"rehydrate" poems
study, cram, call, make plans...
power point, presentation, speech, rewrite...
theory, materialism and idealism and the difference,
Marx, Freud to psychoanalyze...
on to polynomials, linear equations, I make a scientific notation...
take a break. (eat)
ham sweet and thick
with lots of pineapple and some cherries
potato bread and cheese
PowerAde to rehydrate
little vodca with o.j. and cigarette
after lunch, breathe .
and it’s back to study lab to mentally beat meat.
paper due, final today, did I remember to triple check
and get rid of paper clips, include a cover sheet...
ready to evaluate... I think.
ready to second guess, miss dates and time, "you're late"
again...
95, 98, 3.5 GPA? pre-test, for final, make sure your research is done,
site, source, quote, student rate and double space
power nap, smoke again,
is the day over yet?..
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
She is like water running through the valley
drifting through the rocks
the rocks make unable to move
unable to grow
unable to flow
Takes away her ability to contribute,
but,
Water is meant to flow to the Ocean,
Not to be contaminated,
By the pollution of your opinion.
She is like water
surrounded by things still finds ways
crashing every barrier comes in her way
She want to rehydrate the minds,
That have been compressed,
That have been dehydrated,
She want to refresh the dry ideology.
She'll nurture the barren land of old thoughts .
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 10:01 PM UTC
The
weight of the world sitting dumbly on
those fructose eyelids.
They, in turn. melt into the mummified
morning.
laying in the corner forever like a
favorite-shirt
ruined in the wash.
Every other stripe on you is stained pink
from
some cheap volunteer tee that ****** up
The whole load.
Each ray from the blinds
Takes some life away.
Searing past you- into the floorboards
with
quiet fury.
Time passes_
It shoves us down into compact spaces.
(but)
I thought of you
In a shoplifter's prayer.
(There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you)
I imagined you
Still.
But growing
Like
Crystal salts
Crusting up the pores of the earth.
Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate
My dry fingers_
We make decisions . that stick around.
We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips.
We take breaks before we need them.
Take too long to say
**** this.
Thoughtlessness.
*Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud.
Somebody either cares or
Doesn't.*
The marks on the carpet know better than
us
How to last forever
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
I want you to consume me as I do you
put me in your mouth
chew me up
swallow me to be absorbed in your system
because you have been drained of me
the smell of cooked meat is
too strong in my nostrils to ignore
the sizzle of oil in the pan is
your fingers running across my stomach
the steam from that *** is
the way my heart flurries when you look at me
I can’t consume anything
because I want to consume you
and you can control the temperature of the pan
and you can check the doneness of the meat
and you can whisk the homemade gravy until it thickens
but can you find me hidden in your meal?
we marry together
like pork and apples
like steak and potatoes
like crepes and dulce de leche
but my shell is cracking
and my form is melting
and my alcohol is evaporating
I am being sautéed, julienned and sous-vided by you
I am losing my flavour
do you promise your pigs you won’t hurt them
before you carve the meat off their bones?
I don’t wish to be hung in a cellar with all the other carcasses you’ve left
hanging by a hook and swinging,
the blood draining from their bodies
I can’t cook
but I would cook you:
reheat your stock,
and rehydrate your fruit,
and flash fry your heart
so your colour returned
and you were mine,
on my plate,
at my table,
holding my hand,
and I could consume the only thing I want:
you
yes, chef
you.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
I’m sleeping on raw skin
And fire behind my neck
And swollen eyes
And swollen lies
And lucid dreams melting
I’m sleeping on the prospect of open arms
and warm skin
and caffeine in the morning
so my mind can wonder
and burn itself out
and rehydrate with sleep
and put out the ever embers
But you brought me deep sleep once
And I woke up in time to send you on your way
And to burn and scald my skin and heart
And sleep amongst the night fires
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:16 PM UTC
One day I'll be someone you can talk to,
I'll know what it's like,
know how to feel,
to express this emotion that bubbles in the pit of my gut,
Conditioned to feel nothing,
Nothing, nothing, nothing...
This armour is slowly being taken off, dissolving,
No longer strengthened by the acidity of self destruction,
What's left is closer to the bandages of the ancient Egyptian mummies,
My emotions, themselves drind out and mummified, begin to rehydrate
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
You've bruises on your thighs,
both sides of skin beat and red.
If this is how he says hello to you
then maybe it's time leave, or is
it time to relieve yourself with
hits and smacks and colourful
comic-book thwacks back so his
****** nose can complement those
he gave you that time in spring.
Take your glass slippers and be
one of those girls in red dresses;
dance, twist, and twirl as well as
the rest of them, churn up that
dance floor ring and take time
out for more drinks, rehydrate
before looking for another long-
term date to be a tactile touch-er
with, another involved and committed
lover.
Take note from the pint husbands
and their half-pint wives around you,
pen a note to yourself for the future
beginning with,
Listen,
then moving swiftly on with,
*If you find another man that hits
before he kisses you than you've picked wrong,*
ending with,
You've plenty of time left, stay strong.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
days and nights and days
all melding into one
a temporary escape lies
at the bottom of a bottle.
in ash-blackened mountains,
white soldiers in crumbling helmets
crowd glass barracks to the brim
as they burn in embers of regret.
awake, arise and stumble;
residual drunken stupor;
rehydrate as hungry stomach grumbles;
flip through blurred snapshots
of the night before.
double, over-exposures
forever lost in your strobe-light mind.
massaging temples, rubbing eyes,
you let slip this futile plight.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
Slow ride into the black pond
Soot and root echo ruin
Slinging forth pain
She has gone away with the withering dawn
Stopping her silent withdraw
******* fruit with Dawson
Reaping hay in the October harvest
Rings form in her irises
Roles are switched
Rudely drawn wings spring out
Reminding the angels
Rewarding belief
Dunes of gold build up along the ridges
Dried lips soften and rehydrate
Dropping lifeless skin
Divine curvatures are left exposed
Driven off the warm host
Dying in a lonely place
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
they receive, interpet, discard, rehydrate, delegate, redistribute,
brook no, smile stupidly at stupidity, opinionate but never lecture,
never hector, rarely curse unless it is essential, tell good jokes, abhor verbosity, act on instinct, admit error when instinct stinks, sharpen
their teeth, their tongue, and their verbal reciprocity skills
in case,
life becomes interminable intermittently intolerable when other creatures impose, flagellate, pontificate, render the impossible as quite likely, reveal things I wish I never heard, detail the details of the inexplicably intricate uninteresting with prodigious force, and an unlimited absence of periods, commas, or breaths taken,
and escape
impossible for some meetings require good manners, first dates the remote but not trivial possibility that a false start has or can occur,
(see The Pleated Skirt poem) and the incidence of really good books in very poorly designed book covers…ditto the men variety of same!
Mar 3, 2024
Mar 3, 2024 at 8:34 PM UTC
The Man Of Metal and Rock (It Just Got Rockier)
The man of rock was sullen in heart,
As that which he held dear to his heart,
Rock was fading from the hollow halls
That he had let loud music vibarte the
Walls apart.
The pub he had called home, helped
The needy, who had to have rock and
Metal in there heart, was closing the
Doors never to open, never music
To entertain the masses, as he left with
A empty heart.
But metal had to live on, so a band
He made the blazing monkeys,
Founded for those that needed
Rock & metal in their heart.
So on they went to find their weapons
Of rock and metal, a drum kit to make the ears
Bleed, to explode a lesser heart. And guitars
To cut through the air, to mend those hearts
Deprived of rock and metal, so onwards to
Rehydrate there minds of what music sounded
Like before pop and rave, that tarnished the art.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
child
watching sports
winter snow on the ground,
excitement all around,
disappointment when there
are no successes for to cheer,
on the field, in summer heat, people
of all sorts, dressed in shorts
and shoes with cleats or on the
court with nets and lines, or teams
which have personalities unto themselves
greater
than
any one
individual,
but it starts with one
one glimmer
one idea
one shimmer
one hope
one heart,
one mind,
one body,
one purpose,
one aspiration
one respiration
of many, many, many, many, many more,
one dream
go ahead and dream, give yourself permission
one goal,
one plan,
one step at a step at a step at a time,
one time
one fall and another and another and
get up
keep getting up and
start by taking licence plate numbers of what is knocking you down,
one word of encouragement
one passion,
one cry
one exertion
one no quit, just do, no try
one race,
one training session after another until you no longer remember
how many,
one rest,
one injury
remember that part about not quitting,
stop sitting, on
one couch
one bed,
unless it is just for rest,
one water,
times eight
maybe a myth to rehydrate
but no good to dehydrate,
one day and multiply and multiply and multiply
one race,
one standard,
one Olympic dream,
One place on the podium
One Gold Medal,
many people have completed
by different paths and routes
from different countries and one truth,
but even teams, that become one
start with one, individual.
©DWE022014
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Where are You going?
It's been so long headed nowhere
So will You call me when You get there?
Cause I can't follow You anymore
It's aimless when You're wandering
It leaves me helpless and wondering
If what I do will change anything
Because it's never aided Your suffering
Wouldn't it be great if my words were pills to alleviate?
If my syllables were a remedy to rebuild You to Your proper state
If each letter was water to rehydrate
But both of us know that there's no healing in prose
Unless You let the lines linger and see the significance they show and
Allow the implication of their meaning
To bring truth and understanding
But You never do
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
The bugs have overwhelmed my deet defence,
So I've retreated behind the screen door,
Smoking by the doorway, leaning back in a chair,
Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, and Christine McVie are haunting me with their words,
To never break the chain...
My eyes feel like there's grit in them,
I drink a glass of water to rehydrate a bit,
To counteract the cigarette's sting,
Of 2 packs smoked when I should have only smoked one.
I feel like a record player, and my table belt is just slightly off kilter,
Making me so my rounds just a little too fast,
Just fast enough to be noticeable and an annoyance.
13% battery left,
How many more can I do?
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
The idea of a perfect plan for life is one that’s floored in every material in every way.
It begins much like a seed.
In good soil with good intentions and seemingly the right influence.
Sun for photosynthesis, nutrients to supply the food for growth and water.
Enough water to rehydrate invigorate but also it can drown.
The water you see isn’t merely water it’s the plausibility and possibility
we strive for and see in our faces every day.
“Be who you want to be”,
“the sky is the limit”
“the only thing holding you back is your imagination”.
But what if that isn’t it.
What if being who we want to be gets put down,
changed and made to be realistic.
Like a child following the instructions on their Lego instructions:
they put M8 on T3 and piece that together
with pieces 5, 6, 7 & 8 etc.
until their puzzle is complete.
Complete to resemble the same thing that the other kids build,
or the same one that their parents before them built.
Built to last, built to fit, built to be…
NORMAL.
No one is told to believe
That they should believe in their writing and encouraged to chase a dream.
Instead they’re told to choose a “real” dream.
One that benefits society.
One that asks no questions, changes no formats or builds and pushes no borders.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
last year's hangover
Morning Star blind
without the ride
of imbibing libations
words bled dry
in powdered thought
desiccated emotion
won't rehydrate unsalted
and I just ain't in the mood
shoulda had that drink
winning every battle
lost in war I can't see
but scars burn deep
courting failure
with fear
why fight fate
in altered perceptions
that are all real enough
to feel
in a world where the
only thing concrete
is thought...
bled dry
in last year's hangover
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 7:27 PM UTC
I am awaiting your presence;
As if my body is in shock and I am freezing to death.
With only one intention, which feeds into an urge to love.
A permissive thought, that only you could bring by touching me once again.
Dying for the plica interdigitalis to be again connected,
And the volar surface of our hands to re-ignite the flame, that once blazed vigorously.
I am awaiting your presence;
To see that beautiful smile
One that lightens my spirit of laughter and joy.
Until then I will remain cold, empty, frustrated like a deserted man waiting for his chance to escape.
Life without you is comparable to the very arteries of our body,
pushing oxygenated solution from the heart to keep the rest of its system alive.
With the exception that, this solution is missing its solvent.
A substance that possesses fluidity,
Your presence would once again rehydrate this dilapidated body.
This leaves me to wonder,
That may be my body would just surrender
To the force of the lacrimal gland, secreting its solution into a hysterical cry.
I am awaiting your presence;
To smell that natural aroma of life
A sense of freshness that illustrates the feeling of springtime once again.
One that will magically open the doors to my heart,
Moving through each of its four chambers, exposing my wall of love.
Open for change, like a plant with blossoms ready to expose its true beauty to the world.
But!!
Take your time because when you do grace me with your presence, your presence will be eternal.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Unrelenting heat
Persists for protracted days
Outstaying it’s welcome now
Oppressive the lack of shade
Nowhere to escape and hide
From the blinding rays
Sweaty, sleepless nights
Wandering around in a daze
Fatiguing soaring temperatures
Sap vitality
Lounging is all I feel capable of
Low output, productivity
The air so densely humid
Almost another layer to bear
I yearn for the intermittent breeze
To cool and caress my hair
Gooey tarmac
Scorched white grass
Too prickly to sit
It scratches my a**e
Too sweltering now to bask
And obtain a golden glow
Instead I dodge the searing fingers
That singe me as they stroke
From dawn til dark and into the night
The temperature persistently high
I toss and turn and beg for mercy
But it continues until it’s light
Oh pretty please would you kindly
Turn it down a notch
It’s boring now, really
To be so burning hot
Bring on the rain
To cleanse us all
Extinguish the furnace
Rehydrate, let it fall!
Drench my skin
Until I’m soaking wet
Bring about rebirth
I entreat, nay, I beg!
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC