"zinc" poems
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
Ankles dry, calloused thoughts, skin peels to reveal oozing flesh. **** sinks in and swallows floating zinc; immune. Consuming ex-cadavers in mall parking lots and pushing the crippled in shopping carts, an ankle twisted, a mother swallowed monetary ***** the stock market became the shelf market, and creation wondered if we were okay with frozen pizza for dinner.
Life dragged on and on, the world swirled on twitter feeds and Facebook statuses, the streets completed laps around our better judgements and our better lives, we sank to scheduled escapism and believed that one day we would find the light despite our never left-look.
Massive intention swelled to disjointed shark search. A witch-hunt to burn unhappiness in it's own angry passion. Bones; cost efficient at the least and designed in the weirdness of erosion-return. Miniature intention swelled to grabs solidarity. A manhunt to freeze stillness in it's own endless silence.
What complete? What shatter-tastic ******
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
Planes flying overhead make me sick
Certainly this country is a top pick
But I cannot escape the feeling
Something is missing
The island breeze across my face
A simply enchanting place
The water may be tainted
The walls not painted
Doors made of zinc
But then I think
It shall forever be the my home
And will always think about it when I am alone
it will leave you saying ah
Jamaica
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC
People, they just ain't all golden, not at all.
Not even silver, magnesium or copper.
Maybe zinc, because it tastes like ink and it does your body good,
but you never get enough, even though you know you should.
But had I the means, and the ends were understood,
would I be zinc? Would I carry the common good?
Would I feign precious metal? Or am I nothing but wood?
I met today aluminum, he said, "I'm bad luck."
"I know it," I said, "You're out of your element."
"My melting point is 660.2°C!"
I told him my name was Kristian Huselius,
but that turned into a testament.
"You're just lucky you aren't a duck," he said.
"Maybe, but I find I've got too much will."
"You can't spread will on bread, my friend,"
he said, much to my Brazil,
"but lucky for you they make contraceptives in pills."
I didn't want children anyway, but when Boron arrived,
I was feeling less than sublime.
Boron said, "My name rhymes with 'moron'!"
"No kidding, Boron," I replied.
"I can come in both the dark crystal and brown powder variety!"
"That may or may not be true," said Aluminum,
"but at least I benefit society."
Oh, yeah, he said it, he went there.
"I value correctness and propriety!" Boron shrieked.
"And you can be flimsy, squishy, and weak!"
I wanted no part in this, so I meandered.
Not too long after, I met Helium.
I told him my name was Carlton Deandre.
"I don't believe you, mealworm," he bombasted.
"You're gaseous," I said, "I wouldn't put it past ya."
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
In high school
we learn of logarithms, iambic meter
how to balance an equation between zinc oxide
and excess hydrogen gas–
only to find there was no reaction to begin with.
We’re told that colleges get to know you
through three letter acronyms—ACT, SAT, GPA…
and our name is somewhere in the application.
It’s repeated to us to the point of meaninglessness,
like a perpetually chanted word:
Grades, scores and testing, testing, testing.
The students they want know everything
that will be forgotten by their thirtieth birthday.
I anticipate the day
that our Geometry teacher is to write an essay
on the individual’s struggle
against a systematically inhumane society
in Orwell’s 1984
only to receive a “D” under the scrutinizing eye of
the honor’s English teacher
Or, perhaps, the day someone in charge
is faced with some insufferable fate
the textbooks call chemical stoichiometry,
thirty years after repressing memories
of having to memorize the periodic table
Socrates once said that the youth today
will be the demise of civilization.
We contradict our parents, are smug in the face of authority
and tyrannize our poor teachers—
a youth who will ultimately leave behind a world
too damaged for our children to inherit.
Funny he said this
roughly 2,000 years ago–
I think my dad said something like that last year.
But, until the day we grow up to pay taxes
and marry someone we despise,
we’re just stupid teenagers.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
In the Boondocks of the Ozarks
Salty caramel smelt of August
Swathes stench of rotten trailer parks
Imprisons barren mid-west dust
Feral fevered kids a hunting
For to cool; shoot up, or drink
Arthritic railroad; tie and shunting
Ferrous old town wretched on the brink
Since the cease of mine and logging
Depletion of iron lead and zinc
Nag horse too dead for flogging
Folks futures draining down the sink
Some respite in the summer heat
RV’s; tourists and campers for trails
Like blackfly plague pick off the meat
Fly fast; escape as another harvest fails
Dark currents pepper darker mood
Intolerance grinds in the daily way
Resentment bread as only food
At someone’s door the blame shall lay
In the graveyard of the Ozarks
Rednecks dance on industry tombs
Burn brown smoke spice. Moonshine sparks
Oblivion; no life. Back to mothers' womb
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
.
6mg Fat
11mg Carbs
150 mg Protein
7% of US RDA
Potassium and
3% US RDA
zinc and cop
per. It is both
Pre ven tative
and fights can
cer. Particular
ly. breast can
cer. Only 20 calories .
per serving! ingestion of
seminal pla sma is
called ***** ophagia
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
In high school
we learn of logarithms, iambic meter
how to balance an equation between zinc oxide
and excess hydrogen gas--
only to find there was no reaction to begin with.
We're told colleges get to know you
through three letter acronyms-- ACT, SAT, GPA
And the students they want know everything
that they'll forget once they turn thirty.
Little do we realize
that if our Geometry teacher were to write an analysis
on the coexistence of good and evil in To **** a Mockingbird,
he would likley receive a "D" under the scrutinizing eye of
the honor's English teacher
Nor do we see that the art instructor would freeze in her tracks
faced with an assignment filled with the insufferable fate of
chemical stoiciometry
Socrates once said that the youth today
will be the demise of civilzation.
We contradict our parents, are smug in the face of authority
and tyrannize our teachers.
Funny he said this roughly 2,000 years ago--
I think my dad said something like that last year.
But, until the day we grow up to pay taxes
and marry someone we despise,
we're just stupid teenagers.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 8:36 AM UTC
Henceforth all ducks shall be shackled
entwined in martyrdom
half-shaven and fully aroused
baked and shaked and rattled and rolled
like bunnies, their reproduction
obviously
blantantly
even Freud would scratch his beard
too blatant the ***
obviously there must be another underlying problem
loving alcohol means you need ****
*** obsession means you need
love? Condoms?
Loch Ness Monster came over for tea
drank the imaginary brew
spat boiled liquid onto a canvas and sold it as art
"yes, yes, what does it mean?"
What does it mean?
It means that you think too much and don't feel
and don't think enough too caught up
like me
not perfect just only
and only is all one can do
can be accounted for
one, two, three
fall in-between the divisions of derivatives
damask dames like snoozing penguins
which is
black, white and dread all over
none too sure or very glassy
not too much of anything
just, just.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Zinc is needed to help support the body's immune system, as well as encourage human growth, meaning that without it, defenses and growth are stunted
I met a boy named Zinc
correction
I met a man named Zinc
correction
I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, because Neon
was too flamboyant and Iron was too tasteless, and who on earth names their kid 'Oxygen', right?
ANYWAY:
It's worth noting that Z liked everyone, meaning A-X, and I was left wondering why he seemed to like girls who waved with the backs of their hands and not the palms, and why the only time he spoke to me was if I wouldn't leave him alone, and why it's obvious to those around him that lights are flashing in the eyes of 'why'-
correction
-'Y'-
correction
-ME when he noticed the stars I stole from the night in an attempt to spell his name out for the Gods but he was too busy hoping to catch the attention of the Devil and I hope she breaks his heart so he knows what it's like to wake up feeling empty because you gave your all to a person with a gambling problem, and I...
...don't make sense anymore.
ALRIGHT
I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, and he didn't like the chain around my neck, but he let me wear it because it reminded him of hope, which he had lost when he was young, but had vicariously experienced through me. Just kidding.
Her.
Capital 'H', lowercase '-er', silent 'she's not going to love you like I will'...
I LIED
he doesn't know I wear a cross (or used to) because he's too busy falling in love with the fact that she's got daggers in her eyes and she knows how to dance to all his favorite songs, while I only know the lyrics to them all, and maybe she won't break his heart but she sure as hell won't be gentle with it either because girls like me write about girls like her and girls like her burn books about boys like him.
I'm not sure what this poem is about. Or why it is the way it is. That's a lie.
I know, but I can't say I want to anymore...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
They stopped making Pennies out of Copper here in the US back in 1982 because it was literally too expensive per Penny to mint them; now they're Zinc with a very thin copper plating.
Pennies made between 1909 and 1982 weigh in at 3.1g: 95% Copper; worth 2.5 Cents.
Pennies made after 1982 weigh in at 2.5g: 97.5% Zinc, 2.5% Copper; worth .45 Cents.
They started to lose Money on the minting of Pennies;
I feel that this is indicative of a deeper-rooted problem
than can be fixed by switching the composition of a Coin.
Pennies now are worth about a fifth of what they were just over Thirty years ago;
Yet they still represent the same integer of Currency.
The American Dollar has seen better days
The American Dollar seems on it's last legs.
