"tubing" poems
Memory is a beautiful thing.
Those warm summer mornings sitting on the front porch.
Jumping on Colton's trampoline in a frilled baby pink tu-tu.
Little white bows in my golden curls as I bounce,
grinning so wide,
in the rays of the Texas sun.
Trips to the lake in our old boat.
The water warm and glittering, calling me for a swim.
Tubing behind the Seaswirl with my baby brother,
giggling like little kids do.
My old cowgirl costume for Halloween.
Running from door to door with an old ragged filled pillowcase in hand.
Singing Hilary Duff in my 5th grade talent show.
Nervously shaking as I watch the smiling crowd in front of me.
My first crush sitting next to me in math class,
Mrs. Woo telling me to stop daydreaming.
Green eyes that stare back into mine, laughing, moving in front of me.
Adventures in Burbank with Megan.
Laughing so hard we fall to the sidewalk in front of a full Mexican restaurant.
My first boyfriend kissing me under an oak tree,
in McCambridge Park at sunset.
Here I sit now.
At my washed out desk in a new dorm,
in college.
My life will keep moving on,
and I have all these beautiful memories to fill it with.
My own personal home videos to dance through my head,
as I think,
as I dream,
as I film more to think back on in ten years.
Life is too beautiful to waste.
I thank God that I have been so blessed to be living.
Loving, laughing, singing, dancing, smiling
and holding on to this free spirit that possesses me and moves me.
Someday life will be but a wonderful memory.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?
Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
She nods and sighs
amongst the conifers.
Evergreen sap coats the
rug of needles beneath, and
the wind covers her skin
with rippling gooseflesh.
A little black balloon lies
beside a bindle of rigs.
The moon robs and blinds
her of sight, shining so
very brightly into her dilated
pupils and hidden irises.
A single rusted spoon glows and
A stolen church candle smoulders.
Her golden locks encircle
the crown of her cranium
in a halo worthy of stained-
glass windows.
Rubber tubing is tied off
above her collapsing veins.
The fallen leaves under her
protruding shoulder blades
stretch out for miles in a
pair of clipped wings.
With a final rattling cough
the light leaves her eyes,
and dissipates into
the punctured skies
as she quietly fades,
and dies.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
I want to be a hippie,
join a small commune,
set up my camp
way out in the woods,
near the back forty
& the railroad tracks.
I want to swim naked
with them pretty chicks,
braid natty dreads,
go tubing on the river,
make beeswax candles
& tie dyes.
I want weave dream catchers,
paint glitter on Venetian beads,
sing happy songs,
create new stars,
eat whole wheat bread
& make Tabouili salads.
I wanna dance,
circle the blazing fire,
shout out at the moon,
splash myself in patchouli,
smell weed-smoke in the air
& indulge in tantric things.
I don’t wanna
hurt anybody,
break any laws,
just wanna spread love,
blow kisses to butterflies,
ride double-rainbows
on magic carpets
& be a hippie.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Bang bang
**** ****
Aw ****
I work it through a hose
and **** out the deluge
Cardboard houses
and razor **** straps
And my eye is dilating
as my heart races
I explode in a rage
Of wind and acid
A blow tube in my vein
A blackened eye
A cigarette between two lips
A train exiting the station
'All aboard!
**** **** yeah!
I do k-k-k ******* and k-k-k crystal **** and k-k-k ******
Blasphemous cheese
Black holes
Brown eyes
Poopie trim
Unwinding ecstacy
Driven by speed anger and vengeance
Running behind the booming
Urination of oil and sludge
From my tail pipe
Blue Velvet
Black cake
Purple hoses
Red tubing
Nose bleed
Big cheese
**** me
Venom
Cruelty
Sage wisdom
Magic sage
Marijuana
Marijuana
Marijuana
I am not jesus
I am just a ******
I am just a ******
I am just a creep
a ******
a cheat
a lie
a ****
a cheap little ****
****
**** away.
Blow up!
AHHHHHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
All play and no work makes Jackie boy lazy.
Rage
Rage
Death
End this brain flow!
BANG!
