Best Pressurized Poems
It is a well-known fact, said Aristotle
and many a priest that threaten the inferno,
‘Give me a child before the age of seven’
Today society taking the old ways to a new height
‘And I’ll give you a programmable mind set.’
life, now a highway, from the earliest age a one-track road
littered along the hard shoulder with broken down expressions,
when to fuel a rapid growing band of experts,
driven along the assemble line of psychoanalyst,
a vital part of the skulduggery?
Striving for intellect is not in everyone’s script
where all are pressurized to achieve, and many children
are having to forgo that precious period of life,
for the sake of another’s ego.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
We were calculating theoretical yields on chemcollective
and somehow we ended up dancing to ”go left.”
We were finding oxidation numbers on labster
but somehow we started laughing.
We were balancing chemical equations on PhET
but now we’re singing “World we created” with hair-bush microphones.
Believe your competence - be impressed with your progress.
Attack every challenge with self-contained ease.
Armor yourself with confidence.
You’ll like the way you enjoy it.
*We started studying for school - weeks in advance of spring term - those names (Chemcollective, PhET, Labster) are tools for working out chemistry equations - like calculating theoretical yields from compounds. So we practice, practice, practice until we can do them blindfolded - or in pressurized situations like tests.
hell fire desires running wild
like a passion driven hot rod with burning tires
scorching licks of frenzied lust
whip raw touches that spontaneously self combust
pressurized slowness yielding euphoric smoke with every thrust
finger flicking flickery teasing and pleasing pink pleasures
peeping erotic natures in search of lost wet treasures
hardy hints of intense mixed sexual scents
resurrects the untamed within to go instinctively hell bent
standing tall like a hairy savage walking erect
smooth cruise control piston pumping action
X-rated planet transmitting listen to deep space orgasmic satisfaction
naughty nude bodies being slapped by massive tide waves of ecstasy
forever love fantasies pulverized into countless particles
and scattered across the endless galaxies
extreme tenderness under a ripe mythological moon
indulge on each others spirits using a soul stealing spoon
Oh! How I long for that
one sweet moment of
loneliness, when the human race
decides to piss off, leaving me
to wallow in my own
company.
The pressurized world,
the ceremonious
corporate reciprocates, one’s
space to foul, with flouting
flagrant farts! Creating
thunderous turmoil, a
chaotic state of mind,
a wind of prevalent
change.
Innocent minds, virgin thoughts
collective breeding grounds,
stage upon stage, the master’s philosophy to
be acted out. His! To
nurture, to alter, personalities
to change, ideals to strive
for, directions to enforce.
The
new breed, created from
the production line of
progression, cantankerous wankers! Mountaineers
all. “No strings” Yet each one
a “Puppet” To the regime, each
one skilled in the art of
deceit, degrees in codhology, all
willing to sell their soul
to the executive.
“Interaction Management” The
suave enemy. “Believe it”
At one’s peril,
“The flattery
the empathy
the confidence”
Seek out! The expression
behind the expression.
If not! “One will love it”
Hook line and sinker, caught
in a web of verbal
trash, dressed up in treachery.
Soon
the moralist to become ridiculed,
their dispute subjected
to “Reductio ad absurdum” Yet
their accuser dances
amongst the clouds, eyes forever
searching skywards, the social
divorce permanent.
Who!
Are these arrogant ones,
those reared in such cynical ways,
their curriculum brimming with
intellect, yet without
the power to reason,
only the power to perform!
The forked tongue, the worthless hand shake
at Christmas time, the insincere
parody that floats across the
pay table.
Many years
I have given myself
to this crap, and here are
these bastards, having us
all feel grateful, for the
“Privilege
of
employment.”
© Harry J Horsman 1993
My beat heart beats
Like a ticking time bomb
Ready to deplete
Ready to compete
With all the other
lonely hearts club bands
To try to withstand
All the pressurized unintelligent formal
Untrue truths that measure my informal being among this simplicit surface I stand upon
The pitter patter of my irregular heart
Sounds like taps when death finally does us part
Simple, elemental, essential, source of Life
Coursing this blue planet’s rivers and streams
Rush fast through the harbor burst out to sea
Sail open ocean, charge shore by Moon’s guide
Morph mass and matter, touch atmosphere
Return condensed, slightly cloaked vaporized
Creeping and crawling fog in to the Bay
Over land, pushing pass mountainous range
Pressurized band together, pouring rain, snow and sleet
Then temperature rises to a certain degree
Fluid get moody, puts on quite a show
Loud crashing thunder opens the scene
Live wires cross, strike hard down to earth
Birth new vegetation after the burn
Showering love and nurturing the grow
All creatures gain from the work water sows
Scarlett Critttenden
For Member Contest "Write Me a Rippling Stream"
6/3/11
A large pile of elephant excrement is neither resembling a tortoiseshell coat or a brown handbag but playing dodge ball on a busy motorway could be considered to be akin to a wonky attic vibrating at over 10000 kilowatts a second. Dare to cross a spade with a diamond. And hearts often laugh in a club house city. Ooh wow a calamity clam jumping around. Greatly releasing a board game over an icy rink. Terminate then germinate. Pointless picking puck ups playing poker. How remarkable the dark maroon moving grinning bush. With shades. Trying a terrapin waltz should not ever be attempted in a casserole dish. For beans have eyes and hair and roll roll rolly round and round. Particularly on angled blades of grass. Next in the line is a warbling wheel. Placket of a packet packeted and peckpockpick. Dancing with a mane. Whooshing through atmospheric conditions and pressurized promenades. Always the lark of look. Always the dim of dinner. And now go eat a dim sum bracket wearing a long sleeved pullover whilst chatting to a very pleasant and personable flower. *** floristic fauna frantically feeling fakes *** gun grab geraniums ghostly got grabbed *** underground undergrowth uniquely underwent underwater. *** unification *** ha ha ha centrepiece of soul. ***
Haunting and haunted,
These visages with lacy, saponaceous curds
Depending and plummeting,
Do I on the pebbled porcelaneous integument
Of the whitish shower floor scrawl.
I wonder, as frothy masses of foamy, bubbled soap
In the shower traverse mine body and ripple and course
Undulant across my sinews, driven by the pound and pour of the
Plunging, cascading cataract of pressurized shower water....
I wonder, I mull and I ponder over the
Accounting, the tally, the sum total of those
Ephemeral faces by soap and pressured water engendered:
Those ghastly and spectral faces which precipitate
Diluted, water-blasted soaps have, in
Soppy, splashy, soap-lashing
Depositions on that pebbled floor atop of which I stand
(Or did when the inspiration for this poetical work mine
Did, whilst erectly bathing, occur to me)
Yet how many multitudes of these
Through the course my myriad bathings and showerings;
How many of those horrid, demonical, haunting and haunted
Physiognomies did I of a moment
Indirectly will, if you will, into being-
Even whilst the shower coursed pluvial and pouring waters thundered all around?
God-given Package, I'm weak,
Strong mentally, but matters physique,
Endure insult, to haughty meek,
Urchin servility, the reluctant beak!
Fury pressurized, wrath submerged,
Luck withdrawing, ego gulped,
Jealousy fostered, though sanity burped,
Bearing, enduring, a character developed!
A violent being develops indside,
Emerging obscene, nothing to abide,
The silent sacrifices, virulent when unified,
The two beings characteristically colide!
The meek ogre, that's an identity,
The vulnerable resistance, that is tenacity,
Antagonistic personalities, that is duality,
Accepting presence, a reticent alacrity!
The pressure you bear glares at me through the man-made smoke screen
that forms the barrier between you and your diminutive audience. It’s years
since nineteen fifty-nine, yet today you can still find a niche somewhere
just to render your immense hit of yesteryear.
born to be a star
in the glare of the spotlight
which way the signpost
As I look at your inclining stance against the microphone stand, emancipation
within my mind takes place, instantly focusing on a different era seeing you as
you were those years ago. Full length life size guru on my bedroom wall, the
pastel rose petalled wallpaper in stark contrast to your black leather gear and
shining greased hair, an air of manly pose, yet a portrait of candid innocents.
flexible music
moves on with change a wild child
how could one forget
Reality surges back as your voice begins to drift into obnoxiousness, eyes, that
begin to spotlight your habitual life of living the fast lane, each note
promising nothing, each breath giving no perception of negative opinions,
only the sentimentality of the loyal few are perceived. Oh! What price is fame,
pressurized to reproduce instantly each session failure contributing to your dilemma driving you deeper, into this abyss of shame!
dream on each release
everyday a symphony
truth a bitter pill
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Enlist all you anger, enlist all your hate. Produce all your aggression and drive it into
fate. Come my soldiers, come my man and woman storm the gates. Climb their fences with
your swords and souls. Fight for our victory, fight for you right to grow.
Have it, it’s in truth, touch-less faceless drowning with tearless rhythm. Breaking cycle
like breaking time. Teach me abrasive art, while I’m learning to be, have it, it’s within
me. Ambition of a madman or mad woman, rise up destroy tall walls.
Produced be misdirection and the fallacious of a baby’s truth. Armies of all, six hundred
of you all, wake up, grab your feet, wake up seize the defeat.
Wake up! Give them fear, give oppression as there walls come near. Know that were all
behind you, Know that I am here. Know that you can have it, it’s in truth. Know that you
can have it, it’s within you.
The sky will be behind you, impossible at your knees. Invincible with my words, invisible
to their schemes. They will never know that we’re coming, not in their wildest dreams.
The will is at our fingertips,
Pressurized as far as the eye can see.
The war for ambition now upon us, let’s fight will all means.
Brother Poetry speaks the eternal language of my soul.
He cuts across man-made boundaries of civilization,
culture, age, gender and time.
He talks of my state of mind,
my confusions and decisions,
my concerns and pleasures.
With him my emotion lingers.
All issues that strike a cord
in the spirit of my poem
He goes beyond words in humane intention.
Brother Poetry will symbolize me,
represents me in all centuries to come.
He may be indicted in intense pressurized moments,
construed in a solitary set of time,
but once expressed,
He becomes my life and
the showcase of my perceptions.
So long as there are thoughts
and the desire to express them,
He moves on.
Google the world till you find me,
Draw closer; grip my heart and never let go,
Numerous moons have passed; countless suns have shone,
Yet my dream is curtailed,
I have unturned the blue; unzipped the stars looking for you,
Dug graves to uncover you; Uprooted trees to find clues,
Separated warm and cold air; to find the one I bleed; the one I breathe; the one I grief, the one I belief; the one I love,
I have befriended libraries to find your name; my love,
Given tokens to know the prophesy of your coming; my love,
A search that’s never ending until I find you; my future love,
I have roamed all over hell; to save your soul; my love,
Moved every corner of the earth; for the amender of my breath,
Tried bribing the archangel in heaven,
To certify to my heart that you are save and well; my love,
Just run a marathon in Daegu; for you who clutched my heart,
I can ran without shoes; but never without my strength,
Love I’ll die for you; as tomorrow means nothing without you,
Where are you at? Come swiftly seize my pressurized heart?
I know you can sense the soreness in my indoors,
Come cement my missing bits as you alone know how; my love,
Come devour me with glee; a beam that can never be expunged,
You know I need you; and that very true; my life; my love,
How can ‘I’ the Ferrari win a race without its tyres (you)?
I preserved every cell for you; ignored all love for you,
Don’t let me sting no more; I gave up everything for you,
When I confided in this love of ours; many pasted me a coward,
But my thoughts of you assisted me keep my sanity and purity,
My fluency with love rules made me patient,
Enough to wait for you the trance bloke of my centre; my love,
A love of tomorrow I preserve today and forever,
Soon my heart will dance and shout your name ‘ohh my love’
I treasure you my love; my tomorrow; my dream; my desire; my all; the one I have been waiting for all my life,
I sit here desperately jotting this jingle to you my love,
On tenterhooks it reaches you and remits you to me presently; my love.
Oh how very marvellous then. Synchronised shopping in a ship stream. Level out no lever in a gale. And swarm to sale rails like oversized tanks on waves of euphoric energy excursions. When waving rattles around dressed in a dressing gown or a kimono be wise to put on the correct footwear to adhere to the fashion ignited by the carpet stench. For it is never to be wiped nor adjusted the sofa of steam. Stagnant can then. Fortresses of dressed up closets clamouring for fetish funds to enlighten the brain of benign baked branches. But stem no frozen celery soup in a tight fitting dress. Discos are for dangerous driving doughs. And dough is a dough and a dough means to shape shift and spin into an ever decreasing pressurized paste. Generally speaking a display of distinguished discussion is merely an offsetting of informational ink. Dot then. And forms fake fingers. What is that? A misplaced misprint of an error in a mother tongue. How can that be? Why, one should ask the aisle in the supermarket for they are often very very wise. Simplistic simpletons seek spending some. And the others give give give. And all whirl around in circles endlessly. Round and around. Frighten not a ten inch flea on an amusement park. And please take care when buttering bread for bread can be quite fragile and sensitive to the smears. Thanks very much then. And give a bow to a cup. Hahaha missionary muscle of mussels and rice. Hahahaha melancholic melon moving moodily. Hahaha breast of butter. Culinary cylinder coming. Good good good. Now bake. Great. Xxxxx kitchenette z. This is the p y q reporting on the appropriate discussion for an atomised ant in an apron. Z.
Growing up my parents continuously brawled
Verbally and throwing things was the norm
This day was uniquely funny
My Sis thought it was not
As an adult my sister sees the comic side
Though she was left a little traumatized
The events that transpired left me mesmerized
Father was busy kneading bread with pride
Mother cooking stew in the pot
Day was nice and sunny
Until mom and dad started brewing up a storm
Juiced words and names were ultimately called
Dough enough to make twelve loaves was angrily balled
Then thrown with strength, precision and fine form
Mom scurried like a swift bunny
As to the fridge Sis trot
Did not see it coming, no time to jump aside
Dough pinned Sis's head to the fridge, she was pressurized
Jan 14, 2020
For Contest - A Little Memory
* My sister was 5 years old, I was 11. It was like a cartoon.