Back in the day, money was fixed to mineral values,
but it seems now that Money is in the Eye of the Beholder, rather than the Hand of the Holder.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
I want you to think positive today
Speak up when you have something to say
Stand up and let your voice be heard
Whenever injustice knocks at your door
Don’t be afraid to cry out for mercy
Don’t be afraid to cry so the world may be at your knees
Don’t be afraid to be vocal
Whether foreign or local
Don’t be afraid to challenge the stagnant system
Whether by voice or by the written work
Let our hearts beat as one with the Congo rhythm
Sing out The great reggae legend philosophy
Bob Marley
One Love, One hearts lets get together and feel all right
I and I is a woman of righteousness
Everywhere me step Jah bless
Me radical
Every vagabond has to scatter as the power under which is dwell is internalized
Out of me the almighty specialized and their wicked cult can’t suffice
So open up your eyes
Please do realize
Take away the cobwebs, remove the mask of disguise
And see I prophecy
Paint away the graffiti of one’s mind
Remove the zinc fences and card board boxes
That tries to manipulate
See God
See the devil when he masquerades
Realize his plan
His advocates and be aware
It’s a physical
A spiritual warfare
Soldiers
Put on your armour
Prepare for war
Keep your mind open
Keep it secure
The gateways to your soul
Protect it with spiritual intervention
If you don’t
Illusion
Delusion
Difficult situation
Under the system’s manipulation
Hold an herbal, spiritual meditation
And revolutionized
Modernized this ya mind
Christena AV Williams
Jamaican Radical poet, rap lyricist and Author
Pearls among stones
All rights Reserved.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;
And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.
Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads
Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,
Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,
Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.
For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
And God will grow no talons at his heels,
Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.
2.3k
The moody morning sky, covering my palette again
white, green, yellow, zinc white and red
the ev'ning planet, spinning on, the rains in vain
my lover's blue came in, ev'ryone drops dead.
While gazing at the movements, perplexed and cool
white turns black, ruby red in brownish mess, the fool
where is he, where is he my metaphoric lover,
acentric he moves on with the blackest cover
The dark green trees are gazing at I
why are there deepsea blue clouds, treading forth, why?
I lose trees out of sight, gone is the lovely emerald light
now almost night, all blackest diamonds sleep tight.
Awfully sleepy, my mind is heady, my passion blurred,
when I gave up, I see beauty, how absurd !
My most magical moon right on the spot,
is a most beautiful fluorescent biggest dot
hypnotizing….
heaven-high on the home firmament.
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
Mirror Mirror what a shame
you've come to ruin another name
smudged in ink
she sank like zinc
before I even knew to blame
Little birdie picking mice
did you know she slept in ice?
Bobbing head
yessings said
and with that, my throat she sliced
Such a midnight spoken blur
whatever did I do to her?
handed hand
she broke my stand
the biggest alley whisperer
It never were a slip of Freud
and now I see she's paranoid
people smart
with empty heart
she dropped my secrets into the void
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
money from my hands like rain from clouds
copper suns and zinc moons and dead grass green presidents
pitter patter, flitter flutter
falling from the spaces between my good sense and my fingers
into cashboxes and registers.
and what are these heavenly satellites and stars spent on?
what are those famous dead men buying me?
tiny luxuries that vanish like morning dew
trivial things, unneeded and wasteful
a month’s supply spent in a day
by some lazy, jobless child
with little common sense and no self-control.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
I went down to town's center looking for you.
but a mouth full of anger blocked my view.
he took your hand there in the skating rink.
god will give him blood to drink.
saw the two of you leaving.
I didn't want to follow behind.
but I could see the rest of your evening,
burning in my mind.
the sky's black. the moon's pink.
god will give him blood to drink.
I looked over the railing. ice was white
on the northeast side where I saw you and your boyfriend
on a friday night.
I went mining for gold. I struck pure, fresh zinc.
god, god will give him blood to drink.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
I shut my eyes for a moment,
Listening closely to the rain drops against my window.
The louder splatters on the Zinc,
And the solem whispers from the cold wind.
Moments like these,
Ignite my subtle yet firery desires.
My hollow heart summons you,
Reminiscing on your gentle touch never felt,
The feel of our dangerous passion.
Though our lips are yet to touch.
©Karen Thompson 2020
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC
A dark rim hugs an acre of
A zinc ocean - no fish, no birds,
Save a pure body, no soul,
No words, fluttering on a bro-
ken sea, and grimacing
From time to time, from
Wave to wave, in lieu
Of lifting an imploring hand.
©LazharBouazzi (2017)
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,
Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,
And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,
She ever makes a point, in washing glass,
Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,
And countering change, and scorning what men say,
Of posing as a dove among the pots,
Nor often gives her dignity away.
Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes
Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;
Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries
From penny novels to amend her taste;
And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,
And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.
1.8k
We rush things up skipping the foreplay
I obey all your commands, as you are the only one with words to say
Your legs arched up, move in a dramatic sway
You tell me to keep hitting it, because you like it this way
Telling me you are ready
I slide into you, making love to you steady
The beating on the zinc roof indicates the rain is quite heavy
And you whisper slowly into my ears, ‘that’s it baby’
The cold from the weather could not overcome the heat
From the *** we had, after moving to the dining seat
I should ask for your name, in case of the next time we meet
This shouldn't be a fling, rather it should be kept on repeat.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
my whole mouth tastes like metal,
copper pennies from before
The Great Zinc Switch
filling my warm wet mouth.
cigarette smoke hazing
my sinuses like a frat rush
and I'm desperately in need of an Advil.
let me place my coppery lips
on your bronzed skin,
Amman to Atlanta,
nails like knives and
The Book of Biology
teasing hormonal touches and hydration.
iron oxide keeps flaking off my
skin, eczema and psoriasis in rust, and
the guitars in my ears are ******* furious.
and still:
sweat and *** in the sheets, your love
lingering on my palate like a
too sour wine; you fermented and curdled
in my mouth, and
to taste you now
is agony.
time is dilating around me in ripples;
I cough until the gas in my stomach releases itself; crystal abrasive.
it's all drugs and
tinder matches these days,
****** kids...
total sunbeam, in my opinion
there's still enough for
a couple more
hits, it's still rolling,
words cloud around my head like
so much weedsmoke, Storm clouds
on the horizon of my parietal lobe
and I feel fine.
I am fine.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
So much water, so much iron
Alas, no gold, but copper by the ion
Glows in my skin late summer days
And tastes of blood and flint and maize
Taste my salt, my spit, my hair
Breathe my tender air, my mollis aer
Anoint me with a cloak of sweat
And with my sword I will beget
The earthy side of me, you see
Nickel, zinc, ah, yet no mercury
Take my dirt, my earth, my stones
Build a castle with my bones.
r ~ 21Mar14
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
odorless bathing salts
undissolved
in calm
water
with ashy skin
two cheeks
filled
with silver milk
swollen
with odorless
feeble
attempts
to at least
be
forgettable
nausea ,
counting
the beads on a chain
attached to a rubber plug
wearing concrete shoes
face-down
in placid
murk
Passes the Time,
even at a fraction of the speed limit
ulcerous enamel
leeching rust
into a pointless bog
of manganese
and zinc
candle
burning
bees wax
on the
sink
where
she left her
brush
she left hair
instructions
on how to recover
from losing your
head
a box
of wooden matches
can't seem to
get on
with a crumpled ***
of spent tissue...
a waste basket
that needs therapy
with yellow lungs,
eating a can
of pork & beans
thinking wrinkled hands
are like
house cats
lounging
over the lip
of a submarine
with clawed feet
brass proud
clashing
with empty
beers cans on the floor
sleeping off
the misadventures
of a reckless
binge.
my wallet
splayed prone, under
a slow leak.
admiring the linoleum
seen
better days
in a magazine
a
picture
of a well appointed
villa
it was furnished
with opulent
symbols
they were
empty
on page twelve.
i thought
they
had
a
point
.
i knew
i would cancel
my subscription
even if it
thrilled
me.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
their warm arterial embrace was ripped
the day you tore your heart from mine, it died
alone, its beating stopped where once it skipped,
it withered in its solitude and dried,
now pluck this deadened fruit from out its vine,
and crush it into powder fine and white,
from purity of love it is refined,
a remnant of my love unspoiled, zinc bright,
freebase it and inject it in your veins,
or mix with water, drink it as an ale,
or snort it yet don't leave a single grain,
or nebulize it, deeply do inhale,
my essence seeks to once more be a part
in some way with your unforgiving heart
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC
Here I sit, stale as a pile of ****
Here I sit, wasting my wit...
Nothing to inspire...
Nothing to remember...
No deep message to get.
Im jus' killin time...
Writin' lines that rhyme.
Freestylin' off the fingers as fast as I can think.
Flyin' off the handle...
Im ele-mental...call me Zinc.
Secure in my manly dreams, not afraid to wear pink.
I'm a fan of good things, I speak them in tongue and write them in ink.
Im fed up with frauds and emo kids that think they're rock stars...
And smokers inhaling tar sticks...
In their smokey bars...that smell like ****
I dont get it.
A couple things I'll never miss.
But here I sit, wasting my wit.
These are just a few frustrations I'd like to forget.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC