"swabbed" poems
I'm tired of waiting,
Just ******* die.
Too harsh?
Perhaps a delicate massage
Before I snap your neck,
Like wringing out a mouse
The cat dragged in,
Its poor beggar body
Broken in the cat's sin.
Perhaps a drink,
Spiked with hatred
Distilled in glass warning
Skulls and crossbones
Tucked behind the tray of biscuits
And endless chocolate ice cream cones.
Is it so hard to do?
Just stop breathing, shut it off,
Stop the heart.
Perhaps you can hold your breath,
Like the countless times I held mine
When I was forced to breathe in yours
While I swabbed your chin,
Dabbing up a dinner
That should have gone straight in.
Just die and get it over with.
I don't mean it. Not really.
No I don't want you in a home;
They can't care for you like me.
Who will give you all the hugs
That you would give for free?
Its not that they won't care for you,
Or wipe your chin from drool,
Or even change your dress at night
After you had laid a stool.
It's just that they don't love you
And it's my curse to repay
All the love you gave to me
From birth through night and day.
Don't be mad at me,
I don't want you to go,
But I'm so tired of waiting;
No, I know that you don't know.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Every true crime documentary resides in me.
Binge used to be tied to drinking. The language, I think,
is evolving, and I walk the black part of town at
night on a double dare from a lady poet whose
lexical purview lies somewhere between her
**** and the moon. I'm a beacon of fairness,
fair trade coffee stains my teeth, my lenin pants
imported from Bali are ethically made, and I speak
in a respectable and thoughtful half whisper
like the women of the QVC.
I return to the loft free of gunshot wounds
and love my lady poet thin and love my lady poet
tall and she says confusion is the only sustainable
state of being and I say I can agree with that and
she says she's been thinking about transitioning
and I say into more responsibility at work? and she
says haha no. Into a man.
And three weeks later I watch her read a poem
entitled "Traffic My **** Transgender *** to Heaven,"
she goes home with one, two, three Sylvia Plath lookalikes,
and I get swabbed at the doctors and I get prescribed
a moderate dose of Effexor and I speak in high school
Spanish to my office crush — she's from Venezuela, I think.
Power. Control. Stockings, I tell her, I have a thing for stockings
and pink cotton socks. One more drink and I'll hit my
groove. Chill. Power. Control. Put on that soul song I like.
Didn't I do it, baby?
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
*That minty sweet stuff
You polish and clean
Eradicate decay
With compounds of fluorine
Like toothpaste
You're a necessity
Each morning and night
You're so very important
For that toothy grin, wide and bright
Like toothpaste
You're squeezed tight
Swabbed and scrapped about
Against yellow enamel
Determined to white it out
Like toothpaste
You're medicine
More for an aesthetic cause
Caught between a hard place
And a locked jaw
Like toothpaste
One day, you're all but gone
And just like toothpaste
You wake to find
You have been replaced*
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
I met a little boy, he loved the color blue.
All he did was laugh and sing, merrily free.
Man, don't you wish we could be this boy too?
He swabbed the deck; a pirate at sea,
A brave knight, or keeper of zoos!
Perhaps a king, sipping tea.
Perhaps milking cows! moo!
Yet he is not sick.
Today mom cried
Over my bed.
On my head.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Province acreage dies for one to tilleth its deserted range
Wherein cement meets the grain
It's love wants to be an emblem upon the world's and celestial's mapped blueprint........
Sick of nothing
Infirmed by zich
Swabbed by heartache
Taping its own stitch...
Just another moorland
Who Gaveth all
Lost to
Hopeless romance merry....
Depletedness licketh...
Deprived
Scanting
Panting its last sad hopeful breathe!!!!
Tis
All it hath left
As its been pruned
And left for rocks to corrode...
Sold its soul.....
One of old,
Superannuated doppelganger.....
An obsolete antediluvian
One not meant
For loam inanimate's.....
By me( Brandon nagley) - ( lonesome poets poetry)
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
The forgotten essential workers
Who is seldom mention.
Who is so often belittle,
Porters,
Cooks,
Laundry workers
Dish-washers,
Elevator-repair men
Recreations,
Front Desk clerks
Certified Nurse’s Aide
Home health aide
Waiters,
God! Oh how hard we work!
Private’s aides
Now as we celebrate Juneteenth 19
Black lives matters, can we really be seen
After four hundred years of oppressions
Can we tossed back river of tears
we are in 2020 is this our commission?
We as Essential workers in your nursing homes
Being tested twice a week,
By your essential worker phlebotomist
Who puncture my vein with his cannula?
For the governor executives order
listen up you uncouth nurses who poke
The swab sticks deep into my nose.
Listen this quackery has to end!
Pandemic, politics, election strategy
We essential need more respect.
You with your white privileges, and your treats
(RE: PCR swabbing, week being on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday.
If you work 4 or more days you need to be swabbed 2x per week
In a 48hrs time frame, if not you will be taken off the schedule
You will be humiliated, said the Administrator Mr. Sal
Because he is not a babysitter there to reminds you..
Said a non- professional white privileges)
as the city navigate the pandemic
moving on to injustices of systemic racism,
poverty, militarism and
a war economy:
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe..
I
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:16 AM UTC
~
Windows show the world…
Beyond this pane of glass sits my imagination,
well beyond the reflection that greets me
A smiling face perhaps, a somber frown at times,
this transparent image
like a soldier, guards my thoughts
and holds my dreams captive
I can see the chest rise and lower
as breaths escape the figure telling me
it lives, at least for this moment
Still the worry of loss fights through the ghost-like outline
invading my soul,
pulling and pushing on my heart,
leaving me exhausted as my mind sails to the silhouette ahead
Two ships, why do they always pass,
why is it always at night,
when faces are obscured and merely shadows
of a dancing moon
Ripples of friendship, waves of anguish wake,
not knowing the set course or the boundaries of love,
reaching for the anchor…much too late
Currents swiftly dispatch the emotions,
wash away the feelings in salt water swells
Sails are hoisted, memories are swabbed,
clean as a whistle,
melodic and sad for the song
sinks slowly into the mist
only to be swallowed by the sea
Still, here I sit, gazing at this clear protection
finding not sea worthy vessels, but street lights call
and morning suns rise
to eliminate my reflection
as fingers type in the realization
that beyond this glass sits nothing,
for once again I am alone
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
Darkened blue splotch
Swabbed with remnants of night
Liquid opal slants
Almost vertically
Shimmering through car window
Of grey-tinted dawn.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
This bitter endgame theory
is the remnant of us
tightly clutched in a loose collection
of dulled hidden blades I kept in
empty sugar pill bottles
for moments such as these
My shallow breath slowing
showing
nothing left but hesitation marks manifesto readings
to stave off never lasting mob stompers
losing control of thought criminal empires
All is lost with wounds swabbed in hopes of growing cultures
not inundated by murderland vultures
cackling that doomsday clock apocalyptic-talk
as they pick apart failed crop circles
The past is in the past but remains so tense
as you stand revolted by wretched plans
while wrenching cold calculating razors from my hand
because being allowed to touch seemed so unattainable to me
in the first place
and now that you're gone
I
am
so
scar struck.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
Windows show the world…
Beyond this pane of glass sits my imagination,
well beyond the reflection that greets me
A smiling face perhaps, a somber frown at times,
this transparent image
like a soldier, guards my thoughts
and holds my dreams captive
I can see the chest rise and lower
as breaths escape the figure telling me
it lives, at least for this moment
Still the worry of loss fights through the ghost-like outline
invading my soul,
pulling and pushing on my heart,
leaving me exhausted as my mind sails to the silhouette ahead
Two ships, why do they always pass,
why is it always at night,
when faces are obscured and merely shadows
of a dancing moon
Ripples of friendship, waves of anguish wake,
not knowing the set course or the boundaries of love,
reaching for the anchor…much too late
Currents swiftly dispatch the emotions,
wash away the feelings in salt water swells
Sails are hoisted, memories are swabbed,
clean as a whistle,
melodic and sad for the song
sinks slowly into the mist
only to be swallowed by the sea
Still, here I sit, gazing at this clear protection
finding not sea worthy vessels, but street lights call
and morning suns rise
to eliminate my reflection
as fingers type in the realization
that beyond this glass sits nothing,
for once again I am alone
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
set the scene, you are old. As old as any one you ever knew.
Locked in
isolated for the incubation of whatever they
they
they, these
masked others,
I see eyes only, like if Lone Ranger were inside out,
where his mask is, is eyes and their fleshy environs
to the edge of brows, still effectively
arching, one by one in some
models of these hoo-min…
beings
whatever they swabbed in my gnose… is
working…
Things morphevolverevolve and twist to catch a beam
slipping past the shades,
see, there
in your eye, I see, that mote be me, my self,
might I
extract my self and leave you wishing for more?
Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 4:00 PM UTC
Heaved aboard-
lay flat on your back
on swabbed and
polished deckboards
and watch the white
sails fill
As we sail into dawn,
red and yellow banners
counter intuitive,
streaming ahead of our
godspeed.
Unwrecked,
rescued,
lifted from fossil sea
Powered by wind
to cut wine-dark waters
homeward
bound roped and rigged
And freedomed
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
Dappled sweat, bile, snot, the quick
Boiled then burst. A flushed anemic,
My body nothing but a seam.
Rag slopped, sodden shot to wick,
Smeared the table thick with sheen,
Rutting reek on things pristine.
Outpours the raw and unhygenic -
Perfection is this bowl swabbed clean.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
She pulled her upper lip
Down across her teeth,
Tilted back her head,
Flew her eyes at half-mast
While perfect tiny fingers worked
Brushed and swabbed,
Dressed, accentuated,
And brought to life perfection
Already there.
A powder, a crème
A special brush to apply
On her lips and brows,
And eyes that tear apart
My soul
Each time she blinks
And smiles.
How I was so startled
To find myself,
How amazed I was
To be so mesmerized,
How intrigued I was
To be so humbled,
Allowed to watch
This simple act,
Her practiced step-by-step,
Preparing for the day
While she drew me in
And gave to me a gift
Of rare and honest beauty.
And stepping back to assess
Her practiced work
Then to dress
And dash so quickly
Prepare for day’s
Each tick and tie
Remembering that there am I
Gazing while
The time draws near
When out the door
To disappear,
And once again
I am in wait
Till beauty comes
To hold me near.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
They swabbed my
nostrils
testing to see
if
I've contracted the
coronavirus;
keeping my fingers
crossed
that I'm not
sick.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
The plasticiser of human flesh–
Influence,
Poured on without filter or mesh.
Swabbed, glazed
Over a body.
The victim left in a daze
While we
Watch (unknowingly? Or not?)
As they rot away,
Day by day.
They’re less brittle,
Yet it seems this plasticiser has little
Positive effect.
For the promoting of flexibility
Just seems to mean two-facedness
And a lack of respect
To them and me.
Plasticiser just turning our world to mush–
To get it done,
I’m truly in no rush.
Sep 11, 2024
Sep 11, 2024 at 6:46 AM UTC
Rubbed drying earth from my hands,
swabbed my brow with my shirt tail.
Jeans stained with mud and plant juices,
the shovel rests without complaint on the lawn (It's use to me by now).
Though my back aches
and blistered hands shake,
despite being beat and done,
working out doors
under the intense sun,
crawling with insects
stinking of sweat,
I feel more satisfied
than when I sit
in a clean office
on a comfortable chair
with only a phone to lift.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
My alarm clock beeps, and rings.
I walk over to the mirror and i just stare , Its like a path that never ends....
I open my makeup box , and walk to the bathroom, "Gosh! "i say I nearly stumbled over the crooked floorboard .
I refrain from looking in the mirror before I start my make-up.
I wash my face ,the tears stains disappear i soon pat the dripping water from my mouth .
I reach for my make-up box and look into the mirror .
"Another day.." I sigh as I pull out my eyebrow pencil.
.finished my look I just stare and sigh . Remembering the night i had , Flash backs from my nightmares of pain and screaming, The flashing caused me to fall over and break the mirror, shards fly everywhere, Im back in the nightmare that haunts everynight , I look at my hands i feel a cool sensation. I am covered by the blood of the victim.
IM GUILTY! I scream
I clasp my hand over my mouth quickly.
my mind plays over"She deserve it , shes bad, shes gone...."
Its over....
soon later a police officer and a forensic specialist came in ....
Examined the body , and dust the finger prints off a gun a 9 mm.
The lady laid dead on the floor , blood pooling from the head .
As the specialist swabbed for evidence , he leans to the officer and gasps .
"Wait I know this woman...... Its my mother"
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 11:07 PM UTC