"ventilated" poems
Should I stop writing?
Should I start living?
Would this pain past?
or for eternity it will last?
Should I wait till dusk?
or should I go now?
Will I ever see the dawn?
Will I ever feel light's caress again?
Am I struggling with the inevitable?
Should I let go and lose hope?
Yet here I sit,
in the passenger's seat.
Waiting patiently,
hoping she still will love me;
till the day after forever.
The shattered pieces I amass,
to patch myself up.
Give the world a grin,
amidst the pain within.
LIFE GOES ON .
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
*he says:
I want to hear the sun..
on me*
1.
cover the width of a personal compostela
the yellow-and-black bird
flitting
branch to branch
endless
square patterns of light
half-cut
into shades of green
and slant
oblique
2.
making headway now
companions on the path
passing by
auburn creature with lolling tongue
looks with such kind eyes
glittering diamonds
sun sits on tip of wet nose
he seems to be saying something...
some evanescent message
thoughts are ventilated
tones of silence seep in
wild flowers in amaranthine bloom
sway in nature's perpetual dance
always moving
3.
what happens to arboreal ghosts
when we prove efficiency by cutting the arms of living trees
and with it
extended family of foliage?
monk passes slow
nods in quiet greeting
a bare half-smile
enough to reach
yet just truncated enough
maybe
to prune
is needed /
4.
how many more steps to tread
before the why becomes clear?
trod so far
sought so wide
read so much
travelled so intense
this journey alone
proves so arduous
5.
alone...
struggled with hidden pain he discovered beneath the layers of happiness....
suffered hunger and thirst along the way....
washed in ***** rivers with no soap....
had to clean his **** with dusty leaves in the eve....
and remembering to eat
what to eat...but berries in the dark
and he cried, oh how he cried
from a place no man should see
such a dark place
demented and wicked souls at the doorstep
of hell
would shrink at
but first
in order to do all that
he had to wrestle with himself
and die inside
he could no longer fail to consent
no wistful little prayers
or wide-eyed flower-eyes
nor awe born in luxury
yet
for all that...
6.
in a little while
you will get what you want
if you give enough people
what they want
pray in secret
in the sun
*the boy with the Jesus sandals
walks on
his journey
has
begun*....
S T, (thursday:) 4 July 2013
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
(...)
It is perhaps this association between birth and beginning each school year which led me to respect knowledge. The entire month of August tends to fly by, unnoticed, in anticipation of the day I see children forced back into ill-ventilated buildings to emulsify themselves in education, for knowledge. Knowledge, that Moloch of an idea! Hobbies, interests and Summertime activities were heaped on flaming tongues with words in order to illustrate their ultimate insignificance. We hoped to bring out the blessing of wisdom from its mouth. “What matters is the coming Winter, not the frivolous activities of undisciplined youths.” It is as if the leaves of every tree were humanity's hair, and August had pulled back every strand to blow the woodsy breath of Autumn smoke into life’s ear. "You won't be this way forever." I am yet seduced by Fall’s cryptic murmurings and led to believe in endless, Halcyon flight. With arms draped around us from behind, knowledge draws me into oblivion, with unlabeled memories and I throw my desires into Moloch’s mouth. Now that I am burning, my self is the voice of this demigod. My birth certificate is my body, holding a memory to be inscribed on some later form beside some other numbers. Life has only so many Decembers.
(...)
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
This is the avenging of my mediocrity
Altering into virginal happiness
My ventilated train of thoughts
assist the obsoleteness
of the impression i had
of love.
my reverie of hope
a simple consideration to hold
something i've never come to grips with
for i cant hold on
to what the other has let go of
my knowledge grows
my hand's been raised
for quite some time
an indifference for beings
saturated in ignorance
for they're just caught up
in the years that have passed
my soft feelings
have turned to rock
by the beast himself
i held such languish
but now i toss it all to the killer
i'm walking across the line
of bitterness and betrayal
and grabbing what i missed:
a chance
for things to be
new again.
Oct 22, 2009
Oct 22, 2009 at 1:04 PM UTC
The road that paved way,
To pure hearts that is guided by light.
Gave way to the love,
That is unbreakable by rights.
And it cuts to feel inferior,
To hear the stories and build events,
When all you have is your passion,
This music tears your heart to pieces.
A sudden feeling of vague insecurity,
Tortured heart ventilated through puff of smoke.
To know you are the most opposite,
Tendencies your mind notes.
Standing on my own
My mind rushes ideas no one wants.
Killing thy self with fires,
Playing music yourself cannot dance.
Memories and scripts,
Realized and clearly intertwined.
Can't wait any long
Left alone and tired.
Heart is wounded and broken,
The stories are heard.
Funny how the one you love most
Is the only person your tears deserves.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
These two empty people
are sitting in a room
waiting for their fates to cross and hoping it be soon
Washing off their faces
replacing them with masks
and saying that they see themselves to everyone who asks
Catching all the sickness
from other people's hearts
then purging out their own disease by way of tainting art
Everything they painted
has dried and turned to stone
and soon their hands will harden too as bodies decompose
Making way for masses
to follow in their suit
planting seeds that never grow or yield them any fruit
These two empty people
are sitting in a room
waiting for their fuse to burn and magnify the fume
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Burnin blunts ash em in my soul
A few blunts in em and im cool
Scrape the resin till im smokin glass
Shut up an pass the ****** grass
Outsider sittin in the back of the class
Dark figure sittin in the back of the mass
I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin
Come to me for paradise
Feelin pain here's the ice
All I see is dead presidents
Eyes dead to the residents
Dyin for my decadence
**** a ************ with a needle
To buy a ****** gold fiddle
Jhonny may play his fiddle hot
But for the hotshot his fiddle I got
Ridin in the Mercedes benz
After I move a couple benz
Rottin the whole ****** hood
Makin my bankroll look good
Jhonny boy givin me all his bread
Then come famine and he feelin dead
Jhonny boy robbin for scraps of bread
Jhonny boys mums bread used to get baked
This boy takin till his whole fam gets raked
Money funneled to me by the addicts
Jhonny is enforcin my pyramid schemes
I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin
I'll be drivin around at the seams
Collectin the green for my dreams
A real ****** nightmare on my street
Krueger with your dope sheet
Salesman with the ****** rapsheet
Killin users and abusers while I sleep
Makin a killin in back alleys I creep
Get customers lost in the nightmare
Then sell the lost a rotten cure
Maybe give em a little gear
Maybe im a travel planner
Sellin trips to wherever
Nah im just another killer
Sellin trips to the executioner
When the lord doesn't hear your prayers
To take away the pain I'll bring the wares
A couple pain pills and a few uppers
Just bring me the bills and the paper
I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin
Slinging drugs got somethin inside me broke
Cause i'd rather be out killen than be broke
Bring me the bricks and i'll move that coke
To all the froggys in the pond till they croak
All this movin got my numbers inflated
Got my ****** neighborhood inundated
Careful you dont get ****** ventilated
For a quick buck to take to the pusher
Bodies pile around me a deadly peddler
But ive never pulled the trigger
The passive killer, waterwell poisoner
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
As I lie,
his last words ventilated my empty cadaver.
Wishing one final request from me,
from the departed.
No rose, no sweet song,
just ash engraved in stone,
carried by unwanted winds,
spoken loudly.
"Here lies a woman whom I loved so hard,
and shall not crossover 'till returning my heart."
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
What is love?
~
*Is it the butterfly in his stomach?
or the upbeat of his pulse?
Is it the attraction of another kind?
or lust of the naked eye?
Is it the stuttering in his words?
or maybe the cracking of his voice?
Is it the poems he wrote?
or perhaps the song he composed?
Is it the countenance of her face?
the curves of her hips?
the scars on her cheeks?
Is it something seductive?
like her buttocks or her *****
Is it the grace in her movement?
or maybe the way she think?
Is it the way she made him laugh?
or the way she touches him perhaps?*
~
None of the above define,
the love he has for her.
**The love he has is commitment.
The love he gave was sacrifice.
Love is more than a feeling.
Feeling when gone leads to withdrawing.**
That he kept on saying to himself,
now that she is falling,
out of love for him;
because the feeling is fading.
The fading is leading to his undoing.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
His thoughts concerned none other,
but of her – her irrational anger.
directed at him for no real matter,
for committing an honest mistake; like it was ******
She called,
but didn't listen.
She hung up,
without even asking
what really happened.
Now he's crying.
His being is,
no tears are flowing
from his eyes
for they were barren
An empty vessel,
he needed loving.
But what he got?
A message saying. . .
** ~**
*Goodnight, I'm sleeping.
let's talk some other time.
I'm tired from working.*
** ~**
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
I saw myself, just yesterday
sitting on a roadside rock
contemplating this and that
What was once skinny
now seems fat.
What once was mouse
now is rat.
Doors once open,
swinging,
now have locks
Looks like dog packs
sounds like *****
inside outside underware
Hawking mudpies at
the County Fair.
Thoughts so thick, I yank my hair.
Suddenly frozen. I sit and stare
days, weeks pass. "was that a knock?"
I find my wrist.
A strapped on clock?
I see the lie-ing hand spin round
moon rises, sun rises, make a loud sound
what was lost, remains un-unfound
what was valley, now is a mound
Big toe rooting,
ventilated sox
both shoes missing, cardboard box.
Suddenly, It's today
at last!
Debris surrounds me. Shattered masks?
Stomach empty? Methusela fast.
No more future, no more past.
Large ships!
Arriving, at the docks.
Time goes crazy,
when there are
no more tocs.
A lovely world of only tics.
no more stealing,
no more tricks
no more soft talk,
no more big sticks
It's raining gold,
no axes no picks
chickens sleeping
with the fox-es
Un coveting of the neighbor's ox-s.
And his gougeous
brick house wife
and his so called
perfect life
Dict. : Deleting
words like strife
dancing to ditties
from a fife
Wearin fine hats shaped
like a Chinese Wok
sittin alone on a roadside rock.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
The grand piano sings,
muted notes in mine heart.
No melody but you brings,
Serenity to this hype.
None but pure emotion. . .
None but allure delusions. . .
None but hue inspirations. . .
None but loveless isolation. . .
Defines my thoughts in every way.
Shapes my soul to such dismay.
*All of you.
All for you.*
Long overdue.
Baby, I'm missing you.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
bloom wounds brightly
ignition
ventilated scents and the air is roused
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 3:27 PM UTC
———
“called alveoli, where blood and air are separated by such thin membranes that oxygen and carbon dioxide can pass into and out of the bloodstream, respectively. Between them, the lungs have somewhere in the neighborhood of six hundred million alveoli.
Severe COVID-19 causes many of them to either collapse or fill with fluid. The virus attacks the cells lining the alveoli; our overactive immune systems, in trying to fight the virus, may be damaging them as well.
The result is that not enough oxygen gets into the blood.”
§§§
we forget to marvel at the finery of our bodies,
the microscopic interactions, the minute particulates intersecting,
the multiplicity of languages of each limb, each system, multilingual,
the beauty of all this communicative combinatory,
that enables the gossamer threads
that make the ordinary a repetitive miracle, understanding both the
wonder of our instinctual, our five senses, and their finite limitations
we tendency focus on the visible,
the skin, our excretions,,
accepting even normative, please go away, periodic pain,
but the exceptional,
that states loudly,
what you cannot see can ****
we ignore until the last minute
hopeful that the clues that are maybe contained,
re the tearing of the fabric of six hundred million
sacs you were unaware you possessed,
can be rewoven, the palpitations your fear be calmed,
the chest muscles quaking, the gasping for molecules
of oxygen can be ventilated, just like the truth that too,
needs a good and a proper airing, without the artifices tubular
now that you are fully conscious of the unseen beauty upon
which each depends, and the masks we wear proudly lest others
we infect, greater irony that we mustn’t pollute our atmosphere,
perhaps, will it make you question the supposed certainties
we sarcastically,
say we know for sure
and respect the uncertainties by which we live and breathe,
the poetry of the body internal,
every second an exercise in risk taking, the miracle of each moment
a blessed privilege, not being conscious that our physical subsistence
is a near thing, depending on thinnest membranes unseen,
not fooling ourselves that we are each a human god,
an Oz, great and powerful,
who hides behind a curtain.
§§§§
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 5:49 PM UTC
Being responsible
She didn't said
She got covid-19
As usual
Here I contibuted
To the National count
That's what she said
Stay hydrated
Stay ventilated
Stay strong
Stay loved
Get well soon
That's what he said
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
mistakes were made,
and things were said,
and none of us knew how to love life properly.
we used to say that we're unhappy
and that we tried and tried and tried
but lied.
that we did our best to change our state of misery,
to become better people for the people in our homes,
but we know now that wasn't true.
I never grabbed your arm while sinking in my dreams,
I never screamed while I was awake, but only in my sleep,
I was in pain my entire life. I never knew how to handle pain.
I never called it out. I carried it with me. the pain was sharp.
I wasn't. my edges got torn. there were fingerprints all over my face and body. my house was left empty. clean. not a soul inside. not a tear. I always dreamt of drowning. the sea was dreaming of dying inside me, being hyper ventilated. being choked with air and dryness.
you never told me that I was draining all the joy from your life
you never brought wine, nor cookies, nor take-away.
the only thing you carried around in a doggie bag, after a dinner out at the restaurant, was you soul. or, what was left of it after
both of us fed from it.
you never cried in your sleep, but only while you were awake,
you tried to warn me you were thunder, but I never got to hear the end of your words.
you never left,
you never came,
you were always in my heart.
we didn't make each other unhappier,
but we didn't manage to do it the other way, either.
we were never sorry. we never got to regret the ride.
we were in this together. all in. all ice.
we are the ones that cannot be forgiven,
we are the east and the west,
the Nile and the Amazon, each on his own continent,
together on our own Earth,
none of us in danger of ever becoming wadi,
we were music.
beautiful classical music that sounds great on its own
but is awful if you play it all at once..
if you push through the speakers with Bach,
add up Vivaldi, then Brahms, then Debussy, then throw in a little bit of Grieg, then Enescu, then salt things up with Puccini and, to spice things up, add just a pinch of Kennedy.
what happens to people like us?
the same thing that happens when people like us. we get lost.
in a room full of people, we become invisible
- like air.
the only thing that proves that we still exist
is all the dust
that travels through us.
we never liked them parties,
we never really wanted to be there,
yet we kept coming back, hoping
to get it right this time.
wishing to be a little more wiser this time around,
wearing our best clothes and
the lowest self-esteem.
we are just so ******* happy to be alive.
sorry. what I meant to say was
"we are just so ******* less unhappy to be alive!"
things were made,
and mistakes were said,
and none of us knew how to live love properly.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
Cats
on the back of the couch,
live through the windows-
watching the happily fluttering birds
who seem unaware of the
hunting eyes
watching them;
listening through the ventilated screens,
waiting for the door to open-
to escape-
into the wide open outdoors;
To play and leap,
catch and hunt-
to be themselves
as they really are
inside;
a fierce tiger-
prowling the jungles,
proud and majestic,
blending as it hunts the deer...
a panther-
stalking the amazon,
listening to the waterfalls of rustling wings
and terrified heartbeats of small ones crouching in the brush...
a leopard-
running the edge of the savannah
eying the prey it so longingly watches…
A cat is a cat when the wild closes in,
When the wild inside
breaks free-
in my backyard.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
The mime of fateful silences
transcribe...as cross-ventilated
corridors wafting the articulate
voice of a ghost...an addendum
of whisperings.
By these pliant leagues...under
the say so of seas.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
unkempt neck hair
dancing in the fan breeze
pleased by the sight, I push up my sleeves
and seethe while sieving the encrusted cheese cloth
elderly resin glands scratch like sand
and the blandness of the disease seems to squeeze
any meaning from the motion
ocean waves graze mutant toes as wind blowing
snow globes throws devotionally challenged
prose writers into a delightful tizzy
thin lizzy in the background sounds like
barking dogs at the drown pound
and unwound knitted sweaters look better
when wetter than investment bankers at the swankiest of parties
sour smarties in plastic hats use poorly ventilated ski masks
basking rashes in priceless sashes bat eyelashes at lasses during mass
and the catholic priest has ceased to crease his pleated trousers
mouse traps snap shut in front of the bunk beds
her trunk of junk likes crunk juice on Tuesdays
and I sit, drunken, trying to debunk 9/11 –
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
In a ward overcrowded
Patients confounded left distressed
While overworked essentials crave rest
But the best they can do is a guess
Smiles of comfort not even seen through the screen of PPE
And machines that help them rest
As they take their last ventilated
Breath.
A big gentle man
Cracks on with his plan just
To survive as any man can
In a hotbed pandemic
Hatred endemic for his kind
Devalued in life and in death
He is stopped blind
Takes his last suffocated
Breath
A pleading young mother
Kids scream at each other
It’s all too much for dad
It’s a rage and he’s had
A few and that’s not the least
Can’t get away from the beast
She covers her bruises
Picks up her youngest
And
Hopes she can get through the worst
Hot blood on the cold knife
Sweet murdered wife takes her last
Breath
Stagnant Suffocating confinement
The unrelenting walls closing in-
Hale, exhale; Zoom yoga and baking dough
Obliged to show forget the death
For a brief moment you
Took away my
Breath.
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 12:47 PM UTC
My eyes narrow down the space in front of me
Everything I see is irrelevant, despite them being my view and vision
I cannot stop looking at you
You are the image at the corner of my eye
The exhibit displayed at the end of the hall
The voice that drowns out every ventilated word
The glance I catch looking at my side profile
Yet I assume it’s the pretty girl beside me you aim for
I want to see you
But you are just a back facing me
A tempting glimpse at the nape
A friendly smile
And a hand opening the door for the next
You are several glances at a time
Someone I can look at,
But someone I know, I can’t call mine
n.j.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
I took it to the Psychic
she told me, it, knew all
I took it to the Psychic
she lives, just down, the hall
She examined and she prodded
under a ventilated hood
She prodded and poked away
and told me, it was good
She told me I was destined
the greatest poet, I will be
She told me I was destined
then she flung my poo, at me
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
The movie isn't even half over
And you're asleep
Your teeth aren't brushed
Your contacts are plastered to
Your eyeballs like paper mache
And you're asleep
You had two beers
And no dessert
And you're asleep
There is a rapping at my
Chamber door and a raven
Over the mantel
And you're asleep
You told me how
You only sleep well around me
How hot it was under the covers
You hate when I snore
And you're asleep
Someone broke through the
Backdoor and I drew on him
I ventilated him on our leather
Couch
The shots ringing through the
Silent house
And you're asleep
But mostly
I love you
And I'm just happy that
You're asleep
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC