"overcrowded" poems
dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean
crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown
overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs
nobody feels responsible
not those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees
not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed
not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close
nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics
it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough
those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
quite suddenly
lose their homes
forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Overcrowded a hollow sound
In the circumference of birdsong
Rising with the Sun
As roosters crow morning
Wake-up calls
There in Cebu / House
Full of family
Pieces of my other me
Feeding many mouths
That overcrowded feeling / not again
A nest that homes
A clutch of poor
Cuckoos
Consuming, so many babies
Paradise islands
Third world poverty
Not so far away
White man and money
A supposed land of milk & honey
Beyond the tundra snow
Bleak / must speak English
The beautiful broken
The overgrowth of crowding
it's called city life
Unlike Manila
Although artifice and hollow
Full of the fragrances
Colored by Birdsong
Oh beautiful life / I am drowning
In the thicknesses of pollutant
Mouths speaking
ill
Humanity misbegotten / Understood
We connect with nuttin'
“nothing is the cure
When nothing was wrong
With you”
Birdsong in twilight
Xylophone-stars across the ocean blue
Teeth of night
The cold chime
Befallen
In the infinite / magic of you
Oh love I let me
Overcrowd
Still this loneliness
Feels so very loud...
Then I hear / halcyon Birdsong
The soft feelings of truth
Oh love!
Oh god!
Oh my!
Goodness you.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
Let's talk about heroes
the everyday kind
a Jordanian principal
at a school for girls
offering a simple solution
rather than slamming
another hateful door
in the faces of children
who have done nothing
to create the war
forcing their families to flee
or die in the hateful dust
clouding the world's vision
the school is overcrowded
but when Syrian mothers beg
for their children to be taught
instead of saying no room
the principal asks each girl
to bring a chair and she will
find room for one more
students walk to school
carrying multi-hued chairs
so many eager daughters
classrooms full beyond bursting
but the principal keeps her promise
none are turned away
a loving heart refusing
to be the lock on the gate
offering instead a key
a mother's simple wish
for her daughter to write her own name
becoming "maybe she will be a doctor"
a seven-year-old girl declaring
"I want to be smart"
the world begins anew
with open arms, willing minds
perched on the edge
of bright plastic chairs
asking only teach me
I am hungry to learn
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
The day of the site visit
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.
Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self.
I ascended, ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.
The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.
The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.
At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.
I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.
I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC
I'm not okay
Overcrowded in my mind
But I finally can say
I know I'm not okay
I debated being a martyr
Believed I wasn't strong
But I'm surviving
I've been fighting
Without realising
I know I'm not okay
Yet...
There's comfort in the anarchy
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
the thank you card was lost in the mail
to describe any human effort toward legacy is absurd
this world is overcrowded and any attempt
at achieving remembrance is futile
no explanation is necessary
the response is cold silence
no one ever returns
what is solid is called existence
yet granite is ground to sand
the surreal offers very little
believe if you will that faith is the fulcrum
that can lift the load of mystery
think what you like
our greatest words are trite
Caesar is dust yet the laurel lives on
ideas will not save us
no redemption is possible
while I appreciate you allowing me access to the room
all I carry is darkness
there is no explanation necessary
we have put all our trust in human emotion
and all is doom and the perception of doom
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
The sadness is beginning to set in
like the grapevines that grow up the side of an old brick house
gnarled and tangled in such a unfixable mess
just like the inner workings of the soul of mine
that once felt love and beauty and strength
growing in bouquets of flowers from my chest
unfortunately those flowers rotted and decayed
yet never really left, just like the proof that's shown
from the overcrowded webs of vines that still grow
up the side of that old brick house.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
I am
A street without a name
A pictureless frame
A dull knife
A still life
I am
A question mark
A smothered spark
An unread book
A stolen look
I am
A blank page
An empty stage
A heavy sigh
A passer-by
I am
A ship with paper sails
A train on rusted rails
A flightless bird
A Dream Deferred
I am
An overcrowded mind
A word that hasn't been defined
A lighthouse that no longer stands
Two feet sinking in the sand.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
Sitting in an overcrowded classroom,
Heart rate bumps as if it was a machine gun
And EVERYONE in the classroom is taking turns..
Pulling..
The..
TRIGGER..
I have this Illusion of me speaking properly
With every punction down to the teeth..
Even though my mind can see these words clearly
My mouth speaks differently...
" It's only a book.. "
" I can do this -- " Thought process interrupted by the person next to read..
My eyes then became glued to the people watching over me..
( Insert joke here. )
I wanted to say,
I wanted to say,
I wanted to say,
Words is my worst enemy,
Please don't judge me from the way I speak,
All I want is someone to take time to understand me,
Maybe if I had that one ear to listen
I could of been free
And it wouldn't take this long to speak clearly.
In reality,
The room was filled with laugher.
©MH
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
i liken my growth to the succulents in my garden
sometimes, they struggle to keep up and their leaves shrivel and rot
in the spring, they spill out of their pots
tumbling from the rim in bountiful stems
and every year or so, one may die from mistreatment
overwatered
not enough sun
overcrowded soil
and the next day, the eldest plant blooms
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
It's two thousand and
sixteen -
isolation has never been so
difficult to achieve no
dropped
call no Unseen text certainly no
lost letter will do the
trick
nowadays
there is no excuse to give your motherbrotherfriend for
staying a resolute
island in the internetted
sea of archipelagos, so
overcrowded with
bridges and boats that I cannot see the water unless
unless
I make the
space
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
We popped ourselves up to the ideas of pop culture
and adopted the looks of orphans
spray paint and swear words
too loud overcrowded mischief
the misgivings of being too young
children throwing tantrums over ice cream
calendars fell and the montage ended
we were flung across the globe as dandelion seeds
weeds to be weeded
I was playing tight rope on the fence
and fell on the side with no safety net
skinned knees and black eyes
the stoners the dropouts the thugs and **** ups
***** and *******
******* and ********
these were just words
deactivated model replicas pointed at the head
college student with a chip on the shoulder
and the one they called the jester
and the one they called the king
with return addresses tattooed on arms
the awake became the living dream
no time for nights of nightmares
enough scare to go around
pack another GB and cry some more
my blood is ink dripping from the pen
yours drips from thighs and forearms
you want to be the new thing
you forgot what the original means
and burned all of your dictionaries a while ago
check my *** cheek
the origin is there
UK/USA
now all the lights are off
and the moon hangs fat, sacrificial in the sky
do you want the moon? That’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you the moon.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
I took a walk down the road that marks
where the outskirts of town begins.
I don't know where it goes.
All I know is that it's a straight line
and I'll end up somewhere if I keep walking.
So, not wanting to end up like
one of those stupid kids in the scary movies,
I walked back home
a little faster than I had come.
There's an overcrowded pool in the center of town.
It's a wonder nobody's drowned yet.
I went to the dollar store and bought a Snickers,
the rest you can read about in the paper,
front page.
Most interesting thing that's happened here in years.
Flipped off the old ***** who thinks
people shouldn't be free to express love...
just for the hell of it.
I sneaked out at night just to see the town-
dead after 8:00-
and to pretend the world was mine
until the cops showed up.
I didn't know there was a curfew.
Who cares, that was a great feeling.
Time in the summer is like a kidney stone,
because it's hard as hell to pass.
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
In old New Orleans
Musical lumberjacks
Legitimizing their axes;
Just piano, clarinet,
Bass and the drums.
Bringing jazz back
And then some.
The cat could play
That skinny long black horn,
Hotter clarinet than
Anybody ever born,
He kept hitting notes
So pure and high
We felt each note
In our eyes!
And, if you chance by
Remember this,
They don’t allow dancing.
But when the drummer
Makes works those skins
And makes them talk out
There is plenty of toe-tapping
And nobody ever walks out.
Then, when the guy
Plays that bass fiddle
He adds an underscore
To top bottom and middle.
It’s an underbeat of grace
That will fill the rest space
And the hearts of all
In this overcrowded place.
Vintage jazz roars out
Of an old, old piano
Played by a happy madman
With fingers afire, he knows
He’s got them hooked;
He’s making them wild
As he wails on those keys
He looks out and smiles
And he puts the Satchmo touch
On those old-timey songs
And once in a while
They ask us to sing along.
For the past forty-six years
Those ugly plastered walls
Have never hear so many
Gratefully rendered curtain calls
From an audience of clerks and swells.
On Bourbon Street’s Fritzel’s.
Through hurricanes and beers
Like stepping back a hundred years.
Fats is still playing, Bessie singing
Original jazz music is still swinging.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
Many dark and grey clouds Hover over our heads endlessly Like ugly monsters just to scare us By day and by night ... The high skies are not clear now Simply because they're overcrowded with Those pregnant clouds that are bringing All that is gloomy and sad ... We don't care about these hanging clouds As if nothing Happens ... We are greatly blind,deaf,and dumb About everything around ... Our situation talks about itself Through its ugly images everywhere ? We need another Noah's Ark To save us from that great flood That is approaching us now ... We are drowning clearly and No one cares ! ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
I wish I could breathe
in free poetry
It'd make it easier
for me
to pick locks with
diamond corkscrews
and drown my veins
in the sea
*I never chose to be
a prophet
Lucky for me that
I'm not
and I'm too busy
shooting dynamite
in an overcrowded
lot.*
I don't believe in
Angels' rib-bones
or self obsessive
killer whales
I only picture
sonic-boom clouds
and some lucky
monkey tails
Hey there, kid
look in the mirror
You've got some gerber
on your face
"wipe it off
with my corset"
said the Queen in
all her grace
The knights abandoned
all their fresh blood
and the courtesy
of blades
for the sake of a single ruby
to be run through
by four spades
I hid my eyes
from the man
who covered himself
in tattoos
like a demonic
kind of blanket
and twisted letters
in a noose
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
We found the table overcrowded
with empty wine glasses,
smudged with lipstick
and fogged with
mid-sip laughter,
You sat across from me,
staring disinterested
at the bustling table,
a drunken lot of babbling,
over-dressed, under-clothed women.
They were a swarm,
a cluster of buzzing worker bees
enjoying a loose night in a filthy bar.
Like the good lady I am,
I crossed my legs
and watched the purse of your lips
relax
into a grin.
I was ******* down the champagne,
sick with envy for the lipstick
that clung to your pout
and furious at the curtain of caramel hair,
begging my fingers to smooth the knots
and then mess it all up again.
When the table cleared,
and we were left,
calling cabs in the reaches of dawn,
you stole glances at my jewelry
and the jade of my irises.
They absorbed your aura
as you strode clumsily towards the blue taxi,
while I was busy imagining what your name might be
if you thought my dress was pretty,
or if you thought my perfume
would taste like berries
if you kissed it off my neck,
your heels had clacked all the way to the street.
and maybe it was
the curves under your silk purple dress,
or the smell of spilt wine on my black one,
or perhaps a combination of both,
that led to my overactive imagination,
or maybe you put them in my head
when you hesitated at the door of the cab
before beckoning me over
and pulling me in beside you
onto the cold leather
and your lavender fabric
where your perfume permeated the backseat.
It tasted of honey and roses.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Excited for the gifts
This planet kindly gives
The wonders of the world are generously rife
It really is a magical life
If we are wise, we'll open our hearts, eyes and minds
I long to see Japan's elegant cherry blossom land
Geisha girls, eerily still they stand
Cooling faces with fan in hand
Walk for hundreds of miles, along the river Nile
Meeting friendly souls with weathered faces
love as their principle basis
Whiteness the overcrowded Mumbai station
Then rush to see a tea plantation
Where on your way your heart longs to stay
Here, forever you could lay
There's a calling from the hills, the wildlife thrills
But why stay still
There's plenty more to feel
The vast African plains a plenty
Where it may appear, but it's far from empty
This is the magnificent Serengeti
Here I'm in my element
Let me enjoy admiring the elephant
A powerful earth rumbling migration
Sees a whole new destination
Tysfjord with its breathtaking views
Norway is an artists muse
A landscape so still and stunning
To be offered more is a second coming
When night arrives with it northern lights
You'll be mesmerised by the natural sight
You'll stay up all night long
As morning is blessed by orca's song
Rumi was a wise old soul
His words are timeless
His advice is free
I take his writings literally
"Why stay in prison when the door is so wide open" ~ Rumi
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
In secret
Words prepare dialogue transporting emotions like pilots
With no mercy words turn around and get messy
Placing Vaseline on dry throats speaking levy
Lips on skateboards sniffing the ground for reality’s ride
Electrifying plots against blurry words with
no physical basic thoughts thinking dialogue cravings
Untidy tiding plots buried in baritones hurried to hire imaginary thoughts
With no mercy things get messy
Stainless inks get messy
Poetry comes in speed bumps
Never the less poetry comes in speeds
Bumping speed bumps
Bump all slumps
Bluffing word bumps
Bump all stunts
Puff them hard till words provoke gumboot sounds
Bump all ink pumps and thirsty thumbs
Speed bump conclusions jumping resolutions around
words spoken in gibberish gigabytes per seconds smelling leverage
Amplifying televised revolution on repetition far from average
Paralyze those walking eyes
Bumping rhythms
Dusty broken chests serving overcrowded greeting lines
On solo mode
Flirtalicious solo chaotic modes
Bumb connections around chairs warmed up by bums
Speaking the same womb and rhythms
Brothers and sisters chained up in pairs and bums
enslaved by messy word poetry speed-bumbs
Words get messy with no mercy on lip bumps
Those messy words camp behind bushy brains
Rail track through lips with no vibrating mercy veins
Affiliate with true bones
Crossbones carrying history's forgotten side bums
Instrumental bones
Stinking hip hop bums speed flossing word stunts
Words dig up chaos with no mercy
Armed with no rounds
Pounds stolen before two rounds
Sheriffs secretly scared of their own uniform sounds
Shortlisted words saving society's bums
Words are just messy and profound
a.s.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Perihelion days are here
Whale music and poison kitchens
From rainbows to shadows
This is the ripening
In a house of 1,000 rooms
A girl waved her finger to follow
But swaying her translucent dress
I saw the girl was hollow
Candles in the rain
Battles and butchery
Accidental intoxicants
Take your easel to the streets
Find another road
Avoid the body police
It’s a still world but moving mind
We all end up dead meat
I see them in a psychedelic state
But there’s no love
I met them in an overcrowded place
But it’s no home
Perihelion days are here
As the hours fill with nevers
This is the ripening
Fake flowers last forever
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
country roads
highways
bridges
exhibiting a city in
kinematic frames
to pass
high speed
low speed
lit windows
a kitchen
a tv screen
a bedside lamp
curtains down
nobody's home
cottages
villages
overcrowded districts
dots and dots
each lit window
each turned off light
a story
a me
a us
they
lost
anonimously
as dots
in the distance
forgotten
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
**I refuse.
Driven waves by steady feet.
Metamorphic Rock soldier,
shaped by the wind,
but I am still here.
Evolution they fear;
I am my own.
My beaded drum,
I created its sound,
And so will move to
Its beat.
The Headed Index,
The Poisoned Voice;
The demons I
Have conquered.
They cannot understand it;
They cannot withstand it.
A force they cannot fathom,
Is a force they must destroy.
But I refuse.
Overcrowded BandWagon,
A Party of Four.
Tales of tails that fear their own
Direction.
I refuse.**
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
I tried to find peace in your heart
But
I realized it's overcrowded
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 11:37 PM UTC
i wonder what your name
looks like in my handwriting
if i weren't as shy as i am
i would have overcrowded a notebook
just of the way your i's are dotted
what frightens me is that
your hands don't agonize over my name
don't at least motion the symbols in the air
much less write them
and i wonder what my name
looks like in your handwriting
if you curl the e the same i would curl yours
or if you bestow your personal touch upon it
either way it would look beautiful
i would adore any name you'd write for me
i wonder what your name
looks like in my handwriting
but honestly i worry that
i cannot do it justice
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC