Long Oxygen Poems
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I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can’t breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don’t moan in ecstasy and I don’t close my eyes in pleasure. I don’t take it for granted and I don’t have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.
Dylan Carston was a well-off young man,
thanks to a large and health trust fund,
his father was a true Wall Street ace
and had been quite generous to his sons.
Dylan had set himself up in Miami
after years spent getting his MBA,
he did consulting four days every week,
the other three he did like to play.
He’d partied with friends at all the bars,
and had his share of hot one-night stands,
not yet had he thought of a wife and kids,
he was enjoying the life of a young man.
One Saturday as he walked down the beach
to get exercise and breath the sea air,
he stumbled upon a frantic woman
calling for him to go over there.
As he drew near he saw down in the sand
a young woman who’s face had gone blue,
he could see no lifeguard near where they were,
but fortunately he knew what to do.
He found no pulse when he listened close,
and placed two hands high on her left breast,
with hard compression he began CPR,
pumping furiously at her chest.
Every so often he placed his mouth on hers
and forced oxygen deep into her lungs,
the other woman ran off to find more help
while Dylan continued the rhythmic pump.
Finally after three desperate minutes
a gurgled rasp echoed up from her throat,
life returned to her, the blue fading out,
though her eyes still knew not where to go.
Moments later he heard the rush of feat,
the lifeguard and the woman had returned,
Dylan gestured to where the girl lay,
“I brought her back, now I think it’s your turn.”
The lifeguard thanked him for taking action,
then knelt down slowly at the victim’s side,
ambulances came, reports were fill out,
when Dylan left three hours had gone by.
He felt good about saving the woman’s life,
it was a moment he would not forget,
congratulations came in, on top of that
the lifeguards sent him a certificate.
Three weeks went by and Dylan returned to
the safe routines of the everyday world,
and bit by bit his thoughts turned away
from the near death of that helpless girl.
So it was with a great deal of surprise
when a process server told him these words:
“Dylan Carston, you’re being sued for assault,
you can consider yourself dully served.”
Dylan’s mind whirled at the accusation,
he had no idea how this could be true?
Had some ex regretted their time and cried ‘rape,’
were they evil enough to go down that route?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
He was born with a bushy round follicle-free head
and walks with two legs, because
he is a Neanderthal(1) mutant,
for he is a mutational product,
he is an android(2) not found in the evolutionary tree,
and that’s why he was so sad; he began to roam the surface
of the earth, he climbed up the mountains, crossed the rivers
and traveled over the expansion of fields beyond the horizon;
to soothe the sorrow of being alien
he labored to find another android similar to him;
and if he finds one, he is forced to lay her down on the ground
and sow the seeds to establish a new genealogical table;
the seeds grown to Hominidae.(3)
As time goes by his hair on his head became thinner
because the roots of his hair decayed from no follicle
and at last, he became bald;
each time a sun-ray reflects on his head
his anguish grows in the valley of misery he is trapped in
and leading his poor life. He escapes from the valley and crawls
into a cave(4) peculiar from all the other caves he’d seen so far,
and he fixed a flag.
As the wind rises the flag streams,
when the flag flutters the sky roars to pierce the ears;
then the sky falls to the ground from a gap between
the roars gushing out ashes and fires. The fire heats
to burn the stones lying here and there by the water’s edge.
When sky, earth, fire and the stones intermingled in one
it tortures the Neanderthal with the red-hot iron of death,
then, *****Sapience survived from breathing the oxygen
that Neanderthal left behind; and as day grows taller and taller
*****Sapience finds the way to preserve oxygen;
thereupon, Hominidae mixes this excess oxygen to produce
black powder with the ratio of 10KNO3 + 3S + 8C,
and stuff it into a bamboo-tube;
tomorrow therefore explodes, time stops,
the sea swallows the earth. As things come this far,
though there may be worse things waiting in the future,
the crippled time, comes with quick steps winding a malfunctioning clock.
NOTE: 1. *****Neanderthalensis and *****Sapience are different *****species, therefore, though *****Sapience Sapience is not a mutated species, but just so regarded in this poem.. 2. Android: in this poem this phrase is synonymous to synthetic organism rather than electro/mechanical robot. 3. Hominidae: this term is used as existing modern Human. 4. Francis Bacon, Idra Specus.
Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
I hold your hand,
Look into your eyes.
I see fear there.
You don’t want to die.
I watch you breathe in.
I watch you breathe out.
My entire world is trapped in plastic.
I’m surrounded by the sound of oxygen machines.
I watch as you breathe your last.
I wish for you to fly high.
Yet another one gone.
Somebody’s grandmother.
Somebody’s mother.
The people around me,
All huddled together,
Praying that they’re not the next one to go.
All we do now is wash our hands.
We shield our faces.
What are we really shielding our faces from?
It misses its target and hits me right dead in the heart.
We’re not really protected from anything.
It all starts with the simple sniffles.
It travels into the chest.
No one dares set foot outside anymore.
I can no longer hear your voice.
You no longer scold me.
I miss you now.
I can’t help but to feel sadness.
You’re gone.
You’re no longer living here.
I’ll always have you engraved in my heart.
Here I go once again.
Yet another one is dead and gone.
Please, don’t struggle anymore.
Please, rest in peace.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Please, never let go.
I’ll wipe away all the tears.
I’ll stand strong amidst this sorrow.
There goes somebody’s grandfather,
Somebody’s father.
It’s somebody’s reason for being.
I’ll fake a smile,
Walk through these tragic hallways.
Yet one more gone.
They’ve all left me behind.
They’ve all given their lives to someone like me.
I hold their memories close to my heart.
Who knew a simple sniffle could kill?
When will I wake from this nightmare?
Your warmth slowly slips away.
Your grip slowly loosens.
The light in your eyes fades.
Man, I feel old!
There’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just make your final moments comfortable.
All hope is gone.
Dread has taken homage in my heart.
It’s time to get drunk.
It’s time to think about life and death.
It’s the same every day and every night.
This is our new normal.
Someone’s always breathing their final breaths.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just be there.
Just hold your hand.
Nothing’s changing.
I’m chasing after hope.
Running on caffeine and cigarettes.
There’s no getting over these emotions.
Let’s disappear into isolation.
Depression and anxiety galore!
No one to hold my hand.
No one to comfort me.
No one to tell me that everything will be okay.
KITH
I have told you who l am numerous times. But you just took me for a regular creature, all of you have failed the test of recognition; I am not all human, yet it is just the human side of me catching up to my lost soul;
My Spirit has preceded me in space, time and perception.
My daughter left me because she was my Mother:
My Kith no longer recognizes me because my
thought patterns were antagonized by the misplacement of its pattern.
My Original Kith has fallen into the depths of the human experience.
This time I came to sort out those things that held us back -
Those things that prevented you from knowing me.
I am not yet with the universal creator; Nor am I yet with total God mind -
I am only privileged to be as an interpreter of what I've experienced.
Those foul and unclean thoughts and deeds that kept me defiled will serve to enlighten so that you do not have to experience them, I have been made pure and wise, now able to rise.
I have been exalted to the Mother-Dome.
I come seeking those who want to know my reason for being, to let them experience life through my eyes.
Realization of my extraordinary existence came during a bout with celibacy when a zephyr came through my window and seductively filled me with awesome bliss.
It was then I understood the magnitude of my sex appeal that somehow,
I had always rejected.
Wanted only to be loved for merely being born.
People trying to get inside of me or as close as they could get infringingly,
they wanted to be a power over me or sup from my body or somehow.
Impregnate me with their own will.
Though as an Eagle, or a Sphinx, Oft' times I must cluck,
for they certainly do not understand my language -
"I am not just by happenstance" –
"I have happened to you" !.
I ‘vied lived to pay my debt to you. Yet, if you do not make it … in this sphere
I will call to you, and you will arise from the cinders in stages.
All who experience me as their "Mother" will hear my call - And while the earth burns and the Water dwindles; As the oxygen becomes toxic; I cannot develop gills again …
Yet, instill, I’m here for you, and all who follow my mind leaps shall come with me to new heights, and a new beginning… I cannot keep clucking around on the ground, it’s time for conscious spirits to rise and soar while speaking the language of our kith.
Are you seated there
No, I am standing in a space
Layers of avid air
keen to occupy horses
for a race
Where else is space
Well it is in the milky way too
Joining you and me
with an invisible string
crimson and blue
Can you show me
Well, I can, but five thousand
years you have to be
in wait to see
almost an eternity
Why so do you know
Yes a little I do
But first can you please
have the glow
of your face
occupying a pretty space
I mean the face for the bees
Can you have it
floating on a cup of coffee
or Darjeeling tea
It's so cold this evening
Oh yes, with it here you are
How much sugar
Just what the space of a teaspoon
can cocoon
This too a space?
of the ilk of the vastness
of sun and moon ?
Yes dear there is nothing empty
But there is plenty
of warmth from your fingers
lingering in the space between
the brown surface and the rim
pretty and slim
just look it gleams too
To return to
where we got glued
It would take that huge time
for the light from us
may be many more plus
to reach the silver sky
to make us visible there
and without light, you know
no sighting is possible
not even a particle
Saying this he
in a coffee-heat spree
switched off the room light
blossoming quite a few tulips
warm and tight
Is the space a vacuum
Well both yes and no
But in the long run no
Like between us it's space
But not airless
Up to a certain point
in the sky so amazing
it's a blue space
courtesy dust particles
in oxygen
And then, her eyes now bigger,
it's dark and dark and dark again
until when
there is another planet like ours
along with a luminous star
How vast is the space then
Hard to define
Almost endless vacuum
dust gas and other bits of matter
floating around
Not sure
if there are
universes further
like ours
in the space
Then there are
the black holes
Souls you may say
of gigantic stars
that had collapsed
Why, is it a hole
Not exactly, dear
Nothing can escape its pull
not even light
so dense and tight
In the huge emptiness
is traveling
the radiation
emanating through
the Cosmos
But no more
The scent of the flowers
in your braids
stirring my nostrils
Need a barricade
Musings on space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
January 15, 2021
A
question
that
never
slumbers
to the end
of hour,
is love exchanging views with
that of why. For both are
never ending, and never
ending are the pupils standing
seamlessly upon an exampled
tulip celebrated and cherished
known to man as female. A
female of whom among us
constitutes as God’s monumental
gift. Oh how thy sleep soundly
in the midst of her pedestals,
breathing in oxygen as
dehydration metamorphose
to liquid tears and unrehearsed
palpitation waltzes about thy
heart. Not even in the remotest
degree that today is of yesterday.
For whom to have known that two
visitors would
long to be
lovers of
love to
the extent
now
being
in
love.
Pace INK-U-SCRIPT
03-06-2013
It all began as my wife and I were attending a
state fair. My wife had joined with a friend,
and the two of them sought their interest and
fantasies. I simply wandered about from one booth
to another until I came upon a gentleman painting
on a canvas. It caught my interest when he sighted
and made eye contact with me about 8 feet away.
Suddenly, I was taken aback as it would appear that
He began painting a picture of me. From a blank canvas,
he proceeded to paint at a pace I had never seen and began
with a FOREHEAD covered with aging lines and sweat.
The sheer sight of that forehead brought drops of
sweat to my forehead.
There seems to have been a prophetic link between
the painter, the canvas, and myself, uniting us like
the confluence of rivers.
Little did I expect that he would be painting a picture
of me. As he proceeded with great brevity and skill,
every aspect of the painting created a like-effect
on myself. As he continued, with watery EYES, he said
such eyes portrayed my own, filled with cares and burdens
of hurting people.
The EARS he painted were larger than normal and embraced
with signs seen only by those needing to speak in confidence
to a trusted one. The tired, weary, and lonely souls knew
that the ears were special and designed to listen to their
cries of neglect and pain; to their disappointment, mistakes,
and misfortunes.
As the painter began with a normal-looking NOSE, he assured me
that the nose was lightyears from normality because it was equipped,
not to pass judgment on the sins of mankind, but to filter what came
through it. And like a tree taking in carbon dioxide and giving out oxygen, such was the nose of my own that he painted.
Lastly, the talented and prophetic painter paused and stared at me
just before starting on the MOUTH. There were no critical words of
caution from him or the mouth he painted. Notwithstanding, unspoken
words flowed into my heart and soul, igniting a change in the way and
tone of my speech. I was therefore informed that my lips of dust must henceforth release more words of divine love.
Not all of our lives are like a box of chocolate, never knowing what we
are going to get. Sometimes, God unveils the essence of our lives in mysterious ways. In my case, it is a 'never-ending story'. But it started
with a blank canvas.
Water moves continually Over land, evaporation and transpiration
common chemical substance
essential to all forms of life
the substance has a solid state, ice,
and a gaseous state, water vapor.
About 1,460 teratonnes (Tt) of water covers 71% of the Earth's surface,
in oceans and other large water bodies,
with 1.6% of water below ground in aquifers
and 0.001% in the air as vapor,
clouds (formed of solid and liquid water particles suspended in air),
and precipitation.
Can cause hurricanes when global warming extends
entire villages left submerged as in people's streets
submeerged.
Earth's water is contained
within man-made and natural objects
near the Earth's surface as water towers,
animal and plant bodies, manufactured products, and food stores.
Water moves continually
Saltwater oceans hold ing 97% of surface water,
glaciers and polar ice caps 2.4%,
and other land surface water such as rivers and lakes 0.6%.
Water moves continually
Water moves continually through a cycle of evaporation or transpiration,
precipitation, and runoff, reaching the sea.
Water moves continually over land
Winds carry water vapor over land
at the same rate as runoff into the sea,
about 36 Tt per year.
Over land, evaporation and transpiration
contribute another 71 Tt per year to the precipitation
of 107 Tt per year over land.
Some water is trapped
for varying periods in ice caps, glaciers, aquifers, or in lakes,
providing fresh water for life on land.
Clean, fresh water is essential to human and other life.
In many parts of the world, it is in short supply.
Many organic molecules as well as salts, sugars,
acids, alkalis, and some gases (especially oxygen), are soluble in water.
Water is essential for all life on Earth.
Humans can survive for several weeks without food,
but for only a few days without water.
more than one billion people
in low and middle-income countries
lack access to safe water for drinking,
personal hygiene and domestic use.
more than 20 percent of the world’s people.
close to 2 billion people
did not have access to adequate sanitation facilities.
leading causes of morbidity
and mortality in low- and middle-income countries, frequently called developing
countries.
over 1.1 billion people are currently without safe drinking water.