Best Cartilage Poems
Pounding at the resonant head
of my chest—he of hunger
latches his fangs just beneath my jaw—
not to sever silence, but to pummel poison.
Tissue parts with wet reluctance,
he with need more than malice
burrows into the larynx of what
was once controlled, fearful sound.
Nameless, shapeless he who
with shark-possessed teeth does not ravage—
but infiltrates—peeling cartilage from confession,
mining marrow-thoughts clogged in
curse-traversed trachea.
I am a conduit split open—
voice extracted in ligaments,
fibrous and twitching,
stripped from the cords—
myofibrils separatus tendon.
Nameless, shapeless he!
How does he so musically reshape
what I cannot say?
How does he gut syllables
I do not recognize—
yet still, convince me
they are mine?
With his guiding talons,
my breath comes out red,
heavier than blood—
tastes of steel-bitten soul—
boiled vowels
that never knew air
but somehow rise.
His incantation:
Spiritus somni!
Spits into my mouth—
a blessing—not!
a summons—not!
but a shameful dream behind my teeth
like bruises that speak sermons.
Nameless, shapeless he…
He says I was never mute—
only sealed for some latter doomsday…
And now, with my throat laid open like a shrine,
he listens as I blaspheme
my dream.
POEM OF THE DAY : 20.10.25
[Poet’s Note : Form : This poem combines Haibun with
Specular Fugue, giving a straightforward descriptive journaling type Haibun more analytical depth, making for a more interesting & informative experience for reader, overlaying description with analytic style. ]
______________________
With intense curiosity five kinky haired
African women watched her. Her hair sleek, her skin caramel,
wearing lilac pyjamas. Nobody instructed her to change into
hospital gear. She did not understand Tswana. They understood
English. Her Cuban surgeon was gentle as a lamb.
Their surgeon was a tough Afrikaner.
Afrikaners were toughened by trekking,
lambs skipping across conquered land.
Tswana was not an easy language to learn.
They starched hospital gear to last longer.
Lilac her favourite colour, opp-arting her caramel skin,
mottled by disease. Her hair from Malaysian and Indian genes,
mixed stew genetics, like all from the human race.
Dark eyes observed her struggle onto high hospital bed,
hip broken, with cartilage in tatters. Noisy Tswana cackles,
like hens on heat, bombarded her smile. She kept it on, an emoji.
Slowly the chicken run morphine disco calmed.
She could not endure morphine chokes or
polite falsehood steady. Hens were her evening friends,
feeding them a favourite chore. Their eggshell membranes
she swallowed for cartilage, her eyes flickering gratitude.
Gratitude is an abc lesson.
It is broken eggshells today.
Teen friends were loyal comrades,
their feedback raw honest. Being polite
strengthens boundaries, sometimes.
Morphine is gold during war.
Cheerily she remarked : “I know you are gossiping about me.”
All five women burst into raucous laughter, forging new friendships.
Friendships forged through pain and laughter.
Some humans learn via gossip.
Be cheerful about others not knowing.
+++
hospital wards full
patients support one another ~
laughter kills the pain
__________———-________________———-
Kiss me when the sun sleeps
when the blazing sun doth rise,
hold my trepid skin timorous
with a requited reassurance
we’ve not been broken
of soulmate incarnate
ecstasy within our grasp
of this comes beautiful
hold me tight, my love
Nirvana’s desaturated shade, awaits
soft pink and warming gray, above
behind a burning turmeric glow
under an apocalyptic sky
brawn banished, lips silenced
after every word is spoken
sanctioned skeletal forms
melded are two mortalities
fusing into one metaphor
birth of man, woman, death infinite’s
earth, wind, fire, water embossed
no diener for dystopia
only death lives in destruction
crimson deserts recreated
ashen corpse servant
no hand his bones shall fall
sealed is our eternal love
our homeland a morgue
ossified cartilage caresses
immortalization in
pulverized sand dunes
touched by the flurries
of vaporized gold dust clusters
opportune eyes fell upon
excavating earth organs ripped open
evil befell the resilient relentless
by all that glittered gold
golden buried stones
by the arid drones
our existence erased
no genogram depiction,
not relevant to treatment
ashen of undying souls
are there more lives,
…what do you think?
Hear the loud deafening cries of a black woman
A woman once silenced by pain unknown to every man
I was stuck in a mansfield yielding contaminated crop and weeds
Weeds from a seed fertile with deception and greed
Planted by his divided heart of more want than need
I loved him with every fibre, muscle and bone cartilage
But even that could not save me from this fatal carnage
I was caught in the eye of a storm of love
A love never meant to be yet fit so perfectly like a glove
My soul took it all in with no inhibitions or measures
The promises turned to lies of mere guilty pleasures
I experienced the agony of watching a lover love another
My voiceless heart shattered in agony like no other
But I stood still in the midst of rolling sea billows
Now I have become renewed like freshly growing willows
I’ve silenced my cry and my tears have run dry
Although my love for him may never die,
I can move on and still try
Knowing inside that a black woman’s love,
Though sometimes it may hurt and cry,
Like deep blue running waters, it will never run dry…
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
Delicious as it may sound,
a whisper from the heavens to the ground
the evil in my hand , red raging juicy fruit imagination,
Nature's natural sweet serpentine temptation,
how did it come to this ?
A life from the hands of Genesis
missing pages, that will bring death by the words of Revelation
My days, have become numb,
living through the flesh of Adam
a toast, with a kiss, I offer, Adam the beauty of the next bite
My heart had no meaning to know it was deceiving
the performance of a lifetime
banned from the Garden of Eden's eternity
My hands, have become numb,
my cup is empty, I can't find the proper filling
I'm falling far from the feeling of eternal light
Adam, what have we done, I feel the shame!
Our bodies of nakedness reveal the mud under both our bare feet
Take my hand, as I feel the pain of 20 crushing bones
I have the power to give birth to all my children,
this does not explain my punishment, BUT A GIFT!
No longer will the light ease this hunger
living day by day, until I meet my number
ADAM!
Am I not the apple of your eye ?
You, witness the conversation without a word of moral support
in you, the light has bestowed a powerful note,
from the tree of good and evil, conceiving with seeds
You, my love, will always swallow the apple for never speaking up
marked by a distinguished cartilage bone
" Adam's Apple "
I offer you ;
By Poet - Eve
Beautiful things break
as readily as the brittlest rock
The quake rattled me;
your seismic words
unearthing the foundation
of this thing we’d built
Beautiful things shatter
like fragile china under feet
The tempest tore through me;
your rumbling thoughts
flung through the air
shrapnel slicing cartilage
Beautiful things ignite
as swift as finest kindling
The flames engulfed me;
it was your carelessness
doused in abandonment
setting our souls alight.
Beautiful things sink
like anchors of pure Osmium
And here it drowned me;
in a depth unknown
a depth I’d never thought to see
the deepest, darkest depths of me.
Descending into a mega-mall, the fluorescence blemishes my skin.
There is a twinge in my temples as I approach the makeup counter,
meeting eyes with a woman whose shoes pierce my gait
and whose artificially white teeth flash like EMP bombs.
But I must not be blinded; there is something behind those calcium shutters,
illuminating inside her vessel and peaking through each crack ... I wonder.
Is her exoskeleton painted so pristinely to brighten the day?
Who owns the day she, in every meticulous gesture, labors for?
But every question is drowned in a clanging,
a clamoring of those persistent teeth trying to make a sale.
Rattling around like new tap shoes, sheening ivory.
White noise, white noise.
Every coherent thought blurred, humming viciously
as done in the shadows of the perfect women in chromatic ads.
But she is not perfect; I can see her pores.
They are weeping the regrets of thick foundation.
Those streaks of saline wet speak gallons and shimmer
as they slide, revealing pockets of uneven flesh tones,
subtle bruises from the hot-lipped sun,
every mar a testament to resistance in midst of the Tyrants.
Gravity, Matter and Time; how admirably this body has battled them,
unaware of its own striking animal; a masterwork of sinew and bone,
of neurons and cartilage, of mucus and moles.
Each electron hums in its proud, puffed little chest.
In earnest I wonder, does the sales lady know every outline,
every wrinkle of her beige, waterproof suit?
Does she wear it in precious stride, beaming just bright enough so as to share
her whole self, lovely-garish, yet never glaring the keenest lens?
There is no answer.
I only nod slightly, appreciating her mottled gem eyes,
politely severing our feeble connection, departing, contemplating them,
that such dazzling blue could exist immersed in milky pools
disrupted by long-legged channels of blood.
driving through streets of angst and apathy
driving to the place where I can actualize my desire
to eat a 12 piece bucket of chicken hunks
smiling at the coo-koo bird with **** exposed
the paper words speaking in a greasy cacophony
that sings louder than the top 40 rap from the car next to me
the all encompassing fried waft fills the upper quadrants
of my olfactory facilities
my pavlovian salivary stalactites are noteworthy in the rearview
the napkins that won't suffice tonight
whilst sipping new dessicated sanguine juice
later I shall roll in the fractured bones and discarded cartilage
with the glee of a lion licking the last remnants of flesh
from the femur of the sleeping zebra
driving with my portable fan to scent glaze those caught at the precipice
of another uncomfortable intersection smoldering with the anticipation
of another color
it's night and my eyes work like the retinas of an great horned owl
hookers flittering about within the shadows in the fashion of desperate hyenas
eyes reflecting red to further emphasize the craze
the urge/smell to press forward is overwhelming
the distractions are fantastic
the howls of maligned dogs echoes over the canopy of green neon
I am the great white hunter bringing home my quarry and
park this steely beast making its heart turn off
metal and flesh move at different vibrations that only appear similar
yes it is time to work the mandible with great passion yet
with empty thoughts as the world outside the den
makes the brain short circuit from its normal capacities
other than hunting for the best family meal deal
because down by the facsimile of a watering hole there are whole animal parts
compressed into small and workable units
Icy, chilled on the ivory
melting in the harbor
from the tongues warmth
but forces cranial hypothermia
thoughts frozen solid, pain
escapes through cartilage
frozen treats adored but
dreaded from it entering
the gates but as it does
residents scream for ice cream
11/28/16
Thrive survive and live
It is what it is
A day of nothing or success using sieves
Carbonation in the soda pop making it fizz
Distinguished areas for hers and his
Individuals involved or infatuated with the showbiz
Don't get in a tizz
Some just take and or give
The planet spins
Life with cartilage and fins swims
Strikes, splits and gutterballs in lanes with bowling pins
Rooms for rent available at inns
Breath mints in tins
Boys and girls occasionally born as twins
Music made with all instruments even violins
Sports and games played with javelins
At church they'll sing hymns
Sometimes you'll need a membership to certain gyms
Whole milk, soy and skim
Going out on a limb
And off a whim
You either lose draw or win
Even if it's only by a smidge
Another opportunity and day begins
Going from light to dim
Above and below the ridge
On either side of the bridge
Help out your kin
Especially when times are grim
Low to high bids
Placed on items
Waters fished for nearly everything, including squid
Due to road conditions, speed and a loss of control, the car slid
Around the corner and the tires started to skid
Recently or way back when
People have disappeared off the grid
No idea all that you or I have did
And the same could be said for where we've been
By: Dalton Ogletree
Gnawed nails dig into worn plastic armrests
Stinging alcohol burns the skin
A sharp point glints in the fluorescent light
Rough hands grip the shoulder
Restraining it against the comfortless chair
He says to relax,
But the tremors intensify.
Deep breath
Lungs release
Cartilage crunches
Blood flows
Shiny metal ring
Rests against the ear
A new opening in the body
Diverging from natural design.
Fade-in to darkness
Blink slow, quicker ... eyes open
Still dark, but I can't go back to sleep again
I WON'T!
I feel like death ...
Exhausted, and such dysphoria
Oh, to go back into slumber and never wake again
Just to be free of this horrific feeling
But Life tugs ... just enough
Vague impressions of struggling
Gulping for breath ...
Heart beating through my chest to get air
Broken, fading memories of nightmares, deep
Dreams of drowning, being choked ...
Roped from a tree and swaying
Dangling feet twitching with my final gasps ...
Or sinking slowly ...
Tumbling into the abyss
Rays of sunlight light pillars
I grab for them, futile, as I swallow water
And fade into the cold depths ...
Or giant, sharp-nailed hands around my throat
Squeezing slowly as a sick grimace contorts and twists
Its cold breath spit in my face
Cartilage in my neck snapping, crunching
My breaths slowing ... gone.
Never exactly the same
But always the same outcome ...
NO AIR ... and struggle
Then waking to this depression and fatigue
So intense that I wish for my end
But responsibility forces me to rise ... again
And slowly ... slowly ... slowly ...
I feel a bit better
Say a prayer for the day
And hope that maybe ...
Maybe tonight ...
My apnea won't be quite as bad
Or the dreams ...
As terrifying.
* FIRST PLACE in the "Morning Ritual" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Sponsor. *
Awareness drifts in a pool of sinew, flesh, fat, muscle, cartilage, hair, nail, bone, sodden skin, fluid, bile, excrement, blood, swirling in the maelstrom; in its belly thought.
Clarity forgotten, dissolved, flushed down the drain without Mercy.
Bon Secours,
Bon Voyage.
©dbyrne June 2014
How the eyes hunger
and the heart starves,
fish-bones in the sand;
the deprivation slaver
juices from the jowl,
ravished contraband.
The deserts shimmer,
jackals stalk,
snarling from the throat;
the primal deviation
tearing up the world,
craven and remote.
The blood flexes
and the fist rapes,
cartilage cracking bone;
pulse quickens,
eyes widen
for her flesh alone.
How the earth trembles
and the nerves twitch
in vibrant sympathy;
how the eyes implore
and the heart covet
the epitome of she.