"exhaling" poems
"you cannot catch a wildflower"
he says.
"you are my wildflower."
I am lost inside myself
my personal paradise
my own euphoric insanity
could i be as manic as I sometimes believe
to feel as if my soul lives in the earth beneath my feet
and stretches from the root of every tree to the tips of their leaves
exhaling me into the sky to float with the wind from meadow to meadow
I stand with arms stretched
spinning in circles like a tiny tornado
grazing the tips of each blade of grass with my fingertips
dancing with my pointed toes upon dewy petals
breathing in the heavens of the earth
feeling as if the sun was shining from within me
my world could not exist without this insatiable lust for life
you cannot hold me and shelter me under the dark roof you flourish in
I am a wildflower
I need the meadows, the sky, the sun, the air, the freedom
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
I'm a shameless liar
Thoughts
lost in translation
(Softly)
consumed by the fire
Trying to see through the haze
exhaling is dire
I cannot seem to find
My Telephone wire
So sorry if I seem quiet tonight,
the trembling in my voice
Shaking lips and broken words
Are worth the itching in my tongue
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your existence I crave?
Or does my mind order
What is beyond the border
Unseen like the little light bulps in the sky
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your fingertips I need?
Spending minutes on
Semantic and hours on our news feed
And high lights of our day
See my days are all the same
I ask myself questions and I find answers
In the shape of instant messages
Vibrating through my phone;
And as if it’s exhaling some deadly poison
It rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and stops…
I whatsapped you through my nokia
Asking you
“you there?”
But you never answered
Because your iphone cannot show any whatsapp notifications
Coming from hopeless thinkers trying to figure out the typed mysteries of life….
Because your blackberry
Is too black to turn into a satisfactory vision
Of what your future should be;
Because your android
Is practically messy
And willingly complex
Like meteor showers hitting your phone
Every time the truth vibrates
In the shape of unanswered questions
For the answers are there…
But our phones are so smart they hide it;
I wahtsapped you through my nokia
Asking myself
Is my nokia a primitive technology?
A shameful scar on the scale of science
Like syringes ******* all the blood from the unstoppable sweet rush of statistical knowledge
I whatsapped you through my nokia…and all this comes out
Is it me being silly, or us being shallow?
Please do not whatsapp me the answer
For am tired of green screens
And boxed spaces
I need clean streams
Of fine faces
And eyes that glimmer
Rather than phones that shiver…
I shall remind my phone
To remind me
That I don’t need it anymore…
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Pushing and pulling
Reaching and retreating.
You get where you want
And then you go & **** it all up.
Coming and going
Leaving and returning.
Your so unsure of your needs and wants.
Arriving and departing
Inhaling and exhaling.
This would be easier without a troubled heart.
Setting Sail and dropping anchor,
Have you made your choice
Or will you hurt her some more.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
i don’t want to be someone who writes in pencil
and eats too slowly and walks with eyes that
are glued to the sidewalk and tops of strangers’ feet
i’ve been underwater for so long that
i’ve forgotten lungs are meant
to be filled with air; exhaling seems
more like something found
on the second star to the right, rather
than a process that is meant to be
done twenty-three thousand times a day
i feel like an old woman who
looks in the mirror and all she can see
are wrinkles and white hair and tired eyes and
the absence of who she used to be
but i am not someone who turns away
from sunsets and pretends
that darkness is all i’ve ever known;
someone who thinks
the sun will never rise again
because the sun will rise again—
the words hiding inside of me will
find their way out, because
i cannot hold my breath forever
i am not someone who writes in pencil
and erases the bits that are too
honest and too imperfect and too real
to claim as thoughts of my own
i cannot keep my lips pursed and
hands tied behind my back,
i cannot keep pretending i am
a shadow of who i used to be
my tomorrows hold suns much
brighter than ones that have risen
over horizons of my past;
i have not reached the summit yet
there is so much more me
for me to become
each day, i am new.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
the hills
like poets put on
purple thought against
the
magnificent clamor of
day
tortured
in gold,which presently
crumpled
collapses
exhaling a red soul into the dark
so
duneyed master
enter
the sweet gates
of my heart and
take
the
rose,
which perfect
is
With killing hands
14k
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Down the back alley
on the cold winter evenings
your eyes stared only at me
I didn't smoke
as my father gave up
yet i didn't dare disagree
you parted your lips
you drew in a breath
and your body relaxed in turn
exhaling slowly,
you grin and you show me
how much your body did yearn
for the taste of a cigarette
the embers and ashes
matches and lighters, causing flickering flashes
you said I didn't have to
but I said I didn't mind
that the smoke in your mouth would soon be in mine
I did not draw back
my mouth- under attack
I just had to last the duration
because I didn't smoke
the taste scorched my throat
and gave off a burning sensation
It must have felt different
as just in an insant
You stub out the cigarette with a hiss
silently relieved
and now more at ease
oh, the things that you do for a kiss
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose
mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the
ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-
gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain, led by a Jumpy
***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy
language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into
eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean
plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’
“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”
11k
this is how it happens
it's the last day the temperature will be
above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit
until February
you're not looking at the date
it's just the end of November
the middle of the night in the middle of a road
at the end of November
the hum of this small town hurts your ears
you're stuck in a dream where everything you see
turns into a weapon
this is how it happens
you knocked back sharp, amber liquid
to make this place feel a little more okay
and it only worked halfway
no matter how soft the edges are
you bruise your hips when you
run into them in the dark
you're ******* on your fourth cigarette when
a police officer pulls over and asks
how you're doing today
in the too-bright white of the headlights
the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to
the roof of your mouth
the mouth that you're moving into a smile
the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground
you're okay
"i'm okay."
