"hydrated" poems
for the 111 yr. old young lady from Mars
<•>
fluids in, fluids out
wake up at midnight, lips, throat, even eyes, California Death Valley parched, white crusted-stuck together,
it takes Poland Spring water from the Northeast to unlock the throat, ****** not sipped, from a plastic gourd the chilling wetness slap to the body and brain screams metaphor, poem in there somewhere,
so what if it's spat-past midnight,
isn't this one of those soul-criticality's,
staying hydrated, (is) disco staying alive
make sense to you?
the older I get, thirstier I am, could be I'm drying/dying out from the inside out,
doctors clueless, but then again they don't reveal all they see out of poetic professional courtesy and they are tired of
yeah yeah yeah,
my professional courtesy answer to their dire warnings repetitious
tonight tho the metaphor runs strong like a mountain stream,
a Mt. Marcy beginning trickle growing into a mighty Hudson,
and the driving urge to drink, simple replenishment, birth fluid
is strong transformed into words
water is words, the water is wide, the poems hydrate what's left on the inside, and the metaphor transforms itself again
water is words, words are water,
the difference huge, the difference minuscule,
both pour, both refresh like a mother's body fluids,
all for one, one for all, and as closing time grows nigh,
staying-hydrated is primate
place a new cold bottle in readiness for my
3 o'clock feeding
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
If I add enough water
To this *****
I can convince myself
I need to drink it
To stay hydrated
:)
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
You are the artist.
The artist is love.
The artist is a creator and the creator is an artist.
The art is the artist and the artist is the art.
The artist is the seed, the garden, and the gardener.
The gardener, the garden, and the seed are the artist.
The artist plants seeds of themselves,
seeds of energy, thought, and emotion,
in the garden of their life.
The soil must be hydrated and nutritious
in order for the seeds to reach their fullest glory.
Once the seeds crack and
all of their insides come out,
it will continue to grow.
The artist gives them time, space, and love.
The artist will love them
as they love themselves, and
if and when the plants have grown,
they will blossom out of their garden and into others.
The seeds are shown and they are there to be sown and
so as you sow so shall you reap.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Shadow of life
Always has your back.
Loves your reflection of character in the sun.
It accepts your flaws and splendors.
It wishes it can remember your actions.
It can't cause it has no brain.
Only you can remember what you've done.
It's underneath your control
It feels lonely without some light in your life.
It knows a new day will be around.
It's seen in every direction like a Queen.
It's on a chessboard wondering where you want to go.
It wishes it can touch you.
It wishes it can make you king.
It wishes it can help you with your ambitions
It can't cause it knows it takes time.
It understands confidence.
I loves to walk with you.
It loves to run with you.
It follows you when your in love.
It wishes it can wipe your tears
It can't, but it acknowledges your pain.
It loves to be hugged.
It loves when you hug your soulmate.
It questions if he, or she is the right one.
It loves when you drink coffee.
It wants to feel energized and alive.
It watches when you drink alcohol.
It dislikes you when you pass out.
It loves when you stay hydrated.
It knows, i't wont help it's shadowy skin.
It wishes it can take care of you when you're sick.
It can't but it knows you are the doctor at heart.
It knows when you become young and old.
It knows, it will vanish when you're dead.
It wishes to see you in heaven someday.
It wishes it can hug you when your in solitude.
It can't comfort you, but knows you need someone.
It Comprehends your exertion.
It wishes it can move again, cause it's your friend.
It wishes it can talk, and meet your new friends and shadows.
It can't but it's comfortable with who you have in your life.
It wishes you can give it a name.
It knows you can keep the same same, or change it.
It misses you when you are sleeping.
It wishes it can get rid of the monster under the bed.
It can't get rid of the monster, but it knows you grow.
It wishes it can fight for you.
It can't fight your battles, but it will cheer for you.
It wishes it can take care of you.
When you can't take care of yourself.
It doesn't want you to be afraid.
Cause then you are afraid of yourself.
It loves you for who you are, so don't run.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation: a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; an extra-strength sleeping pill
pulling the masses into slumber,
and away from the awakened truth
that such supposed salvation
is an illusory ticket far too easy to obtain
for it to be real—
a discriminatory, fairy tale-damnation
that multiplies the divide
of "Us and Them."
Too many people hand out the easy tickets,
then cut and light the tree:
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into the mortar of temples designated as sacred,
while dogmatic shears amputate roots from the sky.
Too many people preach
about a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path
that leads towards the kingdom within,
and live the sacrifice because it feels right.
Again and again,
the ticket isn't so easy.
We must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs, until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.
For 27 years, 46664 was etched into the bark
of a branch in the road.
When forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then, the wood was made into crutches
for people to say,
*"M will fix it; M will do this, M will do that;
M will save us, just wait and see."*
M is finally free. Yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us;
he survives as spirit-seeds.
We must cease to lean upon crutches;
we must purge the pill from our blood
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our hearts,
before the vision withers completely,
and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans—
weakened hands and arms unable to lift their weight
held in our own hands all along,
held in our hands all along.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Her
The flower on the wall
Wilting slightly
Drops a petal
Fills her vase with Johnny Walker
Re hydrated
Firms her buds
He loves me…
The other posies
Gather round
As she is picked
To join the chosen
Form the wreath
'the arrangement'
That tops the coffin
It is her service
Sweet translucent sap
Leaks from her stem cut
For that is the fate
Of the daisy
He loves me not…
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 7:43 AM UTC
Death gives no rest to my cluttered mind. Death is my enemy! Even in slumber death claws to infect my dreams with its poison called nothingness! So I locked death in the depths of my heart in a chest marked fear. I put on different worldly masks… called college, travel, success, accolades, fiancé, money, sex….I used them to hide my shame but each one was cold blue and hypothermic. Yet in them I felt comfortable at the expense of lost potential and false identity. In frostbites pinnacle my only unbreakable mask shattered…..I lost my Love…………The wailing echoes of delusion shook me frigid till my raw bones shattered the question. Who am I? The undercurrent of desperation violently hydrated my reflection on the dark waters of my soul! I am faceless! Without a face who am I! Death take me now, for I am already nothing! From below came a vibration that graced my reflection with an ear, a lash and a deep iris.. then windows to my soul sprang and a smile dripped in unabated rejoice…I’m alive!!!! Who has done this?! Show your face, for you are my dearest friend! Without words death was shaken loose to the depressing reality of dipped anxiety. From behind my many masks I could see Death. For the first time I face you! Your eyes paint the familiar threat that casts me into the obis of nothingness but without you life was delusional meaninglessness! Because of your death threats my life has a face. Death is my Enemy and my Friend……………..Jesus conquered death so through it I may learn the meaning of His Love and who I really am......now to take down more of my masks……easier said than done....Praise Jesus.........To be continued……………….
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed,
yoga is a daily meditation,
that always beats a head depression,
mix my asanas with vegetables,
but no pasta nah because I’m gluten free,
stay hydrated and celebrated because I made it,
out of the gutter and into the upper echelons of society,
now I practice Jiu-Jitsu,
with the Gracies in Beverly Hills,
now I’ve got beautiful guy friends,
and amazing lover girls,
see these hands and massage your tensions,
or they can choke you into submission,
I could plant a seed that gives birth to life,
or I could take a life away in 8 seconds,
we can give life and taketh away,
I’d say it’s all just a matter of intention,
and they say that necessity,
is the mother of all inventions,
shout out to Plato for coming up with that one,
as we mold our future like Play Doh,
see we literally made everything we have,
we are literally our own creators,
it’s incredible what we can manifest,
as cliche as that sounds,
see you are the Master of your own destiny,
you decide if you win or lose,
every morning is a new day and a new chance to choose,
don’t let Yesterday’s regrets,
hold you back from Tomorrow’s goals,
get rid of any addiction you might have,
if that addiction doesn’t serve the soul,
see maybe reincarnation is real,
or maybe it’s not,
either way you’re alive right now,
and right now this life is all you’ve got,
to live your life,
that’s why they call it living,
and give thanks before every meal,
as if every meal is Thanksgiving,
see I have a saying,
if you don’t thank God for your blessings,
then you’ll soon have no more blessings,
to thank God for,
so give thanks,
not only to God but to your friends,
and not only to your friends,
but also to your self,
stay focused,
be true,
and remember this is only advice,
ultimately it’s all up to you,
so what are you going to do,
what choices are you going to make,
are you going to be one of the Real Ones that shine,
or are you just going to be another fronting fake,
choose wisely,
and over all be good,
give thanks nightly,
remember to rest well,
get as much sleep as you need,
so you can awake refreshed,
pay attention to your dreams,
and let go of all regrets,
wake,
stretch,
give thanks,
stay blessed.
∆ LaLux ∆
New Book Is FREE To Read & Download Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
At the first rumble of the thunder
You threw me to the grass
Kissing me deeply,
You knew you did not even have to ask
At the second dribble of rain
Your strong hands ripped my shirt
Stroking me softly,
I clawed at the cold, hydrated dirt
At the third strike of bright lightning
You smiled at my body
Thanking me sweetly,
Our bareness was anything but gaudy
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Morning, I have broke
With thorn covered glass
Her petals, they spoke
A romantical farce
Like kiss me I'm beautiful
In a sentence the first,
The second her petals
Hydrated my thirst
And pressure was made
I wrote down the results
When it should've been roses
We must both be adults
There's no time to be beautiful
No reasons we kissed
Once time was a picture
We drew on our wrist
A villain from our favourite film
We joked about his presence
Now he sits behind our back
Breathe deep and of the essence
With our veins on the wall
To keep them in order
To help us keep track
Of our son and our daughter
Who'll repeat our mistakes
Face down in the river
One day to emerge
With a smiling, spoiled liver
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
I write word after word after word
Backspace backspace backspace
Not good enough.
Needs to be
Better.
Isn't that how it always is,
Though?
Wanting to be better
And better
And better than that.
Nothing is good enough,
Right?
You rewrite and rewrite
And change your clothes
And change your clothes again.
You make a cup of tea,
But there's too much honey,
So you drink it and make it again,
This time there's not enough.
I swear the only reason I stay hydrated
Is because I keep remaking these cups of tea.
And I go and change my clothes,
And I rewrite and rephrase that sentence
And then that scene
And then this stanza,
And then I change my clothes again
All in hopes
To be better
Than before.
When will I be good enough
For myself?
Enough that I am even
Good enough for you?
Too casual, change into something cute.
Too cute, change into something ****
Ugh, why bother?
The fear of never being good enough
Eating away at my brain,
And my brain screams and cries
Striving at perfection
That I'll never
Achieve.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
Anarchy & Chaos
At the pyramids of Kæops
Pandemonium spreads
From the base of the cranium
Bad craziness
Piston engine pistol shot
Duality parallelogram agency
Ink spill
Brain spill
For as far as I know
It could all be on the page
For as far as you know
It could be forever lost...
After all
What is the point?
Organic mammal, Cro-Magnon
Formally leapt up
On two feet
Hello, digital nowhere-man.
Keeps me hydrated
In some strange way
Ink oil drum
Devastating spill
Killing every single thing
On the surface.
But you know what they say
About the iceberg...
...
What Hemingway said anyway.
Revenge
Revenge
Revenge
Heinous
Horrific
VENGEANCE
Let
The
Anchorage
Keel over
And
Die
YOU ARE CARCASSES
decomposing.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
This offends me as a vegan transgender hipster democrat voting Native-American-Indo-Chinese socialist anarchist hybrid illegal alien agnostic-atheist Germanic social engineering major dropout who only vapes fair-trade organic non-GMO decaffeinated French-pressed compressed and hydrated extra-skim grass-fed only protein soy breast milk on the regular and does Hindi Kama Sutra naked crossfit hot yoga 5 times a week. And frankly, since I am also a non-binary tri-gender genderqueer male feminist and I identify as a proponent to legalize cannabis and a Rastafarian, pansexual, genderfluid, Apache helicopter beta mutt of mega multi alpha beta gamma delta omega combo god of hyper death who's adamant about polygamous polyamorous relationships with an pure-bred alpha chihuahua which helped me cross the border of Mexico to let love trump the hate and get a job 3-D printing pink ***** hats all day. My dog also walks me to the local skate park and doggy styles me, while my gender neutral photographer neighbor takes pictures and sells them on the dark web antifa site and if you find that weird you're an ignorant arrogant homophobic gender-assuming globophobic bloodthirsty bacon-loving gun-toting cis-gender pan-sexual patriarchal incestuous sexist racist white-privileged misogynistic populist biased objectified white-privileged anti-communist **** indoor tanning Cheetos cheese-puff-loving republican.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Make sure to keep hydrated...Drink some gluten-free water!
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
That 1 lengthy and detailed conversation we had as I fixed her a hot bubble bath, it was very necessary to figure out the pattern in which each of our souls orbited around one another's life. Life. It seems that in the seams of this biographical regime, we get lost in between 2 wings, steering without a true tale, leading with our beaks instead of our two feet. Finding elation through impatience. Determination to fly without defining our own matrix. At that particular time I just wanted to slowly sit your soft body down into that pool of lavender scented steamed water, but everything you had to say nearly drowned me. The invisible crown I continuously placed on your head suddenly vanished as my imagination panicked. I always thought that my mind was backed up by my heart which was backed up by your art. Oh how gentle you scribble. I have to erase line by line, direction by direction, affection by affection, disconnect on top off disconnection. Difficulties I'm having while looking at you lather but no longer seeing you in the picture. Watching you lave as you give me your take on how our relationship was shaped was a bit unfitting. In my mind "it's inevitable that she's open for bidding". I'm lounged against the sink in a bind. Bonded by your fondness, then detached by your honest responses. How blunt you are and how drunk I'm soon to be. Wasted vibrations, my mouth began to tremble. Somehow I find an idea to cause the both of us to tickle. Temporary bliss. Moreover all of my hard efforts that night turned out to be the worst shift. I went from pleased to please. Expectedly you never tried to appease by appealing to my needs. Draining water like my decaying heart. Drying off reminds me of my suffocated feelings. Lotion as I drink this 40% potion. Hoping of hydrated coping. Can you leave? So I can shower, attempting to rinse away the most beautifully devastating hour.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Trying to get published is a ******* joke.
My hands are tired of holding my face together,
eyes open at the bottom.
Hydrated by tiny sighs of disappointment
passing through my fingers.
I'm tired.
They seek the ******** about flowers
and the quietness of a lake,
and all I have to offer is
the hopelessness that ensues
most of these messes,
and the reality that this **** exists.
They want the "solitude of a haiku" in every piece.
Well, I have some groundbreaking news ********
if humans were so content with everything
we wouldn't have or need any **** writers.
This is poetry too,
and if you think otherwise
your definition must be
shallow, jaded, and/or
[most importantly]
incredibly boring.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
when i thought of you i thought of
how many years it took to put together a calculated metric system
that could measure the centimeters of how little we were.
i could see through the windows in your chest, right to the spot that was kissed
one too many times by one too many bees,
i could almost pinpoint the stings - they were so red,
it was like the color of your blush when i told you i could feel two thousand
suns gathering in my voice box,
and i wanted to shine the sounds i could teach to you.
i thought of thrift shop valleys and simple trails to the nearest mountains,
you kept a smile on my face for nearly five days,
but i knew i could not fall in the depths for you - the risk was too high, like
high waters and highway jay walking and heights.
i thought of your laughter like an allergic reaction, pollen swarming into
my nostrils down to the ovals that caused so many sneezes and salt pouring
through my tear ducts like it had somewhere to go.
maybe it did, drenching the ground to form the next sea and maybe it just
grew into a fresh water lake,
because even though the red lines developed in my eye sockets you always kept
me hydrated with sweet, sweet, sweet
glances as if we had something to put away to sell once it
turned up valuable.
and maybe i should have absolutely gave you the leisure to
take my thoughts and pick through them to enhance the
endorphins and forget all the complicated stuff,
since you have a way to levitate up through the mist and
let all the sun do your ***** work,
like the unnoticed trash collectors and the janitors who
wonder what it's like to have a choice.
but i didn't give the green light, as i drove through the yellow
in case the bees were following me.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
you took my ****** rags and smeared them with your spit-- taped naked pictures to the wall of that dungeon until all he could see was your body, and your body alone. you loaded the pistol and shot yourself in the foot, when I noticed the bleeding you said it was just a flesh-wound. he finally fizzled your toes from out of your shoe, a dark cinderella-meets-the-prince-in-the-dark, and I saw that the wound was so open and gangrenous that little spritz of dried blood had formed faces and tears on the soles of your torn-and-tumbled canvas shoes.
you tried to say sorry. you pleaded and pleaded and said you'd take pistol-to-head or pistol-to-heart to be rid of the pain of my gargled and gutted reaction. you cried and you cried, our hearts sunk to the bottom of plastic-now stomachs.. but forgiveness is no microwave. forgiveness is a ballpark in steep Illinois summer heat where you drink to stay hydrated, think to stay sane, and write to the titter of tears on your chest.
Now heal your wound, antibiotic the gangrene. Just better the soles of your feet.
I'm already walking and walking and walking 'til my face meets obliterate sun.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
When the words won't come
I feel numb, empty inside
On a slow ride
Wanting to go faster
I sit waiting, for stimulus, motivation
Any sign of animation
in this head of mine
Waiting for the literary spark
My mind drips like a tap, drip, drip
Everything in slo mo
Need the words to grow
Blossom, bloom
Then
It hits me
A seed, a kernel
I feel the infernal rattlings
Of cogs that begin to turn
I feel it, a flutter, a thought
Emerging like a butterfly
Words multiply
I write
The words spill like a waterfall
Soaking my senses, breaking down fences
I am hydrated again
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Evaporating
hydrated molecules fall
loops of tears repeat
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
I thought about walking until my legs gave out;
The wind whistling in my ear,
The leaves silently chiming in the context.
My hands were cold and I was acutely aware of how frozen my face had become.
Each footprint was a part of myself I left behind.
I could have walked for evermore.
Making dents in the shallow ooze,
I took the earth with me.
I tried to use its power,
its goodness to fuel my vacant insides.
Why am I so self-absorbed?
Swollen bellied infants lie scorching in the heat.
Headache. Dried. Irritated.
Their faces leak of pain and nothing more.
They are scavenged birds that vultures seek,
Nesting on their parched skulls.
I wonder if they would cry if they had the equipment needed.
They still smiled, shaping their thin faces to a grin
I stand here full bellied, nourished, hydrated
and act like I have nothing
I have the earth in my shoes,
The capability to smile.
I should be thankful,
But instead I just walk.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
I am muddy water settling.
Stones skipped on my surface.
People jumped and played in my depths.
Stirring fish thoughts and algae emotion.
Animals and trees kept hydrated on my pristine water.
I taste of vintage wine and drunk sunlight all the time.
Waterfall has to get away, going somewhere I've never been before.
There's no use in fighting or crying because you can always leave;
dry yourself off and erase your memory of my many streams.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
I laid your body down by the river bank, you looked at ease as I dipped your hair in the waters
I went to woods around, and found wild flowers to lay on your chest
I placed them softly in your hands, and laid them across the sunset that was your arms
How they would hold me in my oblivion, and see me out of the abyss
You are gone from this world, and the pain is something that is almost unreal
You told me to not worry about the future, but that’s hard to do when you aren’t here
You were always something solid in my life, you were the tree I sat under when I needed a place of safety
Oh how I wish my tears could bring you back, I would cry till I no longer was hydrated, if it meant you would be with me again
I would bleed my arms to the river you lay in, I would throw my flesh to the wolves around, if it meant you would kiss me once more
I have to learn how to be by myself, and it’s the most hollowing thing I’ll have to do
You told me to be strong, and that you would always be with me
You were always the strong one, you were always the sun, you were always the light
Now you lay on the river bank, your hair looking as strands of oasis in the water
Your skin is radiant like an emerald, your beauty was only a factor of how special you were
Now I have to learn how to live again, learn to live alone
I feel sick looking at you, knowing I have to send you away, down the river
You made me promise that I would send you away like this
You always were so amazing like that, you were an angel of nature
You wanted to float down this river, were we used to lay, and watch the moon above
You said you wanted to go away like a flower, floating on the water to somewhere new and exciting
So I’m doing what you wished, even if it means I’ll never see you again
I don’t know where you’ll end up when I send you away, I hope it is somewhere you will be at peace, were you will be at ease
Even now, you have a faint smile, a smile of someone pure
You looked so tranquil as I laid you in the water, the river stream as soft as your hair laid against my arms
When I let you go, I grabbed for you in reaction, I didn’t want to lose you
But I knew this was your time to leave, so I let you become the flower on the water, and watched you float with such grace
I sat on that riverbank, and cried the most bitter and sorrowful tears, because now you were gone
And I was alone
But you said I needed to be strong, not just for me, but for you
You said I would see you again, in an eternity of joy
I don’t know what you meant, but it sounded nice
The faint sounds of the wind, play me a song of sadness
For they know I have lost you, and wish to mourn with me
I love you, and always will
I should have said it more, maybe it would bring you back
Time isn’t moving, it’s just staying still, and my hands are stained with these black tears that I shed
I have to do my best, to stay strong, for I made a promise to you
That I would do my best, to stay strong
To stay strong…
Strong…
But I don’t know if I can, but I can’t break the promise
Because it’s all I have left of you now
The river were I laid you to depart, will always give me great joy, and immense sorrow
For it was the place we went to talk, to share our souls, to commit our youths to the laughter of our joyous innocence
Strong…
This I’ll try my best for you
Because
I love you
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
One day Bravery climbed all the way to the moon.
Yes, his name was Bravery.
And his middle name was Reagan.
And he was seven and three fourths.
But anyway, please pay attention to the actual story.
One day Bravery climber all the way to the moon.
He drew himself a staircase,
And he ran all the way.
He had to stop a few times
To catch his breath and take a drink of water,
You must stay hydrated.
But oh boy did he get there.
He was never "shooting for" the moon in the stars.
Bravery believes in strict gun control laws.
Plus he's only seven and three fourths.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC