old slag value, as valuable as Value allows it
Then as a valuable secondary source,
the slag resulted from the gold-bearing
electrolytic mud smelting
contains up to 0.8–15 k g t-1
Au and 9–13 kg t-1 Ag, respectively
------------------------------------------------
Coal Ash experiments
sorted theories and Soughted formulas.
Coal ash pits using sewage,
sawdust, and other
dissuaded organics
to recreate renewable coal.
Leaves, shredded wood chipped
wood ash, tobacco stalks
straw hat manure compose
all will be mixed and allowed to
cure to recreate a renewable
source for energy.
Racheter l'ancien Walmart du comté de McDowell,
en Virginie-Occidentale, pour créer un nouveau
magasin et contribuer à la relance
de l'industrie charbonnière locale.
Musique pour basson et cor d'harmonie
Ce genre de musique « Ooh Baby »
When the setting sun settles
Upon the weeping western skies
That's when I earn my medals
Hearth fires from smoldering eyes
Crystalline orbs glow like rare art
Gemstones shine light on my eyes
Mining ore from cast-iron heart
Molten metal melts the skies
Smelting, my weeping western eyes
Gemstones spark life in my heart
Heavy metal forged from her skies
Casts raw iron into art
Midnight,
Hoots and despondent howls
From crevasses of puking earth prompt weakness at slumber
Webs!
They encircle the pin-line threads of silence, viciously muted,
Drawing porous patterns of maladroitness
Dawn,
Loose drops of old water, cusp-sized, blend with the rays of the
Rising sun, smelting our principles.
Images,
Lachrymose consternations congeal the blood in our brows,
Stifling the grace of blinking lashes
And we lose patience.
There’s a new-nurtured ruggedness
Which opens the snouts while we yawn.
In the distance,
Moonlight, sapped, means nothing with her downward gaze.
But the sound of maudlin drums hastens closer and nearer.
My eyes swerved to someone
magnified my attention,
mesmerized in hyponsis,
felt like popping of faries bubbles down my mind,
couple of ladders to my comprehension,
I'm sliding smooth but hasty,
like adrenalin,
caught off guard.
Smelting of this cold layers on my motion,
lays softness to my curiosity
Thought future was fate determined,
yet this here shreded my expectations,
I don't know whether
I'm falling or drowning,
just can't seem to be landing,
I'm gobbling on gusts of my breath,
choking but in looping sequences,
sudden sinking to my understanding.
Can someone turn off this heat,
this wave burning and
pealing only in my presence,
just way beyond for me to contain.
Wish I could paint this image for the universe eye
but I'm without paint and brush,
in me is just some catastrophic
of epic proportions
#Poetic_Ink
The Hedgerow birds are wilting;
and even the circling hark
gives them no alarm.
The hot irons of the sun
are smelting bones.
This listless stupor
threatens to unwind the mainsprings
of joy.
Birds do not believe in weather,
each moment for them is a picture
in a gallery of extinctual reactions.
In the throes of a heat-wave,
only humans
have feelings of discomfort
know it and question it,
think of it as a pleasure or a curse.
Animals have more faith
in the next moment,
and the next, then the next.
In the lapse of time
Here i am again
Smelting in solitude
Scorching in darkness
Searching in blindfolds
When all other seasons collapse
and glaciers starts melting
Spring reborns with surprises
Hope,a truth in the sheild of lies
I will hug you with my body
But i can't promise you of my soul
Harder i am pushing
Stronger you are pulling
I surrender,i bow,i die
Even death won't be remorseful
If you come to my grave with roses
A crescent disappears and reappears
where shall i go and find you
I love you,said a familiar voice
I resurrect,i laughed and i fly
A heat wave in Winter does not a smile make.
To be lulled into relaxation would be a mistake.
Don't pray for the rain if you fear the storms.
Gulf heat greets the cold, and the clouds form.
Floods, mudslides, falling trees, and icy roads.
Heavy winds and power outages take their toll.
Nature's four seasons come with depressing mixtures,
to deliver their unique version to all living creatures.
A weatherman was heard saying, "Be prepared but not afraid".
In Summer's smelting heat, our good friends are trees with shade.
In Winter's freezing snow and cold, everything aches and quakes.
I survived six Chicago Winters, but my entire being was prone to shake.
011023PSCtest12 Lines of Rhyme - Winter Nature-Themed Poetry
Contest, Tania Kitchin |4P
Enough murdering and burning my spirit.
Stop making fun of my heart and soul wicket.
Please have compassion and break the chains.
Quagmire for the bonded smelting to be flames.
Have you noticed that you have loved all over?
Torment us and every heart baffling poser.
And a spirit in the sense of Ukraine.
You already know about others' strain.
Is there anything more wretched than war?
It has captivated people who treasure the core
And remotely warning those who are afraid of death.
And warns of the danger of separation and lethe.
And don't rely on a boost from a soft heart.
Even supposedly they claim the succor impart.
Written: March 14, 2022
Kyiv Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
The Hedgerow birds are wilting,
even the circling hawk
gives them no alarm.
All is too low to the baking ground,
the hot irons of the sun
are smelting bones.
This listless stupor
threatens to unwind the mainsprings
of a limber joy.
The hot sky has no memory
it plants one moment,
into the next,
seeds squish and crush
the earth with a jejune heaviness.
The day will end wingless
in pools of turgid body-sweat.
We will simmer slow then
wingless unto God we go
wet & witless.
The Hedgerow birds are wilting;
they will not sing
and even the circling hawk
gives them no alarm
for he also is weary
and tries only to catch a cooling breeze.
In the shade of a white oak
I hunt for that same cool air
but I am too low to the baking ground,
the hot irons of the sun
are smelting bones.
This listless stupor
threatens to unwind the mainsprings
of nature itself.
Of course, birds do not believe in weather,
each moment for them is a picture
in a gallery of extinctual reactions.
In the throes of a heat-wave, only humans
have this prescience of suffering,
nature has no memory
just a faith in the next moment,
and the next, then the next,
unto death or release.
All my goldfish, died today
Why did they have to go away
Poor fishy wishy please come home
the tank is empty, apart from your bones
Perhaps tomorrow i’ll go buy some more
Stamp they’re brains, out on the floor
thought I’d make a small fortune
smelting them down for rings
Turned out not gold at all
a pale shade of orange
(DISCLAIMER)
Absolutely and honestly,
No fish where smelted or killed,
In the making of this rhyme!
The King dreamed of a contraption, a device
that would light up his night, so nice
No wax melting, no moths smelting
Not all that long ago...
He dreamed of food and drink always cold
in a box, a contraption, a device
No spoiling, no milk boiling, so nice
Not all that long ago...
O, and how he dreamed of a box, a device
to keep him cool on the hottest summer's night
No sweating, no tossing, no turning, so nice
Not all that long ago...
You and I are now more privileged
than the wealthiest of those Kings
Our homes, so nice, graced by lightbulbs, refrigeration, a/c
Are we duly grateful -- fellow King -- for all these things
This desertscape dotted with feathers.
What need? I haven’t a need
for umbilical utensils utterly useless
on a Sanskrit road
long as the maiden’s Genghis apron
white as white gypsum in Alamogordo,
New Mexico.
Here you find blossoming curry spattered across
an ancient horizon
lulled by the dunes rattling the baritone basin,
and in America, in this most united of
Apache - Comanche - Navajo
estates, we gather nations through nuclear
hinges obtusely obliterated at White Sands National.
Surfing, morphing
Through amorous tidal waves
Thou Babylonian scoundrels
Poisoned, ordained
By the blues-begging rasps
Smelting Earth
Caching together as one
By force and virtue
Yielding life's battalions
Seeking solace, fame or gentle ears
What captures me most
About this glazed nuthouse
Riffs and thieves
Throwing down as NYC
The brackish drama
The ink-still-wet climax
Each protagonist
Twitching, bleeding
Their calligraphy carved from
Medieval, spiteful bent
Their tragedies, comedies
Levitating into series finales
Bubbling, screaming
The concrete-clicking pounce
Propelled by the fear of instant death
Each a Willie
Scribes scratching, staggering
Desperate for terminal legacy
Actors drowning, emitting spasms
Powered by flames and sunshine
You don't get here by mistake
Unless leaving is the answer
The acts, verses and curses
Vary by the levels of lunacy
You're willing to consume
So bark and hark
Who goes there
The parade inside you looms
As the audience
Hush, attentive, sardonic
Mouths gaping
Tongues wagging
To taste your wasted drop.
(10/13/16)
We are the Borg
We are cybernetic organisms supreme
Our domain extends
from the Omuro Valley of stars
to the Zekar great nebular isle
We destroyed our homeworld smelting pot ---
so that all would know,
resistance is futile
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