Best Coagulate Poems
Finally my blood began to coagulate,
surrendering to wounds from constant battles.
I was fading in shades of an Autumn leaf,
crumbling to seasonal trials,
yet, searching for a remedy
to prevent winds from carrying me away.
In the pantomime of life,
I've learned how to pretend.
Hiding the truth behind each scar,
visible and invisible, engraved upon my skin.
My soul is a testament to inflictions fought and won.
Sometimes lacerations ache,
yet the pain can never define me.
For within me burns a spirit, fierce and full of flames.
I've soared over storms,
illuminated in the darkest night -
still, I rise to the call of morning Robins.
Each clot forming is a symbol of resilience,
as in the face of adversity, I find my lion nature,
so let the blood coagulate, let healing begin.
I am a samurai not prepared to retire my Katana sword.
Through every trial, I'll emerge stronger,
until it's finally time to go back home.
And when do these empty minutes
Become gifted tomorrows
Does the love from a crooked smile
Coagulate into a joyful tear
Can the touch from a veritable want
Blend into reformed breaths of a tilted gratitude
What purpose would ultimatums serve,
If it only knew what should not
Be taken for granted
When do these empty minutes
Become gifted tomorrows
For I count on the arms of postulated solitude
To breathe into me
To breathe into me
These empty minutes
©Drake J. Eszes
Written: March 31st, 2024 for Matt Caliri Coagulation Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finally, my blood began to coagulate;
I am initially concerned over poor fate,
Right away, I would lose a lot of blood.
Rich red hues wisely swing to warm tunes,
Every one of my atoms is as yours in pure gold,
When I xerox a warm lawn, I lie down and loiter.
Oh, what a tangled-up issue I had,
When I failed to tie a necessary knot,
But I need avail knotting a loop,
No one knew how to tie the exact knot I sought!
I hope my last breath is a grateful sigh
There's tightness in the core of my spine,
A knot bound with vibrant fuchsia rope,
That I've never managed to sort out.
A few nodded and hid my anxious gaze,
Some have enjoyed tightening it,
Skilled seafarers with stunning ties,
It allows a Full ship of pain and anguish.
Unrestful, between,
Dawn-to-dusk scars
Torn glimpses ooze riddles,
Flashes of a vacuum,
Thorny puzzle to soak,
To a soiled hook as hefty as my body,
Surrounded by bitter words and nails,
Untying harsh knots was never desired.
No one pulled an anger rope to set it free,
My sigh was not pulled out carelessly,
Longtime guarding in my throat,
Nobody has freed me.
Finally my blood began to coagulate,
signalling that wounds inflicted by fate had healed,
paving way for my presence, to pass through heaven’s gate.
I played out my hand as of the cards, I was by destiny dealed,
equal in both joy and pain, dancing gleefully in the rain,
knowing God holds my hand on life’s playing field.
Detached from mundane thoughts of loss or gain,
I dissolved my wayward ego in the womb of love divine
and thus Holy Spirit magically cleansed my soul’s sin and stain.
As polarities orbit each other, I see how love for love does pine,
in timeless time entwining blissfully under God’s oneness sign.
The knob turned
And opened the door
The door of the apartment
On the first floor
And the sudden gasp
Of air that the fireplace exhaled
Knocked an ember
To the floor
An ember that had been glowing
In the hearth
The room, a peaceful space
Warm but gloomy
As it slowly cooled down
The mercury downcast
And receding fast
“Close the door”! The inspector barked
Without looking ‘round
And with the click-thunk sound
His from followed the mercury
As it slowly pummelled
From his forehead
“Very curious”, said the man
In the coat
“Within a locked room,
This man may have been smote”
No open windows
No unlocked door
As the ember absently
Scorched the floor
Examining the body
The inspector soon found
A pocket of stones
And a pocket of ground
And as he thought
He absentmindedly made
A muttering sound
The rain pelted
The ground
Into submission
As rivulets of tears
Ran down panes
To coagulate into streams
To flow past
The old cemetery
At the end of Murray street
Where many a corpse
Wrapped in a sheet
Waited silently
For the trump
But there is more a decomposition
Than a composition around
It was there
Where
Those smooth stones
Were found
- The same place as the ground
The inspector knew
‘tis there that the man had gone
To a place of death
With which he was now one
To place of rest
Is it possible? Rest?
To where his love lay deep
Under the shadows of grazing sheep
To sleep, to sleep
But not a dream
His death was his last
Longing scream
The rocks and the ground
Was his last request
To lay with his love
To lay down and rest
He used to look at me straight into my gloomy eyes,
In his sweet words and kisses and in his lovely arms I felt so nice;
We were filled with gladness, with promises and future plans,
Until I’ve found out that he’s a sky and I’m just a piece of land.
He is a sun who’s shining brightly into the limelight,
While I’m a little star aspiring to shine both day and night;
He’s a prince who cannot eat without his golden spoon
While I use pottery in yeoman’s house who is forlorn.
How can a lard coagulate with water?
If lightning strikes as prominent as the roar of thunder?
How can it be the two of us if there are many barriers?
I’m crying inside and I need prayers to become stronger.
Everything about you will all remain in my dreams,
Those promises of you, I’ll sing always in my mind as hymns;
I want to blame myself in possession of this loving heart,
Which little by little is killing me in suffocation all throughout.
July 6, 2013 2.23pm
( a poem not posted before for a contest. a fiction)
NOT FOR A CONTEST
Colors
Here they are, in no particular order
follow no protocol of precedence
the colorful patterns of the mindscape
the planes of its sensitivity, the
triangles of its premises, the
circles of its surmises. Their reds too
coagulate in blood, they ruffle in
the form of blues, could be black or white on
purpose or green in a teen . Don’t confuse
them with the colors you perceive or the
lab- reconstructs-in- color of dinosaurs
or the latest of them, lycopod .
Mere caricatures, these are, which exist,
without dispute, within your eyes too.
14 April 14, Form: sonnet
** The reference here is to the recent digital life-like reconstruction of a long-extinct species of lycopods into its FULL-COLOR image based on a 400 million year old fossil- lycopod.
The Malay Pantun: The Non-Party Communal Triumvirate
Ursidae carnivora hug and hibernate
Hypolais polyglottes trill without triumph
Alliance Party* wins and vituperate
Opposition parties coagulate without lymph
• The ruling Malaysian communal triumvirate –
since Independence in 1957.
© T. Wignesan, Paris - 2013
Luminescent shadows follow me around, but vanish as I ask who’s there?
Scary monsters and super creeps wait on every corner; a voice whispers beware
I start running I’m trying to gather pace; I’m running faster and faster but I hardly move
The faster I run the slower the cadence becomes; asks the whisper what do you have to prove?
Am I running from monsters past or ghosts hiding in the future?
I turn my head frantically to listen; the whisper is faint in the viscous ether
My pillow absorbs my drenching sweat, my legs kick and run, no stable ground
Frightened heartbeats, timid murmurs beg for reprieve, no more whisper, I can’t hear the gentle sound
Images changing proportions, gravitation bending scary faces
Electromagnetic transformations, shadows form a gigantic ghost
No awakening, remain in your abyss, where is the whisper I need most
My consciousness is chained by subconscious spectres; confront the phantom, the chains do not break
Oh gentle whisper cut me loose, help me to these images forsake
Collisions, particles bombarding subliminal pores, expose my soul to ricochets of guilt, conflict, pain
Prescribed orbits, predetermined order or tangents of love and desire
What to do, whisper to me, I am become insane
I spiral down into depths unknown to conscious science
More scary monsters, more super creeps, more shadows changing hue
Awake from this abysmal torture, send a whisper, bring me back to you
Sticky ghouls and distant memories collide with alpha particles and gamma rays
Chromatic aberrations confuse my vision and distort awaiting silhouettes
I too collide, I too am distorted as I enter the chasm where the mind forgets
Subatomic beings coagulate as memories; juries of demons saturate gaseous mixtures
Bubbles and froth and osmotic spirits, hallucinations from black and white pictures
Parallel curves and helical lines bend and warp my mind, I cry I scream I want I need, break free!
No space no time no light no sound no love; guilty condemnation, empty reality
The central singularity beckons, no return from unconscious waste
Anonymous fields bind me, commanding struggle to abate
Dimensionless objects, cold physics, primordial fear; Nightmare, no reprieve, take me to my fate.
What fire works
Fire works crackle crunch coagulate
send the guiding stars of darkness into space
from Phoenix to ashes ember amber empathy
forgotten exploding in the heart of unremembered kindness
A giant mushroom in the sky look carefully
you’ll only see it once this beautiful display
of melted cracking spirit humanity fusing by fission
all equality in times of death bonfire rockets Me
A perpetrator by collusion capitalized in self-importance
apathy inertia clever words semantic masturbation
pen in hand computer keyboards sending drones of hate
democracy fireworks for all into the ruins of compassion
Colourful a level playing field for splashing red
blood white bone meal yellow bile contaminated
black blue hematoma where brain once was
and the poppy sprouts the wars to end all wars
Some can afford the fireworks some lives matter
more than others in the sparkling pentagon of madness
enflame the lateral collateral transnational cooperation
of demise destruction disregard for guts and gore for asphyxiation
Taking in one last breath of invested greedy inconvenient truth
I stand by and by the way by the trajectories of fire works’ insane
obliteration and contra-pose love as first and last stand before the world
the words implode when gutsy poems won’t suffice and never have
05th June 2016
when scorpions crawling on the boiling sands
dance the dance of death with tail culled up
the gaudy toadstools grow in the dark and dampest spot
in the wasteland, and as day progresses the never-ending
merciless killing under the very same scorching sun that hangs high above
the wasteland drags on and on in the urban, areas where people carry out
the activities of daily routine to sustain ordinary lives.
on the street and alley the children’s corpses
though laying here and there
no one knows how to stop the deafening roar
that comes from the blasting bombs and the report of the guns
that take more innocent lives away from loved ones which do not allow
even a moment to the bereaved one to mourn with own accord, and when
the tears of a woman in black burqa slaps forehead and bangs her breast with palms and cries, her maternal affection benumbed and become stone as her tears coagulate and harden.
a small rough and simple wooden coffin goes
carried by the stern looking bearded men followed by not requiem
but the shout of the angry crowd brandishing empty fists that won’t do
anything in air the agony of the incompetent father who incapable of
keeping his dearest daughter’s life
nor able to provide a decent funeral and burial services
for the child’s last journey overlays the new-soil-covered little grave
as many layers of sigh after sighs.
when the tanks and armored vehicles sweep through the street
where many, many of those horrible stories rolling and flying
all over like autumn leaves, the soldiers with dust covered
combat boots dash into the street with unceasing gun shots
that hit the shadows because it moves, only because it breathes,
and therefore must be slaughtered. the fireballs hotter than boiling
sun shoot in the air with loud report on the other side of the street.
and between those ear-piercing roars
another angry wave marches on the street
carrying a small coffin, and in this chaos
eventide with no tomorrow dyes the corner of sky
above the faceless battlefield with the red of blood.
Sweet mother
Sweet mother
With the only calabash
that doesn't coagulate the milk
or making it sour
even if it stays
from morning to evening
then evening to morning
its still fresh and warm
ready for consumption
if it wasn't of age
i will have asked
just once
Coagulation Starter – 3-28-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coagulation
Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
Flowing like insomnia
Between the wounds of dawn and dusk
When wounded memories drip pools of enigmas,
Fleeting gossamers of absolutes,
Drying into sticky puzzles.
Bloodied dreams wander labyrinths,
With no exits,
Leaving spatters of millstones
For ruminating relics to follow,
Thin images of wispy encounters
Fade
In lost chords of words,
Ghosts gel from gashes.
Impostors of reality
Spit rebellious clots into ruminating plateaus,
And phantoms,
To leave a crimson stain
On unwelcomed daylight and martyred Mondays
Stirring penance from clotting confessions.
Tourniquets unbound,
Veins transfused congeal in coalescence
As platelets and corpuscles gather yesterday
Into the flow, a cadence, blood pressure restored,
The pulse of reminiscence throbs
Memoirs course through venous vessels,
Then seek a place
To dream.
The dreaming self of mine, coagulate
to form an image purely supreme
to intermingle all my mellow thoughts
and create a thing above all.
The senses are most absorbing
and are getting each thing perfect
blending each thing to their mighty core
and carve a sculpture, fanciful.
A tomb in my heart is build
of my ceremonious antique vows
which were once my delight
but now alas time has decayed.
The sensitivity, the perseverance
spended in pain and in real vain
fled, had been each genial thought
and life decays with time.
Relished hardships too once
but o, life how unessential
i have become,to pine
at most deserving thought.
The visionary gleam of my heart
fading fast as scarce flowers
and the things which use to charm me otherwise
are now but quartz to me.
The delicate heart of mine
to marble has turned
contrasted equally as if hell to heaven
or heaven to hell has turned.
My deceiving beauty, my heart
Has cheated me throughout
And conjures me glance into visions
Which could never had been achieved.
But hope has restored and recreated
a heart which was fleeing fast
and occupies a narrow bridge
on which life swings.
Let not the light of hope fickle
and don't let the sap of mind be parched
admit no'ne in your heart, to flourish
but keep each feeling conserved and coiled.
Juxtaposed liberties are but necessities
and ruffian freedom, none but liability
the soul whose sail eternity drew
will place it nevertheless to the harbor of heaven.
AKASH SANGWAN
Green of the poison can invade deep
unnerve you and eat innards like creep
it sinks in slow from the injectible
which sinks in sharp like a stab.
Laugh,demur,smile,eyes roll
hand in hand and enthrall
sweet words and ready laugh
on all my jokes and gaffes.
Waited for her on the foyer
as she skied in on a cloud layer
her sights made me oxygenate
sigh,yearn and coagulate.
Moments spend together
in arms pretty hooky and warm
lips locked so often in seal
were they apart in real.
Amalgamation of understanding
and of deep soul
saying aye together to all
and no in unison troll.
Foyer was my making and breaking
one day I was waiting
she came in on allright
on clouds as usual bright.
Heading me -no she headed north
where stood her new God!
she did not waste a glance O! Lord!
hand in hand she was over,with beau,on her love fjord.
Green of the poison can invade deep
unnerve you and eat innards like creep
it sinks in slow from the injectible
which sinks in sharp like a stab.