"hypothermic" poems
Cold winter camping
Frigorific night huddled around fire
Many coyotes auspiciously howling nearby
"Don't worry, they're across the water"
Still I wait at the ready with coyot-basher
Tents in snow shielded from peninsula
By tarps lashed together with rope and ply
"You'd probably die out here" says Oscar
Here meaning Newfoundland
Here meaning the Northern Pen.
Agreeing monosylabically
Nearly hypothermic thinking
Not so bad
Maybe stay another night (says the voice)
Sneak down to water
And jump in ice fishing hole
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
I want to take apart my skin
when the sun is too bright
and the world is too full
of people who will never know me.
I want to open the rivers
inside my wrists and empty them;
to pour myself away
the way I pour whisky
into my empty stomach,
and my hypothermic limbs
into stranger's beds.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 10:01 PM UTC
She hushes me repeatedly
as if my voice could be– too loud
for these shrunken, elder walls
What voice can I revive to tell her
that this little place...reminds me...?
Ratchet up the memories
the young mistakes
my welfare “townhouse”
as if my voice could be too loud?!
Where does anger go to say
These cheesy rugs remind me!
of the smoky halls, stoop-sittin’
head lice, **** roach
fumigated invasion
Music loud enough to blow pipes
induce trauma through the walls
Thud Crash
“Stupid ****
Knife-weildin’, drug-sellin’, boyfriend-of-a-future
A can of beer later...
with stress on hold
the smells of dinner, now—all fifteen of them!
Assault me through the front window
“Ya there yet?
...to this “cute little apartment, I mean?"
So it’s sold…
Someone else will wash windows, rake the yard
Shovel Massachusetts snow
Christmas lights come down
in my mind—
Running toward them still
Toes numb
Skates bouncin on my back
Sled firing off sparks against the sidewalk in my wake
Running and as always late
Mittens soaked, heavy
Like my eyes—
Mom and I
looking out this window for the last time
Looking out toward the daughter of the woods I was
Behind—me
the bride sinks
to the bare mattress—
“Was it really 57 years?
How can it be?”
since...clutching can opener and Coke
He scooped her up and through that door....
“How can it be? Oh my….”
"You can always keep the memories."
she chirps to check the tears
But I can’t taste them!
…Mom baking cookies
stew and dumplings on the stove
Snitching chocolate bits
waiting for the bowl
Impatient little helpers at her side
Colors slipping…
A child husks corn in sunlight
A blue Huffy gleams behind birthday candles
Sheets billow from the line
Sounds fading...
A choir of music boxes
before the Christmas carnage
Doing dishes in three-part harmony
I can barely wrap my words around our voices!
“You can always keep the memories”
Preamble to the dutiful decision
Hypothermic excuse
to dump the place
Street sign shrinking in the rear-view
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 4:06 PM 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
Tonight
got away from the mess
city toothache throb
ensemble of car horns
shoppers throwing money
like empty sweet wrappers
park is better
calming me a cup of cocoa
stepped into Narnia
without the wardrobe
snow squeals with each step
little deaths
little graves where others have stood
a ring of prints from a hundred shoes
breathe in white silence
find frost’s left a hypothermic dance
between wires of a tree
white fibres together as arms
sweep clean the bench
blanket of sherbet
sit and think
how simple it is to be forgotten
alone a caterpillar of tinsel
in a tattered brown box
not allowed to shine past
December thirty-first
or not shine at all
rather a rope of dud fairy-lights
I wonder I wonder
lamppost emits a frigid glow
night unfurls above my head
I left my gloves
at home again
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
I'm about to take a cruise to an arctic wonderland
Trees will be tumbling and white
Cars will be snow-blown and frosted
My limbs will be hypothermic and exhausted
The sky will be a dull gray
I will be enclosed in sepia tones
Black and white like the sweet 50's.
But constantly I wish I'd happen to spy
Your black silhouette on the milky white sky.
