Best Coagulated Poems
( Repost )
Somehow, her eyes expand with the disobedient sky
and there, she senses urchins filling water on the lake
her feet and thighs slide up changing hues,
with receding incarnations of the moon.
She bends down gazing at images on the lake
as limbs turn into seaweeds, a mermaid in pain
changing hues in the crystal white of sky…
and the moon with slices of split mirrors burn
on wiggles of unscented tresses in water.
She dips her hands to catch the sleek tail in a plunge
knowing not a word to describe the reflection on the lake,
and witness the need to flow randomly in its
entrance through the expanse of one silver sky…
trying to recover glimpses reflected in the water.
Without point of reference to unknown images,
she vaguely remembers how transparently liquid
the changing hues of the moon become watery
like a hint of coagulated blood on a mermaid’s lake...
and the laughter of the sky drips into imaginings.
.......................................
* Written for a fantasy contest that was discontinued;
its theme required entrants to describe one's mirrored
image of the self. Few comments ranged from " Nice, but I
didn't get it" to " You seemed to have overused the word
"water?" In hindsight, I asked myself," what
were you thinking? This is sloppy!"
Jerry T Curtis' This Poem S***s Contest
Categories:
coagulated, fantasy, identity,
Form:
Free verse
Imagine all the people
who trade in human life,
imagine all the reasons
given to this particular vice.
I visualize the rivers
that run with coagulated blood,
I visualize the tyrant
that stir the waters good!
Imagine all the evil
where nightmares are conceived,
imagine all the weepers
locked in harmony.
I visualize a great peace
when man is down and out,
I visualize a yearning
to stir up warring lout!
Imagine all the carrion
fleeing this earthly scroll,
imagine all the zombies
them humans without soul.
I visualize the populous
with only one track mind,
I visualize the despotic master
not too far behind!
Imagine all the wrongdoers
that wait for the morrow,
imagine all the innocent
with aggravated sorrow.
I visualize his disciples
locked in earthly battle,
I visualize all intellect
smitten with ancient prattle!
Imagine all the dreamers
that dream in psycho colours,
imagine all the dead ones
John Lennon and others.
I visualize the sky
that reflect the sombre waters,
I visualize the time
they’ll be no virgin daughters!
Imagine all the children
born with colour blindness,
imagine all the peace
driven by human kindness.
I visualize a new order
maybe for the best?
I visualize the establishment
being put to the test!
Imagine all the people
with lives of eternal bliss,
imagine all the barriers
created when living with this.
I visualize heaven here
in this heathen place,
I visualize the angel
in pure virgin white lace!
Imagine all the new born
scanner pattern at birth,
imagine all of today’s crime
eliminated through death.
I visualize a dossier
of PLC news speak,
I visualize authoritarianism
of every aspect!
Imagine all the cloning
created for human part,
imagine all the respect
donated to this particular art.
I visualize the unscrupulous
desperate for existence,
I visualize the farm of haste
the plough of insistence!
Imagine, Mother Shipton
prophecies all came true,
imagine only one statement fails
the end of the world.
I visualize even then
common sense will prevail.
I visualize only Jesus Christ
will forecast the ultimate end!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Categories:
coagulated, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
coagulated, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
Street Walker in Oslo
As the black-winged night occupies my balcony
and spread its wings in triumph and shop lights
try in vain to illuminate and gladden a grubby street
I see you leaving your flat and begin your night shift
As you walk past splashes of yellow light,
I can see your white powdered face has not yet
settled into its customary inviting grin and your
lips are a machete slash where blood has coagulated
into lumps long ago.
Dressed in red tonight in the hope of attracting
rampant lust, but since you are an old bird
you are reduced to service those with a putrid need
for violence, but even in your disgrace I know
your heart is pure.
Categories:
coagulated, anger, beauty, betrayal,
Form:
Blank verse
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
and crumpled
yellowed with age.
Though forgotten
never erased. Never
extinguished.
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
supplementing blood
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
The pencil
whispers
words,
lightly brushes her lips
against slate,
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
The screen
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
It hides
away your words,
entombs them
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
Categories:
coagulated, art,
Form:
Ode
She smiles upon coated slate.
Her skeletons become coagulated whispers
Of yesterday
Another blissful awakening
This shedding of redemptions’ sin
Under elastic dialects
Closure within ephemeral slow dances
Irregular beats of her drum
Now
Steadfast acoustic riffs
Forge constellations' new tomorrow
As she swims through cashmere laden sands
Without the need to float
On dependency’s raft
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
coagulated, freedom, life,
Form:
Free verse
My muse did her fealty recuse
My honor she did stealthily reconnoiter
My discourse was grounds for divorce
Finding my writing no longer enlightening
My blithe parlance no longer my mistress did entrance
With my prose she did forthrightly dispose
Each short she did subsequently abort
Each regaling verse did prudently disburse
Each perforated line truncated with lackluster shine
Each conjured sentence only increased my penance
Each glamorous byline she did smugly decline
Each dilated phrase with a bridling border did encase
Each gilded stanza a burnished extravaganza yielding no artful bonanza
Each tethered word coagulated into a stolid curd
Each bloated quote sunk my creative float deeper in the moat
Each lofty rhyme labeled too smarmy and sublime
My metric time no longer struck a concordant chime
Each literary device neatly spliced would not even a novice entice
Each repetitive, stagnant metaphor made my verse a bore
Each strained, tortured simile engendered no empathy
Each supplanted metonymy a shock wave lobotomy
Categories:
coagulated, funny, metaphor,
Form:
Light Verse
My psyche's playground
Is a horrific landscape:
There is no escape
From the snagging cleft
Of its jagged inlay,
As steep as a million years of seeping blood
Coagulated through coldheartedness
Confusion and subterfuge
- It's like coming home when your lover's asleep,
Or breaking a promise by taking a peek;
Personal experience tells me,
That right about now,
It is nearly
time for me
To take my extended leave...
...Can we keep this between you and me,
Exclusively?
I never really liked you very much anyway;
But why should we let something like that
Stand in our way?
And try and hold us back?
Or stop us from running away?
Maybe even together (someday)
But not necessarily on the same planet...
...Is this a joke?
A poem?
Or an insult?
I don't think I get it?
I really cannot be expected
To know the correct answers
To these specific types
Of metaphysical questions;
Yet...
...That's what makes me an artist...well, isn't it?
What are you?! - A friggin' idiot?!
Don't answer that:
I was just starting to like you,
Even though, it is true what they say:
I do think you are incredibly stupid
Considering your unexpected age...
...But we can still be fair-weather friends
Whenever it isn't raining again...Is it just me?
Or is it always raining these days?
I can evoke a joke or a poem
From almost any known substance
Comparable to injustice!
So why then, won't anyone pay me for my poetry?!
Is it because I'm still drinking too heavily?
Somebody, anybody
- Seriously, please; just kill me
# They call this "topical" humor, but I still don't get it...
...And I feel like I'm running out of time to "get-with-it"
- Any suggestions would be appreciated....
Categories:
coagulated, angst, crazy, political, silly,
Form:
Free verse
It had partially dried to the table, crimson, sticky, and coagulated, and not wanting to let go of the sloppily scrawled letter. It drooped in his hands:
I finished the f-----g dishes you were B----ing about you dirt bag
..don’t worry about the mess outside
LEAVE ME FOR THE ANIMALS,
give me a chance to be appreciated by SOMETHING!”
Jeremiah’s eyelids tightened around the words. She wasn’t serious, she couldn’t have been serious. Night after night of drunken fights and carnal apologies; She always awoke the same, hungover and satisfied by the endearment of his widowed anger and forgotten misgivings. The thrust of weathered flesh sated the storm they wrought with the rainfall of liquor. They made it through, it was a promise made. That night, 15 years ago, still kids, they bore an oath that couldn’t be broken. They tore a trail across one another’s palms, clasped them together and spoke the words:
“Together, Eternally, Married in this life, the next…Hell can’t stop us.”
"SHE F------G PROMISED ME!" his tongue spattered the words across her own, his fear dripping lazily down the finality of her betrayal. Jeremiah’s grip slouched, rattled by the haste of grief, her letter fell upon unsteady feet as he stepped over the intoxicated goodbye of a love that could no longer stand to abide the throb of chaos. "WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER, YOU B---H!" the crash of bone against hardwood quaked shards of brokenness on the floor; a sketchy trail, toward an open front door. The smell of bleach curdled amid stale cigarette butts strewn across a palate of remorse. He walked out, still not sure if it was a nightmare or if the pain he felt really was the echo of karma Victoria had always told him, would reach him someday.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved. -to be continued-
This is a rough, work in progress...
Categories:
coagulated, abuse, drink, horror, imagery,
Form:
Prose
Whispers in the breeze,
frozen stiff around a bend-
life came to an end.
If just there was enough,
if just.
The quiet still of the dead,
coagulated blood on your head...
You sped away to get away...
farther than you ever meant.
Now a little face dwells
pensive
confused.
Heavy chin resting on his fist,
weary eyes covered wet with woe.
In the late October breeze
he tries to catch a whisper of his dad...
calling him to sleep,
for one last time again.
Life long they will pass your final act.
A dent in the old oak tree,
where in a flash-
they lost everything.
My heart it weeps.
It could be you
or me.
Categories:
coagulated, death
Form:
Free verse
Texas A and M when I was in school
You could only survive, if you were cool
Things are so different from when I went there
I have some examples I’d like to share
An all military college back then
Nothing but males were allowed to attend
You’re called a “Fish” throughout you’re freshman year
Or a “Frog” if at mid-term you appear
A “Fish” has only one privilege per man
To get away with anything he can
If an upper classman treats a Fish wrong
“Get-even” time may occur before long
A “drown-out” is a favored revenge ploy
But it takes two when it’s time to deploy
One with the waste basket full of water
One to slam /jam the door at the slaughter
A “drown out” with plain water’s not so bad
There’re other things that can make you so sad
Like corn flakes soaked till they get gooey smelly
Or slaughter house blood coagulated like jelly
Another “get-even” I can recall
Affected everyone down that hall
Three Thanksgiving turkeys in a dorm room
Four days later, a rotten stinky tomb
There are so many stories I could tell
Some are so bad that they wouldn’t read well
Most of the years at college were a ball
But my “Fish” year was the best of them all
Categories:
coagulated, school, thanksgiving, time,
Form:
Quatrain
one moonlit night i was spawned,
a fallen angel with desecrated wings...
a changeling child, my eyes glistening menace...
and God shuddered when he saw me,
raised his arms across the heavens, and spoke:
"and then...." he said...
"and then, there was -
bloodshed."
and so it all went down...
the tumult ensued,
hell unleashed itself, in bleeding wounds,
in chaos and mayhem....
and i stalked the land,
the monger of silent suffering - a marble-skinned tormentor,
swathed in tattered black robes,
dripping corpse paint...
and everywhere my boots trod there was madness...
my own brand of insanity suffusing every action,
every moaned word and hissed curse...
i am chaos personified;
all of this lies just inside my soul,
brimming beneath the surface....
a smouldering wreck of carnage.
unstoppable, eternal, beneath the impassive stars -
nothing can hold me down,
no bars can cage my malice -
but in dark days, when the fires of my anger are dampened,
then do i return home,
to the cold northern forests; they are my only solace,
my only mercy
and in them i find my sole source of succor...
my embers of despair are nurtured beneath spreading black boughs,
and re-forged as contentment...a bitter pill to swallow,
but quiet, so blessedly quiet, like the interior of a burned out church...
and for a few brief months,
the cycle of torture grinds to a coagulated halt...
[a tribute-ish poem about norwegian black metal]
Categories:
coagulated, angst, imagination, music
Form:
Free verse
I got a fetish for neglecting things that I should cherish.
Once I realize its true value, those moments have already perished.
Who's at fault when our time becomes essence-less?
When we begin to question our coexistence.
How do we make each moment resemble something of elegance?
Time must be at our mercy because time is merciless.
Forgive my sins and all my sins that may become friends.
The time I have left only depends.
Many circumstances. Moments left up to chances.
I surrender to pessimistic thoughts on multiple occasions.
Only make moves when motivation is provided by mental persuasion.
Or when exteriors give me a motive.
Sometimes I fail to see the reason for the worth of pursuance.
Coagulated thoughts then become a nuisance.
Time never waits, so I watch time with prudence.
So maybe my time can be continued, rather than in conclusion.
Categories:
coagulated, devotion, life, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
You prod at the sores of your heart
with a hemorrhaging pen, wishing it was
a scalpel; so you could carve
out the disease that keeps
your rage alive.
Basic instinct, I suppose.
To slay the demons,
that made you who you are.
You thank them for your posture,
but scold the obsidian eyes in the
mirror. What you have become:
Callous, and engulfed in the
rotting theater you thought
you controlled. The reigns
have broken loose, your
skull whips in the wind of
chaos. It’s not really your
sort of dance, you know…
You don’t know the steps
…you don’t even know the song.
It drums against your flesh
as if you were already stripped
and tanned, spread across
the hallowed instruments
of reckoning.
But you can’t hear the chant,
only the distant hum of the
butcher who said you could
call him “friend”.
That you were safe,
if only you would show him
what you promised you would
never show anyone.
It drips,
thick,
coagulated,
dirty.
Just like every part of you,
you wish you could burn;
As you dig the covenant,
into the flesh of your enemy;
Your only true, enemy.
The mirror cracks…
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Categories:
coagulated, dream, horror, imagery, introspection,
Form:
Prose Poetry
His hair grew as coagulated blood
His scalp perpetually trying to reach his eyebrows
Skin greased and calloused
His eyes soulless
Yet seemed searching
Everybody was not afraid of him.
I gave him food once
I placed it on the ground where
He stood outside the church’s door
He barely moved
He slowly stooped
It was like watching a snail’s body melt
when you put salt on it
I wonder if he has ever uttered a word in his life
Of course I never expected him to say thanks
He was still slowly bending but I knew he
Wouldn’t get it unless I was not in sight.
But I desired to see him get it
I wanted to see if his face would ever change a bit
So I just went away thinking I starved him with my presence
I went back after a moment
The container lied on the floor, no chicken bones.
His eyebrows twitched no more
But the eyes were looking…somewhere.
Somehow.
I was baffled, have always been.
How is he supposed to live?
I can’t always give him food.
The priests might be busy too.
The altar boys might have been annoyed by his stench
So they would not get near either.
My house’s far from the church.
That wounded man would just keep staring at him from up the cross.
I wonder if the tramp ever asked the man to come down from his cross
And give him something to eat.
Or did he ever contemplate on bringing him down?
For Catie Lindsay's Free Verse Contest
Categories:
coagulated, faith, religion, satire,
Form:
Narrative