"contagions" poems
I am what I am
An infectious spirit
Like the black widows’ venom
I will stun your senses
At the sound of my voice
The whole process begins
No matter your choice
You will give in
Try as you may
The venom is active
The contagions’ set in
The defenses cave in
Corrosion’s just happened
Within a few moments
You’re entranced by the
Virulent Being
Meaning the makings of me
I am “Shard The Virulent"
With a little piece of me
Your life becomes mine
And the infection spreads on
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:18 PM UTC
so many she's
the strains of sickness
hoping to stave off the
infectious bacteria
and avoid the noxious
contagions
they didn't care if they spread
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
A cold place
(long hallway, dying breed)
paints itself warm with
the contagions of
skewered cerebellum.
A void of frame
shows a warmer, longer
hallway, with monochrome pillars;
opens up into charcoal sky:
painted by the charcoal eye.
Yet, fear –
later, below a wooden cross,
rests the screaming of a thousand
souls.
I SHOULD FLEE
Escape is not an option.
It has me;
the color has me.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
Grim is commanded for poets all round.
Grim has a fiercely protestical sound.
Grim isn’t grime for it’s lacking an ‘e’.
Egrim’s a poet’s insight for today.
Egrim is like the Norwegian style
Of Fairy tale dwarfs who stomped forests awhile.
Their poetic whimsy delights generations
In un-grim and serious childhood contagions.
They catch it from mothers and fathers infected,
Who, laughing at life, and its trials directed
To misery, make of it light and perjurious
Nonsense, its daggers no longer injurious.
You who are serious, finding life spurious,
Need and injection of fun for the curious.
Let's give our children something they are after -
Life's greatest medicine - outrageous laughter.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Un-enlightenment was the trading
of collected ignorance that was sewn
on the eyes of so many individuals,
collecting in a mentality of blind illiteracy.
Detachment from the realities that were
shown before, but spectacles of onyx
kept them from seeing reality and all they
responded to was the illusion of there hearing.
Contagions were ingested within the falsity
of words collecting in mirages of there own.
But every consultation was a verse in reversed
wording collecting the meaning in other manners.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
This place is toxic,
it carries a weight
that will fall in the corner
with hearts listed fragile
and feelings agape
Swallowing reason
in populist pander
Singing the praises
which bark at the moon
Touching the skin
of a lonely world traveler
Jogging the distance
in words repeated
Beware of the smiles,
the frowns and the teardrops
gathered from distant borders
Taking the spirit
along on the breezes
Casting it forth
in a starless night
with biting fireflies,
electric stingers
glowing for even
the farthest of eyes
hoping only for happiness
Take caution when
spilling emotions,
painting vistas
in cranberry sighs
for blooming gardens
don’t always offer fragrance
in its most appealing form
Thorny revisions hurt,
trickling blood on the stone
A craggy thought
which will never
be a turnip
Tread lightly where matters
of love matter
For like the magical tablecloth,
not only the silverware
and fine china
will be left sitting alone,
but so will you,
empty, unfulfilled
watching the white cotton
disappear,
yanked from your existence
This place is toxic
poetic poison drips, drips, drips
Intravenous contagions
transferred from one to the other
Building fires and fever,
blazing flesh from bone,
killing inspiration
till it is nothing more than
a pile of ash
waiting to be sifted through
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
By no means am I trying to pawn this off as an idea of my own. But I haven't run into a literary version of Doctors Without Borders yet (if there is one, please tell me so I can join). Seems like a good concept to me though, probably one that could be put into practice relatively quickly too with a little support. After all, no matter the nature of the substance or what it's origins are, Medicine can't deny that there is more to humanity than just the body, more to health than just the absence of disease. If we can pull together to combat illiteracy and contagions in all corners of the globe, shouldn't self expression come along on the heels of that? We here on this site, mostly, come from the "developed" Western world. But I've also heard rumors and seen a few trails leading off into the non-English speaking corners of the web with the same basic beliefs as our own. I've got no clue if this is a viable idea or not right now, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on this. Please let me know what you think and toss around ideas, maybe float it on facebook or something, let's get a dialogue going hopefully. There are so many voices in this world, so much that could be said, so much that could be written, so much that could enrich all of our lives. It just seems to me that there ought to be something humanity could do to facilitate that sharing.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
I got no patience
for these agents
of deliberate corporate contagions,
or the minefield that yields
the bootstrap philosophy
that never actually worked
in this society.
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
My melodious fire
Waves and weaves
Making a ****** of wood
Delivering a birth of smoke
Those swirling cinders choking
Everything in sight
Breathing in one of death’s contagions
One by one they fall
Until there’s no call to order
Until there’s none left to perform for
The mob grew angry.
My wrists, my ankles
Chained now with briars
This an execution by my own desire
For I required an exit light here
Unclear liar lost in his lies here
Fear-shaken, no stakes in truth,
Fear-faking, I have no stake in you
So I pull up stakes
See you.
I have no clue what I’m going to do
I get lost in myself
But in myself I have yet to choose
These paradoxes and riddles
That plague and peeve my mind
Deceive me as I deceive them
Till we’re all left deceiving in kind
Till the other becomes the self
And the self melts away from being the better
Cluttered with curses from the past
This incompatible software overheats
Crashes fast
And now we’re back—
Fire.
I was once blind to such simple facts
Broken, silly tracks of thought off-track
Lines left carved up in the sand
The next day wiped away
By nature’s erasure or another’s hand
It is sand after all...
But I gave up a pair
Received my true third eye
It's blind to these facts
The grains look all turned up and twisted
Spilling from my clenched fist
Like they’re seconds in my hourglass
So, my fellow pair-holders, I ask
Why take a second to grasp
So that a second in turn is given?
I see no bargain driven
Just a reality
In which
If you're livin’ happily, serenely
You must be trippin’
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 4:47 AM UTC
just image what a pickle
our planet would be
in
were another virus to escape
a labratory's unsecured
tin
the one that is presently
circulating around the
globe
sure has caused much ruin
within our world's
lobe
these labratories need
a thorough
investigation
so as the diseases they house
don't affect any
nation
in some countries the use of
bioweapons are
condoned
and the experimentation
has been proficiently
honed
it is a frightening prospect
that's playing out in real
time
what airborne contagions
maybe aimed to
begrime
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 6:46 AM UTC
Charcoal traces intricate pits of ominous tenebrosity
Cobblestone paths guide and revive the indigenous nation’s daemons
Splintered in vain, vexed and restrained
My deity must absolve these memories
Merciless silhouettes float amongst the rest
And disguise divine penitentiaries
Fictitious trepidation, nameless contagions, hinders this utopian civilization, callus your feet then fall onto your knees facing the skeletons of your aesthetic beliefs
Charcoal traces intricate pits of ominous tenebrosity
Cobblestone paths guide and revive the indigenous nation’s daemons
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 10:49 PM UTC