"stagnates" poems
To Marianna
When blue night mattresses
cover the city
Schizophrenia , depression , deception
they all cross the avenues
or rather swim in redness
the green rain stagnates
in the brothel's garden
the cat leaning on the stair
landing shuffles the deck of cards
a sweating Eros slides on a female
yet so manly river his signature
Monet .
Giorgos Vlachos
10.11.2008
Translation : Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
3.2k
Time steals from a child that feels,
As their human desires—tragically burn— in fire.
Child, remember to be human — feeling.
Don’t grow into a machine.
I won’t let metal replace me.
Dear humanity,
Why do you leave me?
I refuse your “upgrade.”
I am not a number, call me by my name.
I am part of society,
Not a machine in some factory.
My place is here — a human being.
But it’s no place for lies.
No hate, no time.
No place, for love.
No fate, no time.
I’ve got outdated heartware, slow—failing.
It's time for an upgrade.
Buy me — a new brain.
Make it a chip.
Make it worth it.
Instead of a heart,
Buy me a new part.
I WANT WIRES INSTEAD OF VEINS.
PROGRAM ME TO STAY, IN MY PLACE.
Child, so human, feeling.
But you’d be better as a machine.
Time for metal to become me.
Dear humanity,
It's time to leave me.
I need an upgrade.
A NUMBER MAKES A BETTER NAME.
Society stagnates so inefficiently.
I’d rather be in a factory.
My place is, is here, a machine.
Goodbye, human me.
EMBRACE THE UPGRADE.
It's time to become some thing.
Welcome to programmed life.
I am machine
Someone else owns me
Programmed brain
Made for society's gain
This world a factory
Purchase me use me
Until one day replace me
Children humans so weak
Grow into machine
Soon you'll be metal like me
ATTENTION TEMPORARY BEINGS
IT'S TIME TO USE ME
GAVE ME THIS UPGRADE
THIS NUMBER MY NAME
I BELONG TO THIS FACTORY
IMPROVED SOCIETY
MY PLACE THIS PROPERTY YOUR MACHINE
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 9:25 PM UTC
I'm attracted to men who do things
the hippie health nut rock climbers
the con-going, larping nerds
the artsy poetry writing, painters
I'm attracted to results,
to getting up off the couch and going
to hikers, and bikers, to MMA fighters
these are the men that I want
The men who get up in the morning
with a purpose
the men who know where they're going
and why they're doing what they do
The men with mettle, with strength, with power
I want a man who takes control
Who's not afraid to spend an evening
away from me
If we have differing interests
He won't give up what he loves
for any woman
I'm turned on by men
with steel in their bones
With iron in their hearts
who don't take their hits lying down
To men with hobbies with talent
with ideas and dreams
that they're making happen
not just pondering
I hate talk
The muscles built for sight's sake
aren't worth a **** thing to me
I need skills, a brain with the bulk
I want a man who rarely rests
who never stagnates
who can take me out to do something new
I'm attracted to men who do things
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:35 AM UTC
Sit in stillness
Allow the unrest
Of idleness
Contour the shape
Of nonentity
Soon you’ll hear
A loud ringing
Within your ear
The same noise
Howling staunch
Before you sleep
The same sound blaring
As the world stagnates
And time loiters
And sorrow seeps up from the rug
I don’t think you realize
You will never see him again
As long as you live
For now he is a tall tale
Retold to offspring
A distant memory
A mythic architect
Nothing in the past has ever occurred
There is only now
And now
There is only the wind
And the world moves on
And time resumes clockwise
And his ashes are spread about the sea
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Not knowing when a heart does open
We are just looking for the clues
We wonder why the words unspoken
Choose traveling on tunes of blues
Avoiding gazes to collide
And listening to words, not feelings
We might just let a soul to slide
Away, from this life fast spinning reeling
Wait up, let the murmur of unknowns
Fade in the quietness of darkness!
Don’t worry about the stones not thrown
If kindness stagnates, it collapses...
I see remembrance of embraces
In the stars of shapes of hearts
Across the sky, they all form laces
That puts together my heart’s two parts.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 12:25 AM UTC
Everything stands frozen for an enternity, encapsuled in just a moment of time
Your notice your heart stops beating, the rhythm that has sustained you long before you were aware
Your throat constricts, suddenly unable to draw in the oxygen that feeds your body
Your next breath stagnates inside your lungs, decomposing with each missing heartbeat
Your stomach plummets towards the floor, falling further than the earths crust
Your intestines squirm inside your cavity as they disintegrate into nothingness
As your eyes begin to sting and water, overfilling until they breech the dam
Your heart finally remembers to beat, faster than ever before
And your jaw finally falls, along with the rest of your face to form a silent
"oh"
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
A sneaking suspicion of pompous protrution
A glimmering splint of carnivorous contempt
We bleed here for the city that eats us alive
kids with lost souls and fashion beneath which they hide
A souless confusion
puppet masters beyond this illusion
The tables have turned and the kids turn back.
Relying on pineal secretions or atleast drug induced apartheid to set them back on track
A concrete master ruled by rubber slaves so much evidence and yet so little dismay
**** the clock before it clocks you out
Your empty shallow lives only reflecting the smell of sweat your bodies do not wish to confide
Alone in a plastic prison without a scent of discontent for the blood that stagnates inside
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Life stagnates as people start trickling back to their houses. Some look forward to the expectant faces of their children, while some others dread their churlish wives. As they saunter along doggedly, the day’s events play like a broken record in their heads – a mimicry of sanity. A crow caws somewhere as though lovesick. Streetlights come on and fireflies hover in a daze. Bicycles, cricket bats, and skipping ropes are lugged back home by children who are repeatedly beckoned by overbearing mothers. Almost in a trance, the buzz of the day fades away as a feigned tranquility descends.
molten skyline…
an earthworm buries
itself deeper
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
High above the ultra-white plateau
a vultures wheels in an amino helix
above a dead horse. Branded upon its left flank is the word
“Mulatto”.
In the forest far below
an ilex rattles for the dead.
The river, pregnant with shrapnel
sulks and stagnates, her belly full of lead.
The plains are cratered as the Moon
the purple heather soothes the raw stone wound
and whispers that the fighting will be over
very soon, and all the scars will heal.
Their fires have turned our bones to meal.
The mountain gods are sighing now
and dying now, the endless sky their tomb.
Rainclouds loom, seething with disdain
and seek to quench the hungry yellow grass.
Rain lashes through the mountain pass.
Rainwater sifts into the soil
and we do not forget.
Blood chapel-sacred, black as oil
and we do not forget.
Shrapnel is sown like seeds into the spoil
and we do not forget.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
I keep having these emotional outbreaks
and when I feel like this, I need to tell you
But my words get jumbled up and I cant keep my emotions under control
Whenever I go to
I think it has to do with my worst fear
The thing that eats away at me everyday
Claws at my tendons causing my muscles to die
Stagnates my blood causing my arteries to clog and brittle my bones
It's crimson needled fingers are powered by one hand underneath my gums and rips my teeth out one by one while the other hand slides my fingernails out of my skin
Stalking Seeking Slithering through my skin it crawls inside
and stalks my spinal cord all the way to my skull, plucking spinal cords along the way
Seeking for my brain and
Slithering into every neuron and cell
It rots every single one
And decays the rest of me
I am numb cause I'm afraid no one cares.
No-one has cared at all
I knew from the first christmas
that I was a mistake
In middle school
it was made clear again
when everyone bullied me
Then again in High School
where teenage apathy reigned
But now, I really don't know if anyone cares
and your answer means so much to me
"Do you care?"
Cause if I can't have you as a lover
I want to love you as a friend
Cause I can see you doing great in the end
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
1.4k
I imagine the Egyptians felt about deaths of loved ones a lot like we think about autumn
It isn’t a passing
It isn’t a loss
They are just waiting for them to bloom again.
Plants are a fragile thing but maybe they aren’t as fragile as we think they are
Just as we are often not as strong as we think we are
It is easy to break a person
Especially one who does not want to be broken
Because they are the ones who will fight the hardest and tire quickly
It is much harder to shatter apathy than passion
Then there are the people who want to be broken
People who drink their own pain like water
Or maybe something more toxic like bad wine or good coffee
The people who look at their bruised arms and see lace
Instead of burst blood vessels
Some people need the pain to know they can still feel
They would rather feel agony than feel nothing at all
Some people need pain to create
Pain can be the paint in an artist’s brush, the keystrokes of a writer’s fingers
Some people feel pain because they are afraid to feel anything else
Happiness fades, contentment stagnates, but sorrow is a constant companion
Sometimes I worry
That I am one of these people
I spend my time reading, writing, inhabiting the minds of others
The stories of others
Because I am afraid to look my own story in the face
And see if I like the direction it has taken
Sometimes I live vicariously through the stories of others
Because I am afraid of what will happen in my own
I am trying to be passionate without being breakable
And I am trying to enjoy my water as well as my coffee
And I am slowly learning that I cannot write my story, it must write itself
Inevitably pain is part of every story
Including mine
There will be heartbreak and there will be bruises and there will be hairline fractures, cracks, fissures, schisms
People will leave, be it by death or by simply walking away
But every moment of pain is simply an autumn
A winter
And in time everything will bloom again
Stronger and more resplendent than ever before
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
My sunlight flees around these withered walls.
My starlight glints no longer through the leaves.
The water through my fading fingers falls.
The shadow in the corner sobs and grieves.
The tether round my heart has been untied
And from it floats away a white balloon.
The sea stagnates in absence of the tide:
Held still by silent mourning of the moon.
The whisperings of memories and dreams
Like ghosts are tugging coldly at my hand.
They’re picking at my bones like ruptured seams
And crumbling my castle into sand.
She is a thing of beauty whom I love
Together we’ll be lightning from above.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
I slide the slow motion helter skelter of my mind
Ride the spiral into wide open vistas
Unbound by any sense of time
While my body stagnates, wearing down
I fly in realms of thought and imagination
Simultaneously
Form and substance congeal then dissipate
Leaving silence, imploding
Into the vortex where
On the other side
I Am
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
the moment when you met was rather insignificant
but then someone told you that she liked you
and you realized that – hey – you suddenly liked her too.
and so you expectedly courted her
kissing her at moments that you did with previous girls
telling her old sentences
recycling plainly hidden stories from your childhood:
one showing your good heartedness
one about your embarrassing marching band days (without forgetting to mention your pop-punk band now)
and, of course, the first girlfriend tale that makes you seem vulnerable.
and through these, you reveal things to her that other girls, now decaying in your mind, have known for many many months.
yes you hook up
and the *** is up to par
and there’s some appeal to the overall lack of trying involved.
you date as obligation
and you somehow convince yourself that you love her
because feeling wanted feels so **** pleasant
and her lack of intrusion on the rest of your life is pretty convenient overall.
and out of complacency this love takes hold
or at least solidifies like an algae bloom
and you grow tired for settling
and she gets exhausted from caring
and everything stagnates to a perfect balance.
your blood hardens to plastic
so the your muscles can no longer fight
against the unsettling comfort of the life
you said you’d never lead.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:23 PM UTC
time moves forward
winding through galaxies
coursing through milkyways
pulsing through universes
hanging on heartbeats
yesterday, today and tomorrow
happening concurrently
burned onto disks stacked on top of each other
lifetimes skipping tier to tier
peeking through veils of reality
scoping inward to Brownian motion
zooming outward to life’s whole
energy flowing freely through meridians
navigating congestion and voids
finding balance in life’s peaks and valleys
like electrocardiograms
my lifereadings on paper
lately I’ve been flatlining
routines can be boring
drudgery stagnates
maybe I’m just physically tired
maybe I’m tired of life
caught behind a rock in a river
awaiting a cataract to break me free
and restore the song of life’s flow
maybe I’m an insignificant speck of dust
a blip off life’s radar
or maybe the smallest piece of jigsaw
is an equal part of the whole
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
all at once, things come crumbling
together. a step in every direction,
rightful empty dissolves to leave,
in stationary hollow, itself:
presented representation. no
point left unscathed. the exact
same moment the water started
leaking down and out the walls. a
series of equicardinal trackmarks in
the snow. over the bridge we shift
momenta. wheels turn. nerves
coupling. a flood laps at my
unfurling fingerprints. water
rises like swallows nesting in the
marsh of my throat. try as we might,
turn of position, matched glance, precession
after next, the swell silently engulfs the woodwork.
blood curls through these beds, as beautiful as the water running over;
waves distill through smaller wash.
a larger scheme spreads its lips. the teeth
play quotient to tree limbs. a schedule unwound.
caught the sun with smooth hooks.
everything changes from here, or stagnates at a
shifting viewpoint. but, from this glowing angle,
i could mistake you for ordinality or
plain daylight. i could
fall a little
further
down.
instead, all translates in bold motion,
binding fibers of dissolution,
morning hues
through the dark.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
The lingering odour of skin, smoke stained
On fabric and behaviours learnt, torn and burnt
All the while representations of irony
Spring up and flourish by sounds of siren
Deep from within the unwound, forgotten back streets
A palace devoid of royalty stagnates, their enigma
Only to awaken a far from fairy tale kingdom
Where lowered heads confirm discouraged hearts
Discarded brown paper bags blow as tumbleweed
Searching a vast soul now yearning for salvation
Just as the clasp on an empty bottle is too a burden
Replicating the mirrored inadequacy of one's self
Hush, don't stir, be still and forget
There is no need to fret, for your secrets will recover
As before, your eyes will cry desert like tears
Fuelling a familiar marathon of isolated misery
The sound of sullen and resentful silence
Inherited on the wings of the ever sure failings
Closest friend of the indiscriminate rapacious lover
Whose failings resulted in vanquished flame
Shane T Farrell
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
It's Monday
sigh,
oh me oh my
why,
'twas Sunday only yesterday
what trickery is this?
I kiss her slowly as she wakes.
They say that sixty seconds takes a lifetime for
a minute,
she makes a lifetime longer and the hours
make me hunger,
but her kiss comes on much stronger than before.
Only Monday makes me smile like this
the waking kiss,
Sunday I miss, but not that much
such are the ways of days in the week
who seeks to stay in a given day
stagnates,
she waits until the ink runs dry
oh me oh my
why
'twas full only a Moon ago.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
Keeping Time
Since you left the faucet’s started dripping.
I asked it to stop; It would not.
The lithe silver neck wilts as it cries,
Watching me make the coffee
Nodding out tears that go plunk all morning,
Like it understands why two cups is too many
And the extra stagnates all day in the carafe
Staining the glass the sick color of burnt chocolate.
I catch myself swaying along with the ticking
In idle evenings spent staring at a blank TV screen.
It wastes water, keeps time, my immutable metronome
while I burn down slowly like someone left in a hurry
and forgot to shut off the oven.
In fitful dreams the dripping is a knock at the door
gone unanswered, for I am distracted in the kitchen
trembling with fury, strangling to death
that mercurial throat that drummed a lonely racket
in the stainless steel basin, counting out mocking measures
of this new silence.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC