"aerate" poems
Do not stop to question or even ask why.
Aerate your mind with these words blowing by.
I Love You!
Inhale the innocent aroma; Taste the sweetness that was felt.
Take a sip and let it linger; Swallow letting your heart melt.
Be Mine.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
My day gets started early
I am up before the dawn
I do yardwork for a living
I get up to cut the lawn
Each morning brings another
Job that must be done
I've got just so many hours
I'm racing barefoot with the sun
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
The trees drop leaves like crazy
An orange carpet all around
I have to mulch their golden cover
I can't just leave it on the ground
I fertilize and aerate
I trim the hedges by the drive
I pull the weeds there in the garden
I help to make your plants survive
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
It's not a job for many
In fact it's not a job for most
Each year we hire newbies
And in three weeks most are toast
I wake up every morning
Hit the floor, I'm on the run
This ain't the job for many
But for me, it is the one.
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
always woke up with nothing to say to her
not a thing.
we slept in rooms separate,
but she would bust in on me,
occasionally, to have an occasion,
never knocking, just door pounding,
just to annoy, just to see
if I still cared, hoping to revoke
what passed for pseudo-serenity.
some times entireties
would pass
before you had the energies
to swing
your legs over the
side of the day~bed,
conceding, white flag surrendering,
losing the commencing-avoidance of
the start-of-the-day battle of
pseudo-existence.
hoping against hope
you don't meet,
hoping against hope
she doesn't say accidentally,
good morning.
so you don't have to
Lincoln~Douglas debate,
aerate, concentrate, orate,
how to answer without bitterness
intended to maim.
knowing you could not e'er possess
a good morning, day, night,
by definition, by ruling of the
gods in charge of never.
sometimes you made it out
of the apartment that had
no ingress,
only egress,
happy happy no converse.
used to go to a Barnes & Noble,
get a refillable endless Starbucks,
from open to closing.
read all day, sitting with strangers,
till my **** hurt so bad,
didn't think I could walk again.
now and then,
smiled at the ladies,
tho nothing could come of it,
nothing ever did.
she never asked me
where I egressed too.
didn't care, that was better
for sanitizing my pseudo-sanity.
came home cautiously,
door opening silently
in case I was home prematurely,
she still there.
sometimes you wake up with nothing to say
to yourself.
that is even worse,
cause the meaning clear,
breaking point is near.
have a picture of me from those days.
a cellphone photo I took myself,
of course.
serious, bearded, short haired,
red eyed, unfiltered.
Sometimes I think I will banner it,
so you can tap into a part of me
that words just cannot do injustice to,
more than was already done.
here, while composing,
I fell asleep.
tired?
maybe. maybe,
sometimes you just don't want to remember.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I ran away with my resentment
Hypocrisy bred under my skin
infecting my chest cavity
& weighing it down.
I suppose I smoke now
to try & aerate my ribcage.
I'm sorry that I took off
that day in February & never returned.
(even you didn't deserve that)
Somewhere between life & death,
Somewhere between hate & love,
Lie my thoughts
I see that vast abyss in your eyes.
I cannot swallow emptiness
& no longer will choke on your cancer
I'm sorry that I no longer look at you
& that I no longer reply.
I am only trying to cut the cord
lest it tightens & suffocates me
when the tension mounts
God forbid, if I were alreay kneeling.
(I think I would surely collapse)
See now, (or maybe you don't)
all this scar tissue from former battles ?
I have now abandoned the combat
& wait patiently for your last breath.
(a war of resistance not offence)
Do not despise me for giving up,
It was your example I followed
& I saw, even Christ, perished
for the sins of others
(I want to be alive)
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Put your ear to the concrete, now.
It has the same rhythm as watercolor,
our souls have the same consistency as dirt.
La la la. Everything is plowed in the ground eventually –
every ticktock shows Atlantis a friend.
This balcony smells like violins, like a comet, like waifs
& has the sound of crowded prose.
A man will spit, spit, spit on you:
a girl will crawl from a bottle of effervescence –
both carry their flask
one is so red, do worry about communism.
We will all have our canteen
microwave like a thermos & aerate into
our crowded spit bubble, big finale la la la.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
songs are sleeping in my naked shoulders
he said untranslatable words:
I want to confiscate your lips
aerate your dreams,
and all the rest, you know
I’ve tried my skin today
as if a nest of lazy hours
free spaces I found
patches of unhope,
poppies and
the possibility of you.
joy creates perfect moments
sweet fingers
nothing to take in or out
no shadows inside fists -
I just love how the light rides
the storm of things,
horizons are passing through
my words
and
nothing louder than the heart
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
life’s slippery slopeyness
keeping us on edge
moving forward
avoiding Sisyphus’ fate
preparation is paramount
educating ourselves
for proper execution
of meaningful moments
discovery and discernment
stoking passion’s fire
fear of failure and
mediocrity’s nothingness
quieting doubting demon epaulettes
turning our mind’s soil
to aerate our roots
fomenting growth
with no need to impress
others or self
or even think in those terms
exploiting one’s own personal
weaknesses and strengths with
grace sanding smooth
rough passages
today’s deferment is
tomorrow’s regret
posture your head high
with joyous eyebrows
feeling alive
appreciating the privilege
of the fruit of your passion
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
I am a master at the art of ashes
human cremation takes artistic commitment
once the smell of singed eyebrows
burns your nose you can never be the same again
you know, my skin grew flame retardant and at first I wished grossly to return it and buy a new shell
but I've made the executive decision to aerate my diaphragm and pump this fire out of my pores and into your palms
singing with a slow burn
branding your sweet fingerprints into my skull
see, something outside of myself must contain me or I'll spill, gritty and fine
end over end into the depths of the alleyways and cobblestones
but, to be quite frank, I'm drowsy
so I'd rather you climb to the top of the world and release me, softly letting me blanket everything I've ever come to love
instead of confining me in that ugly porcelain jar that I spent my entire life peering at
while it hovered, haunting me, above my birthing ground
sitting precariously on that wooden mantle
above my fireplace
above my home.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Wine me,
No need to dine me.
Yes I'm a lush,
But that doesn't mean I like to rush.
Sip and savor
Til I know every flavor
Feel a slow burn
My stomach starts to turn
For your caress I yearn
But I still need more time
Cause this wine is **** fine
It's time to aerate
Oxygen flow in
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Let your mind aerate from the pollution of the world,
& let it soak into the clean waters I’ve prepared your soul.
I wish I could grow old,
Knowing I have you to hold and together we can mold and age with each other as thresholds.
I don’t mean to be bold, but if I get cold, can you promise that your heart is the opposite?
Can you promise me that age will not turn that thing into ice, & that it will be suffice, for me?
I am the woman, whose heart menstruates for a love that does not exist.
A queen who birthed all the things you loved when we were young,
*** love and ecstasy, is all you wanted really.
You were never one to return the favor,
& so I sit here, pondering still, that if I get cold, will your heart be the opposite?
Will those vows you proclaimed at our American wedding, while staring into my tender eyes,
As they pierced into your nonexistent soul, still prove true in our older years?
I can only question the future because I probably won’t make it there.
& if so, will you look for another *** of gold in a woman inferior to me?
--Gabriela Collie
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
Ye olde Yo-cum, advises get thee to a nunnery of trees, leaves of sunlight scorched sunrises and sunsets to clear the cobwebs and recall more fully the good stuff, like in Oregun,
allow it to resonant via ****** shots of temporal, but seasonal natural harmony, a more regulat visitor of the upcoming comes of good weather and the life by the water, on a tiny islansd, long lazy days, and a lessening of the
mental haze-ing
punctuating life with long walks and teardrops of tears, poetry suggestives, will be dropping from icy white cumulus every day clouds, moving to uncover the elaborate and running trills of colutara words lurking within, no more the blaring horns of trafficked sounds of First Ave., trucks fighting to de-liver-er the urgencies of consumption (a most excellent disease) and the potpourri symphony of marching bands blaring of ambulances, fire trucks, and the EXTRAordinary impatience of horn blaring taxis up and down York Ave., dropping off patients 24-7 at a laundry list of "specialized" Hospitals with "views of the river in every room"
I miss the quietude noises of summer breezes tickling minds, trees frothing a
cappucino sun heated breeze to stir the blush and rush of words forming faster than the mind can absorb;
alas, alas, this same mind can never fully squeeze out the sins of memories of winter's travails and yet, the mere suggestion of my old friends embracing me, sun, wind, green landscapes, sea and land animals coming to greet the human interlopers makes me all stirred up, like watching white milk in black coffee spread its cooling affection and lightening the black; aerate and mixing the perptual continuum of my ever slowly chilling bloodstream streaming to mind
and I sigh, for many reasons...but in my heart, I am, and remain, forever a summer man...
aerate and mix and I sigh, for many reasons...
Absent brain surgery, the mind wanders following the sun's trajectory, wither?
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 7:40 AM UTC
To aerate, babble and procrastinate
decluttering man cave *******
welcoming this temperate
(Billy me) idle March thirtieth
tooth house sand nineteen
eventually to accomplish
sorting thru lifetime
worth miscellaneous
papered material former
rainforest, I banish
to the shredder repurposing
once upon a time
stately majestic humongous
dignified cub billed bearish,
yet stern silent taskmasters
razed forest mongers left blemish -
fueling the roaring engines
of western civilization
paper products service
material world feeding bookish
appetite, sans (ironic
knotty twist) printed
hot off the press bulletins,
bestsellers inform boyish
wordsmith, how vast
treeless tracts hasten
global abomination, chopping
degradation, lamentation... brownish
blotches encompass inert naked,
torchered, and zapped
originally pristine realms
overrun by sawyers brutish
Paul Bunyanesque (sporting
as good) fellas carved
cleared, and cropped enormous
swaths back when bullish
intruders displaced indigenous
peoples crowing manifest destiny
as mantra to appease expansionist
predilection frenzied cultish
zero sum game to annex
unbroken wilderness promulgating
feverish gold rush to demolish
wantonly scorching Earth,
whereby present day burgeoning
population irrevocably establish
ruination ushering ominous augury
permeating mine mortal mutterings.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
<>
a lump in my bed
————————
sheet covered, toe to head, alive or ?
call it lumpen woman, though shapely,
the thick coverlet says yay, let’s suppress!
what lies sheet-deep, let everyone wanna guess?
two arms snakily shoot/emerge, straight out,
from besides ears, to aerate treasured tresses,
blonde mane, lioness locks, somehow sun colored, of the
rest, a-guessing kept, I man of reason, am’nt a speculator
reasoning that when the world was 1st created,
there was a holy hole in my side, missing a ribbing,
leaving me needy for a plugging, a poultice covering,
a bandage stitched, so my breathing unimpaired
thus this how and why the lumpen woman is come
into bed and body, to patch and complete, warm and
stoke me, wake up us to freshly chilled spring atmospheres,
and other supposed reasons to compose only love poetry
Fri May 22
early morn bedecked bed
isle of sheltering
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC
This averred title announced straight
away so lingering fans
(hoop fully letting me abbreviate)
a short cut so ye
can up and evacuate,
while metered time,
not yet foregone and not to late
hence best heed mine caution
which can protect minimum damage,
asper gray matter within pate
or blithely ignore
admonishment, aye accentuate
hmm...okay,...you apparently
decided to forsake adequate
prophecy, resigning despite
honest to dog admission to punctuate
a most unpleasant prediction,
I did woof lee aerate
worst case scenario,
leaving disabling genetic trait
to effect generations,
where legions of lesions adulterate
causing future offspring to mutate
and closely resemble
teenage mutant turtles, this potentate
(albeit self declared
only mein kampf, thee only life,
his existence he can arrogate
he doth officiate),
hence proceed at your own risk,
to avoid unpleasant fate,
visited upon unborn sons and daughters
uttering imprecations
unintelligible expletive laced spate,
that would approximate
(a cross between duck and pig)
incoherently gutturally excoriate
ting tee, thus don't tell me, I didn't
forewarn ya, whar
yar heart might palpitate,
thus causing da ole
ticker to fluctuate
dem eyes of yaws
could severely dilate,
while sweat gushes out every pore
streaming like liquid useless tube video,
a salty sea would then perspirate
out every last drop of fluid,
erupting magmatic plasma
to pool agglomerate
right under keister,
a lovely bag of bones
delivered to Norristown State
which inability to hydrate,
hence resultant mummification
heroic measures futile
thus humane decision would necessitate
and remaining days
on Earth numbered
starting with zero, not very great,
now this extinct reptile
hoop heed dead gratefully,
express message, and clearly articulate.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC
Aerate my mind,
Plant the bulbs of new thought,
As germination of your methods begin, roots take in other parts of my brain.
The soil of my mind, so rich with life, do not give me ericaceous ideas.
Know my temperament, know my methods, know what to pollinate.
Let me blossom on my own accord,
While you may be deciduous, let me be
Evergreen.
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC