"stuffiness" poems
"Smile and others around
Will too"
That's why I smile
Don't I?
I do.
I did.
I tried
Even though
I might've well
Have died
Endure...
Frozen over
Legs numbing
Feet burning
Neck straining
Just five more minutes..
Five more..
Endure
Limbs aching
Temper shortening
Time running
Eyes closing
Annoyance building
Endure..
Gut sinking
Stuffiness building
Lung capacity shrinking
Body trembling
Insides quivering
Look around...
Remember?
Remember what you said?
Remember what you
Promised?
Endure...
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
Sid's Valentine Goodbye.
Valentine's Day - Sid woke up as
he had done for odd eighty years.
Hidden in a closet were her roses
and cheap card.
His thin ex-tuberculous wife was
already up, she had made tea,
laid the paper and opened the
windows for the stuffiness to exit.
Joe Loss was playing Moonlight on the
new thingy C.D and outside one
of the warders was moving about.
Sid kissed her on the cheek, lightly
but with feeling, presented his roses,
felicitations handed her the card,
she loved it.This was their sixty fourth
Valentine,
As usual Joan shed a little symbolic tear,
nothing too un-British and came to underline
her love for big Sid with another little kiss.
Speed cyclist, dispatch rider, Radar Sid
was on lazy boy with The Mail and char.
Paper open, tea untouched she gave him.
her usual restrained peck and realized.
He was still warm.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
“They have some cheek!”
A little twitch of the nose,
a little lick on the hands.
Blink once, blink twice, a third.
“I thought we had settled this!”
The hard, white pond makes my
feet sting, the square black puddles
tempting me to stop and have a drink.
“How many times must we do this?”
There is no more stuffiness in the air,
the night inside the walls has vanished.
The acid in the air burns my nose tunnels.
“This had better be the last time!”
Dashing in and out of the polished trees,
covered by the same silky white sky, making
my way to the large silver acorn that never ages.
“We’re going to have to work at this relationship!”
Jumping into the pockets of night hidden in
the crevices, scuffling behind the rubbery ivory.
I wait with anticipation for my yellow beauty.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 9:03 AM UTC
The irresolvable contradiction, in whose subconscious formula this current absurd-impossible World is immersed, first it turns into non-existence, then it organically emerges into the stagnant Nothingness. The ostrich-faithful gangs of yampecs, like the circus associations of the self-deceivers, seem to even play together a little in the manner of accomplices in the intercontinental businesses of gamblers - because a restless, wandering Soul has long since become a cat and has been tempting the son of man, because there is no partiality, no special difference in a prolonged, incessant Sisyphusian fall. It feels the numbing cracks of the rotting decompositions, while those who remain on the surface are constantly eviscerating the last pennies and silver coins from the pockets of the simpler, working average; Even pitifully degrading bureaucratic wisdom cannot be quite adequate these days: dignity and existence exclude each other just as feudal lords exclude a compromising servant.
Free-thinking is not at all chic these days, they are quite calmly content with merely the illusion of truth as long as possible. Now imported idolatry is becoming more and more popular again, but very much so. Because in the guaranteed transitional age, no one and nothing can be themselves, or the same as they were as long as the laws of humanism were observed, the message of conscious blind indifference seems to have been deliberately transplanted into another blind world.
Like startled fish embryos, apocryphal passwords glide, wrinkles write the warning message on the secret prison walls of faces: "Pay attention, and rather hide in hiding!" - Every circle must organically close at some point. The wasted seasons are no longer waiting for a silver star ready to wander. It's time to ventilate the soul-crushing stuffiness that is welling up in man!
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC
There’s a hole in the anticipation
waiting for the ground. It goes
beyond a moment. It appears
around the body, lying in the
corner. Hoping for emptiness
under the earth. Dreading
that it carries on into the
stuffiness. And people, no
gap left by the personal
space. Crushed. It’s more
than physically lost. I can’t
move. It’s a hole, I need
to get out. No, world. What
can hear me, I am forgotten.
The hole, another face in an
organised crowd, is recognisable.
Filled with dirt. Certain people
begin to speak but we feel
empty. They leave spaces behind.
New people arrive. Time
happens, which sets them behind,
apart from the rest. Like
the earth covers the grave,
so we, with a struggle, put
it from our face and minds
for the way back.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
My thoughts are scattered all over the place
Sad corn, bad dreams, no diploma, brown leaves..
I want to be h a p p y for you but I can't be today
there's just a kind of stuffiness inside of my brain
but don't cry for too long, please don't worry I'll
get back to normal, soon things won't be so blurry.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
Light bleeds through red curtains painting the brown walls a muddy shade of maroon like dried blood on concrete
Sticky and hazy
The whooshing movement of fan blades fill in the would be silence
Tugging air with dull blades rapid and quick similar to the staccato of a heart beat
Wubbing its low hum sound the t.v static of a mundane morning
Sunday's have never held much meaning
Other than the once suffocating stuffiness of a dusty church bench
Listening to hell fire and brimstone in a place that smelled like death and hand sanitizer
Where children are paraded like prized cattle in front of relatives
Valued for their would be talents and their potential to redeem their parents mishaps
No this day was greeted with the smell of *** and the taste of syrup still lingering in the dry parts of the mouth
Legs tired from walking and stumbling at the bar
Eyes still wearing the specter of blue eye shadow
Lips the muted color of sin
No Sundays are special kind of sacred
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
Well, gosh, thank you for being here today
I am honored to be the conductor
Of this very special and awesome group
So let me introduce them one by one
To this special and awesome audience
It’s been an awesome season, and we’re glad
You could share this moment with us today
We’d like to give a special shout-out to
(Name and name) for making this wonderful space
Available to all of us today
As you know this is the last performance
Of the season, and the last here for (name)
Who is being transferred to Albuquerque
And we want to wish her well; she has been
A cornerstone-rock-heart of our little group
And also for (name) who is retiring
After thirty years with (name-name, inc)
And is looking forward to spending time
With his family and traveling about
With his awesome and patient wife (name-name)
And also with his awesome and patient dogs
Although of course he would never say that they
Are more awesome than his sweet wife ha-ha
You will notice that our program today
Features a diversity of pieces to appeal
To all sorts of tastes because the pieces
We have selected in their diversity
Are meant to appeal to all sorts of tastes
Oh, wait, did I say that already ha-ha
Because we all believe that music speaks
To the hearts of all in their special ways
Because music is the language of all
From Tchaikovsky and Wagner to Elvis
From the stuffiness of grand old Vienna
To ‘way-cool happenin’ New Orleans
Or as they like to say down there Naw-lins
Ha-ha music is the language of all
Because it is inclusive and diverse
And speaks to all our hearts with love
And, like, you know, stuff, so now we begin
With some traditional classic pieces
And then some popular tunes you can tap
Your toes along to, and then at the end
We will enjoy a good ol’ sing-along
And maybe some audience participation
Ha-ha but we’ll let that be a surprise
Our first piece now is by Paganini
Who was neither a pagan nor a *****
Ha-ha so let me give you’re a little background
On this piece…
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
If the wind could see you
The world would have been airless
Trees will no longer look breezy
And the night will be hot as hell.
The wind would stop dead
Clouds will turn into marshmallows
The stuffiness of its harsh mellow
Will turn flowers black and blue.
The wind will contain no life
For you have drawn it dry from its well
The wind will move as though unmoving
Through our hairs, on our skin, nothing.
If the wind could see you
My life would have been done and dusted
In the coffin of my sultry yearning for you
I crave the dampness of your slender touch.
The wind would stop and stare
And everything would need to halt
The birds will balance in the middle of the sky
As your beauty took the place of their wings.
The wind would slowly turn into you
As it gazes upon your beauty and magnetism
It transforms its formless body into your figure
Slowly capturing every single detail of your glory.
The breeze and the air-stream will smell like you
And as it travels through my life I will smile
Because then I will have you forever by my side
In the wind, the particles, the abyss of your mind.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
one day sleep in a coffin
one day lie on the bottom
drink ***** eat pump
will go to far countries
sleep in the stuffy where air zero
sleep in solid and solid ground
spaces where clouds of dust live
go where I'm dead again
ah coffin cute coffin i see yours
your skeletons I see your smiles dancing
I see your zeros and see your heat
created by stuffiness due to the cold of the dead
08.12.18
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC