#humid
Night hung in the heat.
Naked sleep offered no relief.
Even as morning creeps
rain tries to poke holes
in the heavy air,
but only a ‘dust devil’
is accomplished!
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 3:27 PM UTC
The sky all dark
humidity high
Leaves still
The birds are silent
Even the ocean so anxious
that the waves are hesitant
The streets are lull
The mood is dull
The air is heavy
A late afternoon
It's already late
Too much of waiting
For that rain to start
Expectations soar
A chill descends from above
And then it starts
Slowly but steadily
The momentum picks up.
The leaves are dancing
The waves are singing
The air is cool and fresh
A hot cup of tea
Is all that matters
Hopes high and up.
Oct 31, 2022
Oct 31, 2022 at 5:09 AM UTC
you attract more flies with honey
like moths, to a flame, you bug me
ready for hot humid summer days
ready to have my picnics by the lake
my family I have crafted, my kin in essence
my family I have drafted, my purest expression
truest of true, brightest of blues,
chatter filled dinners, loved filled rooms
I prayed for times like this, the flowers in bloom
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 10:00 AM UTC
Tucked in a closet,
yet the depths of Sahara
kept in a small room
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
It was dry
Hot and humid
Dusty and nasty
Then
It rained
Cool and wet
Soothing and cozy.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
breathing hot air in
watching the whirling fan above me
hating the humidity
ALesiach © 7/27/2016
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
Forty-five down the parkway.
Windows down,
76 degrees,
And the smell of rain.
Humidity,
Wet earth,
Flowing through the windows
And down my throat,
Through my lungs,
Into my bloodstream and
Blanketing itself around my brain.
Nostalgia is my drug of choice.
Beauty doesn’t come
In forms of days like these
Too often.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
We with warped minds
frolicked under those lights,
hanging loyally
like cold, sparkling jewels
in the humid night.
"These nights are sacred,"
I would say,
and the ripe summer air
would roar through every vein
in our
young
soft
bodies.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
it's three pm on a thursday. don't tell me you have anything planned other than to sit on the back porch killing flies and picking the skin off your fingers. i know it's humid and full of lime outside but sometimes it's good to have sour lungs, you know? breathe it in. come outside.
an old old lady sat beside me at the bus stop. she was making a huge black and red and green and yellow blanket & told me it was for dreams. i didn't know what she meant so i nodded and offered to pay her bus fare. she was gone before i could look up and it made me think of cyclopes and orange peels
i'll live in the ocean one day!
for now, we're in glitter and rot, covered in murals and expensive tea none of us could afford. but one day i'll be a seagull too & i won't have to worry about the ground shaking anymore
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
it's terribly humid
and this cigarette
is terribly harmful
this life is horrid
it's terribly horrid.
and i terribly die
each time
you kiss my forrid.
-- Eleanor
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
The early days of April
Have started resembling
Those of May and June
For a coastal city like Pondy
It is too dry and hot
It is driving humid
It is too nasty
and....
this pattern is going to stay..
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 5:00 AM UTC
The old black and white photo was taken
the day my life had changed forever.
It was a humid morning in July.
My hair had sprung into tight silky curls.
I was standing in the sun. Hands on hips, with a self possessed grin.
I was confident. Forward. Naive, and full of potential to be anything I wanted to be.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
I watch the rain
as it washes away
all the sidewalk chalk
the smeared paintings
floating away
in a stream
of beautiful color
a vibrant rainbow
on a rainy afternoon
fuchsia pink swirling
around my naked toes
children running
and laughing
in the hot streets
the smell of fish and spices
makes my belly rumble
hot white rice
upon a bamboo plate
an old woman
scooping boiled fish
and smiling
her toothless smile
her soul filled
with liquid sunshine
as we sit cross legged
and laugh like kids
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Brownout
A not too loud explosion pierced the quiet hours
..................immediately after......lights went out
Twelve midnight, and two minutes later
there gently blew, a whiff of cool air,
brushed past my cheeks and shoulders
but...that was it
Every hot, humid second of every burning minute
took too long to get out of my sweating body
the heat seemed stationary
in the stillness of this limited territory
Lukewarm water
flowed out of the shower
being wet.......was brief
it didn't bring much relief
It was cooler....out at the verandah
but mosquitoes are more active in the dark
the flickering candlelight
teased them all the more, this moonless night
This should be a good time
to ponder........to write
but my head feels limited...empty
swelling with something else, that is chilly
this silent.........uptight
uncomfortable summer night
...the hours, consumed with blight
a disappointment outright...
just waiting....for my eyes to give in
no longer defying,
but surrendering,
to the hot...humid
dark wee hours of the morning.
Sally
Copyright May 12, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Standing here, in 90-degree land
Where nothing is right
But the drink in my hand
Sweet saving coolness, fine eastern breeze!
I welcome thee warmly,
I welcome you, please
Stand fans may blow this languor away,
But I cannot stand
These bills I must pay
Summer is hot on my heels as I run
Through prickly white sands
– and the daydream is gone
In thick sticky air, seconds trickle and crawl
As sweat from my temples
To the sides of my jaw
The sun's got a fever and my blood could be boiling
I laze inch by inch though my insides are roiling
To be productive in this haze – this hell of a heatwave
But instead I'm in bed, just rotting and spoiling
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
Most of my creativity emerges
from crestfallen summer nights,
where I tear the seams of the scars
that have reopened
after a thoughtless word
after a tasteless comment
after an inconsiderate finger,
jabbing into the insecurities
I imagined myself to bury,
but in reality,
I have not.
Humid,
crestfallen summer nights
encapsulate me,
until the pain numbs
me.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
Humidity in theory
harbors images
of nights lit up
by bioluminescent flying jewels
that you catch in between your fingers
like a cage too large
and they fly away
into the sky.
The evenings are thick
with sweltering droplets
that hang beneath
the orange street lights
that cast a muted glow
onto your salty lips
and hazy eyes.
The day's steam.
And as the water fills your lungs
And as your clammy hands run through sweaty hair,
summer is alive.
Humidity in practice
invents beads running down your back
that pool in your shirt
and matted hair that sticks
to the nape of your tender neck
while you claw at your throat,
suffocated breathing
in between the condensation.
The days are layered with
mirages on the bubbling asphalt
like a sea that only burns you
and the yellow lines are
the only safe haven
when crossing the street
with just your soles.
The summer's plastic bag.
And as the sun blisters your skin
And as your hands only long for arctic rain from a calcium faucet,
summer is alive.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Rain.
Rain isn't sad
but the word comes to my head
when I don't know what else to say.
In this dark room,
in this bed that offers me
no sleep or comfort,
In this jumper
I feel my body shaking.
In this warm jumper,
I feel the shivers moving
beneath it.
It's like they're restless,
Or like they're alive,
But they never try to escape.
They hold me like they need me,
I feel them moving under the fabric.
In this dark room
I find some comfort,
All the comfort I have,
I find
in the ends of my sleeves.
Cold fingers gripping,
Thank God, or anyone,
For the ends of my sleeves.
I found a place to put my tears.
Either there,
Or waiting in the mid-lengths of my hair.
There's still rain in my hair,
At least I have that,
In this bed,
In this dark room.
I can't see where the walls end,
But I like to imagine that they could reach on forever into the night,
That everything could be everything,
Or that everything could be nothing,
Something like that.
I like to imagine what it would feel like
to not have to think,
But it's too much to think about.
In this bed,
In this jumper,
My body doesn't understand.
I realise that now,
Oh wow,
Only now
I realise.
That my body has just been following me around.
Only now I realise,
That we all just follow the words
in our voices and in our heads,
That we all just
let our bodies
become the shadow of our minds.
All the places I have taken this body.
Oh wow,
oh wow.
(Shhhh.)
I wonder if silence could ever even contemplate
that his lack of words
might cause my eyes
to behave like this.
Or this stupid
way the air flows through my lips now,
Like it's broken, or made of something
that is not like air at all.
Or her, or him, or anyone or anything.
But no, he seems so kind.
This dark room.
So many times I have tried to step out of this.
I've tried to make space enough,
to look back
from afar.
Like I do with the others,
I've done it for them,
So many times.
It's what I am.
But here it's impossible,
Just because it's me,
It's like I can't leave,
Like I've got my back to my own self.
If I could move away,
I know what I'd see,
I could tell you,
But it's not the same as seeing it.
Torture
torture
torture
torture
Silent, secret, hidden
torture.
'Harmless',
Recurring, lurking,
From nothing
torture.
Torture.
Undeniable,
That it's cruel torture.
The wounds healed
by nothing more than a smile.
That's the worst,
Absolutely that's the worst.
A smile, a word,
Then
healed.
Not a mark left.
Forgotten.
Clean.
Safe,
Peaceful,
Innocent and
ignorant.
Forgive myself,
Forget myself.
Completely unprepared each time it returns.
Nothing is safe.
Nothing is clean.
In this dark room,
Now here I am,
Tears that don't reach past my nose.
The worst kind.
When will it be that I forget this moment again?
Waiting for the blindness.
Denial.
Security.
In this jumper I'm alone,
In this bed,
In this dark room.
In this body I'm alone.
It hurts to see that moment,
In my head
and on the back of my eyelids,
On the blackness in this room.
I see the green,
I see the tent.
Different darkness,
Different black,
Where shapes lived,
Or something,
Or feeling,
Or movement,
Or stillness,
Something lived there,
Not like now,
Different.
I was least alone in my body
then.
Right then,
I see it now,
It was then.
In this dark bed,
I touch my hands,
Not cool but warm
I can hardly bear to touch them,
More that anything in this room,
I hate the warmth
in these hands.
Bizzare.
A strange feeling of fear.
If were to open that curtain,
I might find nothing more outside my window
than wall,
Endless wall.
Not even red, but a dull cream,
In the windows,
In the doors.
I need it now,
I need to hear rain,
Really I need it.
Wind.
I need to hear wind.
A sick feeling,
Outside this dark room,
This house,
So quiet and still,
I get this sick feeling in my stomach.
I need to know somehow,
That the world is alive,
Outside of this bed,
This dark little room.
I need to hear the world again.
Pleading.
One short moment,
Out of this window,
I breathe in the world,
Not a wall but a world.
I find it cooler here,
In the street,
There are silent houses,
Stillness,
The street lights are too warm,
I can't breathe deeply enough,
I can't taste the air,
This feeling of thirst,
But I can't taste the air.
None of it's cold enough,
None of it moves enough.
I want the world to take me
but I barely feel the touch of it.
The black is almost better.
In this dark room,
In this bed,
In this jumper.
I long for the rain,
For wind and air
and cars in the night.
In this dark room,
I see far less than I'd like to.
I just want to know
that the world outside is breathing.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Uno
Matamlay siya
Hindi man lang abot sa akin.
Dos
Pakuwari ko'y manhid siya't bingi
Iihip, balakid pala ang munting tela.
Tres
Niyapos ko ang mas makapal na tela
Hinagkan ang kabuuan
Bumaluktot buhat sa kakulangan.
Ulila ang mga paa
Nais magtago nitong sampu
Wala namang patutunguhan
Kundi ang nalalabing tela sa ulunan.
(6/29/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC