"alleviated" poems
PART II: A GLASS CEILING DRIPPING WITH BLOOD
Mohanad Younis, of Gaza City;
Where the sand is stained with blood
As the world feigns pity.
Broken families, unspoken tragedies –
The order of everyday life.
He was born amidst chaos and strife,
To a divorcing husband and wife.
If life were lived in peace,
This dissolution would’ve been a release.
Not much more, not much less –
A family’s lore, a decision to digress.
In war-ravaged land, however,
One needs every helping hand,
Especially a soul that was so clever.
Such a curious, voracious mind needed to understand;
A furious, rapacious search,
Unexplained conundrums to unravel and unwind.
Why do we exist?
Why do we fight and resist?
Is it worth living with all these scars on my wrists?
Does anybody outside Palestine care?
Will they keep on watching?
Or will they be unable to bear?
Of this and much more Mohanad must’ve thought,
As he sat at the Marna House Hotel,
Smoking cigarettes, freshly bought.
A student at al-Azhar, a mild-mannered pharmacist,
A prudent man who would have gotten far.
An admirer of Bassel al-Araj, another victim of oppression –
An inspirer, a brother who alleviated his depression.
Hunted down and killed by the IDF,
Another pacifist murdered for being an activist.
One figure of many who died;
One of those who did not want to hide.
Mohanad wasn’t a resistance fighter –
He felt that such persistence did not make their burdens lighter.
Instead, he wished to make his mind brighter,
And perhaps have family of his own.
He was in love, and wanted to get married,
But life was rough, and warranted a future far more harried.
The final twist of horror?
Having the intellect to apply for University,
And deserving the respect needed to obtain a reply,
Yet not being allowed to leave the city.
That is the news Mohanad had received,
Hopes and dreams suddenly deceived.
Denied a right to education
Because he was born on the wrong end of a cruel fabrication.
The glass ceiling, dripping with blood,
Swallowed his hopes whole like a flood.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
you
deserve
better
than what you've been accepting.
than all that you have chased.
than every.single.tear
that has fallen out of
place
when you realize that every lie,
was never worth your time
you can sell your watches
you have too many, anyways
one day, you will look into the sky
it won't be dark,
you will walk outside
the light you see-- will not be from the moon,
the shadows that surround you-- will not be those of demons
pulling you to down to Hades:
your blanket will not be misery
but
you won't simply wake up, alleviated by fate
you will have to fight
wars against yourself-- the worst kind imaginable
you
are up against the odds of giants
not even a troll-- would attempt to cross the bridges that you must build
but you can do it
you must learn to live with a shield in your hand
and a bow on your back
and eventually
one day,
you will look into the sky
it will be white and pure
you will walk outside
the light you see-- will be that of the sun's glow
the shadows of the tress will dance in your presence
persuading you to climb their swaying branches
lifting you towards the high heavens
flowers will float into your hair
yet slowly someone will approach
carrying a diamond-laced, gold ring, inside a crafted, red-silk box
in awe, you will notice his glowing amber eyes
then his face
you will see, is painted with delicate metallics alluring metallics
but you won't be swayed, for there is fire in his eyes
slowly you will reach towards the box
you've spotted the disguise
with the shield you have gathered; bow is in hand
untamed-- you are savage
unfazed by the lures of man
ferocious-- savage
he is not what you desire, rather lust
but you will walk across the bridge you've built--
based upon trust
away you will go, from all that harms
as you come to see the light
not a soul will tempt you away
for
you
are
savage
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I miss my cargo green canvas backpack
Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.
Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.
When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.
But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.
It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need
Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked
There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal
More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world
Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come
My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me
But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
It is quiet,
secret seconds
seeking distractions
from overthinking,
and reacting.
Obsessive behavior
becomes
redundant checking,
and occasionally
checking again
unnecessarily.
It is observing
emotional signals
and decoding them
to the best of
one’s ability,
consciously,
and unconsciously.
Till, their anxiety,
anger, and sadness
is distorted
and reflected
in your feelings.
It is only alleviated
in engaging with
informative
and educational information,
fitness and exercise,
entertainment,
or sleeping.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
In haste,
I took the first woman like a whiskey shot--
every ounce of her scarred my throat
kept me silent, kept me staggering under the weight.
When the bottom shelf love went beyond full bloom,
I vomited her up, leaving me with a headache.
In good conscious,
I took the second woman like an aspirin pill--
every milligram of her alleviated the pain
kept me similar to content, kept me tame.
When the effects wore off and I pined for another drink,
I put her in the cabinet, leaving me rambling nomadic.
In guilt,
I turned myself into the third woman like a penitent criminal--
every liter of her blood solidified
kept me wrapped behind her bars, kept me seeking her good graces.
When the prison sentence drew to a close,
I left her behind, walking with an unwashable history.
The fourth found me frightening,
the fifth just ignored,
the sixth designated me the "other man",
and the elusive seventh only said, "You could do better."
In my mind,
the pills, prisons, and liquor melded --
the days cut short,
the nights grew long,
but I could do better
I could do better
I could do better.
I sold the pills, I poured the whiskey down the sink,
I left prison to the prisoners,
and in the mirror I became a religious practitioner.
To the Church of Better I subscribed.
Sober, lone, and free my cry.
To the darkness I whispered:
I am the resurrection,
I cannot be killed,
I am the resurrection,
the Buddha,
the Jesus,
the Krishna,
the Allah.
I am the resurrection,
born again and again and again.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
I am often told that love will leave me breathless,
But I hope I never know a love so greedy as to steal the air from my chest,
For I have memories of a time when my body was oxygen starved
And my lungs unable to draw in breath,
Bogged down under soupy pneumonia that clung to my innards
With vice-like, snotty grips.
My mind is sometimes lost in the sensation of frantically
Drawing air inward,
******* it into my chest with great gasps that never alleviated the burning of my lungs
Or the way pins and needles tingled down my limbs.
My brain cells were consumed with desire to force O2 to bind with the red blood cells churning in my veins.
The air surrounding me was dense with particles that refused to aid my survival,
No matter how much effort I exerted to the contrary.
Sweat dripped off my too thin form and pallid skin
As I drowned slowly from the inside out in a room full of doctors
Until they finally placed the tube back into my throat to breathe for me.
The pain receded as oxygen raced back into my cells,
And I marveled for a moment at the fact that I could not feel myself breathing,
Couldn't feel the rise or fall of my chest.
The mark of my vitality was absent,
And yet,
I was very much alive.
I remember what it was to be truly breathless,
The blind panic that seized me before finally giving way to a wish for death.
It's because of this I hope love never empties my lungs.
I want a love that makes breathing feel safe and exciting,
A love that feels so gloriously alive that I am acutely aware of my chest rising.
Love should always make breathing feel like both a right and a privilege.
It is a privilege to love her and be in her presence.
But I hope she never leaves me breathless.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 6:25 PM UTC
I can still remember the day
I made you read
The poetry that I wrote
And you said it was sweet
I can still remember the day
I said that you were so enigmatic
But I felt alleviated when
You said I was beautiful,
So does my poetry.
I can still remember the day
That you said I was platonic,
It was the same day
I've distance myself from you
It was the same day
I felt alone
It was the same day
When I left you
Just because you said,
I showed no romance.
I will remember this day
Where I write this poetry
As I ask myself,
Is this no romance?
(j.a.t.m)
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
My dear, it rained last night
And I remember
The alleviated rise into
Lush sobs and lavish emotions
The way your dilatation relieves
Every worry and anxiety
But sometimes when we speak
A violent lie radiates
And last night you were naught
But an alienated virile sot
A view unholy I omit
I remember the tin roses on the tiles
Devastated, shattered.
Sometimes you hum
Your hands delicately miming secret memos
And I can see it in your eyes
Irises shining like teal devils
And the music carries you
White with adrenaline, pupils likes violists
Headwaiters lie, strumming tin violins
Their alienated visions wilted with passion
I see the way she cleverly conceals
Lies as vows to you
A veil called "us" she puts on "me"
And I call for mutiny
But youth is vim, vim is now, and now is lies
Every hug from you is just a violet whim
In noisy rooms
My vision is misty
My aura dies little,
Oh if only you could realize your reign
You’re the master, the ringleader
But you’re lazy; you work without zeal, you’re idle and lazy
Eyes glazed, agile hands getting greedier
Have you ever seen
A dearer lion?
He roared, the lonesome rider
Alone, an alien.
Well sometimes you lie
And I dare to become
An oral denier
My radar detects one lie,
Then two...
You become red
Redder than a ****** lion's ear
Adieu, you say, with a gently undefined lilt
My tears speak more reality than your words
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Yesterday, while waiting for a bus on the corner of Newbury Street
I found God.
She carried a burlap sack over her shoulder a map of the world in her right hand and a bottle of whiskey in her left.
She asks me where I’m headed and I tell her I’m running.
She tells me she is too
She says: “ It all started when I was a kid, I held the solar system in my palm and took the colors from the palette of galaxies and finger painted the Earth.”
I took something that was nothing and made it everything.
And every day since, this world has thinned me.
Asking too much out of something too little.
I fear the darkness that was created from the light I produced.
Some days, all my body can do is act like the Earth and tremble.
And in the deepest hour, my heart grew heavier than the sky that watches us all so I let it go.
I let the pain rain down like morning dew getting caught on people’s cheekbones.
I want to purify the air and our oxygen of all that is unjust in every atom.
When I look into your eyes I see bigots,
I see sexists,
And killers
And I want to want to rid our days of the night but I can’t.
So instead, I hit children.
May they stay forever full of laughter and light
Of pigtails and play-doh and gummy worms and popsicle sticks.
white dresses and untied shoelaces.
In a world where guns double for dignity
Where love is a receipt
Where self-worth is measured by grade point average.
Dare not the dark fault their fair eyes.
Dare their souls not fall victim to the tainted being that is our sleepless nights and alleviated anguish.
When I look into your eyes, I see hate. But when I look through them, a see a child.
And so I lose myself on the bench of a bus stop on the corner of Newbury street.
Watching the world tumble down like a toddler learning to climb a staircase.
In my absence, the polluted cloud that makes its bed on our sky dissipates among the rain storms.
Should you run, you steal light from this fading life.
And I say to her
Show me how to be the bravery I ever so seldom see in the world.
I wanna lift bridges with poems
And I wanna lift poems out of my warm breath.
And she tells me
What rocky roads you have in front of you.
What hands you have yet to hold.
But I’ll tell you one thing
You’re already something
And something’s better than nothing
And that is everything.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
I'm kind of embarrassed to relate
how utterly stupid my tendency
Something about myself I so hate
To give in to the selfish dependency
Of those who will take me for granted
Like a hamster in my wheel
Falling for charming words that are chanted
While ulterior motives are concealed.
Yes I confess I did it again
I caved to his needy whims
I unblocked the calls & gave in
But still only the surface this skims
It's all about the Benjamins, baby
to make him a happy man
or so I thought but it seems maybe
4 or 5 "Large" seems even more 'grand'
And yet I give without compulsion
no need to whimper or beseech
then immediately after i have that gut repulsion
that I'm being ****** like a leech
How do I put an end to this vicious cycle?
When will I learn that 'no' is an option too?
Can I reject the request without being spiteful?
Or do I just have to totally ignore you?
Any advice or counsel that can be offered
would be very welcome and appreciated
All suggestions shared will be proffered
If you can help me to have this problem alleviated.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
You made me believe in past-lives..
because there's no way in heaven our connections this new...
The passion & the chemistry, &the; synchronicity of journeys, simply couldn't have been born out of the blue...
On such short notice you alleviated my grievances, believing in my flaws and accepting my thought patterns. . .
I told her baby. I know you don't like rings. But if I had the power to give you the world,..i'd give you the whole, Saturn.
She said, "Silly, i don't want a world.. that isn't enough. I just a want a world with you in it, even if it comes with storms."
But the minutes turn to hours, the hours turn to minutes. Laws of physics say something started must finish, or transform."
Like the river, on a clear night when the moon tickles the surface, looking beautiful till somebody decides to skip rocks..
The universe itself on the tip of my lower lip was the exact sensation i felt when our lips locked..
Perhaps we were married in our past life.
Maybe we'll have children in the next one.
but in this time and space presently?...
She decided to call it quits,
Broken heart. But; I can never hate someone who makes me feel heavenly.
So, I'll await lifetimes...
For the day she comes back, and if she never returns I will never complain..
Because she was heaven sent, an angel, a blessing. I'm honored to have even known her by name.
Though she quit on us..
i must say if only she knew.
The realest words ill ever speak are,
I love you, too.
-afj.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
The monotony of a mundane Monday morning
Can be alleviated by the allure of the amorous amazonian from accounts
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
May this resonate with you.
May you be alleviated
Entirely in the wake of the dawn.
I will fulfill your spirit
With my lambent presence.
In other words, the perennial balm
Filled the pores of your conscious.
We are immense and intense
Like the god-inspired galaxies,
And as passionate as Hades.
May we carry on as one.
Originally written 11/12/10
Revised in 2014
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
This worm crawls through ****
Believing it to be mud.
How sad, how quaint.
It toils forth and thus it faint.
Left alone to die, to sleep, to bud.
If only, to could **** from that fortunate ***
After a tempest, the worm awoke.
The smell had exacerbated,
And now, the worm knew it crawled in filth.
It tallied on, fourth, through the zilf.
It hoped, wished, that it might be alleviated.
Only, it would not: a cosmic joke.
Bacteria and flies swoon around.
Cautious, curious to the worm’s presence.
It looks not like them.
Yet, the odd and unique is where they stem.
But, still, he lacks their essence.
They enjoy the **** he seeks the ground.
The worm saw the bacteria and the flies.
He did not like them, but he accepted.
He had joined their culture.
So, he greeted a fly, through he wished to punch her.
She smiled, as is etiquette. Yet, it percepted
That this is only the first of the worm’s lies.
There crawls our worm again.
Who began to search for **** across the land.
Confused and an idiot, he misses the soil.
No time, none left except for his toil.
He says he seeks the ground, yet he can’t see past his hand.
To ourselves, we deceive, we’re determined, but it is all in vain.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 2:44 PM UTC
The condensed pressure
of arithmetic has been
alleviated
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
Gentle vibrations is all it takes to wake,
My muse who has fallen asleep again.
Have all the time you need to take
But please hurry, we should begin.
So, the pleasant child, all bleary eyed
Did wipe the sleep from off his face.
And with but a tiny sigh he did slide
Off his bed and to his natural place.
Then he cleared his throat and said,
"Tonight's the night we write anew
All the lover's quarrels in your head;
No more pity for poor little you."
Taken back, I grasped at my heart,
Did I anger this minute, tiny one?
"I'm in your head, forget that part?
You're dumber now, this will be fun."
So I sat at my desk and reaching out,
Seized a pen with which to write.
But my thoughts, crippled with doubt,
Could think of no start to my plight.
Lethargic muse abruptly aglow
Spoke to me from his perch above.
"Start with her, a woman you know,
That sassy little ***** named Love."
I wrote with a fervor granted by God
About the things that plagued my life.
My muse smiled and his head did nod.
My heart was alleviated of all its strife.
Gentle whispers rocked me awake
And blinking I looked at the ceiling.
A pen in my hand is all it did take
To give me back my heart's feeling.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
Too many names to remember the face
Washed by the river of uncertainty
Eye deep in the ritual
Seems too habitual
Nothing my oar does will loosen the tides
Still, it's alleviated by the slight martyrdom of my peers
But my peripheral circuits still see what I try not to
The attachment isn't sufficient, but ignorance certainly is
Enough to calm my blood
Or make it take another route through my heart
But it isn't enough for them
Not when they understand you
And you are lost in the tangled web of labeling
Fleeting images of letters
Won't stay together
Not long enough to extract the meaning
Or distract the context
But they know
And they always will
It can't be resurrected once it's been forgotten
It can't be revived once it has died
Never try
Never again
It can't be revived once it has died
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
In my youthful folly, I suffered,
t'was no ones fault but mine,
I was infatuated, obsessed, and ensnared
by passions of the youthful times.
In an age where magazines speak of beauty,
looks, and all forms of apparel (or lack thereof)
where sister fights sister in attempts to catch an eye
and hopefully secure for themselves a man.
My heart was stolen, it was fractured and broken,
by a woman who knew not who she was,
or who she could be, but she is forgiven..
That does not alleviate my guilty conscience.
When on my knees and in the tempest,
I began to lose my faith and heart.
He came in humble Glory,
he came in all his unfailing love.
A display of unending grace...
where he knew all I had done,
but still wiped my slate clean,
and sat me next to his throne.
My broken heart was struck with affliction,
burdened by weights of guilt and shame,
yet, t'was Gods great grace in perfection,
alleviated me and freed me from the devils game.
I'm not perfect, I still do some shameful things,
but his grace is sufficient, and ever present.
Always washing over my soul is my Kings
unfailing love. He gave me an eternal present.
He took my place.
Delivered me grace.
Tore asunder my chains,
and alleviated my pains.
He is My king,
He is My God,
He is My brother,
He is My creator.
I love him.
I praise him.
I worship him.
Always and Forever,
Amen.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
Starring through
the eye glass of this
Empty. Empty bottle,
and then another
and another
I extort the plights of this world
Post-pubescent, Bile.
The gutters reject the rain the same
Alleviated
by the glint. The glimmer
of the OPEN sign cascading across your
Eyes, repress the boredom.
The subdued state of Euphoria.
So lets drop the glass
and propose our toasts
Renegades on a destructive course.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
Andulan felt her strength returning, the dizziness was fading,
Her anemia was alleviated by the blood of a dozen squirrels, five voles,
Three moles, a badger and a family of deer, too slow to evade,
Such reaching, grasping death moving across the surrounding area.
John's thrown axe carved a brown road ahead, slickened by green moisture,
It mowed through the grassland before them, cutting through its share of vines.
Kevin and Paul hacked away at it's venom tipped children, all eager to play,
With their ****** corpses...
Song's presence kept them aware of their choices, if they erred even slightly,
From shown path forward, Andulan's feast would begin in earnest,
Bringing ecstasy wrapped in sadism to the young girl's life,
Corrupting her once pure, enheartening song.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
The fool by the window
Who’s too emasculated to be alleviated
Who lives by the shadow
With no one noticing what he has initiated
The fool by the window
who’s very elated of a single scintilla
Who symbolises a ******
Who feels as dumb as a chinchilla
The fool by the window
Who only needs a listening ear
But keeps himself alone
Because he believes no one is to be trusted near.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
It's odd to think of how much time I spend working out a mental fallacy or problem in my head or on paper and then it's just gone. It's like a rhetorical analysis and my life is a story.
Today i was struggling a tad about spending this weekend at my boyfriend's and him not spending too much time with me. But immediately afterward, I summed that yes, he's happy to see me, but I was the one who asked to visit and he already had plans of things to do. So Though he appreciated my company, he has others things to do and enjoy as well.
This is not OUR weekend or holiday. I am just participating in it.
It was like this welling emotion of hurt suddenly was alleviated, knowing that it was not about shirking me; it was about getting things he had already endeavored to do done.
Thinking gets me to many better places than places I previously was before.
I solve a lot of my own problems staring at a screen and typing them out, or just staring and thinking in general. It gets me through issues that don't need to be issues. Its just my chemical imbalances ramping up small emotions that need not be catastrophic, but can sometimes turn to be.
Similarly, I've solved why I'm an extrovert writer. My only friends were people in stories, and though I adore human energy and potential, real human beings do not compare to the neatness and logic of story characters. They can both feel as real, but real people can change on a dime, or be growthless, or waste their time and learn nothing.
In a story we'd call that unrealistic.
So I'm content being around people, feeding off their glorious energy, but also fine not being too interactive at all times. I can hear voices in movies, I can meet people in stories. I can suffice on the people between pages, and also the people out of pages who feel strong and real and connective to me.
Thinking and reflecting is one of my strongest traits. Telling my therapist about this trait was one of the first times I realized my possible brilliance. I told her I reflect and work out problems with myself, as it was the only way I figured out how to live when things were worst, and she was stunned. She says that trait, one used to often, can sometimes be attributed to genius.
Understandably, I was also stunned.
Reflecting on reflecting even feels rejuvenating. I am so proud of this skill, the skill that kept me alive and now is helping me learn to be self-sufficient. The growth is exponential. The usability is astounding.
I feel so lucky to be able to have it.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
I'm on a walk with nothing in my hand
Moon out, sunglasses on
Let's be honest,
I'm probably drunk.
And my favorite thing to do
Intoxicated, Inebriated, Alleviated
is watch a film
WELL...
I've been drinking.
The water on my eyelashes
Falls through the weaving
of the cheap, broken lawnchair
holding me up.
Pressed hard against my
Department Store Jeans.
The brand name my mom likes
I watch movies about Bob Dylan
soaking wet
My hair looks unwashed
I've been wearing the same *******
watch for three years to the day
But I'm not bored of it
I've lived in the same ******* town
for 18 years
and I've never thought more of it
I feel the grass
growing up, itching my
Ankles, Calves, Knees
it goes up and under my skin
pulling punches
as it pleases.
But doesn't everyone?
The thin layer inside of my
Elbow, Arm, Limb
goes numb
gives in.
But doesn't everyone?
my Whiskey Sour doesn't
Thank god for that.
the Bowl before bed doesn't
Thank **** for that
Otherwise I'd probably feel
close to nothing
Which probably wouldn't feel
so bad
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 6:10 PM UTC