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"allergens" poems
I have migraine headaches quite often. Stress could be a factor as I am a fifty-one year old father of three; a retiree with too many chits, too many broken nest eggs... Or it could possibly be my diet: lots of carbohydrates and complex sugars, mixed well with large quantities of diet soda and inactivity... Or perhaps the trouble lies with allergens; for my life is inundated with pet dander, pollen, dust, and grass clippings. Add to that humidity levels and mold blooms - who wouldn’t be allergic? Or maybe it’s just a brain tumor.
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Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
EXCUSES
With an autumn breeze Wafts of leaves swish and swing From trees to debris as fall brings in the insatiable cold comes the running nose just As we drip the facet or hose to keep the pipes from froze. I send my head into the sky as something somehow shuts my eyes and I season the air with allergens spewing the unseen into the light making the invisible visible... Ahh-choooo
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Jan 16, 2023
Jan 16, 2023 at 9:23 AM UTC
Sneeze the day
Allergens Memories Strong spices Leave your scars I'll send them below Precious new memories will replace Your unwelcome pain Napkins and longboards electronic haze I don't watch Disney I wish I didn't know my parents But I take this for granted again Outbreaks Gluten Shedding Flannels before they were Cool painting my room two shades of black Shakira I'll share my life If you will pretend I'm awake enough To absorb yours Can we become closer?
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May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
adobo, bleu cheese and depression
*I'll swath my cliches in over verbose decadence and ask forgiveness in the morning.* Edging      toeing the fine line in between Fighting to live - or - living to fight in champagne surged soirees of surreptitious allergens Some ******* ballad donning metalcore methods aggressive to a fault      that is to say, earth-shattering unyielding, unwavering, unapproachable un-fucking-believable You, me, they, we, truncated but never forgotten Had but never spent Forgotten but never lost Your name is in my autocorrect with siren songs and call signs from generational grievances, Chivalrous misandry, chorus discord callous Chandeliers swing low like chariots. Samson told us to keep dancing. We were only listening, abreast one another, clad only in our genres. We were so much more until we were lost, but never mattered.
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May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Verbivore, pt 2
allergens tickle in like snorting Pop Rocks respiratory passages closing up shop relegated to mouth-breathing until I summon pseudoephedrine to bomb the **** out of my face Liquid Plumber of snot side effects may include: scrambled brains traces of ether floating a foot off the ground perhaps the sexiest poem ever written and tmi
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Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
nasal coup
In an evening, Washed with love, Writing, Tranquility and thunder in one afternoon, Like fresh laundry, Clean, Newly refreshed, Invigorated New life's lease! Raring and excitable, As wild child plays, Wallowing, In styles novel! Provoked into action, While arrows fly, Origami swans created, Folded wings tinged with pastel tints, Dripped from loves pipette! A miracle constructed, From twisted paper, Origami swan can't fly, Unless caught on gentle breeze, Gentle breeze, Brings allergens sneeze! Captured in sunlight's mesh, Studied through patterns from a picture book, Designed with child in mind! COPYRIGHT LIVVI KENT 27/05/2013,
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Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Innocence!
Animosity allergens, dark as the Dracula’s dungeon, insidiously infects the heart. Vivacity begins to part. In the realm of my subconscious, I've confronted my madness. There’s a monster in me that should die- my morale withered and dry. My spirit polluted with hate- toxic as organophosphates. The psyche is a perpetrator who lusts for the power of ******   Drowning in the depths of darkness of my wild imagination, I’m shocked by this revelation! The epiphany of my evil- influenced by the vile devil, my ego- sinful and gruesome. Dear Lord, what have I become?
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Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 9:49 AM UTC
Darkness of my Subconscious
took a bottle from the cupboard then she tilted back his head this meant trouble, he discovered when she read out what it said it said hazardous to health twice as poisonous as bleach keep it on the highest shelf keep it out of children’s reach treat like pepper spray or mace or an acid that could maim store it in a cool, dry place and avoid all naked flames the instructions then suggested it could leave him stiff and pale if by chance it was ingested if by chance he did inhale then its pungent, toxic odour from its allergens, writ BOLD burned his nose like caustic soda made his nostrils yearn for cold since the content seemed unstable so she handled with a glove but she let him read the label and the word he saw was LOVE held his nose and told him ‘swallow’ made him chug it in one go and the pain was quick to follow why she did it, hard to know felt like acid ingestion not a gentle warmth inside so he asked the girl a question ‘is an antidote supplied?’ she said ‘there’s no medication just a long and slow decline there’s no cure or vaccination you can only pray for time’ and that pain he still remembers since his stomach’s still upset just a pit of glowing embers from that girl he can’t forget.
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May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 7:39 AM UTC
POISONED
Lawrence Hall [email protected] Night Court For the Prosecution: Spring Allergens For the Defense: Anti-Histamines and Acetaminophen If only headaches went away at night They don’t, and a fresh catalogue of pills Does nothing except fog reality The world spins on and on, and sometimes off The pillow is a bitter accuser Detailing again all of life’s mistakes The sheets and blankets wrinkle in disdain The world’s last spring-wound clock grinds through the hours Maybe the world will stabilize at dawn If only the headaches will go away
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Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Night Court - Spring Allergens for the Prosecution
Summer is here With sunny days that are truly warm Time for jackets to take a break Time for some outdoors BBQ steak Time to get Vitamin D on my skin Find me on the weekends by the beach Outdoor pools winking at me like hey, come in here and swim Lots of drop-top cars on the road People socializing-ish Flowers blooming Allergens spreading People sneezing This is summer season!
