Best Chlorinated Poems
I was a happy little water droplet
Playing in a cloud
Until lightning struck
And thunder clapped loud
Stopping all my mirth
Dropping me to earth
Joining many others
Of my sisters and brothers
Bobbing wild and rampant
In a surging torrent
Towards a dam
Causing quite a jam
In a pipe so black
With no way back
Chlorinated pure
Like I’ve never been before
Jailed in a tray
With cells all the way
Frozen in a cube until used
Dropped into whisky
Making me quite frisky
To the sound of “Cheers”
I disappeared
Down a gullet to a stomach
Mushed to and fro
Told to go
To a loo full of poo
Down a sewer full of mice
That really was not nice
Finally to the sea
Where I was free
To have some fun
Floating in the sun.
Feeling emancipated
Zap!. Evaporated
Into a happy little water droplet
Playing in a cloud
Hoping not to hear the thunder clapping loud.
Categories:
chlorinated, nature, happy, water, happy,
Form:
Light Verse
How quickly things can change ...
I withdrew my hand slowly from the water
(the aqua-blue tiled bottom of the chlorinated pool
stark contrast to the black and yellow body of the bee)
slowly enough that the bug wouldn't slip back into danger ...
It struck me as quite odd ... quite contrary
here I was, a leisurely, relaxing, body-and-mind-soothing swim
yet in my hand, an intensely dire struggle of life-and-death ...
is such essence any less a miracle than my own?
I swam to the edge and placed the bee in the sun to dry
making sure it didn't end up back in the water ...
we are constantly surrounded by such mortal battles
yet our own issues have taught us to often look the other way ...
Life is life, is it NOT?
Categories:
chlorinated, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
If someone handed you a box with everything in it that you had ever lost
what is the first thing you would look for?
Holiest of things that I could never recapture
like the feel of dad's hand in mine
on a warm summer day when all the world was
time ...
A most sacred memory wrapped in tissue
settled deep inside a box safely locked
Underneath my bed a tarnished locket
that wasn't even mine...
The child within me, the one that got away
nineteen and gone too soon
A monsoon rain that September remembers
soaked and filled with longing,
The face of youth
my brother's Marco Polo voice
inside a chlorinated pool
just before he died
Categories:
chlorinated, analogy, brother,
Form:
Free verse
It's not the cup but the coffee within.
Arabica beans, fair trade
organic and shade grown
often from a woman's cooperative in Peru
then roasted in small batches
by a local roaster.
I like mine dark
but my wife likes medium
so we alternate
or sometime mix the two.
The beans ground
medium-course
with a burr grinder
are placed in our
pre-warmed press pot
just before we brew,
and covered with
our non-chlorinated well water
which has been brought
just to the boil
then left for 45 seconds.
A pause, three minutes is best
but sometimes we can't wait,
before the plunger is pressed
and our morning elixir poured
into our waiting cups.
And by the way,
mine was thrown
by a local potter
many years ago.
Sometimes we worry
that climate change
may ruin the source
of our morning addiction,
but we do our best
to tread lightly.
Inspired by Anne Lise's ode "Without Worries"
Categories:
chlorinated, drink,
Form:
Free verse
There are few things so inspirational
As my morning caffeine and constitutional
Pushing chlorinated water or pavement behind
Puts a golden charge straight into my mind
That talk to text feature is my salvation
To throw down verse while in motion
Write it down, oh yes I’d better
Before it gets eaten by the Forgetter
Yet every day, to my frustration
Responsibilities loom, to block expression
See, it turns out my family likes to live indoors
And not eat crumbs of old food off the floor
So it’s a race through the shower, off to work
Without a moment to hesitate or shirk
Work in temporary order, brief reprieve
Put more verse on paper before it leaves
If only the pager would give it a rest
I’d have the time to throw down my best
But I won’t be retiring for a decade or three
So this is how inspiration works for me
3/25/16
Categories:
chlorinated, life, poetry, time, work,
Form:
Couplet
Ignore my friend, ignore
work, work, work, hard,
40 hours to the corp,
20 hours to the family
and 40 to the drugs
you house is so nice
your car is better
40 to the corp
ignore the abuse,
slave labor in another country....
the blood, sweat, and tears....
You didnt do it, its the CEO
who makes those decisions.
Lobbyists supporting the war
wow, the profits, bonus for all..
Evil, abuse, pollution, war.
Make that check and run home.
20 to the family
Oh my beautiful children,
that hate me, but at least their fed well.
They dont value me, such stupid children
I work so hard for them,
My wife who doesnt like sex,
does that mean she doesnt love me?
I like it when we pretend,
we actually get along then,
please pretend some more,
that we love each other, please.
40 to the drugs
Television, Sports, video games, high fructose corn syrup,
chlorinated, flouridated water tastes so nice.
Caffiene, sugar, alcohol, nicotine
I still can't cope, anybody got some dope?
Damnit where is that rope?
The pharmacy can cure your pain,
and if not we can shock your brain.
This is my culture. I am sad for it, but am addicted to it.
Categories:
chlorinated, confusion, happiness, introspection, life,
Form:
Far away by the oceanside I sit and watch the seagulls fly
inside a pale orange sun that has yet to warm a reposing sand
Over by the boardwalk the air still hums of yesterday's feet
two youngsters feeding pelicans perched on feathered height
The smell of fried shrimp coming out of a windowless kitchen
tall glass pina colada bottles with little umbrellas inserted in
down by the ocean the burgundy traces of a latent sun arrives
as we sip slowly, and eat quietly, atop the hotel peer
Its as if it happened yesterday but I can still smell the French fries
wrapped in plaid red and white paper drenched in crisping oils
Pungent odors of chlorinated water from the pool now all gone
replaced by freshly shampooed hair, and lingering sun tan lotion
Wearing a linen white dress and my recently purchased mala beads
I feel more Zen in my pinky today then I felt in a lifetime my friend
far away by that ocean it was the perfect vacation without any fear
when I stop to think of it I hope to return there some time next year.
Categories:
chlorinated, appreciation, vacation,
Form:
Free verse
euphoric in chlorinated water
a splash
grandma has arrived
small ducks
chatter
and cling
battle for hugs
7/29/2018
Categories:
chlorinated, grandmother, grandson,
Form:
Free verse
It came this day
As I journeyed south
That I happened upon
An old man
Filling water bottles
From a small pond
Fed from water
That gushed from rocks
Half way up
A mountain
It must be special, I said
If you’re going to lug this lot
Down this mountains hide
With a sly grin
And a nod to God
He handed me a bottle
Motioning to drink
This water
From the mountains side
Now I know
Water shouldn’t have a taste
Sept that chlorinated crap
From the towns taps
But as I took a generous gulp
From the old man’s generosity
Something
Flooded my body
Re-hydrating my soul
And got rid
Those concerning moles
Aches
That plagued my bones
Doubts
That fogged my mind
Lifted
Like the morning
Sun rise
The dread
I felt
When looking up this mountain side
Evaporated
Into youthful excitement
To get a head on
Up its side
To the misty peaks
Above
The old man was smiling
He could see
The amazement
In my eyes
And my grin
That grew to a smile
Its then
That I noticed
The Illusion
Of the old man
And his smile
He was all
But old
With youthful
Muscle on bone
Hair that was blond
I could of sworn
Was grey
Not a moment before
No stoop
Nor limp
Or audible complaint
To movement
This illusionary
Old man
Was fitter
Then a wild
Mountain goat
I reluctantly returned
The bottle
Taking my own
From my pack
Draining the contents
Away from these magical rocks
I knelt
As if praying
To the mountain
And its gift
Of water
That filled my bottle
I heard the old man behind me
You’ll find
What you seek
Beyond those
Yonder peaks
In the misty mountains
Further down
Your journey
I looked around
To reply
As to how he knew
What I seek
But he was disappearing
Into the fog
That was rolling up
From the valley
Beneath
And my question
Hung
Somewhere
Between
Throat
And
Spoke
Categories:
chlorinated, for him,
Form:
Free verse
They say drowning is a peaceful death once you commit to it. Anticipating your next breath, knowing that you will be breathing in water is probably an unnatural feeling. Having your leg chained to the bottom of a pool and having it filled slowly seems a little cruel, but that's what we do with monsters, right? We cleanse their lungs with thousands of gallons of wet regret. It's not like they don't deserve it. After all, they're monsters. They have done unspeakable, evil things. They have stolen innocence and laid waste to hope. They have destroyed lives and ruined our youth. As the water slowly fills the pool and the monster pleads for his miserable life, take solace in knowing that chlorinated justice will be silencing him soon. I mean, this is what we do with monsters, right?
Categories:
chlorinated, evil,
Form:
Blank verse
stripped bare
i stood quivering
breathing the air
sweaty and staggering
rectangular sanctum
in front of me
offer the purity that autumn
lacked so desperately
wading through
this mass anew
i question my own motives
for leaving you
frustrated now
i rise to the ground
unfamiliar affections are overrated
the pool is chlorinated
Categories:
chlorinated, lost love
Form:
Free verse
dive in deep from cool cement
chlorinated water above my head
breath held deep with easy glide
swimming with you side by side
under stars and crescent moon
eyes shut tight against the burn
surface break in the still night
as you disappear from my heart's lie
Categories:
chlorinated, introspection
Form:
Free verse
I dove into the deep end, headfirst, quite a splash,
Not of the pool, you see, but grief's enormous gash.
It’s Olympic-sized, this sorrow, chlorinated blue,
And I’m the sole competitor, with nothing else to do.
The butterfly of heartache, a relentless, flailing thing,
Propels me through the sadness, making my wet soul sing.
Or rather, weep, a muffled, gurgling sound,
As salty tears mix freely, where grief is always found.
The freestyle of frustration, a frantic, splashing spree,
I’m kicking at the memories, that constantly haunt me.
I’m doing laps of “Why?” and “What if?” and “Oh dear,”
While treading water, burdened by a monumental fear.
The breaststroke of bereavement, a slow and heavy crawl,
Each stroke a painful reminder, of how much I’ve let fall.
I’m gasping for composure, with every sodden breath,
And fighting off the undertow, of existential death.
The synchronized despair, I’ve mastered all alone,
A graceful, watery ballet, on a grief-encrusted stone.
I’m twirling with the "should haves," and pirouetting with the "coulds,"
Performing for an audience, of silent, weeping woods.
The diving board of darkness, I’ve launched from, time and time,
A perfect ten for plummeting, in this emotional climb.
I’m executing somersaults, of self-deprecating wit,
While landing on my belly, in a pool of dripping grit.
So, if you see me floating, with a faraway, wet stare,
Don’t throw a life preserver, or attempt to lend a care.
Just toss a rubber ducky, or a tiny, plastic boat,
And let me drown in sorrow, with a humorous, soggy note.
Categories:
chlorinated, art, death, depression, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
swimming in a lake
among bullfrogs and catfish
natural hot springs
in patches of cold water
a water snake shimmies past
swimming in pool
heavily chlorinated
reddening my eyes
I long for a cool pond
my own private lake in woods
Categories:
chlorinated, self,
Form:
Tanka
And this your gift/ For our bounty…
“Wake up to reality,
nothing goes as planned in this accursed world”— Madara
Is it religious for a prayer mat to welcome a man
who is saturated with his own chlorinated tears?
There are many ways to strip a body
and carve it, a door, for anything but sweetness.
My eyes have eaten too much bitterness,
it can no longer filter hollow from hope.
I said to my wife that on the resurrection sunday
we would slow dance with turkey swimming in our throats,
with our children wielding their forks over the last sausage
as their smiles chew the sun, with God burning love
until it finds its way into our nostrils. Tsk tsk tsk,
doesn’t reality rewrite our dreams with an aim of capitalizing
horror? There were days my wife’s phobia for knives
had us dice onions with our own teeth.
But today, fear dies at her feet as she dislodges
a matchet from her dissection kit.
I sourly chuckle at reality’s way of arranging metaphors;
how my sinless wife morphed into a killer, beats me;
how my son, cut for dinner, is another metaphor
that leaves my jaw on fine dust.
The kitchen smells like a hunter soaked
in a litter of his prey’s blood.
God won’t let death visit twice, so we feed on him tonight,
she whispers.
Was there an option?
I dare to reply; for we either let hunger pipe out our lives
or turn our children’s body to grilled turkey.
Hunger is madness, and my spouse plays the victim.
I peep into the soul of a woman reshaped by fate; the curves
my hands once fondled like a trophy
are now bones bonded by an economized skin.
Reality says,
you would first eat your humanity before god sends a lamb…
Categories:
chlorinated, anger, change, conflict, confusion,
Form:
Free verse