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I have inhaled, exhaled everything.

quote by Arnold Schwarzenegger
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor

Part One

When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.

Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '

Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.

After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.

In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.

He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.

Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.

PART TWO

For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?

He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Edwards
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Julie and You and Christ

Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you

one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding

a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke

and said
pushing smoke
into the world

do you think Christ
ever came?
of course

you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world

is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply

and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don't like that dress

it's too darn middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress

in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?

you asked
she'd wear it
but I wouldn't

be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on

squeezing your hand
reminding you

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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The Watch At Midnight

Dead stars, beneath the midnight's granite cope
and round your dungeon-gulf that blindly grope
and fall not, since no lower than any place
needs when the wing is dash'd and foil'd the face:
is this your shadow on the watcher's thought
imposed, or rather hath his anguish taught
the dumb and suffering dark to send you out,
reptile, the doubles of his lurking doubt,
in coasts of night that well might be supposed
the exiled hall of chaos late-deposed,
to haunt across this hour's desuetude,
immense, that whelms in monumental mood
the broad waste of his spirit, stonily
strewn with the wreck of his eternity?

The plumes of night, unfurl'd
and eyed with fire, are whirl'd
slowly above this watch, funereal:
the vast is wide, and yet
no way lies open; set
no bar, but the flat deep rises, a placid wall.
Some throne thou think'st to win
or pride of thy far kin;
this incomplete and dusty hour to achieve:
know that the hour is one,
eternally begun,
eternally deferr'd, thy grasp a Danaid sieve.
O weary realm, O height
the which exhausted flight
familiar finds, home of its prompting ill!
here, there, or there, or there,
even the same despair;
rest in thy place, O fool, the heart eludes thee still.
Rest — and a new abyss
suddenly yawns, of this
the moment sole, and yet the counterpart:
and thou must house it, thou,
within thy fleshy Now,
thyself the abyss that shrinks, the unbounded hermit-heart:
the mightier heart untold
whose paining depths enfold
all loneliness, all height, all vision'd shores;
and the abyss uncrown'd,
blank failure thro' each bound
from the consummate point thy broken hope implores.

The trees that thro' the tuneful morn had made
bride-dusk for beams that pierce the melting shade,
or thro' the opulent afternoon had stood
lordly, absorb'd in hieratic mood, —

[...] Read more

poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Love in sale

I just wanted to go in
Deep and to be inhaled
But you thought
I am the air full of poison

When I wanted to exchange
The feel of fragrance
And the taste of smell
You thought
I am the flower, stale

I inhaled deep the whole bottle
Full of that poison air
Tasted the flavour of rejection
Exchanged the smell with that of cliff stones
Suddenly I see princes and merchants
Surround your flower in the seller market
Though I need that to offer to the alter of goddess
But for her still I can not purchase it
As She made me the real poor of the street

poem by Abdul Wahab
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One By One

One by one we bite the dust.
We leave the wanting.
We leave the lust.

Bigger than life we thought we were.
We just forgot
that we are not.

We breathed the air and drank it in,
inhaled the pure,
inhaled the sin.

One by one we say goodbye.
We leave the craving.
We leave the sigh.

Surely where we go from here
will take us home,
will stop the roam.

One by one we stop the breath.
We find the peace.
We welcome death.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Smoke The Sky

Smoke my hoochie
You say that Im the devil
Reali-thc
Marco polo hailed it heaven
Socrates inhaled it too
Mr. president tell the truth
Youre the great exaggerators
Since 1932
Telling evils of the reefer
But all thru time weve
Smoked the sky, smoke the sky
Home grown version
Compliments the senses
Opens up the mind
Jfk sold us freedom
Or was it just a business toke
63 went up in smoke
He was the great seducer
Crawling from our tvs
Breathed into our future
And before he died he
Smoked the sky, smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky
Bc hailed it heaven
I inhaled it too
Reali-thc
When its time well
Smoke the sky
Smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky
When its time well smoke the
When its time well toke the sky
When its time well smoke the sky

song performed by Motley Crue
Added by Lucian Velea
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Natura naturans

Beside me, in the car, she sat,
She spake not, no, nor looked to me
From her to me, from me to her,
What passed so subtly, stealthily?
As rose to rose that by it blows
Its interchanged aroma flings;
Or wake to sound of one sweet note
The virtues of disparted strings.

Beside me, nought but this! but this,
That influent as within me dwelt
Her life, mine too within her breast,
Her brain, her every limb she felt
We sat; while o’er and in us, more
And more, a power unknown prevailed,
Inhaling, and inhaled, and still
’Twas one, inhaling or inhaled.

Beside me, nought but this; and passed;
I passed; and know not to this day
If gold or jet her girlish hair,
If black, or brown, or lucid-grey
Her eye’s young glance: the fickle chance
That joined us, yet may join again;
But I no face again could greet
As her’s, whose life was in me then.

As unsuspecting mere a maid
As, fresh in maidhood’s bloomiest bloom,
In casual second-class did e’er
By casual youth her seat assume;
Or vestal, say, of saintliest clay,
For once by balmiest airs betrayed
Unto emotions too, too sweet
To be unlingeringly gainsaid:

Unowning then, confusing soon
With dreamier dreams that o’er the glass
Of shyly ripening woman-sense
Reflected, scarce reflected, pass,
A wife may-be, a mother she
In Hymen’s shrine recals not now,
She first in hour, ah, not profane,
With me to Hymen learnt to bow.

Ah no! Yet owned we, fused in one,
The Power which e’en in stones and earths
By blind elections felt, in forms
Organic breeds to myriad births;
By lichen small on granite wall

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Judy and You and Chagall

What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat

outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time

I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you

her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters

she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you

you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you

in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass

I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said

you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how

her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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Shared Cigarette

O’Brien held the cigarette tight
Between forefinger and thumb
He placed it between lips and
Inhaled. Danny Davis wanted
A drag too and Eddie Sutcliffe
Stood like a young pup waiting
For his chew on the bone. They
Watched the end of the cigarette
Flare up in the early winter cold
Eddie rubbed his hands together
In anticipation. You kept an eye
Out for school prefects or any
Odd teacher who might happen
To venture forth into the school
Playground. I liberated this from
My dad’s packet, O’Brien said
Taking the cigarette from his lips
And passing it over to Davis who
Took a quick drag then gave it to
Sutcliffe who held it like a girl
Having her first kiss. No one was
Coming, so you had a quick drag
After Eddie had left drips of dribble
And inhaled the smoke. O’Brien
Made a comment about some
Girl he’d had or so he said the
Night before. Davis guffawed
Loudly, but Sutcliffe stood there
Opened mouthed while you
Half smiled and wondered if it
Was true about the girl’s arse
Or just some smutty joke

poem by Terry Collett
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Morning Message From Love

woke up in a tired body
after an endless night it did precede
exhausted by all homework and books
all the subjects, all the materials I took
nothing was left, but me
laying and so much in weary
i tried to sit on bedside hardly
though it could be done effortlessly
dark was this room indeed
here there was none but me
alone, but there were two friends
the cellphone and the nightstand
still half conscious i sighed
a deep breath inhaled i
from the window a flicker of light
and was inhaled by my eyes
the cellphone alarmed noisily
that a message was sent to me
i opened the inbox and see
what this day would bring to me
i looked and smiled at the screen
the message was displayed in
i stood opening the window
letting the sunshine flowed
a new day came to see me
why wouldn't i greet it warmly?
sun was there, love was there
with all they had to share
with me..

poem by Kite Remedy
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Poor Girl

Air that she inhaled
Stabbed her heart
Ice blood running through her veins

She closed her eyes
And exhale
But her souls was empty
When the clock announced noon...
She looked at the mirror
And saw an orange jacket
Sitting on a bed of an angel

Who is he?

The tears that she had in her eyes blinded its face
A lonely heart celebrated with pains
And her tears couldn't fulfill her dreams
And her words flew with the wind

And the air that she inhaled
Stabbed her heart
Ice blood running through her veins again.

poem by Sandy Germain
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Green

Under constant barrage
of your texted
accusations
I stood my ground
as the Laotian waitress
with the big breasts
and the cute smile
inquired about your
whereabouts

“She still number one? ”

She enquired
and smiled

I Inhaled
and exhaled

“Still The One! ”

She smiled even wider

I didn’t

Back then
it just wasn’t
funny

poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Moth And Eagle...

i follow the scent
of old dogs and stray cats,
for they already know.
i walk the fine thread
of the spider's web,
awed by awareness.
i hear the howl of the moon,
speak the language of the wind.
i understand that stars care not for names.
i sleep inside the sleepless palm
of darkness becoming light.
who am i? i shout, 'nobody'...
overcome with relief!
one moment cup, the next moment water,
formless taking forms....
filling the need, both inhaled and exhaled,
as much a moth as an eagle!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tao (Social Activism)

the Tao of social activism,
found in the newborn baby's cry.
in the hands that plow the earth,
that build, shape, and mold.
in the colors of the prism,
dividing light stream by stream.
in the raw and beating heart,
and the red blood pulsing.
in the day that follows darkness
without thought or plan.
in the breath inhaled and exhaled,
in the hand that fits in mine!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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In Pursuit

The cheetah checked the sudden sound,
His neck streamlined and sleek,
His eyes surveying all around,
His hunting skills unique...
His claws now arched, each step was soft,
He gently sniffed for scent,
If unsuccessful, others scoffed
At time unwisely spent...

The cheetah chose the likely path
To stalk the prey ahead,
With chances better than a half
That he would soon be fed.
His next meal moved not far away,
Oblivious, at ease...
Yet this would be its final day,
From then on, rest in peace...

The cheetah cheered when all went well,
A textbook hunt in truth...
Not bad, he thought, then slept a spell,
In hiding, quite aloof.
He simply, slowly, inhaled breath
And exhaled just the same...
Without a thought of life or death...
No conscience, guilt or shame...

Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2010.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'In Pursuit'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot.com

poem by Denis Martindale
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Personalized Garbage

What better day is it than today,
To trash and put out on the curb...
All disturbing nonsense.
Every single bit of it.
Without a need to start an argument.

Like a chore over time that has been ignored,
Sack all that crap stored...
To get rid of it.
And set it out to stay away permanently....
From your front door.

And if it should be passed as you leave,
To get some fresh air inhaled and exhaled to breathe...
Don't acknowledge you are familiar with it.
If you do recognize this as personalized garbage,
Again it will be yours to reluctantly admit.

What better day is it than today,
To trash and put out on the curb...
All disturbing nonsense.
Every single bit of it.
Without a need to start an argument.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Soul Stirring Morning

Gingerly stepping out nicely wrapped, inhaled
Shivering watched the hot vapours as I exhaled,
Swallowed by the icy breeze that tingled my face,
Carrying with it the invigorating heady fragrance,

Of dainty whitish pink cherry blossoms
My gaze rests on daffodils and tulips—awesome:
One pale yellow and the other inviting attention,
With its vibrant colours, coming out of hibernation.

The Dal Lake is enveloped in fog and solitude.
Villagers, in Pherens are picking logs with fortitude.
The Sun is smiling taking in the whole scene,
Birds are having a sunbath perched atop the trees.

Hill tops some dark and some lit up with sunshine
Silent witness to the morning coming out alive.
It’s kind of slushy, as my feet sink in the melting snow
I raise a toast to spring, and watch winter make a graceful bow.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Family Of Seven

I have heard “The mirror tells not a lie, ’
I assuming myself the gorgeous one
Abased in front of the looking-glass.
I was one but the reflections were seven
I was baffled either one was in seven or seven were in one,
The images were mix: male and female,
They all bore my bearings but deformed and mortified
And bore the signs of identity on the chests.

A reflection had razor-sharp teeth, the front ones quite naked,
Black dishevelled hair it had, and fingers with long nails,
And mouth with dots of blood and bore a sign of identity,
“Miss. Ferocity.”

Another image stood along with severity upon the face,
The eyes were reddish-brown and the forehead screwed up,
Upon the head it had a burnished crown,
Not of gold but of iron or steel,
The image bore the symbol of individuality, “Mr. Pride.”

An image resembling me bore the impressions slack,
Yawned time and again with the sleepy eyes,
Restless she was as if being delayed to go to bed,
She did not seem to have interest except in comforts,
The badge on her chest named her, “Miss Lethargy.”

An over-fattened bulky stout figure
Stood, pressing others with her weight,
She inhaled her breath snorting through the nostrils,
And looked with avaricious eyes around herself,
As if she looked for a feast to be nourished,
Time and again she swabbed her dry lips with the tongue,
The contents of her identity showed, she was “Miss. Gluttony.”

A covetous being stood along with a crown of gold,
Her costume was costly well embroidered
With the thread golden and silvery,
Her pockets were loose but filled with the coins,
She had along a handbag overflowing weighty
As if spilling over with costly stones,
She bore the mark exhibiting her name, “Miss Greed.”

A slim smart, sable in colour stood along, a creature,
She scowled when the other stood beside her,
Black flies hummed around her head,
As gloomy thoughts surround the murky minds.
She was a bag of bones, she breathed out a blaze
When she exhaled as if furnace burnt in her chest,
She seemed to have no pleasure since she was born,
And did not taste a worthwhile feeling except scorn,

[...] Read more

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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But She Knew

But I know
she said

that you love me
and you were sitting

by the pond
you with that cheap fishing rod

which caught nothing
and she sitting there

her hands over her knees
gazing at the still surface

even if you don’t
say it often

she added
laying her chin

on her knees
her green skirt

just above her knees
and you caught

a glimpse of her thighs
where the skirt rose up

I do you love
you said

holding the rod
between hands

it’s just I don’t see the need
to keep on saying it

you added
stretching your eyes

to go as far
as they could

to get a better look
and she said

why do you come here
to fish when you catch

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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Julie and You in Trafalgar Square

Julie sat on one
of the fountain walls
in Trafalgar Square
and lit a cigarette

she looked about her
as if she were onto
something harder
as if she had some one

looking at her
from some secret place
you gazed at her
unused to seeing her

not in her hospital
dressing gown
and slippered feet
her hair had been brushed neat

and makeup applied
and she said
I was picked up here
some months back

by some guy
who wanted sex
he thought
I was a pro

and the things
he asked for
god that was the worse
and with that

she paused
and stared at the Square
at the people
and the pigeons

and she inhaled deep
and then exhaled
blowing the smoke
out of the corner

of her mouth
like you'd seen done
in the movies
what did you say

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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