Quotes about nausea, page 2
The Day I Died
The air was close, but it would not rain
The day I died.
And smog enshrouded Gotham town
The day I died..
I should have stayed in Oceanside
The day I died.
Instead of a hellish subway ride
The day I died.
It started with a stabbing pain
The day I died.
Then waves of nausea deep inside
The day I died.
I fell to earth, I could not breathe
The day I died.
Co workers rushing to my side
The day I died.
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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A Channel Passage
The damned ship lurched and slithered. Quiet and quick
My cold gorge rose; the long sea rolled; I knew
I must think hard of something, or be sick;
And could think hard of only one thing - you!
You, you alone could hold my fancy ever!
And with you memories come, sharp pain, and dole.
Now there's a choice - heartache or tortured liver!
A sea-sick body, or a you-sick soul!
Do I forget you? Retchings twist and tie me,
Old meat, good meals, brown gobbets, up I throw.
Do I remember? Acrid return and slimy,
The sobs and slobber of a last years woe.
And still the sick ship rolls. 'Tis hard, I tell ye,
To choose 'twixt love and nausea, heart and belly.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sort Of Compliance....
guess you must have noticed
that for the past few days this little world has been sick
nausea as they name it has attacked the
borders of creativity
but just the same the eyes have to wake up
as a matter of habit
and the hands continue to grapple with the keys
pressing the words
sometimes the words themselves ask if they are really necessary
for this morning's attempts
the mind does not explain
everything must go and each must have a function of this certain
compliance. As days go by, there must be at least a line or two
along the doorway
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Zen EDTA
My dream is
to chelate
the chrome-coated,
heavy lead machinery
that processes
and manufactures
my stock of mass-produced
thoughts
and the residue of their
components.
I want to wash their clawing ligands
from my rusting porphyrin rings,
And dissolve them in the disemboguing
trails that flood through my insight.
I want to watch them
crush, fold, and collapse
in the concertina
of bathetic synthesis,
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Dictators
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Your Attention Please
Alarmed were the people of that town.
Ambulance running here and there down.
'Boil Boil'was the slogan everywhere.
Bitterly affected by the water there.
Cryptospordium, escherichia coli, campylobacter!
Be vigilant about parasites'and bacteria's enter
Dwelling devils in sources of water.
Killing horror in bloody terror.
Unaware were the authorities.Themselves drank.
Stomachs kneaded by nausea and cramp
Pained.Painful more even in kids' camp.
Affected were the cattle and crops to rank.
Soberly patterned the way of that town
Strongly negligible the council of that town
Though happens at times better beware!
Cruelly contaminated that water be
Cautiously drinking must we be.
Dissecting those devils to vanish
Boil your water your lives to cherish.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Nausea
imagine yourself
facing the computer the whole day
eating lunch and supper
beside it
forgetting breakfast
escaping coffee breaks
disregarding calls
and not taking any bath
at all
imagine it is a sunday
and no one's home
because they all left you
because you
are weird
imagine at night when darkness
falls like a curtain
and you left the computer on
and you become dizzy
your head aches
and there is no one to call for
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Good morning america
Good morning America.
You already fucked this poem once
Don't do it again.
Good morning America
Your radio waves soothe me
but again I can't beat the bullshit out of bed
and last nights dreams face elimination.
The deejay's throat is silver lined phlegm
the moon is a lozenge stuck in the
sphincter
and he plays white zombie
for me
I phoned it in last night
and it was him
the same voice around the clock
around the dial.
The new 100.3 Xerox
Americas hits of the millennia
over and over again
add nausea.
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poem by Walter Burns
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Bigot
I hate most of all the damn bigots
The closed-minded fools
The idiots who have forgotten
How well they have it.
If there's something I've learned and should impart
It is - keep an open mind and heart
Because as soon as you close things down
Start ignoring other peoples reality
You become a fool.
I'm meeting them in their thirties and forties
And much more concerning, in their twenties
So pampered and conditioned and soft
That life seems like a boring, waking dream
A consumerist paradise
A subtle yet potent Hell.
I'm walking around knee deep
But not in my own mistakes
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poem by Gary Diamond
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This Mix Of Blended Nausea
Is everything done they do prefabricated?
Or is it just those things hidden,
Under secretive cover...
That are eventually discovered by others,
To then become exposed and revealed...
For the purpose to over-hype and frighten.
Especially those locked up in their 'boxes',
With teachings to rate their favorite escapades...
By physical appearances, hair texture and skin color.
'What do you refer to?
Extraterrestials?
Religious beliefs?
The price of gas and oil?
Economics?
Utlilities?
Jobs outsourced?
Exports and/or imports?
The cost of education...
Or employment creation?
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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