Where have all my years gone?
there I was a mere young twenty-.one
now in a moment it seems 50 years gone
here grey haired bones ache nothing won
I've no memory of these lost years
they are frozen stiff completely still
I had many desires set to accomplish
but content I shall be, whatever it will
My memory is still alive up till the freeze
there I was my stammer still holding me down
now so far it seems to have gone far away
maybe the ice squashed it without a sound
Frustrations abound about my future
I seem to like poetry for I never did before
where did I get it, not even at school
did the freeze open up some closed door
I now feel a divine presence
never known before, God is here
freeze me anytime for this is nice
hey, my deafness is gone as sounds I hear
Life takes many turns and twists
even ice pins you to its wall
I look back now on life as it was
50 years amiss, You can't win them all
(This is an imaginary story that I was frozen solid in cryogenic
labs at age 21, in 1975.
Now, fifty years later, I have been defrosted and the experiment was a success, except for a few tweaks.)
Deep November,
a shallow time, nonetheless.
The snow is high packed with a cryogenic
amnesia.
Not yet dawn,
a sunken bed
muffles rising thoughts.
An eyelash of cognizance
flits across
thawing synapses.
Then the elastic nature
of sleep and wakefulness
snap alive!
November is howling still,
like a stray dog it scratches at my window -
wanting in.
For a while intelligence is a thorn in my paw.
Outside of the brain, November
is the same,
the darkness is still deep,
and friable as charred bone,
yet by now I am a candle flaring,
a flicker and gleam
within a neuronal time-machine,
and mind-surfing
on an ever-cresting awareness.
Trying to imagine
And then have to contextualize
If it was to be in fact possible
Being able to or possess the ability
To cryogenically freeze
And so preserve myself
After my actual death
I was medically pronounced dead
Then what exactly ?
What happens then ?
1 day in however many years
Doesn't really matter in the future
I am defrosted and woken up
Into what kind of world and existence
And who is awaiting me
My family , friends
And where do I return to my house , home
What exactly , who , where am I
And to me it is exactly at this very point
Reality fully dawns on me and I realize
The consequence of my action
And I probably wish I was dead
Rather than be alive
As this is not my life
I had and did live
And this unfortunately
Is anything but
The steamy breathlessness of unending youthful love
Reckless plunges into cryogenic mountain lakes
The sound of brightly shining stars beyond the Trevi
Eternal love embraced in kiss of shimmering gold
Golden glow of dying sun on white Aegean walls
Among first sights and sounds that once took away my breath
And yet, you leave me breathless
still
The eyes appeared icy and confusing
the warm ocean lies beyond sight
words with wings arising out of waves
they soar into my heart slowly
under a lot of dead hope, they find one alive
and teach it how to fly.
A poet is serenaded by a seductive muse
join me on a waltz to an illicit verse
my lyrics express my passion
awakened me without trying
gives me hedonistic poetry
swing again as I am your muse.
All my words
individualize uncastrated psyche
this search revealed several doors
yet, nothing happens
simple gateways to other realms
overwhelmed and afraid
the head was in a cryogenic jar
where is my brain?
has the robot traveled asunder?
I am spellbound by words
that deep, black tone
tumbles with shards of fading light
nighttime adventure
the bow holds it together
curse of insatiability
the silks are shredded
to fulfill their cravings.
Written: October 29, 2022
Her anger blows
frigid, like Arctic wind
Tears of hostile disposition flows
bosom lethal —
Pulmonary liquid nitrogen
Acrimonious breath
expel serrated exclamations
Jagged exhalation
feels like six below death
Such an icy sensation
Formaldehyde intimation,
cadaver cold pulsation
Got a cryogenic nature
that resides
in an unemotional South Pole
Frostbite vocals
has igloo vibrations
Freezer burn temperamental flatline
show glacial striations
Sub-zero body language
Kilimanjaro translate
hypothermia lacerations
Those neon palpitations
has taken nether hold
Arrhythmic separation
breaks at the
jilted Fahrenheit of six below
Pulsating pain, so cadaver cold
09-10-21
Red lights flash on Canary Comm
Ice 9 warning once again
To stay or fly not serious
Who can avoid the cryogenic madness?
Most carry on Ice 9 inside
Like DNA or something drives it
No matter line no breaking in
A perfect prison for the mind
If only to contain
The Ice 9 to one brain
Observe the crystal goblet
From the safety of a body distance
Instead, we fortify to ramparts
Drawing weapons seizing
Ice 9 spills outside the brain
Foreboding thinking freezing
Posted Date: 12/1/2019 6:52:00 AM
In stygian depths,
a specter swims,
descendant of Great Cthulhu
and Leviathan.
For eight hundred years in
caverns deep, beneath
stygian black waters,
his cryogenic sleep’s,
disturbed by
fracked-cracks
in Gaia’s core.
now he rests in peace,
no more.
No ordinary Cthulhu
now is this,
no ordinary
demonic fish,
this diabolic fiend
is twisted from
spilled chemicals,
toxic rot,
unseen.
Venomous waste has
shaped his brain
and nuclear essence
his heart contains.
Where once Great Cthulhu
was frightening to see,
this descendant,
poison-minded, be.
Terror of sailor’s nightmares swims,
in salty waters, poisoned by men
who cared for only money, you see,
Descendant Cthulhu heartless be.
When putrid breath
and jagged teeth
caress the ships
that sail the seas,
the foulest stench
of stomach acids,
will digest men like,
melted plastic.
Oh men of tomorrow,
do take heed,
sew no more nuclear
or toxic seeds.
This last boat
to sail these seas,
our dead souls
now and forever plead!
Again the winter woman comes
Noble blood of Norman sons
Exquisite and bawdy
Tresses falling frosty
The contents of my battle helm
Her cosmic cryogenic realm
Each eve she bear her chill to me
She'll have my oath and bended knee
Illumine blue and translucence
She is a truthful illusion
Eyes dusky clear
By what gate does she enter here?
Plethora we were, idyllic and rhapsodic
Dulcet, was felicity always our path
Destined to be in cryogenic chrysalis
Universal talisman below sapphire skies
Once radiant, soon evanescent
.
THE ROOM IN THE MOUNTAIN
At the base of the mountain rests a massive six-foot thick steel door that hides so many secrets behind the cold metal.
Built in the dying days of the 20th century this secret room houses long forgotten strangers from the past; frozen in nitrogen in this cryogenic world are the dead who will one day awake.
Now in the 23rd century the door has been breached and the contents have been seen by the world.
In tubes of glass and in temperature-controlled freezers they lie with the same expression on their faces as the day they died.
For they are not really dead but asleep, soon to awake. As daylight chases away the darkness the computer begins to slowly bring them back to life.
What will they think of the 23rd century?
The claret globe it fills the sky
for landing time will soon draw nigh.
Now wake from cryogenic sleep
those who Earth's promises must keep,
our sixteen finest, bright and bold
to set red planet's first threshold.
For their tasks, specially chosen
air's thin - Sherpa gene bespoken,
brains, strength and reflex all enhanced
to give our crew a fighting chance.
Carefully reared in far Tibet
to make their chances better yet
and if perchance their mission fail
a second crew will take their trail.
Where frozen embryos still burn
to start new clones and take their turn.
frozen on the vine
cryogenic flavored host
a time released smile
frozen on the vine
ice glistening in the sun
grapes hold on tight
harvest time has come
necter trapped in purple orbs
till glasses are raised
Freddie's Grape Haiku Contest
Death shrouds each
ancillary moment
Pain lashed without reason
A blind game against the sun
Humans turn against dirt
Where they search
Thoughtless configuration
My sense
Of cryogenic soul hovering
Imbuing fluids, mystery without expression
And creasing against
The wind of ideas
My only source of direction
When you speak germane
Fertilizer falls out
With no patience
To encircle the pants
You left trailing behind
Instead a tumor grows
Simultaneously banished
And buried under the surface
Without recognition
watching the politician’s dick get
bigger as he
proclaims that
he’s got more money than
mr. hope & change,
WOW---who would have thought
that a business tycoon who came to
our eyes,
based on the fact that he had a lot of money,
now,
STILL has a lot of money,
in fact, he says he has more money than
mr. hope & change, which in this
bewildered empire
means a lot---
because people here worship money,
they see the man who has a lot as being
superior,
as being somehow
impenetrable to bullets,
impenetrable to bombs &
sickness---
yes, somehow, this
rich, white, mormon,
will outlive us all,
because his pockets are deep &
the underlings will no doubt
preserve his corpse on display
like mao
in some air chamber mausoleum or
perhaps locked up in some cryogenic
freezer in utah,
so that when it is the perfect time to thaw him,
he’ll come back to reign upon the living &
the dead,
in his planetary paradise
with his “god” in fantasy mormon land
as the one robot rich guy
whose ability to discuss anything but
money,
the making or money,
the smell of money
or the fact that he has more money than
you,
is simply
moot.
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