poem

Lead, periodic table poem from Chicago poet Janet Kuypers

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Lead

by Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#082, Pb)

I walked into the bedroom,
opened the closet door,
pulled out the cardboard box,
then opened it to pull out
a pistol case.
I set the piston case down,
opened it,
saw the unloaded twenty-two
and the filled magazine.
I held the magazine
filled with Lead bullets,
reminding myself
that it was always an option.

There’s so much more weight
in those Lead bullets.
They feel heavy in my hand.

Then again,
Lead aprons to protect you from x-rays
are heavy, too.

Lead is so common,
used for thousands of years,
from the Bronze Age,
pushing the Roman economy.
The name for plumbing
even comes from the Latin
“plumbum” because
Lead pipes were used.

And after all these years,
Lead’s not even used
in lead pencils,
that writing stylus
is just a lead mockup. . .

Because Lead comes
from the decay of uranium,
and sometimes could be radioactive,
but still, it can protect you
from things like x-rays
or even nuclear contamination.

So yeah, it can protect you,
and it can also be the missile
in an instrument of death.

As I said,
These bullets
feel so heavy
in my hands.

Molybdenum, Periodic Table poem by Janet Kuypers

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Molybdenum

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#035;042, Mo)

I love this country.
We should protect our rights.

 
Gotta love
our military-
industrial
complex.

 
We gotta protect ourselves —

I’ll use everything I can
to be the one on top.

 
I know I’ve used you,

but it was wartime,
you gotta understand.

 
You gave me speed,

You were light on your feet,
but stiff as a board.

 
When things got hot,
you stood up to anything.

 
and I liked flexing my muscles with you.

 
I know it was wartime,

but I would have
made a Japanese sword outa you,

if I coulda put you together right.

 
And I know, I know,
you say I need you
for all my amino acids

to keep my innerds running,

 
but I’m still on my war-kick here,

‘cause when it’s war time,
that’s when I need you most.

 
People say that war’s no good,

but I say
you’re the meaning of life.

 
I love the U. S. of A.,

and with you by my side,
we can shove a boot up their ass —

it’s the American way.

“from Hydrogen to Nothing”, periodic table poem by Janet Kuypers

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from Hydrogen to Nothing

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#085, At)
(with references to the poem “Fantastic Car Crash”, 7/3/98)

Love is like tap water,
free flowing…
Remember when you were little,
just put a glass under the faucet
and quench your thirst?

Wait a minute,
it’s not like that.
Water isn’t free.
You even have to pay
for the water in your own home,
and
it’s not even clean.

What you’re getting is dirty.
And you still have to pay for it.

#

You know, they say us humans
are like seventy percent water.

And when I think of you,
and all the time we were together —

well, if you’re seventy percent water,
I have to remember
that it wasn’t pure and clean with you.
If this was love;
if this was you —
it wasn’t free.
I’m still paying for it.

#

I mean, they say we’re mostly made of water,
Hydrogen, oxygen…
But it’s like you were
an electron from Hydrogen to me,
one electron,
spinning around
the center of me,
always keeping
an all too tight
grip on me.

I would think I was free,
and there you would be,
that one presence
I could never get rid of.

You were spinning, orbiting,
spinning my head…
You were keeping your distance,
but still,
you made sure
you were always there,
holding me down.

If we’re mostly made of water,
and you spun around me
like in that Hydrogen atom,
you kept me gasping for air.
I needed that oxygen…
I know water is Hydrogen and oxygen,
I know I’ve got it in me,
I’ve just got to keep myself together
after dealing with what you’ve done to me.

#

When we’re seventy percent water,
by mass we’re only eleven percent
Hydrogen.
So most of the mass in our body
may be oxygen…
But by an atomic percentage
we’re sixty-seven percent
Hydrogen,
meaning most of the atoms
in our bodies
are Hydrogen.

Just one electron,
spinning around that nucleus,
just spinning,
and never letting go.

#

When I now think of you,
and the fact that you made me feel like nothing —
well, I think of what you’re made of,
and I have to remember:

we’re all made of atoms,
protons and neutrons,
infinitely small,
wound tightly together in the nucleus

surrounded
at a comparatively vast distance
by occasional,
tiny,
orbiting
electrons.

So when I think of you
I have to remember
that you’re made of those atoms
with really tiny cores —
and those atoms are filled with so much space
that you’re mostly made of nothing.

When I think of you,
I remind myself of this.

When I think of the nothingness you made me feel,
and the fact that you should mean nothing to me,
this is how I must think of you.

Different War But the Whores Never Change.Poem.SageSweetwater

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Different War But the Whores Never Change

 

Sweetwater staying true to the original characters in The Biker Chronicles. Try adapting an audio recording to film when you went into the recording studio some twenty years ago when Sweetwater did! Things have changed! Much! Different wars but the whores never change! My dilemma on a particular character named the Vision Jammer has prompted me to cast three different men for the role incorporating three generations. Sixty-five is the common age for living Viet Nam veterans, some well into their seventies and eighties, many of the older Viet Nam vets have passed on. So today’s Viet Nam vets are from the 60-ish group, the Viet Nam war ending in 1975, 38 years ago. So, what we have is an older character cast for the Vision Jammer and Country Music Star Toby Keith cast as Jammer Jr. in his forties, staying close with Keith’s age, and a young Jammer Jr. casting an 18-year old man. The film script will be finished at the end of the month on to film! Interesting adaptation! —Sage Sweetwater, original recording artist of The Biker Chronicles adapted to film by Sage Sweetwater.

 

Different War But the Whores Never Change

 

viet nam
delivers a
heavy kick the
weight of the shrapnel
imbedded in his right leg
in nam the vision jammer existed
from self-teachings on the power of
fantasy and illusion bats flew circles
above the vision jammer as he rode the
moonlit asphalt hard and fast

 

it kept
him alive
and delivered
him home safe but
not sound no vet ever
came home sound

 

war fragment reminiscence collectively
floated on top of what was
left of gray matter

 

visions of
a night-wandering
seductress danced nude
on a black-and-white tiled
checkerboard floor as shiny
as the gold hoops piercing her
nipples

 

he throttled
down and the shovelhead
ceased the euphoric thunder
the nicotine tasted sweeter than
pralines but when the vision jammer
drank whiskey all things tasted sweeter
especially the flesh of a hot woman

 

his war-stained
hands pulled the
red baron’s over his
inflamed eyes and he
snugged the stars and stripes
bandana around his scarred forehead
not about to lose a piece of America again

 

the asphalt
and moon turned red
castle whores motioned
to him from outside castle
balconies

 

unmistakable obscenities
echoed throughout whoreland
their soliciting voices sounded
relentless like the voice of his
platoon sergeant john darrius kalitzy
jd for short

 

a thumbs up
sign was all he
cared to offer out
of appreciation to their
bribe of white powder he
politely eased the throttle
and watched the moon reflect on
their red mirrors

 

the snow lines
dissipated into
their racy bloodstreams
he smiled and took his left
hand off the grip plugging a
nostril as if he were indulging
with these perfumed whore babies
and to his surprise one tossed down
a vial of snow and shouted from the
powder slopes above “One for the road!”

 

the vision jammer
didn’t do powder but
then again he didn’t do
war until it was assigned
to him

 

he thought
cocaine paralleled
with war just different
lines were used to fight the
enemy

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist

http://www.authorsden.com/sagesweetwater

Sage Sweetwater

 

Sage Sweetwater is the name of Colorado Firebrand Lesbian Novelist, Poet, Storyteller, Screenwriter and Business Artist. She has several High-Budget feature films, no less than fifteen in Pre-production, some near filming. Her Jett Durango Trilogy, three spaghetti western style feature films will usher in her film career. Sage has written poetry for many years, showcasing her work on Authors Den since 2005, and funneling in her readers to Authors Den from social media venues such as Twitter and Facebook. Her vast writing and film portfolio can be seen on Authors Den. Sage’s writing career has spanned nearly twenty five years when she first began to write and publish, then in the last three years has adapted her novels to film and wrote other screenplays from the ground up now in Pre-production. She has solid Hollywood investors who are financing her various films and she has good producer representation managing her career. Sweetwater and The Sundance Wives also have a multitude of spin-off products in the works from Sweetwater’s various films.

Sara Russell, former editor and founder of Poetry Life & Times did the first PL&T interview with Sage back in the year 2006. Robin Ouzman Hislop took over PL&T from Sara and he did a second PL&T interview with Sage in the following year of 2007. A lot has changed in Sage Sweetwater’s writing and film career since then. Filmmaking requires long time frames—years, if you will. Sweetwater thanks both Sara and Robin for taking her in and introducing her around in the poetry literary scene via Poetry Life & Times, just a wonderful poetry family.

 

 

The Oz Man II(In the Shameful Shadow of Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’)Sonnet.Poem.Norman Ball.

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Ozymandias

 

I met a Baathist from a ravaged land
Who said: Two short, blue-trousered legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half-dazed by shock and awe, a visage frowns,
with wrinkled lip, and smirk of chimp-command.
No doubt Dick Cheney well those passions read,
Which squawk on yet, as do most lame-duck things,
Like mice that roared, while at the trough they fed,
And on one trouser-cuff these words appear:
“My name is W, unelected King:
Look on my Evil Axis and despair!”
No liberty remains. Round the decay
Of neo-cons and hegemonic air,
Fallujah’s level sands stretch far away.
***
***
The Ozymandias sonnet also appeared in Christopher Dickey’s ‘The Shadowland Journal’. Christopher Dickey is  Paris Bureau Chief and Middle East Regional Editor for Newsweek Magazine and The Daily Beast.
http://christopherdickey.blogspot.com/2006/10/war-poetry-ii.html
***
***
normball
***
***
NORMAN BALL is a poet, playwright, essayist and musician residing in Virginia. A featured poet on Prairie Home Companion, his poems and essays have appeared in Light Quarterly, The Raintown Review, The Berkeley Poetry Review, Epicenter, Oxford Magazine, The Cumberland Poetry Review, 14 by 14, Rattle, Liberty, The Hypertexts, Main Street Rag, The New Renaissance, The Scotsman, The London Times among dozens of others. His essay collections, How Can We Make Your Power More Comfortable? (2010) and The Frantic Force (2011), both widely available on the web, are published by Del Sol Press and Petroglyph Books, respectively. His recent play SIDES: A Civil War Musical (Inspired by The Red Badge of Courage) is currently being produced for TV by Last Tango Productions, LLC.

Helium Addicition poem by Janet Kuypers

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Helium Addicition (#002, He)

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series

Since I lost my job welding cars,
I thought I’d get my truck driving license
And make my money on the open road.

So when I applied for the truck driving job
for moving compressed Helium from California
to Maine, they asked if I could drive a truck…

When I said I could, they gave me the keys —
and the truck’s a beaut, with a bed
of nine cylinders of that precious Helium.

I hear there’s only so much Helium on Earth,
so I really had some precious cargo to haul.
Now, since I love driving and know how to weld…

I rented the tools and bought the tubing,
and after Arizona I had my rig set up
so I could do Helium hits while on the road.

I mean, I had nine huge tanks of Helium,
all compressed, it was like worker’s comp. You
can always skim off the top, they won’t notice.

Now, this made New Mexico and Texas really fun,
and I ignored the winds sweeping down the plains
of Oklahoma when I had my Helium.

But after Missouri, through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio,
the cops always pulled me over for erratic driving
(but I can’t let go of this Helium high!).

The cops would ask me for paperwork,
and I would happily comply. “You seem to be
driving erratically. Have you slept recently?”

“Yes sir, I’m just so excited, I love this job.”
And the cops looked at me funny before
writing me a warning and sending me on my way.

So I’d always look at my clock radio
and limit my Helium puffs to every time
I saw a good looking seat cover in a passing car —

but the hotties were few and far
between, so I’d check my clock radio
and puffed every seven minutes.

So when my Helium high subsided after only
seven seconds, and I still have seven states
before I could deliver my remaining Helium —

well, that’s when I drove north instead,
to go through Michigan, and leave my life —
and this country — with my precious.

And yeah, I’ll miss my family and friends,
but I’ve only scratched the surface
with my nine lives of Helium, and really,

that Helium high is really worth the world.