Best Breathing Room Poems
Rising on island,
Mountain, with peaks of possibility,
Valley lush and green.
When my knees collapse, lightning and thunder -
Call it butterflies.
The palms warmed and cooled us, warned us, fooled us.
Explosive, our love -
Once conjoined, often drifting in the sea,
Eyes leaping with fire.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
Hearts of stone, lifting upwards, tears running,
Drifting on riffraff.
Outbreak of chortling might redirect winds.
La la…ooh…la la.
Sips of berries and pineapple; we share
Icy tropical
Attempts to cool things down; steam underfoot.
Ebb and flow of raft,
Seeking to poke embers - attentive ears.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
Collapse of civilization, in grass
Skirt, paradise shirt,
Atomic timing sans wearing a watch.
Heads buried in sand -
Lips meeting in molten-red, not passive,
Dirty and tender.
Swimming in sweep of lava lake, suntan-
Baked, gliding upwards,
Climactic eruption, falling with love.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
We ride the flume of volcanic weather,
Can’t raise the tall man,
Seek the insane chance of sane survival -
Valiancy in strife.
Man and wife seeking each other’s island -
Pieces fit just right.
Synchronic habitation, breathing room.
Volcano’s, how old?
In the end it shuts its mouth… a whisper
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
With the onset of years
erstwhile crazy ideas
abandoned with caution and dread
now crowd my mind
no peace I will find
till my conscience lies neatly in shreds
Conscience, out the way
there's hell to pay
for too long I've toed the line
Ms Goody Two-Shoes
who never once boozed
longs to taste the fruit of the vine
Since exiting the womb
no breathing room
another's cousin, sister or daughter
later in life
mother and wife
now breaking free to taste the sweet water
Once meek and restrained
willingly chained
missed out on the pleasures of life
no fun to be had
not a chance at being bad
as a dutiful mother and wife
Inch by sure inch
my conscience I'll lynch
spread my wings which were hitherto clipped
down with taboos
I'll expose my tattoos
and enjoy my first skinny dip
I dream of a match
to telly dispatched
on the streak my clothes I'll abort
displaying my tattoos
and unmentionables too
and a full frontal view before caught
No doubt you'd agree
my earlier poetry
has a somewhat conservative ring
conscience, step aside
you've my freedom denied
readers, prepare for smut on a string
Though passionately aflame
this steri-clean dame
aims in the heart zone to practice due care
though my conscience'll be dead
of all life been bled
I'll draw the line at illicit affairs
There's a breathing room looming
Around me, vacantly alive but viscous;
Feeling the bitter dead breath
While grating still, fully motionless
Like a thick,pungent mound of darkness;
As the chill runs unto my raw bones...
Nothing satisfies its hideous plight
With eyes wide open, a nightmare
Screaming devilishly at the ceiling;
Restless, growing weary down the marrow...
I reach for the lamp..it is shut, broken
Until my instinct wakes; this room is the Fear
Lying deep within a childhood's unsettled sin.
For Brian Strand's Mid-January 2018 Premiere:
Resubmitted 1/12/2018
Sometimes, it’s the hard times that blind me from the possible positive outcomes the future beholds…
But damn…sometimes it’s like I get so tired of always being let down, that looking forward to things is nothing but a childhood feeling that has grew old
But thank you hard times, for you made me into a better person….or stronger perhaps…feeling more than ready for whatever may happen…
Mainly because I now find myself accepting adversity. Anticipating the natural high of overcoming a challenge
It’s just crazy how hard times always seem to have bad timing..
You finally get the breathing room to pick yourself up…get things together …you are knocked right back down again…
It’s just a constant cycle of falling down and picking yourself back up again
And I shall continue fighting until I won’t be able to fall again
Feels like I’m Taking 10 steps forwards to sometimes get pushed 5-8 steps back….
And Even though hard times can make the weak fold…It also creates strong and bold individuals who refuse back down from any negative attack…
Hard times can be whack…but most of the times when I just pull through and fight…it turns out to be worth the struggle…
That is why I feel that no matter how rich I get…I will always be able to out do the other man…because I have a mentality beyond making an average hustle…
Because I too know what it feels like to struggle…
Scraping dollars…trying to make ends meet, while also trying to budget enough food to barely eat
Just because Hard Times wants to come knocking at my door, doesn’t me I have to open it …to just to lay victim to an embarrassing defeat
Sometimes spoken words can be the herb for a heeling deep within..
Thanks to you hard times, it is because of you that I have to get this healing treatment …over and over and again and again…
You have turned out to be quite the friend….
But you are only seasonal…so every time you enter my life….
Your presence only shows me what is about to begin…because hard times to me ;only signify the great beginning to another end!!!
No room to breathe
Or catch one's breath
Words and phrases
Once written on pages
Just as easily lost
A world without borders
No judge, no jury
Freedom with wings
To love oneself completely
Clinging to words bound
Caught within a dream
Reality just in reach
Coming up for air
Before one drowns
Writing on pure emotion
True to style and form
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
Buried in an avalanche you
might see on "Hoarders buried alive"
back and foreground
white sheet with limited pay per view,
nonetheless sky scraping heap
(Uriah not kid) nsync with a 'U'-
shaped tube anchored securely thru
solid wood - sporting
towering, leaning, bulging, et cetera slew,
sans huge sized mounds,
this goodfella cockily rue
stirs memories while
almond joying sifting,
(comprising ream mains of outdated queue
vee cee paraphernalia, bank statements, old
fair maidens faded letters, phew
against unrequited lovely lasses
kissed by either gentile or Jew
us gal, during young manhood
confession stated, aye did accrue
now (said besmirched Casanova
wannabe across floor I did strew
said, no longer promising princess,
whose once tenderly fresh rose buds
exuded profusely courtesy ingénue
argh..., how frivolous to argue
with cowardly former self, hence
into the maw of das spouse (Sibyl)
she more than enthusiastically
masticates regarding unblossomed
(romantic opportunity) yours truly blew,
when flickr ring spark flame snuffed out
before profound love chanced to hint
of compatibility, ah... nary a blues clue
maybe best not to fantasize
going down nostalgia avenue,
but cast attention upon motley crew,
no matter I traversed
boulevard of broken dreams
(but oh this...pray lemme tell you
more on this cool spring green day)
ornamented with boughs of churrigueresque
mother nature's divinely wrought
sensational beauty procreative forces construe,
yanking fanciful thoughts back to feeding
pulpy material pages of me child's worldview
scribbled squiggly blurred lines
no doubt gifted artistic prodigies shew
did evince talent this papa doth truly value,
yet an excess of near identical curlique
leaves little breathing room, plus report
cards shows innovative smarts,
frequent affirmations this dada paid due
tee, which gushing praise
my girls never taxed for, yet both knew
this aging baby boomer father decries
being swamped with exorbitant clutter
hence effort now made to save whar grew,
some artistic embellishment and/or
intellectual award, the majority hesitantly fed
into jaw of thee missus the human flew
where hard copy quickly incinerated inducing
me to sneeze atchew!
This Dissembling Man...
Trod thru three
score orbitz with air
tight (hermetically sealed)
lid on his emotions bare
reft of evincing
concern and/or care
ring forever guarded against
incursions upon fragile as chinaware
psyche foregoing giving
healthy breathing room
never to dare
risk challenging discomfort zones
skirting, hemming, and hawing
deliberately averting, shying,
sidestepping away against
welcoming awkward adolescent
romantic experience, thus
never playfully trying to ensnare
and/or allowing, enabling,
and providing gamesome
opportunities providing willingness
tubby triangulated ascending
ark hay yick teenagehood,
when deux dozen, foursquare,
nor eighteen candlebox birthdays,
nonetheless hungrily glare
ring with salivating
envy peers that hare
tuff hoar did gather
their rose buds...despite,
or perhaps because raging
testosterone overtook coy
demure lassie tude surrendering,
whence young womanly
primal urges let machismo insnare
whereat discovering prickly
"beau" vine love on par
with being a millionaire
despite tiffs that,
tested one's mettle quickly
learning the vital lesson
to turn/beat cutting
edge sword into plowshare
setting the figurative stage,
when feathering one's
nest to prepare
for legal covenant,
(a death do me part
binding resolution) endeavoring
to sustain a lifelong
commitment however difficult and rare.
Blue Monarch Faerie had been vacationing in the Bahamas
So relaxed and pliable now, quite unlike her double mama’s.
Just wait ‘til you get back, one said over her scratchy I-phone.
They are hovering near your mushroom, some not alone.
She was bombarded upon wakening the very next day.
They had come from field, meadow, woods, quite far away.
There was a smooth-talking snail who wanted all of her time.
He spoke in riddles, jokes, short stories, and gave her a rhyme.
Surrounded by her favorite flowers of lilies, and cone flowers too.
She decided all of this attention should be okay as admirers grew.
There were two curious squirrels and a caustic cawing blue jay.
She saw a miniature raccoon stealthily sneaking her way.
A sassy salamander and red tree frog were chirping her name.
She asked them all for some space, but they became a tight frame.
Come on! She told them. I have to have some breathing room okay?
This was her first day back from vacation. Her very first day!
Midst anger fester the fox's concerns
infecting every breathing room
with pique and plaint in brilliance painted
ensconced in virtue, truth untainted
Whilst swirls the mud, a sewer's worth
from which a sample oozes forth
to tempt the toadies of our times
who lip and tongue their fonts of rhyme
Unity's preached midst raw dissension
clarity abuts miscomprehension
Dexter John, baby calf was tuckered, he had been playing all day.
He laid down in the Kansas grass, brown enough to be harsh hay.
His fifteen-year-old human cousins picked him up without a peep.
Placed him in a green wheelbarrow, comfortable enough to sleep.
His mother was comfortable resting her teats for a little while
The sun came out and filled the sky for a delightful country mile.
Dexter John snoozed loudly, his dreams of barley, oats and hay.
He was being weaned from his mother, and this truly was the way.
Bull Daddy came across his wife, with no calf youngster by her side.
Where is Dexter John? He snorted, for Dexter was his loin-filled pride.
He’s in the barn, taking a snooze, giving me a little breathing room.
When he gets ready for some milk, he’ll be back out, probably quite soon.
The teenage boys heard Dexter John bellowing for his tasty mother.
They gave him pats and set him on his feet and he ran to join his brother.
Why did they put you in the green thing? His twin asked, was it a dare?
It was not so bad, Dexter John replied. I napped. It was kind of fun in there.
I’m wild and I’m free, I look down and what do I see…
Ghostly bubbles rising from the bottom
of a once clear mountain pool
now devoid of life and vegetation.
I dive to double check and see if I could drink…
Rotting garbage float on the surface,
decaying flesh and grayish matters
of silvery darts that used to play on these waters.
Off I fly, I say goodbye, tears are in my eyes…
Billows of charcoal fumes puff off from afar,
out of ebony chimneys of murky factories
blackening the clouds, dirtying the skies.
I can’t breathe, I suffocate, over the desert I retreat…
Vast expanse of silent dunes offers no breathing room
for cannons boom and jets rain down their gifts of death
on a hapless desert country, civilization’s early cradle.
Off I go again, off I escape over some faraway glade…
Once primeval forests now just blackened patches,
empty landscape where tree-tops used to shoot up
to play with the wind and mate with the sun.
My bones are aching, I’m tired of flying…
But there are no trees to perch on, no air to breathe,
nor cool water to quench my thirst.
Is there an end to this madness,
what have they done to my world?
Breathing Room
I feel the strong embracing lift
buoyant and warm around me
calming the waves of hope and fear
joyous within each empty day
inviting me to join the flow
to put my humming mind away
confusion drops a pebble in
the whole mess starts swirling down
scorecard figures dancing up
again and again the name I give it
fails to find the ink to shape it
there is one I call upon
with volumes numbered one to nine
She holds a frozen knife of air
the narrow crimson falls away
a circle of light begins to fade
on my knees I put my finger
over the small remaining dot
#13: Close One, & Cigars
To the accords of The Book of Life ... cheers,
loose ends of the created stoic string
crisscross a heedless sea of empty tears.
In the facade of guilt, all seems trifling.
Metallica Horizons all are round,
languages changing from their Mother Tongues,
World Clock, reassemble to Zero down.
New tastes, new sounds ... The Song of Flower Drums
from Southerners, not quite, the cowboy type.
Bowls bleed of beets, ... have fun chow from Macao.
Americans, ... where? ... flagless world, all hype ...
Russians, Chinese, there ... steak, Mindanao.
Ex-lives work as one, building their Starships,
human chain meant Starman ... breathing room trips.
I see the smile on your face,
But the truth's in your eyes.
That smile and your laugh
Are only covering up lies.
You're only playing a part,
So the truth you can hide.
But I looked into your eyes;
I see inside you've died.
A single mother with no help;
For you, life has been cruel,
Relentless with its torment,
And making you look like a fool.
You could never get a break
Or even a little breathing room.
Life just wore you down,
Making you your own tomb.
You found a way to provide,
But I see the price you paid.
If you could still feel emotions,
You know you'd feel betrayed.
You're so empty I hear the echo
From the fake laugh you give.
It breaks my heart to see this,
The way that you have to live.
Every day there're problems
You overcome and subdue.
Your kids right there watching
Completely amazed by you.
To those kids you're a hero
In their eyes you'll always be.
You battled life and the devil
And came out with a victory.