"dilute" poems
I can’t catch my breath
as throat swells after smoke
you exhaled behind you;
you didn’t look back as euphoria hit.
I can’t catch my breath
as salty tears dilute my blood
and erythrocytes shrivel
leaving gas stranded in my lungs
after each grudging, shaky breath -
I can’t catch it,
it begs for freedom in endless sky
over the suffocating pressure inside my chest;
I can’t catch my breath,
I can’t catch my breath.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
The blood comes dilute, as if to refute
What is, or was ever at all
To challenge the must,
The is and the thus
The ever, the will, and the Fall
The Winter, the Spring, the Summer that brings
A freedom, an illusion anew
A time to recline--in dreams and unwind
The idea that you can, that you will
The will, O the will, O the untempered can
Of worms which one opens and finds
Full to the brim, before and again
"Reality"" which tries to unbid
The self from the mind
The meaning from line
The reason from rhyme
And the is from all time
Separates Us: from passion
From Trust.
From belief in ourselves
From love
From true wealth
From magic. From tragic
At least in true measure
Dulling the pain,
But denying the pleasure
The Roar and the Ring
A Hell of a Thing
To make the time pass or
To fill up Your Glass.
~D.B. Guy
August 15, 2011 12:11AM PDT
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
do you even know me?
think again.
just because you heard some **** about me doesn't mean it's true
but thank you for telling me what you heard
now that's my definition of you
your revenge is not the healthy kind
if i were you, i'd stay the **** away from those manipulative minds
i know i have my own issues, some i won't admit to
but hearing all that
like garbage being dumped
like the ocean being polluted
like the ozone filled with substances to dilute it
just breaks my heart.
please stop.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 4:58 PM UTC
The gift of giving indiscriminately
is a gift we should give indiscriminately
There's a secret to a good life and here's the key
The path to happiness is generosity
Happiness doesn't dilute when you give it away
and it constitutes in everything you say
You can literally have your cake and eat it
depending exactly on how you treat it
take it, use it, split it, pass it on
every time you do that it will be twice as strong
happiness is a virus we need to learn to spread
a pandemic of the head
A vaccine shot straight to the heart
infecting you with a flying start
secret to the deeper hidden meaning of living
that happiness is caused by indiscriminate giving.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:04 AM UTC
When the moon finally meets it's ceiling
Ahh, I wish I could describe the feeling
The countryside gives me a terrific peak
Early sun illuminates an anacamptic creek
The cricket's intuition ends their rhythmic chirp
I can see the dew glisten on the grass and the dirt
All silence - besides the wind and the bluejay
They spin through the sky for a game the two play
Warm waves of air push over the hills
Goosebumps ensue but I welcome the chills
This is a moment that an artist might draw
but he simply can't because he's part of it all
This is a setting that our memories reluctantly dilute
Though recollection of chores are crisp and acute
Try as I may - I can not pocket this instant
For when the day emerges it all becomes distant
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
When the streets are made for nothing but thinking
It's the weight of the water that's caused our sinking
It's a loss of feeling that's made me lighter
It's everything around
That makes me neutrally bound
The only writers block is the writer
It's the kind of thing that makes a man with a pencil and paper a fighter
Like the paper's jumping up at you like a, like a alligator
But it's hard to chalk down all the mistakes, cause when you're trying so hard you're just being fake
You just gotta learn to let it, let it all flow
Show your all and let em all know
Just how you're feeling that blow, even if it means one or two bad lines, that's how you feel though
Cause life ain't a poetry book
It's all the points in between the pages that we missed
It's all the things that make us factories of emotions,
A crook with feelings creeping through the motions
Turning pages, trying to **** it all up like the books eroding
Don't you talk to me about feeling
Naw you ain't know what you be dealing, everyone's got there own **** you can't tell me mines to be concealing
See, I'm a material void of expressionism
Cause I told everyone what I feel, not for the sake of impressionism
They chose to see inside and learn a lesson without all the criticism
Everything I've learned is turning me into a crustaceans fossil
Hard to the shell but brittle to the touch, and I preach my **** like a god **** apostle
You make me feel from the inside and I'll be your crutch, but you're gonna need more than a god **** rock hammer to open me up
My words I mend to make up for what I conceal
But as I sit here thinking about how I feel
It's gonna take more than this to make me heal
Now let me dilute as I talk to the god inside my head and make a deal, something to end the pain and suffering I have concealed at the expense of everything real
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
I have started this letter one hundred times. I have referred to you as my friend, my "cousin", my love. No term seems more right than brother, as you have grown with me, and we have lived our parallel lives. I have known you since the day I was born, and I will know you until the day I die. I have long since memorized each freckle on your face, each vein in your hand, each scar on your hip. I am saying this in the hopes that you will understand why it hurt so much when you looked me in the eye and told me to calm down.
As we skipped rocks in the river that runs past my house, you complained to me about the cousin with the crazy feminist ideals. I laughed it off, and tried to reason with you, trying to teach my dear brother a valuable lesson. That's when you stared at me, with those gorgeous, piercing eyes, and you said, "I know women think they don't have rights, but like...just calm down, okay?"
Not okay. It will never be okay. It can't be okay until boys like you stop ignoring our pain. Stop writing off our suffering as hormones and gossip. Stop telling us that our feelings are invalid.
You have always said that I was your little sister. As children, you were the first to teach me how to throw a punch, so I could take care of myself. You were the first to grab me by the hand and whisper, "I will never let anything happen to you."
If you wanted to protect me, if you wanted to love me, if you wanted me to have what you have, you would not ignore the hardships of myself and my sisters. You would not tell me I'm making it up. You would not tell me to calm down. You would not stop until everything really was okay.
I wonder how much you actually know about feminism, and how much you actually know about me. Once I thought you had memorized each piece I have given you, the way I have memorized every curve in your body, and every corner of your brain. I suppose, looking back, you never were the best listener.
The day before you came to me, angry about the unfairness of your parents. I would never say to you, "I know you think it's not fair but like...just calm down, okay?" When you came to me about your anxiety, I would never say, "I know you think it's hard, but like...just calm down, okay?" I would never ignore your words, would never patronize your pain, would never tell you to calm down.
Something inside of me has been broken ever since that day. The day that I realized that my big brother wasn't always the good guy. Some days, he's the villain. Most days, he's part of the problem.
I will always love you. You have been with me since my first breathe, and I'll be ****** if you're not there for my last. I will always listen, always hold you, always love you, always be here for you. But the one thing I refuse to do is dilute my anger for you. I will not sugarcoat my oppression, will not sweep away my sadness. I will not calm down.
And maybe, with you by my side, we could make things be okay.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
ineffable sorrow
in the grey skies
staring at love letters
stained with cherry wine
on the window sill
lies the white rose
a love not to last
on the floor, her clothes
clandestine tears
of a hopeless romantic
her naive heart
so easily enchanted
she's a liability
that none can take on
limerence fades
the light in his eyes, gone
failed expectations;
for she lives in a dream
holding on
to promises of serendipity
addicted to euphoria
to dilute her pain
watching tears fall
down the shower drain
nothing left now
so another drink she pours
then into a cab
only to be broken once more
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 12:09 PM UTC
Fallen from grace,
No longer do I sit high upon the pedestal
That you had once put me
No longer am I seen as idol or mentor
Nor wanted as provider or protector
But now looked upon as an outcast
And banished from your heart
Betrayed by the one who now blinds you
With a veil of lies and deceit
That weighs on your young fragile heart
With heavy words of animosity and abhorrence
You have been trapped in a malevolent web
Of hatred and retribution
Used as an unwitting pawn
In a game of emotional chess
Your words of respect and adoration
Have been replaced by venomous accusations
Of brutality and oppression
Taught to you by the one
Who now holds the chains that bind your heart
But I will not be vanquished or deterred
By these attempts to falsify or dilute my love for you
I will be strong in my resolve and true to myself
I will not let these misguided asseverations
Destroy my confidence in knowing
That my spirit is pure and that one day
You will be able to break free from your restraints
And uncover your eyes
So you can distinguish the truth from the lies
Until that day comes I shall be waiting
Ready to stand next to you
As opposed to being on that pedestal
And walk down a new road with you
As your friend and equal
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
strait crazy
saintly mania raving.
new age jainist phasers
sang they praises
like
'hey mr bojangles,
go mangle up the angle,
shake shake shake the frame
& they'll thank you later.'
...sorry not today.
I'm feeling under the
earthquake weather.
wallowing wonder
following the devil
thru the desert
on great endeavors
to make it rain feathers
that sound like thunder.
famous as ever
nameless as heaven
to say the least
I'm slaying beasts that
came from me
in the first place.
this is lovehate.
lovehate lovehate.
& it's useless.
just lemme set the mood.
it's stupid
brutish beauty
mooing truly bluesy
marks & bruises
infused with martian
harmony incarnate,
caramelized carnage
set to soothing violent music.
broke record store cliché
faded to frustration feeding
a creaturely need for creation
& hellish lust for selfdestruction.
-nothing special-
just an absolute mess who
dilute the stress through allusion
allegory alliteration
hallucination delusion
***** it's a celebration.
tell the rest those losers
that got left I'm doing my best
even though I'm pretty upset
with how it's all panning out.
oh well I guess.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
As I sauntered on banks of Yamuna at night.
I saw a man old, bent, with stick in dhoti white.
Tardily, step by step as he came nearer to me.
With joy I smiled as our own beloved Bapu was he.
With tears in my eyes I asked, ' Bapu you are still alive! ,
those three bullets holed your chest, how did you survive?
What happened to you? Where were you all these days?
What you ate? How you lived? Now where do you stay?
Condition of your beloved land is deteriorating day by day.
Countrymen have left your path, they have gone astray.
Your image, your killers are trying to malign and degrade.
Berating your ways, encouraging means which you forbade.
Hitler's advocates on chariots are traversing Nation's length.
Day by day Fascism is gaining ground , gaining strength.
Disguised as followers of Sri Ram, deeds of Ravan they do.
Riots and killings are frequent, women and minors are targeted too.
Terrorism nourishing on terrorism, cruelty at its worst.
Targeting anyone, anywhere, time and again bombs burst.
Once a land of peace, land of sufism, land of saints,
now ****** Innocent souls being killed without restraint.
Regionalism is being encouraged and taking roots.
Unity of the Nation selfish politicians reduce and dilute.
Corruption is increasing everywhere and in all spheres
Even highest office of respect could not keep itself clear '
Passing his hand over my head he smiled and said '
I am just a spirit, long ago my weak body was dead.
Daily with expectation I rise and daily with despair I die
Daily my hope is shattered and daily with grief I sigh
They may have killed me but now I live in numerous hearts
They may write me down in history yet my message will dart.
See this flag, colour saffron is dear to me, colour green I love.
between them is colour white, colour of peace, colour of dove.
Nation divided in three hurts me more than bullets three
From casteism and regionlism country should be free.
Communalism should not be allowed to raise its ugly head.
With sword of constitution Fascism we need to behead '
Three sound disturbed the calm, beloved Bapu fell on the ground
I went to help but Bapu vanished with words 'Hey Ram' echoing around
Determined that this time his innocent blood will not go waste.
I collected his non-violent blood in my pen like ink with haste.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
Ive learned so many life lessons why do they feel like punishments. Ive made mistakes I walk eggshells trying to be right keep my name outta ppls mouths but they still keep talking ****
I want to fight back im tired of being a used and taken for granted.
I help my family give my all even if its not enough. ive set the bar but no one cares to meet the standards. I dont say anything but im seen as stuck up. I filter myself to be seen as someone im not eventually the truth comes out. I want to be loved and accepted but I hate becoming someone im not someone I dont understand.
Im able to show my world but others dilute my vision.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Pressing His Cherub face against the window glass, To get the * Better View. Even as the Heat from his Breath caused the Fogging of the Glass ! Standing now on His Tip-Toes trying harder yet to get that Better View.. The crowds around Him, were pressing in, Pressing in as if they would *NEVER Get a Turn. The SIGN Clearly said ,,," ALL IN LINE , WILL GET THE OPPORTUNITY TO SEE , TO ASK and to CHOOSE ! " There were no Sequence numbers assigned, SO...the Poor LAD got Shoved further back into the MASSIVE CROWD . Instead of the Line getting smaller, it seemed that it was GROWING even Larger... The LAD with the CHERUB face was now pushed all the way to the OUTER-EDGES of the crowd. Not ONE without a *DRIVING URGE AND SPIRIT, the Lad Shouted in a Loud Voice and Pointing to the *REDDISH-BLUE morning sky. "There HE IS ! There HE IS ! ! " At that moment, everyone in the Great crowd turned toward the Lad and Looked up into the SKY... With Keen Alertness the CHERUB faced Lad Raced toward the entry door......and to HIS ASTONISHMENT,, *THERE HE STOOD,, The Tears of Great JOY and Excitement Poured down the CHERUB Faced Lad. The Lad had made His Choice....AND...He Saw *OPEN ARMS extended Open to Receive HIS Embrace ! ! The Roar of Joy from the Great Crowd did not dilute the TEARS OF DELIGHT Thoughts Racing thru His Mind,, about the CROWD WOULD THEY PRESS-ON AS THIS "CHERUB" HAD DONE.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 3:10 AM UTC
My memory is just a darkroom, where every picture ever taken by eye sight:
Waits.
Develops.
They accumulate in Black and white,
Positive and negative.
My mind the developer, my thoughts the water, removing the excess silver halide.
What remains is a picture, a memory taken from this very life
They hang from thin lines fastened by close pins so delicate and so fine
To dry,
To develop
And remain to live in the safelight within my mind.
But you see that light has left,
Now every picture is
Too over exposed,
Too vague
And too undefined.
I’ve had too much drink, so much smoke.
A stop bath of the wrong kind.
Too much green and blue light.
You see, my darkroom is too bright
Now the pictures that hung from the close pin lines of life
dilute,
shrivel
And fade.
Now,
What remains is a picture-less memory, and no clear recollection or reflection.
No darkroom for every photograph ever taken by eyesight,
No pictures of black and white.
There is just one final question…
Who am I?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Nebulous and Refined
The castle is a chain-smoker.
The king wears a three piece suit.
And in the air, most everywhere
that scent just does not dilute.
-
A car lot filled with scribes and serfs
that assemble to deliver their willing tax.
They bump and argue for the closest view
of their Man-God on high: Glycine max.
-
Employment is down! Crime is up!
What if the factories all move away?
This town will surely shrivel and die!
That's what the soiled townsfolk say.
-
They humbly bow to their master's whim
but behind him they say much more.
Another Dead Man found Stale Lee in the vents.
Carcinoma galore.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
You are my lover
My only lover
Whom the world
Shows its colour
And when you need
A tasty other
I am yours to smother
You are my well-girthed king
My only king
Hotter than a thermal spring
Pull on my apron string
Undress me
And impress me
****** me with your violin
Play me like a pan flute
My lover, my brute
Stroke my ego
My resolve is dilute
And you, my broken parachute
Will be my demise
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
.
Silver charms on an anklet ******
as her foot stamps down once,
crossed dainty in front of the other,
and her hands start a slow ascent.
From hips up into the air
in the nonchalant action of the flame,
arcing a half circle about her waist
she turns to face the assembled crowd.
A tabla starts a sleepy beat
and the sitar player awakens,
or returns from a meditation,
readying himself for his introduction,
to blend a melody of the Moon
with the woven movements of dance.
The beat increases and four taps
signal a change in the rhythm.
The following note is punctuated
by the tinkling of the charms
and the first strum of the sitar,
sending music to the starry sky.
And her hips sway in gentle waves
as her hands mimic the lotus flower
in cups of dreams above her head,
and the anklets jangle a soothing sound.
The wrists twist and move graceful,
delightfully twinned with the neck of a swan,
and her body sways like a leaf in the wind
to the melody from ages past.
The tabla starts a frantic beat
as the sitar player lets fly,
his new unrestrained chords
dilute the night with ecstasy.
And she dances in her trance,
skin shining with the dew of reflected joy,
her lithe body telling the story
that began before the dawn of time.
A crescendo summons the dance to end
and silence fills the void,
but far into the deep dark night
silver charms on an anklet ******
© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
What art thou doing today friend?
Art thou living in pleasure's;
Or materials.
What art thou doing today friend?
Art thou wearing a mask;
Putting on a good smile, screaming inside.
What doth thou doeth in thine spare time?
Doth thou hurt other's;
Taketh to never giveth, getting rich off poor and blind?
What doth thou feeleth dear friend?
Doth thou not realize, wordly pleasure's only last a second;
Until thine end.
What doth thou heareth O man?
The music to loud on thine speaker's;
Blocking out God whilst thou canst?
What art thou drinking oh brother?
Alcohol to dilute thee;
A well from God floweth much better.
Wherein is thine wife O mate?
O thou art not at thine abode;
Cheating again, with a hot date.
Wherein doth thou investeth thine time?
Material's that dissapear, putting loot into stock's and shares;
Loosing thine wordly mind?
Wherein art thy children?
Left all by their self, thy wife not getting help;
Whilst thou hath put them on the dusty shelf.
Doth thou even knoweth where thou art going?
When thine heart's pulse stoppeth;
There's a heaven and hell, beast's in cell's, where thy skin fryeth.
Doth thou taketh thing's for granted?
Living today as if there's another;
Forgot thy sister and brother's, as art purpose here is love.
Didst thou knoweth?
Thine sin's canst be forgiven, with the last day's to thee given;
Wilt thou except the creator's grace? Or turneth away?
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
When I say everything is crashing to pieces,
Falling apart before my very unadulterated eyes,
I don't mean it as a metaphor.
No. I mean things are literally breaking to bits.
When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
With every step I take across this suspension bridge, I can feel the ground give way to my weight and endlessly tumble and twist toward its impending demise to the unsuspecting ground below. (Albeit, it has yet to have trouble with the racing automobiles wizzing past me with a taunting doppler)
When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I have the Midas touch.
Only, when things come in brief contact with my fare skin, they need not turn into gold but rather chaos.
When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
With every flip of the switch comes an explosion of glass bits and fiery yellow sparks shooting awry (give my thanks to the short fuse)
When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I attempt to live out my usual ordinary uneventful lifestyle, and I leave a wake of destruction in my route to the corner store! (Remind me to apologize to the florist- I'll have to get him some newly birthed petunias)
When I say everything is crahsing to pieces, I mean
I fear cutting onions lest the knife get fed up with being dulled by various vegitables and find its way to my throat, holding me hostage in the kitchen via blade tip to jugular
When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I would be far from surprised if the monsters under the bed had a mutiny and overthrew their sane captain who keeps them from overturning my mattress every night, bless him
When I say everything is crashing to pieces,
Falling apart before my very mundane eyes, I don't mean it figuratively.
No. Things are literally breaking into tiny wooden splinters.
But don't you for a second dilute your mind into thinking this bothers me in any way.
I've learned to just let the pieces fall where they may
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
she sits - eyes darting side to side,
eating the atmosphere, chewing carefully,
rosebud mouth moist, lips open a space,
hands fidgeting in her shallow concaved lap ..
woman leans forward to stroke wayward
tendril from wide forehead - a sign of excellence
to some just that, to others smart phrenology;
tendril defies maternal meaning to spring
like a diver from top board thrill
to fall once more upon laughing brow,
how young child loves the tickling touch
she never receives from mother -
she who urges piano practice, eight to ten,
dancing lessons, eleven to one,
geography, history and Latin tutelage
with woman ancient her and morbid more,
afternoon alternate curriculum and oboe,
catechism, times-tables, spellings parroted..
when night calls child to sleep,
she curls her softness into a knot, tight
and unforgiving, ******** tears from
sea blue eyes so they weep 'pon Egyptian
cotton sheets to dilute the ***** drips of
progidy’s day by day nightmare..
child needs, child yearns for what she
does not know, kettle drum heart throbbing..
longs to run in meadows mossy bright,
longs to see dirt under sweetheart nails;
in dreams she rides ponies ********
and soars sky, dances clouds, kisses moon..
but then, morning vivid with sane insanity
she wakes in an open cage, in a different room..
rebelled, she did, small fragile six year old;
today, today, today her mind is empty,
hands fluttering butterflies, eyes bright, innocence
faded, but laughing..laughing..laughing, free.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
I'm drinking young, as my body gets older,
three girls, and immature conversation on a long sofa.
The drinks get colder, and colder, my chest gets warmer;
on whiskey shots with no body armour.
I taste a sound, and smell a colour of doing in my head
over social trends,
Partying with people who aren't really my friends.
My bladder feels like a knife tip on my hanging joys,
Taking long pees, and taking chances with any girl; when I've
got the confidence of the boys.
Disco lights under the party life, a quick mix to dilute my
drink with some sprite.
Not something I love, but I'm learning to like.
Hype me up with cheers, line out my favourite gin, and
put aside those heavy beers.
I've got a sweet tongue for fun, a mix of sweetness and
alcohol like my favourite chocolate. Raisin and ***
Too scared to cough; I might just throw up,
but I can't seem weak; so I'll just bro up.
Acting proud while yelling, "another cup"
I pass out, and wake up in a house that's not my house.
In a bed wrapped in a pink fluffy towel.
The someone by my side, if I can remember wasn't too
hot; but sort of mild.
By my skin marks; she seemed a little wild.
But I notice a wig on a mannequin head,
I peep to see that it wasn't the same girl from last night
lying besides me, on that bed.
She had her extras off on the dressing room table display,
She woke up saying, "good morning bae," and I went on exclaiming, "eeeyy"
She offered me breakfast, but I decided it was best
to break fast out of there.
She begged me to stay, as her one charming prince,
but you know I didn't even care.
I wasn't too sure which neighbourhood I wound up;
but it was rather me getting **** in unfamiliar corners,
then getting bound up.
Tied up in a relationship that I never signed up to.
Maybe I had too much to drink... with both drinks and her
kisses by the mouthful.
How the story goes, and soon ends,
All in the story of events.
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 3:38 PM UTC
My hard boiled brain just don’t connect
The world I try to sense and see
This patch of light I can’t reflect
Fractions of my imagination collect
A soupy spongy murky sea
My hard boiled brain just don’t connect
Stand my guard and take effect
The menace yet to be
This patch of light I can’t reflect
Beat my chest and then protect
Walls of chain and sorcery
My hard boiled brain just don’t connect
Take flight now child and dilute my respect
Branch out from your bonsai tree
This patch of light I can’t reflect
But all these flaws I reelect
From a ballot absentee
My hard boiled brain just don’t connect
This patch of light I can’t reflect
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC