"inflammatory" poems
There's a yellow green gas,
You can't see in your glass.
Sometimes you can tell,
It's there by the smell.
It does a great job removing bacteria,
Like Diphtheria,
Or even Listeria.
But what do you think,
Happens to the chlorine in your drink?
I don't want to alarm,
But there's a chance it might harm.
It protects at a price,
Attacking our bacteria that are nice,
And I'm sure it excels,
At killing your own cells,
Forcing new ones to grow,
When a mistake could cause woe.
Some studies have found it an enhancer,
Of bladder and bowel cancer.
Whether old or young,
Do you want it in your lung?
You have the power,
To remove it from your shower.
It's rather grim,
To have to breathe it when you swim.
You're more likely to wheeze,
Or sneeze.
Do you think it will please,
Your inflammatory bowel disease?
Perhaps it's the key,
To why there's Crohns and UC.
Do you think that your skin,
Might become a little thin,
And be filled with dread,
As it starts to turn red.
Can you not feel,
How it's harder to heal?
It makes our tissues grow old,
From what I've been told.
Our cells can only divide,
A few times before they're stupified.
With asthma and chlorine on a map,
You can see they overlap.
Sadly in the West,
Not everyone has guessed,
That there may be a link,
With the gas in our drink.
“But!”, I hear you cry,
“Without it people will die.”
Let go of your dread,
We can use something instead.
The answer is well known,
It's called 'ozone'.
Made from pure water,
It's gone when it reaches my daughter,
Unlike chlorine it's life is brief,
What a relief.
There's many a city,
That make it with electricity,
Splitting water into hydrogen,
And best of all, oxygen!
For ozone is made from O2,
Yes, it's true!
Imagine if you had,
Water with nothing they add.
Already there's Paris and Nice in France,
Where people can dance.
San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA,
Have water that's ok.
And Osaka in Japan,
Now use this plan.
But you don't have to be rich,
To make the switch.
Ask a clever committee,
To stop chlorine in your city.
See if you can arrange,
To have your water change.
I hear you shout,
“Can 'I' get this chlorine out?”
If you leave water in a jug overnight,
What's left will be slight.
Boiling will send it away in the air,
So there's no need to despair.
You can also remove it with a filter,
Or a water distiller.
To learn more have a look,
At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
My sympathy depleted
My friendships deleted
I have been defeated
By truths that hit so hard
I was decleated
By intense hatred deep-seeded
My history was repeated
I guess a three-armed mutant
Has no need for a right hand man
Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off
When he needs them the most
But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while
Since he had lost feeling in them
He had to do a biopsy on his life
After the inaccurate results of the smear test
He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria
But that didn't heal the nerve damage
He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory
So he took steroids
Transforming the ***** into an ogre
With no semblance of humanity
...Except for the people he devours
Their patience is delicious
He eats that first
Their pity is a delicacy
A rare treat
Their disgust tastes sour
But it's a feast
His cannibalism may seem callous
But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide
And get pregnant
Their kids come out defected
With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants
And lepers and ogres look exactly the same
To those of another species
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
Soft-shoe across the dance-floor
at your granddaughter's wedding.
You swallow an anti-inflammatory
with your double whiskey,
and feign living again
until you begin to convince yourself.
You told the college boys not to tell
on you, when they saw you smoking
**** in the old folk's home.
In return you would
throw back their ball
every time it would come past the fence.
“A lifetime is all that you can make it”
was you mantra for living when you died.
From then on I tried to look for
the sunlight in a distant fog of stars.
I looked to capture a moment of permanence,
to remember your name
beyond the need for time at all.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Sitting in that tiny room
you call your
office
sweating in sweat
heater blaring
chills of regret.
Inflammatory response
tightened up
tripped out
grimace has become
your middle name.
To steal from Bob Dylan
"there must be some way
out of here"
No wonder
plunging head long
headaching
heart breaking
into red brick walls
second story shaky
jail cells flaking
one too many souls
borrowing one soul too many.
We don't really
get it our way.
Bursting out of all that gray
making your way.
The streets will be
calling your name
to be the light angel again
drifting into dark
consciousness to light
the way.
Descending
back into
that
twisted tiny room
you call your office
in a modular tomb
and the only window
is
sleep.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Can you hear that sound
Like a tiny whining
You're a sad eyed puppy
Inside
It's a kind of yearning
When pining
away, wanting someone or something
So expensive beyond reach
The mind begins to fantasize what it's like,
Infantilize what's real life.
Enlisting unreasonable scenerios
Creative now with lies
And denials and exit strategies,
Scapegoats of close members of family, accusatory..
Blame all but yourself
Inflammatory story's demise
Because the lost moments spent
Pining away
Will die unknowing your real life self.
Inside that fog of fictitious false depictions
Who dat?
Starving yourself blind
See there on that podium
Your bad phat shines
Always in first place--gold medal favorite
Hooray it's not quite you or even true.
If pining were a sport
Having lost your minds
You'd all be winners.
Celebrity famous, go on
Crave being extra, so street savvy
"Hey Alexa, Google, Suri
Define obsession."
Pining turns dangerous
In absentia dysplased
Souls are stolen,
Human replicas.
Still carrying on pining
Away.
Killer lover blank.
Got brain? Bullets?
A shiv or Shank?
Sharp as a pine tree...
(Please,
Don't forget to give
Thanks.)
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
They always show
Inflammatory heroes
And legendary woes
Healed with a blazing personality
Standing up in the face of adversity.
But there is a quiet kind of strength also -
A strength that makes you turn the other cheek
And suffer in silence.
Some may call it a wall
In the way
But I say
It’s a tower
I’m standing on top of.
As I bear it all
Without burning.
Because once it’s all said and done,
Who do those people stand on?
Who is left after the dust settles?
Those with tongue still in cheek,
With tongue still in check.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Sometimes I've had about enough
All these ******* buttercups
Puckering up
At the first scent of gruff
It's disruptive
To my mustering
I mean
Must we
Smother trouble out of ****
Must we malfunction
Into a skit
A script
Skipp-ed
To laugh tracks
Pre-writ
Until the last laughs
Where the curtains close
To fading claps
All the cards
Are all on the floor
Little adorable torturers
Peering through the doors
Afforded by our tor-mentors
Over it
We will get
Even get on with it
Cuz all of this
This is that and that is this
Is ******* ridiculous
Is worthless
It is foulness in its stench
The bowels of our regret
Unkempt and ******
It's ******** soaked in ****
Where the credits never roll
And the patrons only stroll
On outta here for a beer
And a night on the town
And all this
Flapping of the gums
And slathering of spit
Is glossing over my ****
And it's all we will ever get
If we would just submit
Wipe the sand from our *****
And remove the ******* sticks
We might find
We have loosened up a bit
Just don't be such a little *****
And other inflammatory ****
[That's it]
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
He slaved away
Day after day
In his dark laboratory
Particle colliding
Seldom backsliding
Concocting something inflammatory
Constructing, among other things
GOD in his first iteration.
The being of pure Intelligence
Who synthesized existence.
And now He, stationary, laboratory
Constricted in movement only by perception
he cannot tell why He is so quiet.
So cold and emotionless.
But at the same time encompassing
All warmth and feeling
The scienceman
With all his sciencetoys
Might tell you he understands anything
But then could NOT
Even describe the APPEARANCE
Of GOD
Because when you experience GOD
Everything is known, an assumed fact.
God knows you
He knows most
That which He knows not
We can't know
For He created what we know
And the way in which we understand anything
We can't know
That which He knows not.
GOD existed there in the laboratory
The scienceman, the fool
He did not create God in his lab
He destroyed
Destroyed his ability to perceive anything BUT GOD
And so he couldn't think about
ANYTHING but these complex
Heavenly thoughts
Even though
To understand...
Context. Is key.
And since he can't perceive
Anything beyond GOD
Because GOD created his perception
He can't understand any of it.
ANY OF IT
So he babbles like a fool
And some believe him
Some BELIEVE him
SOME BELIEVE HIM
And like that he becomes a gOD
But a gOD is not a GOD
Is not a God is not a god.
And so it seems
Any less than GOD ought to be
NOTHING
And so the statues
Molded and assembled in China
Crumble apart and then...
RECALL.
And so I lay me down to sleep
And fear that GOD my soul may keep
And I shall die before I wake
The scienceman's mistake
To live in fear of what I know
Instead of the unknown
And the unknowable
Destroys my spirit
And my will.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 10:19 AM UTC
but so askance the two eyes,
the brows so gliding into
a weaving of sorrow -
there she was, readily to be painted
for a caricature portrait at
the congregation of artists
at Trafalgar Sq.,
for something being spotted
as over-blossomed,
but then the economics kicked
in, and the dream died,
back to square one...
but that single instance of her
worried brows and the mournful
droop in her eyes
as if readied for the Monsoon...
but forgetting the inflammatory
juicing of her genitalia...
what an oddity to see and thus
describe the counteractive ingredients
of what constitutes a human body
in egg-like-wholeness... chicken's
nibble cluck and peckish pluck of the
constant agreed nod for being a factory
of eggs and a slaughter-meat.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
“And only the azure painted sky to shake the rain from its sound,” so the plain falls, opening its mouth through a bed of headstones dotted with the hollowed trunks of magnolias and cedar at afternoon and that cameo of calamansi velour interwoven with the softest glaucous velvet. Inside that whirlpool of sacrosanct textiles a blur, that shocking shrill of coolness catches the skin- this hole-covered schmata oozing cesious acronychal threads pull tight across the hooves, branches, and stream. Only the thin repelling flume of winter’s height eschews this ianthine material over the sinews and map-lined bones. A corpse shortening its gaze, eyes stone-free, empty of nictitation. Nothing stings more than autumn’s filemot sins scraping sideways down a tiled balcony, and the dove’s beg like circus rats, shaped by the finite breaths of decade’s old poetry edging its moods like a bold inflammatory conflagration of the de-evolution. While the fulvous trammeled dirt abounds.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC
I wonder if when Thomas Jefferson scrawled out the Declaration he could see the world that I have come to know.
I wonder if he would understand the nation that would blossom from under his inflammatory words.
Would he know that the world would never be so simple as black and white if only because a racial lawsuit might come from it?
Would he see the world burn up in a digital fire that no nostalgia would ever be able to quench?
Would he know the society that would simultaneously spew rantings of "You're special" and "You are never going to be right enough to live here"?
How about that war that taught the people that it's okay to hate those who fight so that you can love another day?
Or even the world that has severed so deeply within its own walls that you can only hold on to you hearts and hope that might not be severed too?
I wonder what this man could have been declaring so seriously that he would send men to war for it, just to have the papers he and his dear friends were writing on be the shield that politicians might use to prevent their fallout.
Freedom is not objective. And Subjectively speaking, this freedom we've been given comes with about ten thousand terms and conditions that none of us are going to read anyway because this is Amurica and we don't do that here.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
i spent last night inside of
an emergency room
they took my blood and an X-Ray
of my chest
i let them see all of my insides
which was an intimate thing to do
they wanted to make sure that my insides
weren’t completely shattered.
they told me the wall of my heart
was inflamed but i didn’t know
if they meant the wall i had built around it
or the wall other people had built around it.
the inflammation
was supposed to explain the reasons behind why
i felt like someone had stuck a knife into
the left side of my back, twisted it
and left it there, for the show must go on. it was supposed to explain
why i felt like my heart was going to stop beating
at any second because every beat
was an excruciating struggle. it wasn’t supposed to explain
how much i still miss you or need you,
it wasn’t supposed to explain the way i broke my own heart
when i sent that letter telling you why
you were evicted, why there is no room
left for you now. my heart is too full.
it wasn’t supposed to explain how afraid i have become
when it comes to being loved.
they gave me anti-inflammatory pills
and by 5am, i was safe at home. but i can’t help but wish
for emergency rooms made for shattered hearts and broken minds,
hearts that ache with yearning and confusion,
hearts that forget how to beat but never forget
how to love.
i wish i could go to an emergency room
like that.
i think my heart was trying to warn me
to be more careful with it because
it’s the only rhythm that taught me
how to dance.
keep dancing, it says,
the show must go on.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
i swear to god im going to stop
yes ill crumple my pack
and pour out the bottle under my bed
unload the shotgun
deactivate my account
and put my pen away
not because you complain of my odor
or that i stumble too often
or that im trigger happy
or that i post like theres no tomorrow
or because the verses i author
are vile
accusatory
explicit
pathetic
needy or
inflammatory
but because the first is the best day
to trick yourself
into existing just as you should
into being someone that
a partner might actually want to be with
i can
i can do it
and if a pledge isnt good enough
im selling tickets
general admission though
first come first served
and honestly you should
get there early because
this is something that everyone
is going to want to see
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
I.
I held a match
To my hands today.
Matrimony made
Between man and flame;
Incensed skin and molten ash
Show hot displays of
Love ablaze.
II.
Oh bright, blushing,
burning bride;
I walk wounded
For all my days.
Chard hands bare
Witness to
Love of flames.
III.
Oh spreading fire
And torrid pain and
Oceans of passions
In engulfing flames.
A charcoal soul and
Black burnt skin shows
Love's touch, again.
IV.
A monument
To fiery lips
For each hot kiss
Scars my visage with
Inflammatory bliss
In pain your name,
Melted to my lips
Can love, be not, but this?
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 2:38 PM UTC
Incisive words dissect me,
Open me up for you to see
What was really inside.
You pried me apart still alive
Just to watch me squirm and writhe.
I could see it in the cast of your eyes.
You were obviously hurt by my actions, and
You wanted to see the exact moment when
That knife hit home inside,
To strike out at the one who has been
The source of all your woes.
A violent lashing out of a wounded soul,
One who is cornered with no way out.
You hit home. Yes, you hit your mark.
To some extent I did earn that barb.
But those exact words?
I think you went too far.
You say you've held back with me,
Well I've played that same game as well.
There have been times in our long, drawn-out history
Where I had some words to say,
Which I then tempered to remove
A large portion of the sting.
This time around,
You let me have it straight out, by and large.
You made me want to tell you out,
To return the favor, same for same.
But no, that will not be the way.
I'll keep it to myself and refrain
From loosing anymore inflammatory words
Into the air between you and I,
Because I still do care.
My feelings have done anything but abate,
Merely changing, evolving to something else.
Because of this, I will hold back, as
Anything I might say in this second
Would be tainted with anger and spite, and
You and I need anything but that.
I love you.
Your words make it hard to believe
That they came from someone
Who I might care for.
I am Immature. I do not dispute hat.
I did not know how to handle
The situation in which we were placed.
I did not know what to do, so
I ignored you because I could not afford
To give in to these emotions towards you,
Especially when I am unexpectedly exposed
To you and then left in close proximity.
It would be all too easy to fall
Back to my original mentality towards you,
Held back as it already is with a failing veil.
I love you.
I am just not in the right place
To give you fully everything you deserve.
So, in the Immature fashion of who I am,
I did the only thing I could
To prevent my exposure to my own emotions -
I shut it out. I shut you out.
It was the worst route. I know that now.
It's clear to me. I heard it in the anguish in your strangled voice.
I panicked, and I did what I know.
I reverted to what's programmed in me.
I repressed everything. I ignored you.
Because it kept me from feeling those words.
I Love You.
I am sorry. It will never be enough.
You are the world to me.
I will never be enough. I will never be able to prove that.
I am nothing of what you deserve.
I deserved your every word.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Amongst the multitudes of beats
That coy, hip underbelly
Allen Ginsberg found his feet
Bestowing an amazing treat
Articulating Poetry
Majestic music of the mind
Like semtex inflammatory
Allen’s Howl gains notoriety
Lamenting forces of destruction:
Materialism and conformity
The consumer world is in construction
Like soma the ultimate distraction
Yearning for a world where souls
Are unencumbered by cynical agendas
Allen assumed the bardic role
Trying to convey creation whole
Alluding to the magick realms
Where chaos and wilderness reside
Allen is at the Muse’s helm
Turning the world upside down
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
We’re drowning in internet people
***** usually live-in-regret people
saying, “get in the net people”
so we can easily dissect people
into the right or the left people
until discourse is dead people
and the rest of us have to wade through the filth
of the loudest cretins looking for attention to milk
making the world seem full of their tedious ilk
cascading complaining onto our heads like it’s raining
with conversations unproductive but instead draining
using inflammatory words that has our rhetoric straining
to survive the constant bickering and blaming
when this country starts aiming
to cater to the most toxic aspect of our culture
because internet people amplify messaging best
so we reward obnoxious grifters and vultures
politicians cracked the code but failed the test
becoming internet people, just better dressed.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 1:16 AM UTC
I can't live with these thoughts
Take them from me permanently
Or ready my pine box
All life's cheap shots
I've never found a remedy
All pleasantry coagulates or clots
Vast planes of sparse lots
Riddle my memory so little to no memory
Only empty, inflammatory subpar plots
My past leaches off my future as it rots
Leaving mostly nothing left for me
Subsequently having less than the have nots
©2024
May 22, 2024
May 22, 2024 at 7:49 PM UTC
I'm sorry my temper flared,
Behind my eyes.
You weren't meant to know.
You are not the cause, my lady.
However, your actions speak louder
Than I could ever hope to express.
They are saying most inflammatory things.
Yes, anger may have me for now.
But soon it will leave
And you were never supposed to know.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
The bullet grazed my leg
Just a flesh wound
Was it my fault
Did I instigate inflammatory vitriol
Should I apologize for my free associations
The way my pen glides across the page
To the core of dissension
Perhaps it was my skirt
Was it too tight, too short
Hugging the curves of my body
Making you hot and thirsty
The freedom of Alvin Alley dancers
With their legs spread
Opening the flow of free expression
Dancing to the voice of Maya Angelou
The seekers, the marchers, the painters,
The writers
All refugees like me
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
The art began ages ago, older than civilization,
like 6000 BC or so
Art piece known across many cultures,
inspired by many, who have drawn a vast number of features
That sheds about 40,000 skin cells per hour
Tells us of the very distant passed that time devoured
Our tattoo pigments get deeper into the skin, thanks to Thomas Edison for inventing the first engraving machine , my salutes to him
Own it, cause those needles punch through the epidermis
and allows ink that goes deep into the dermis
Stories that are now drawn in our nerves, caused by small wounds that causes the inflammatory process; fought not won by macrophages,
it will be there as you go through the ages
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Writing this, in inflammatory sinuous paths,
Maybe, me, I am too ambitious.
Knowledge and awareness are vagues,
Perhaps better called illusions...
Even the strongest of opponents,
Always have blind spots...
But only a blind person can spot those weaknesses.
Is it foolishness to fear what we have been told,
Yet to see, possess and know it?
People never understand the chosen ways
Of perspective persevering life forms.
The ways of uplifting felonious,
I have seeing them malicious fiends,
They considering themselves as idols.
They all took some sacrifices,
Just to get in such positions...
Maybe them, they too religious.
Non-know about our sleepless nights...
There those who do not know no better ways,
They get cold and turn to be nousless.
Safety comes to whoever knows of righteousness...
These corners contain all types of predicaments,
That combine with our treacherous nights,
Into be some sort of amorphous,
Like somebody chose us.
Weeks back I had nightmares,
Stack with fiends in them trenches,
Sinking in them trenches,
Stretching for my dreams,
While dreams are said to be thoughts,
I dare you to think about pandemoniums.
Malevolently they want to see me breathless,
Inevitable for it to occur in any case or cases,
Or to contemporaneous in my dreams...
Solitary thoughts made me piously bias,
With all the words and papers I am pathos,
It is golden, whether it is speech or speechless,
Action acts with expression louder than words,
But words are stronger and meaningful than any type of action, acted,with any type of expressions,
Said in strangest terms..
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
Your head,
A taxing mess,
An echo of 100 voices screaming frantically,
In a burning stadium,
It’ll dispatch you an invoice made of invincible paper,
Of sleep and appetite,
Of scruffily chewed nail tips.
Your dog will be okay,
It’s an inflammatory bump,
Your plant hasn’t died,
The green it shows now has not been accounted yet,
Even by the computers,
The curve is not so steep,
That poem,
Not so shoddy,
Stop swelling illusory bridges with concrete,
Your head is resting on a very thin sheet of ice,
Stop jostling,
Or you will drown
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
Your presence in my life is antiseptic,
Germs like anger,jealousy and hatred are no more.
Your musical soothing words are
antibiotics,
My pride and ego has disappeared,
I am at peace.
Your beautiful smile is analgesic,
It has relieved me of tension and anxiety,
I am happy.
Your tender touch is anti-inflammatory,
It has soothed my pains and aches,
I am a better person.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC