#smog
beautiful morning
amber filtered . . .
with the forest fire smog
it's fine don't worry
it's been carried a great distance
to reach our city
a slight itchiness to the eyes
a slight betrayal with breathing being
a little harsh for some
beautiful morning
teased branches
their tinsel shadows
and a warm rustle
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
Mist-minded, clouded thoughts
Can't seem to focus, or keep rapport
Importance is relevant, irrelevant I dwell
In this cartography, well-drawn Hell
Zipped up lips, verbiage tripped
The spoken, delivery, edge unclipped
Harsh and cold, worn limestone
Regardless of polish, I'm overgrown
What feels real is this heart of steel
All else surrounds, of fabric, of gown
Dressed up nice to masquerade
False-tipped smiles, dead parade.
The forge burns true, just underneath
My love, my Sun, I shall bequeath
Hardened and cold, aftermath of the craft
Add a little heat and reveal my heart.
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 9:05 PM UTC
A girl cries out in the night
A mother rushes to hold her in her arms.
The older sister in the same room stays silent.
She watches her mother coo the little baby to sleep
She waits for her to leave before getting up once more.
She looks out the window, the sky covered in smog.
"I want to see the stars."
She opened the window and climbed to the ledge.
She was six years old.
Sitting there and breathing, the little girl watched the smog
for signs of the little white sparkles
stuck in the sky.
The baby started crying again.
Her mother came to comfort her.
She didn't notice the girl's empty bed
Only the window. She shut it, locked it tight.
The little girl wasn't scared.
She brought herself standing and looked down below.
"Bye Mom!"
The window flew open too late.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 5:45 AM UTC
A cloud of smoke and fog so toxic
They had to give it a name.
Out here, it coils around signs
And slinks up the height of buses:
Keen and watchful, like a python,
Squeezing the life from
My lungs. Heavy with ash
And tar from the cigarettes.
The fumes snake upwards,
Swirling in fog, smog,
Ashen clouds. There's a sight
For sore minds.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
all that surface area
all us beings make
creates too concentrated an environment
a sick air
it's not a sacrifice
it's healthy release
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
I've got a bad case of brain fog
Maybe you should call it brain smog
Because I've got all sorts of bad thoughts
Diluting my air
And spilling into the words that I speak to you
Oh god, please hear me
You should fear me
Because soon you'll be coughing up your lungs
Don't come near me
I'll be climbing up your atmosphere
Burning up the hearts of your daughter's
Corrupting the thoughts of the
Poofy goofy white clouds of childhood
I've got brain smog
Don't let me hurt you
Quick clean up your mistake
Before mother sees the blood upon the bathroom floor
Hurry she's knocking on the door
She already knows you're a ***** *****
I've got brain smog
Look at you, you pathetic dog
You don't know how to unclog
The nasty case of brain smog
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
The beast that needs to be tamed lives
within yourself. All the other despair
is smog being blown away by the invisible
mouths of those who, with cries and silence,
are trying to breath and move around
under water, trying to think which was
that one turn that brought them here
and started the person that became.
All these right-and-wrongs that are said
and also those who remain silent,
all these intentions toward a saved life,
and all these doors that are being opened
and closed, are so much like the efforts
of a writer creating a character for
a book that will be finished on a deathbed
and surrounded by teary-eyed beasts in human skin.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:41 AM UTC
We sailed the sea
In a boat made of ivory,
And we sailed away
Till the thirty-third day.
On the thirty-third day,
We docked in a land;
Crafted by the hands
Of a million slaves.
It was sparkling out
In the night darkened sky,
As the people burned
All their candles away.
Into the sky, the smoke rose
So high to the stars,
And it warmed up the air,
And the jumper I’d worn,
Brushed the floor
As I carried it
Along through the streets.
‘No more ice,
Only water,
Only smoke,
Only steam,
No more frost to freeze
The fast running streams.
No more cold to tear
Your lungs at the seams’
This was seen as the reason
To why they were right,
Not wrong, to continue
To set more fires alight.
’It is good, it is good’ they sang.
They danced round the fire;
The warm got warmer as the fire drew higher.
'No more cold, no more cold.
It has melted away.
We’ll only have summer
For the rest of our days.
Under the orange tinted sky,
We’ll stay happily beneath it.
No more white, snow-filled clouds
That sprinkle around us
Like a shroud.
The smoke has melted the cold all away;
We’ll only have summer for the rest of our days.’
This is what the townsfolk did say.
On the forty-third day
A marching band played
For remembrance
Of the famous Chirp-Chirp birds.
It is thought that they’d flown
Far, far away.
As nobody had seen them
For quite a few days.
Because of the smog
and because of the heat,
They could no longer stay
And decided to fleet
From the suffocating air
And the ash filled, choking skies.
They left while they could,
Before all the flock died.
Now pennies are collected in effort to remind
Of the other kinds of birds that may fly away too;
If they all did that, there would be no bird stew.
So, the people pay their pennies to save the last few.
We had to sail away from this hot, smoky land,
On the forty-fifth day, we walked back to the sand,
Where our ivory boat was tied up at the dock,
And we laughed at the sight of the Chirp-chirp bird flock!
They were perched on the boat awaiting our return
To escape this land hidden safely in the stern.
Without having to fly they could relax,
And just lie back;
They wouldn’t even need to give their purple wings a flap.
We remarked how they were clever,
And we let them stay on board.
Then we planned the fate
Of the Chirp-Chirp bird hoard.
When we return, they will live in little, cramped busy zoos,
Or we may even make them into Chirp-Chirp bird stew.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
candle headed kids,
melting under pressure.
contorting and dying under the weight of something so bright and important:
a flame.
the burn of a good future just an arms reach away.
the heat of not letting anyone down.
the scorching pain of reaching through the flame,
the one thing destroying them,
just to succeed.
just to not let anyone down.
just to live.
anxious.
forever anxious.
smog headed kids.
they cannot breathe.
their thoughts,
contorting around their lungs,
killing them.
so dark,
so dark in their minds.
the need for pain,
the feeling of undeserving.
no one understands a smog headed kid.
forever choking over their own mind.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
There's a puddle on my cheek
And its there because you won't speak
When you're silent, my mind runs more than it should
And it never makes up anything good
I try to see from your eyes
But that only makes me want to cry
I've lost my own eyes in a smog
I'm not sure of where to walk
I haven't heard anything from either ear
So far, no sign of direction is clear
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
loneliness has defined
this old soul.
Bittersweet melody
has tuned my way of
living.
I don't know how much
my heart could stand
the weight and wait
for that simple moment,
that single spark
to feel alive
and stop breathing
the ashen smog of reality.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
I thought the cold air would help
But there's only ******* smoke
Free **** I'm living the dream of a million burnt out lungs
with capillaries astray -
Sadness is a comfort
Happiness burns against my eyelids
It sears against the grey -
Age doesn't matter as long as you pay
Head high to keep the nausea at bay;
Visions blur, thought the alcohol in my
backpack somehow took effect
it was just the ******* smoke.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
It is cold tonight,
But that's alright.
Leftover winter air
Rushes through my open window ,
And coils of my heat
Languidly rise to the stars
Obscured by city air, true;
But still sitting undisturbed
Far, far away from this night.
This night that takes my warmth.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
The city breathes in,
A rattling wind of dusty smog,
Desperate in earnest,
Filling up the tubes and chambers
Like bellows on a hot furnace.
The air is pervasive, insidious;
It sticks to your skin and burns
Like holy water flicked from Jordan,
Downstream from the chemical plants
And pipes that lead health a merry chase.
It chews up the lungs with carcinogen teeth
And spits out the bits leaving holes of black
That spread through the organs like fire,
Immolating thoughts of hope and dreams,
And constantly whispering give up the race.
The city breathes out,
A rattling wind of corrupted fog,
And those that escaped the ill in the dark
Race like the wind away from its lungs,
Before the corruption spreads to their heart.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
3:8:15 - Kosher pinot noir toasts the snowflakes that the eider brings, just as the Ash bows ache; naked and starving. Hurdling through old bedroom windows, giving those reasons why pennies are wished first into window wells. Smoggy gawkers, locked into an image shaped by organic lines and gestures. The two smoker- cure their hours reconnoitering in skyrise stairwells, discussing recipes for fixing wounded hearts without the peaceful frequencies she speaks into two styrofoam cups with strings pierced through their innards. Much like the story of how two people meet within the timespan of the living.
Even the Moon Men eat space cakes to loosen their chests, from the apathetic laws that began to govern their personalized truths. Not a mug with a name on it bought after an almost very cool free-art reenactment of Pirates of the Caribbean.
Love is not a sentence I can choose not to awaken.
It's the difference between having a one night stand rather
than keeping a toothbrush at each other's places.
Even on a Saturday night, we could fasten ourselves
to one another. Even if it's only you and I, who are you to
say it's not a party.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
I took a walk today
and listened to the birds
choking on the smog,
broke my mother's back
with every step
and outran a stray dog.
I picked you a bouquet
of dandelions from the field
because flowers can't grow
when the sun's always concealed.
I put them in a vase
and filled it with water from the tap
they died within an hour,
now I know for sure you won't come back.
I always swore
I'd never own a broken home
but it's hard not to when the only one's who stay
are the garden gnomes —
but someone's been smashing them
in the middle of the night,
or maybe they're blowing out their brains
to escape my company
and the blight.
There's no magic left
in this city, so chronically gray
storms are always passing though
and the rainbows are too scared to stay...
I wanted to run away with you
from the hood and past the burbs
to somewhere where the air is clean
and filled with singing birds.
But instead I'm stuck here on this couch,
microwaving Ramen
while I search for words.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Love is in the air
Darkening as i smoke
Like the smog i breathe
When i choke...
Kicked in the head
Roses in a vase
Left out for dead
When i see her face...
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC