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...

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Cover the clavicle with the collar,
urgent, decisive, a signal of intent.

Insufficient means of transformation aren't new.
It's the operating room for the untrained,
       problem to solution
  with just a thin veil, 
a change of outward appearance.

   ...

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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...

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It is a small investment; this property out in the scrub.
A building that is shabby in it’s ‘hey day’ was a pub.
Blackberries scramble over it, with the sheds in disrepair;
yes the Autumn Creek Hotel needs a lot of loving care.

Starlings filled the rafters with a...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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Written: September 24, 2023
_____________________________________________________________

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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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far beneath the steeples of cobble stoned london, 
he moves without the parting of a shadows grace.
 from morning to morning he carries no longing.

  under the heavy hymns of the luthern organs
 he breaths amongst centuries of dead and 
  thoughtful saints

...

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