"comas" poems
I've been practicing lucid dreaming for a while now, and I think I've almost got it down.
(If you didn't know, lucid dreaming is kind of like dreaming, but with the lights on. It's very cool.)
The way it works -- or at least, in the method I'm using -- is by first establishing a "totem." I use the jade elephant you gave me for my birthday three days before it happened.
What you do is you alter your totem in a unique way so that it really stands out to you, incase you ever come across it in your dreams; this way hopefully it will jump-shock your mind into consciousness, allowing you to take the wheel.
I wrote your initials on the back. DN.
And I know you'd probably be thinking "why would you ever waste time perfecting a skill that will never have any practical use?"
You always were the practical one. But hear me out.
When I dream, it is the only time I get to see you.
You know, you've been gone for almost a year this Tuesday, and this jade elephant is all I have left. This jade elephant, and your initials. This Jade elephant, and DN.
I miss you, man.
And I don't really know how comas work, but if you can hear me, just know that I've almost got it down.
Soon, it'll be just like the old days.
I promise.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
God is spoken
From a potent Thing
we smoking Trees
Gaia birthed the bloom
breathed the boom
in the canopies,
In the wind flew the bees
and grew the pleasantries
Prana pushing
thunder through
sQuishing lemon trees
like a hundred new
Whisps of mists
and heavy deeds
Sit with honeydew
The gist of this
the lemon breeze
(We) Going tunnel view
Fits and Shakes,
seeking remedies
digging under you
Might be
dicking under you
Might be
Torn asunder true
Pirate borne to plunder you....
Sweat means gold,
what's been found
with lemon -ease?
I've been told
What in our eyes
is what we ever see's
7 seas,
more like 7 deeds,
filled with deadly feeds
Demons like to pleade
with ready rease,
Virus, the life that
spread disease
(it alters our sense
and what we please)
~Ahem,
***no te comas
la verdad
del diablo,***
today to trust
Might feel bad, but
none brought low
There's an easy in
WE Strong Standin',
N0ne brought low
and now we win
amen, a man
none start south
Its begun...
Light as
Potent as my prayers
**** the make-believe
***I can't wear it, ah
Dark is
Ever reaching
What do you receive?
***What you carrying hah?
Balance
(Is) an even preaching :
What we choose to be
***I can bear it ; hah
Come and help me unweave
those who have been so deceived
Those stuck in in the mud of ...
sputtering " how can it be ?"
**** the you or me, mentality
When Neurons Fire free
and Serotonins drained in me
You Might find Saraswati
sweetly swathing me
In glowing rivers,
poured off the moon
With Omens looming soon
With Omens looming soon
I been choking on my doom.
Dreaming
with Both eyes open
and a heart awoken ,
poorly stoking gloom
Too blind to see hope
but stoked, still
mocking roving
Vroom : im off to tokin soon.
Sh!t this blunt be totaled soon
I Might be total loon
an inverted magic man
who most often enwomb
those caught on the moon
Those stuck in the tune
For those who hear
this earworm, this tea room sloom.
This is for Those muted in zoom:
I've found traction in heaps
Breaking as hard and often
As the risen yeast
When you pass on the least
My Passion is to find
the passion of peace
its Stuck In the grasp
Fashioned with the sap
of my last energies...
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 12:27 AM UTC
Along a narrow, vacant street at 2 a.m.
Underneath the threatening lights of peril
An act of ******** was taking place between
A beautiful cigarette and the orifice of my lips
Halloween had not yet dawned upon us
Yet as I walk Jack-O-Lanterns smile at me
Displaying minor quakes of bloodthirsty evil
While a serum of scorn soaks my tongue
With a heartless trick of ice, cold malice
Summoning the entire town to its kneecaps
Devils regurgitate lullabies resembling the sound
Of nails ****** a chalkboard sparing no mercy
Arousing the hopeless romantics
To awaken a graveyard
And **** the corpses until they're
Resurrected from their comas
As the nymphomaniacs ice
Their frozen flesh with *****
Painting an ocean of abstract thoughts
Across the edges of their frames of mind
Do morticians make up the majority
Of necrophilia related crimes?
Maybe so but, I bet they had never felt
A ****** so dry and so cold
Yet still the thrill of chills tickle these criminal's spines
While they measure their screams careful not to awaken
The beautifully disgusting corpses that lie before them
They turn their heads only to find a pair of scarlet eyes
Gawking at them from within a cowardly shield of fear
Darkness was it's home, Mother to all its desires
In my opinion it was just a phase; A massacre encaged
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 4:12 AM UTC
I personally
Love food comas;
And cookie periods,
And gumbo
Exclamation marks!
The're the best!
And semicolon pies,
Oh man...
And peach cobbler
Parenthesis,
They're perfect
With scoops
Of delicious vanilla
Question marks
With a drizzle
Of caramel
Quotation marks,
Oh no!
I'm going
Into an
Anaphylactic shock
From the forward slash
And back slash
Layered lasagna,
I'm going comatose!
Quick! make me some alphabet soup!
© okpoet
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Remember when following twinkling lights down sparkling hallways that life is but a dream
and here is the essence and truth of the whole thing ripping at the seams,
spilling out through bell peels and peeking out from bows of holly.
Once a year reality shows a bit of leg.
So enjoy it thoroughly through rounds of eggnog and sugar comas,
through cellophane and paper napkins,
through pointless conversations omitting drug references and financial statuses.
Just put some snow down someones back,
and if it isn't available,
good ol' ice does fine.
Forget that in a few days and a few minutes the world will close up again and deny it's divine nature.
Add a bit more weight to show that it happened,
to prove that it happened for the next few months.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
The cannot hands
Of voluptuous calms
Who wish a difference
To inverted comas
Caress a careless charm
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
Where desire is an endless distance...
'He sleeps...I steal his brush,
Dip it red and wet,
Painting on his chest;
A mosaic of Love
My heart's mirror;
I carry him
Beneath my breast,
His Love
The first and last
Of my awakening heart'...
Writing him...
It was the softness of his hand
That held my breath against my will
Nestling in the curve of my arm;
My heart fluttered in his warm smile
As the mocha of his sight drenched me...
Smiles echoed on the canvas
Of tomorrows, suspended in each
Syllable that flowed like manna from heaven;
My fingers abandoned their hesitancy
Outlining his face,
Memorising...
I faltered;
Breathing in the shimmer of what is real;
His smile whispered a promise,
As his voice echoed my own
In an unwritten poem...
Poetry...
Lily white, she wakes near the night river,
The red mantra of Summer's rain, opens
The rose to shadow;
Cradled in awakened smiles,
The touch of twilight intoxicates visions of fairy-tales,
Like somber hues of unbuttoned fragments...
Heartbeats,
Soaked to the hollow of *******
Tucked in the deep comas of the lotus moon;
Her silver light,
Seamless,
Dreaming silks and milk tender...
A whispered name...
Hands steeped in honey,
Moving slowly through deep-red,
Echoes of dream;
Stillness,
Swallowed,
As hours burn pale candles,
Frozen eternal in spangles and lace...
Her wings wrap his pain in song;
Feather light,
A kiss of sweet enchantment,
Beyond the delicate tick-tock
Of destiny's hourglass;
A verse vertigo
Set free by the bleeding of her pen...
Reflections.....
This soft everlasting kiss
Nourishes the weeping within,
Showering each cold-shadow with warmth;
He sings in my skin,
Where we go in midnight's colours
My body, a pebble on his mountains;
Immersed in an endless sky;
Miracles flourish
Embraced in our endless beginnings.........
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
Pequeño por fuera, enorme por dentro
cazador de nacido, mañoso aprendido
de orejas grandes y cola parada.
El mejor amigo, mi mejor amigo
distraído, te llamaba el instinto
me querías y yo te quiero
Solo espero que estés en un cielo
donde vivan grillos y conejos
donde comas como tanto te gustaba
donde juegues hasta no poder, donde duermas
como nunca, donde puedas darte un baños de sol
donde el agua no te falte y tengas amigos con quien compartir.
Si no hay cielo para perros
ven a mi corazón
que aquí te quiero.
Ojala pudiera haber estado ahí
para cuidarte y acariciarte,
rascarte la panza y pasear contigo.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
———*"that familiar boiling yolk of a sunrise—comas richer than russian dark chocolate— & saturn smoking a cigar while playing chess with gravity... i have been here before."
ocean dove, pardon my excuses for not writing as of late; been busy fulfilling a prophecy that can't even look me in the eye and ask me to change. in the june wreckage of two thousand and sixteen; i retired my tongue with the dormant volcanoes before the world could end in my mouth. and yet my poetry informs me that there are some wounds too sophisticated to even flower into scars—kind of like how my words will never feel like honey again, (but vinegar nonetheless.)
how cruel of me it was; to condemn you to a death without one final cigarette slow dancing with your lungs. i miss the shadows of you most: the belt of venus caged like a wild animal in your eyes, your rusty guitar silky voice dripping off the haunted house we called home, countless a.m. drives kicking up filthy moonlight in the rearview mirror, but most of all—the way you said 'i love you' like it was nothing dressed up in something fashionable.
it is now the june of two thousand and nineteen. this wreckage sat on a throne and filled into the moon's shoes. a crown crawled it's way home to my head and kissed me with knowledge drenched in your name. this queen started from lesson no. 1: broken instruments, will preach broken sounds— and how lovely it has been, planting a world war in my soul only to raise eden in it's stead. i will miss your company, but your ghost is no longer a requirement for me to be complete.
i have learned to stop loving falsehoods. i have learned to start loving the leftovers of who i am becoming. we would have been star crossed lovers had you not tried to swallow that bottle of pills that famous night where we fought like madonnas— but it looks like you got to death's fortune cookie before i did.
"and one day, you will have lived long enough to taste your grief turn bittersweet too"*———
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
I'm raw my flow consumes dextrose
Tell peta I do the most
Loud sounds I'm out in the public
Friends with Lions we close like cousins
I'm cooking ..in a gourmet kitchen
Chicken is my opposition
Sweet and sour
Predator I'm not a scavenger no coward
Blood falls I need a shower
Drip drop dew mornings
Don't sleep on me like comas
Consuming beats down to the bone
I sip the marrow for a bonus
I am clean like an infants first wash no rap sheet
Walking thru the market
Like shouldn't food be free
Didn't God give us the same control he gave Adam and eve
I am sorry my mind at times goes on a spree
A spree of thoughts
My brain is heavy plus it kicks bass drum
My thoughts run miles
I need pennies for my thoughts
Must be properly endowed
Watch what you eat fool check your food
Fool check your spoon
Food poison
Nasty now you vomiting fluids flowing a fountain
To that server you should have watched how you spoke
Face timing yourself
Seeing your mouth move
Saliva crashing into the coast of your tooth
Yuck images social products
Dislike that dislike you
Keep it true
Tom sawyer and Huck
Instafriends
On instagram
Madoff money instascam
The Poets Lounge go to www.youhavetolisten.com
Every Tuesday 6pm-8pm
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Underneath the face of a sad clown lies a little wicked small town
Just a speck on the map
You may just be passing through but soon the fever will catch up to you
Feel the ripple effect
Here you won't make a best friend, but a sister you never had
She'll guide you through the flowers and offer lots of laughs
But even at her most serene there's a sinister current underneath
A flexing of power
And soon you'll start looking towards the ground, where you'll start tripping too much to be coincidence
An as you look up the danger stops
She'll look right through you as if you were air and she'll say, 'Take my hand'
Soon she'll invite you to parties of mutual bodies, who happen to favor clumsy fools like you
But they'll treat you like a guest of honor, when really their accolades are insults with armor
They've nothing better to do but make up a coded language and test it on you
How did I get here?
How can I disappear?
But as you start to evaporate she'll throw you another inquiry
She's reading off your flaws with smiling jaws
Taunting you with mistruths
You look away hurt, and she seizes the moment to write the jab on a napkin
Something to share with the cronies for later
Ha-Ha, how cleverly subtle you are!
Friendship is makeshift here, my dear
The hippies don't play instruments anymore
The company she keeps would dispose of her in a second
But she's not worried, she has you as her bullet shield
The body-snatchers with mommy issues save face quite gracefully here
They all say they'd leave, but they burn a free ticket
A mafia with no honor
You'll have seen more life in comas than this town
Little coffins with hearsay mouths where hearts should be
Small town breeds fair-weather ghosts and cold abodes
But it sure is a great place to be if you're training on how to play dead
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC
I hate Alcohol
The burn down my throat
The immediate feeling of impending *****
The way it makes my face all rosy
I hate Cigarettes
The taste of the tar filming my lungs
The heat at the back of my mouth
The cough that stays longer then the flame’s invitation
I hate You
The weeks of silence during your antisocial comas
The love proclamations left unsaid
The line that you’ve so carefully scalded between us
It’s 9:27 PM on a night that feels like Fire
I am Drunk already
I am Chain Smoking your brand of cigarettes
I am Praying for anything at all from you
I hate that.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
I saw you.
Squeezed between sentences,
In semi colons and calibre comas,
On page twenty six.
Smudging word after word
With vagueness,
And I lost track of the story.
Couldn't find a full stop,
Couldn't find you.
Help me.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
i am a very talented typing cat
all though i know how to use capital letters and punctuation marks
i cant stand them i have decided to take over the world through lack of both
if you cant use comas then lets eat grandma will **** everybody
leaving me the only one left
but what happens when somebody says something that kills the cats
i am beginning to see why we use grammar
yet i still refuse
i wish i could explain to you why my predicament is so brain racking
but what if i did take over the world with lack of grammar
but then again what if i took over the world through extensive use of grammar
causing everybodys brain to take over their body
wait arent brains already in control
so what if the lack of grammar caused the brain to only focus on my lack of proper english
and now you see why english teachers say they arent payed enough
so maybe if i used an extensive amount of grammar then people would be required to go back to school
just because a cat is smarter than they
and then the outcome would be a financial crisis causing more people to be poor
and goods to become more expensive
maybe i can take over the world with extensive grammar usage
now i just need to figure out how to get people to read my work
please excuse my spelling and grammar i may be a very intelligent cat
but i too am lazy
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Ihis As P Tilly Soem,
What Till Yake Lou Maugh,
Anly Ofter Dou Yecipher Phis Toem!
Wou Sill Yay:
Ihis Ns Tonsense!
Ind A Lill Waugh!
:D :D :D :D :D :D :D
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Las palabras eran balas que disparaba con los dedos.
Acariciaba las teclas de la máquina de escribir con delicadeza y pasión.
Vertía sus emociones, sus desgracias, sus alegrías, sus dolores, todas en una blanca hoja de papel.
La tinta nunca dejaba de correr.
Mayúsculas y minúsculas.
Puntos, comas y acentos.
Letras, números y símbolos.
Un teclado completo para experimentar.
Combinaciones de letras, de palabras, de sentimientos, de ideas.
Un libro o un poema.
Una canción o una novela.
Un ensayo o un sólo verso.
El escribía y tecleaba, y tecleaba y escribía.
Escribía para sí.
Escribía para todos.
Escribía para ella, sobre todo.
Y tecleaba y escribía.
Y sus dedos no cansaban.
Su lírica no dormía.
La prosa que antes sostenía.
El epíteto que añoraba.
Y sus lágrimas palabras.
Y su sangre tinta en verso.
El latir de su corazón marca el ritmo del tecleo.
Y escribía y tecleaba.
Mente llena de problemas, de ideas, de emociones, de fantasía.
La realidad se torna inefable.
Las palabras aún fluyen.
Los sentimientos se escabullen y se esconden en una rima.
Ella se disfraza en papel de apología.
Y tecleaba y escribía, y escribía y tecleaba.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Our love grew through parallel circuits and electric currents,
data entries in microprocessors,
and copper and silver wires.
Who says love has to be a series of
physical advances,
but instead
a product of the neurons in your brain.
We can get high off of love,
dive into dopamine induced comas
as we listen to the static over each other's microphones.
We'll dream about growing old together
laugh at our younger selves
and how many times we had to
confess our love for one another
before hanging up the phone.
Then I wake up and realize
maybe I was never meant to
see the stars in your eyes
or bask in the light of your presence
but wallow in the glow of an LCD screen.
Countless nights and early mornings
spent in 320p.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Morning.
Temporary ceasefire with insomnia,
Marked by cheerful birds.
Morning.
Start of hostilities with drowsiness,
Combating alertness ceaselessly.
Morning.
Opening salvo with heavy caffeine support,
Awakening the senses with hot beverages.
Morning.
Food, an uncertain ally.
Alertness or comas—it’s sometimes close.
Morning.
Battle lines redrawn,
But war continues perpetually.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
To the doctors in the room
I'm a mental cased, half-crazed Insomniac
on three days of possibly self inflicted mind space
who can't decide on medically induced comas or Prozac
To the supervisors in the room
I'm a potential hazard, a walking disaster
bird-brained enough to end as scrambled gizzards
who potentially could be as useful as worthless shinplaster
To the women in the room
I'm a useless *** nearly morbid
too tired to mow the lawn in the mid-morning sun
and too lazy to help with laundry, cooking, or raising kids
To the friends in the room
I'm a constant joke, a hilarious prank
mumbling non-sense with little need to be provoked
laughing hysterically as they watch as my mind goes blank
To the voices in the room
I'm a genius, an exasperated visionary
I've have debated the complexities of owning a *****
and the movements of my thumb is extremely revolutionary
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 6:12 PM UTC
We dine off of hearts
goaded from the sea.
Hearts drawn to dead promise
and
cold hooks.
The gills
taste metallic
and the flesh is sweet
with mercury.
The haul is yanked overboard,
and the tuna fly
like angels of vengeance
to our dinner tables
where wine
condenses the poisoned bodies
into forkfulls
of pleasure.
The meat is sweeter
than anything we have ever tasted,
we hope that it puts us to sleep.
Not wanting to ****
or cherish
the bones of each other's bodies
has led us to gorge
on these fish,
these harbingers
of comas
that we are too awake
to realize
are the dreams of the stars
filtered through the
diamond-studded
rollers of the Pacific.
The blue and cold Pacific
it pumps out
the fuel for restaurants.
Restaurants
where we gnash our teeth silently
against oily meat.
Restaurants
where I have a drink
and you have a drink
and we have our fill
on vicarious oceans
that decay in the parties
of our bellies.
Tonight we will sleep
because we are drunk
with poisoned meat.
Robbed meat.
Catastrophic
is the grinder of your mouth.
A goaded heart
is an atomic bomb
and we have our fills on them.
Until we no longer want to ****
The mercury
courses.
The waiter
dashes back and forth.
The cook
slices and dices.
The fishers haul in a line
ten-ton lines of bycatch.
All for a single forkful
of the most sugary
thing
two people can share
when their bodies
are useless
and wheezing for the oxygen
of a purified love.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
you ask me what i remember from the time those photographs
were taken and i will tell you:
nothing.
i do not remember the bittersweet wounds
i carved into so-called flesh, no
i do not recall the sleepless nights spent
wailing for mother to come back with arms
outstretched apologies rolling off the tongue, no
i do not remember the bones that ached
the swollen jaws
the inhale-exhale-inhale-hoping it would be
my last, no
i do not recall the fleeting lovers, the restlessness disguised as
wanderlust, no
i do not remember bonding with strangers in our
ignorant comas nor do i recall
telling you you mattered to me
when you so clearly did not, no
i do not recall the lagging thud-thud of my
failing freight train heartbeat
i do not recall the passing days that handcuffed me to the
pride of being functional
i do not recall the futile retracing of my
weary footsteps
nor the devastating discovery of the melted snow
i do not remember the betrayal nor the heartbreak
that trampled over me when you left
nor do i recall telling you i was sorry
when i so clearly was not.
you ask me what i remember from the time those photographs
were taken and i will tell you:
i was empty.
i remember nothing.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
I have heard "I love you"
In words like "don't forget your umbrella"
And "be careful on those steps"
And I'd like to tell you that I love you
In all those words and more
But you don't hear me when I try
So my voice has dropped in decimals
From screaming over the noise in your head
To whispering the words when you're asleep.
I've heard you can talk to the people in comas,
So maybe in your slumber you will hear me.
Be careful out there darling.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
D.N.A RESULTS by Kristie Townsend (23.07.07)
patiently I wait for the pain to stop
for blackness to overwhelm my fractious senses
for death to soothe my destroyed emotions
for eternal silence to end my indifferent pretenses
but even drug induced comas
or the gift of life, twice
leaving my children, or those whom proclaim to care
are enough of an incentive for me to wish to remain here
I lost my daddy, Eric, Mr T
I betrayed myself, I fell apart
I believed the DNA results would set me free
instead they broke my fragile heart
But the universe and life unfolds as indeed it should
although not always as I would like or desire
and one day, when I look back
Im sure Ill be glad that It wasnt my time to expire
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
Corro lejos de ti, me ahogo entre las comas intencionales.
Entre los párrafos llenos de excusas sin razón pero buscando con desesperación.
La perdición.
Lección con sanción.
Error tras error.
Y sobra la noción.
Dentro de la nada y rodeada de nada.
Nada. Pero asfixia.
Corro lejos de ti, hacia el miedo.
Hasta luego (en el mejor de los casos, en el peor de mis casos)
Toma tus memorias, nuestras memorias, y guárdalas en una caja.
Que nadie la abra. Que nunca la olvides pero que no la recuerdes.
Y si puedes: toma mis ojos, póntelos, y veme.
Entiéndeme,
pero no me perdones.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC