logistics linger in limited lumps
matching mediocre methods of means
needling nudges neaten necessary northern networks
outstanding opinions offset ordinary explanations
probability prevents preconceived pressurized predictions
I’m too young and too happy
according to my ‘infectious agents’ professor
and is he ever wrong?
Four of us pressurized med-school freshmen
(Chloé, Emma, Léah, and I) who have become
fast friends, were twisted together in a seated circle,
laughing, cutting up and sharing our deepest thoughts
as the TAs handed back several quizzes that had been
slowly and torturously graded over the past month.
Isn’t it bad enough that studies have reordered us,
and made our days and nights as one?
Must we also wear our spirits low? We cannot.
Humor is our gentle requital
Laughter is the impossibility powerful sound
that slays worry and common sense
That educated man may spend his authority as he wishes
but well-timed delights can’t always be scheduled.
.
.
Songs for this:
Me & You by HONNE
Jamirobeegees Mashup by Pomplamoose
.
.
He said "you're too young and too happy" with a twinkly smile
but I treated it seriously in this poem. ??
The velvet curtain of the night slowly opens,
revealing a stage of infinite, shivering light.
We are the audience and the performers both,
forged in the pressurized heart of dying giants.
Every atom in your thumb; iron pulse in your blood,
once drifted as silent grit across the cooling void.
There is a symphony in the stillness of the vacuum,
a frequency felt in the marrow rather than the ear.
It vibrates within the collision of gas and gravity,
a slow, melodic collapse igniting a nursery of suns.
We look upward to find our oldest ancestors,
tracing the glowing debris of a trillion-year history.
The sky does not just loom above our fragile heads;
it lives within the very structure of our breath.
We are the universe looking back at own reflection,
a brief, conscious spark in the long shadows of time.
Do not fear the dark that weaves between the stars,
for you are the light that was promised at the beginning.
Carry the heat of the nebula in your quiet hands,
rejoice; sing the song that the elements first composed.
angry antelopes allowing ants access
bashful buzzards behaving beautifully
curious calves cavorting in the corn
definitive ducks digesting division
eager elephants eliciting excitement
frenzied freckled frogs freely frolicking
greasy green grubworms groveling and grimacing
harried hyenas hectically hopping hopefully
ignorant iguanas ignoring the implausible
jubilant jackals jiggling jiffy jewelry
kayaking kangaroos kibitzing in Kenya
liberal llamas liberating little Libya
miniscule musical mollusks making merry
nine nervous newts nibbling newtons
orangutangs orchestrating outdated Ohio
pressurized primates providing privacy
quarrelsome quails quizzing quahogs
resurrected roosters receiving riotous relatives
sassy seasoned sea serpents sallying forth in secret
tantalizing tarantulas tasting tree lined treats
understated urchins undoing underwater ugliness
visible vixens vibrating toward victory
wily wise walruses whistling in water wrecks
‘xtraordinary ‘xotic eagles expecting easy eggs
young Yellowstone yaks yelling their youthful truth
zealous zebras zipping breezily through Zanzibar
The brain is an instrument of improvisation
With its white and gray byways
garnished in electrical blood drops.
Creating refined works, although pressed for time and pressurized.
It suffers in its bone cage.
Like an octopus in a jar, always planning the grandest escape.
It is also a weapon of mass deception
pods of oddness, always plotting.
Endless deep blueness and innate jealousy.
A DNA staircase decorated in ornate self-centeredness.
Prone to God-mocking and demon-envy.
Overall, the brain is a hieroglyphic glass ball.
Bursting with dead-end riddles and black troughs.
Perched on a flint-and-paper faith pedestal.
The emptying was torture
Like a queen bee on the back porch
Easy to avoid, ignore
No need to go out those french doors
Another route to necessity
Eliminating the need of more
...then came the scrapping
You showed me the epidermis
Of my well
I was certain my water was sweet
Til I saw it
Shock shook the core of my soul
Then you went deeper
You broke the foundation
Of my cistern...broken pottery
Strewn on the open ground
The wide open ground
My eyes caught a shadow
A shape of doubt melded
With elements of matter
Grief, pressurized grief
Made a form
Walking under my well of HOPE
Breathing sorrow upon vision
Whispering...I'm aggrieved
...........does anyone care
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-28-2024
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.
I get it now... jackasses and elephants are the same
Getting off on control
Getting rich off prolonged misery.
Our collective pain is their superpower.
Our division is their weapon of choice
to maintain that superpower.
Do pray that the masses open their eyes.
Grow brave and wise -unite-ignite.
Become we the people again.
Pull back the iron curtain of OZ.
To expose the charade of self-righteous peacocks
And their plastic levers of logic.
Concocting diversions-shifting blame.
Making rules for the serfs but not for themselves.
The biggest fear of the elitist
is that we, the people, will stand together
demand term limits.
Prune special interests.
They fear we'd slap the mask of humility and restraint
(forged from the bones and blood of the masses)
to their crooked funhouse faces.
...jackasses and elephants... are the same.
We're nothing but pieces of coal to them.
Something to be plucked - pressurized-modified.
Into bling around their middle fingers,
Which they stick far up our asses to bore the spirits from our chests.
Flower extract
On the body worn ahead of human contact,
A pressurized can preserving it;
With a vaporizing mechanism
That upon actuation gets friendly faces lit,
Further brightening the ones bought over by tribalism.
A liquefied fragrance for armpits
But also for arresting smells keener than a cesspit’s
And for the fortunate handkerchief
Of a folk alive to bad odour and its mischief.
To it a woman lends her neck,
Fully trusting the romantic havoc it does wreck;
A roguish sureness that some man against it shall brush
And a withdrawal from same not rush,
Lingered kisses planting there
With the whole world finding it just fair!
Perfume is by the fashionable grabbed;
During a kidnap, together with it nabbed,
The female habitual user letting out a frustrated sigh
After a shopping and she didn’t remember to it buy.
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.
You know, I used to be happy all of the time.
what the heck happened? I used to go weeks
without crying, I used to love going to school.
In fairness, I liked real school - not the sad,
sterile, anti-social, virtual experience.
When I'm mad I get silly, then mean. I don't
always know why - angry is the answer, but
I don’t always get the subconscious analysis
behind it. That's a bad day - I'm truly sorry.
If I could step back, in those moments,
and think - clearly - I'm about the luckiest person.
I'm a hundred pounds of privilege
- if we rounding up - but pressurized,
stressed like a movie submarine in deep dive.
I think I miss people - like in an assembly
- before it starts - where a hundred conversations
clash like the random patter of rain. That’s one
of the sounds of joy.
The civilized brain is soaked in the opinions,
and shared experiences with others. These virtual,
interactive shadows on flat screens can't fill the void.
p.s. I write short stories too =]
Struggling to stay on top
He looked to the. Future
Evaluating his gains
and slighted through
Several possiblitys
Which might makest
All who labor in this
Types of endeavors
Chore less
Reduce the risks
Eliminate challenges
And profit
He designed a
Fencing system
That was sturdy enough
To fennce in his hogs while they grazed
And a mobile barn with six axles
That housed the. Animals
At night and during weather
Events.tge floor was heated in winter
With a wood furnace and ventilated
With water that was pressurized
It could be moved by truck or ttacter
The PTO of the tracter to be used
To power the watering system
To keep the animals were the cameras
Could watch the hogs
The PTO used. To
And used to extend or retract
The fencing on both ends
bared wire was used in the middle
Or the solar panels powers
The equipment in the tower
Where the hand could reside his watch
Over the grazing hogs
Little black pearl
Formed from city grit.
Pressurized by violence.
Layers of scars-a survivor.
There were no birds or trees.
Only concrete eggs in broken nests.
Harsh decades under moonlit gunplay.
Never time for a young mind to rest.
So hard escaping from dark, ugly caves.
Finally, you've arrived, rolling into the light.
Not a mirage but something of a miracle.
At the very top of your class, nobody held your hand.
Tassel merrily dancing to the left of a black pearl face.
Smiling a shade beyond bright.
For the moment, color is insignificant.
There's still much work to be done.
Many more hurdles-mostly unseen.
Battles lost, and battles won.
But nothing that you can't overcome.
Wearing bright feathers of a dream.
Little Black Pearl
Rock beach of
chasms.
A man is pale dough
standing in sand.
Shimmer owns his
toes in a flurry of foam,
then withdraws.
He watches for a cue
in a sky of cotton ships
when a clam swallows
all his theories.
Running thunder into
frigid arcs, he is eyeless.
His arms extended,
a child to his mother
until his figure dispels
in the motion of curved glass.
Anonymous inside the
texture of a shadow,
deepening into aquatic blank.
Deeper, his nostrils drink arrows.
Deeper, his eyes open to films
of green bleeding blue.
He finds a secret madness
like forgetting at the bottom,
in granules of thick sand,
in nowness totally pressurized,
in the dislodging of a cornerless dream,
while bubbles volley from his lips.
Then he is up in the rise of brushing swirls,
the sun quivering through
the looking glass above.
Identity pounds his lungs.
Birth against the surface,
he becomes the heave of wind
from a glossy face.
But he keeps plummeting,
for a pearl that keeps changing,
a luster he can't keep,
a capture escaping.
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