you don't tell him what you're really doing
you're really taking all of your
thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk
you don't tell him you've been
chasing ambulances all night long
please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say
he tells you to have a good night and drives away
and this is how it happens
the moon smiles at you with every single one
of its tiny, sharp teeth
nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub
nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water
watches it drip drip drip
from every chasm carved in your left arm
nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul
shiver from the cold that day
it's the first day the temperature
dropped below
thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
*she slides her slender
white fingers down the
branches of his spine
her eyes melted like
glaciers and lips as soft
as freshly fallen snow
skin lustful, but heart
unforgiving, exhaling
his every intention
she is autumn in his
palms, her trees bare,
the leaves rust fallen
flashing indifference,
thoughts plucked in
shades of violent rose*
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?
Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.
Not doing a proper warm-up
According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.
Assuming that stretching is a warm-up
Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.
Rushing through your stretching exercises
Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.
Giving stretching a skip after a workout
You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.
Not stretching every day
You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.
Not breathing properly
Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.
Doing static stretches
Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.
Ignoring pain while stretching
When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
She heard that he’s a poet
and wondered if he would write a poem
about her.
A wave of her
shoulder length strands of pleasure
should flag down nearly any man
with an ounce of testosterone.
She wondered if she had a poem in her hair.
She spoke a few soft words
layered with one of her smiles,
the kind most guys adore
because they don’t know if it means
to come closer or to leave her alone.
Perhaps a poem rested in her smile.
If she had cleavage like Jayne Mansfield
surely he would
form lines about her in his mind
and feel compelled to tell the world
how she captured his lust.
She wished for ******* with a poem in her cleavage.
She touched him.
He seemed open to her arm around his waist.
A poet felt like any other man.
She pressed closer;
perhaps he sensed a poem
in the warmth of her lean figure.
Later in bed,
he stayed close, their legs entangled
unlike anything she could remember.
She wondered if there had been a poem
in her *****
She wished she smoked
and noticed that he didn’t.
Perhaps if they shared a cigarette
he would be enticed by the drift of the smoke from her lips.
Was there a poem in her sensual exhaling?
He seems so Hemingway,
mysterious, yet open to each moment.
Her mind played his movements
like a video tape recorder.
She wondered if she should write a poem about him?
Was there a poem in this experience?
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
Restless, restless
Exhaling a thousand sighs.
My wasted breath
this rotting fruit.
The seeds won't germinate
and I won't sleep.
Have the vines
choke 'til slumber.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
close your eyes…
let your light lids become heavy
like falling asleep in a bed of soft dreams.
quiet your mind with a deep inhale....
breathe with me, and hold for a simple moment
cleanse your mind with a firm exhale.
Focus purely on your breath. Breathe with me. (take three sets of deep breaths)
imagine no thoughts that bother you
ignore the noise that follows your foot steps,
the little buzzes of every day, like fruit flies orbiting succulent peaches
let the noise fly away like those flies, far away
Let go of those days where you find yourself worried…
there is nothing to hold onto that worries you.
you are a strong, magnificent, worry free energy,
clean and sparkling.
Relax,
Envision your mind as a porcelain sink,
and the drain in the center pulls all the noise away,
until there is nothingness, emptiness.
let the darkness behind your eyelids engulf you...
it is warm, it is inviting, it is loving
in this darkness...
there is light.
See and feel this ball of radiant light ripping through the black
that tickles your skin like pins and needles
the most beautiful light you’ve ever seen...
be humble...
this is your love
manifested into an image
that presents itself to you
to show you all the love that your heart holds
it beats into your blood,
your veins,
your energy,
every inch of your physical,
your mental,
your soul...
feel that smooooth, delicate love swim through every morsel of your being,
it gives us light... it gives us life.
...
Create an intention… what do you want most?
Or perhaps, what do you want to give?
What do you… as nobody else but yourself…
want to embody? (take a few moments to gather and intention)
take a deep inhale... (inhale)
upon exhaling, release this intention into the universe...
everything you give will come back.
Let this intention become an extension of yourself
this is you, and you are this.
Now this part of you, the gentle intention, is part of the universe.
and you…
are part of the universe.
thank the cosmos for caring about your mind, body, and spirit, and giving you
this galactic love as you release yours,
and the cycle continues on and on...
feel the warmth of love kiss you tenderly,
let it swallow you and hold you tightly, like a cosmic mother.
you’re an infant again... in the arms of something divine,
feeling pure bliss, like happiness is the only emotion that exists.
happiness becomes organic, it is the ultimate source of life...
happiness becomes the light, and combines itself with love,
making the most beautiful offspring of purity and salvation.
Inhale....
Exhale....
you are new, you are love
let it run like a tranquil river from every one of your pours
hear the liquid love follow the current of your mind’s creek..
hold your intention in your heart, and let it radiate
let yourself be light
let yourself be love.
inhale...
exhale...
© 2016 D.M.V
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
Look at those thingy
they shrunk in whenever he smiles
oh my
I feel like exhaling dandelions
each time he does that laugh
how come this one thin creature
could be so astonishingly cute?
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
I see how white light startles.
I snapped a pic and she spun in circles.
She wanted a photograph
to cover her mother's epitaph,
so she could have a laugh.
She smoked to get away -
but this isn't what'd she say,
exhaling, "All we are is carbon
and a lack of empathy."
We blended into hues of
microwave dinners
and church alters.
I used to tell her to go
just to halt her.
We prayed to get away -
but that's not what we'd say,
whispering, "Help us be more
than carbon and a lack of empathy."
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.
I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.
I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.
And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.
A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.
Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
under dirt
in a box
no voice
teaching about nutrition
no breath
exhaling cigarette smoke
a brain
shrunken
no more knows
shut down
irreversibly
dismantled
in silence
in a box
under dirt
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
A sweet, soft engine.
Oiled with heart's blood,
Running on lover's sweat.
A beautiful machine; an
Organism inhaling pain;
Exhaling hope and clear
Skies: The opposite of pollution.
Girl. Closest friend to my
Environment.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
Shouldn't one be punished enough by living through the dead?
Shouldn't one be punished enough by never again sleeping in their own bed
One should be punished, not freed
Shouldn't one be punished already by inhaling the jail air and exhaling their sins?
Shouldn't one be punished already by taking away everything they need?
One should be punished not freed
And shouldn't they suffer from what they've done?
Shouldn't they live every day wishing they had somewhere to run?
One should be punished not freed
But killing the monster is quick
You see, the things the monster did were sick
But the monster only did what you're doing
It's different the monster killed for that and this,
We're killing for our justice
Justice means to have peace, and genuine respect for people not death because it's easy
But an innocent man was killed on the street because someone was too drugged he didn't even know the difference from grass and concrete
So lock him up and leave him to suffer
Show him pain and teach him to be tougher
Let him think in silence, let it hit him at once,
let the pain that he caused affect who he was
Why give him the chance to change what he's done?
Why give someone who's gone mad only a hit and run?
Because everyone deserves a chance to change
We're the monster's by killing the mistakes that make them strange
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Telephones.
Earphones.
Earplugs.
To drown out
Baby cries.
Engines exhaling.
Anxiety.
"Don't be afraid"
"You've done this before"
"He knows what he's doing"
The tired.
The disagreeable.
The impossibly experienced.
Tickets.
Bags.
Smile-free faces.
I'm ready.
You're ready.
Let's go already.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
My finger tips is as cold as the heat of hell,
Inhaling and Exhaling chemicals that is running through my veins into my brain, i call it anchor, heavy as it is.
a secret i share… "i write when i'm choking.." Shhh.. , the word of silence and a verb of order to keep the darkest secrets.
welcome to wonderland.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
by the seashore
(by the seashore)
sits the soft decAy.
breast laden frames 1by1(in neat rows)
unquenchable olive flesh thirsty dirt
devour
but sotoo there is this:
in the beneath quiet quays
the green darkness pulls ugly
gull crys oily wings from hideous throats
virulent diseased avian beak *****
exhaling billowing bacteria
plume
disgusting riot of feathers
white grin bleached pearl bones repose sandy drug
and all the children laugh horribl e to spread sickly
f
ingers
by the seashore
erohsaes eht yb
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 11:10 PM UTC