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
You stand there in a field
Of gentle grass and daffodil
The butterflies gossip in dances
The breeze sweet as honey
Haloed sun on your head
And I feel you smile at me
So soft, so wanted
Cradling in your hands
My heart
A gory mass of muscle and tissue
Pulsating and twitching
like a nightmare struggling
To tear it’s desperate fingers through its
****** oozing womb
And I lay under you
skin gorged, ribs cracked
Wheezing through smoker’s lungs
clinging on by a few dripping strands
of fleshy tubing
And my hands claw the earth
nails mangled and nerves ragged
But my eyes fix
Enraptured
despite these things scrabbling
at my irises
As I strain
To catch a glimpse
of
your
face
Jan 13, 2022
Jan 13, 2022 at 11:37 AM UTC
A voracious beast devours my Husband
Distraught and upset I must put on a strong face for him
Every day I watch him grow paler and more thin
At night my dreams are consumed with needles, prescriptions
IV tubing and bad food swirl in the mix
In his eyes I see an exhausted spirit on the edge
The need to protect is a driving force within me
Hospitals should be more sterile
HE HAS A ******* FAILURE OF THE BONE MARROW PEOPLE
The next school of medicine reject who doesn't wash their hands
Will have them cheerily burned off...by me
On the inside I seeth and cry, throw a child's tantrum on the floor
Unfair does not even begin to describe the pain he has endured
Some would say to let him go, **** you**
They just do not know us
For my exterior is made up of stone
Supported by a frame of steel
I will never give up
We have a will of iron
A malignancy has no control over our strength
Into the coming war of medical procedures we are defiant
Strong and Worthy
We will never give up
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
breathe,
breathe.
you are
flakes of
silver and
copper tubing
and lilies at
sunrise. do
not be afraid
of the thickness
of your words
or the quake
of your laugh.
you are more
than the confines
of tongues that
have tried to
define you, more
than words spoken
into your neck.
you have a century's
old soul and the
things that have
written themselves
into the backs of
your hands are
just markers for
this lifetime.
you are okay.
breathe,
breathe.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
Musclebound masked man
maniac mangling most everything he touches
Suicide squad serving the League of Shadows
Venom infuses his insane frame
Villainous tactical masterminds
should never be able to snap spines
and smash skulls
a faceless hulk
surgical tubing and tanks
delivery systems for his calcium crunching extremities
Every Dark Knight has their Bane
brash brutal backbreaker
Such a sordid past
a disaster
You're a slave to the Venom now
how do you live with yourself?
Scarecrow knows
the solace found in affecting fear in others
Poor Bane
insane and in chains
How weak you will become
when they take away your drug.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 10:31 AM UTC
I am Temperance. I am Love.
I am the big, black, stomping boot
that crushes your glass heart
into one hundred thousand tiny broken pieces
beneath its sole.
This is me.
Your silver-winged Dovelet,
Your battle-wearied cooking pans,
Your thousand blood-kissed roses,
and diamonds cutting up your hand.
A butterfly flick-
of lashes on your cheek.
A kiss-
that is death.
That we may know despair.
That we may know anger.
Fearing our lusting, yet lusting still for fear.
The Puritanical Fury of being Unrequited--
Unnoticed--
Unloved.
Turned away. Told to accept our falls with grace and dignity.
I say **** it!
I say stand!
Raise your bolts of white-lightning fury and
Do a little heart stomping of your own!
Crush as you are crushed.
Devour those who would devour you!
We are one. Ill-matched, lace-broken, burned-fingers pair.
Upon each other we wreak and reap--
Only natural weapons allowed: Misery, Condescension, and
Ass-Holery.
No K-Bars, surgical tubing, duck-tape or butt-fucking false ***** available.
Do me right.
***** me right.
**** me over with that one hated word.
I have no temperance.
I will love.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
Wander from Argyle Street towards the pyramid shaped monolith
past the oddly named Benny Hamish - Sicilian Couture Tailors -
through the automatic glass doors of persuasion
up the revolving stairs of many stairs
sail by the portly security guard
(who looks like he'd be out of breath after a 10 yard dash)
along the imitation marble airstrip
passed neon facades and signs for proactive self indulgence
toward the carousel of smoked-mirror lifts
that take the well heeled to their desired destinations
without having to worry about their Chanel leather clutch bag
and newly purchased Christian Louboutin shoes
and I sit people watching,
writing this poem on a borrowed napkin
with a discarded betting shop pen
amid a horde of timid stomachs and twitching wallets
faced with a thousand fast food offerings
and gaudy coloured tables and chairs
littered in the remnants of repugnant non-ecological eateries
and Styrofoam cups and re-composite cutlery
under Noah's grotesquely beautiful steel ark
lined in industrial tubing and chrysalis shaped netting
and giant Art Deco toothbrushes
and 30 foot wiggly mirrors
and stretched rhombus sails
acting as a blanket barrier
to the blue skies and arched sun of the outside world
somewhere between
KFC and Burger King.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
In the middle of folding laundry one afternoon
thinking this might not be a big deal
but then again it's not such a bad way to spend the day and
the back door opened and
my neighbor showed up in full paintball gun attire and
pointed his paintball gun at me and
yelled at me to get on the ground!
i smiled and
put down my child's underwear and
grabbed his Buzz Lightyear sound and
light activated laser gun that he had recently gotten for Christmas and
aimed it at him and
yelled NO! You get on the ground and
then 40 men rushed into my house and
at least 10 of them had rifles and
i was thrown down on the floor,
wood floor,
right cheek made direct impact and
**** that hurt and
i heard a shout of a voice ordering the 10 men with the 10 rifles pointed at my head
not to shoot and
that the shoot to **** order was off,
that it was a toy plastic gun,
he repeated,
it was a plastic children's toy and
in one fell swoop of motion my right shoulder was taken out of its socket and
**** that hurt and
twisted around behind my back in order to handcuff that hand to my other hand and
stand me up and
walk me out as I watched dozens and
dozens of what i could only presume to be storm troopers from the Star Wars movies wearing white protective gear covering their shoes bodies and
faces entirely
spilling into my house with the great invasion of an ant colony and
several groupings of men in black pants and
black shirts with white letters on the back spelling out different acronyms such as S. W. A.T., and
K.B.I, KDH&E;
The storm troopers were actually Bio HAZ MAT men
testing to see if the air quality in the house was higher than their acceptable limits of
risk of having a chemical explosion occur
while in the house on that afternoon of January
when officers of the Sheriff’s Office Special Operations Group
executed a search warrant at my house on Main St.in my small town in Kansas and
made entry at the location and
took me into custody while
Certified **** Lab Techs from the Sheriff’s Office
collected 2 Mountain Dew bottles and
some rubber tubing and
rendered the items safe and
Agents of HazMat Inc. were contacted and
responded to collect the hazardous materials for disposal
I sat in the back seat of the cop car and
thought this might be a big deal
this could be a bad way to spend the day
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
Where I'm from multicultural means multicultural and not just “lacking in white people”.
Where I'm from people say they're from Toronto even though they hate the Jays, Raptors and Leafs and hardly ever go into the city itself.
Where I'm from any day can be cynically mundane enough to read The Catcher In The Rye and mistake it for the Gospel according to Holden Caulfield.
Where I'm from everyone hates the mall, but everyone's a mall rat and if you ever go you see everyone, at least everyone you hate, and buy nothing.
Where I'm from there's signs that say “Flowertown” everywhere and an unremarkable amount of flowers. Unless there is a remarkable amount of flowers and where I'm from everyone's just spoiled.
Probably spoiled.
Where I'm from you could walk to Tim Horton's but you drive to Starbucks anyway.
Where I'm from everyone's considering a career in rap. Even the people who aren't considering a career in rap are considering a career in rap.
Where I'm from every teenager will tell you their Michael Cera encounter story.
Where I'm from is where he's from too, or he went to school there, or near there, or now his parents live near there. He's been there, multiple times, I'm sure.
Where I'm from there's an old quarry that everyone calls a lake now. Swimmers used to circulate the urban myth of a dead body at the bottom, until they found it. Now they just circulate the stale news story.
Where I'm from there used to be trees. Nature put some there until we cut them down to build. Then the people put some there to accent the houses until Nature piled ice on them and cut them down again.
Where I'm from someone needs to have a good talk with this Nature fellow.
Where I'm from the brand new hospital screams, “good things come to those who wait, and wait and wait, unless you need to see a specialist. Then you're ******
Where I'm from there are streets that have so many young kids playing on them that ice cream trucks aren't allowed to go there. They go anyway.
Kids learn early that the law is optional where I'm from.
Where I'm from people don't pronounce the “gua” in “Chinguacousy Park”. Kids used to spend time there splashing around diluted *** in the kiddie pool in summer and tubing down the landfill mountain in winter. Now they just pass it by on the way to the mall.
Where I'm from car insurance costs more than cars because everyone's late, lost and angry, but none of them would call themselves a bad driver, just unlucky.
Where I'm from boys take pretty girls skating at Gage Park. I guess they take ugly girls there too, I just know the one I took was pretty.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy with a righteous tone,
Or leave, tails tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods for our Vegan menu,
Or show distentions as millions do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend visitations in a MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching a sandless hourglass?
Did we place our script with the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off bar stools?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds;
Few are born with silver spoons.
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing street flight,
That can't come too soon.
Sep 21, 2021
Sep 21, 2021 at 8:11 AM UTC
It's like being in a warm vat of viscous fluid when you are here,
and like being in a hive of razor stinger bees with rabies when you are not.
Comfortable buzz of which no drug can muster.
You are better than opiates.
My face so bitter and coarse, glows like florescent tubing in a flaming wreck.
No tears,
no anger,
just magic.
Magic I can't ignore.
Magic I must conjure.
As sinful as Satan himself.
My bewitching *****
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
X-rays always made her feel like a model,
The doctor always taking her pictures.
She always posed.
Every imperfection, every flaw in her porcelain skin,
They refused to overlook.
They had to inspect her,
Make sure she wasn’t contagious.
“Drink this, eat that, take these.
Let us shove tubing down your throat
So we can find you another pill”
And she was absolutely sick and tired
Of all of the rules and tubes and wires
And people she didn’t know touching all over her,
Making her feel
“Better”
It made her feel exposed.
Cold.
Like she was some
******* bunny for a physical health magazine.
Her nostrils were stained with
The strong scent of hand sanitizer.
And she couldn’t keep the hospital food down,
And the shower was always freezing cold…
But at least they could make her feel
“Better”
Erasing the taste of
Copper anorexia at the back of her throat,
She’s just an experiment.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 3:23 PM UTC
I miss you.
Every little thing about you,
I wish I could have you back.
Your smile...your laugh.
The touch of your warm body pressed against mine.
Your voice...your smell.
The way I felt so safe in your arms;
like nothing in the world could ever hurt me.
I miss your jokes and pranks.
The way you made me laugh and you wiped away my tears.
I miss all that we did together.
Playing in the park,
swinging on swings,
sliding down the slide.
We looked like fools, acting like we were 5 years old again.
But it didn't matter, because we had each other.
Tubing on the boat, surfing;
cuddling when it got cold.
Snowball fights followed by hot coco.
What happened to all our fun times?
Now they're just masked with your goodbye.
And I miss you like hell
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Cold November winds blow
Sending icicle daggers through my coat.
Gray skies trying hard to snow
To blanket this barren land.
Stark naked trees reach beseechingly to the sky
Begging for their wintery coat of white.
Dried leaves dance mischievously through the streets,
Freed from their prison of branches.
Bundled up munchkins still play outdoors
Sent outside by frazzled moms.
Squeals of laughter drift into my thoughts
And are reminiscent of times long since past.
Sledding and ice skates, tubing and hats,
Hot chocolate, mittens and scarves.
November may be a month of gray,
But it ushers in winters wonders and fun.
Soon a blanket of white will cover the trees
The leaves will no longer dance
The wonderland transformed into a playground of white
As winter takes over the land.
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:39 AM UTC
Mid-Summer in Texas
Shorts and tank tops
Lemonade and tubing
Cold beers and live music
Inside the apartment
Jeans and cardigan
Juice and sadness
Writing and Ida Maria
Within my heart
Arteries and Valves
Blood and feeling
Hurting but pumping
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
...and when I finally showed up
and went into my mother's last room in the ICU
as the fluids were still clotting in their tubing
and the machinery of life was silent,
the necrosis lingered.
Her knitting was sitting to one side
with many loose ends
unresolved.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 7:19 AM UTC
Welcome to this empty house
Looks like it might sell any day
Only it’s not up for sale
The fridge is full of beer
And the doors are always open
In the back there is a room
Full of things you can break with your bare hands
Your bear hands
There are metal baseball bats
And hockey sticks if you need help
Take everything apart
Till you find replacements
For your missing parts
If you have to
We are so much duct tape and makeshift courage by now
There are days where it’s the only way to feel better
Don’t tell me
The ring in your arms as you connect
Doesn’t travel down your spine
And make you shiver like a good memory
Maybe this isn’t you
But some of us were born to break things
Some of us were born
To find our missing pieces
Inside piles and piles of missing pieces
We are so many badly sewn glassy eyes and awkward hinges by now
On the days
Where the murmur in your heart
Has you searching for some new tubing
Or when you need new wires
To reconnect your nerves
Or if you want to tighten your heartstrings
To play a calmer tune
Because there is too much distortion
In your song by now
Know there is an empty house
Stocked with beer
And in the back there is a room that I call a church
And the doors are always open
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
The glass you melted and then froze in my bloodstream finally emptied out.
It peeled away fragments of fleshy tubing as it did so,
like children's stickers
The same way glue melts on top of white wood gloss paint over a summer
'Well Done's become slurred
the excess stomach acid separated it apart like chromatography
I shut my eyes and you are the colour of petrol rainbows
a scent so distinct yet chameleon
I can still smell the feelings invisible but stiffened into my lace underwear
never have I let something sit so long at the bottom of my laundry basket
it pretends to be a cradle
light shears through it like church stained glass windows
a cheap alternative to the lead filled stuff you are used to
dress making scissors sit at the bottom of a box
I ought to have courage to crunch through the wire caging.
Instead.
All I am able to clasp is balloon helium.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
You better watch out on the battlefield,
'Cause I got mad skills, and I'll never yield.
I'll shoot you all up, it's my duty to **** ya
Stab you in the back from the shadows,
Like a motherfuckin' ninja
I'm a killer
Just call me the reaper
I'll send you to the nether,
With a bullet
Between your peepers.
No pressure,
I'm sure you'll get better
But I'll always be ahead of you
Now and forever
So let your rage explode,
Turn off your console,
And go cry to your mom
'Cause you got beat by a girl.
-SLuR
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 3:35 AM UTC
A dinosaur keeps stomping through my head,
Giant rhythmic beats pound in my ears.
A coral snake hunts me nightly in my bed
In gloom, he flicks his forked tongue and stares.
Long white necks are peering around corners,
Their bodies never even have to bend;
The necks like flexible tubing find my shadow-
I wish these nightly nightmares would just end.
Floating voices speaking ambiguous English,
Convene to hold their meetings in the air.
I try to sleep but sleep is not forthcoming;
I wish they wouldn't have their meetings here.
The worst has got to be the shouting voices,
That awaken me when I am deep asleep,
They call my name as if a fire encroaches-
Where comes this awful crew that I now keep?
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
.
our noses huffing our eyes flirting out
vetting the loose night air
a display of yearning we did a grand deed
a mammal slain at our heart
and we are the wrecking children
we killed ourselves a deer
( no small thing )
flashlights propped in nooks
open the prey for dressing we decorated a tree with the task
slings of intestinal tubing
open prey for dressing
vocal prayer for the ****
praise the attributes that we ended
the characteristics we assigned it
live meat in perish organs adding moist hot breath
to a waking cold night
after our butcher act
after the parcels and beast are stowed
amongst the trees we take off as phantoms in touch
'to ourselves be sacrifice and yet return' is somehow the plan
winds pick up
and cold rain drives sideways
leaves of the bushes
flashing fish silver underbellies
a fleshing thrill combing the trees
an urgent spirited excitement
back at daybreak
we skin off our leather grip slippers
remove our party plate masks
and in the irrigated mourning grass
wipe our feet
wash away our tread and our threat
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 11:33 AM UTC