"choleric" poems
As the liquor undulates down my throat,
burning a little more at each swallow
like lighting a match with wet fingers
I realize that in this moment
I am not worried about you
I am too busy sequestering my existence
with alcohol that does not remind me of you at all
the one thing that can not summon your name to my mind
one thing that makes me forget you, even if only for a little while
Fueled by liquid fire
nature’s neutrality doesn't do much
for this current wave
of lust and infatuation
I am only a girl
fragile, choleric
& craving something to fill the hole you left
And I know I will wake up in the morning
with regret, a headache, and an empty stomach
It can take 2 hours, 8 hours or a full day
to get alcohol out of your system.
but it's going to take
much more than time,
to remove you from mine.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Sanguine
Choleric
Melancholic
Phlegmatic
Phlegmatic
Melancholic
Choleric
Sanguine
Blood oranges
And hibiscus tea
White wine
Carcrash memory
Hypertensive
He straps me down on the table
This is for my own good.
Too much blood they say,
Too much red wine too much liquid
Too much
My hand is swollen
My stomach distended
The vein in my forehead is bulging
Too much blood
A needle
A leech
A pen
Blood oranges
White wine
A needle is a leech is a pen
Is what the doctor ordered
He straps me to the desk
This is for my own good
A cure
Too much blood
Too much tea
Too many memories
Too many thoughts
Hypertensive
Sanguine
They say
They hand me the scalpel
And show me the line
Too much
I’ve had too too much red wine
To be doing this
A pen a leech a needle
A bucket of blood
A novel
Sanguine
Melancholic
Choleric
Phlegmatic
This is the cure
This is for my own good
Too much much blood
They hand me the pen
I’ve had too too many
Blood oranges
To be doing this
A scalpel is a pen
Is a leech is a needle
A bucket of blood is a novel
(Bleeding is the cure)
I bleed.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
My darling, I have begun to dream
Of tractors, crossing
The river Jordan
From my mind spun a chronicle of death, foretold
I began to think that in 100 years, solitude
Will be afforded, there will be
No more tractors, Or
Lawnmowers, Or
V8 engines, Just
Silence, Love, So
I shall not wake you in choleric times, I shall return
To the memories of another; of melancholic insomnia
That ***** that unwritten
Love letter to the colonel,
and think, You know,
Earplugs may not be so bad.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
I often wonder,
sometimes, if I’m
pretty.
My mother and
friends will tell me
it’s a silly question,
but is it? And what
is the answer I’m
looking for?
I know the way
my hair, in russet
mantle clad, springs
down my back is
pleasing to the eye
(at least to mine).
I know the way my
tall figure—yet not like
a statue or a pillar—
asserts itself into
the open air, similar
to a curved vase—at
times smiling, at times
the sudden night.
My hands, perfect
for piano playing
as grandpa always
said, are long stalks
of wheat that reach
toward heaven, wait-
ing to be reaped.
My eyes, green
when choleric
and hazel when
stable, are the
exclamation points
and periods of
my face—who
could interpret
my action-prose
without them?
And my face…
my face…what
do I think of you?
Are you pretty?
Even beautiful?
I can answer
this question
on my own—
without a lover’s
flattering tongue.
Face, you are
like my heart—
blemished of
course, but still
clean and pleasant.
There is indeed
a beauty in your
length and modest
smile—a forehead
too high like my
pride—but still,
balanced—but still,
pretty.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
SHY
indecision moves-
pulling waves
unfurling her-
mute under slow drift-
she considers
coy eyes
or none at all
DISTRACTIONS
multiple kinds of rush to keep steady–
multiple rushes to make numb–
multiples fractioned attention–
all this to feel it fit to breathe–
to feel fit for getting–
ONE STEP AHEAD
in its own language
her visage stills-
softens the gaze
full unto his need
YOU FIRST
the inclination–his
yearning–sparked
and executed en pointe
sa vie–précise–
BLUSH
of dropping knives–
the delicacy–
reminding her of uncertainty
pending smiles
cheekbones raised–
his and hers–
A GOOD DAY
maidened features
spool delicate rhythms
evoke love songs from her palate
and her face–
he paints it–
dressed in light–
PURSUIT
his attempt–this
requires heart–
rewires nerves-
creates a caution
and her lamplit orbs-
doe-like-
stirring in vein–
VIBE
across heads are more heads under sense-arrest
but just two pairs of eyes connecting brown to black
throughout entwining want-threads–
the myriad–oblivation–
GUILTY
upon her neck thoughts exhale
upon the choleric-
suddenly the sanguine-
upon a thought–
her neck–
one–
two–
many–
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
Once
There was an ephemeral man
Precariously balancing on the ephemeral moon
That choleric moon
Always coughing and sneezing
Knocking off that precariously balanced man.
That parochial moon
With its offspring jogging and frolicking about
Maybe one day, that ineffable cough
Will be stopped.
The right thing
What is it?
I wonder
If you do the right thing--
Does it really make
everybody--
happy?
The proletarian moon child
Cogitated this
Along with a myriad of others
While gazing at the ephemeral stars
From the ephemeral moon
Apocryphal writings claimed the answer
But the child couldn't find solace in it.
So he jumped off
To join the vacuous inhabitants
Of the Earth below.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
Her body. She scowls.
She counts the calories on the bottles.
She waits a few months between binge drinking...
That way she doesn't overextend her choleric intake.
She eyes me in such a way
That I can't tell if she's ***** or angry.
We both take another drink and we let
The best pieces of ourselves rot away.
She brings the flashlight under covers
Her smile is just water refractions
The room begins to fill with jewelry
Nothing between the bed and we.
I'm so alive with you nearby.
You make me want to die sometimes.
I wish that we could start a life.
You make me wish I could still cry.
I will think of you when I sleep tonight.
I'll hope that these next 3 years go by.
Without you I just might fly
But there would be no reason why.
I love you
You **** me
I love you
You **** me
I love you
You **** me
I love you
You **** me
I love you (You **** me)
I love you (You **** me)
I love you (You **** me)
I love you (Please **** me)
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 7:36 AM UTC
it,s hot. the sun bubbled effervescent laughter
ringing star fortress. in their hands i hold
a key (choleric) and.
so unlocked open closed. delicious. i couldn't
clasp the rhythm rainbow raining sweetly from
the singing cords contracting across the pale sheet.
and lost me my i try but can't fly.
flicker little, as you fade into the organized disorder of
the crisp hills released on my eyes slicing your golden succulents.
how can i be,without,you?in the darkness of
my em
pty
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
i.
i'm choleric and that's nothing new
ii.
wrapped in a quilt, i toil and sully our sarsaparilla love
iii.
in the frosty morning
an ancient beast rears its head
iv.
it implodes quietly at the bottom of the mekong
v.
this isn't language; it's pornographic license
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
Psyche has moods
Sometime happy, others gloomy
Psyche has moods
Sometimes wise, other times fool
psyche has moods
Sometimes, I wander
Others, I surrender
Psyche has moods
Sometime melancholic,
Others sanguine
Psyche has moods
sometimes choleric,
Others phlegmatic
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 11:14 AM UTC
Of All My Intention: choleric and kind
I built an excursion, still feckless and blind
Through all of the chances I seldom had placed:
My mind was mistaken, my heart was defaced
I fell for a Dreamer, and She fell for me
With All Our Intention, our eyes couldn't see
When silence was golden, we fell for much less
There's much to remember, and more to confess
What hearts had we planted with all of our schemes?
We dream in the Darkness, and live in our dreams
Our Reason is chained to irrational castes
We yearned for the future, and buried our pasts
What once was ambition had turned into dust
From Love to affection, affection to lust
Our faces show sorrow; they come out at night
With each new perception, our hearts had grown trite
These hearts we had melded were built in the dark
From All Our Intention, our Fears disembark...
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Unwittingly we walked away
from the beautiful path
of righteousness.
The path our forefathers in their
wisdom laid down for our benefits.
They left behind morals as a guide.
The path of the ancients,
where morals pave the way.
Respect and intelligence
walked together to light
the touch for moral
rearmament to flourish.
As custodians of this ancient path,
let us reinstitute and restore
morals back into our consciousness,
our homes, and our communities,
lest the moral decadence of
our societies will become our nightmare.
The generations to come will know peace
and our relationships improve.
Moral decadence like cancer is eating
the very roots of our family tree.
Corroding the very corners of our
homes like acid.
Eroding our lives with its virus.
It's venom is poisonous to our metabolism.
It is a terrible and unbearable headache.
With its choleric purging leaving our bowels empty of the most needed vitality.
Depleting us like the barren land the much needed ingredients for growth of our crops.
And like volcano it will explode in our faces.
It is like a grenade thrown into the crowd by children playing,
not knowing it will affect everyone.
Let us put in place respect,
morals and intelligence back to our homes.
That's exactly where to begin.
Let us begin again from the beginning.
With the restoration of moral rearmament,
our lives will have meaning again.
But it all begins with me,
as it begins with you.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
Content in my reason, I indulge my future distress
Feckless friends and fiends lie...together
Our homemade misery surmounts
Indeed, we do have a habit of making habits
This Intention for contention is our invention
A fleet of reckless daggers flow from my mouth
I decimate past and present alike
Thus, the future flees from my nearsighted discourse
My dreams vehemently elude themselves far from my sight
Devoid of ambition, I fall from the sky with Lucifer and all of his friends
These means will never be justified
Choleric, we are vexed by our sugar-coated ends
This silence overtakes us
We are lucid metaphors of our former-selves
I lie awake and wake to lie
My half-empty bottle is never fulfilled, and never content
My heart is a home of chaos
A passionate portrait of selfishness
I am a kin to fruitless endeavors
Forgetting sense, I meagerly float throughout this wretched discourse...
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 6:58 AM UTC
So full of apoplectic rage..
Deaden the noise so that i cant even speak.
Throw my heart and tongue in a cage, So i no longer speak.
Choleric natured, but you never help.
Resentment for vindication, You're shouting at me for feeling what you felt.
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
My heart is violently choleric
It yearns for disaster
Pride has made a wretched fool of me
I am consumed and bested by my sin
I deserve death from the Son of Man
My mind is a slave to self deception
I am mocked by my own words
Blind guides follow me off of this cliff
Sorrow is my biggest fan
My will is a den of thieves
When it's all about me:
This life is cold and dreary
The bottle is always empty
I am guilty in front of the Accuser
I feel death at my doorstep
So, I turn to let them inside...
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC