"spraying" poems
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best
my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.
13.8k
We sit on the beach and smoke,
Secrets drizzling down our throats,
Drilling for oil on the ocean floor
Where the neon jellies live.
The words get caught up in our throats,
We slither like eels in the coral reef
Where the neon jellies live,
And mate by swimming in paint.
We slither like eels in the coral reef
And ignore how wet we are,
As we mate by swimming in paint,
Greens and blues melting together.
We never care how wet we are
Or how much sea we swallow,
Our bellies swell like open eyes,
Bursting and spraying our faces
Where we can't help but swallow
What we spit at our faces,
From the oil we drilled from the ocean floor
Where the neon jellies live
And die while washed up on the shore.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Autumn leaves
would do
for remembrance,
Perhaps,
more than words,
or a plaintive air
Of a yellow guitar;
a rain,
a wine-dark wind
spraying last summer's
fragrance.
Ah! Your absence!
Your white,
present, absence
unshields
my metaphor!
© LazharBouazzi, December 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
We held hands as time's sand
passed between. Night chocked
the last sun beams. Our conversation
was pertinent to the dwindling
red wine bottle. As the moon glazed
shore began to roar, she whispered
"Let's cuddle." I dropped you, holding her,
and thought "Oh" and began to coddle.
I wrapped myself around her like a shell to a turtle
and she began to nestle on my chest. I guessed
the indigestion came from the Bordeaux bottom.
Boy, was I wrong. See, as I lay with her,
forgetting about you, I remembered
blood is thicker than water. The loves
we choose are stronger than ones
We've fallen into. I wasn't falling there,
underneath the stars, next to the parked car.
I was laying. I was contemplating
as the wind was spraying the lake
into the air.
I came to the conclusion
I was in an illusion of love.
Confounded by smoke and reflections
from movie magicians. She looked up
to me and I guess she could see
my reality crumbling in the breeze.
She asked if I was ok. My slight smile alluded
I was and we laid in love
until the sun's intrusion.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
the smell of happiness it is no more
the stench of worry lingers the air
a wall of thorns covered with ugliness
holds a rose that use to be pure and white
but now is stained black with pain
plucked from it's tree is a
black rose withering slowly with
a fading perfume of true sadness
crying with its petals closed
eyes filled with hesitation
so soft to the touch yet so
dry like a sandy desert island
a soul that dreams just too much
pokking through the mind's crevices
covered in rust completely deep within
is a growing disease of emotions with
a heart that ticks but too full to beat
yet pumpimg slow is cold yet thin blood
this face is a fountain spraying out dust
a wall of distrust holds bricks burning
just like a fire thats has lost control
a stomp of hatred has just taken over every
part of this heart once filled of love
with no time to enhale it all in
a soft and warm yet crying soul
is dripping wet with darkend fear
strangled by the tightened barbwire
cutting through each and every petal
leaving behind scars with shreds of pain
covering every inch of this garden of hell
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.
The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.
It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.
Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.
Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.
All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.
Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little girl on this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Have you ever spent the hours
just gazing at the stars,
contemplating all the wonders
in this universe of ours?
The beauty of each flower.
Their fragrances we smell.
The magnificence of color,
and each intricate detail.
Have you looked out at the ocean
as waves crash to the shore,
and felt the awesome power
of it’s great majestic roar?
The many colors of a rainbow
as it arc’s across the sky,
almost takes my breath away.
Is it any wonder why?
Have you sat with one you love
to watch the falling sun,
spraying rays of reddish haze
to show the day is done.
All the beauty that surrounds us
in this world whereon we trod,
is not from “Mother” nature,
but from our Father ... God.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:33 AM UTC
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
i admit to 'male' --
'female' strikes me low
curving
concupiscent hips (of Venus swaying so)
the one who places,
caught bathing in her morph
to mar
her goddess innocence (Peleus grasps her so)
her evergreen paradise-
apple spraying scruples,
while the sun
dries forgiveness **** (on Eve's fragrant *******
in other Edens
Lilith simply leaves him blind
to lust
for unknown Didos (craving **** or suicide)
the limping god
nets love and war, olympicly
to smith
a mortal death (from Vulcan jealousy)
foresight's fire-gift
leaps obedience
to lie
far falls the divine (in ******* he defied)
potent swan of sky,
what judgement?
for a girl
you laid in that white rush, (virginity unfurled)
immortal ****
fates sails of progeny,
raging
poet-birthing strife (for temple priestess' cries)
fated nation-death swoons,
shares beauty's scale,
and Aphrodite's foam (caresses history's thighs)
Trojan tensions mix
the modern mind to heights of doubt
of mythopoets' truth ( -yielding blindnesses)
lonely walk the earth
with guiding wisdom lacking
all the pawns of fate (forget love's darknesses)
sphinxine hunger asks
the soul of destiny
of hubris, tragic sight (and orgiastic nights)
of unknown woman
man struck down
sickly city safe
and burning, yearning (nymph and satyr sating Bacchic rites)
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
You get the know it alls
Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks
You get the geeks
Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing
You get the quiet ones
Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks
You get the cheeky ones
Hilarious antics all around; always surprising
You get the nosy ones
With obnoxious questions and averting eyes
You get the prissy neat freaks
Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner
You get the bossy buck tooth's
Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like
You get the wannabes
*Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups*
And you get me
With total judgement and disdain evident
Making me a **classic ***** ; plastic
With her typical high school stereotypes
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
I look with worried eyes, at social Vines, of flashing lights and a lack of rights.
Human compassion is lacking where it needs to be.
Hate feeds off of hate,
but if thats all it takes,
then **love should come so easily.**
Bashing in windows.
Spraying with mace.
Choking to death.
Eliminating race.
Classes are gone,
So classless mistakes,
are now made daily
at the hastiest rate.
We’re starving and hungry for the tastiest taste,
of what has become the most delicious
most suspicious,
vicious,
fishy,
repetitious,
superstitious,
vision named freedom.
It's naive to think we’re free when all that we see,
is a sea of beings not being one thing,
and that’s free.
When was the last time you felt it?
And we’ve been given a life long song and dance of "whoever smelt it dealt it".
So if you took the feeling of now and held it,
bottled it up and shelved it,
you would open up to find your mind in decline.
This moment was better
while laters behind.
Thats the path that we’re on
but we have control.
We’re not egos and clothes,
we’re people of souls
We're humans of thought
Not students of hate.
Evil got a head start,
but now truth is in the race.
And if truth is in your face,
and you choose to look away,
then get used to the abuse
and not confused at truce-less fates.
The pre action of action is thinking to act.
I'm thinking that actually we’re ready to snap.
They’ve bent us too far,
for us to go back.
The past is a place where patterns attack.
And people are put
no matter the facts.
Police are afoot
demanding the last,
of freedoms they take them,
and **** them with gas.
A historical scene on Kentucky blue grass
these colors don't bleed,
yet we see they fade fast.
We’ve exceed the need,
to keep things intact.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Splish splash
The waves crash on the sandy shore
Attracted to the ground up rocks
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers.
Splish splash
The waves are getting fierce
Rain is starting to pour
Like a child with a hose
Spraying their brother on a warm summer day.
Splish splash
The waves are like skyscrapers
Towering above me
Maybe I should go; I’m all alone now.
Splish splash
The waves have formed into one
One giant wave covering my island
I run away, up the mountain.
Splish splash
The devastation is done
The buildings lie everywhere
So do the bodies
I am the only survivor.
Why
Why did I survive and not the wise old man down the street
Why not the old merchant who only sold oranges and beets
What would father say?
I know
I know what he would say
He would say, “Because you are you and no one else is you. That’s why you survived.”
Now he is gone
Splish splash
The waves are calm again
Attracted to the sandy shore
Like children to lollipops
Or bees to flowers
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
I'm
breathing
hurriedly...i'm
r e m e m b e r i n g
c o n c e n t r a t i n g
trying to p i c t u r e :
~~ A ~~
P--lethora of trees, flowering plants...across and beyond...surround the
L--ustrous surface of the rushing blue green water...spraying...
nourishing
A--maranths and azaleas, with its windblown mists...refreshing.....see,
C--reeping creatures underwater could not ruin the quietude it emits
I--nimitable is its Serenity...nothing else is at par.............its
D--impled surface, tiny ripples running, creating streams of dreams...
whispering
W--ords...a gentle massage, washing away rage, misery...like precious
A--methyst, jade, citrine and crystals...shimmering down under,
rebuilding, helping
T--urquoise, gently touch with its sea blues...above, under...wherever
E--merald waters, against red carnelian rocks...to weather...endure...to
R--escue someone reeling...patiently...with words mollifying...and
sprays of
S--alty mists..soothing pensive eyes, mind, soul...cleansing...healing
CHAKRA...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Placid~waters~run
b e h i n d~~me
b e f o r e~~me
deep~~within
~~ m e ~~
~~~~~
Sally
Copyright September 3, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
Yes..I picked her precious flower
Gave me head in the shower...
Ate her ***** for an hour
Nice and wet..Sweet and sour
I must've been tasty
Not a drop did she waste me
Looking at her face see
Made me *** all crazy
Then we started playing
No words you know what I'm saying
My actions got her spraying
Whips..chains..all my tools out laying
Feeling like a champ number one
Passion within burns hotter than the Sun
Candle wax down your ***** it run
Slap that **** you've been Scorpio stung
Unf I don't want to hurt you
Like a machine find every way to work you
Is that the spot?
It doesn't hurt too
Take my time..discover your mysteries
When I pull out umm all becomes history
When not inside I'm feeling the misery
At one when we *** holding you blissfully...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow cum-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 2:46 PM UTC
Muffin milks the tiny teet
of a tête-à-tête torn
apart by warring factions.
slowly spitting the purple plum
dribbling, oozing
over the convex lips
which kissed and kissed.
Cream juices the cocky caucuses
of cordial cacophony.
Moist middlers meddle amidst
businesses of their own interest.
Power is power better bear than
bottom but everyone is ******
Lap the ego from the firehose,
the giant member of the state
spraying like a cat claiming "mine!"
Hellbound, hell no he'll save us
everything is going to ****
One man job to make us come
out of the 17th hole sand pit
of our pernicious premier club membership.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:56 AM UTC
*I'm sitting at the edge of the cliff
Just watching
Just waiting
I'm sitting as the ocean throws itself against the rocks, spraying me
I wait
I wait for something
No
I wait for nothing
I'm sitting on the edge of the cliff
Sliding off the edge I'm gonna let this small nothing happen
I'm gonna have this small nothing be gone in a whisper*
***Just never miss me
Just never whimper***
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
As a child
I wasn't really afraid of the dark,
There weren't really monsters in my closet and the feeling of checking under my bed was never something that I had to fear,
But as I grew older,
I learned that the monster was always in a far away place,
I learned in school that monsters didn't really exist and there was nothing I should have to fear,
I grew up in a Christian home
Learning that in some way I needed to be saved and I accepted that protection
Learning that living in hell for eternity was worth being saved from
But in my innocence I forgot about the monsters that live here
As planes are crashed into buildings
And snipers in cars
Inciting terror upon innocence
As a child in a free nation is oblivious to the fact that there is something to truly be afraid of
Something that's hidden
The cracks in the glass of this facade only seem to spider across the dark crevices of my brain wishing to...
Wishing to be free
Clawing their way up my throat
Asking for forgiveness instead of permission
Wishing to let go of their bonds because the only thing that's keeping them there is the thought that they could be kept at bay
Brittle chains with keys in the locks and the only thing that stops them from being set free is us
I've been told the eyes are the window to the soul
That if you look closely you can see their thoughts and desires
And demons
And as it turns out I'm blind to the fact that when I try to look in the mirror
That monsters won't chase me in my sleep and claw away at my soul
That no one is in control of the monsters
The monsters are in control of me.
Humanities greatest lie is that we can save our selves.
The monsters won't be free because we won't let them take control until they do
And this great deception has conceived this monstrosity that nobody has seen because everyone is afraid to look inside ourselves to see how awful the wound really is
We can't see our own glass houses caving in
The monstrosities of this world are our own creation
With homicidal tendencies
and a Picasso like disposition
Spraying our own blood upon this ripped apart canvas and calling it art
As a child I was told monsters didn't exist
That, the monsters were in a far away place
They couldn't attack me in my sleep and that there was nothing to fear in this world
I just didn't realize it was all in my head.
As children we are afraid of the monsters under our bed
Asking our parents to look under neath them for us so that they can prove that it's just our imagination,
"There's nothing to be afraid of" they tell me
Running to the parents room in the middle of the night to ask to stay with them because we don't grasp the reason why we are scared to begin with.
I wonder if nightmares are from the monsters trying to be free
Breaking out of their shackles of our parents lies telling us that monsters don't exist,
That there's nothing you have to fear because the monsters can't touch you.
And you as an innocent young child convince yourself that they only tell you facts because you can't comprehend that,
It's all in your head,
The greatest lie that the devil ever told was that he didn't exist,
The second is that there are no monsters,
Lying to ourselves cause we are the monsters
And they lie to us so we put them off as non existent
It was all... in my head.
I'm gonna ask you to look in my eyes,
I wonder,
I wonder if you can see mine
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
my dorm walls are so white white white
that i cover them in my paintings
so i can make eye contact
with something that can care
and i am reminded
of spraying quotes on the walls at school
getting busted
thrown in the detention room for a week
and scribbling still more
on those white white walls
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
*First light in the Hudson Valley
Arbor Day of April, 1970.*
Adrenaline coursed through our young
bodies, our hearts on fire with purpose.
As we rode our bikes, walked, or jogged miles
to our rural high school, red-winged blackbirds
called out from the misty swamps.
Beautiful but invading, acres of purple loosestrife
were rapidly taking over their wetland habitats.
Harbingers of the forests, blue jays issued
warning cries from deep in the woods,
where blights were killing our trees
with increasing frequency.
Three of us rode together, cycling in relative
silence, until we came to a meadow
selected for our early breakfast picnic.
We feasted on special fruits and cheeses,
hungrily stuffing in rare treats.
One friend began to send iridescent
soap bubbles into the chilly air.
Up they rose, up over the soft, puffy cloud
of her reddish curls, and into the dawning sun.
One bubble landed, unbroken, in the cold, dewy grass.
We stared at it, somehow understanding that here
was a delicate metaphor for our own fragile planet.
Approaching our school now, we breathed deeply the fragrance
of apple blossoms from commercial orchards all around us.
The spraying of pesticides had yet to be banned.
We were sleepy in our classes that morning;
most of our teachers understanding that we stood
now for something worthwhile, that we believed in,
and they smiled with kindness, some even with approval.
Our principal agreed to an awareness-raising slide show
designed for our fellow students, teachers and parents.
An intelligent man, he was admirably tolerant of the wave
of changes that our generation brought with us.
Smoke stacks, polluted water, and dying wildlife
flashed onto a screen in the darkened auditorium,
accompanied by the vivid symphonic power of
Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'- a score so revolutionary
that a riot broke out at its premier, in May of 1913.
We had no idea then how much worse things would become.
All these years later, we each do our part, blessing
the efforts of our children and their children,
hoping fervently that we are not too late.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC