"thermometers" poems
The clocks shorter hand rolls around again
It goes unnoticed cause my mind's deep in thoughts of you
You've poisoned my blood
The doctor says I've got a bad case of love
I need a cure for this.
Thermometers are useless
Because the fever's in my heart
My temperature is rising
This love is gonna tear me apart
The thought of your name
My head is throbbing do you love me the same?
I didn't let this happen easily
I put up all my walls
But the germs crawled through them all
I've been infected by your disease
I'm lovesick for you.
What happened to an apple a day?
And why didn't keep you away
My legs and my arms they are shaking
My heart is pounding, no it's racing
I've got the shakes and the shivers
They're bad as can be
Darling, won't you just love me.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
she is wary
of ****** thermometers
of masculine logic behind sterile
of adjectives that make things difficult
to put in her mouth
and swallow.
mzf
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
It is March and black dust falls out of the books
Soon I will be gone
The tall spirit who lodged here has
Left already
On the avenues the colorless thread lies under
Old prices
When you look back there is always the past
Even when it has vanished
But when you look forward
With your ***** knuckles and the wingless
Bird on your shoulder
What can you write
The bitterness is still rising in the old mines
The fist is coming out of the egg
The thermometers out of the mouths of the corpses
At a certain height
The tails of the kites for a moment are
Covered with footsteps
Whatever I have to do has not yet begun
2.3k
***~^~
~~^^~~
in the desert heat
coyotes scream so wildly
echo through the sage
~^~
mercury rising
thermometers replace clocks
the burning sky melts
~^~
sunrise to sunset
blue turns pink yellow and orange
colors to behold
~^~
Arizona heat
a hundred ten in the shade
eggs fry on sidewalks
~~^^~~
~^~***
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
The density of the tropical air can be expressed by the
absence of will, the abundance of moisture, and the
undeniable, impending, dehydration I know so well.
So yes, it's pretty **** hot, much hotter than the thermometers indicate.
Like I break a sweat bending over to tie my shoes.
Or how my town has more fixtures dedicated to air conditioning service than diesel and petrol
After this realization it will rain for just enough time for me to decide if I want hot coffee or tea
to celebrate the coming mists,
the dark clouds,
the cool breezes and
I anticipate shivering for the first time in a long, long time.
But it doesn't matter, because after a brief moment the skies empty
and bestow upon us blinding sunshine and even more humidity.
So I solemnly turn off the gas under the tepid kettle
like the unrequited lust of a teenager
and the few precious droplets of water that collected on the concrete disappear
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
*Old barns with 'See Rock City' painted
on clapboard sides
'White washed' antique 'Smokehouses' with hand dug Water-wells are monuments celebrating another time
Pole barns with RC Cola thermometers -
and Red Man chewing tobacco signs , tin -
roofs and dirt floors with hay lofts and -
old John Deere tractors inside*
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew.
I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place.
You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here.
So they say.
So I thought.
Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between.
Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful ***** Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes.
I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind.
Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues.
I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say.
All I am is tired nowadays.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 5:25 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Camellia Sinensis Dancing
Anyone who bangs on about the nuances
And the complex properties of tea
Loose leaves, filtered water, thermometers
How a slurp is superior to a sip
The low-Prole vulgarity of teabags
Assessing the full body of the tea
Then teasing out the flavour of the tea
(Camellia Sinensis dancing a striptease?)
Is a barbarian.
Just pour me out
A good cuppa char from the old Brown Betty
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 11:44 PM UTC
With bodice wound around her girth
And petticoats all a sway
The lady rode past me on the road
In the full flung rays of day
She tossed instruments to the ground
Trumpets, thermometers, gyroscopes,
Then drove her vehicle onwards
Her gloved hands at the wheel *****
This with lighter load she went
Up a glacial hillock
Up and up and up she went
Bringing only an inlaid clock
Into the sky and above the land
The fantastical vehicle drove
A sharp laugh rang all around
And from this world she wove.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
All shrubbery around is shaken by the wind
As smoking grey clouds threaten rain.
But I sit snugly in my lounge
Idly contemplating a chicken-breast tea.
The long heatwave is over
For now.
Atlantic air has swept the mugginess
Aside.
Thermometers have settled down
While cooler moisture sooths our very souls.
This lounge of mine presents a landscape too:
Of settee, armchairs and table
Along with dining chairs and TV:
Mountains over carpet savannas.
But the kitchen calls me from next door
So no matter how lazy I feel
I really have to eat now.
This interlude must end
So very soon.
Paul Butters
© PB 29/7/2018.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
Summertime Alaska
Sky lift up to the moon
Thick cold ice mold, depends on a boom
Wannasy the universe expand in your room?
Can't breathe on your knees, escape from the gloom.
Spaceship to the world never mind what you see
It's what they hide in the cage, according to me
As they stare from a distance laugh in their face
Were on the moon man floating through outer the space
Don't kiss then tell this is all that we have
A deep crew of assassins in a pimped out van
No seats but a rug and it's designed for Abu
We're defying and implying almost all of the rules
Keep it beepin like a monitor eye's to the sky
We don't really like thermometers
Ice in the pi
This is Lithium iron I call it Kurt Cobain
Li Fe for the dreary insane
As the drip turns to pride
Just lay back in the plane
Not a jet but dimensions deep in your brain
In the light of a spectrum cleverly made
Mr. Cudi's got the sidy down right to the base
In the language it is written from the A to the G
With an E emphasizing future theories to be
I'm an MC they like to call me D-A-N
I'll be breathing in the Crush
Sitting Squared in a Van
Melancholy and Serene while I'm rolling the loud
Sound melts like the doughnut's that roll on the ground
Livid, mister fog pouring out like a boom
I'm a twister of the doobie and pearl's resume
And the chain is insane its ******* gold like an arch
I'll be passed out cold from the ember's to march
and a number that we wrote like a song
Deception is a 9 and a number that we wrote like a song
And a number that we wrote like a song
A number that we wrote like a song
We wrote like a song
Like a song
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
I avoid thermometers
Because at this point
I'm so far gone
And I feel so dead
I'm not so sure they'd find a temperature
(I think I died when you left)
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
prior to this day March 13th, (Friday) 2018,
the local climate (here in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania) did accord
with weather more aligned
more apropos with late winter so summery spike
of Mercury thermometers
for those of you old enough to remember
(Careful NOT to chomp
on fragile slender tubular glass),
whence silvery liquid metal would poison...
like sting of a scorpion, anyway
(regional forecast by meteorologists)
attested by the outsize
outside electronic bulletin board
(situated on the property
of Perkiomen Valley High School)
where space doth a ford
to envision a spectacular sight, this gourd
jess scenic tract, nonetheless registered
over eighty degrees, and hoard
of wives, sans special treasure re: bond
courtesy viz Mother Nature Spring time bounty
on the verge to yield ample harvest
to fill cornucopia horn of plenty
Omaha lore dee Lord
ah...the picturesque setting found me eyes moored
thus temptation pitched perfect game of LIFE
where fauna and flora sub woofing audio-
logically roared, and this **** Sapien
felt his psyche scored
with the golden radiant sear ching,
transcendent, transparent transient rods,
whereat thy face turned toward
cerulean vault - a cathartic, electric,
and fantastic panacea to ward
off lingering late winter moody blues
as many a lan yard
flush with excited children of a lesser god.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
H.Williams 2013
Who among us is this freakin' humongous?
You're human, I'm a hue-man, painting pictures for all you fungus.
You're a bug to squish then flick, like dust off the table you dis-gust us.
I'm about to blow everyone away, don't even try to duck from this gust.
They sweat from my riddles, thermometers turn red when we step in to see.
You're weak in the knees, lost in the woods for the better part of a week.
This is my forest, when trees fall everyone hears –or they read it and weep.
What's black, white and red all over? Newspapers with stories about me.
I'm news, your olds. I Redd-it before you read it, you're a day late and 2 dollars short.
In short, your stuff's a re-run. Shorten the ending or put in a cork.
We already seent it like a Tarantino beginning ending's over, sport
Sit out this inning, grin and watch me win then bomb your tree fort.
I roar around, burnin' your twigs, turn everything red, rage it all down.
Re-run your lap, re-score your sound. I returned your tape, so refund me now.
I did the work, you just sat around, and you deserve zip. So YOU pay me now.
You're human (just), stop having a cow. I'm humongous --the money better match now.
Now you're sayin' that my head's too big, too big for my britches after
I tell you I can't fit inside this box, so please stop putting up rafters.
I have nothing left, so the fear of losing has ceased to be a factor.
This isn't tooting my own horn; it's me spitting blood on my captors.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
***~^~
~~^^~~
in the desert heat
coyotes scream so wildly
echo through the sage
~^~
mercury rising
thermometers replace clocks
the burning sky melts
~^~
sunrise to sunset
blue turns pink yellow and orange
colors to behold
~^~
Arizona heat
a hundred ten in the shade
eggs fry on sidewalks
~^~
Sweat beads in seconds
Blister and burn in minutes
My hair is on fire
~~^^~~
~^~***
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
as we grow older
our hearts grow ever colder
the thermometers of our souls
dipping ever lower
and soon the shards of broken
glass
and
hearts
are the only things that phase us
so we start slitting our wrists
in an attempt to bleed out sadness
within us
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Thermometers say you are wrong
But you believe greedy businessmen
Seismographs say you were wrong
But you believe religious charlatans
Electrocardiograms say you're wrong
But you believe the words of bigots
Encephalograms tell you you're wrong
Geiger counters tell you you're wrong
Microscopes tell you you're wrong
Yet you believe the Big Oil propaganda
Telescopes tell you you're wrong
Yet you believe the lies of Big Pharma
It is such an unforgiving task to talk
And know there is nobody in there.
Inside your head, soul or heart;
It’s pathetic to know under your hair
There is the kind of sad mentality
That rejects reality if it disagrees
With something another fool has taught
And though you ought to learn reality
You keep looking for more crazies
To say things that match your philosophy
And that perpetrates the tragedy of today
Which may take decades to go away.
It did the last time.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
He’s awake and can see
and must be thirsty with all that coughing.
He will want water
and a ham and cheese.
How will she go about it?
Stealthily and in secret,
remaining a confidant
while breaking thermometers into his drink
and slipping spiders into his bed.
He will swallow all of them
and the eggs.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
A whiff of wild onion ..
The sting of skin to metal ..
Crystal ploughland ,
mechanical mules , RC Cola-
thermometers & diesel perfume ..
Clanging cattle gates , Carolina-
sky , dissonant disc seeking grease ,
a chaw or two o' Levi if you please ...
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mm
in a swirl of
cards, spoons, cereals,
books, brooms, thermometers,
laundry, photos, flipflops,
knives, gifts, rollerblades,
dishes, yogurts, candy,
catfood, homework, pajamas,
cartons of milk, tickets,
money, toys, sweaters,
hats, bags, sandwiches,
phones, pants, messages,
icecreams, umbrellas, lunches,
handcrafts, letters, bottles,
breakfasts, shampoos, succus
and tattarrattat
this
little bitty pretty one
is lost
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 2:34 AM UTC