"vaporized" poems
Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses
Hand tenses
Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Sleep, dearest creature of the night, you who adores the shining moon, I said to myself as the music began to echo through the room
A nyctophile blood ******* devil, gifted black demonic wings alike a bat when it flies, strengh beyond reason and a tongue full of sick lies,
Yet a ray of sun may be lethal to you, burning you away as if you were paper caught in a firestorm, an inferno of heat, vaporized at last,
Life force relies in blood, impurities of constant change I need since I have already passed away theoretically I am most likely already dead
A music box plays for me alone, transient melodies from the recurring memories of a brighter, vivid past, to which I am are unable to return to,
Ahh, phantoms, a nuisance of the mortal life I have escaped alike the shooting stars over a clear, living,traveling, dark blue night sky
Have I toiled well, hard or long to achieve heaven, yet have become stuck as the devils tool in a illusionary world with no end ?
Flowing water seals me away, I cannot cross when it rains, and need a polite, kind invitement to intrude and cause wicked bloodshed
Sleep, so I may can be innocent until the sun has sunken down to rest,
Slumber, the world of dreams is free from weaknesses to purification,
With great magic, comes a devils recitation, engaging in a distant dream far beyond the grasp of my crimson, blood drenched hands,
Unable to advance, shadows of those who have forgotten the fear of darkness spread and creep around, hidden in nights embrace
Empty consciousness I am attracted like a fluttering butterfly to the gentle reflected light by the full moon in its fullest sensation,
Raise this song of love and paint it in a moonlit night for me,
Dance with me, until we aren't part of this world any longer, dear,
Sounds melt into silence, structure forms within chains of destiny,
Even if tomorrow were never to come, I couldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes
~ Umi
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
The next life will greet you when the last grain of sand drops,
within the magical hourglass inside our makers' thoughts.
Layer after layer; we shed our fear till the ego is found,
drowned by the light of a supernova,
shattered loud with a glorious sound.
Death ends the circle of life, our bodies will be vaporized.
Hold my hand and close your eyes, hug me tight but do not run,
for tonight the skies ignite in the glory of our supernova sun.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
THEY will have the final word.
Believe what the PARTY says is true.
Even Facecrime gives you away,
For BIG BROTHER is watching you.
Honesty? Bah, such nonsense!
Loyalty is what must sell.
State-spread rumors incite the mob
In your bleak, dystopian hell.
Reject evidence of eyes and ears.
That's what THEY say. Watch how hate
Turns the unquestioning supporter
Against the enemies of the state.
The Goodthinkful, unaware
How language affects their thoughts and behavior,
Show how ignorance is strength
And lavish praise upon their savior.
Manipulating public opinion,
THEY know well-spread lies will last,
For that's how THEY'LL control the future,
And that's how THEY control the past.
Doublethink is what THEY call it:
The clever art of reality control.
Ignorance is strength, THEY tell you.
Controlled insanity is THEIR goal.
The more powerful THEY become,
The less THEY prove to be your friend.
It's NOT about what's good for the people.
Power is NOT a means but an end.
War is declared on language and memory.
Inconvenient facts are rejected.
Science is reviled, and THEY
Discredit people once respected.
Doublespeak narrows the range of thought.
By caving in you might survive.
Two and two make four, but sometimes
THEY'LL say that two and two make five.
Opinions are not tolerated.
Protective stupidity: that's THEIR plan.
You think THEY can't control your thoughts,
But, oh, THEY can. THEY really can.
Do you look at your screen, or does
Your screen look at you? Or Both?
Do you know how much THEY know
Or if THEY know you've kept your oath?
Who's the next to be vaporized?
Who's the next to become an unperson?
As long as THEY control your "thinking,"
Everything can only worsen.
If only to awaken from the nightmare
Where truth becomes a likelihood
And we retain humanity!
Wouldn't that be "doubleplusgood"?
-by Bob B (8-30-18)
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
Divine Minds Transcend
This life is full of circus mirrors made to distort what matters.
