"wheezing" poems
Will it be all the nights of your bed empty when I couldn't sleep?
Are you going to choose instead, the moment
I put underwear on my head and asked in a horrible Russian accent,
"Would you like some bread?"
(--Look that wasn't entirely all my fault I...
had a lot of coffee and had been awake two days in a row.)
I'd prefer--
the flash of my mouth at your belly,
the way your cold feet shock me awake and
the run-on-wheezing-snorts
from you making me laugh so hard I cried.
Actually, I'd prefer
every moment of every day I said I loved you in cups of morning coffee.
Bacon and egg breakfasts.
Hanging out of cars and making Wookie calls;
the moment you taught me about Baba Yaga and I said
you were the smartest man alive.
I'd prefer if you remembered me when I go,
as the sun on your face in the morning after you get to sleep in.
(because I know how work, life, goes for you.
They never let you sleep in.)
As the lips on your closed eyes,
as the love that men and women fight and die for--
wrote legends, penned scripts and made movies about.
That love, our love.
I'd prefer if you just remembered me
as love.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 7:46 PM UTC
02:47 am. i am on the bench, alone, waiting...
the stranger sees me, sighs and asks me wheezing:
"you yearn for someone, too. don't you?"
i gasp. he passes by me and stops.
"what do i have to do to get rid of the yearning? i'm not ok..."
i say nothing, but in my eyes he could've read my answer, my cries and my yearn.
my yearns...
"i should go to sleep, right?"
i smile.
„but does it go away?”
„it certainly does not go away, but at some point you will get used to it and it's like a friend new in town that you take out for a walk.”, i answer him.
"you miss him, don't you?"
i gasp again. we look quietly at each other for a few seconds. then my phone rings.
"tell him that. you might be surprised. now i'll go, pick it up. good night!"
i managed to say: "take care of your yearns!" and i picked up the phone.
it was not him.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
This is the night of the distant circles.
Tonight the gulls are in meditation.
Senora, tonight, I find your tracks
disappearing on the shores,
though the tide is afar.
I saw you, draped in a garment of colours, and
adorned of the golden dot on your forehead
vanish at the horizon.
In the morning when you
emerged fresh from the shower of mists
with your clouden hair still wet,
I was the wheezing breeze flying West.
I was the bumblebees returning to roost.
Now I am conversing with the echoes.
I want to decipher the language of the waves
whispering to the stars.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Loneliness is a pain,
Not the pain of a knife cutting through skin, sinews, muscles,and drawing blood.
Not the pain of a tooth in your mouth throbbing and sending shocks of horrors through highways of swollen nerves..
Not a fatal pain of a dying cell being devoured by a cancerous growth that thrives on the death and the pain of the very cells that produces its been.
Not the pain of the prisoner s body been tortured by men who see no wrong or feel no shame as they insert sharp hot instruments into natural and man made orifices in their captives helpless, hopeless bodies.
Not the pain of age as the body's functions start their natural march towards unreliability , Hips, knees knuckles, elbows and all the other joints as they begin to slowly dry up and rub against each other like stones rolling down a hillside.
Not the pain of hearts slowing, livers hardening,lungs wheezing like ripped accordians bellows .
Not the pain of childbirth.
Not the pain of accidents that show no fairness to the person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not the pain of self inflicted wounds that can fool you into thinking that that pain is the answer to your problems.
Not the pain of the young healthy times when the body, and mind could accept it and overcome it
Not the pain of hunger or thirst.
Loneliness is the pain of the soul .
Loneliness is the pain of dreams that are dreamt when your asleep and when you'r awake.
Loneliness is the pain of memories . Some half forgotten some that are so clear you could almost touch them.
Some you'd rather forget.
Some you would spend the rest of your life reliving over and over again.
Loneliness is the pain that at times can be part relieved momentarily through the bottom of a whiskey bottle or a point of a syringe filled with a concoction of juices from plants poisonous to both the body and the soul.
Loneliness can never be cured by earthly things. Loneliness is a pain that can only find peace through a kinderd spirit.
Pat Rooney 2013
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
People find it strange
that someone like me
who gets out of breath,
wheezing,
after two flights of stairs
considers the horse
to be her spirit animal.
Ironic though it may be,
isn't it natural
for the somatically lazy
to have a wild soul
that runs free?
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
They first appear
With two clicks of my lamp
I invite the darkness seeping from my windows
Covered in a lazy blanket
I lay on my side, watching the lifeless room
Restless, but all the same exhausted
From the ***** laundry and the memories I keep
One stares harmlessly
My lungs began screaming and wheezing
My heart and brain nearly fried
My muscles frozen in sweat
One easily becomes many
Soon, every corner of my room glares back at me
I press my eyes close and pray for sleep
But their hot breath runs down my neck
And peels my eyelids apart, squeezing my chest
Forcing out a stuttering sigh
I have no choice
Click click
My lamp peirces through each monster
Until I can fight them on my own
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
**** bomb
monsoon girl
thunder roll with falling arms
the war of hot ****
flicker hive
i take your head while your mouth rims
chatters and wimps
your feet kicking
limbs slant wide
all desperate sliding
my ribs infernos
i'm your
BBQ
your my hot pepper stew
on a killer bed
your soul
eager torn clouds
a dragging nail tongue
sends you alabaster screams
like a winged sun drinking blood
your saliva diamond drool
black braids around ghost throat
a hemophilic dance
your center a wheezing fortress
my foot prints on your face
and
muddy kisses
that cant wait*
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
By herself in the dark with nothing at heart,
being so smart only plays a small part.
Take it back to start and place your mark
on the people, the faces, the parties, the places.
Tighten up your laces, we got a few more bases
but she's stuck in that stasis.
Memories fade like a fragrance
so of course the pain gets
too much to handle.
Too much flame and not enough candle.
Burn bright and burn hot
for everything we've fought.
All that you've sought is the only thing I've got.
*Beyond an open book
they're just pages on the floor,
you can give 'em a look
if you know what you're searching for
there's a fine line between flowing and bleeding,
an even thinner one between knowing and believing
and **** near none at all between showing and deceiving*
Every rose has its thorn but she's just a dandelion
so I blew her mind
to watch her thoughts start flying.
It's all water under the bridge now,
but I'll throw you off and burn that bridge down.
I don't want you to drown...
just want to see if your ability to sink or swim kicks in.
I only took your breath away to watch you suffocate,
but I keep hearing you wheezing
like your barely even breathing.
So deceiving,
are you walking away?
Or just leaving?
Forever is the word he tagged on the walls in her mind,
so she walked those halls
with a bucket of paint thinner and hand full of time.
Her walls are too thick too strong with all that brick
maybe a lil acid will do the trick.
But he only came equipped
with some elbow grease and lil bit of spit...
The voice in his head whispered
"Now get to work kid"
So he did;
and never learned when to quit.
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
The momment I realized
facebook
was a pokedex for people
Was the moment I realized
I don't want to catch them all.
Some pokemon aren't worth the trouble.
Let alone making it double.
Abra for instance,
I understand you like spooning
but if you're going to teleport
every time I throw the Pokeball,
maybe it's best you stay in the cave.
cubone:
Did you ever think maybe,
wearing the skull
of your dead mother
for protection
might mean
you have some serious family baggage?
Pidgey:
I shouldn't have to keep buying repels
to keep you away.
If I stroll through the tall grass
You appear every five minutes
Without realizing I AM IGNORING YOU.
Perhaps you should wait
until I throw another ball.
I'm trying
to catch different pokemon right now
Who fit my team better
Have the Nature I want.
You had your chance
to be in my party
When I fed you that Razz berry
threw the first ball.
Caught you.
then you Evolved
into this big mouthed Golbat
About to swallow me whole.
Trainers.
Stop spending time on toxic pokemon
Poisen types, koffing and wheezing.
Psychic types that play you puppet.
Don't throw the ball to them
Let their grass rustle.
Walk on by
I'm transfering mine in for candies
Catching Shinies
legendaries whom there are only one of in this world.
I stopped trying to catch them all.
I'm searching the high ground
taking time to look at their move set
Running around town with them.
We'll EV train each other,
Get every badge together.
BEAT THE ELITE FOUR
Get knocked down
Go to the pokecenter
Do, do, dodo DO!
Get right back up, together.
Because it's not about catching them all.
It's about healing the ones that you have.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
Asylum
In the madhouse
on beds of daggers
we slept like crickets
chirping to ourselves
while they tried their best
to make us cannibals.
The nuns were worse than
lawyers, praying like accordions,
tracking their sins into our soft
wax skulls, wheezing like roosters
when one of us cried, laying the greasy ribs
of Jesus on our plates.
They kept you behind
door number six. I'd go to you
with a stolen key, when the noon
smelled bright as carnations,
when the nights were
more purple than the jacarandas.
You spoke of your father
dead of snakebite,
a clockwork marvel with
his million-dollar suit of skin,
of your mother
with the viper between her lips.
I remember your kiss
astringent with reason
as bitter lemons, and the way
your hair blew back from
your dog-brown eyes like poisonous
smoke from the oleanders.
I thought these things
as beautiful as angels
whispering in the dahlias
when I was lost in the asylum,
when the doctors did all they could
to see that we ate each other
down to the bone.
April 2022
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
Oh I do like to be in the countryside
where the branches bash against the windows of the bus
where the leaves on the boughs of the trees bow so low
that I feel I have to duck.
Where people know me almost better than I know myself
I can gesture to my figure when Brigitte says
"have you eaten?"
and she will reply
"but that means nothing."
Where I can tell Tracy all about my life
and she won't judge,
will look at me with the same quiet smile,
the same laughing acceptance
as she ever has, since the day we met.
Where Cindy and Cathy sit talking about the world
and tell me of their troubles
because they know I'll understand.
Where the sea pounds gently in the distance
whipping the wind sometimes into a frenzy
and molding my hair into a salt-ridden sculpture
on my head.
I don't miss it
when I'm in the city
on the contrary, I love the beat of the sun on the concrete,
the thrash of the trains in the distance,
even the wheezing exhaust fumes
feel like they fit somehow.
But it's nice to be back sometimes
where the trees still grow on the roadsides
where the fields are green even in winter
where the pubs are cozy and quiet
like their clientele.
I went back there today
and I loved it like always
I loved it as ever
I love it still.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Soft sweet meadow
radiating its breath of life;
sounding its serenity
in echoes of the mind's eye
Living in this flat land
lay plush
in wild, multicolored-flowery-pockets in greenery
blankets "Sweet Meadow" with fresh quickened
fragrance
And by our bedroom window
with a summer night's soft evening breeze
mellow cheeeping can be heard from way way down below
seemingly luring us to...
.. "OPEN WIDER THE WINDOW...
...AND LISTEN!!
Chant dear chorus
as violinist in "Cricket Suits"
join this cantor
that swings with rhythm
with wheezing sounding bugs, AH HUMMING!!
and an intermission of
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep
that breaks the nocturnal entomological singing
with ephemeral intermissions
Be bewitched by brillance as
tunes fly and z i n g
their little
whistle
songs so sweet a talent
unseen
little bugs sweetly sing
their little
tale of talent
in "Soft Sweet Meadow"
Comforted by vibrating frequencies
the air is electrical clasping
our good-inner child
as this meadow
unfolds its truth
being beneficial
to us all
We journey not too far
for this field draws us
to its delightful *****
We irresistibly suckle on its daytime scenic eye-filling foliage
later eliciting dreams made of peaceful slumber
Cha Cheep, Cha Cheep and good night...
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:29 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
In the stark valley,
by wheezing winds,
eyes puckered,
hope, gone afar:
solitary peaks
snow-capped at
summit, rising,
parting the clouds,
for opal skies.
An aspiration.
A lighthouse.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Halfway up a mountain
on an ice-bound January day,
I sought to reliquify
a few calorific assets.
I am no fool -
I had been carefully investing
a portion of each meal
in certain holdings
(mainly around the waist).
Of course, I knew the safe route:
balanced diet, carbs, fruit, veg;
but a venture nutritionist such as myself
pays little heed to such extravagant prudence.
Fried breakfasts looked like offering
a quick and reliable payoff
and sure, for a while it worked.
But guess what:
Just when I needed the big windfall,
nothing.
Not a sausage,
if you'll pardon the pun.
"Sorry," a regretful body explained,
"I know you'd think you could call on your investments
"at the drop of a hat,
"but actually they're kind of clogged,
"a bit like your arteries."
Wheezing, waiting
for the mountain rescue helicopter,
I spared a rueful thought
for the taxpayer -
the reluctant buyer
of my safety.
You might imagine I owe something in return,
but I watch the news
and I reckon
I'll get away with it.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
I asked the mule just yesterday
Whether he ever envies the bay
Who burrows her soft, brown nose in the oats
Laid out for her pleasure, to brighten her coat.
The mule responded, with just a hint of chagrin,
“I know nothing of the world or the way I should live;
There are others who tell me this for my own good, thus:
My life is blissfully simple, yet lush—
“Lush,” he continued, while he swatted the flies
Gathered round his muddy coat and panicked eyes,
“Lush is my life that they make so secure:
By bringing me down, they make me demure.
“And,” he concluded, with a wheezing sigh,
“It’s for my own good that I’m covered with flies,
And for the good of the people that the bay gets the oats,
While I struggle and toil catching flies with my coat.”
I meant to ask the mule again
On the issue of his grievous chagrin,
But a crowd led the keening bay out of her stall,
And the world stopped to answer her demanding call.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
Your words spit and dribble down your chin,
forcing my hands to reach and catch them
with my fingertips. Silence finds a sultry
kiss within the static we fulfill in.
I hear the grasps in your breath, wrapping
around my neck until we’re both wheezing
for another chance to live. I knew you wanted
me to exhale a puddle of sighs at your front
door before I left without a word.
There’s red ash staining my palms — digging
it’s crimson dust into my lungs ‘til I see
fire in your eyes.
I burn for you.
I feel a chill into my brain, breezing through
the memories I’ve sustained. And the nostalgia
is darker than everything I’ve blown into
your veins, but it still tastes like regret.
Hold my neck the first time we licked
each other’s wounds, and tomorrow I’ll salt
them ‘til they are stone. And in a week I’ll
pick the scab and remember you as a scar.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
To an asthmatic like me,
who feels pain in her chest,
has shortness of breath,
and can't stop wheezing,
when her asthma is triggered.
To puff her inhaler,
begging for the medication to work.
Only to hear two empty puffs.
And just like me,
the inhaler is ******* wind too.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.
what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.
when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.
it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity
&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.
we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.
i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:05 AM UTC
From the hole
in her acid-wash jeans,
she calls
her ***** a prophet,
from that hole a whole
new world
will be born.
She will push
out
**** ****
but lastly
she will push out
a new world.
She will push out my fingers,
and my clawing
at her,
she will push out the concealed evil
and the suffocated good.
Slap that ***
Slap that ***
Make the evil and good scream,
give birth to a new black
humanity, a breathing wheezing
baby of equal parts good and bad,
king and beggar,
prophet and pessimist,
criminal and revolutionary.
From
her acid-wash jeans
and the hole
that I dug my fingers in
countless times
and made swirls
of mud against her burning
insides and wet flesh,
she will give birth
from a well-rounded hole,
to a well-rounded whole.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 10:08 AM UTC
I. centipede:
-
They come from both directions and it doesn't take long
for me to realize that they've figured me out.
My mind was fast, but not as swift as the hands
of five-hundred outreaching hands; one angry crowd.
Grabbing at limbs, low and high, they don't waste a second
before tearing me in every direction; at least the cardinal four.
My mind takes flight, leaves fancy, but not before
I get in one last swear, and one last spittle in their faces.
II. snake
-
Tail and head aren't in sync this morning, I tell ya.
No rattle, no bite, just a lot of traffic and heat shimmers
in the one place I don't need to be today.
The people here act like they don't know me,
but they still turn their noses up when I empty my mug.
The waitress answers when spoken to,
but just stares in the time in between wheezing breaths.
I've got to get out of this county, this state.
III. scorpion
-
Ronny hasn't been on a roof since a couple years after we got married.
He wrapped his ankle in some gutters and took a spill;
his thigh popped right out of it's socket and he just dangled
like some kind of prize in one of those crane games.
Doctor says he can still have kids, and I know he can still get it up
from how he watches that ****** **** on t.v.
But he wont touch me; hasn't in fifteen months, I've counted.
He's in for a surprise once the settlement clears.
IV. lizard
-
Wallflowers never get anywhere with their mouths sewn shut
and I cut my stitches well before my teens;
I got what I needed and I made sure of it.
But there is something to be gained from
basking in the naivety of youth and ignorance.
Trouble doesn't set in as well, and boredom comes
as some kind of waiting period, rather than the norm.
These bars are a reminder of why they don't let me make the rules.
V. toad
-
Invulnerable, incontestable, unphasable, archetype.
I listen for the right words to drop the shields,
but I'm only met with the silence that accompanies
asphyxiation through means of wet wax paper.
The touch of phantoms tingle along my skeleton's core
telling me the time for lollygagging has long since passed.
Stand up, giant, you're running hot and the moon
keeps calling out, "follow the lit road home".
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC