Phlegm Poems | Examples

clouds of hell

The Cloud of Hell
It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
When a stygian cloud came from the east, the Lord of Wars
spat phlegm, spraying us with horror

Inside this monstrosity, body parts, headless, were
Flying by the noise was unearthly, and my little dog
sheltered under my coat, I bought in Hamburg.

When the cloud had passed, I saw a landscape
Devastated as Ypres in the Great War when then
 as now millions of people have died for nothing.

My dog was limp and had stopped breathing. I blew
Life back into it and in the terrible noise of the sky
We heard nothing, not even the stillness.

The master of wars was visiting us the peace
We had enjoyed it for too long; it was time for
Bloodletting, the revenge of the sand dwellers

Jade Stone's :::Confidence:::

She laughs, she cries, then she sighs
brimming with confidence,
the pain within she denies
Her heart thumps then skips a beat,
as she reads poetry, a taste of bittersweet
In quiets empty moments, a hole 
remains deeply in the soul,
an abyss, an unmeasured chasm
It’s the space  p~o~e~t~r~y  fills
Her personal dead poet society
stirring her deepest passions
awakens her dormant desire
her quest not for fame or fortune
but for the elusive treasure of inner piece
Her confidence misconstrues itself for vanity perhaps

sureness
positiveness
conviction
certitude
reliability
assuredness
assurance
validity
conclusiveness
authoritativeness
truth
factualness
self-possession
nerve
poise
aplomb
presence of mind
phlegm
level-headedness
cool-headedness
firmness
courage
boldness
mettle
fortitude
belief in oneself
faith in oneself ...
                           …                
                              …
...are all just more vanities?
free-spirited or lost soul?
do both make one another?
the vanity of human wishes?

work in progress…

Spew

Riding along a tongue full of bees
biding my time until I can free them.
Sliding inside they're stinging my skin,
inciting all of this pent up phlegm. 

You took too lightly my hard restraint
blew a smoky swarm into my face. 
Spew, I have the wildfire to rise up.
Debut, watch me dominate this space.

Why am I still here

Sitting on my couch TV on
Nothing on, don’t even care
 I take a drink of water
I am now grasping for air

Run to my wife hands to my throat
Fear in my eyes, what do I do
She sits me down, calls 911
Quick as a flash I’m in ICU

Pneumonia is what they say I had
The water pushed phlegm to my lungs
My throat got blocked
The results were bad

The room across the hall
His light turns blue
Nurses and Drs run to his side
Damn, this could have been you

The scene goes quiet, not even a sound
The Drs and nurses standing around
Once again I am faced with the question 
Why does GOD keep me around

THE OPERA OF LONELINESS

. The opera of loneliness 

 by B. joycee rani
‘’the weeping eyes has started to sterile ‘’,
‘’the yellow skin with red stains ,bruises began to bleed’’.
‘’the monster of evil has me to eat’’.
‘’my mind began to rot ‘’,
My heart and locked-mouth has something to tell a lot’’.
My phobia of death has now gone,
When loneliness carries me on.
I forgot my diet and appetite,
Even vomited blood with phlegm.
But, why to worry about it ?
When I have loneliness with me.
The old father hits me with a leather belt imprinted ,
When I don’t do chores and study when he needed.
The old mother mocks and taunts me down,
When I neglect to do with my numbed-stricken ,
Wounded hands around.
I fall for it, accidently;
But, loneliness never betrayed me .
It is as lovely as an infant;
And caring as mother cow.
I will never leave it ,
Till my heart stops now and still’’.

Register Call

A skeletal smirk at the school door -
the greeter-teacher; 50 years later,
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back,
that leer is now plugged with dirt,
yet it can still be traced in the brown water stains
of mottled toilet walls.

A female slave-unit named ‘Miss,’
She never did speak directly to a kid,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator,
a third level teacher who lubricated nerve endings.

I am ‘put right’ by a serial wrongdoer
with a goose steeping gait,
his guppy mouth is a blubbery hellhole.
Next, 
a second-tier maniac with a penchant for angry rhetoric,
his large hands flay like windsails as they
slap books and heads.

A last Piscean reflection,
a teach sporting a fish-head grin
as he opens a school exit door for me
while I gladly leave forever.

They would all hate to be in a poem like this
so tightly packed together
like oily sardines choking on the phlegm 
of what they could have aspired to,
could have been.

Portuguese Man o' War

Sunrise and already the water 
is being seared with a glow 
as if under a grill. 
You can feel the heat building
in the morning air, the sand 
still warm from yesterday.

The tide has left the creature
stranded on the beach,
its frilled sail glistening 
and rigged with blue tentacles
clumped menacingly beside
its motionless body.

The sun will soon cook it
to a dried out bladder.
This drifting marvel of murder
is now no more than sea phlegm 
coughed up on the crest 
of a wave. It looks so pitiful.

And yet it still 
has the power to inflict 
a painful sting. Venom
waits for one last desperate
chance to snare some poor
careless prey.

My fingers seem possessed 
with a will to pick it up 
to see how it feels without 
being stung. I hover somewhere
between head and hand, 
stranded by indecision.




Footnote 
This is one of a series of poems 
that have the shoreline as the 
backdrop for the exploration
of meaning in things washed up
on the beach or in the experience 
of being in the moment.
Paul

the cloud of abyss

The Cloud of Abyss

It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
when the stygian clouds from the east came
the lord of war had spat phlegm, spraying us with horror
Inside this monstrosity, body parts, the headless were
flying by, the noise was unearthly, and my little dog sought
shelter under my coat I had bought in Hamburg 
When the clouds had passed, I saw a landscape
 devastated as Ypres in the great war, where millions had died for nothing
My dog was limp and had stopped breathing, I blew her, back to life 
and it the terrible thunder of the sky
we heard nothing, not even the stillness

The master of war visited us, the peace we enjoyed had lasted too long, it was time
for bloodletting the revenge of Sandwellers

Flip-Top Accsess

The top flips easily back
flip-top access to a phlegm-filled hack
blackened teeth and rancid breath
the smoker’s path to a breathless death.

Where the Grass Don't Grow

Where the Grass Don't Grow

The historical record bared to see
In worn-torn pages, undecipherable.
And I’m to believe that this sum total
Will explain everything you say to me.

Mixed with phlegm spewed from the esophagus,
Spitting in my face like a rhinoceros,
That means nothing more than that goat in the field,
Whose skull is thicker than the ape’s you entail.

Beat your gums and wave your arms frequent
And act the fool on steroids to impress the simple;
Regurgitating words and acting stupid,
Like an awoken irritant that won’t exit.

Where the grass doesn’t grow, but the “you know” will.
And the rooster struts, and the hens cluck,
And the dogs bark, and the pigs are smart,
And the sun shines on my behind, in kind.

In Our Image

Let us make man in Our Image
and God responded, then we must
make him strong and healthy, respectful
and kind, blind to color that is not
of the fields and sky, let not his
own varied pigments, be a mote in
his own multi dimensional eye -- 
not a jealousy of another need make
him sigh...love enough to keep him
high -- let us give him a mind to reason,
God said, mindful of all seasons
of glorious changes, textures and
temps – garments or lack of can be
his warmth and vents – make his
mind only pleasing – not a blossom
should cause his sneezing, nor dust
should phlegm and disgust – let us
give him Free Will, and God said,
Hmm...

Catnip Scratch and Lick

You end up

Enjoying and loving it so much

You are willing to

Scratch away 

And lick at it

Like Catnip 

Chocking you on furr ball's

Stuck permanently in your throat

Like the worst kind of chest infected phlegm

You will never forget always remember 

Like people of old who used to smoke coughed

The way one day you may yourself

End up as well

If you don't heed the warning signs

Everywhere

Wanderer's Journey

All of us are on a journey and the answers are unspoken" 

                                            Quote by _Constance La France 

 

 As long as he could remember he wanted to travel the world. As a kid, he dreamed of visiting faraway lands. Now his eyes are sunken in and many lines thin and deep live on his oval-shaped face. As he goes from place to place and pillar to post, faint tracks are left on the gravel dirt road. He could feel strong winds at the bottom of his feet as cool air brushed up against them. 

 This journey called life has taken him to places that he never thought it would. He barely has enough food in his bucket and the only clothes are the ones on his back. Hacking from the phlegm in his lungs he still calls himself blessed because his chest still rises and falls. Underneath the bridge may not be much to some, but he’s content living in his little tent. Although tomorrow is uncertain, he will journey on, even though where the path leads is unclear.
 

 * Quote 3
 05/15/2023
Contest: A Quotes
Sponsor: Constance La France

Grumpy Numpty

A grumpy numpty spat on his phone,
Deleting wanton feeds alone,
All the retweets, and all the phlegm there,
But the bullied feeling was still there.

Tweets

I, too, dislike poems.
I’ve tried runes (and rampikes)
but that’s affected
rather than merely effete.
So I call them
figments.
When people query
What do you write?
at a barbecue or birthday party
I say soliloquies,

fractals,
fragments.
Self-similarities,
singularities,
sculptures (scriptures), geometric shapes and series,
three dimensional triangles, spheres
and differential equations,
fractured fairy tales,
Rocky and Bullwinkle,
rectal impactions.

On the other hand,
bits, bots, bytes
remnants, scrap, earth
gobs of phlegm in grains of sand,
shards of glass in a slice of hell,
hunks and clumps, curds and whey, sleet and pain, slap in the face
sub-atomic particles, cell organelles,
chunks of energy, cookie crumbs,
rusty trucks stuck in mud, dustings for ghosts,
just plain dumb luck, rocks, concrete, but not tweets.

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