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Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 8:34 AM UTC
Summertime
One might as well call this an equinox For night and day are equinoxious now: Mosquitoes, soul-withering heat and damp Itch-allergens and rattlesnakes not featured In advertising fantasies about Bugless, unbitten happy families Posing with plates and carnivorous smiles Before neighbor-envious chromium grills And playing free of heat rash and pustules Around surgically sterile swimming pools
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Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
The Summer Solstice as Not Celebrated in Texas
As I tiptoe through the English Country Garden. Trying not to disturb the beautiful sights and sounds I smell the sweet flowers that grow Like the Buttercups Forget-me-nots and the snow drops on show I hear the birds sing in the sweet joy of spring And I see the butterfly that sways gently in the breeze I see the hedgehog waking from his sleep And the Insects like the bees the ladybirds I see People with hay fever through allergens in the air Spring time is here it's that time of the year. THE END
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Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
The English Country Garden
These are not tears of sorrow or joy; These are tears from allergens, m’boy. (As Tennyson did not say)
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 3:38 PM UTC
Tears, BUSY Tears - rhyming couplet
They sometimes call me the gray girl. For most, it's the dye I  pollute my ***** dish water hair with but for few, it's the cold ice water that's replaced the liquid pumping through me. Sometimes I wear men's golf sweaters in the summer. The droplets that slide down my back remind me that even abominable snowmen melt and while it's mostly sweat, it's partially my inner workings thawing becoming nothing but a pool beneath my wiggling toes. Deep puddles, never-ending trenches to trudge through, Shallow puddles, the same ones I used to play in when I was a kid. Splashing and leaping until my lower limbs stay covered in rain water mud and my bangs smell like the outside air. I didn't seem to melt as easily then. They sometimes call me the girl frozen in time Maybe for the '96 edition baseball keds I wear in the fall, mimicking the past, keeping it's stillness locked away in a time capsule along with the same ice princess costume I wore three Halloweens in a row. Or maybe for the worn out flannel from Pools that always seems to be the first thing I throw on my shivering body when old man winter blows his first frosty kiss always finding it's way to my cheek. They sometimes call me rosie Not the riveter, but always for the hue of reddish pink that accents my nose when spring showers and April flowers grace my passageways and fill my visuals. It's more than the allergens, it's the intoxication of new life with fresh beginnings that make everything seem smoother than the honey tea dripping down the corner of my mouth. They sometimes call me all of these things, but I've always been known as the season of dwindle.
0
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
Gray Girl
They sometimes call me the gray girl. For most, it's the dye I  pollute my ***** dish water hair with but for few, it's the cold ice water that's replaced the liquid pumping through me. Sometimes I wear men's golf sweaters in the summer. The droplets that slide down my back remind me that even abominable snowmen melt and while it's mostly sweat, it's partially my inner workings thawing becoming nothing but a pool beneath my wiggling toes. Deep puddles, never-ending trenches to trudge through, Shallow puddles, the same ones I used to play in when I was a kid. Splashing and leaping until my lower limbs stay covered in rain water mud and my bangs smell like the outside air. I didn't seem to melt as easily then. They sometimes call me the girl frozen in time Maybe for the '96 edition baseball keds I wear in the fall, mimicking the past, keeping it's stillness locked away in a time capsule along with the same ice princess costume I wore three Halloweens in a row. Or maybe for the worn out flannel from Pools that always seems to be the first thing I throw on my shivering body when old man winter blows his first frosty kiss always finding it's way to my cheek. They sometimes call me rosie Not the riveter, but always for the hue of reddish pink that accents my nose when spring showers and April flowers grace my passageways and fill my visuals. It's more than the allergens, it's the intoxication of new life with fresh beginnings that make everything seem smoother than the honey tea dripping down the corner of my mouth. They sometimes call me all of these things, but I've always been known as the season of dwindle.
Continue reading...
18
We (as far as I can remember) Started out to recreate a sane conversation In which facts of all shades and shapes would Simply emerge and connect themselves into Acting structures. There was a phase in which Burgeoning ways and means of Unearthing and spreading these bits Occupied and riveted most attention; Followed by something – Fear? Sense? – Expressing as allergens to ungrounded factoids And structures acting not from meaning But obviously from the hindbrain. After who knows how many rounds of Lunge feint riposte I found my little self in a Small drifting group which seems mostly set on Maintaining through and despite all that something Uniquely value-added – esthetic, mimetic, cosmogenic or In any case fertile in cross-breeding ways – is going to fly On be nurtured and eventually cover the terraqueous globe. But there seems to be a tacit condition set in this local world, That the “novel factoid” stream from ongoing earth-21st century Goings on be ignored. Which begs the question of why do we need 1,200 geosynchronous satellites to do this. Or – Was that my drift?
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Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 1:48 PM UTC
drift