Best Asphyxiated Poems
© Charles H Keys, 2011. All Rights Reserved
Talking anxiously to myself,
Thoughts fresh of the new,
Some deliberate, others not,
Thoughts old and forgotten,
Mostly familiar or so it appears.
Still wondering why
Am I here? Or maybe not.
Is not the grass still green?
And the snow ... white and cold,
Where is this said?
What awaits me down the road?
Empty fascinations with token vague memories of yore
... lost,
Maybe forever, so meaninglessly insignificant
Here am I for what?
There has to be God or
Why else can I be,
If not to taste fresh air
To soar as an eagle - free, unattached into wherever,
Alone, asphyxiated from man-made constraints.
The aroma of fresh baked bread,
Life awakened life to be lived
The beauty of it all, so green and blue
Warm and cool sunned by our creator
Life lived inside and out.
I thirst for inner quiescence,
Beyond the realm of the mundane and the lost,
Far from the useless and
... the hurt from the heartless, of so many so often,
A universe of everything that is ... in harmony.
A Pauper I am, a Prince I am not, tethered,
Mesmerized in the day-to-day nothingness,
Unsatisfied with the uneventful
I am here, pleading for answers
Of life’s painful purposeful ignorance of each other.
Ghetto me be a bleating poor refugee,
albeit I’m Goshen rich in faith
Got a manger stall in the USA,
Pilate shepherd of the Cesarian peace
Time stamped stillborn delivery
tis iron Roman numeral four C
Furnace cast existence: bane brand bound
Babylonian condition, a marketplace sound
Fleeced heritage ... sob separated,
I am just the latest stolen cargo generation
being cerulean cloth asphyxiated
By legion overseers of an ungrateful nation
These pyramid gnash, link bled bones
twas being Pharaoh oppressed: Prey worked to death
in a Memphis factory plantation owned
Where noxious hate suffocate poverty-cuffed breath
Be daily double tasked in a graveyard shift
Those pale hearts so addicted
to the golden flask, err tilted
Drunk on power, they cull with a siren sift
O miry, downtrodden me ...
temporally chained to this wavy treachery
Verily, a wretched place for a black sheep —
such cotton weary misery!
So after four centuries of Cain deluge,
I do still tearfully seek
A rainbow ark sacred place of refuge
promised to the meek
Asphyxiated and found dead
Raped and found dead
Unsure what happened, and found dead
Nepali women found dead
Snake bitten and found dead
Eaten by tigers and found dead
Left in a small dark menstrual hut
And found dead
Nepali women found dead
Shunned and labelled unclean
Ostracized for the wonderful way
God has insured they can have babies
Asphyxiated, raped, snaked, and frozen
And found dead. Someone is not right in the head.
These huts should be torn up and spit out.
Please, people, permanently get these women out!
Something changing, shifting, fading...
Lackluster, the heat has gone cold.
Open portals closing, drifting, dreaming...
Trepidation, the eyes to the soul.
Someone wishing, reaching, feeling...
Imploring, a quick and tantalizing grasp.
Deadened passion, avidity, and lust.
Tomorrow is Ours.
Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear,
asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear,
the festering wounds of enslavement still remain,
juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain,
spewing out neo-liberal economic charades,
doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids,
but,
tomorrow shall be ours,
casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle,
no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal,
tomorrow shall be ours,
we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces,
we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces,
of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows,
we are here, now, alive with hope,
we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.
Form:
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Form:
I wandered the desert alone, oh, what a dream to remember!
'Twas a place of extremes. Gorgeous yet frightening. A swelteringly hot
Barren terra incognita that stretched far beyond the horizon.
I walked for miles and miles; feeling more lost by the hour,
I turned, following my footprints back to civilization.
But unbeknownst to me, a sandstorm roared, erasing footprints I made earlier.
Staggering, fighting my fatigued body and moribund spirit, I paused briefly,
Barely standing upright, with arms akimbo trying to catch my breath.
"Where am I?", I wondered in a panic. Sweat streaming down my
brow, I continued traversing the never-ending stretch of desolate wasteland.
The chances of finding my way out of this vast sea of sand, improbable.
"Is this how it all ends? How will I make it out here alive?"
I asked myself, drowning in an ocean of pessimism. Thoughts in my head
Dark and morbid. I'm lost. A nightmare come true! The chances for a rescue
In this unforgiving no man's land couldn't seem more unlikely.
An oasis, a needle in the haystack. I'm increasingly asphyxiated by thirst.
Before long, I chanced upon a tree trunk still standing tall, frozen in time.
I took shade on its shadow across the sand, defeated, begging God
For a quick end to my misery. Instead, heavens opened up, and down came
The rain. An augury of hope...my salvation! Oh, what a dream to remember!
Date written and posted: 10/02/2018
You seduced and teased my yearning, with your succulent lure
A floral fragrance sumptuous and bizarrely pure,
You impaled and intoxicated my mind, with your corporeal charms
My impassioned heart, raced to your ominously parted arms!
You clasped me like an octopus, locked me in your iron embrace
Then I saw the restrained venom, glistening on your shifting face!
Irrevocably entrapped! Sandwiched between your gluttonous claws
Acquainted to your enormous hunger, peering from your slack jaws!
Couldn’t you heed the dilapidated struggle of my impotent gasp?
You unfeelingly asphyxiated me with your murderous grasp!
I was blinded by the appeal of your suicidal, sensual strokes
Now on your magnetic cuddle my body whole, shudders and chokes!
No longer are you suave, aromatic and flirtatiously tender
Virulently tamed, I rue my battered woeful surrender,
Like an insatiable leech you suckle me, siphon my naked despair!
A monster transformed, lacking traces of compassion or care
My labored breaths grow scrawny and senile,
While you gleefully devour me, with a ragged, complacent smile!
I writhe, you chew and grind and gnaw!
Like a vulture, ravenously consuming my remains raw!
I wane in vain, haplessly I tolerate
Aware, another victim will share my fate!
© Maverick Nyambu
Why
did you
have to die?
Only fourteen ...
Asphyxiated.
Your poor brother found you
Whole community in shock
Another teenage tragedy
Only one question to answer ….why?
Sadly this recent event is true
23rd May 2015
HYPHENATED AMERICANS
You have the biggies like Chinese-Americans
And Latino-Americans and German-Americans;
And miniscule groups like Armenian-Americans
Or Bosnia-and-Herzegovinan-Americans;
But why do we never hear of English-Americans,
Scottish-Americans or Welsh-Americans?
Sound weird don’t they? Kinda unnecessary.
Anyone ever heard of Canadian-Americans?
Or Australian- or New Zealand- oh why?
And hey, what about French-Americans?
These are not hyphenated Americans
They are eliminated Americans,
And other groups include
Old people, who are Antiquated-Americans
Mothers - Unappreciated-Americans
Pre-1492 Yanks are Antedated-Americans
AFL-CIO are Aggregated-Americans
Dwarfs are Truncated-Americans
Smog-breathing residents of LA are
Asphyxiated- or Hyperventilated-Americans.
Thank God I’m normal, I’m just American.
"This Naked Dance"
This naked dance
before the tenuous
judgement of sentences
the company of words
from all the silent voices
seated in the front rows
of this our dark audience
the jury of lost lovers
wanting their heroes
to hear songs stolen
delivered by angels
swallowed by demons
their notes played in
affidavits continuous
in the courts of denial
these habits contagious
lifted by suede fingertips
to Munch mouth
a cavernous silence
waiting for some
sound of contrition
from the you
without numbers
now free pool playing
piano keys
reversing the tune
of our journey
smyth sewing stitches
is your gaol
opening memories in
the industrial room
there are no windows
to see the blue sky
of you once were
some kind of happy
before the damage
I’ll walk through
all your mirrors
like a ghost
that haunts you forever
to find where
the heart of you split
and scattered
in the bleak corridors
of your prisons
forgiveness
comes and goes
in silent waves
back into the shores
and certainties of me
then is dragged out
tangled up to the mast with you
in the hangman’s rope
submerging
in the undertow
with the tide of our life
to where the things
with sharp teeth
wait for us
we are not fat enough
with life yet to be seen
as delicious
there is something missing
within us
we are standing still
we are asphyxiated
sucked to the sides of life we are
pilot fish in the corridors
of our phantom penitentiary
not prescient enough
to evolve fully our flavours
to become complete
so we continue to dance naked
in deeper waters
pushing envelopes
before the tenuous
judgement of sentences
the company of words
from all the silent voices
seated in the front rows
of this, our invisible
dark audience
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"Come as You Are" / Emilie Simone (Nirvana cover)
https://youtu.be/3So59E6NxSg
It's a guy who grew up with good morals
People with the purest of souls
Raised to excel and exceed
Born to treat
Attentive and sensitive
They spent minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years
Time without boundaries
Listening to the problems and fears
Of the males but especially the females near
'cause those girls needed someone to listen to them
Someone to vent to, really
And yeah, sometimes it made the nice guy feel special
It feels good to be needed by someone you love
Or someone you can love
But the stars of fate and destiny above
Don't always align
Not for this type
And while the womenfolk prance and dance with their hairless monkey
They're mistreated, used, abused, consumed and refused
And the shes rush to the nice hes for that undying comfort
But the latter are getting restless
Their looks are ordinary, so how do they compete
With tall dark and handsome
When they're short, pale and human?
This guy's not a cheat
He's patient and his anger is merciful
He won't take advantage of womenfolk so vulnerable
Won't resort to objectify
But they're lumped with the jerks and shirts and together are vilified
So what does the nice guy do?
Contemplate.
He'll meditate
and say "hey,
Why are all my friendships one-sided?"
His empathy and reliable nature can't be appreciated
So it needs to be asphyxiated
Cut free, act differently
Take on a job, a car, a tattoo, a gym, an instrument
Designer clothes, cigarettes, cigars,
All what was feared and all that is sheer
********
Like a hundred dollar bill, given so much value
But simply a sensitive cheap piece of paper
Easily ripped and quickly gypped
And he leaves his morality
Cuts his vocabulary
4 word sentences, 3 syllabus max per word
To get out of nice guy playground and friend zone
But that's really just accepting the parasite
Letting it infect you
Taking your views to the termites
Yeah, you might get tail
Or you may completely fail
Though will you really let selfishness > goodness?
No,
I won't
Not on the long run, at least.
Just this one time.
...
Dusk covered the land
Like a million blankets the sun blackened
The dawn of the fiends has come
The imps arise from black holes
Thick dark smokes engulf the land
Red rivers of marred blood run freely
Hyena’s laughs and cries so vivid
Flimsy hopeless screams fill the night
Police sirens nowhere heard
All victims of the diabolic demons
The flattery head men are quiet
The dreaded gloom has no march!
The denizens of slums asphyxiated
The fierce fires devour their huts
Mothers and babies murdered in cold blood
Justice slapped on face with no utterance
Remnants of the paranoia, brave cowards
Would sneak and live to tell
Their seeds in songs and narratives
Who will burn the blankets of terror.
No, my brain is alive, not dead
To know that you hate me
And yet I love you dearly
I practice love not hatred
I care about uncontiditional love
Not mutual feelings dripping from above
In rainy and stormy seasons. In unselfish ways
I willingly donate my heart and soul to you
You can shred them and then part ways
As you wish, as you see fit. I am a fool
A martyr, a lover with all of his marbles and more
I love you and I want you
I care about you. Open the door
So I can give you more until you’re saturated
Until by love you are filled up and asphyxiated
You hate me and I love you
I wonder if I am not a fool.
Copyright © September 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
An Air Of Death - Haiku
asphyxiated
anesthetized under leaf
bug silent, death calls