Best Clavicle Poems
Blue –
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
Red –
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
evaporating
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
Orange –
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
Iridium.
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
Green –
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
eleven
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
Black –
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
Pink –
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
Purple –
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
overtures.
Her letters
Who blush
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
White –
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
They spit
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
Grey-
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
in
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
The human skeleton,
is made up of 206 bones
By jove, they are hard,
as if made of stones!
The brain you think with
is in the Skull or Cranium,
the Maxilla and the Mandible
are for chewing bubble gum.
It's atop the spine
which has 33 Vertebrae in all
You're sure gonna break it
if there's a nasty fall.
The 12 pairs of ribs
act just like a big ring,
while 10 fix to the Sternum
the bottom 2 are Floating.
The shoulder blade or the Scapula
is joined with the Clavicle
How they organize the movement
Is another spectacle.
The arms have the Humerus,
the Radius and the Ulna,
The hands' have wrist bones
called Carpals (not made in China).
With Metacarpals and Phalanges
we complete our hand,
don't you forget the lower limbs,
upon which we stand.
The hip bones make the Pelvis
from which the Femur originate
If you gyrate it like elvis
the Patella is sure to break.
Tibia and Fibula
are there in the Shin
The Tarsals and Metatarsals
shape your feet as it's seen.
Our journey ends here
Let me take your leave,
Take good care of your bones
for as long as you live.
The anorexia is not conspicuous,
being half-submerged, just
breaking through.
She’s a powdered mirage.
Her skin a hyaline shear
drawn over a necklace
of clavicle bones.
She knows her chest
is returning to childhood,
she wants to shelter there,
to be her own child.
Small breasts bob under
burgundy nipples,
buds made more prominent,
anchored as they are
to shipwrecked ribs.
Designer bling distracts.
Cameras whir, she poses,
one hand on a denuded hip,
not resting there,
but stealthily carrying
an ounce of flesh,
toward a spotlight.
We collude with her,
applaud the way
she decorates a condition.
We all know her emaciated beauty
is a mutual hoodwink.
We know that the closer to death
sexuality becomes,
the more rapacious our appetite,
the more we will wail,
as she slips
through our hungry hands.
I went to the mailbox
Much to my dismay
I would've rather had smallpox
Than what I found today
I may sound dramatic
And I guess that is true
But what I found so traumatic
You sounded so blue
Did it cross your mind
As I curled in your womb
That the people I'd find
Couldn't deal with your bloom
Did you find some compassion
When you ran with the wind
Did you dress in high fashion
Or the flower child trend
I hate that my screaming
Got under your skin
One nurse was redeeming
So the doctor dropped in
Now I will tell you
The source of our pain
Was a clavicle fracture
With a nerve induced strain
This poem is of childhood
And all it entails
I won't create falsehood
For truth always sales
Don't put your guilt and pity on me
Or whatever you felt in the latter
You'll never recall the flower I'll be
Came from mental abuse, hate and batter
Your essence was conceived
from my rib, a clavicle that
would entwine us forever.
As Adam to Eve, from the
beginning & to the ending of
our time.
You are the "W" to my world,
where your entity is my true
existence.
Like freash air to my nose
& my body to clothes,
you complete me.
You are the fruit to my tree,
without you it's so difficult
to breath.
So, please...empathize wiith me,
because Without you there's no me.
Joey Contemplating a Skeleton
By Elton Camp
The teacher told Joey to learn each bone by name
And that there were only about 206 of the same
The parietal, temporal and occipital are in the head
At least that’s what the biology teacher then said
The atlas and axis are two bones found in the neck
Twelve vertebrae are attached to ribs if you check
Lumbar, sacrum and their parts learn without fail
And don’t forget the coccyx that looks like a tail
Of the maxillae and mandible the jaws are made
Collar bone is the clavicle; scapula shoulder blade
Humerus in upper arm, ulna below, radius thumb side
And in wrist and hand carpals & metacarpals reside
Phalanges are found in both the fingers and the toes
The femur, patella, tibia and fibula in the leg goes
But this is only a small sample of what Joey must learn
If an excellent grade in his biology class he will earn
Written: September 24, 2023
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In the dawn-like haze—a shriek was heard,
An echo so shrewd, yet birdless, oddly slurred
It was ordained by—a stratum unseen,
A throbbing coerce, a numen so keen.
A canticle flower—a bellow coarsely flung,
Through bosky drifts, those shadows clung.
The broken clavicle, brittle skull,
Doused in lacquer—a tale to annul.
Cried creative bone, from annals of time,
In a secluded hut—where lamina chime.
With guttural utterance—the gowk did sing,
Fluted notes on brinks of obsidian string.
Cloaked in the dimly lit mist, a canon of clamor,
Shaping the world with a mystic glamour.
In the glum of worship, a rite did splay,
As voices uttered—in a solemn display.
A corpse lay still, in the midst of the scene,
Dazzled by the entombing, a nebulous flesh serene.
Funerary hums—in syllabic verse,
Resonated through time, as a solemn curse.
In an urn—fugally adorned
With fugal melodies, the ashes were borne,
A symphony of sorrow, a requiem grand,
For the soul departed, to a distant land.
The misty air whispered—in mournful tones,
As the funerary procession made its way,
A solemn journey, through the mist, embrace.
To the final resting place, where shadows trace.
And so, the hum continued, a haunting refrain,
As the earth embraced the remains.
Silent and still—in eternal rest,
In the hallowed ground, the corpse was blessed.
Gone was the body, but the spirit remained,
A specter in the mist, forever ingrained.
A memory of life—a tale to be told,
In the echoes of time, where stories unfold.
In the depths of the mist, a legacy grew,
Of a life once lived, and the love that it knew.
The funerary hum—a reminder of grace,
As it carried the spirit to a heavenly place.
Curves
Slow, cradled walk towards the goad,
Skin pink naked to the crowded few,
Light beckons the inner property pack,
Until the red is aphoristically bright said.
One body, one noon to habituate around,
One lapidary to bleed for tight inners,
One clavicle osmosis to two muscles,
Two refutals needed for the fame slat.
If society had a heart it would tick,
Anything for all people this or that,
Inside the other it would say alloyed,
Legal means not legal forgot to writ.
Rhoda Monihan
Hitchhiking by blurred station generic
Gypsy Flora slips anonymous, gravel
Grinds her heart of garbage, barbaric
Buried skeleton stirred, further travel
Ticket to Keep It Secret
Scarred in fish guts grubby, harbour
Heaves its putrid out to sea, amnesia
Avails an arbour over bleak macabre
Mutineer hurled ragdoll dumb, seizure
Saline dreams Dali delirium
Draped clock face, Flora's flailing coma
Collides with shore, format felicitous
Ferocious ocean spews sweet soma
Segued fortunate Flora duplicitous
Digs over fingers scratching
Sea sparks zesty spirit, crystal clairvoyant
Clavicle thrummed during tumble turquoise
Touched pitching ceiling, delight buoyant
Blackened flotsam, frivolous foam destroys
Destined to nest content
29th March
Redefined
12/16/21
Still regarded mysteriously
A lot of conspiracy
In the sky, on land and near the sea
Eventually I could clearly see
Thought it'd help, but wasn't what I really need
Silly me
Can't do it foolishly
Has to be done skillfully
If I will succeed
Doing it brilliantly
Having consistency
Not taking it all so literally
Somewhat fidgety
Never lost my dignity
Still displaying chivalry
Another epiphany
Time I do it differently
A change in activity
With an increase of ability
For heavens sake
It will or won't resonate
Here let me demonstrate
Human life continues to perpetuate
Can't get the glory with second place
Worldwide not just in eleven states
There'll always be more than seven snakes
In the grass and nearby metal gates
When at your best or feeling less than great
Another incident
This is becoming a predicament
Because it doesn't always end good for the innocent
Toward your sick games, I'll be no participant
Tool or instrument
Regarding life, getting sick of it
And rather inquisitive
Respect for the complex and primitive
Nothing infinite
Staying articulate
No longer being insolent
Remaining vigilant
Also adaptable
In every direction not just diagonal
Or lateral
Working toward becoming affable
No fantasy this is actual
And factual
At times far too serious or casual
Got to work on more capital
Cautious around anything flammable
Often tactical
And practical
Many of my deeds deemed as admirable
Such talent and wisdom is invaluable
While living among animals
Some of which cannibals
Meanwhile humans think they're magical
With opinions that can be radical
So worried about being fashionable
Remember the easiest bone to break is the clavicle
Just about everything becoming taxable
By those that are tyrannical
The impact is minor or problematical
Influencing those that are fanatical
Done in person or by something mechanical
Around my mind a linger of her existence plies, I'm evoked
An expression of joy my face accommodates, simply on this note
A thought of you causes my heart to skip a beat, beautiful like jazz
Not the voodoo though but I still feel locked up like I'm in Alcatraz
A good thing because it aids in appreciating your absence when I'm alone
Missing you hurts more than when I broke my clavicle bone
I love you too much to consciously inflict on you pain
Done it in the past but in His grace, never again
Maybe you the best thing that happened to me, maybe you not
Not to sound cheesy but to complete the rhyme, you are hot
Sometimes having you still seems kind of surreal
Want to experience with you the culture of Brazil
Like the sands of time, my love for you seems endless
Some of my dreams instigates we one day share address
You defined 'love' to me and redefined the essence of life
I'm convinced but I'd wait till time evinces you are my wife
When I dream tonight
it will be of you my love.
You will slip soundlessly
between my sheets
as I softly sleep.
You asked about my scent?
Now I present to you my neck.
The dip at my clavicle.
The tip of my breast.
Where you like it best.
Your mouth makes its
way to my navel.
The musk of my groin.
Something stirs in your loins.
I am wide awake.....
For heaven's sake.
From marrow to vein the thin thread of memory drags another new malignancy out into the light.
I shall tuck it, as a gift, within Destot’s space and leave it to harden and calcify until it’s colour is pale and stony.
This new seed inside my hidden framework will soon germinate, but will never push out towards the dying constellations.
Instead, it will coil its way along ulna, humerus and clavicle and bind bad dreams into a hard, red jewel that will nestle between skull and vertebrae.
Cartilage grinds and sinew creaks as this bud of echoes sprouts and entwines
up through mandible and tooth.
Knife to neck, hand in pajamas, sodden mattress, accusations, laughter under dimming lights.
All of these petals are forever open and held aloft by invading stems that relentlessly offer up the blooms of another time.
I am encased, but the stories of my joints continue to thrive and search a path through my skeletal remorse.
And I will always stop to smell the flowers.
I told the nurse
I swallowed a snake.
He charted: religious mania.
But I felt her—
three and a half turns
sleeping
just south of the back
of my clavicle.
I called her Vera
then,
full breath
pried me open.
Fire-rising,
slithering:
it was gospel
sliding
down my vertebrae—
a ladder
Jacob had forgotten—
yea and behold though
we came
back for it.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Or crying.
Or saying
I saw light in the colorless
rooms
outside
understanding.
When I explained, again,
how god comes
in my root,
propels
herself through
my expanded
throat
chakra,
they were furious—
branded me
inpatient,
wrapped my wrists,
ordered more
Thorazine.
They don’t let me
sit cross-legged,
say my mantra
disturbs
the others.
Just between
you and me
this energy wall
crumbling, this crux
of second comings,
this fifth horseman—
is a woman re-forming
initiation:
an apocalypse
finally
worth the animal
salt-sweat
hump
it took to get it
going.
Tinseled treats, hung from our Christmas tree.
Young, saucered eyes, just gleamed and shined
At the charming, twisting gold and silver art works.
For indeed, these are one of this holiday’s perks!
To a very young child, they whisper of things magical.
Swaying and dancing,they observe from Mother’s clavicle
And though speech, be not theirs, as of yet.
Their artistic sensibilities soar like a fine jet!
Add the scents of frankincense and myrrh,
You will be blessed to hear an infant purr.
Delighting in wonders of the Christmas season.
Every fiber of their being, dances with no reason.
11/30/2022