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
Her face
Sour
A washed out ugly gray
Similar to that of dishwater
With greenish clumps
That closely resemble
Expired milk clods
For eyes
Her hair
Worn out
An expanse of stringy greased mess
As if she’d dunked it into a fry cook’s sink
With the occasionally highlight
Of a darker, muddy brown
Like Mother Nature gave up on a painting
And left her
Her body
Frail
A structure of porous bones and blood
A once pure white soiled with brownish red speckles
The devoured remains of a media wolf’s snack
Unable to really hold itself up
It shudders and shakes constantly
Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat
So undeniably ugly
Disgusting feeble and poor
Yet somehow
Against what all the yet of you see
I see something gorgeous
Something that could be loved
What I see in her
I love
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC
Could it be that locked in memory
Ancient thoughts are held in store,
Passed on by Neanderthal man
Who's origins we may recall.....
Ape like in physique and frame,
Prominent prognathus jaw,
Burning eyes intense and sharp,
Intelligence to seek for more.
Telepathic thought transference
Little need for guttural grunt,
Massive strength in hand and thigh
Stinking pelt to back and front.
Rushing through the reed and long grass
Casting lance with lunging throw,
Mastodon with roaring bellow
Thrashing trunk with thunderous blow.
Darkness in the smoky cavern
Clustered at the flinted flame,
Family and others warming
Squat encircled, chewing game.
Listening in the chill of moonlight
Listening to the wolf pack howl,
Out across the snow clad forest
Out beyond the hooting owl.
Chewing pelts to soften leather
Massive teeth in massive jaw,
Wary eyes observe the weather
Southern winds may bring the thaw.
Luscious she with scent ascending,
Luscious she with hairy maw,
Bent to me in sweet surrender
Downy hip and coaxing paw.
Roar in rage and beat the earth
Blazing eyes and heaving chest,
Invasion from the **** Sapiens
Seeking females for their nest.
Skies descend with fire and brimstone
Rock cascades and burns the earth,
Mountain God has vent his fury
Scamper hard to cave’s safe berth.
Cold, so cold this bleak snow weather
No retreat from Winter’s ire
Brother, sisters, sons are huddled
Frozen dead in blue ice byre.
Few, so few now to migration
Trek to southern food and heat,
Starving, wet and hypothermic
Staggeringly trudge the weak.
Few, so few to intermingle
With the **** Sapiens here,
Serfs in ******* low and squalid
BUT SURVIVORS..STRONG AND CLEAR!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 August 2011
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
woke with hypothermic and shaky skin
a thought: we are made of street lamps
and damp grass feet dripping dew tonight
we live in the color blue under electric moon
and my skin and clothes will be lined up
on top of the dresser for you to sink your teeth in later
my hands are cold in their lipping grasps but your
hips are warm, and desert breathes dragonfly
and smells of chlorine, our legs kaleidoscope
in the pool's reflection.
i am still cold, i am still in spring breaks
broken and inviting your scent back in my life.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
A hypothermic
jungle, limbs removed.
Garbled mating
songs and silences.
Arial view:
Technicolor.
Black and gray.
Black.
Silences.
Silence.
Was that a flower?
No, a candy wrapper.
No, a rotting fingernail.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
Her face is a sour
Washed out ugly gray
Similar to that of dishwater
With greenish clumps
That closely resemble
Floating milk clods in the
Center of her face
For eyes
Her hair is a worn out
Expanse of stringed greasy mess
As if she'd dunked it into a fry cook's sink
And left it to sit
With the occasional underscore
Of a darker, muddy brown
Streaks of feces throughout her head
For highlights
Her body is such a frail
Structure of porous bones and blood
A once pure white is soiled with
Brownish blood red speckles and smears
Like the horrid remains of a wolf’s meal
She can’t even hold herself up and she
Shudders and shakes constantly like some
Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat
She’s so undeniably ugly and
Disgusting feeble and poor
But how would you feel if I
A relatively sane, accepted member of society
Was able to see something in this horrid girl that I loved?
You’d never accept it and you’d no longer recognize me
For finding love the wasn’t perfectly suited to your ideals
My love has to be pretty
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 9:41 AM UTC
i put on my sweatshirt, yoga pants, tennis shoes,
and said, "I think i'll go for a jog."
And I left. I ran down the driveway
I jogged round the turn,
I passed, on my way down the road,
a collar.
Pink, purple and small.
I took a break. Walked it off
That lost collar means a lost pet.
that lost collar might mean a lost kid.
I brushed it off.
Running across the bridge, I
told myself i couldn't stop, or
The eyes behind windshields would stare.
would realize im nothing.
I took the path along the river.
It was noticeably full and wide.
a dark, River green.
the current was strong and I
Followed it with the path
until i coudnt breathe. And
I told myself to get a rusty fishhook
carve my failure into my skin.
I told myself to ****
To **** myself.
To jump in the winter river,
to leap too far into the hypothermic current
to come back.
I sat on the edge for too long.
I went back home.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
Your heart is colder
Than Antarctica,
Where the temperatures
Can **** you.
But I'll risk a brain freeze
To be in your arms.
Apr 19, 2023
Apr 19, 2023 at 2:24 AM UTC
I swallowed
the sound of your name
like it was a star--
five points,
the type they
teach you to draw
in kindergarten.
It hurt
on its way down,
stalagmites of constellation
catching on my uvula,
hanging on with
astronomical strength.
But this is no cliffhanger.
Do you know what happens next?
I stopped breathing.
You've never deserved
your name,
you know.
"Light giving,"
it means.
Oh,
and how I gave into
the sublime
fallacy
of it.
Because
all you ever did was steal
the moons from my irises.
You treated me like
I was the dirt beneath
your fingernails
(you forsake
the dust on your windowsill--
but don't you know
all dust comes from
the wondrous galaxy that
dwells before us?)
I reached out to you
only to get
c u t
o f f
at the hands
Still,
I couldn't let you
go,
didn't know how to.
Even when my flame
was reduced
to these weeping cinders,
even when the idealization
I held between my palms
found itself exiled
to this mausoleum
of severed trust,
hatred blossoming
in rosettes against
crumbling tombstones.
The epitaph reads,
"At a loss for words."
Tell me this:
what sort of
"light giver"
doesn't believe in
in the possibility of magic--
in the pinnacle of light itself?
You always thought me
a foolish girl
for dreaming--
naive girl,
silly girl,
wrists blooming
in paper cuts,
always one fairytale
away from insanity.
Until
one day,
I stopped believing
altogether.
And all it took
was a single glance
from those eyes--
glacial sapphires,
your grandest seduction.
Hell itself would have
hardened itself to tundra
at the sight of them.
You always had a way
of contaminating
the things I loved
with a frostbite so lethal,
I would have
gladly dismembered
every hypothermic part
of myself
(every fragment of soul
you ever touched).
Like a shooting star,
I fell for you--
hopelessly.
Catastrophically.
And then the heavens went
dark.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
During that winter
We experienced a blizzard of crippling misfortune
Cold misery mounted our souls
And we carried it wherever we went
Filled with shame and strokes of bad luck
We were put into a hypothermic coma
And pushed along by careless snowplows
Forced into the drive way aprons of the rock salt streets
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
_snow is falling
piano playing in the background
grey skies
dead leaves litter the ground
tree limbs creaking in the wind
soaked clothes
numb
no more feelings
heart frozen
head aching
body breaking
walk out to the big oak tree
heart buried in the snow
leave it
leave it there
don't care for it
hypothermic love
i gave up a long time ago_
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
it’s climbing a mountain in a blizzard unclothed,
with frostbitten fingers and toes and nose.
I've scaled this wall of ice for so long; the top of the summit always seems so close.
it’s my hypothermic body frozen two feet from your face,
and I still can’t reach you.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 3:51 PM UTC
You put up all these walls between us
And now I know why
It's not because you don't want to let me in
It's not because you're afraid of attachment
Or committing
Or rejection
Or loss
No, you push me away
So ******* far away
Because you want to make sure that you drown
I'll never let go, even if you do
Because I'm the Jack to your Rose
And I swear,
I would rather die drowning
With my last image being you
Half-conscious and hypothermic
Lips blue and eyes delusional
Gorgeous and pulling it off, like only you can
I would rather see you like this
Knowing that my drowning saved you
Than be alive and apart from you
Knowing that you were drowning yourself
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
Dad’s ocean is washing away
The frame of our house.
I am on the second floor,
Riding the waters of Mother’s tears.
I plug my ears with my fingers
And hold my breath;
I still feel the ebb and flow of his rage.
The hypothermic water winds
Around my toes like nooses.
My body is a life vest
Floating on top of a row boat bed.
Its boards are rotten and creaking
Under my adult weight.
Our house is a fish tank. Everyone is staring
through our windows with bulbous eyes as
Rivers flow from our pains of glass.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
i don't feel myself
i became someone else i used to hate
i'm a hypocrite i'm hypochondriac i'm hypothermic
and i'm overly active
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
Stanley Kunitz would have outlawed anger management,
where was he when I was dealing with my felony charges?
Dylan Thomas would have bailed me out,
"Make it your legacy, kid. Go out swinging. How was the bologna?"
Marianne Moore would have materialized before little old intoxicated, hypothermic me,
"This is mortality, this is eternity. Save yourself the trouble, hang yourself in this cell, sweetie."
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
across the oceans surface
my hopes float amongst the waves
lapping against the shore with a violent rhythm
the tide growing angrier with every retraction
desperation making the water cold
reaching hypothermic temperatures
eventually,
my aspirations and everything I have ever known
will sink to the bottom
where they will remain
along with the promises you broke
and all the words I never got to say
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
Well it seems she was hungry
Very hungry
But what can be expected when she is left out in the cold?
When things get hungry they will eat
But is there still an ally behind that blood soaked snarl?
What type of delusion am I in?
Brought on by a loss of blood or the hypothermic cold?
Can you even be aware of your own delusion?
Still, she appears skittish
Despite what has to be a satiated belly
I mean, how much more could she possibly eat?
What a delusion
Should I let the cold take me?
It seems inevitable
And now the wolf approaches, to finish her meal?
Or to curl up and warm me on this frigid night?
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
A flowered, timidly small bird I passed,
limp and shivering on the unforgiving asphalt
echoed within me all of which he never had
with his creaking sepia beak
through his lungs, out his throat.
He peeped feebly to plead me to lean closer,
I obeyed, slowly kneeling,
as to never disturb this creation.
He projects the coasts of Indonesia
to tell me how he so wished to dip his wings in its pristine water bodies,
He carries me through the forbidden treetops of the Amazon
withering over each exotic insect he never tasted,
He cradles me over the mighty Atlantic until we reach Australia
pointing toward each kangaroo and dingo he never spoke with,
And lastly he showed me the family he never followed
to warmer worlds, blanketed from winter’s rickety breath,
too afraid to conquer the blustery heights above.
Which led him to this moment, waiting for their return on this sidewalk,
losing feeling with each escaping tendril of life.
He spread himself to reach towards my face.
As I lower to make contact with his damp and disheveled wings
I feel each feather individually sweep my cheeks
as he died weepy and swollen in grief,
turning my skin pink with shame, because
we all lie hypothermic on the sidewalk, too timid to take the first flight.
And I, a fledgling,
have many miles left to pilot before the Floridian warmth will comfort me
in endless palm tree affection,
kissed by the fragrant shoreline.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC