"inflates" poems
Freedom flings
Tyrant kings
Into their rightful place
A head on a plate
Democracy inflates
The morale of the people
Oligarchy deflates
The idea that we're equal
Spiteful dictators make their way through the system
And dominate the world while nobody listens
Distracting people with things that glisten
Disseminating hatred as their vision
Engendering fear is their mission
To buy or sell weapons
For more money or more power
Dropping bombs from their ivory tower
From extreme explosions we cower
Explosions of hatred then violence
Explosions hastened by silence
Explosions of fire we ferment
To burn the faces off our enemy
To avoid exercising our empathy
Creating a world filled by entropy
People say ******** like freedom isn't free
When the currency we pay for freedom
Is restriction
We dampen our fiery feelings
With prescriptions
Freedom is free
It's inherent
It can only be taken or given away
It is not a proper excuse to slay
Those that rightly disagree
With what you're imposing
Freedom is fleeing far far away
When people are molded by clay
Of those with the power to shape civilians
Of those with the power to bring billions
Of people to their knees
When freedom is our fee
To live in timid apathy
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
Your words secretly lure me into your heart,
an art to restart,
my life from your point of view.
The tears of my past evaporate,
to create,
a life where you set me straight,
as my heart slowly inflates, as I fall in love.
I hold on tight,
slightly fright,
but your smile excites me letting me know it will be alright.
Explaining to myself that it won’t be perfect,
you have this effect,
that disconnects,
my brain from my heart,
as my heart takes over the whole aspect of love.
You,
sweet with a high irritability,
with the agility to catch me before I shatter on the ground.
My fragility,
quickly erupts as your arms curve around my flexibility,
telling me I have found, the one.
But even through the storms,
my soul reforms,
to make me a better person,
not only for me but for you.
As it transforms,
it informs us,
that our relationship is something out of the ordinary,
that we have worked hard to pursue.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
1106
We do not know the time we lose—
The awful moment is
And takes its fundamental place
Among the certainties—
A firm appearance still inflates
The card—the chance—the friend—
The spectre of solidities
Whose substances are sand—
2.2k
The air in this room is heavier at night,
it inflates my lungs like water balloons.
I think about what loneliness is,
learning that I'm the only breathing body here.
A twin sized bed is plenty of room for me;
I can't sleep in a crowded blanket
pushing two sets of shoulders together,
like a suitcase slipping overstuffed clothes
through gaping zipper teeth.
I only have one chair in here,
barley enough comfort for one.
But this room needs another life,
two more lungs to share the air.
There won't be enough seating,
or a place for your clothes.
But I won't mind stretching this blanket
to cover four shoulders.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
We think that
when a lover inflates his loved one
he or she is failing to acknowledge their flaws...
"Love is blind" we say ...
but it may be the other way around
You see ...
Love allows a person to see
the true angelic nature of another,
their halo,
the aureole of divinity.
Love permits
an extrasensory capability of looking deeper into the soul.
And for that reason,
Genuine love
could not be blind.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
For fuck's sake.
How did we end up here again?
The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.
And here we go again.
My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.
I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...
I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.
I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?
Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.
I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.
I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.
Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.
Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Holiday: a man backstrokes
oh so gently in the hotel pool.
It’s breakfast time. Bean juice
coagulates on my plate.
I watch the man’s languid, enchanting
backstroke and, for some reason,
it inflates my heart with sentimental joy.
This semi-corpulent middle-aged man,
is, right now,
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth:
His arcing limbs do not slap or thrash,
but plop into the drink like skipping stones.
He is a babbling brook. A water feature.
The splish-splosh trickle-truckle of a spa waiting room.
And what’s more, this forty-something baldy
gliding through the water
fills me with love for all humanity,
because he seems blithely rapt
in absolute peace
(despite the room rates at this place).
But then, I realise, all of this might be
free association of the mind
linking this moment to a scene in
the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump;
when a legless Lieutenant Dan
makes peace with God (for taking his legs),
and backstrokes with the same carefree beauty
into a pink and orange sunrise
(funny how the mind does that).
And suddenly the bubble of beauty is burst.
The portly swimmer becomes just that
(FYI: legs intact),
and my wife returns from the buffet
with a plate of vibrant fruit segments; Cheshire melon
and the greenest kiwi I’ve ever seen.
Lo! Only now have I tasted true kiwi.
And I remember: I’m on honeymoon!
And my wife, in this moment, and forever more,
shall be the only human to be known as:
The Most Beautiful Thing On Earth.
Similar to the way Forrest felt about Jenny,
in the Oscar winning motion picture:
Forrest Gump.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
We consume this negativity
we inhale it like air
it inflates our lungs
our veins our heart
and it smothers it’s beating
controls it’s feeling
makes a hole in the middle of our soul
and infiltrates our mind
we stop thinking rationally
and start hating passionately
desperate to rip apart
anyone that seems happy
in our path
it makes you spread dismay
and ***** out gossip that decays
rotates, and changes an opinion
of a person
of a group
and it spreads like a disease
like a virus from mouth to mouth
ear to ear
hand to hand
we don’t understand how it began
it just evolves
until someone’s resolve
crumbles
because we tore them down
chewed them up and spit them out
that’s what negativity does
it drowns out all the happiness
that was in ones heart
it blackens the soul
until its done its part
then it leaves…
washes away with the eve
and your left standing with a guilty plea
of…
‘I’m so sorry’
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
there is a hole in my tooth
but there is bigger one in my soul.
i will lay my head against my pillow again
longing, pleading that every breathing
wouldn't expand the hole within me.
every joke i have to ***** out of me
every laugh i have to hurt my ribs to execute
every smile i have to crack my skin to present
because they are only there when you're happy.
my academics will yell at me for marking it so slow
but how can i listen to the lectures
when the voices inside my head are louder than my teacher?
each moment of my life
i am accompanied with a screaming will to live, asking for its life
and i will realize that i'm the only one who is killing it.
it is difficult to help yourself
when your own murderer is you.
i will hate every moment
when i have to be alone
because alone means silence
and i can hear them more
i tug my hair hoping that with every pulled follicle
will vanish the ghost that lives in me.
it is hard to feel okay with people
when it is programmed in your brain
that every person has their bad side
and you are its trigger.
my world has completely turned black & white
no grey, no hue, nothing in between.
and here comes another day of
right first before left,
closing your stomach before it inflates,
joining the hateful voices in your head
i am my own murderer
and i will not cry until i drown myself in the ocean of my own pain.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC
I'm told foie gras will change my life.
That it's savory, exemplary
to die for.
Ironic.
Someone already did that.
A gavage in his throat...
plumped, fed,
suffocated by
his own fat
like an inflating noose
on an unwitting neck.
Ironic also that
his flesh inflates my girth
and feeds my gluttony.
"Stupid things...
don't even know they're dying."
Dying indeed.
A slow and painful death.
And how deserving of it, yes.
Stupid things.
Too stupid to recognize their plight.
After all, don't the stupid
deserve their fate?
Ironic how - to this day -
we still think we're so much
more evolved than
our forebears.
Evolution aside,
The Divine Rights of the Food Chain
still stand.
*I do not understand it,
therefore it is less intelligent than I,
therefore I have the right to torture it.
I made it,
therefore it cannot live without me,
therefore I have the right to ruin it.
I own it,
therefore it is mine,
therefore I have the right to **** it.*
Our strength grants us Divine Right, indeed.
May the kingdom prosper under our boots and be grateful, for
history has proven us such gracious and kind masters, after all.
Are we not?
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
She radiates brilliance based on fine features, good form and skillfully applied cosmetics.
He balances confidence and accessibility with an unerring certainty of success.
The universe is expanding, Inflation rampant,
Stretching everything more than any yoga instructor would allow.
Our planet is stuck in motion at hundreds of thousands kilometers per second.
I stock up on Dramamine and Ginger Ale.
She worries that she will never see him again.
He is lost in the business of the day.
These galaxies race away from us faster than the speed of light
And are accelerating more each trillionth of a second.
Some Alien out there has calculated that this is the last week to DVR an episode of the Game of Thrones before losing all contact.
Some Star Watcher is now stuck with a static picture of this faraway galaxy
from here on out.
She is not simply a set of particles:
she is moving very fast.
In relation to her changing position in space,
he is moving even faster.
This universe is not stable;
It strays too far from itself
Running away from a past that was too small.
This universe is accelerating
As if it has immunity from moving violations
Or has appropriately mounted a very good radar detector.
One day her particles and his
Will dance tumultuously in the debris encircling some infant sun
Or get pulled into a black hole.
She radiates,
He balances,
The universe inflates,
Stretching everything way beyond belief
And ultimately, slightly out of reach.
-- Zumwalt (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
Tightening the rope as the fools dance and dither
Squandering the moments as hourglass falls,
Walking the tightrope in a world lost to thither
Assassins maraud as the fat General calls.
Flat fingers hover above plastic buttons
Hover in hesitant moments of pause,
Waiting in limbo instructions from Hades
Exultantly plunging to holocaust cause.
Plunging erotically down to the plastic
Smearing the sweat and blood in a pool,
Lusting your moment of utter destruction
Casting all humankind’s best …to be fool.
Doubt not veracity’s balance in tremor
Out there the Devil is dancing his jig,
Everywhere globally men flee in terror
Uncertainty slides with the squeal of the pig.
Russia inflates as tyrannical tyrant
Isis is spreading its carpet of blood,
Worldwide the military gird for battle
Appeasement disbursed in a torrent of flood
Shades of veracity flood Sarajevo
Memories taunt of that drumbeat to war,
Demagogues strut now the march of the scarlet
God flees reality….and is no more.
M.
17 March 2015
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
People gathered in the courtyard
In their usual bouts of revelry.
Unaware of the one they all discard,
Shooting glances trite with brevity…
And out of this planted seed it grew,
A tendency to do as shadows do….
Hidden from the obtuse eye
In the dark to all of his peers.
Latent, in muse, off to the side,
They don’t feel the stinging tears…
And like a balloon inflates it grew,
A tendency to do as shadows do…
His words tethering in the wind
Like cotton spores in seasons bloom.
Reclusive by all, his natures pinned,
Cast aside left only to loom…
And like dark clouds in a storm it grew,
A tendency to do as shadows do…
He shouldn't have to go it alone,
But there’s no one to whom he can turn.
Time and again, for innately he’s prone,
The bereft ashes of a forgotten urn…
And like a plume of smoke it grew,
A tendency to do as shadows do…
The growth of this malevolent blight
Left him bitter but not in spite.
Abandoned, like a shadow—lost to the night,
He hadn’t a choice but to sit and to write…
And as darkness after sunset it grew,
A tendency to do as shadows do…
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
"I'll be back" threat or promise?
It's always back regardless
"Stay in your own lane"
Player one syndrome inflates the brain
"Have a nice day" not a curse
At the same time "enjoy your next 24" sounds so much worse
"Here's what you're in store for"
Is what you're gonna pay for
"No pain, no gain"
Different levels of insane
"Yo, I got sooo high"
Careful not to get stuck in the sky
"Pick yourself back up"
More often dumb luck
"First things first..."
Then substance and thirst
"Righting a wrong"
Whether right or wrong
"Gotta play to win"
Sometimes a win's a sin
Who has your back, a friend?
Then who stabs it at the end
"What you see is what you get"
Most won't get it
"Face your fear"
Pretend you don't hear
"Live carefree"
Die instantly
"And that's that"
Always the same black cat
"One step forward,
Two steps back" and cornered
"Chase your dreams forever"
A nightmare's a dreams that doesn't fight fair, so no, never
©2024
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 4:33 PM UTC
#***Flattery is the machine
Which inflates balloons
Nineteen to the dozen
Yet all succumb
To the beat of the Heart
Genuine praises
Are the roses
Ever fragrant in the heart***#
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
Tragedy rips through you like fire
And ***** all the oxygen from the room.
Lungs wheeze.
Cling to the earth, crawl forward.
There is no escape from the flames.
Sorrow consumes you,
Leaving charred remains.
Blackened and fragile.
The slightest touch,
Crumbles to ash.
Hope hangs in the air around you.
A breeze that scatters ash
To the ether.
Air that inflates.
Oxygen that rejuvenates.
It's the first breath
After being trapped in a fire.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
I close my eyes, I breathe deep and air inflates my weary bones.
As I exhale I try to focus on the moment. The moment I'm living in. The hours that are porous to worries from the past. Life's episodes that cannot be altered. Except in the the continuous role play acted out in my mind, to put right the regret.
As I inhale, breathing life into my lungs, I'm told to control my attention. I'll admit, control is one thing I don't have. As although fluid and never ending my attention is often running short. Concentrate. My future lays dormant so leave it be. Though my mind wraps itself tightly around the possibilities.
As I exhale, I focus on the body that has remained strong and healthy, the self-healing heart that has been put through its paces and a mind that is overly critical.
I open my eyes and as the sounds around me crispen and the smells around me awaken and the sun light floods my pupils, I realise. Why allow myself to consume the present with worries from the past and future.
Life is fast and beautiful. And it's now.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
….
….
The door drew fate.
A face amidst the darkness?
My anxiety inflates.
…
…
A passing day draws in darkness,
each day an eye sees me.
My senses urge, trying to decree;
For It finally began,
It now watches, it can now see.
…
…
I have fled my place,
But will it ever follow?
I closed the lights,
lifted them in darkness,
My feelings ever hollow.
…
…
I may be crazy,
But this is forever true.
It was never like this,
It was my fault.
I had defeated my own nightmare no less,
But my actions caused it to bless.
A cage in a basement I made,
It turned that to its charade.
Now I shall find something to confront,
It shall never leave my front.
An existence that shouldn’t exist.
I shall annihilate that, fist with fist.
An old shadow, with yellow flaming eyes.
I looked in past at time, I try,
Four preceding angelic numbers of time,
Guided times hand to defeat;
It was something, my greatest feat.
The nightmare that I caged.
𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥
𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.
For I shall now figure this cursed time,
Else I will meet an inevitable demise.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 4:00 AM UTC
There was a lone child
Who wakes up even before the sun does
Who writes something in her room
Then inflates a red balloon
Only to find out
That a prayer, she has written down
Will tie it to the balloon
Then set it free to the sky dome
It was her morning routine
Thinking the angels above
Will easily hear and see her prayers
Because she always pray and gets nothing
It was her morning routine
Thinking that the earlier she prays
The earlier she'll be answered
Because she always wait, wait and wait
It was her daily routine
She never gets tired of it
She will always knot a prayer to a balloon
Until someday, that someone might finally hear her
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
malware no software can
fend me against rust my blade
like a feast for anaerobic bacteria.
red as if with unjust blood.
but it isn't.
I wear a portable blood pressure
measuring device that inflates
around my arm and could be
waiting to give me good news
every thirty minutes.
but it isn't,
and a few floors above me
the carpenters are listening to
Smells Like Teen Spirit on their
Milwaukee radio, reminding me
that we always seem to agree on
the more important things in Life,
like what was good about the
ninetees. and what
wasn't.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Ghostwriter
"Dear Diary" said the scribe onto the page. "What is it i wonder, that inflates my **** to as big as my ego when i write about myself + take the time to pretend that i care?
Tick Tock
fix-it-man
A voice to drive this passion.
Transitional transcendental trapped
betwixt
The written and the spoken
word.
A restless journey
dependent on interpretation and perception.
Then to become of word into form.
To breathe ink and birth creation
into reality.
Then i could sing these words and dance to each rythmic strain.
It would be life lived as it is written.
If time will provide.
Then of course this discourse will close the gap and bring me closer to myself.
Oh Myself! You're back again, how i missed you and your self indulgent interest.
If only you were there, the spectacle, you see, was me.
And for a nano-chromatic passing of time, you and me, us, you see, we were actually, honestly, one and the same.
The spoken word had become the written and with little contamination from self, had become true and of conscience.
And i call myself a scribe? as i pen a silent voice with softly spoken conviction
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
Sweet like honey
the words drip from your tongue
Burns like fire
as each lie inflates your lungs
Warm like summer
your smile holds all my pain
Slices like silver
as my love pours out my veins
Sinks like stone
to the bottom of my chest
Stolen like gewgaws
from my nothing that is left
Broken like promises
never more than gasps of air
Left like faint reminders
of the scars I proudly wear
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 6:03 AM UTC
I am not what I wanted to be.
I am not water, or wind, or free.
I cannot even pretend that I am,
because I am far too distanced from myself.
I did not become who I want to be.
I leave sticky notes upon every square inch
of my home to remind me of things that
probably aren't very important.
I am not free, or floating,
or empty of worries or darkness.
Perhaps I've lost each sense of direction,
and suddenly sold myself to a manual.
Suddenly, your favorite color isn't very
lovely anymore, and the clock you carry
in your pocket isn't correct anymore.
Because you first ignored your woes,
because 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away.'
But soon enough those woes consume you,
and you cannot ease them away anymore.
Your favorite place becomes infested,
and soon the air is too impure
because of some fallacy you created
that told you that it was.
Soon you cannot check the time anymore
because no matter which way the hands point,
that is not the time operating inside you, and,
the past, and the future eat you alive so much
that you cannot focus on the present.
The past weighs heavy on your shoulders,
and pushes you lower and lower, but,
the future inflates in your stomach and,
puffs you bigger and bigger.
Somehow I might pop like a stuffed up balloon
because even rubber or plastic cannot resist
such pressure.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
when you die
all the importantness
that inflates your skin
hisses out,
a virtual pressure cooker
sitting on a warm burner
turned to off.
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 8:27 PM UTC