"dengue" poems
I awoke into a morbid dream
A shadow realm of neither form nor scheme
A subdued mirage without shimmer or gleam
A foul abomination
In this nightmarish realm of dread
Weary souls are tapped and bled
Demons feed, Spoil and spread
Like dengue in the hearts of men
This was surely a prison for the mind
Perhaps even beyond even gods reach
A place where dark kings rule and black priests preach
And life itself has been impeached
I writhed and recoiled in primordial plasma
Managing a precise thought in my horror
“Is there not some chaperone
To guide me through this hell unknown
Some charitable entity
To which I could bond eternally”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”
Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?
***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree
Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?
She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands
Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison
'''
Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull
But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear
the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
and was smoking a cigarette
'''
Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?
Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics
“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”
Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet
But now she can see
And breath
Real breath
'''
Genocide’s a ***** yes.
Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield
“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace
Witnesses still weave the jungle
What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?
'''
I’m learning.
Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)
She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now
Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery
'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”
But I saw someone perish
And resurrect
What a gift
What a gift
Gubaadagem, Tinmad.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
Daddy had gotten dengue,
But now he is fine.
I was a bit scared & worried,
But now I am okay.
My service shines in his health,
But I'm unhappy with his increasing age.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
Old scratch walks up and down in this world.
Not some misunderstood romantic tragic figure,
but the father of lies.
Old scratch stands behind the curtain
and raids the caravans loaded down with good intentions
He is the wicked warlord in the horn of Africa.
He is the self serving dictator with ridiculous hair
murdering his family in paranoid fits
while his people eat bark in hungry desperation.
He is dengue ebola, ecoli, the plague..
He is rage and landmines in the soccer fields
He is dysentery and influenza and krokodil.
Old scratch walks to in fro in this land
with infectious breath and violent laughter
He is the womb of grief and lost hope.
twenty thousand crying skeletons
with bloated bellies blinded by thirsty flies
each and every day old scratch ushers them
to the only relief they will ever find.
while another twenty thousand wait in line.
We give it a face, a voice, and a name.
I'm so glad we have old scratch to blame,
otherwise whose fault would all this madness be?
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
Morning chat
He died from Dengue, she said.
Who? A doctor on the TV
So a doctor on the TV died of dengue
No!
The doctor who studied dengue
Said no one had died from it
Unless they had an underlying sickness
So the doctor didn't die then
Oh, **** off
Pass me the marmalade.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
And when I do you will fall lower,
Lower than where you already were.
You will get strange sorts of fever,
Will blight you a higher temperature.
Be ****** you will for torturing me,
And you won't die but live to see me rise.
You isolated me from the world over,
Even my parents thought I was wrong.
But now they understand how I was wrong,
Because I was wrong in choosing you as my friend.
With a high dengue fever you already have been down,
Now with another fear away you will just be blown.
If I suffer because of you then rest assured,
Because you will not either be spared.
Time calls you to mend your ways soon,
Or nobody will know why you get a swoon.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
A lo fugaz perpetuo
y sus hipoteseres
a la deriva al vértigo
al sublatir al máximo las reverberalíbido
al desensueño al alba a los cornubios dime sin titilar por ímpetu de bumerang de encelo
de gravitante acólito de tanto móvil tránsfuga cocoterráqueo efímero
y otros ripios del tránsito
meditaturbio exóvulo
espiritado en Virgo en decúbito en trance en aluvión de incógnitas
con más de un muerto huésped rondando la infraniebla del dédalo encefálico
junto a precoces ceros esterosentes dime al codeleite mudo del mimo mimo mixto
al desmelar los senos
o al trasvestirme de ola de sótano de ausencia de caminos de pájaros que lindan con la infancia
animamantemente me di por dar por tara por vocación de dado
por hacer noche solo entre amantes fogatas desinhalar lo hueco y encontrarme inhallable
hora tras otra lacra más y más cavernoso
menos volátil paria
más total seudo apoeta con esqueleto topo y suspensivas nueces de apetencias atávicas
al azar dime al gusto a las adultas menguas a las escleropsiquis
al romo tedio al pasmo al exprimir las equis a la veinteava esencia
y degustar los filtros del desencantamiento
o revertir mi arena en clepsidras sexuadas
y sincopar la cópula
me di me doy me he dado donde lleva la sangre
prostitutivamente
por puro pleno pánico de adherir a lo inmóvil
del yacer sin orillas
sin fe sin mí sin pauta sin sosías sin lastre sin máscara de espera
ni levitarme en busca del muy Señor nuestro ausente en todo
caso y tiempo y modo y **** y verbo que fecundó el vacío
obnubilado
inserto en el dislate cosmos, a todo todo dime alirrampantemente
para abusar del aire del sueño de lo vivo y redarme y masdarme
hasta el último dengue
y entorpecer la nada
1.3k
Dear Wifey,
I have found a place for us.
A place where we can settle down for good. I have yet to know who you are but I’ve already found a place afar. A place where even Yolanda has no match. A place where a lot of fish is there to catch, people are so nice that you can leave your things outside and no one will make a move to sn@tch, widened roads for y-o-l-o drive just for you to beat our 6th gear and clutch. We will be wearing our long sleeves not because we’re going to attend some party, but because we’re going to plant some crops for us to eat, my dear Honey. You’ve got nothing to worry when it comes to the bill for water and electricity cuz they have clean rivers and fresh cool air so there’ll be no need for efan, phone, or tv but in any case, you deem it necessary, I guess we could get a set, anyway 100-wampipti for a bill monthly is more than enough as what my auntie told me. There’ll be no need for us to avail the internet, we’re just going to share stories with each other to k i l l time. As we all know, ISPs here in the country s u c k s, will simply leech us and make us lose our dime. Anyway, I don’t want to stress myself out, go to their HQ, launch an arson attack, and commit other crimes. Probably I’ll just write a rant or poem about it that will surely chime.
As you can see, I am so in love with the place, can’t think of any problem to face. Ah yeah, wait, maybe dengue cuz at night there are mosquitoes here that are well-fed and raised. Don’t you worry cuz I’m already saving money honey, I must admit that sometimes there’ll be a need for us to go to the city and Mercury cuz I don’t trust The Generic Pharmacy. That just love won’t be enough, and there are things that we need to shop. Sooner or later, whether we like it or not, we’ll realize that there are things that these hands can’t make or provide, for example, your gown—like, wth? I want you to be the most beautiful bride. I don’t want you to wear a torn dress as we face our fam and magsisi-uwian na pagka-kain na mga guest!
While writing this line, I’m giving my cold stare to a white butterfly, so I stopped the ink and think, will I be able to make you feel that you have found the right guy?
Dec 27, 2019
Dec 27, 2019 at 11:50 PM UTC
The chlorophylls have turned up for the date today
But deep blues of gloom in the green *** of clay
Pink sunshine lips have not kissed them of late
Incessant rain has left the plant saddening
Its friend a little boy works in the roadside tea stall
For want of money he chose to be a school dropout
He is anxious that the growing plant might wither out
Unrelenting monsoon has stopped it from growing
He shifts the green *** under a brightly burning electric lamp
Puts the *** on a bowl of water while softly caressing
The leaves with love opening the door of his lips
With smiling eyes the customers looking
Meanwhile clouds too have made way for the sun
But the boy has taken ill and the doctors say it's dengue
No money for treatment his parents can procure
They keep praying and the poor boy sinking
In spite of sunshine the plant withers again
Flickering flames at the bed cast long shadows
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 1:20 PM UTC
Sparkling droplets fell from the sky,
Trees and fields shone bright nearby.
Birds flew free with shining wings,
Joy returned with the rain it brings.
But within days the water stayed,
Clogged in streets where children played.
Clear reflections soon turned black,
Foul smells rising, health attacked.
From ***** pools, the insects rise,
Spreading sickness, silent cries.
Neglecting this, the city lies—
No one cares, even if someone dies.
I would request everyone who's reading this poem to please once go through the long description I wrote and suggest me something to get rid with the mosquitoes or do something about drainage I dont wanna again get infected with DENGUE
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:18 AM UTC
It's so cosy I lie on the bed
anticipating a good sleep.
Feeble resonating sound
starts to intensify
Hovering it goes.
So scary is
this little
dengue
beast
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
Finding poetry in a disease
is like looking for a nugget
of gold in one Smokey Mountain
of revolting, rotting *******
A poem is precious.
It breathes us life.
Even one about death
brings hope of imagined
heavens and dreads of
eternal incomplete combustion,
but dengue ***** dry
its hapless victims.
Baby mossies
are cheering,
wriggling,
today, detritus feeding . . .
Tomorrow, the girls among them turning
into little vampires blood feeding;
and the boys will have for drinking
plant juices like wines brewing.
Rightly or not, the winged being
receives much of the blame, poor thing!
The greater pain, the bigger burden,
felt greatly by the downtrodden,
however, lies not so much in the bitten
nor the biter - always the villain.
When those whose tasks are meant to serve,
serve not the ones who need, but only themselves
When solicitors utter Hippocratic mantras
Like gurus descended from Oriental Olympuses
but in truth are Proud Marys burning with empty heads . . .
And when the multitudes blind and blinded,
in Plato’s Cave chained, demented
faithfully follow the falsehoods preached
by the High Priests and Priestesses:
I recall the scenarios of old tales told
of Pied Pipers leading kids out of Hamelin’s fold
to a treacherous realm of eternal repose.
And a nation’s bound to decompose.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC