Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
the fog
is home
to me.

I close my eyes,
I am still standing in Santiago Chile.
business people are
rushing back from the lunch break.
the outside restaurants
teaming with customers.
I look up,
the Andes Mountains are head of me
a weak pink fog veils them.
my mom turns to me,
‘honey, that’s pollution’
I’m glad we have the real fog
back home

I close my eyes,
I’m flying back from Atlanta Georgia.
my fellow San Franciscans and I
waiting to see our home, I almost tear up.
our water had gone out that Atlanta summer
and I remember there wasn’t a day under 105 there.
the fog looks so tasty
like I would be fully
refreshed and rehydrated
after only one bite.

I close my eyes,
I’m living in Boston for five weeks.
a storm passes by now and again.
the east coasters complain that
the fog is ruining their city’s
sunny reputation.
the southerners complain
that summer isn’t actually there.
I just smile and smoke,
I love watching the smoke drift into the fog
mingle, then disappear.

I close my eyes
I am standing in Rome
my family- taking cover in a store overhang
there was heavy rains and over cast
, but no fog ever descended for a meet and greet
on that day.

I close my eyes ,
I am looking at the tall slender buildings in Vietnam
along side the main highway of ** Chi-Man city
it is overcast- the storm last night brought down
a tree, crushing a poor shop with a sheet metal roof.
the overcast hangs, and I am feeling
a little nostalgia for home

I open my eyes,
I am back in the sunset district.
I’m laying on my reservoir,
looking out at the Pacific Ocean.
the wind blows inland
whatever weather on the westward horizon
blows in in a couple of hours
the fog sits at the horizon gathering itself up
for it’s long strut to the beach
and I wave to my old friend
it’s good to be home.
Written for D.A. Powell
SomethingRascal Jun 2014
Hunny, you are the honey,
atop my fulfilling parfait.
Oh how you exemplify all the wonderful parts,
of this warm, wet, middle-Earth day.

Just as the yogurt,
your skin so soft and smooth,
and like the banana underneath,
you know how i move.

Vibrant darkness within bursting pomegranate,
full of lovely sensual flavors,
amongst sticky, sweet rehydrated grapes,
just in from space, for my belly you grace.

And the chunks of crunchy granola,
spread out; mixed in,
you’ve got your hard to-do’s,
we are all nuts here in the end.

How you appeal to me, creamy whites,
luminescent undertones,
darkness full of ecstasy,
coconut shreds; delicate like bones

But truly what you have in common,
with this bowl of splendid sustenance,
You are always on my mind,
and like my parfait you are gone.
nivek Sep 2015
Rehydrated the little larynx
like a small wild animal
hunts around for words.
Garrett Johnson Mar 2020
Time again.

Soft and mad.
Left Fields barren remaining without a soul.
Later rehydrated with life.
Cleansed for the bossom of the soil.
Begain.
Only.
To be ended.
Intime for the hard rain to fall.



Garrett Johnson.
Taken.
ANA Nov 2024
Cold weather filled in my whole existence.
My entire exterior also received sun kisses.
The coolness of the atmosphere, makes me think about a habit.
I want to create a gentle habit with the drizzle, while heaven and earth keep on spinning.
I intend to be relaxed by the wind that is blowing, while my soul is rehydrated by the pouring rain.
Eliana Knight Mar 10
In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment
They found a willing volunteer with merriment
They believe a human without any senses or ways to perceive stimuli
Like what would happen when you die
Except he will be alive
He would be able to perceive the presence of God & survive
They theorized that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity
And live in the mind sempiternity
There a human could actually establish contact with God by thought
The only one to volunteer was Scott
His wife passed away, he has no family, so he decided to give this a shot
To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation
Scott was heavily under sedation
When every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed
There was no going back, ever
Although Scott would retained full muscular function, his speech may be impaired
When he awoke he could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel, & felt scared
He realized he was not, with the ramifications, fully prepared
But it was too late, its permanent, never to be repaired
With no possible way to communicate
All he could do was wait
With no sense the outside world, he was alone
He began to cry and moan
Scientists monitored him as he spoke aloud about his state of mind
He spoke of flashing light, though he was blind
In jumbled, slurred sentences that he couldn’t even hear
He felt in a in closed in a tomb & spoke of fear
Assuming it was an onset of psychosis, they paid little attention to Scott’s concerns
The next few days, he’d lose consciousness & then mumble as he returns
On the fourth day, Scott was unknowingly lying on a bed
When he claimed to be hearing hushed, unintelligible voices in his head
Then he heard a voice, it was Kimberly his wife & although she was dead
He cried out, that he could hear his dead wife speaking with him
And even more, he could communicate back to Kim
The scientists were intrigued, but were not convinced
Until Scott started naming dead relatives of the scientists, that they could not dismiss
He repeated personal information that only their dead family member would have known
Some of the things he said freaked them out & sent a chill to the bone
So a sizable portion of scientists left the study
The only ones left were Ronan, Judie, Stefan and Buddy
A week of conversing with the deceased through his thoughts, Scott
became distressed
Saying the voices were overwhelming, making it hard for him to rest
In every waking moment, his consciousness was bombarded by so many voices
They refuse to leave him alone, even with his wife he no longer rejoices
He frequently threw himself against the wall, trying to elicit a pain response
While the scientists were nonchalance
He begged the scientists for sedatives, pleading and weeping
So he could escape the voices by sleeping
It worked for 3 days, until he started having severe night terrors & woke up screaming
Scott repeatedly said that he could see & hear the deceased even when dreaming
Only a day later, Scott began to shout & claw at his non-functional eyes
hoping to sense something in the physical world, but the scientists did not empathize
The hysterical Scott now said the voices of the dead were deafening
Speaking of hell, the end of the world, their voices were strengthening
At one point, he yelled “No heaven, no forgiveness” for five hours straight
He continually begged to be killed, but the scientists decided to wait
They were convinced that he was close to establishing contact with God
Seemingly mad, at his flesh he started to bite chunks & clawed
The scientists rushed into the test chamber & restrained him to a table
With the restraints, to hurt himself further or attempt to **** himself, he will be unable
For two weeks, Scott had to be manually rehydrated due to the constant crying
They were so close & couldn’t risk him dying
After another day, Scott could no longer form coherent sentences or even a word
It was all very blurred
After a few hours in restraints, Scott halted his struggling & screaming, he was silent
The scientists came closer to Scott since he was no longer violent
To check his vitals and if he wakes up what's the first thing he will say
But he was still silent, until the next day
He was staring at the ceiling as though someone watching the stars in space
Then teardrops silently streaked across his face
Eventually, he turned his head & despite his blindness, made eye contact
The scientists didn’t even know how to react
“I have spoken with God, and he has abandoned us” Scott said with his last breathe
Then his vital signs stopped, there was no apparent cause of death.


Based On An Urban Legend
Only Based On An Urban Legend
T R S Jul 2018
I pretty sure I found some bugs in my pirate ship
Earwigs and some roaches are brimming at the hip
Sure it turns out would should have saved a lot more food
Because we are not the only life the lord determined good

So now I build a fire made out of barrel scraps
The whisky makes it higher and our work it does entrap

So give me a glass
a glass of water
I can only sip
I'm bare rehydrated
On the trip
On this pirate ship
Bertrand Kaldawi Feb 2021
There once was this man a dried up old prune
Who’d sit there at night staring up at the moon
Out there each evening in his big rocking chair.
As the wind blew through his thinning white hair
He would think about life and play his guitar
And drink bootleg whiskey from an old jelly jar
And sometimes the old man wished he was dead.
For he was so lonely because he never wed
He’d once loved this girl who hair was bright red
Till one day he found her in another mans bed
Then one July morning these folks happened by
It was this old lady, and some poor dumb guy
He recognized her as the girl with  red hair.
And the years that had passed to her were not fair
She was real fat and ugly and looked really mean
And her once white teeth had turned a dull green
She belittled her husband and called him a fool
Who looked beaten down from all her  ridicule
And at this sad sight the old man rehydrated
His wrinkled old face became plump and elated
He had dodged a bullet and escaped a cruel fate
And compared to her husband his life had been great
So from that day forward he no longer felt glum
The dried up old prune had become a ripe plum

— The End —