Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Francie Lynch Mar 2015
Okay, okay,
Enough scribbling
About old flames,
Old friends,
All the analogies to death,
E.R. runs, hospices,
Palliatives, Vision Nursing Homes,
Black gloves and lilies,
Suicides and terrorists.
Enough of that
Already.
Now,
What's left to theme about?
Just love.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2015
"May poetry be our salvation,
liberation and Nirvana"
Bala

so many ifs* in our daily lives

the ifs that pockmark lives individuation,
look-back crossroad regrets, daily harvested,
road poorly chosen, the kiss not taken,
a brother, for a petty sake, forsaken,
a sister, sea-drowned, left undefended,
by foolish parental expectations

many are the global conjunctions,
commencing and ending with an "if only,"
today's state-of-the-world curse,
uttered when reading the front page's
mayhem and senseless,
never-aging, new and old excuses raging

so many palliatives on offer,
what matters yet one more,
none seem able, none proven capable,
of essencing a humanity so simple basic
when the moment at hand needs a
redirection that a loving rhyme can sway

but in my inbox from India
comes a hope, a wish,
that leads a man to dream,
envision societies that could
surround-sound itself with wisps of words,
in the oddest places,
throwing us offsides,
in a make us see ourselves
in better ways

a morning poem before the TV weather,
a verse insert
tween news reports
of who murdered whom this day,
subway poems, a Super Bowl commercial
recitation that makes us lick our lips,
poetic literacy in small things,
a minister or president's speech
a recitation of a nation's verbal wealth,
instead of rejoinders and accusations

ah just a foolish notion at 4:22am,
there is no money in poetry,
thus its possibilities to soften and stem,
cure and elevate
enhance the perchance
of a different way to,
salvation, liberation, and nirvana,
seems so unlikely

but there is that small step
one could take,
leave a poem on the night table,
a first thought, a morn pill of humankind,
be a softener of a day just begun
Sidestepping shadow-plays
boxed in bonus-sized portions
for garden-varietal religions,
I've had these scuzzy intimations
great big (voids) lie behind
most altruistic inclinations
and the biggest news is,
we're still expanding
with-in-exhaustible potentials
to be eternally filled greater.

Now I'll admit to being
hampered in my cognitive
capacity for meaningful
pattern recognition
by my debilitating
predisposition toward
concentrated forms of myopia,
ergo, I can't shape
a formless mess into anything
but incoherent flimflam.

I've tried alleviating this
condition with meditative
concoctions and palliatives
of sensory deprivation,
yet I fear I'll need
a silicon-chip-enhanced head
before I can glimpse
the cosmic legerdemain spinning
its paradoxes of endless
surfaces but no top.

If I finally do, I'll smile big
as a great-white gull winning
his first demonstration hand at
the three-card monte of not-to-be
reconciled contradictions.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
September Jun 2014
i have lived under a thousand suns
each day a different combination of powders and palliatives
each day a different way to substitute people and painkillers
i have found the meaning of life and it is such—
the only way to forget your name
is to also forget mine
tonight i drink and tomorrow i bleed
My voice, now filled with skeletons and ghosts, breaths with the asthma of an old sadness.

Sadness, cursed and profound, and in even deeper hideout that despite the evident, I just preserve the sensation but not the face, maybe the same last, red, and painful of Hemingway’s.

The same feeling is the one that prevents me from turning off the lights of this room and give a new kiss, honest and juvenile, or the boldness of accidentally pouring some sauce over a friendly skin and sip from it, or to look into a pair of new alien eyes, that just seconds ago threw their dice to Destiny.

3 plays in the same game and 58 weeks after, I am older but not happier. I have been living on palliatives of love. There are 10 inches of distance between your heart and mine, but 5000 miles of silence between my face and yours… Thus, they scream at me with the strength of their paroxytones, the EVPs of Love.
Uzo Okoli Jan 2021
The intentions of the colour speak ill.
As the designer weeps in tears
The white is a filthy colour of all
As the double green symbolises hunger.

The great groundnut pyramids stand as statutes.
Termites scavenge the remnants.
Who can stop the difficulties of the nation?
A patriot, coward, cattle rustler or an alien!

The blood of the unsung heroes
Colour the flag of the nation
Bemoaning signs of failed leadership.
Who led the actions of 10102020?
The Camouflage, Alausa, Aso Rock or the Unseen forces!

Men suffer from avarice
Crowd symbolises poverty
Likening to the extortions of palliatives
Under the framework of bureaucracy.
Affliction with mental illness beasts sans,
     depression, panic/ anxiety
     obsessive compulsive disorder
     didst for most of my lix splitting life zap

psychological state plagued with
     sweaty palms, irritable
     bowel syndrome, mind chatter
     constantly doth yip and yap,

whereby extensive stretches of time
     bore cerebral torture
     housing invisible
     mailer daemon nemesis wrap

ping entire corporeal to suicidal ideations
     to escape once and for all asphyxiating,
     gamesomely hectoring imps,
     nauseating non-apparent trap

regularly pitching emotional
     welfare to and fro,
     hither and yon, thence
     lashing out at self - summarized

     with the non medical term,
     yet descriptive word "snap"
though a half dozen medications
     (listed as follows) alleviate

     sensation akin to feeling
     besieged, and pugilistic-ally rapped,
     yet (Quetiapine tab 300mg,
     Clomipramine cap 50mg,

     Fluoxetine cap 40mg,
     Fluoxetine cap 20mg,
     Busipirone tab 15mg,
     and Clonozepam tab 0.5mg)
     prior to prescriptive palliatives,

     aye experienced
     debilitating quality of life, thus I accept
     function-able, manageable
     unfortunate side effects such,

     viz thinning hair,
     necessity to take daily nap
abdominal weight gain, where love handles
     replaced wash board stomach, adipose tissue
     not quite spilling o'er me lap

so in summary burden of proof
     no longer tethers Sisyphean rolling rocks
interestingly enough this figurative lid locks
akin to sealing schizoid "Pandora box).
Alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin 

Aye dread getting *******
   and getting washed 
   even without spectacles
   that haint no mo' six-pack ab
which nearly rock-ribbed
   mid equatorial zone shapeshifted 
   into corpuscular blubbery 
   ancillary physiognomy
   where aye wanna bab 
bull posttraumatic stressed out
   middle age battle of the bulge.

Season sponged pants squarely 
   and tightly across the equatorial adipose tissue
   requiring mister crab
to clamp down with pincers
   viz primitive liposuction 
   whence rustling scupper
   will efface this trireme 
   where three-ply
   tread fully and tirelessly dab
bull to ameliorate
   rolls of extra flesh alien 
   to what stacked
   as an athletic sculpted body.

   Now no prolong inhalation
   get with steely mettle hie trite to iron out the flab
thus this part
   and parcel of senescence, 
   yet auxiliary buttressed dermis 
   effect forming gorged girth
   giving "love handles" grab
reigniting reign of prepubescent anorexia nervosa, 
   bootstrapped now wen frankly
   zaps distorted self-image. 

   Evoked holocaust repugnant
   rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
   entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig to restore 
   prime of life when five foot ten
   alignment could nab
first place in a slick couture magazine 
   from the neck down
   taut torso bearing 
   fashion model and
   teen idol where tab.

To stand stock still until Shutterfly
   would SnapChat 
   rippled tummy, could
   fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
 WhatsApp with  
   a faux pregnant protuberance,
   though thankfully 
   derriere still rather dash
ing, which palm pilot sized buttocks
   doth newt offset. 

   Lost battle of the bulge,
   where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations, 
   gnome hatter sinusoidal
   parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means 
   to stave of the depredations 
   of slump pin proletariat
   allowing me a hash.

Tag with hefty weight, acquiescing 
   this Pillsbury doughboy blivet 
   to subject himself to the sharp
   stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against raw skin as due process 
   and supplication for atlas shrug
ging his shoulders
   at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation. 

   Insulation fiberglass around midsection, and
   how ma late mum 
   (an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
   who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir - 
   resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
   even ear rash
shun null gambits,
   and as a last-ditch effort 
   putting this offspring  
   on par with an albatross -
   vamoose get out with the trash!
My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography
qua zee mow toe natural formed tunnel.

Digitally remastered and revised
since original version rejected, thus
writer released,  purposely leaked,
and flooded mass media
courtesy the following
self branded watershed vaunted unabridged
sprawling questionable and deplorable
creation loosed upon unassuming readers.

Analogously linkedin with
once upon a time
one doodling dandy Yankee slender man,
whose yang upended, overshadowed,
and eclipsed mine yin,
nevertheless, now yours truly self anointed
as an elder statesman - ha
gifted with unwanted
inxs of abdominal adipose tissue
(attributed to agent provocateur of aging,

which affects my metabolism
and/or courtesy
unwanted side effect reaction
from one or more
of the eight medications
nurse practitioner
at Penn Psychiatric Center
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania location
Elizabeth Clark prescribes),
which gained weight foments tussle

a fight to the death, I can never win
and alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin
yours truly loathes to mensch shin
one alien looking pear shaped
humanoid with redskin
liposuction advised courtesy Doctor Quinn
(a fictional character and magician,
I took poetic license
created above to help eradicate body dysmorphia),
she waved her wand and ****
transformed me into a puffin.

Aye dread getting undressed
and/or getting washed
even without spectacles
thar haint no mo' six pack ab,
which nearly rock ribbed
mid equatorial zone shape shifted
into corpuscular blubbery
ancillary physiognomy
where aye wanna bab
bull posttraumatic stressed out

middle age battle of the bulge
in summer re: a waisted effort
squarely (er rather roundly) testing
the elasticity of extra large sweatpants,
when straining to hide expanding girth
definitely producing undesirable effect,
(especially when floating in briny deep,
I squarely, honestly and closely resemble
the Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea  

strongly urging, necessitating,
and exhorting mister crab
to clamp down with pincers,
viz primitive liposuction,
whence rustling scupper
will efface this fleshed out
human bloviated ruggedly handsome
man of the webbed wide world
a bit heavy around the equator
over self indulgent fleshpot

unable, uneager, unready,
and unwilling to maneuver
his portly ill proportioned body
inducing unprovoked stares,
and tears for fears
eyes tracking billowing supersize shirt
resembling trireme sails being trimmed,
where fleshly freighted sloop
displaces entire watery expanse
stranding, stinging and starving an a ray

of underwater species,
now prolonging requisite inhalation;
I seek desperate sticktoitiveness
guidance courtesy Younan Nowzaradan
with steely mettle
hie trite to iron out flab
thus tis part and parcel of senescence,
yet auxiliary buttressed dermis
effect forming gorged girth
giving "love handles" grab

reigniting reign of terror
viz prepubescent anorexia nervosa,
boot strapped now - wen
remembrance of things past frankly
zapped distorted self-image
evoked holocaust images repugnant;
buttery rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig/
scapegoat role to restore

prime of life build when five foot ten
obviously me no Lemuel Gulliver
alignment could now perchance nab
first place in a slick couture magazine
from the neck down,
cuz face mottled with
nine inch nails clawing skin
wrought unsightly scab
taut torso bearing
fashion model and
senior citizen idol, where
every place I go receiving
venue offers free tab.

To stand stock still until shutterfly
would SnapChat
rippled tummy, could
fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
WhatsApp with
faux pregnant protuberance,
though thankfully
derriere still rather dash
shing, which palmolive pilot sized buttocks

doth newt offset sorry to report
lost battle of the bulge,
where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations,
gnome hatter sinusoidal
parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means
to stave of the depredations
of slump pin proletariat
allowing me a hash

sheesh priceline tag
with hefty weight, acquiescing
this Pillsbury doughboy blivet
to subject himself to the sharp
stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against
raw skin as due process
and supplication for atlas shrug
gin his broad shoulders
at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation
insulation fiberglass around midsection, and

how ma late mum
(an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir -
resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
even ear rash
shun null gambits,
and as last ditch effort
putting this offspring
on par with an albatross -
vamoose get out with the trash
unless everything (pertaining to
indelible stubborn blubber
comes out at the whoosh she wash
Diet of worms.
Rabiu Ameen Aug 11
From a small coven
To a large overwhelming crowd
All clustered under the scorching oven
With our voices chorusing and loud


In the heat of a brooding chaos, behold! The guns and boots
Spouting warily with nictitating crocodile eyes, marking for some kills
As other swarm of hoodlums rejoined with their loots
The breath of rightful deeds felt clogged like diseased mackerel gills


We must ward off this harsh rule in one massive anguished buzz
We must stand with one beating heart yet unresolved
With defiance or blunted zeal, not just a mere fuzz
Despite scattered dust mixing with the oozing off tossed canisters, we marched undissolved


We have tolerated enough to inspire many hunger wars
We are refusing to let our voices be contained in an enclosed stage
Be silenced, nor be put behind bars
Like some hunted wilds stocked away in a zoo cage


With such unbearable vultures' cry hovering around hyenas' feasting pile
With such rebellious act, yet justified with empty belly sense
"Where are the truckload of palliatives?", Someone alarmed with a stone projectile
In retaliation, a series of warning shots poked the skies, perhaps to flaunt firearms license


If not let to roar with animal rage while wagging its jungle tail
A hunger protest still; To what end, If not let to march towards the banquet gate of hell
If not let to bring down the profoundly deaf mushroom walls with a molotov cocktail
So sickening till dawn, yet we await the political butler to ring the broadcast bell

— The End —