"congested" poems
The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?
I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.
The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.
I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.
I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?
With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Sometimes you feel you shouldn't say anything
Sometimes you feel like you need to say everything.
But being who you are you can't.
If you did you would barely stand.
Some people make you feel small and congested
Others they make you feel your life is a blessing.
But you know that you're already beaten.
You convince yourself you're not a ******
People tell you you're quiet and you need to speak up,
You get hurt and stay quiet but they don't tell you you're tough.
You stop talking for a while and people don't ask you what's wrong
Because you're usually that quiet, even for this long.
It's tough being a shy kid, growing up that way.
People always assume you don't have much to say.
But then we can surprise them, with poems like this
We can tell them something different, even though we're just kids.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
*What if I tell you that
This world is going to end
And that end is not too far,
You probably won’t believe me.
Allow me to take you to a journey
A journey to the end of the world.
A world without a hint of greenery.
A world with all sorts of armaments but no food and water.
A world congested with people.
A world infected with diseases.
A hot world on the verge of a cold war.
A world with numerous machines but no fuel to run.
A world with no shred of humanity.*
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
Sick
Painful
Congested
Sinus Pressure
Up all night coughing
Losing sleep til morning
Next day many body aches
Off to Urgent Care I go
Ear infection diagnosed
On antibiotics
Going home to rest
Feeling better
Coughing less
Smiling
Well
~Miguel
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
its cold here
my heavy eyes droop
the teacher drones on
I blow my nose, so that I can breathe
in, out, in sneeze out in, out, in, out, sneeze
I'm at the back of the room
isolated
java 2, the elite
sitting alone in a java 1 class, so I don't have to pay attention
Mrs. is teaching stuff I already learned
She hands me packets to work on, on my own
the trees look so green, I love the spring
may, almost, summer
summer coming soon, not soon enough
tap tap tap tap the keyboards click click click
ugh my nose is so congested
my eyes are so heavy
sleeeeeep I just need sleep
I have to packets I need to work on, but I can't focus.
can't focus, can't breathe
my hands are tired from typing
I'm too tired to focus on reading
so what to do, what to do.
I'm wasting time, but who actually cares
I'll get the work done, just not today
summer come sooner, I need some warmth
warmth, my bed is so warm
this classroom is cold
i'm cold
bed, bed, sleep warmth
how will I ever get through this day?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
It's been cold this summer,
I'm inside this delicate house
more than I'd like to be,
Watching through
the glass window - nature is a moving
picture,
in my backyard
the lake shimmers -folding with the wind,
The gray clouds are often brighter
than I expect of them,
The water rises to my lawn
at times,
A swan swims through it,
Her nose always looks so
congested
- eating the grass or the worms
and possibly
the small bits of wood
from my fireplace,
She's heavy and light-footed
and those eyes are
pitch black - wings absolutely white,
I remember the day
you went into the middle
of my lake,
The kayak ripped through
as your paddle
skimmed the surface,
The prized fight
with that swan
you were so beset on,
no doubt you were better
for the job,
My canoe right beside yours,
Maybe I saw her
fly through the middle - Her wings
wider than anything
you could have possibly expected,
Or maybe she broke your neck
with her crest,
Then again,
Could you have flown away together?
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
My only regret
I didn’t stick it out with you
Promised I’d fight
But when things got congested and tight
I walked out
Wish I never did
Wish we didn’t live on two different soils but we did
My only regret
I didn’t leave you when I had the chance
I couldn’t eat
Nights without sleep
Never thought something like this would happen to me
I was faithful since day one
But that still didn’t stop you from cheating
My only regret
Falling in love
Again
Despite the thoughts in my head
Warning me
Don’t do it
Falling in love is stupid
And when it’s over your going to feel useless
Realizing love is a combination best served without you
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
this day was dark
lost sunshine and broken realities
clashing in a congested space
on this day
there was no dawn
only raindrops
time had forgotten its job
mouths had forgotten thier smiles
on this day, fire was crowned king
merciless
ripping through bones
mutilating skin
today, my nature has brought me death
the distant friend
now gazing into my eyes
on this day, I do not run from him.
arms wide
embracing falsified truths.
fight no longer embedded in my being.
this day, is the day.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
In good nature
or a manipulative experiment,
I continued to devour
your last leftovers
from boxes signed
in your name,
as average roommates do,
cluttering the sink
with such vile remains
under murky waters, stagnant
from congested plumbing,
all in hopes to one day
hear your voice.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
Even our heroes need room to breathe
They are congested with our love, and never want to sneeze
Sometimes we get so caught up with the idea of who they may be
But not me, I can see they are just like us, with individuality
The real heroes are hiding in plain sight, not in anonymity
So go home and ask yourself "what really matters to me?"
Is it the ones you love or the man behind the mask?
I don't even have to ask. What about you?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
/ conversation over a bbq dinner
being given the information
over a new M.I. movie..
i really think tom cruise
should have won an oscar for -
born on the 4th of july...
without bias,
but given the oscar award for
the grunting and heaving,
and minimal dialogue / monologue
of leonardo's the revenant?
the world is a cul de sac...
and what remains of it...
is a shitshow worth, of a congested street
with nothing but, paupers /
window-shoppers to be lined up;
mannequins coming alive
and taking to disco dancing
the hell out of having donned
a boney m afro;
drunk, squinty eyed...
looking around, surmising my
thought with... huh?!
it's a good thing i'm this good at
drinking, never having dropped acid.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
I aimed the old car
south and
ran as many red
lights as my luck
would allow.
Kept my sunglasses
on as I
listened to Frusciante
singing
nothing but the
truth all through
the magic of
my radio.
Left the madness of
the city and
entered the
land where
atomic bombs
and peoples sanity
have both
been tested.
Desert roads
littered
with desert lies,
like oasis and
promises made
in Vegas.
I took a toot
off the side of
my hand like
I seen them do in
the movies.
Wasted the better
part of my stash
on this foolish
trick.
This ride I'm
taking is real.
On my way
I'll be looking for a
wild young girl
to roll my joints
and laugh at my
jokes,give my eyes
a place to rest in.
I'm looking for
a lovely from the
low side of town.
Whose spirit has
yet to be broken
and whose mind
isn't already
filled with their
lies.
Watched as the
California landscape
turned from
beaches and tropical
palms to
cactus taller than
most men
and dry forgotten
land that
most come to
die in.
From congested
freeways that hold
the drivers hostage.
To wide open
desert highways
where its safe to
drink straight from
the bottle without
that pestering public
servant there to
ruin your ride.
If I make it out of
this dam
desert alive
with my wallet
and my sanity still
intact.
I'll look back
at it all
as just another
memory.
And try
not to give
in to
ever going
back.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces
The warmth of her blotchy cheeks;
Swollen like water balloons
Beneath my fingers
The scent of tears and perfume
A salty fume of womanhood
Swirling in my nostrils
The clogged up tone of her congested sniffles
Vaguely feminine snorts
Bouncing around my ears
I can still recall
The oddest things
About our embraces
They were all
So
Sad
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
He is like a virus I wish I never encountered
snuggling under my skin
digging his nails inside my veins
clamping on to my insides
the longer i allow it, the harder it is to remove
i try to scrape out all the residue
but he always grow back
Building a cement house inside my soul
leaving me swollen
congested with anticipation
I can't escape this sickness
The more I regress the more illuminated it gets
It feeds off my sorrow
Slurps up my happiness
And leaves me with nothing
Just a body with cold blood inside
I like it better this way
I rather feel nothing instead of this
You love me?
I am tortured by you.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Wider roads
Reclaimed our abode
Lesser spaces
More roadways
Leads nowhere
Classy vehicles
Steering for long
Congested traffic
Life comes to
A standstill
Homes push away
Further from heart
Electronic signals
Directs our journey
Everyone back home
Waits for none
This is a journey
With a passion
Without a rear view mirror
There’s no looking back
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
Today, I am among the half-dead again
Wandering the halls with a gaze that could disintegrate the sun
The world around me is painted in an elephant grey
But this safari feels empty and yet so congested
With a smile that’s been sloppily and gruelingly painted on,
I face the challenges of everyday life once more
Half of me is tuned in to the things around me,
Scribbling words and deciphering the text at a snail’s pace
But the other half is still dreaming,
Waging war against the strongest mages of our time
Or drowning among a school of clownfish
Either way I’m not here and I’m begging to be free
Today, I am among the half-dead again
I imagine that someday a dragon will take me away
This may simply be my dreaming side taking over again
But if I said it could burn away all my worries,
Wouldn’t you wish for that as well?
I would hop onto its scaly back and point towards the sky,
Chanting as if I had been rehearsing for this moment,
“Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s not here”
But until then, I am drenched in my own rain
And the smile has run off with it, off to somewhere far away
Today, I am among the half-dead again
With weights tightly chained to my fingers
I’m dragging my thoughts along with my spirit
I’m a little bit tired but maybe if I wait, tomorrow will be a much better day
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
There's a peculiar feeling about emptiness.
Like hundreds of misshapen rocks
Have all been carelessly dumped
Into the cavity which should hold
My red, pulsing heart.
It's not obnoxious
Or tangible,
But it lurks somewhere right beyond
I love you
And I miss you
And I don't care.
Like termites slowly devouring
An old pewter coffee table
Left on the corner in front of a tall
Decaying townhouse.
The legs slowly deteriorate,
Revealing their soft fleshy wooden insides.
There's no warning sign for this kind of
Isolation.
No tell tale symptoms
Or home made remedies
Of honey and camomile.
Flashing neon lights
Flicker and fade into the
Heavy night.
And symmetrical posters
Don't illuminate the pathway to loneliness like they should.
Instead,
It just creeps up on you when you're least expecting it,
Between casual conversations
And vulnerable moments of passion.
You can't stop it,
Or push it into a corner
The way you can with guilt
And premeditated promises.
It's too disfigured to be shut away in a symmetrical closet
Or empty dining room.
It's the absence of understanding,
The congested feeling in your lungs
And heart
And stomach,
That comes when you suddenly realize
No one understands.
It's unpredictable in that way,
The sudden realization,
There's no telling when it will spring upon an unexpecting moment,
And devour the innocence of longing.
But when it happens,
When your whole world feels frozen,
Stagnant and stuck between the cracks of reality,
And covered with a thin veil of dust
And failure,
When your throat is dry and chalky,
Full of almost there sentences
That dance in the chaos of your desperation,
You'll know.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:57 AM UTC
The beat, the snare, the drum
Starting in at the floor and flying to my brain
**** all the people who say I’m numb
I’m sane, oh so sane!
My thinking, once a cloudy, congested, coagulate of incoherent thoughts,
Now flows free from its once catastrophically, closed chasm,
Bringing fourth meaningless, mindless motions and movements,
Showing all, that you are who you are, don’t be afraid to fall.
As the smoke clears, the crystallized casts of crushing vocals
Radiate to my ears; all we hear is the hate, the hassle, the hustle
The bustle. Look beyond what has spawned to see what you find fond.
Blinded we remain; we fight, frightened and furious against this foe.
Conformity hinders our ability to show individuality. They attack us
With ambidexterity to keep us statues of our own subconscious design,
Yet we continue to follow these wrongly deified prodigies. They’re using
Us as antibodies to cleanse what are others conformities.
Enlightened I will stay to ensure Elysium for my fellow enthusiasts.
Free from these prodigies, my persistence will not fade
To grey, black, white, withered, wretched wasted thoughts.
My mind is free, my soul deep, this music is the up-beat.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 5:03 AM UTC
the nest did lack space, accommodations were crammed
the nest did lack space, accommodations were crammed
sardines in a tin, the plot needed thinning
sardines in a tin, the plot needed thinning
the plot needed thinning, accommodations were crammed
sardines in a tin, the nest did lack space
they sighted a surplus one, tossing overboard
they sighted a surplus one, tossing overboard
what clutter it did cause, heave ** out you go
what clutter it did cause, heave ** out you go
they sighted a surplus one, what clutter it did cause
tossing overboard, heave ** out you go
the place twas less congested, not a tight squeeze
the place twas less congested, not a tight squeeze
elbows were able to span, more roomy
elbows were able to span, more roomy
elbows were able to span, not a tight squeeze
the place twas less congested, more roomy
the plot needed thinning, they sighted a surplus one
accommodations were crammed, what clutter it did cause
sardines in a tin, the nest did lack space
heave ** out you go, tossed overboard
elbows were able to span, the place twas less congested
more roomy, not a tight squeeze
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
You failed to take your Drone Control Command Kit
as you hurried off at dawn for work this early morn.
Unmindful, I mistook it for a fancy Xbox game contraption,
so commenced a match of Shock and Awe to while away the time
and with the joystick, hot and pulsing, quickly opened fire
at some evil bad-guy villains lurking down below
(nearby, a bus with random kids
confused, in fear and hiding).
Left quite a bit of childish crimson carnage flowing
on congested streets inside a city storming
somewhere…
thank goodness, very far away from here.
Please forgive me, for I think it was
your very last remaining
smart-precision missile…
yes, that pretty one you’d kept so long,
and meant to use some day to sanctify
a humble wedding-day reception…
but as you know I've always had a hang
for children's senseless macho playthings.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
I want a book to fall into.
I want to be a part of someone else's torment
A head congested with negativity and a distracting certainty of that which I cannot know for sure
Is in itself a truth
I want to tumble into pages
Fall between the words and hang on to a question by the tip of Q's tail
Conquer U, E, S, T, I, like monkey bars
And slide myself through "O" down the rabbit hole
Taking me far away to a land unlike this one
Where a distressed and questioning mind are put at ease
Where rabbits have pocket watches, cats grin, teacakes make you taller and smaller
And boys still want you
Forget the "N" because that would mean we've reached the end of an unanswerable question
One I'm tired of asking.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
The peace in this seclusion
Of a tranquil park in green,
With stately trees of ancient years
And walkways in between
There's deep shade under foliage
With sunspots everywhere,
And a velvet sense of peacefulness
Pervading in the air.
But:
Should you step beyond the green grass,
Should you venture onto seal,
An abrupt and harsh transition
Manifests, as quite unreal!
There's a cacophony of engine noise,
The headlong rush of cars,
A kaleidoskope of steel and glass
And frantic men from Mars!
The grind of wasted hours
With inertia breeding dread
And putting up with maniac's
Ignoring stop lights turning red.
There's a quagmire of congestion here
A head ache for the Tsar's
And for myriads of people
Who queue daily in their cars.
There's a White Knight in the future,
There's salvation in the air
For the God's of your deliverance
Will relieve you of despair.
They will forge a mighty tunnel
Deep beneath the grassy park
And divert congested traffic
Out beyond congestion's arc.
Melding with the motorway
To make breathing space for all,
The Victoria Park Alliance
Guarantees their clarion call.
Energetic men and women
Who are planning round the clock,
Engineers and excavator's slave
To work without a stop.
Concrete slab and steel amass
To build the tunnel strong
And sleek attenuators
Keep the traffic flowing on.
Salvation in the form
Of a tunnel underground
Beneath the spreading boughs
Of an oak in green surround,
Beneath the peaceful turf
Of a verdant park as planned,
Found amidst the million souls
Of Auckland, New Zealand.
Marshalg
@theCoalface
Auckland City
New Zealand
6 November 2009
www.worthyofpublishing
Nov 5, 2009
Nov 5, 2009 at 9:59 PM UTC
Buzz, buzz, buzz
The fly says as it circulates
Around the congested classroom
The sound of pencil to paper
As art is created on the
Corners of failed labs and late assignments
Breathe in the soft pink flakes
Of your neighbors easer
That tickles your nose
And makes you cough
Hear the tapping of a pen
At the edge of a desk
As you silently beg for the teacher
To notice and cease it
Feet shuffle and bags are grabbed
In anticipation of the
Bell
s.a.m.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC