"dampens" poems
tears cascades
on her cheeks
dampens her wounded heart
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 11:14 PM UTC
Aware the day was approaching, Little tugs reminding how Quickly time passes. And the knocks on the doors of his heart, opening ---One at a Time ! ! To reveal memories in Full Color of each eventful day, Clearly showing "ALL the Extra joys that encircled him, but never took the opportunity to be a Full Participant ! ! *ANNIVERSARY DAY *was presented , as if on a Silver Platter. Engraved with "All those things *Missed because of Prior committals . A stack of Priority signs, which offered choices and options, he " F A I L E D " to turn over and read the instructions. That, simply said "Choose carefully, because as time goes by,. You may overlook the options. AND, as more time goes by, Routines and Habits begin to replace the Presentations from the Silver Platter. MAN'S WEAKNESS, was the next sign offered up to him, NOT the weakness of knees, but thinking that empathy was understood, the reality was not the extending of empathy, but rather, to be a Part of that which is "GOING ON NOW" or that which was "GOING ON THEN ! ! ANNIVERSARY, carries with it the meaning of Commemoration. Which is a "CELEBRATION of our MEMORIES **. BUT, by leaving out a sharing of this event, it Dampens. This "Celebration" should be Shared , in a Loving, devoted, caring, joyful, HEARTS Goal as "ONE". On this Anniversary,,he Thanks GOD for lighting the pathways of understanding. This Anniversary he "Celebrates" with her with a humbled, clearer appreciation, and with a "REFRESHING LOVE". As he writes this on the Tablets of his heart, "SHE" is his " ANNIVERSARY " .
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
Your touch closes my eyes
I let your words traumatise my mind
Your breath dampens my skin,
Provoking apocalyptic thoughts from within
The trickle of your touch
Is eating at my mind,
I keep your desires fed,
Thirst and hatred intertwined
Disrupting my insides
My lips escape discordant harmonies,
As in you I confide,
That the truth's foreign to my eyes
You remain my fixation
A sinister hallucination
Occurrences of formination
Are my self-rehabilitation
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Filing errands makes you drowsy and nautious.
The tube dampens your senses.
The highrises make you feel down.
Your values are re-prioritised.
You become the binmen’s *****
but all is not charred.
You have the chance to remember before,
and you grasp redemption as sand now sifts through your fingertips.
The stars awaken the you beneath the superficial.
The water nourishes your ignored thirstiness for passion.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
*The Sound of delight as the truck tyre rolls on the silent gravel
The clamorous sound of a Child torrents, and marks the race to calls heard by the 'siren devil'
Dusty feet running with cries of others who can't afford that red ice drenched in syrup
Ouma stunning, as a child dampens her tunic with red eyes pressed to see them
Hand reaches in my pocket coined with the Old
Man, I'm missing those times with no dockets for stealing a coin from the Old.*
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.
Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.
That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.
Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:29 AM UTC
Wei City morning rain
dampens the light dust.
By this inn, green,
newly green willows.
I urge you to drink
another cup of wine;
west of Yang Pass
are no old friends.
2.8k
The shadows of us fall away,
Opening portals within ourselves,
The joy of us, the song,
Fills us together.
We fall as one, our shadows unite,
Our sunrise opens across the sky
The landscape of us stretches out
As this dawn dampens our tears
To the silver sky.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 1:15 AM UTC
Colors shift and light dampens
I sit and watch the sun go down
the snow is aerated all around
I see pinks and oranges and yellows
the sunset here is unfeasible to describe
and yet here I am trying to explain
the colors that infuse together so well
almost dreamy in a fantasy kind of way
once it is gone it will never be the same
so I watch in awe as nature's beauty is revealed.
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 2:20 PM UTC
You remind me
of a wet New York,
a summer of oily
lights on the roads,
of concerts in the park
and the white, loving claustrophobia
in the sky,
you remind me
of standing at a window
fourteen floors up
watching cars on FDR
in the darkness,
hoping that one of them
is yours,
you remind me of
sirens
always, you remind me
of
a confidante
in an alleyway
stale with garbage
always,
you remind me
of subways
and dark knowledge the length and width
of a city
always, you remind me
of crossing a bridge
over grey water
and pewter boats.
It is hard for me to let go
of the city
even as it dampens
in the slate rain;
and the stretched clouds
are pulled down
over the highrises of love.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 10:57 AM UTC
why does it seem as if everyone has left me?
my hands quiver as i verbalize these thoughts
and the sweat from my palms dampens the page --
my vulnerability has become difficult to manage,
despite my mind's intent to remain good-willed
and my heart's discontent with the language misunderstood
friendship does not require ideological consistency,
and to believe otherwise is a detriment to the love
we are fortunate enough to experience in this life;
intellectual supremacy equates to the patronizing rhetoric
embedded within the elitism of the morally superior --
your grim clouds turn our progressivism dull
i will say what i need to retain a friend,
but the judgment within is a grudge untouched,
a ghastly bruise that never seems to mend --
you do not get to determine the language i speak,
the words i weep, or the healing i seek
when a bond so potent is forgotten so easily
to question my morality is to question my identity,
and those who know are the ones to see me grow
as i flourish from the bounds of these restrictions
and inch my way upright, stronger than before,
disallowing my words to be misconstrued,
a prohibition of the trauma i continue to elude
a Leo is loyal like the lioness of a pride,
gnawing at the flesh of the ones who betray --
grudges maintained in the chill of the winter,
a midnight breeze toppled an unchanged core --
it is not a star, this dim light retreating above,
merely the fading memory of our platonic love.
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
“See herself..?”
‘Who..?’
“Herself.. there”
‘An’ about her?’
“..Cheating on himself..”
‘Sure she.. that one..’
“Fur coat.. no knickers..”
They scuttle out daily wagging their vicious tales,
Through dullness that dampens their every afternoon,
Ignored by their own; an’ threadbare reflection,
******* each spun yarn an’ sheet out to dry,
Stained with every listless memory an’ lonely evening,
Gossip-hungry, they covet the community swill,
Chomping through the random, unopposed untruths,
‘..husband slayer, heartless siren.. tis’ a mortal sin..’
They make no bones of any acquaintance of herself,
With monstrous-eyed chronicles of salacious green,
Such falsehood is kind to the envious an’ bias ears,
Which tolerate any brazen line to a choir of lewd hymns,
They harmonise each lustful lie; the prime accuser,
Conducts a murky symphony of ***** laundry aired live,
The jury silent, mocking whispered an’ ears into the wind,
As the accused sullen-faced an’ solitary suddenly appears.
Herself stands idly ignorant to the satirical sniggers,
The trial by jealously ends, they turn two faces an’ leave,
No fur, no knickers, no time to wish away the pain,
Curtains drawn, truth quartered - the washing hung
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
There was a girl,
She’s gone now,
Who lived and breathed
Imagination and life,
(Aren’t they the same thing?).
She saw the house down the street
And thought it a monster
Never that it was replete
With the emptiness
An innocent bungalow will foster.
Air was to her
As glass water that sings
About its giggling spring
And she would awaken
At its dance upon her skin
As she breathed it all in.
The air is now
As water, grey like mercury,
That dampens what the eye can see
And it is chagrin
That is awoken
At a world so forsaken.
Nietzsche was mistaken
When he proclaimed
Our God as dead.
It’s the vision and
Stories for which we used to aim
That expires instead.
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 12:29 PM UTC
Merry go-rounds
Twirl around the sky
Shut down ice-cream posts and
Repressed flower petals
Crisscrossed hands and
Popsicle sticks
Loitering the salt-stained pavement
Glints of late-night squares in
Skyscrapers which brush the clouds
The crunch of diseased leaves and the
Distant honks and whistles
In chaotic, zig-zag traffic
Snow falls silently
Its fingertips landing on
Windbreakers and cotton mittens
Of children
With red cheeks and
Exasperated smiles
Chasing after frozen-pond ducks
With tongues extended and catch
Soft white water
Winter dampens the sidewalk cracks
And chills the abandoned earmuffs
But winter will not
And can not
Dampen or
Freeze or
Abandon the spirits
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
A frail old man wanders aimlessly along the boardwalk of a deserted beach
Hunched over like the the boughs of an oak tree weighed down by its branches
Things burden this man.
Heavy in weight on mind and body
Once swarming with tourists in a way similar to flies around a porch light this beach is now dank and dismal to the eye
The preconceptions of flashing lights and rowdy parties filling its strip just reside as a distant memory in the depth of the deep blue.
On which he gazes out to after taking a long wheezing breath into his shrivelled lungs.
He stands alone reminiscing about previous conquests from his long distant youth
Thinking about all his relationships with friends and loved ones
Perusing through his memory bank as of he were a granddad proudly giving a slideshow to his only grandchild
And as a tear slowly trickles down his weathered face he reconciles with himself that like seeing the last copy of an acclaimed novel being sold he definitely let the one get away.
As this fact dawns on him, knowing he shall always be alone
He takes a deliberate pace towards the steps leading to the sandy wasteland that used to be so glorious and golden.
Gradually picking up speed and stumbling over himself he makes the journey to the edge of the water
Fully aware of the desire that is overtaking his mind, body and soul
The sea begins to seep into his shoes then dampens the tip of his trousers
Now with the water up to his waist he is shivering and struggling to catch his breath
But onwards he walks becoming stronger as he battles the waves cascading against his body.
Is this really what it has come to,
but as the last strand of his silky grey hair disappears into the salty blue
He feels the weight of the past float away and he is at peace
The water has cleansed his soul, rinsed his mind
Deep in the depths of the sea shall his regrets remain forever.
And as his body floats to the surface his soul rises higher and higher up to the clouds
Reaching the end his eyes catch a glimpse through the pearly whiteness
Of a silhouette he recognises
It stands facing away seeming to exude beauty like a single rose in hand of a romantic gesture
When he steps through the gates
The silhouette senses his presence and turns
He knows in that moment, he has made it
He is in Heaven.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Appears a ghostly vision, fog in from the sea.
As if sentient in movement, shrouds all in it's mystique.
With a cyclop eye, lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While specters breath dampens all, your marrow the chill impales.
Out of sight, crashing waves, sound loud as if they crawl,
following the living mist as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors, into every crevice.
The very air liquefied, a grey oppressive presence.
Wood smoke blends it's flavor to the tang of the air.
In hopes the flames beat it back, keep tendrils from drawing near.
Slowly it tastes it's fill of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back on itself, returning to the brine.
Fog waits yet another morn to return to shore and dine.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Socially Engaged Poetry
As an effective tool for advocacy
Creating partnerships and sharing skills
A voice to the voiceless, Split this Cliché
Empowerment to the empowermentless
Through bleats of provocation and witness
Copyrighted and stereotyped
In a World That is Forever 1968
Exploring and celebrating the many ways
We can score yet another guilt-grant
Asserting the centrality of the 501C3
Through bearing witness to diversity
As long as it behaves itself and thinks like us
Accessible and yet authentic
A n d l i k e d o s t u f f w i t h s p a c e l i k e u no
cause spaces
are authentic, and,
like
stuff
Poetry as a living, breathing art form
If you listen, you can hear its respirations
Gasping in the long, dark night of group-think
Obedient to a mission statement
And the careful construction of resumes
Committee integrate complexity
Formula dampens the authentic voice
Perform this vital work imagining
Personal and social responsibility
Revolutionary transformation
Write and perform this vital work support
Of human social justice experience
Grounded in holistic spirituality
Flouting the patriarchal something-ness
An act that requires community
If you love freedom, you dare not disobey
And let all the people say “Cogent!”
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
Ingredients:
50mg Zoloft (or 0. or 200. it doesn’t really matter)
a pack a day (to be consumed in chains, usually outside in the freezing rain)
a handle of your choosing (to help you get a handle)
Directions:
Crack a bottle of xanax in a bowl and mix with a handle until you feel light and fluffy.
wait until enough tears rise to the surface, then shake until eyes are glazed over. smoke your cigs until the rain dampens your lighter beyond repair.
get baked 4-6 hours at your 360 degree program university. take yourself out but know you will never cool enough to fit in here.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
Night comes for us all.
We watch as color and saturation leak from the world
until just a half sphere peaks in the horizon.
When the sky touches down and up rises the moon,
it is only its reflective glow that we have to light our walks.
Night comes for us all.
Whereas stimuli and light override my senses,
the coolness and silence of night dampens them,
and with it, my thoughts race.
As my body relaxes against cool sheets,
my mind is buzzing,
and my heart tiptoes from one place to another.
Night comes for us all.
United but separate, our experiences are the same.
We look at the same moon and spy the same stars.
We linger on the same wishes,
and in the anonymity that darkness grants,
we dream and ponder and hope
that something hears us, sees us.
And in that dark anonymity of night,
that subtle weight we constantly carry grows,
and we are anchored to the Earth’s core.
Night comes for us all.
We wait for it to pass,
yet every day, we welcome it gladly
for rest or fresh eyes.
It is a gift and a gurney,
a calm and a casket.
Night is what we make it,
and night is what we need it to be.
Feb 23, 2024
Feb 23, 2024 at 1:48 AM UTC
Hiding her guilty habit,
like its something she never had.
As the day just drags,
she takes another long drag.
Inhaling all the good,
exhaling all the bad.
By covering up the hurt,
she's soothing all the sad.
Feeling alone --
the thoughts alone - drive her mad.
forgetting what she is,
wishin for things, she wish she had.
clouds of smoke taint the air,
the smokey scent hangs like a flag.
with every puff she takes --
the closer it brings her to being glad.
forgetting the stress of the moments,
from the long day she just had.
the stress wearing her smile down, like a long gown
that's looking bad
her happy thoughts dissipate
with the smoke no sign of any hope
but its passing like a fad
she puffs, as slowly she smokes
enjoying the moment for the most
its more than just smokes -
it something that dampens the fear
of what is close, next, or near
these cloud skies fill her with hope
long enough for her to not care
when people that should be close,
aren't even near, or even close to being there
all she needs is her pack --
stashed in the back,
to have her back -
until the coast is clear.
and she's back on track.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
It’s the memories that haunt us
That we seem to cherish most
And what you thought was the light in her eyes
Was a ghost
Of all the things that used to make her smile most of all
But the smile breaks to pieces
And the pieces start to fall
On the floor by her feet
So she retreats inside her head
Never mind that inside
Is where the sickness starts to spread
To her soul
Makes her cold
Makes her wanna lose control
Of everything. With every sting
With every needle in her skin
That sinks to the vein
And then dampens down the pain
With the bitter sweet retreat and each
And every dull refrain.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
A flicker of sapphire gems,
A flash of pearls,
The gleaming ivory beckons me near.
The smooth touch sings sweet melodies,
softly whispering sweet nothings
as I am overtaken with adornment.
The crisp blue shines bright onto ***** skin,
teasing and prodding emotions,
pulling them from deep murky waters.
The pearls have disappeared now,
enclosed behind a faux cave,
trapped in darkness.
A tear dampens her cheek,
mistaken words had been uttered
with no way of retrieval.
All I do, I do for
the glistening of sapphires,
the glint of pearls, and to feel the immaculate ivory.
If I besmirch these precious gems,
If I cause them to be tarnished,
why live at all?
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Spry distractions loaf on lithe intent,
men waking, wishing, trying,
b’lieving, doing, buying -inging time rather than be-,
results in salt-work, sprawling like the C
in coldness: callous spray
that dampens your New Canvas Day.
Pixels splat and reek of pure demise,
wine trauma met with whys
fires livid earth from foil-pressed crumbs
from which your towers rise. You miss
the point of -ing;
the shape you’re in’s an -e-d thing
writ past because of practice;
timed it slow, fixed solemn bets
all rife with catty pugil,
ribbons placed on “I-got-tīme-in” *******
that gleam too brightly
for the lover’s open eye. Youriyese
in grace, ingratiated by devices
(rueful caries)
shelter you from toil’s ten-thousand days.
You see them, they see you whilst print-ing,
comb-ing over, feel-ing joy anew: such sugar lines
the bottom
of a borrowed cup of time.
White hues direct-ing -ingots in a line
totally gold
and pin “pathetic” on your chest,
their best not forged in -ing or be-
(like they would want you to be) -lieve,
but rather hey! and halt!
The hollow points of discord,
blood of victims be- -in’ salt.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
the tracks disappear into the fog
the mist dampens everything around me
i hear a train horn in the distance and then
it's silent again
the dusty, dawn blue sky hovers hesitantly
above the cloud i'm in
the train horn blows again and
i see lights through the fog
and dissolve into the watery air
the train rushes over the tracks with
the weight of a million tons
it crashes into my ghost and splits it
into a million slices
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC