"worsening" poems
Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?
Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.
Not doing a proper warm-up
According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.
Assuming that stretching is a warm-up
Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.
Rushing through your stretching exercises
Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.
Giving stretching a skip after a workout
You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.
Not stretching every day
You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.
Not breathing properly
Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.
Doing static stretches
Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.
Ignoring pain while stretching
When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
So Yeah
iFucked With Tweak Again.
How Have iBeen Getting On One? Night Time.
When Everyones Asleep,
***** Major.
My Mind Was Just Beginning
To Sort Out.
iJust Stopped The Process.
By Me Tweaking At Night ?
iM ******* With My Head Again
Still Paranoid Worsening iT.
iDidnt Enjoy iT ,
But **** Have iBeen Getting High(: iMissed iTs Feeling, iTs So Pure And Dreamy <3
No Wonder iLove iT, Began Reminiscing Deep About iT ^___^ Remembering Why iT iS iSay DopeLove <3$:.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
The mirror looking back at her
screams compliments over the loud music
coming from the stereo behind.
With artfully smudged eyeliner,
she slips into the little black dress
purchased from the cheap lingerie shop
down the street from her apartment complex.
Six inches above the concrete sidewalk
clicking with every step,
a lit cigarette dangling at her teeth,
she walks proudly to the ball
twenty minutes past midnight.
The morning after;
spiked hot coffee in hand
to cure mistakes of the previous night
and a knock on the door
greets a worsening headache.
The door opens to a well dressed man
and a tiny glass slipper
atop a diamond-studded throne.
He holds the delicate shoe to her foot,
toe nails painted black,
and patiently waits for a response.
“Those aren’t my red stilettos.”
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
I've walked into a tunnel.
Following coats,
Dragging behind in
Abandon
The light is slitted
The shape above is
Too Close to my head.
The sharp,
Undecided angles bother me
And a nervous twitch begins.
I imagine it like a funnel,
Sorting population
To pass through in
Close quarters,
Contact guaranteed.
I sneeze
And cough.
My fever smolders
Making my skin chill,
And the thought of disease
Enters, and crowds with me,
Suffocating me to one side-
But not too close-
Don't touch anything.
Fear grows.
I am already sick
But I could get sicker.
Conspiracy drips over my thoughts,
My fever leaving the
normal functioning funnel
In my mind
To be burned away-
materializing in the city-
Around me.
My thoughts bunch
In clusters
And pass all at once,
Leaving waves of nausea
And claustrophobia
As I continue through the tunnel,
Paranoia worsening my symptoms
By the step.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Sometime today...
*I look up at the sky
It is cloudy and dark
Flickers of lightning
And growling of thunder
Threatening the day's work
With uninvited wet showers
Bad for business, these rains
Keeping our customers indoors
Filling our potholes to the brim
Drenching our zeal to work
I look, as the drops fall down
In their multitudes
Clattering against my window
Bearing down on my roof
Intent on washing away my hopes
I miss the sunshine and its rays
I miss the warmth of sunrise
I miss the comfort of sunset
And with all my heart
I loathe the rain
Yearning for the sun
Soon a remembrance is awaken.*
Somewhere in the past...
*I looked up at the sky
It was sunny and dry
Debris of dusty winds
And a hot tempered sun
Worsening the day's labor
With unfriendly heat waves
Bad for farming, this heat!
Keeping our seedlings underground
Drying our boreholes to the bottom
Smoking our will to work
I sweated, as the rays blazed
In their fury
Burning through my window
Melting down my roof
Determined to roast my vision
I missed the rain and its showers
I missed the chills of the storms
I missed the drizzles of dew
And with all my might
I despised the sun
Praying for the rains
As if that would quench my thirst!*
Yet I wish it away as soon as it comes...
© Raphael Uzor
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-
***”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”***
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
<~>
as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******
and that request?
‘give me the words’ (2)
those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of
‘words that tell me everything’ (2)
salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with
‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)
the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting
its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…
<~>
“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
Many doctors had failed to heal her;
her wealth was gone; unable to cope,
seemingly having no options left, she…
faced the idea of being bereft of hope.
A difficult issue of continual bleeding,
had bothered this woman for twelve years;
purposely maneuvering through the crowd,
she hoped to meet Christ, and draw near.
“If only, I could physically touch Him,
my personal need can be forever met.”
Summoning the last of her inner strength,
she pressed onward without any regret.
Her health was dramatically worsening
and drastic action was now required;
since Christ was visibly close by,
perhaps healing she urgently desired
would become available to her this day.
Moving boldly with faith towards Him,
silently reaching out for his garment
with her weakened, slender limb…
she briefly caressed the hem of His robe.
And suddenly- her discomfort was gone!
Without warning, virtue leapt out of Him;
and now He wanted a face to gaze upon.
To everyone’s astonishment, He stopped;
then came the simple, unexpected question:
“Who touched me?” He patiently inquired.
Initially, there was apparent confusion,
from not knowing who, He was addressing.
Scared and embarrassed, she fell face down
at His feet, ready to weep and apologize.
“Rise up my daughter, from the dusty ground;
tell me your life’s story of suffering;
since your faith was successfully released,
My strength has cured you of your agony;
return home with my blessings and peace.”
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Mark 5:24-34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
My breath was choking on fire
It brought me to my knees as I plead
Please, someone save me.
Save me from this world
That is consuming me in fire
I'm burning up in flames.
I've come to realize
That I'm just the fuel to someone's fire.
A minor casualty in this world
Filled with the burning desire
To lie, cheat, steal.
******
The room was blackened out with smoke
I could no longer see the light.
My coughing was worsening with each breath.
This is really the end of my story.
My mind was racing with different scenarios,
All of them leading towards death.
I know there is no hope,
but I have to try to tell them.
Each step feels like my last,
My body was aching.
My steps heaved as I dragged them
across the blackened floor
through the rubble.
I made it to the desk
my hand staggered as I wrote
"This was no accident,
It was a ******
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Another visit to
Med Psych;
the withdrawals are
horrendous.
I’m emaciated and malnourished.
With the exception of
one meal every few
days, I’ve dined on ***** and
wine for my sustenance.
I check out a lap top from
the patient library, and
try to get the poems organized on
my flash drive.
Concentration is elusive.
The psych doctor decides
to have me committed.
She’s concerned about my
worsening health and depression.
I guess I can’t
blame her, but what
bird likes a cage?
I try to talk her
out of it,
but she’s resolute.
The next day, just
as the deputy is
serving me the
committal papers, I have
a seizure—a bad one.
My lips turn blue.
I **** myself.
The doctors pump me full
of Ativan. Everything is a
blur for the next
week.
Slowly, softly,
my mind comes back.
I get a room-mate;
turns out he’s an
artist, a fantastic
abstract painter,
his name’s Chris.
Chris gets the activity
director to bring
him some paints and
other art supplies.
He goes to work;
stabbing the paper
with his brush—
makes it bleed with
color. He’s a young
drunk;
a madman and a
genius.
I have my notebook and
my sword.
I pound out the word, the line,
my highway through this
silly society.
Chris and I talked
long into the autumn
night, locked in a
cerebral prison.
The room we were in
was more like a Greenwich Village
beat pad than it was a
hospital room.
Mar 6, 2023
Mar 6, 2023 at 5:57 AM UTC
surrendering to the angel you send in the night
tarnishing night with stars you set, of mementos, gems
sweetened into being by the heat of unknown
fun in the warning
sun in the worsening
need to see the warm winds
in your hair, see it myself
my vigil, diadem is a pen
decrees are on each page
that summer endings and I
lay down to
- it's dreaming
of the soul that holds my soul
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC
It’s gripping, its hold on me growing tighter
I can’t keep it out much longer, it’s flowing
This fog is creeping through my mind
One of a kind, it’s there to remind me
To hurt me, heal me, shield me
Pure insanity sends me reeling, am I healing?
It rends me in two, leaves me checking on you
I don’t know what to do with you,
Two of a kind, birds of a feather
A daughter and a mother, struggling to recover
Struggling together, together will they stay?
Though this hurts, my heart barely beats
I’ll be there to dry your tears and kiss your cheeks
As I feel the insanity setting in
Don’t worry about me, it’s you that’s worsening.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
A beautiful soul is my enemy, a fake smile is what I see... worsening everyday, everyway. Her eyes are always honest... always sad.
"Trust me! Everything'll be fine " I can't say this to her.
Because we're enemies.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
Maybe, this thing does not matter.
It feels like a current,
But maybe it’s just another stream
with the promise of leading to the sea
when it’s truly
just heading for a lake.
Maybe, I can watch the ducks paddle over the water
and the twigs float on by.
It could be that this is how you learn,
that your gut doesn’t have eyes.
But it could also be how you learn
that there are some things
no eyes can see.
Whether it be
for the worsening or for the bettering
you are floating down this river
an island in the water
it’s viscosity carrying
you, with your hands
at the side of your hips
where you’ll end up
grace cannot be too far
when you follow the flow
who knows where you’ll end up
maybe next to those ducks
or in the vast open sea
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
A hairline fracture is painful yet goes unnoticed
We go on with one of these as we are overly focused
The pain of this slice is felt by oneself but not noticed by peers
Because it's not visible, but it may be as the breaking time nears
My life today is identical to one of these fractures
Full of pain that goes unnoticed by those around me
This fracture is constantly worsening from negative factors
But soon, all this pain will go away so I can finally break free
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
I didn't ask to be born.
Did I give you permission to have me?
I'm just not cut out for this, really...
I think about suicide constantly
Everyday I question my sanity
Am I okay? Stop starring at me!
You're only worsening my anxiety
They saw me crying.
I don't want them to think that I'm attention-seeking
Because I'm not:
I just have a lot of ****** up thoughts.
One day I'm calm and the next I feel forgot-
Ten: they told me when I grew up I'd be that number
Not someone who's chubby and refuses to go to slumber, part-ies
They were just never for me
But don't get me wrong I tried to participate
Just no one ever really included me unless it was a one-on-one standing
I get it, I'm a fill in.
That's always been my role
Someone who's just there
For when others couldn't be.
That's me.
The girl I'll hit up tomorrow because my other friend is busy
On a new note I'm about to be 18
My parents could kick me
out or disown me
Send me on my way
As if they never had known me
I'll eventually be on my own
That's the point of this right?
To witness someone's life and
Then toss them aside but say
That you'll be there until the end of time?
Right?
Wrong
I always feel that way when
I'm singing this song
Titled: strife
It makes me not want to go on
But it remains
Always in my veins
It tells me to stay
On the worst of days
It triggers me hard
I just want to go away
Just let me already
Why must I stay steady
Can't you tell I'm not sturdy
And just want to yell
At everybody
I'm in tears already
As I pull the cord on this bag
Helium fills my lungs
I no longer feel sad
I laugh continuously
As I'm being poisoned
I'm mad; crazy
I forgot to write a note
Don't hate me
You all knew me in the past
For a time being
You had your chances with me
There was no right or wrong
I was just always singing a different song
So don't feel bad for my no longer going on
I was never meant to be here
Please. Stay strong.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC
Love for me is like cigarettes
I need you, I really do
Sadly, I call off all bets
When I'm done and through
Inhale you warm and deep
Feed my addiction
Tell you, You're mine to keep
That you and I aren't fiction
Halfway through is where I doubt
How much is left of you
Soon follows screams and shouts
Our love turns blue
I see the filter approaching
And know out time is short
the arguments are worsening
with every cynical retort
The end has bitterly come
The taste I longed for
Is now dull and dumb
I'm a ******* you're a *****
Extinguish you
Like I have many others
Under my conflicted shoe
Due to issues with our mothers
Watch the ember die and wither
Unfortunately it'll be 20 minutes
Before I tell another to come hither
Oblivious to my own limits
Prepackaged and mass produced
Complimenting my every inebriation
For now at least, I deduce
Truly you are deaths creation
Set you ablaze knowing
That our intoxicating romance
Has not a single chance
Of ever positively growing
Love for me is like cigarettes
I need you, I really do
Sadly, I'll call off all bets
When I'm content and through
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
in the penguins luck the furnace begins
at reprograming the news. Picture frames on 2 x 4s , three
photographs and glass bottles in the most decadent of matrimonies.
Three-hundred million dollars.
And the race riots show 'em who'll take the dampit from the mound of
Soot stained elements, canvas, trash bags, electric guitar riffs, giraffes, bingo, the drip-drop on the drop cloth. Easing into the new processor.
She who settles the wages of crickets with ether and single-barrel vanilla buckshot and maple. Incisors and cynical stereotypecastes and the shadows of the other mugged and loose canonical charades the worser and worsening play their ad keywords at in the sketchmakers many movements her dactyls fine and her fingertips many. Sweet lines of breathing and setting.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
I've lost another dear friend,
Another kindred spirit,
To the culling of this worsening
****** epidemic.
No more new poems
Waiting in my inbox.
No more just checking in.
No more redemption.
Just another empty hole
Pierced through our lives
Taken by the tip
Of a needle.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:01 AM UTC
Everything I say can never be unique
Its all recycled and up-cycled from spit on the street.
Next to the pavement,
underneath
the asphalt,: black, ****** bleak
When I speak
There is nothing new to say.
Combined in a verse or tense
past or present
prosed in a way
obscure to rational thought. Cursed.
It's worse than worsening.
Suessing,
Sprucing up words
that were
left right
on the curb.
Busted,
Rusted
in god's stead, they trusted
dollars and bills.
Dollar bills
encrusted with lies
Idol-I-
zation.
Idol-me-nation.
Idolatry gives life
to puppets. It's really a Toy Story.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Denatured barbie dolls bowling
over boys donning construction caps and
destruction maps making a highway
over natural habitats holding the
handle of cellar doors open and shouting
"dissent no more" please
implore me to bore you and
spit shine your mirror toe shoes
I know you once we met on the avenue
sector of humanity devoid of trees and
afraid of honeybees traffic tinged memories
haunting back down the street
hampered under sweaters and smelly socks wondering
how many feet beneath rocks something can escape
half baked holy water holding the cure of all curses and
worsening purple pillars of preconceived pastry dough
growing moldy head to toe finding flow
amidst garbage between sinking archipelagos
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
We dance in an enclosed white box,
You led me to the center stage, then
Held my hand and guided me in a waltz.
You said something,
but I could not catch it.
Your eyes locked to mine
but I see past it.
All I felt amidst the all-too familiar floor
And our fragile, reluctant punches,
Was the pain on my feet, worsening
As you whirled and I twirled.
Mar 31, 2024
Mar 31, 2024 at 11:27 AM UTC
oh, it could be such a lovely distraction.
cavalier bandaging binding unclean wounds
pain? your tragic torment, worsening beneath
faux perfection. the sternest ivy inclines
tangling, reaching for golden lifelines.
a strange comfortable fog mist muffling
echoes drowning pathways. you were always
a fog, a deep hungry cloud
i didn't realize
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
I wanted the perfect cake.
With the perfect layers.
With the perfect coating.
But all I got was a stack of it.
A stack of rejects.
Desperately coated to its most presentable.
At its most passable.
It began with the first layer.
After all, I was careful.
Less mistakes.
Less complications.
Less lies.
Braver, bolder,
I crafted the second layer.
More mistakes.
More complications.
More lies.
Annoyed,
I began the third layer.
More and more mistakes.
More and more complications.
More and more lies.
Desperate,
Came the fourth layer.
More and more and more mistakes.
More and more and more complications.
More and more and more lies.
The more I go forth.
The more frustrated I become.
The more layers.
The more lies.
What comes after the layer of cake?
Another layer.
What comes after a lie?
Another version of that same lie.
In the end,
All I'm left with is lost time.
And the gradual worsening of my problem.
Eventually,
I'll find this cake collapsing.
Reminding me that there are limits.
To the amount of tries.
To the amount of layers,
That I can make.
So,
I find myself getting rid of the cake.
In a dramatic scene I form in my head.
You know me,
I won't just get rid of the cake.
I'd get rid of the whole occasion.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
In the mornings, I try
To take a look at the sky
While it’s still dark;
While I can still see the stars.
They may be far
From where we are,
But there’s just something
Special, that bling
Next to the occasional moon.
I just hope light pollution’s worsening
Isn’t coming too soon–
The stars are what makes me smile
Before I spend (too long) quite a while
In school. At least I get to see
Something that makes me
Happy.
Sep 4, 2024
Sep 4, 2024 at 6:12 AM UTC
'/( '|/\'
) '/( / '\'
A gloomy feeling accompanies the rain.
harvest season sometimes reaps none,
the sun is weary, it rushes to descend
humid air wanes as darkness spreads.
sparrows and yellow warblers retreat
how do they stay dry in their nests?
newly-woken bats emerge at sunset
amidst the rain...they try their best.
in the waning light, trees start to play,
their shadows graciously sway,
they dance by the firewall
telling their stories by nightfall.
through a worsening weather
sounds, loud and clear,
the roaring thunder
July's long sunset showers
pour, to cool the dimming atmosphere.
then, darkness claims all the glow.
thunder, lightning, the heavy downpour,
and the warm shelter of our home
are like heaven and hell,
situated side by side.
monsoon season has come without delay
the mischievous puppies dare play
under July's cold pouring rain,
their eyes invite me...but in vain.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 4, 2021
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 8:25 PM UTC