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Chris Yellow Poem
A muffled sound,
alarmed my ears
sharpening the senses.
My feet found the ground
before I could ask,
hands risen avoid shadows.
I tiptoed my way
through the dark corridor
anxious to find the door.
It was closed,
but I could hear feet
bouncing on the bars.
First placed my hand
on the cold knob
trying my best to relax.
Though the pounding
of a heart echoed
through my brain.
I opened it wide
as silently as
I could tremble.
A dim light escaped
filling the small room
with a eerie gloom.
Her head shot up
her eyes widened
with unspoken relief.
Her hands held
towards me in
completely vulnerable.
She could see me,
knew help had come
to set her free.
Soon released a giggle,
no words yet
just infantile drivel.
The beautiful sound
of a magical morning
in all daily glory.
- as published in 2019 Havik - Las Positas College
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
Imagine, as they nowadays do,
that matter is actually
not in one place precisely,
that when the quantity
is really really small
and speed is rather high,
(so no cat, nor box, nor standing still)
matter becomes light
and light matter alike,
E=mc^2 and all that.
At this quantum scale
if you measure a particle's place
you know exactly where it stood
but not when it did so.
During that moment
it is not spread over all
in a probability wave
or a distribution of matter.
Yet funny things happen!
Like, passing instead
one single particle
through two holes,
this unequivocally shows
it not in any one place
but spread in a wave
from it you get time,
(take my word for it)
but not space.
So is the puzzle,
of quantum!
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
When huge amounts of mass
are so tightly compressed
becomes so dense
that it starts to burst.
Heat reaches values such
that the flames possess
the ability to generate
new elements from scratch.
Years of light traveled
to all corners of the universe
will delight our sight
in a simple shiny dot.
A child reaches up
pointing to the black veil
where a new spot
brightens the night.
"Look a star."
Then runs to measure
its height and angle
the color and texture.
She blinks back
nice to meet you too.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
The balance is one to nurture.
The inside compass tips the scale
towards our insignificant survival
but it is faced eyes locked,
with jets of heat exhaled,
and pointy horns ahead
digging our hooves on the sand.
As if we could overpower nature.
In its indifference it laughs.
Earth shaped by volcanoes,
and the drifting land and seas,
carved by the feet of dinosaurs,
embraced by the roots of trees,
are but a dot on the cosmos.
The secrets of their years in rings
are but a tick of the clock.
As if nature need us.
It will draw a new path
grow new pets and sleep
an infant's game.
We on the other hand,
need the measure of the grain,
can't breath with less oxygen,
would burn with one degree more
and freeze with a single less.
We are the center of this mess
but we also own its consequence.
"Stars cannot shine without darkness"
is romance of fiction,
and not the reason they parade
thousands light-years away.
We are the ones that cannot
gaze into their bright eyes
during our specific day
or point at when they shy behind
the shade of our burning sun.
Wonder, would they mind
if we were to be blind?
or would we alone complain
our starless turn of days?
We for ourselves must maintain
our advantage in the game,
listen to the rumors inside the brain
built in chips of evolutionary gain,
so we don't become the fossils
getting brushed off layers of soils
by historian pawns of a new board
making assumptions over today.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
Oh universe ye tellst to us thy tale,
thy megaphone part of a second old
fills all the vacuum in microwave
throughout the space ye darest to unfold.
So then more time passed than words might describe,
diverted by their dating with the stars
thy low cry was lost "electronics noise",
forgivest the limits of the species!
Fortune by their hunger of publishing
a profet's word of thy construct was found
the story of the beginning within
the silent global continuous sound.
The big bang of concept when theory
meets experience not scientist fear.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
Feel the compression rising
on my combusting engine,
like a turbo button pressed
by the current happening.
The brain then fireworks
into chaotic overdrive,
kick that drops me almost
face down on rushing ground.
In that split of a second
that lasts a horrid century,
I force back the reins.
Focusing this flood of energy
into the eminent task ahead
that assaulted my head.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
She raised her glass
to a space of fragrance
gifts of perfumers and chefs
bees for our banquet.
"Tonight we dance."
Her glass rose
and so did theirs.
"Outside this stained window
lose specs forced to shake
water flushed from the sky
as if migration made it light.
Zeus and Thor collude
against our dinner feast
abhorred by its stature
green isn't color that fits.
Nevertheless,
tonight we dance."
And her glass rose again
with them cheering it.
"Youth flee their lessons
burdened with pesky
and serious concerns
long past their tender.
For what of their guardian,
exhausted will she manage?
the pilling of warnings?
of crossroad endings?
Regardless,
tonight We dance."
And her glass rose again,
they're lost at her turn.
"Broken close their eyes
to their fate and its price
they planned for luck solely
but got struck instead.
Their doctors prescribed
but held was their fund
for useless is the mallet
to the insurance wallet.
Anyway,
tonight WE dance."
And her glass rose again
but gone was their wit.
"Looking-in hands implore,
forsaken howl at our spoils
like wolfs without a den
or a pack to take them in.
They'll surrender to the rain
and recoil to any found dent
of this majestic construction
to remind'em where they stand.
All the more reason,
TONIGHT WE DANCE!
Because we can!"
And she gulps the wine.
Slowly the stunned room,
in its palpable gloom,
was silently emptied.
The extravagants gone.
"Good, only I remain,
let it linger just the same
in their spoiled brains.
For we alone hold the chains."
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2021
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Chris Yellow Poem
Salted water released
like an elastic band
loose my ribs cage
finally allowin' air in.
Roll down cheeks
turn at the jaw
trace down the neck
caress my armor.
When all else is pain
this human reflex
revives the senses
makes me feel again.
Let slide, wash away
like soul rain
brighten the grey
bring back sun-rays.
Oh, please let it begin.
What I wouldn't give,
in this moment I'm in,
for my dry eyes to spill.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
Our bodies were carved
from the same ginger clay,
my dents match your protrusions
my lips yours, your fingers mine.
On a starless night
coupling to our desire
the watching moon
cursed our frail figures.
My eyes witnessed
you tossed, curled up
the ripping of your back's marble
and the snow feathers that erupted
Your olive orbs focused
on my glittering legs,
see I was revolving too
in the transforming pains.
See, we were build to fit
even more to complete,
I was sculpted to fall in
the deepest of your chest.
But life grew me gills
and you hollow bones
so I am letting you fly,
refined argil of mine.
We glimpse during twilight
that we used to hold tight.
Oh, just as I was set to fall in.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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Chris Yellow Poem
Here is what I cannot fathom:
If god is all and evermore
why would he follow
any treasured church?
Why would you
love a god to fear?
trust a god indifferent?
or be guided in his whispers?
If he is and has been
source and architect
why assume he means
a plan that is for us?
I conclude he either:
is bright and refuses the altar;
smites so deserves no power;
or is not but our will to follow.
In any case, I am free
to be the best version of me
for the sole purpose
of earning my sleep.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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