Wheezes Poems

Extinct Eden

The skyline wheezes through gauze-thick breath,
its lungs ossified in scaffolded sighs,
where children etch constellations on smog,
and pigeons strut in soot-stained pride.

Dark as coal, and quieter than sleep,
the city dreams in monochrome,
its rivers choked with yesterday’s sins,
its gardens traded for silicone.
Traffic flows like veins in a dying beast,
pumping noise into the marrow of stillness.

We built this Eden out of exhaust
and liturgy of engines.
We now beg for the Adam's apple
to drop back down.

Snippets of Spring vol 3

Meandering meadows broken by a tossing garbling brook…strewn..rocks hewn embossing...marbling and moss flossing

Awoken whispers spoken..cantankerous coughing eddy wheezes..then a curmudgeonly icy mirror hush

Reckoning breezes yield cats' paws beckoning…teases across the flanking field

Fairies’ wield spells conveyed in lush dappled glades of plush bluebell dells 

Stacked cumulus collage..shield montage cracked by dazzling azure shard mirage

Chubby clouds’ japes..conjuring cannily hung faces.. shapes...far flung places

Strife is rife..resurrection introspection survival..brings carnival of retrieval

New things...nothing can rival..primal primeval revival..Spring sings life!

A breathless house wheezes

Contest: Breathless
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written: 24/05/2025

Quote "To breathe is to live, and without breath, there is no life." — Lailah Gifty Akita

A breathless house wheezes

Winter looms with frost-laced breath,
this house shudders in anticipation-
Its narrow corridors wince at the thought.
These rooms have shrinking walls,
their windows wedged shut,
And doors refuse to stay open.
The air hangs heavy, like woodsmoke
curling through blocked flue pipes.
I do not breathe-
I sip air through a bent straw,
and when the wheeze arrives,
it’s like a violin strung too tight,
always threatening to snap.
Running was a rebellion, still is, 
playing football, was a war of attrition,
With head covered by a towel,
hovering over a steam bowl for hours.
Today, I carry an inhaler,
like a priest carries a bible-
not always believing,
but when breath becomes prayer,
I reach for it.

I Can't Make You Feel It, Whatever It Is

I could hand you the bottle,
tip it slow, let the cheap red river
burn down your throat—
but I can't make you feel it.

I could drop you in a dim-lit room,
where the fan wobbles and the radio wheezes
some dead man's blues—
but I can't make you hear it.

I could carve the hunger into your ribs,
make you watch the world walk by
with full pockets and easy hands—
but I can't make you taste it.

I could lay down the cards,
deal the losses, stack the nights
like empty beer cans—
but I can't make you know it.

Fireworks

With booms and wheezes
The fireflies it teases
With sizzles and cracks
We remember our anger of tax
With smoke and lights
We remember our rights

Children scream with fear and joy
This is greater than any toy
We hope with all this sound
Nothing will burn to the ground
With the sky ablaze
Even the stars glaze

With red and green
Filled with its mighty sheen
And orange and white
That makes my heart feel tight
And with blue and teal
Which reminds me of my zeal
And with purple and gold
My awe is sold
And all other colors, old and new
I will always see the red, white, and blue

Splendor Of Nature

The brook murmurs as it flows on the plateau, 
across the draping emerald forest spread out opulent,
splashes on the curved contours of the lowland  
as flicking cascade of the soaring swan flock in flight.

It meanders on the jagged swathe clad with ferns, 
sprinkles with exuberance the splatter of pearls. 
It glides with sigh through the drizzle of rain, 
warbles in musical whisper with the ripple of air. 

Flying over the crystal water that wheezes as it flows,  
the returning robins chirp the springtime song.
As in the boughs of trees the new leaves rustle,
beguiled butterflies flitter around the flowers.

The shimmering night sky above the silhouetted canopy,
wears bejwelled crown shining with the twinkle of stars,
silver tinsels trickle through the moonbeam film, 
in a trance I’m charmed by the splendor of nature.

Dreams In Plaid

He dreams in electric themes
draping around the armchairs
he wheezes  down time

Across feral fields his eyes skims
the scenery
His shadow silhouetted by the evening sun
aware of the amolaly
recalling a spectral  youth

Home of Three Diseases

A body housing three diseases
With three more as the visiting ones:
Enjoy he does just brief releases,
On some days obliged to laugh but once...

A rough fate acting as it pleases;
Each time he dumped his drugs worse than dunce
Cimetidine that Ulcer eases
Or else a body hit on each ounce
Inhaler against the longest wheezes;
No Ciproxin, Salmonella pounce...

Cowboying Along

It's been a long ride;
beneath me a phantom horse wheezes
its lungs blown.
I chose a slow death
not some youthful suicide.

Illness and a life
misused
took its pound of flesh,
the surgeons knives
were never far from my body.

If I had a Stetson
I would tip it to a fair lady
and ride slowly on,
but I have just this keyboard,
and it does not play
long symphonies any more,
just brief words
that pluck a few
faltering heart-strings.

The sheriff of despair
has chased me
all along this long trail,
so far I am ahead
and so is my horse,
just.

Nothing Like Diabetes

Nothing like Diabetes!
Roger has been quite at ease:
A Devoted Yam Planter,
Who stops to drink Sweet Fanta,
To Raw Energy increase
And Fine Harvest not decrease…

Fairy Tale Diabetes! 
Roger’s breaths not in wheezes. 
He had, too, been on Quanta;
A Sure Double Strength Granter; 
You won’t Helping Hands tell “Please!”
How would it get in: Disease?

Roger too is a Rice Planter,
Who work suspends for Granta:
A drink for Clearest Vision, 
Against all Mind Division
That would breed Plain Confusion;
Male Child gives after Fusion 
Low Sperm Count Quick Revision… 

Fanta has results produced, 
Granta more intake induced; 
Nothing like Diabetes! 
A Paul, too, has been at ease!

The Wild Wind of Antiquity

The wind is come to sojourn once more
Delivering tidings from far away, yonder.
It expires its breath and wheezes veracity.

Eyes may not see but ears are alarmed
As the wind calls out its blustery voice
And those who listen will know it well.

The legend told is one of timeworn myth
But nought can change, save for illusions,
And he who walked before us also follows.

The wind is come to visit this day
To test our faith and inquest our soul
For the wind that comes to call, this day, knows all.

                                           Alan S Jeeves

Janitor Ghost

When the owls are out of town
his studded boots kick-up featherless hoots.
He is the creak and groan of tired wood,
The splutter of an old aircon
yet more;
all inexplicable noises belong to him.
He crawls through crawl spaces to prop up places.
A chunky phantom who tinkers with gurgling drains.
He's the one who unplugs the unpluggable,
then trips the fuse box at night while you pee.
I hear him stumble bent between rafters,
imagine his bum crack mooning cobwebs and shadows.
He wheezes through long unheeded chores.
A maintenance ghost
grumbling as he bends over a beer belly,
that unseen plumber who rattles shaky pipes,
working hard on his night shift,
He's a clatter in the crapper,
patching up leaks between colliding worlds,
nudging our sleep as we cover ears
in our fretful dreams.

The Phone Number of Death

The phone number of death we dial,
When we near a poisoned phial
To rashly swallow its content,
And actualize a suicidal intent:
Our breathing soon in wheezes,
What the cemetery richly pleases,
A gripping of our tummies in feeble resistance
Every offered revival, vain assistance
Others to start rehearsing their goodbye
To us on a wished hearse lie

And the same phone number we try,
As we enrage folks that skin fry
Before advancing cops of pity dry
And into claims of being surrounded not pry
To pick their life sentence with smiles wry…

Now that I’ve said so I shan’t cry.

Soft, Gentle

soft, gentle breezes

    replace air-conditioner's
  
      wheezes ~ paradise

I Leave

I've always been honest with you,
So just listen to me:
The blood no longer boils in the veins,
And your chatter bothers me.

If I leave, don't run after me,
You don't need to curse.
Yes, I know you were once mine,
But love dies in quiet wheezes.

Everything is constantly changing around us,
But we always remain the same.
My soul is no longer captivated by you,
And there was more ice between us.

You feel that something has changed,
And I can't argue with you.
Just calm down, please,
You've lost the thread of my reasoning.

We have become like strangers,
So what do we ask each other for?
Forget my blue eyes,
Forget about everything, don't you dare make me angry!

If I leave, you won't forgive me right away,
And you'll be holding a grudge for a very long time,
But you can't love on someone's orders,
And I can't be reshaped any other way.

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