Best Phlegm Poems
Ahem this phlegm
In snotty body
Needs and pleads
A hotty-toddy.
Think a drink
Or pill will
Fight my plight
Kill this ill?
I might ply
With some rum
Debauch with scotch
Numb the glum.
Until that swill
Outs this bout
My poor sore
Snout will spout.
On my way to work this morning,
Sandwiched between two perverts,
I opened my eyes to look beyond the sky;
Someday, I will be out of this bus!
Standing in an overloaded BRT is quite a challenge,
Different flavors of armpit odor diffused through the air;
From the rotten tomato to the concentrated ammonia and decomposing rat flavor,
Certainly someday, I will be out of this bus!
My wallet gives me hope..yes I’m saving...
Someday, I shall ride my own car,
And enjoy the warmth of its air-conditioned aura.
I shall cruise this whole city with joy in my heart,
Silently acknowledging passengers in the BRT.
As we approached the unfriendly atmosphere of Oyingbo market,
Polluted by chili pepper powder;
Passengers sneezed and coughed as they inhaled the air;
Simultaneously arguing about opening or closing the windows.
Everyone seemed confused;
I was more bothered about the phlegm from the old man that had dropped on my cheek!
Amidst all these, I still tried to wear a smile,
Yes, my fat wallet gives me hope.
I shall begin my driving classes in the coming year;
Certainly someday, I will be out of this bus!
Alas, we got to the bus stop.
Everyone pushed, squeezed, trampled upon, and cursed one another.
Everyone wanted to alight at the same time...
I waited in the now spacious vehicle of receding putridity;
Receding passengers I mean...
So I could alight in peace when the rush was over.
I checked to see that my dress wasn't too rumpled,
Lo and behold! My handbag was wide open.
?With trembling fingers, I delved into it...
Wallet had disappeared!!!
What is your philosophy of phlegm?
His ideas were a tiny bit dim
They fell from him like leaves off a stem
He stated them with vigorous vim
His sage answers lingered on the brim
One of them was a terrific little gem
None were answered on a whim
However, they were serious only to him
At times He shouts to clear his throat, AHEM!
We are the phlegm.
Puffs of dandelion dust,
ignoring life, allowing hearts to rust.
Each day we rush upon ourselves,
shelving more decisions,
piercings and incisions,
in the side of eyelids, nose, and tongue.
unknowing victims, of
what we know not from.
beaming like returning martyrs,
blown to Kingdom Come.
matter splattered, gut ache or remorse;
no age is better for it; no age worse.
it’s what we choose to look at now;
it is our Holy Cow.
maybe sin is in the looking,
maybe in the not,
eyes averted;
disaster flirted with,
Mr./ Mrs. Smith,
composite couple;
doubling our efforts
to keep up, win the cup;
get the bowl;
satisfy a never-filling hole.
Our procedure is to marry;
double-feature of our troubled futures;
sutures for the wounds inflicted
in a psyche so conflicted;
we sit for hours and hours
hours and hours, paying folks
to analyze the guiltiness of flowers.
We simply grow, didn’t you know;
afraid of what we have created.
Frankensteins,
so overrated, - tall,
but not so unrelated after all.
Phlegm slithers down the sink
its slow descent towards the stink
Hands of mucus and hair reach
out like Hell's hellions to ensnare
the whimpering shade, pathetic
adorned with bloodied fists, raised
beating their faces in rhythms anthemic
A mirror is their sole spectator
A reflection is an unreliable narrator
that sees a God that punishes fear,
the pen that writes infinite narratives
Pain, the transformative element
is the absence of language
Its primeval elegance