Long Emphysema Poems
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Finding Presence
Night sky beckoning dawn
Gentle sensations
Early morning walks
Empty avenues
Central Park breezes
Village cobblestone streets
Wet with glistening reflections
Accompany the seeker’s every move
Citified whispers
Discordant choruses
The street cleaner
The sliding steel-front security doors
Excited canines straining leashes
Open casements echoing emphysema-regrets
Merging with the early morning smells and start-up images
City’s reality mix awakening
Conscious-walking shakes loose somnolence
Opening eyes to the gargoyles atop historic landmarks
Their stoic residence mirrored in all-glass surroundings
Urban growth towering over huddling addicts of all types
Weary of sleepless nights
Enjoined by occasional pouting mannequins
Dressing light-starved windows
Poised to portray tourist-trap knockoffs
Rayon for silk
Fantasy for verity
Predatory “going out of business” choices ubiquitous
Shut down shops—beaten
Barely open shops—clinging
Wanderers drifting listlessly
Rising early by guilty conscience
Some prodding their welfare bodies to move
Others fearing unfaithful one-nighters become known
Old widows lean from their tenement windowsills
Having endured another sleepless night of heat
Too poor to leave the city
Too proud to ask of children
Soon
Sunrise bathes the grayness with color
Subway entrances congest
Yellow cabs begin cacophonous warm-ups
Like an orchestra of out-of-tune instruments
Their blasts are met with the inescapable “Taxi!” “Taxi!”
Deli workers spread cream cheese
Warm Bear Claws
Brew bad coffee
Wish their customers “have a good one”
Keeping secure their jobs
For another day
Returning home
Five flight walk up
One’s feet beg relief from the morning roam
A pull on the carton of OJ
A flip-on of the two-burner
The water to boil
A drop into the drug-from-the-dumpster-couch
Chock-Full-Of-Nuts in waiting
Want ads front and center
A few deep breaths
Just another day
Surviving the city
I Love You
Smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
Nick O’Teen is having fun
Clogging, blackening the lung
Don’t you know that it aint smart
To let that fiend into your heart
There won’t be any looking back
After fatal heart attack
And when the girl that you adore
Says she’ll kiss your lips no more
She’s looking for a smoke free zone
Leaves you standing all alone
When you're just a year from death
Pleading, begging your next breath
Even though you've never seen her
Meet your new friend Emphysema
So smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
You'll never have a friend so true
When every drag says, I love you
This mixed message was brought to you by
The Devil Himself Hua hua hua hua
The coal pits of yester-year in Wales..........
"Good morning Mrs Williams",
Good morning Mr Grey.
I see David's growing real fast,
Yes! He's starting work today.
Well you are twelve years old now son,
And you're working on the face.
Just listen to what the others say,
For the pit's a deadly place.
You'll need to see the foreman,
Mr Morgan is his name.
His eldest lad died down the pit,
What an awful bloody shame.
We need to get your Davey lamp,
Your hobnails and your pick.
Hey Dad, my hands are sweating now,
And I'm feeling real sick.
Don't worry Son, I'm at your side,
You'll soon be feeling well.
I could never let you come to harm,
Coz' your Mam would give me hell.
Just step into the lift now boy,
Close your eyes and breathe in slow.
To the blackness never seen up top,
Then the Davey's welcome glow.
The stench of urine, sick and sweat,
As the lift comes to a stop.
The eeriness of years gone by,
Made me wish I'd stayed up top.
After many years of mining,
With my lungs beyond repair.
The dust has left its horrid mark,
From that dark satanic air.
Yes! The pit it payed us wages,
Though a piece we had to pay.
Emphysema and needless deaths,
As my life slowly ebbs away...........
© TheScarletBard - all rights reserved
Sometimes in the swollen,
trembling nights of summer,
I crawl from my bed like a shadow fleeing its own skin,
into the black so dense it clogs the lungs -
the suffocating emphysema of the world -
and I watch.
I watch the fireflies.
I wish—
oh, how I wish—
I could be one of them.
A creature born only to glow, alone,
in the darkness.
A spark that dies and rises,
and dies again,
without asking for permission,
or needing the world to notice,
or ever competing with the stars.
I watch the way they sparkle in spite of everything,
fragile, obstinate,
refusing to be crushed by the endless black emptiness
that surrounds them.
Their bodies pulse in short, desperate spasms,
tiny combustions of insistence,
and I, too, know that urgent gasp of light.
My own ribs, a prison of bone and sinew,
caging a heart that batters itself.
And yet, like all beauty,
their glow is transient.
It vanishes when the sun -
brighter,
more powerful -
returns.
They are imprisoned by their own limited, fragile forms,
their wings too small to carry them far,
by bodies that can not be more than what they are.
No pleading, no flailing, no fury will allow them to ascend beyond themselves.
And in this, they are human,
and I am human,
and the sky is infinite and indifferent.
No one sees them.
The world is asleep,
deaf to the whisper of their persistance,
their delicate screams into a tunnel that nothing more than echoes back.
I see them. I love them.
I catch them in jars,
trying to preserve eternity in glass,
hoping, somehow, they might feel
they illuminate the stength of which they give.
But even there,
confined by glass and my own obsession,
their effort, their fragile insistence,
is lonely in a universe that does not notice,
can not notice,
and will never notice.
And yet,
we gleam,
we glow.
We falter,
we hurt.
We sacrifice ourselves to the darkness,
knowing our brilliance is brief,
our bodies will crumble,
and our hearts will one day cease.
Each pulse, each gasp,
doomed to stillness,
to silence,
to nothing.
All that shines must fade.
All that resists must fail.
Even the most exquisite moments
are only defiance against inevitability.
Even love,
even joy,
even the purest glimmer of our fleeting selves
must bow to the infinite, merciless dark.
Throw Them Away
By David J Walker
How often I saw him
Sitting,
Smoking
Drinking coffee
Early in the morning
Thinking
Worrying
Perhaps praying?
I cannot say
He would extract an
unfiltered Camel from a
half empty pack ,
the second left over from
each yesterday
Pinched between his lips
He would strike a match
the way he had done it
since he was 10
The sulfur and thin paper
And dried tobacco
Each with its own
distinct aroma
Fill the air with an innocent
Poison
A sophisticated flare
Of maturity
Mixed with percolating
black coffee
I wondered why
He rose so early
Every day
Just to sit in the dark
At the kitchen table
The glow of his lit
Cigarette
The only light
Commanding the complete quiet
Unnatural to house with kids
The “Late in life”
Would come too soon
At the invitation of emphysema
Among the things gathered
To give back to the family
Was a half pack of
Unsmoked cigarettes
Throw them away
I said
Written By Carolyn Devonshire
Posted 04/08/2021
Prayers for my brother are greatly appreciated now. Thank you for all
your kind thoughts and emails...
Hearing the words "touch and go,"
I sink into a quagmire of despair
Slipping and sliding on tears of fear
In a swamp of memories
I've but one brother, one sister
Artie's Covid battle unleashed ills
Pandora's Box opened to pneumonia
COPD and emphysema
Now the reaper knocks upon his door
I pray he does not answer
Separated by a thousand miles
I long to see his smile again
To hear his laugh just one more time
I'd follow hope's long road anywhere
Wrap him in the comfort of prayer
Use my shield of love to protect him
His chances tenuous at best
Anxiety chases dreams away
Lord, let me embrace him once more
Before You carry him home
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2021
This poem was written by a beautiful lady, Carolyn Devonshire. A
sister, a gifted poet of radiant talent was herself carried home not
long after this tear filled plea of healing for her brother. Her love
was so apparent for others, and the beauty of nature. Why did
she not reach out through poetry for prayer for her own healing?
A selfless, precious giving soul, she obviously put others above her
own needs. There are so many poems that attest to this. Rest in
peace sweet Carolyn, heaven must be so beautiful. I hope you are
sitting in the garden of sunflowers bloomed anew in paradise, and
composing beautiful lyrics of joy for the angels to sing.
i think
i may
have
written this
once before
in a different
form and i'm
sure titled
impromptu
but i can
visit it in
memory
as if it's
happening
again and
again for
forever
when i
want to
remind
me of a
time in
my life
in JFK
waiting
for a de
parture
looking
in a heat
ing grate
a still lit
cigarette
had been
thrown in
then came
in a new
arrival the
oldest of
survival's
live a life
time even
after an a
bomb yes
lets hear
it for your
friend and
mine that
adaptable
instinctual
moves like
rapid stop
motion an
imation so
makes your
skin crawl
cockroach
yes ladies
and gentle
men he or
she made
it's appear
ance stage
right and
left with that
still smoking
gun to smoke
after making
love with its
look just alike
loved one but
exponentially
spreading some
new genes for
after the next
war but taking
a toll firstly on
the first one
that took the
first puff for
it did not
read
SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING:
Smoking Causes Lung Cancer,
Heart Disease, Emphysema, and
May Complicate Pregnancy.
Form:
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
When the wolf applied nicely
If he could come in,
The pigs replied thricely he shouldn't.
Then they scratched at the hairs
On their chinny chin chins,
And tightly bolted the door so he wouldn't.
But wolves, when out shopping,
Are not easily put off,
Even faced with the risks they are takin'.
This one ignored the wheezing,
And the nagging, rasping cough,
In his lust for ham, pork chops, and bacon.
First, he blew down the straw house,
Then the one made of sticks,
But by the third he was straining and grasping.
It was a veritable fortress
Of well-mortared bricks,
And emphysema left him panting and gasping.
With one last mournful howl,
The wolf knew he was done
And lay down in the driveway, embarrassed.
The pigs regained their composure
And called 911,
But when the cops came, the wolf claimed he was harassed.
The argument raged
For an hour or more
'til the cops gave them all a citation.
Still gasping for breath
As he slunk from the door,
The wolf was stopped by a squealed invitation.
"Wolfie, oh, Wolfie, please won't you come in?
We'd so like to have you for lunch."
And he would have gone on and ignored the appeal,
If he only knew that "ragout de loup" (pr. rah-goo duh loo)
Was the entrée, but he had no hunch,
And he was not one to pass up a free meal.
When a wolf's sick and hungry,
He might let down his guard
And do dumb things a wolf shouldn't ought to.
But for pigs, it's expedient
To get the final ingredient
Required for a tasty "wolf stew".
The wolf's huffing and puffing
Couldn't even come close
To the pigs' stratagems and devices.
After seven martinis,
It still hadn't dawned on the dope
That intelligence wasn't one of his vices.
If he'd had more brains than brawn,
This poor wolf might have known
That the pigs never meant to surrender.
They'd no more need to fear or hate him,
They knew the booze would marinate him,
So when they served him up and ate him,
He'd be quite succulent and tender.
If this tale has a moral, I'd like to propose
That "three heads are better than one" be selected.
In this case, not the one who worked the hardest,
But the ones who worked the smartest,
And as the little piggies guessed,
The wolf was the perfect luncheon guest.
Of course, their table manners weren't the best,
So they still made pigs of themselves, as expected.