Best Carbon Poems
The steady pull
of temptation--
a tease on
my resolution.
When I can sleep,
I take what dreams
afford me.
In these dreams,
my 'noxide comes
to ward me.
Her smoke is an invitation.
my conscience
falls for
the con science
of my imagination.
I give in
and reality spins.
Between the sleeps,
I lie in sanity.
I wonder:
Did I give into
my humanity?
did I'd err?
Is that
smoke in the air?
Chain smoke until
I'm in care of the CO.
There's one left, still.
I smoke it really slow.
"It's the end," I anticipate
As the last inch evaporates.
I can't get
Over it;
It's over before
I know it.
Butt, I can't quit.
I'm possessed with this
Obsession; I'm addicted.
My lungs have oxygen,
Yet I'm suffocating inside.
I can't breathe again
Without my 'noxide.
Smokeless inhales hurt.
I cough tar on my shirt.
As my black lungs breathe,
Shrilling exhales wheeze.
Cabrona
Falls me
Down to
My knees.
The nicotine cracks
My will.
My composure
Spills.
I want
This.
I must
Have this.
I sink
Into
The brink
Of madness.
Kirbe the CO2.
The C is carbon and the O is oxygen. The 2 at the end of the CO2 means there two oxygen.
That what CO2 is which makes carbon dioxide. He lives in the atmosphere.
Kirbe is very busy. When the sun is shining on plants, he goes to work. Plants perform
photosynthesis which converts light energy to chemical energy.
The photosynthesis converts Kirbe to carbon hydrates, food for the plant, releasing oxygen
in the process. Now now. Kirbe isn't dead, he still at work.
When work is done, Kirbe is released in the atmosphere in several ways: Through
respiration performed by plants and animals.
Through decay of animal and dead matter. Through combustion of organic material that
produce carbon dioxide like cars.
On the surface of the oceans where water becomes warmer and through volcanic eruptions.
That a lot of ways Kirbe is released in the atmosphere. When time passes, so does Kirbe.
As Kirbe travel back into the atmosphere, he takes a long break. Or does he....
Nope, Kirbe continues working because it's a cycle that never stop. For its Kirbe the CO2.
Form:
Am I the one you dream of,
Am I the one you prayed silently for with closed eyes at your bed side,
Am I the one you magnificently created of her figment,
Deeply rooted and knotted in that dark part of your past.
Do you think you can create, recreate those vivid but vague images of her carbon
copy through me?
Am I the one you want to smile like her,
Caress, embrace and erase your deviant discrepancy.
Have you visualized the slaving, the hard work she put in?
It seems I am the one you want to prolong the epidemic of your rage
Am I the one you really care for
Or am I just a coaster to absorb that water from your glass
Am I the one you pictured walking towards you on that cool Sunday evening
In that small chapel on the side of that Hill.
Am I the one you will share and tell stories about,
The one who will inspire you to become greater than you.
Will I be the one you run to when all hell breaks lose?
Am I the one you place above all other.
Will I be the one to conceive and bear seed just to please you?
Seeds that resemblances you and in essences are you
Will I ever be that one?
The one you have morphed within the cavity of your brain.
Melt me into amethyst;
where deep purple skies fade to rose quartz,
as the sun begins his labors.
They are the earth womb;
air, fire and water; as am I;
energy in a tiny package;
wrapped by Nature’s hand.
Carbon crystals meld within the womb;
sister diamond’s no less than I;
Every facet is a world of its own.
Like people, no two are exactly the same.
We grow and change;
are young and old;
living energy of the elements.
Fresh from Nature’s oven and baked to
near-perfection…individuals.
Quartz families, grow offspring,
that become one with us.
All gems wear their history, proudly;
their, genealogies.
Within the obsidian pool of mind,
facets reflect each spirit’s inner beauty.
Inclusions mirror the hardships and tribulations,
of each individual; the stories are there to see,
if one looks and listens.
Gem song is a voice so sweet, upon the ethers.
Earth’s baking process enhances our colors;
lightening an otherwise, monotone existence.
Each facets duty, to let our true colors shine,
through the darkness.
The oneness of human and stone,
is the catalyst that swells
Mother Nature’s chest with pride.
Such sibling harmony, is the icing on her cake.
A carbon copy
The master imitation
Ungenuine friends
He said I was oxygen
That he couldn’t live without
He said I was the ideal
That he wanted for a wife
He flattered and he praised me
Made me feel like a princess
No one else came even close
His desires he’d thus confess
He’d waited for me for years
Desperate to be my man
He did ask me more than once
To please love him if I can
And then I tumbled headlong
Into this prince charming’s arms
I pledged him eternal love
I succumbed to his sweet charms
Many years have passed and now
We are both set to get old
But at times my heart just mourns
For a love that’s getting cold
For though we still make music
To a rhythm all our own
That hungry look has just gone
The passion that I have known
“My love, you’re my oxygen,
You’re the life that I inhale!”
Tell me, though, my beloved
Has that oxygen gone stale?
Am I the carbon dioxide
That you are quick to expel?
Need a fresh O2 supply
That enlivens every cell?
My love, if I’m no longer
The breath that gives you your life
Remember I’m still that girl
You desired for a wife!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
PS...Soupers, I often tease my husband about this oxygen thing. I guess it is inevitable that somewhere along the line...the mad frenzy of love mellows to a comfortable rhythm. Of course, love needs nurture! I read once that someone told a marriage counselor, "My husband and I are like a comfortable pair of old sneakers," to which she replied, "That's alright, as long as you remember, old sneakers need to dance every now and then!" :) Get the music going!
The village was nestled on the coast by itself, as if God had put it there all alone, on a shelf.
The residents were isolated just like the town, and universally uninformed from the top on down.
It was no longer a lavish seaside resort, gone were the badminton and racquetball courts.
It was a mere shell of its former glory and wonder, as if a great storm had come and tore it asunder.
And in the village an old man remembered when he was a boy,
how he played with wooden sticks, Lincoln logs, tinker toys.
Then came toys made of plastic so shiny and new.
There were so many you could tear one up, and replace it with two.
And that was just the tip of an iceberg of stuff
that has grown bigger and bigger cause it's never enough.
When the little boy grew up he bought his first car
that could outrun the men who wore the tin stars.
He was hooked on the speed and the style and the flash.
What a bargain he thought to get so much for so little cash.
Back then very few cared if cars damaged the planet;
they were fast, looked good and were a great chick magnet!
Soon the young man got married and in the blink of an eye,
the grandkids have him thinking about that uneven sky.
The one that lets too many sun's rays come in.
the one that has worn the polar ice sheets too thin
The one that won't let him leave this earth as he found it,
with food and water for all and God's halo around it.
Now he worries and frets, what can one person do,
that could make any difference in this environmental snafu?
Then a light bulb came on in his troubled mind.
I will get the ball rolling and lots of people will follow and find,
that the earth is too fragile to treat just any old way,
then maybe, just maybe the whole village will make everyday Earth Day.
im living in a world where art is basically plasma
where imagery,and double entandres bring asthma
my vision's metaphorical,i swim through stanzas
and to have lack of substance is to breathe in cancer.
its seems now-days dropping knowledge is a crime-
in a literate way,i litter it
but who reads any ways,might as well be illiterate
technology's the new thing i just might consider it...
and let my words go cyber
my poetry's nutritous,brings your mindset fiber
oh,gosh put a mussle on his brain-he's a problem
im the answer,go and ask a mathematical problem
silence...r.i.p to Emmy Noether,while were on that subject^.
the things in our society just seem so suspect..
apologies for all the waisted time you just spent
but you just witnessed the making of my carbon foot print
An odorless/colorless gas highly toxic is the report
It’s Carbon Monoxide by name but I’ll call it CM for short.
It’s known as The Silent Killer and to avoid being hurt
You need to be real careful and install a CM Alert.
What causes this dangerous gas is a furnace as a rule.
That or any appliance that runs on fossil fuel.
CM Alerts are not expensive but they’re worth their weight in gold.
Their readings are in PPM’s - 35 ppm’s is max I’m told.
If it goes over 35 you’ve got troubles that’s for sure.
You’ve got to call an expert in so you can be secure.
I have a real long story but I’m gonna make it short
We got in some CM trouble so we called the experts to report.
We were very lucky with the trouble that we faced,
Our ppm read 1500 so our furnace was replaced!
According to statistics - 1600 means you’re dead
We missed by just 100 so we were lucky like I said.
So if Safety really matters then it’s best that you decide
To install a CM Alert or two in the place where you reside!
Behold me as I wield the carbon sword,
cleaving reality as if a fraying cord.
In noble valor I make my timeless stand,
against the demons spawned by my own hand.
circular bands of pathetic
misfortunes broken
by the empowering
stretch of mighty
hands
clandestine candles of hope
reverse into an open
nest of trust
we are elements of carbon
hydrogen and sulphur...
Form:
I
the yellow cries of creation burn in the subjective sun
staring rays of perdition’s psalm acidic as sinful balm
sear the fear of tomorrow’s bones into fleshly operas
observing with scientific malice the malady of romance
…the ghosts dance on quantum strings
…stars fall into amnesia vast as innocence
II
the roaring morning voice lies in mourning
bled beyond the hum particulates wonder wide
wavering worlds of whispered war rendering
deeds and passions severed from the stream
…lost survivors bathe in black flowers
…applauding the deconstruction of love
III
crying carnivorous caves leak scenes
painted with weathered fingers dyeing
dreams of the hunt levitating raw eons
climbing piles of souls claiming realms
…reappearing yields banish wishes
…angels swish across bedrooms blushing
An elephant can slide quite easily into an egg box but a piccolo finds it very difficult to get in and out of bed. Missionary meals making marvellous moonbeams. And the little turtle sunbathes near the fires. At radiating eclipses beans can jump with noodles. Which then creates vast whirling swirling sounds upon the crusts of bread which line up in duty bound display. Uneven is a curtsey before mounting a stallion on a montage or a battlefield. But bowing is neither bringing nor buying so don't spin around when your head is in a sink basin. Flapping frees freestyling flames which can leap to over seventy six miles into an oxidised air. Ok then. And now it is time for the sail on the floating point to wave and weave but not watch for watches are waving and waving is considered wealthy at this time. Pinnacles pf interest then in a test match. Prawns versus lobsters equals 148 to 0. And the cabbaged out spawn of tidally adjusted three piece suit adorns many a hallway in large frames. Number then. Count. Fishing for the futile then? Fantastic. Emblematic. And just so justified even in a rhombic dance of nine. Haha a fried lettuce is over there basking peacefully. Hahaha an emu on a ceiling fan moving around. Xxxxx geomorphological Z z z
Form: