Best Cough Up Poems
Marmoset directs traffic better than monkeys or sloths.
He stands in the highway and walks his feet off.
We have hired other species. but they do not hold a candle.
To Marmoset who can do it at every single damned angle.
He is demanding a raise, sixteen more meals a week.
For he has plenty of mouths to feed, and his offspring squeak.
It behooves us to give them to him, and I will tell you why.
If he trains all his children, we have a replacement if he doth die.
The way he stands in the middle of the highway each day.
Is the absolute craziest mess, and I doubt that marmosets pray.
So let's cough up those extra meals, while he is still alive
Before he demands a ridiculous amount like thirty or forty five.
Villanelle: The only game solution to the human condition
The only game solution to the human condition
“Don’t nobody move a muscle” and hold your breath
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
In a billion years men will pass babies with their motion
And suffragettes will be the toothless kind with bad breath
The only game solution to the human condition
Our girls will all live up to receive the Nobel unction
While our boys will all learn to shoot crap in stealth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Lao Tse said “Reduce the size of the State and the population”
Border guards made him cough up The Way in lieu of wealth
The only game solution to the human condition
Time somebody put an end to this unfair competition
Girls have only from fourteen to barren fortieth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Naked ****-stars roam Holy Woods far cry from titillation
Chain-saw massacres take us beyond deep-freeze death
The only game solution to the human condition
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
It started when I was a child
I was a kid with a gift
That no one understood or recognized
Instead of loved I was picked on and ostracized
However I blocked it all out
But little by Little its all coming back
Like layers of an onion
That held me tightly wrapped
Bits and pieces of my memory
That were hidden away in code
Deep within my mind a door was closed
I?ve reached in to remember because my life is now in jeopardy
All the emotional and sexual abuse that I closed off to survive
Has been staring at me sabotaging my life
This life is not what I have dreamed and I am dying inside
And if I don?t face the truth of what was done to me
Then I will surely become the monster that I despise
And as the tears bellow up
I again take another breath
Like soot in a fireplace and a hair ball in a cat
I cough up the toxic memories
As images flash through my mind
With my face in the toilet I begin to cry
My body begins to stiffen as nausea rises to the top
I then begin to wail from deep in my chest
It?s a hideous cry that sends chills down my spine
As I grit my teeth and hang on for dear life
A thought runs through my mind why.. why.. why.. why.
I?m tired of the black outs
I?m tired of the fear
I?m tired of the loneliness that have held me prisoner here
I?m tired of the pain and suffering that has come in my parents name
I?m tired of all the trauma and I?m tired of all the drama
I?m tired of the neglect that?s been perpetrated on my soul
Keep your hands off of me, keep your beliefs away from me
From all the mental abuse and all the negative remarks
And you still don?t see how you?ve damaged my sensitive heart
I?m tired of hearing all the denial
I?m tired of hearing how there is nothing wrong with you
I?m tired of you blaming everyone else but you
I?m tired of hearing how you hate this and you hate that
I?ve tried for years to heal this wound
But it seems to have spread to my nephew too
I don?t know what else to do
I even ruined my only serious relationship to get revenge
In my mind I justified their crime
From all the bad advice and all the dysfunctional decisions
And I thought I was reversing everything
When I vowed never to get married and have kids
But that sabotaging act has done me more damage
They are like night and day
Always there,
Even when not seen, I know they’ll be here
Treat me like a brother, oh how much they care
How many are they?
Who do stick around when we try and fail?
To help us through the day
Looking beyond the veil
And not shun us, to betray or turn their back in the face of dismay
What can I say? God bless and a million thanks!
I feel like I owe them a hundred favors
But they say that they owe me a hundred favors instead
Often when the rainy days come
To them I run as I would to nine one, one.
When I have nothing but problems and empty pockets
Unlike some, they don’t cough up
Nor act like there are crocodiles in their pockets
Again I say thanks, but even more kind is the reply I get
“It’s nothing but a mere drop in the bucket”
For real, my heart gets filled with joy
Coz honestly it was more than just a mere drop
My great homey told me
Real friends don’t count favors
But even if I tried I’d fail, I couldn’t keep count
Which doesn’t mean I forgot
Though they did for me and forgot about it
Expecting no rewards, no refunds
Simply expressing brotherly love
A reason valid enough for me to value our friendship beyond any price
So we roll together, don’t be surprised
We get along like we’re from the same tribe,
Sharing the same blood, creatures of the same God
With or without, we don’t judge
Like a tennis ball against the wall;
In two ways we let the love bounce
I know one who stood for me to take a punch
Exceedingly grateful for every bit of love
Because little is much and much is just little multiplied
Never feel like you haven’t done enough
Because to me every little bit counts
Limericks crochetés: Once a Policewoman put on road duty
Once a policewoman put on road duty
Ate heart out thinking of rival beauty
So she pinned a ticket
On rival’s car bonnet:
“Take this: your engine’s old and filthy!”
Said rival to the policewoman:
“Under the hood I may be common
Yet in shiny carcass
Ride many a jackass
Who pay(s) your fines in diamond!”
“True enough!” said she who was jealous:
“No wonder your sinus pipes leak pus
When key’s in ignition –
Fumes cough up munition.”
“Think! What/Who jitterbugs in my octopus!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.
I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.
Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.
Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.
Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.
This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.
Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
No Recommendation
Unreadable ideograms
Beaten thin leaf to tenuous holds
Of failing parchments
Brittle in their folds of tears
Remember, they struggle for survival
In clasps ever present
Reverberate continual back down
The long lost corridors
Searching for the regurgitation of their meaning
Black and white memories
Of some sickness
Which threw off kilter
Every next days other day of life
The heat of its brand, a whimper
Kicked on late stirrings against a pillow sleeping
Fizzog fierce of demons forming
From an ugly defining rampage torturous
No recommendation
Other than a scar to pit against its will
Other than the pain burns continual
Of insubstantial rape
Its shame to twist and wring the neck
Till breathing burdened
Utters not
Its last and inconsequential gasp
Released
The lump constricted full of throat
Strives to cough up on agonies point
The vendetta it holds against the past
And its freedom overburdened by desire
Children, screaming into silence
With a wish of blooded nails
To scrub away the indelible marks
And eaten hours
Rips against the mirror inside a heart
Cold implacable bleeds
The warm vein of isolation
Designs its unreadable ideograms
There are no recommendations
I wake up to a deserted town
"Where are the people?"
I ask myself aloud.
"Gone." answers a voice.
But no one's here...
but me.
Broken glass litters the street,
a Kristallnacht in the making.
Houses, half gone and half standing,
specked the dirt road.
I lay, pinned to the ground by a monstrous wall...
I don't know if I'll be able to move...
but I must try.
"Hello! Anyone there?"
No reply.... just what I thought.
As distress fills my heart,
I use that anger and helpless feeling to my advantage
and somehow
I managed to lift the heavy burden off my chest.
But this was a small victory in what seemed to be WW II.
ALAS! I remember.
This is WW II....
and the US had just dropped something...
something unusual on my town...
I'm surprised I'm still alive.
The explosion was enough to kill all of my native land,
Japan.
But it only stopped 2 miles from the heart of my country,
Tokyo.
But no time for reminiscing.
I must find a way out of this...
hell.
A sharp pain in my chest heaves me to the ground,
I've seen this ground so many times, face to face.
Something starts to lunge itself out of my mouth.
When I look down, I notice
that it is my own blood.
I knew I must find a hospital, quick,
but which way was which?
Was East West? Was West South?
Was North behind me? Was South ahead?
I sulked in defeat as I trudged along a snake-like road...
a road to nowhere.
I grew weary, hungry, tired
but I knew I must walk on.
Every few minutes, I'll drop to my knees
and cough up my life support,
but I couldn't let that stop me.
The sun went down,
but I didn't.
The moon rose,
I kept walking.
The sun started his day-shift,
but I was at work all night,
counting steps and listening my heart beat.
Finally, I lost the will to live,
I wanted to die,
I waited to die...
But death didn't come.
I spit up blood every few seconds now.
Life leaving me with every breath.
I close my eyes, and draw in my last breath.
Muffled sounds reach my ears.....
I try to look but my vision's blurred.
Everything blacks out.
"I will not be defeated"
My vision is back.... I see people...
Everything blacks out.
"I will not be defeated"
I see their faces now, splattered with dirt and dust
Everything blacks out.
"I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!!!!!"
I CAN SEE!
"Are you with us?!"
A desperate cry reaches my ears.
And I reply,
"Yes. Yes I am."
Suppose we ran it by a friendly Martian
(I’d say “by Martial”, but he wouldn’t be gentle).
You crave Armani, Hugo Boss, Versacci and
that Hilfiger who’s naff, naff. Are you mental?
This myth of exclusivity’s juvenile
(I’d offer “Juvenal”, but you’d refuse).
They’re mass-produced, ubiquitous, stock-piled,
your Sarah Jessica Parkas, Jimmy Shoes.
The Martian, then. We wrap ourselves in rags
to ward off cold, conceal the family jewels,
but put a brand name on those skirts and bags,
you’ll cough up ten times more. “You bloody fools!”
Apartheid is an evil thing, agreed?
South Africa once practised it. You struck.
You staked out embassies, until the blacks were freed.
Embargoes, sanctions, boycotts – oh, such pluck!
But none of you’s besieging Tel Aviv.
Our Martian’s wondering what the difference is.
Ramallah’s raped without a by-your-leave,
but you’re at Burghley, knocking back bucks fizz.
Perhaps we can’t extinguish all life’s fires.
Perhaps compassion tires, and needs its pauses.
Or is there just a chance that it transpires,
there’s such a thing we’ll call “designer causes”?
The groans of ancient years still echo in my bones. It is a pain
That lodges in the weariness of Africa. Curled in her, the strain
Of old world history. Out of her given darkness triumph shines
The light of all cities, world clamoring, and out of her plundered mines
Glower the bright towers of world economy. We who lost are owed
Much here. My ancestors were used: mediums of exchange;
Stock for slave houses and ships; rich cargoes of commerce;
And cattle to the whip. Toiling night and day and no remorse
Nor recompense for labor, in humanity's disfavor. I am owed
Because all my life I have been on a journey, going nowhere
On my own. I did not this destination set; No man can reach
Another's goal, I am bound to ship 'gainst my will. My soul's leached
Of traditions: language and peace. I pine far from King's dream
So stereotyped, so American, I move in jungles of passion
My captors cannot read. I am overdiagnosed with tensions
Strange to my desire. I must be paid since I did not set here
This destiny I built them; like a moon I move and shine fair
Imprisoned in the power of the sun. My heart groans, and I
Cough up tides amids the white buds of cotton, breaking like a boil
Upon the day. Why? Those owed least get paid still from our toil.
Over worked imaginations of a fine tuned mind of several misunderstanding thoughts that were dreams that changes daily like the seasons. I can't explain it; Its an emotional dreamer with shared thoughts that is expressed through poetic forms. Sometimes its turned into tears that hit the paper, call it my poetry over flow.
Always wondered how far I could and will go, not wanting the limits to be the sky, maybe Pluto. Touching stars along the way and maybe some hearts of those who will listen. Showing me some type of love, I'm lacking.
Some dream of the sunrise and cannot see the beauty behind the sun. The moon is just waiting for its time to shine. Time is'nt forgotten or lost within the tide. nothing more to hide besides the washed up dreams that turn into beautiful nightmares, lost dreams that seems to be absorbed by the stars. And observed by on lookers; watchers that watch and wait for things taken. Their schemers of stolen dreams and its not their fault because of who they are. Perfection comes hard even for dreamers. Just keep moving like the water under the bridge leaving trails of thoughts, bubbles rising to the top.
Trapped in other visions. Vivid gifts transformed and misused. I often feel abused but from those who are chosen. Burnt offerings in a crystal ash tray, slow burning, thoughts going up in smoke choking images easily misunderstood but its clear. Choke on the truth, cough up what matters most not counting the lies. You know your wrong coming up with excuses its constant you're hurting inside. Coming to the people you know who shows the love "Im sorry", missing their true thoughts. What are you searching for?
No fear along side of mercy. Not concern with the things that could hurt me, Im just me man enough to take in my personal pain. Assuming my position of who Im going to be in this lifetime. Drying tears from my eyes. I love dreaming of my passionate beautiful nightmares.
old novel with the author you
cant quite remember.
we can worry about it later
just like in the old days.
now tealeaf stimuli is twice as light in the city.
the somewhat unfriendly cat in the
bookstore on the corner seems disinterested.
watching a woman on the sidewalk
holding a wet paper grocery bag,
her arms wrapped around the bottom.
the bag is falling apart and the clouds are rolling
backwards.
it will be dark soon.
we are falling apart and talking about heading
south into the high desert.
we pass the time by reading paperbacks that have
been soaked in mineral oil for days and
hardened under the sun.
Some call it scripture.
we feel holy and then a little less holy.
your heavy sweater purchased at
a thrift store, the faint smell of mothballs
still lingering on the thick threads.
the cat has taken an interest in
your side pocket pulling with its claws and mouth.
soon the rain will cough up the paperbacks as well,
everything will change.
Barcaldine, Tree of Knowledge
One hundred and seventy years ago,
The shearers had enough you know,
Of working for almost nothing, then,
Decided to form a Union, bend !
The master to cough up a quid or so?
We all got better dough:}
Daylight to dark the men did work,
Maybe Sunday off to go to church,
But all for the greed of Joe,
Called mister don’t ya know,
Class distinction it was worse,
The Tree of Knowledge, Ghost Gum its,
Tradition for the worker, it tis,
A beacon for the slow,
Equality on show,
Cos that’s just how it is?
Union bashing is their game,
Sparks from every tory flame,
Cos the unions made em pay,
Good wages we have today,
The hated union so-and-so ,
So when you hear a tory squeak,
about lower wages for the simple weak,
his greed is on to show,
cos we all bloody know,
that’s how old fat ass squeaks….Don
Will the Government Shut Down?
By Elton Camp
In March, the federal government may shut down?
Such a thing certainly has an extremely scary sound
So does that mean that chaos will reign in the street?
That the nation’s enemies nobody is around to defeat?
But from past government shutdowns it is readily seen
That words mean only what you choose them to mean
Of two million federal workers, about half would be out
The essential government agencies to work will be about
Uncle Sam will still cough up your Social Security check
The FBI and Border Patrol will operate so what the heck?
The food inspection, air traffic control, mail and Medicare
You can be sure all of these usual services will still be there
But to visitors, every one of the National Parks will close
Museum tours, veterans’ claims, passports, none of those
Any tax refund from the Internal Revenue will have to wait
But they’ll still take time to process payments, sure as fate
To most federal workers, the shutdown won’t be consequential
Except to the egos of those who find their jobs aren’t essential
So will the federal government shut down like it has before?
To have that happen, the president and congress both abhor
Sitting in the basement,
I giggle and look through the clouded window.
I know they'll be back in a matter of minutes.
Not wasting time, I look at what lays beyond the window.
My eyes widen, for I haven't been out of the basement in a while.
Since they told me someone wants me dead.
Dirty clothes and plates build up separates piles.
I see fall leaves, orange,yellow, and red.
But NO! They said.
Stay in your bed.
You've been mislead.
And you want you dead.
So hide from yourself!
They are back.
The voices overwhelm my head,
Leaving blood trickling from the nape of my neck.
My skin becomes itchy,
My tongue burning,
Pus oozes from my fingertips.
And I itch. Ignoring the pain I feel and bleeding scrape marks I'm making.
I hear my precious mother pounding on the precious door.
And smile sadly, through the agony, knowing that when she gets to me, I will be no more.
A warm substance streams slowly from my ears.
I begin to cough up my lungs and stomach.
My death is approaching. It is near.
My eyes develop tears.
Knowing that I've finally got me,
After all these years.
The voices.
Laughing in my head.
Saying, "Hey, you chose this instead. Instead of selling your soul, which off of it we would've fed.
Look at you! Happy ending!
YOU'RE DEAD. "
I cough up white and red and black.
My breathing going slack.
Such morbid colors that I've seen.
I collapse onto my back, my vision starts to lack,
And I look out the window and see the
Orange, Yellow Leaf.