When the ride slows down, and our mind begins to clear, we frantically try to quiet the chatter.
Layer after layer we shed our fears until our ego is found,
drowned in the light of a supernova,
then shattered loud with glorious sound.
The earth is a living, breathing body, fragile as it comes undone.
This body has a thriving soul, pulsating inside a honeycomb.
This body has a mind with an ego, that believes it's in full control.
The time has come for our consciousness to ascend to the next level.
The nether world will greet you when the last grain of sand drops,
in the hourglass of fallen people, deep inside a single thought.
We all must follow the burning flock, or purge our life of the ego.
Will you answer if they knock, and begin the spirit walk?
If you walk I shall join you and leave behind a sequel.
Death ends the circle of life, soon our bodies will be vaporized.
Hold my hand and close your eyes, hug me tight but do not run,
for tonight the skies ignite in the glory of our supernova sun.
Layer after layer we shed our fears until our ego is found,
drowned in the light of a supernova,
then shattered loud with glorious sound.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
Love Maze
Through the blood and sweat I write
a wishful story you'll remember.
A flower which bloomed too soon I thought
was only my own to surrender.
A voice I once heard urged me
to speak myself and love myself.
Although I attempted to touch it
That voice I heard, was someone else.
I ran around in a pool of tears
afraid and wet from pain.
I ran around only in circles
it was a maze I wandered around in vain.
And so I heard that lonely ballad,
a voice that wasn't my own.
In my pool of tears as I searched
I realized my maze was made of stones.
"A little push, a little tug"
I heard the voice tell me.
"Is all it takes to begin the growth
of your very own journey."
I felt it's warmth was
the closest to reality.
The voice that kept on
urging me.
For when I swam ahead
instead of search, I realized
I had found my magic shop
undisguised, it vaporized...
The stones fell away
my maze was shattered.
For now I saw before me
a "love" maze, the stones were all scattered.
-Little Saint
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
Elusive, mystifying, soft wind sighing,
No stomachs bloating, no children wailing,
No souls sailing,
No fathers beating, no mothers screaming,
Ever dreaming,
Perfect world,
Dreamland.
Satisfying, clear water flowing, clean air blowing,
No tainted blood, no children missing,
No killers hissing,
No hate-torn lands, no bombs blasting,
Peace everlasting,
Perfect world,
Dreamland.
Death defying, careless breeders, self-serving leaders,
Power plays, strategic dancing,
All life chancing,
Ultimate pact, malevolent mushroom clouds,
Vaporized crowds,
Perfect world....
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 11:37 AM UTC
The vocals scream into my ears, you'd think my thoughts would bend in rage.
Instead a sudden peace crosses over, engulfing me wholly in a blanket of relief.
The lyrics take me to a place of calm. No chaos in the world I now reside.
It's as though everything reaches a halt. All feelings are vaporized.
The music slowly pulls them away with the wind. And I'm left with relief.
Then the music quiets, the song is now ending. And the feelings return to a solid form
They fall back into my head, crushing everything in their path.
Until the beat starts again,
And the process begins once more.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
Sometimes it’s something, as
Simple and clean, tapping my
***** hat forwards, and
Kicking my back heel against
The wall.
Sometimes it’s the dank cavern
Of a Dodge’s backseat.
The frozen entrance to the
Diseased freeway, breathing words
Of tragedy and paranoia.
But, sometimes, it’s
The painted landscape of a
Beach, that hung in the
Girl’s TV room, Lodged in place.
I contact my mind’s
Travel agent, to find it, and
Wearing Ricky’s sweatshirt I
Stare at the open water.
Mindful of sharks,
And the smell of ***
Or sometimes, Svedka.
Or I’ll stare into Sam’s eyes,
Wishing instead to be
Spying the bottom of
Jacky’s bottle.
Or Mary’s bowl.
And when my *** hits the ground,
I’ll look up, this time,
And just like last time, the
Trees will melt. Dripping like
Engine sludge, onto a pavement.
Behind the pool of
Vaporized reality, walls of
Fire rise, so I’ll sit
Back a bit.
But sometimes, it is too much.
And I’m down on my
****** kneecaps,
Appealing to the apparitions.
Begging for a
Box of wine.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
This brilliant morning
anything is possible
we are limited only
by rigid minds
whose fragile confines
can be vaporized
by choice alone.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
A Golden Brown Mexican Royal Eagle proudly soaring and gliding on invisible æther:
Human Eyes from the ground: dark, attentive, following the Raptor's deadly arc as it ascends:
The Mexican Brown Royal Eagle spots
A frightened Doe:
The dark eyes from the leveled plain:
a startled double-take,
follow the rapid Eagle's spiraling descent:
The vaporized cloudiness slashed;
A cinematic flash
of hide torn
and shrieking delight
are jumbled,
and echoed
through the void:
The Raptor is
Voluble butcher
As it devours,
Sinewy flesh,
Peeled from broken bone
leathery skin and
curved horn;
The Dark eyes moisten
While the scene
Fills His Eyes;
What Beauty juxtaposed:
Death And Life Are Just
A House
Inhabited by
Swift
Or
Quick
The Fortunes Named
In The Game
Called
Life Or Death.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
With tenacious tread I seek the dawn
Like urban trees drink deep
Of lake water and clear skies, I plant my feet
Only to stumble through
The arid wasteland of my wound.
I walk off the pain
Though each step draws the flames higher
Each breath becomes an act of will
My own heel my pyre.
I set my eye, with rigid strides
Press toward the gold horizon line.
Maybe a fool: I am my own fuel
As forward motion consumes, I'm vaporized
And my sparks skyward fly.
Ashes
To ashes, dust
To dust.
Each searing step I take alone
Then in the coals see marks
Of other feet, upward look and meet
Eyes ember bright, fearless
Fingers tracing filaments against the night.
Fire walkers give off the light
By which we find a way
A note or rhyme, a guiding flame
As forward motion consumes, refines
And our sparks skyward fly.
Ashes
To ashes, dust
To dust
To gold.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
Most never heard the killing shot,
From Bismarck, rend the air.
It landed in Hood’s magazine
and vaporized all there.
H.M.S. Hood rose in the air
The bow and stern were parted.
In ninety seconds she went down-
With her complement, she departed.
The Men aboard the Bismarck cheered,
Though their victory proved hollow:
They could not know, within three days,
The Bismarck was to follow.
The Prince of Wales made smoke and turned
to fight another day.
Torpedo planes from the Ark Royal
made Bismarck lose her way.
Three years of war had hardened hearts
But Hood’s loss caused dismay.
The tragedy in Denmark’s strait
Would make agnostics pray.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset,
joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember,
and melancholy would be just another shade of blue.
i told him,
i am not done with you yet.
three weeks post breakup,
we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do.
like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i,
the author got up one day,
scribbled a quick ending,
and then set the novel on fire.
i read an article in an obscure magazine
about Shelley Jackson,
an artist
who got thousands of people
to tattoo a singular word
from a story onto themselves,
and then sent them back to their scattered existences.
maybe that is what this is,
another scattered story.
another vaporized narrative.
i can feel it in the air,
but not pull the phrases together.
it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my ribcage would look like a Jackson *******
my head would be a paintball arena.
i am so full of indigos,
and mustards,
and crimsons,
that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette
and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before.
*i don't know if it hurts because it still matters,
or if it matters that it still hurts.*
i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut.
i am not a painter,
but my mirror is showing me
the immaculate collection of brushstrokes
i have become.
a few weeks ago,
i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises.
to collect my contusions with watercolors.
what a beautiful intention,
to immortalize the growing pains,
memorialize the bumps along the way,
to make something permanent
of these perpetual transitions.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch,
courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete,
and love?
love would be prismatic,
like spilled oil on asphalt.
a rainbow one moment,
vanished the next.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
*Iridescent Charms & Atomic Raves,
Raptured Revelations In Her Bulletproof Grave,
Impassive Frequencies Of Her Reflections Engraved.
Ionic Ribbons Of Her Artistic Trance,
Neon Contrasts In Her Stellar Stance,
Starry-Eyed Rhapsody In Her Censored Glance,
Vaporized Fractals Draped In Her Past,
Crystallized Specters Sterilized To Last,
Perpetual Panic Triggering A Blast,
Sedated Phantasms In Her Paralyzed Voice,
Isolated Collisions & Distressed Noise,
Overrated Memoirs Of Her Tainted Reprise,
Liquid Shadows In Her Moonlit Dreams,
Theatrical Schemes To Her Grand Regime,
Enigmatic Queen Of Turbulent Screams,
Shipwrecked Effigy Resonating Duality,
Overtuned Spirits Illuminating Reality,
Metaphysical Anniversary Of Her Romantic Fatality.
- 04:28AM -*
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
Tufted ethereality, angelism of stock and store
pedestrian...alas, circusy.
Helm of streets bob...our supplicant pulls out
a mile or two of scripture from an enormous
pocket.
Fingers ink-blotted with grime, bent forth striding--
a heedless Beethoven tuned in immaculately.
Array's arrival stunned with scurry...planets of
conveyance pull at their elliptical wiring.
Some rare gigantism to the tenth of powers has
touched everything...all he could do from
going where he's arrived is futile.
From time immemorial, he...at present, its full
possessor!
What convoluted theorem of probability will
forcibly eject him from eureka...from where he's
vaporized his wears...naught...naught!
Some precipice's nudge knew best the wind for
his thought to take to, a majestic soar pealing the
spheres to show them their shape.
Life has exemplified its frugal capacity to him--
simmering creation tucked away for one fine day.
He, to outlive the closing energy that dances him,
an immortal...to be handled with care...with
universal intelligence--be, has let him...loosed.
He's broken the code of things in and of themselves...
he's a thing in and of himself--the Unitative factor erupts.
As the credits of glory pull upward...so he as them.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Those of like mind
Stepping down corridors
Toward blurring red signs
Each extrusion an exit
Hapless movement
Containers transported
Memories and anguish
Containers transported
Into meadows of ease
Between trees minus leaves
Nothing but a reflection
Degenerated façade
Ashes vaporized with
Consciousness, my boiling
Water
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC
Love is adapted from one half when the insecurities of one person become greater than their own self confidence
Love is adapted on the other half when the self-esteem of a person is enough to be given to another, in hopes for it to be reciprocated
When one half reaches the quintessence of inner confidence through the charisma and compassion of their "lover," ***** decides they're independent enough to complete their own individual path to spiritual enlightenment, while the other half becomes dead weight that is dragged along with them
The other half is so immersed in the happiness of their companion, his/her quest to enlightenment becomes conjoined with the path of their other half. Instead of working on his/her own quest to knowledge and understanding of the real truth behind love, their vision is vaporized into thin air to compensate for their partner's path to illumination. When one half has reached individual insight, their other half is swiftly disregarded and sent into a nightmare of insecurity and restlessness where they can only be woken up from the confidence and compassion of another human being. This is the most vicious cycle humanity will face until its demise.
Love is not a goal of solidarity, but rather a temporary method of combatting the insecurities you are subconsciously not aware of.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Sun burns eternal
Wonders of the inner-most layered explosions
Gasses and core
Shine brightly without corners
Energy always blazing towards
O, shimmering, single, gratuitous one
Morning moisture is vaporized
Living things stir and wake
Shaken free of cold joints and harsh pillows
Crow Welcome to the Provider
Rising warmth opens green but too much
Parches and crackles and ignites
Fifteen minutes a day on bare arms
Vitamin D created
Heads lift like shoots from quiet, cool brown
Green and new, sweat lining
Old faces like vintage purses containing quiet wisdom
Don't forget the sunscreen.
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
I'm leaving HP.
My heart has been
VAPORIZED.
But it is better to have
loved and lost...
I will be closing my account.
I just want to say goodbye
to my friends. I DO LOVE YOU!!!
Pradip
WL Winter
Deborah
patty m
Amitav Radiance
Vicky
Ryn
Pure LOVE
Prty Bird
Wolfspirit aka QuinnFinn
Just Melz
The Girl Who Loved Me
Thomas Robinson
Acrassin
Ketoma Rose
I Am Miss Bright Side
Joe Malgeri
My sister (Fulmani)
Hayden Swan
Rupal
Frank Ruland
Frank
SF Chan
Pamela Rose
Silver Silken Tounge
Joe Cole
Sally Bayan
Dark Angel
Traveler
Born
MyleftFootDrive
r
MissW
Dajena M
More names to come...
Not leaving till I have thanked each and every ONE....
THANKS FOR BEING PART OF THE BEST THING THAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME! !!!!!!!!
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
We float like fair weather
clouds in a deep blue sky -
a dragon here, a sailboat
there, running together
with the wind when
the dew point transforms us
condensed or vaporized
until the universe pulls
this miracle together again
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
her name was Leah, and she had
brightbubblegumpinkhair.
she was flawless in all the ways i wanted to be,
she was broken in all the ways i thought i was,
like a vase that never sits right again.
everyone else gasped and stirred at the pink puffy lines,
but i found them beautiful. a work of art.
a masterpiece in a museum that is crooked and never set
right again.
her name was Leah, and she scared me,
like a lion with no cage. her eyes were hurricanes that had
pillaged and destroyed and conquered and vaporized.
we baked cookie soup, and i only saw her teeth once.
(they were like white shells found lodged in the sand)
i wanted to kiss her arms and run my tongue along the pink,
see if she tasted like burnt toast and rubbing alcohol.
her number used to be lodged inside my brain,
i memorized it instead of listening to people speak inside white walls
with chapped lip stick and perceptions of nonsense.
her name was Leah, and she had
brightbubblegumpinkhair
with a gun locked and loaded.
we lost touch. i started to be sane (that’s what they call it, at least)
i imagine the gun
her brains kissing pavements and secret filled walls.
are they as pink as her hair?
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
completed finished done folded ended
defeated concluded
aborted
terminated finalized killed annihilated dispatched
vaporized settled destroyed dropped
discontinued stopped broken shut down cut
off ceased over halted frozen
barricaded desistance executed
dissolved overcome gone
ruined wrecked crushed depleted spoiled
shattered
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
Searching eyes down, stepping on cracks
at the feet of the financial district,
silent boy-prophet dragged,
as with a cart rope, by the hand
under granite-clad shadows.
*Hurry up you little ****
And yesterday Mother's pressure cooker vaporized
someone else's boy, *God, eight years old.
I can't imagine. Can you imagine?*
Shoes too expensive for this sidewalk. Blonde
boy too camel-haired, grown out,
too distracted, too kinetic
dragged by mother, feet searching for purchase,
and there is no time. *No. Stop sulking.
Stop whining. Not now.*
Blame congress, or pray to the President. Declare
even the feeblest, dismembered
pronouncement of woe.
This can't happen. Not in America. Buses, working adults,
have places to go, places to be. We're late.
He is too expensive and
*don't you know the economy is **** And *you know,
his problem is that his Father
never listened to me either.*
One more decade-long game of kick-the-can. *What the hell
are you kicking now? He's always kicking something,*
always has something strange in his pants
pockets. So he eats *If-you-were-a-real-man-you'd-be-more
-like-your-sisters* and why the hell
should she feel guilty?
After all, the Nordstrom's card is paid down and *You'll never
get into college with that attitude anyway
and ********* keep up.*
A nice young man is late getting back to his desk on the sixteenth
floor in a tower above where the wind
shivers the weakening steel.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC