left arm and a ***** of a sun (burn)

One life down, eight to go, you know
because she’s a fox, which (if you peek over the ledge of your punitive box)
is like a cat. And that, as we know, means
nine lives, and that’s that.

well, eight now.
if you want, I’ll tell you how she (i) is (now) down several more.
worry not little one, fate always evens out
the score.

The second was me and a boy (THE Boy, if you know what I mean)
it would seem he and I had climbed two stories high
hand over foot over hand over foot over
the parking lot right up next to the sky
and then oh-
wait.

I’m falling.

(breathe in, breathe out)

(the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
down came reality and washed the spider out)

and there are
butterflies on the tip of my tongue and there is
a word stuck in my stomach.

he held my eyes just like I couldn’t hold
the pipe as I fell, right towards the earth between heaven and hell
now there are hot knives in my ankles and I think (I can’t tell)
I’m alive.

(stop drop and roll)

yes I fell from the roof through the sky. No I’m fine.
just one more life gone, I saw it flash before my eyes in a short space of time
that was roughly
the shape of a stop sign, or maybe a wind chime, or maybe
it was the shape of the sunshine.

Whichever way, that’s two down, seven to go;
the next one I lost when I rolled off the road.

We were going seventy and
the love of my life was sitting next to me and
his skin was beautiful in its caramel coffee complexity and
he wasn’t
paying
attention.

There is air in my lungs when I should be history
but the SUV only bruised my knees as it rolled, glass shattering
pit-pattering over the pinwheel of perfect destruction
around us.

I felt myself decide that it was okay
if this was the end.

At least I’d go with my best friend, there’s some
good stuff. That, I conceded, would be enough,
I could die young
if who I was in that moment
could be the freeze-frame of my song,
the thing that’s left
after I’m gone.

Three lives gone, only five left-
the next one is casually snipped like a price tag
after a theft when I fell
(again)
from the banyan tree and flipped my pancake
(click-clack) like a jacob’s ladder
I should have broken my back.

As I fell I yelled in my head
there’s nothing to fear but fear itself
(till you’re dead.)

four down, five to go Indigo.

Here we go.

(to be continued.)
Djs Jun 2013
losing my mind like before
my heart's going blind to mourn
no room for more!
closing its door,
filled with fear and horror
sounds in my head ashore?
not my voice but yours?
as every part of me sores
making its way to my core
ruining my spores
my insanity roars!
and the madness pours!
and the pain explores!
stop! i can't take it anymore!
i promised i'll be fine, i swore
to you over and over some more
but what can i do it's uncalled for?
my sickness takes the score
i'm destroyed and unhappy and more!
what is there to adore?

*-djs
Quick write, I really loved the tone this created.
stone the bear Apr 2016
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.

Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.

_______

To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).

_____

But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.

it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.

Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.

__________

You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.

_________

I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.

So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.

After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.

Before, I was a skeptic, *******.
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.

Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.

________

now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/140736599@N08/26397561165/in/dateposted-public/
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
---

on a hill stood wicked tree
a single root, branches three

one branch was war
one branch was want
one branch was greed
horrid haunt

its root was pride
its power great
acid soil of perfect hate

its bark like scabs
sulfuric green
a stunted growth
twisted . mean

lichen of ignorance
crusted there
on the north side
of despair

black mushrooms
sprouted from its pores
growing from
starvation's spores

and yet it thrived and gave its fruit
they were put forth by the root

these carried seeds to plant in season
they want it growing for some reason

they plant it lone upon a hill
where it can grow
it's growing
still

it grows from you
it grows from me
we feed that hateful

wicked tree


soulsurvivor
rewritten
(c) 6/13/2015
first draft 2014
when will we water
LOVE
?

---
Connor Smith Nov 2012
***** of echoes, the virile resonance quaking lust -
Throbbing caverns shudder to ****** inciting vestal musk
Entranced of nocturnal bedevilment - barefaced in galactic greens,
Spores ethereal yet concealed to the Queen

Sumptuous omphalos; her ecstatic womb engulfing the bloom,
Carnal reckonings devoid of Mosaic release as panting creatures swoon
Vigorous pollination morphing the nectarean sheath
Roused stamen shrivel in an animus induced retreat

Again we'll rise to salute our idol
In burning continuance:
Fertility extolled
With pleasure recompensed.
vamsi sai mohan May 2014
U for Unilateralis Cordyceps. The fungus enters an ant's body through its respiration. It invades it's brain and changes how it perceives smell, because ants do everything they do from their smell of pheromones, right? So this microscopic little fungal spore, then makes the ant climb up the stem of a plant and bite ******* a leaf, with an abnormal force. The fungus then kills the ant, and continues to grow, leaving the ant's exoskeleton intact. So, a small fungus drives an ant around as a vehicle, uses it as food and shelter and then as the ultimate monument to itself. And when the fungus is ready to reproduce, its fruiting bodies grow from the ant's head and rupture releasing the spores, letting the wind carry them to more unsuspecting food. There, our entire idea of free will down the bin.

One single small fungus spore does that to an ant. You have trillions of bacteria in your body. How do you know where you end, and where your environment begins.

We invent God, soul... heaven, afterlife...even life-imitating technology, all sorts of transcendence to cope with the idea of an absolute end. And then, we die for an idea that promises us some sort of immortality.
Ship of theseus....
Shelby Lynn Jul 2016
When I was younger, I thought my sign was a water sign; Aquarius - aqua - water. Water. Water which must be contained, restricted to the shape of its container. Cool and calm. But Aquarius is not a water sign; it is an air sign. I am not restricted like water. I am unable to be contained, as the wind. I can be a gentle breeze on a warm day, cooling your dampened cheeks. I can carry plant spores to grow new life in new lands. I can run through your hair, refreshing your soul and mind. I can power wind farms and provide electricity for mankind.
Or
I can whip the seas into fury. I can down the world's largest ships. I can uproot trees and destroy any home. I can blow down buildings, and turn sand into tiny, stinging bullets. I can force tears from your eyes. I can move earth. I can carry airplanes...or drop them. I can bring warmth or coolness.

I am ageless and forever. I have no end or beginning; I simply am.
The fate of nations is at my whim. I am not water. I am the wind. I am unstoppable.
Poetry by MAN Feb 2015
I'm a Pattern Breaker
Pass the soul shaker
Rather be a maker
Then meet the undertaker
Study if you want to
Patterns we all go through
Taught false is true
Truth is in what we do
We all have answers
Still we get cancers
Create ribbons and banners
Get upset lose our manners
Soldiers take tours die in religious wars
Truth main battle fought behind closed doors
Toxic hatred spreading mental spores
Pollution melting ice raising ocean shores
Continue the pattern to **** is to win
Method is this madness our greatest sin
Each loss there's a cost animosity begins
An explosion of souls losing their skin
Governments construction to help us function
Built in corruption seeds of self destruction
Laws punish choices creating junctions
Living Hells..Prison cells youth feel the suction
Hmm now what's a Pattern breaker?
Funky new thought creator
Already know the later
Break the pattern of the hater..♏
M.A.N 1-30-15 I initially posted this on Friday but website was acting buggy I did a few edits I've got a few political pieces I'm working on..♏
Josh Otto Dec 2011
I tried not to look at it,
But I couldn't help myself,
The blue sky burying me completely,
The sun shedding visibility
On the edible chanterelles--
Little fungi, little mold spores
Treated as food, soft and porous
Sponges, fragile like egg shells.
We hunt for the orange gleam
Showing through the duff
As if we are savages,
Lost in our search,
Forgetting our state.

I'd forgotten what a sight they were:
Unfunny clowns always having
Arguments over who gets what space--
Quality family time.
Every home is a miniature dictatorship.

Now, savages rule our thoughts
And actions; they fight
For control;  they
Pump Estrogen into our
System so that we
Will not fight back.
The dream is not a dream.
The Police are a privilege
For those who can buy it.

All this was a week after
The dust settled. There was no music.
Even the chants of Buddhists
Were silenced, the replacing hum
One of screams
And gunshots.
The sound of
Your enemies being sautéed
Is what loss truly is:
Accounts holding our Humanity
Have been depleted.
The only unclosed door
Leads to Egypt.

When I think of it now,
What I remember is
Debt. Once, I saw
A college student
Buying cheap ramen
With a grin.

And, in a dream once,
There was no sound,
No color. Everything
Was the same—taste,
Touch, smell. Red lipstick marks
On a shirt would not
Remain. And hippies,
With their tie-dye clothes
Were just working stiffs,
Looking out a window
To see
Brick and mortar.

They say,
“This is your police state.
This is your Haunted House,
Your personal Winchester House
With no exits. This is
Your nightmare,
Your stench.
These are your maggots in your eyes.
This is what you want.”
We listen.

I do not want to be
The kind of person
Who makes it okay
To want to die.
ju Apr 2017
My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen between the green-green of expected. My decisions grow, as moss grows. Quietly wild. Shallow threads clutched tight at the sheerness of possible- drinking light from the dark in order to thrive.

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen. No branches, no forks, no watch-wait-and-see, just spores caught on a breeze when I need them.

— The End —