"sludging" poems
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
Today I woke in the d e p t h s of the ocean.
I opened my eyes.
It was like they were closed.
Thick, seeping, cold, black d a r k n e s s ,
forcibly embracing me from behind
I opened my mouth to scream.
It was like my vocal chords had been c u t .
Bubbles of air popped desperately out of my mouth
empty, useless, oxygen
I moved my arms.
They were heavy as pale sacks filled with thousands of metal beads,
sludging around in the a b y s s
I listened.
The silence was so loud it screamed my thoughts into a head-shaped megaphone.
I felt my heart pound out every painful b e a t
I was shrinking with the pressure,
pressing down on me like a wine-press on all sides,
turning my skin into t e a r s
Emotions picked at my bones like little silver scavenger fish,
blind to truth and light
I fell to my knees.
Everything was slow,
slowing and slowing
the more I wanted it to go
faster and faster
Sediment of history, ashes, feces, d e a t h ,
crumpled at my knees
I cried.
Too bad the tears are invisible,
blending into the salty atmosphere
with no recognition to be found
A shadowy b l a c k form rested on the floor in front of me.
I stared at it,
a sense of dreadful familiarity
The c a r c a s s of something once beautiful and living,
rotting
decomposing
fading
fed on by the bottomest of the bottomest creatures of the ocean
E m p t y . Carcass.
It's the shadow of the future of my soul,
dying at the b o t t o m of the ocean,
what I can become down here while refusing to ackowledge truth and love
I breathed.
And oxygen rushed in my nose,
fell down my throat
embraced my lungs
soaked into my muscles
rubbed my heart
Was I f r e e ?
Suddenly I realized what I should've been hating all along,
the cold
the darkness
the weight
the chosen death of my soul
But I had a choice...I s w a m
Up and up, moving my arms in new, synchronized dance,
reaching for the brightest light
for my own water sunrise
And as the warmth stroked my face,
the light burned my eyes,
my fingertips b r o k e the surface
I took my first life breath.
And I saw your face.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
How I precipitate within and around
trash to steam factory's super chimneys
Ideas ***********
amongst rising glow of cantaloupe colored sky
And why am I?
Beholden to a notion
of fanciful or foolish, concept of nuptials
puffing pother
or why bother to effuse such ******* encumbrance
Trouble sweats unease
Cold feet, that can't afford proper socks
know the sludging embankments
of Camden Crick (colloquialism of creek)
As it were, a driving force of elopement
An eschewal of plastic bottle heap
Knowing fictile landscapes
with condensations murky in skies,
chance entices
Grasping for refuge
from refuse
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
i am wounded. a soldier with a broken heart marching through life because that’s all i know how to do and all that’s left to do even though my heart is bleeding down my chest. there is no where to lay to heal. no one there to bandage me and mend my heart. i will only get blood upon those who come near enough to touch. is that all there is? just life an arm’s length away from the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be? the sludging along through the muck and slime foraging ever onward toward the light shining at the end of the path of life? does my journey consist of my heart being missing for so long? how does one live with a hole through their body for so long? why haven’t i succumbed and fallen to the ground my life fled from my body like the birds from the trees? is there something holding me here? i try to look at the sky with optimism. i want to know the joy of the sun on my skin again. i want to feel embraced by the wind again. i want the rain to soak my hair and run down my face again. i am glad i’m alone. i don’t think i could stand to have anyone see the state that my soul has come to. i am in limbo and many thoughts from others keep me here and prevent me from stretching toward the sky with my arms raised pleading for release…..limbo. that is where my soul is crushed. where i am held hostage by this heart that no longer is my own. it belongs to those who want me in their lives, but i have no wish to stay here. i long to move beyond limbo. to go where the land is green
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
one time, i saw it.
in the window,
a father--the wife,
a couple of kids,
alcoholism
a loveless marriage
a little girl--
right before it turned black,
a thick, sludging like ***** oil
from an engine
shifting over,
black. i didn't
see a childhood,
i saw
abyss.
that's the
only time
she ever spoke
about it
to me. her
darkness, i understood
then, why she would run
from shades of grey,
and lived
with that fake light
in her, the one that
will laugh
at anything
you say
the one that
agrees with everyone
the one that
is loud about having fun
when no one is.
i wish i were king midas.
id turn the moon gold--and make you a pseudo-sun
in the dark, in the night,
to sheen endless reflections
of the real one
so that you are always in light.
if i were king midas
id touch everything
inside of there,
and you'd never know
the night
ever
again.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
it starts with the masses.
heaped upon one another in grey, wet bodies
and from the amalgamate of ruined life
rise the silver, brilliant winged
filthy sog and bones sludging off
their unmatched, magnificent light
like shooting stars they ascend
to the enormous white clouds
garnered with the span of their great feathers
wearing masks of divine neutrality
and we
in the masses
stare so longingly at those divine heavens
some of us with patchworks of feather and bones- hopeless things we can barely call wings-
tattered and ripped but still determined, like the writhing of a starved beggar-
flatter unsteadily up
groping desperately at the clouds
with bony, aching fingers
only to meet
solemn and unforgiving
stone
and pushed
back,
tossed
back
into the masses
and like comets, they
rain down
the fall of the inadequate
crashing into the hideously wet festering:
into the decay of the mundane and ordinary
and thus the procession commences
great silver wings nailed with dignified
steel stakes
graceful hands and feet
mangled unforgivingly with hammer and iron
we, the inadequate and mundane and ordinary
we wail, we scream we cry
for the destiny of divinity
in anguish and desperation, our cacophonic chorus
becomes
the great symphony
of the decaying and dying
bathed grotesquely in the light of the holy
we continue to beg and shout and call
the opera of roaring voices:
the crucifixion of the prodigy
as we continue to decay
the weathering, spreading
and becoming, morphing into something no longer
recognizable
slowly we die off
each of us, clawing and howling to our very last moments
in succumbing to mortality
the symphony, melting in its desperate, rabid energy
until the echo of the last
haunted cry-
silences
hence closes
the fall of the inadequate
the crucifixion of the prodigy
and
the decay of the mundane and ordinary
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 8:19 PM UTC
Ice cream
sounded like a splendid idea, and
God, was it.
So, I caved,
so what?
I should be allowed to accept the things
my friend offers me.
Maybe my heart hurt from rejection,
but it was nothing shoveling
cold dairy into my gullet with
that same friend
can’t fix.
“*So, I ****** up,*”
I spoke up.
My shoulders tensed and my grip around my spoon would surely leave an imprint for a minute.
“While it most certainly is a big deal-
a huge deal-
it’ll get better,”
I swallowed.
Not mint chip,
but saliva that I hadn’t even realized accumulated.
“It will get better. Right?”
I looked to my friend for advice.
Sure, it tended to be
less than helpful,
but it was advice nonetheless.
“Well, I,”
He leaned against his forearms on the
countertop,
holding his own spoon in one hand and
bowl in the other.
“Yeah.”
“That sounds confident,”
I remarked, but I creased my eyebrows.
It would get better.
Right?
“Yes. Yeah. It will get better.”
He gave me a smile and leaned back up;
the stool legs whined as he shifted against the counter.
It was consolation,
kind of,
but it still was consolation.
I’d completely biffed on confessing my
undying love and had basically hit rock bottom.
And you know what they say:
“the next step above rock bottom is eating
ice cream
with your bros.”
I stared at the green clump of
ice cream
in my bowl.
Some chips were sludging out of it due to it melting.
“I do envy you,”
I tossed my words to him,
though my face was
still
aimed down and at the bowl.
“Why’s that?”
I chuckled and shook my head before
picking up a scoop of
ice cream.
“You don’t have to deal with rejection as
pathetic as mine,”
with that I bit the
ice cream
off my spoon, though avoided scraping my teeth against the metal.
I couldn’t help but notice how he avoided my observation the same way.
“Yeah,”
he chuckled after some time,
“I don’t.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Something felt off in my stomach, and it wasn’t the countless bowls of mint chocolate chip
ice cream
I had consumed.
“What?”
I plastered on a smile.
“Got some secret love life I don’t know about?
A little crush on a girl?”
He scoffed and punched my shoulder.
It didn’t hurt.
“Nahh,”
he rolled his eyes and ate a bite of his
ice cream.
He swallowed before continuing.
“That’s not for me,”
his voice lowered.
He must’ve noticed me staring because he shoved my bowl closer to me and looked away quicker than the speeds I drove at.
“Focus on your
ice cream.
You’ve practically eaten the whole tub of
mint chip anyways.”
I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head.
“Uhuh.”
Odd.
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 6:34 PM UTC
Drag out of
Bed and into
Clothes for the
Day. Stumble into
The bathroom and
Brush, rinse, spit.
Line eyes: one,
Two, three. Each
eye, each lid
Gets three. No
More, no less.
Slide down the
Stairs but do
Not forget the
Gate. Throw on
Shoes and make
Way into the
Kitchen. Grab something
To eat – wait
Don’t. Coffee won’t
Make sick so
Just pack a
Lunch for later.
Leave for school
And brave the
Day, take it
In threes. Count
Your steps: one,
Two, three. Earbuds
In; can’t hear
A thing. Class
Passes ever so
Slow, sludging along
Until all the
Threes are up.
Make playlists in
Threes to make
Sure it’s enough.
Everything done is
In threes because
Anything else would
Be too much.
Even in twos
Or ones. Take
Care of body
Of mind of
Living space in
Threes. Clean and
Nourish to remain
As healthy as
Can be with
Allergies and sensitivities
To almost everything.
Do the best
That can be
Attained and maintained
Without a toll
In the long
Run. Remember to
Go by threes.
Listen, breathe, be.
One, two, three.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 9:01 AM UTC
time won't slow down
the days pass like wet cement
but I am sludging through them
it won't stop and it seems
every time I get a chance
to stop and catch my breath
the present is another fond memory
time won't slow down for me
I fear I will never love her
at the point in which I should
when she is alive and
when she is good
in the now
time won't slow down
I don't know how
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC
At very first breath only
just a tiny green wee bud
Spreading out a bit bigger
Springing into love of life
Developing strong backbone
Hot sap coursing thru veins
Watching flowers of course
Doing it with bees and such
Growing through radiant sun
Living good should never end
Rustling bright in chilled wind
Sludging sap goes to slow
At those beautiful final moments
Glowing in a radiant splendor
Letting go of known anchor
Before spinning down in air
Joined again to earth’s dust
Waiting upon next to come
© 2017 Jim Davis
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 7:18 AM UTC
I want, you want, they want,
in want,
sludging through want,
wading shin-thigh-waist deep,
as we sink-or-swim
this ******* swamp,
with a raised chin
just above this slow loss
of living want.
I want, you want, they want
in a new normal
right state of want.
Mar 1, 2024
Mar 1, 2024 at 6:48 AM UTC
I wish i could just let it out, all my fears are just crystalized inside me
My sentences are longer, words shorter, the length doesn't matter
I hold my breathe, take it in, the scene before me happening again
I leave quickly, my heart beating, my fear raising, my hands shaking
I want to forget seeing that, suffering on another's hand, a red spot
On the cheek of someone who wants to forget, I want to forget
I don't want the bonds of society holding me down, nor the words
I don't want the judge to look at me and say "guilty" to my face
I stand in winter, stand in ice, in the frost crawling up, freezing me
To this place I stand, alone and cold, frightened of what's ahead,
I can't go home, as i don't know where it is anymore, i'm alone
I sit on a staircase outside an apartment, sidewalk barren
Cars brushing by, quick and heavy, one step and the end of my story
I don't want to die, but i don't want to live, can't you understand?
And if i ever take that stand, in front of that judge to say my part,
What would i ever say, what would i ever do, if its my crime,
but if it's not my crime entirely, taking the stand as alone as ever,
My partner gone, the room empty, just the judge and me, alone then
So if that judge does look at me and says "innocent", what would i do
Would i just go free, back to plain ,back to normal, and idiotic sayings
I hope not, because, I am guilty as everyone else is, of pain and lies
Blood and sweat, tears strolling down, feeling emotionless,
We have all felt that moment, of all these combined,
My fears are shared by society, shredded by people, laughed at
I'm scared of myself, being myself, look at others with complete truth
So i will never raise my hand, i won't speak or lie or care,
because my fear is just too great, my life is just too small
It's so small, so incomplete, i feel so gone, so alone
Standing on the sidewalk, moving slow and mournful,
reaching the edge, the curve, the slope, the mountain to climb
If i step into the lane, the cars, would i be forgotten, like others
Would i be like the rain that comes down and ,we notice it sure,
But forget what it gives us, would i just be the puddle after
would i be an ad in the newspaper claiming a sad tale,
I'd just be a story to tell to people about the community,
Forgotten like half of history, lied about by people who didn't know
I'd be just a story afterwards, but if i turn and walk down the street
Would i ever succeed at something, make my way to the courthouse
and say to that judge on the podium, "You don't get to decide"
what would happen, to me, to others, to us as people entirely,
And so i walk on, sludging through everyday life, concerned
Yes, i may trip and stay down for a few minutes,
but i will get up and walk on until i get to that courthouse,
And am able to say my piece to the judge
as we all are the problem
and i would say,
"Judge, we are all guilty"
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC