Best Diaphragm Poems
I sometimes feel a unique vibration within
my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted,
baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home.
Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing
into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon.
Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights
like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain
beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries
reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me,
somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart.
A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own
children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib
to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers
and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize.
I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace,
and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind…
what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish
to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two?
I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum…
only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.
The rib of Eve is fashion's price
A sadistic trap of six-inch heels
Some masochist's torture device
Or for added bust appeal
To wrap the torso so austere
And lift upon bands of steel
The French grandly name the brassiere
Paris, an exacting Madame
Wielding her whip of sharp cashmere
No slouching, suck in that diaphragm!
A lady glides on blistered feet
Starved to belong, sweet tooth be damned
No sweat allowed in any heat
Only single digit sizes impress
Shunning all those more than petite
Sisters, what happened to progress?
Our feminist freedoms manifold
We deserve to be a mess!
Gray is lovelier than gold...
4/12/19
For Quirky Tercets contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Those eyes of yours
Holding a bunch of blue sky
Have been inspiring me lifelong
To seek rhyme and song
In turbulence
A Buddha like balance
Then you, the sceptic
Always asking
'What is your view?'
Almost like Socrates
Never readily conforming to
Any set thesis
Would open a sky
Asking why this
Why not that
To discover a new door to stand at
Thus you wanted to groom us:
'Cogito ergo sum'
I think, therefore I am
Relaxing my diaphragm
And now in the twilight I look at
My too many windows to look out
For a new sprout
I thank you there
Among the twinkling stars
And you young girl
How soft suave but yet straight
Is your speech
While we screech at a little conflict
Raising ugly forms
Ignoring norms of civilization
You are always low but firm
Polite but powerful
I try to be like you
In my communications
In interrelations
A grandfather trying to emulate a granddaughter
Life is a great assorter
And there you
The oranges in the tree
The beauty spree
The life and lyre free
Have inspired me
To stay happy
Even in despondency
Then you
The beggar in the street
A lesson for survival
Never say yes to defeat
You have to first sleep and eat
Then towards other vitals
You the whore
Drifting from shore to shore
Embracing sort of death
For the sake of life
Tiny shines of strife
Where ever you look at life
With a childlike interrogation
With a touch of admiration
Will come across
In a session
Diamonds of inspiration
___________________________________________________
3/1/2017 : Contest: Who has inspired you most in your life
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri-Carroll
You are alone on a deserted island that has been filled with overgrown fruit
and bare essentials. The water is so clear you can use it as an honest mirror
of truth. Over in the distance you spot a lovely hammock that has been hung
between two sturdy cypress trees. You decide to walk over and give it a try.(b)
Its soft material hugs you and before you know it, you are fast asleep in that
lovely makeshift hammock. The sound of the ocean rocks your ears in tranquil
motion to and fro. (b)
Passing clouds glide over your head without making a sound. They are watching
you breathe as they go by. Breathe from your diaphragm, your chest, your throat,
Breathe in and out.
You smile cuz you are in a place of inner contentment. A little green turtle trundles
along moving side by side close in , circling your little soft hammock.
She is heading for the ocean for some seaweed, jellies or tunicates. The little rosy
seashells are sitting at the edge. They call you over for a barefoot walk. You smile
as you rise and go to the edge of the water wetting your feet and holding spaced
with the dolphins and the fish (b)
You are going to live here for a little while. Long enough to receive your fitful rest
You are going to stay her for a little while, cuz you know it is the best place to be(b)
The End.
Eh, Bebe ...
clueless you with the wide eyes open,
which can’t see
So apoplectic of heart,
paralyzed by the cobra sway
of changeling channel charmer words
Gen Z baby gloomer
remote diaphragm controlled,
go back to analog sleep
Oh oh ... video comatose —
Nightmares begat by daydreams
of reel digital silver screams
Lost Vegas patch-eye vision
of one arm pulled down
And the coins keep trickling
into your open palms
Baby Bebe gon umbilical vault cray cray
Cut the cord of the eyelid dark violet curtains ...
bling-bling blind birth
shut the womb of twin retinal glow dearth
So aorta slow,
slug cranial coma critical ...
lobotomy comatose
Virtual voices say:
eh, Bebe —
Pull the plug ... let the dying vapors go,
expired from a necrotic nasal
The rain didn't fall
last night so much
as it was thrown.
The wind didn't blow
last night so much
as it was whipped.
And a whip is
a thing which
lacerates, it cuts.
The day after
was the last day
and the next days
will be filled with
no more and no longer
until the next days
outnumber the
here-with-us days
and the days after those
days will pile on, unmercifully
as well. The whipwind cuts.
Whippy storm.
Shallow breath.
Dirtied coat.
Abraded eyes.
Right one swollen.
No bowel signs right,
and few on left.
Unwilling to move -
pressed rump-first into
a corner
facing southwest.
Signs of sweat.
"My other horse went this way."
she weakly offers
to the morning air,
to the isn't there,
foreshadowing shadows
and coming despair.
"I wish the doctor would
hurry up and get here."
though we knew he would,
he was, he would be...
soon.
How soon? We didn't know.
- - -
Shaving tummy,
seeking what's beneath,
what is deep.
Ultrasound inconclusive.
Which leads to a conclusion,
the conclusion.
Mommy cooing for hours.
She's brushing him now.
"He's toxic" says doc J.
"It's time." quietly said
to all who already know.
But the spokeness of it is
it's own gift.
The haunting guess brought into
Life, into the moment
into Astro's stall.
- - -
Outside, the crows cried.
The grey winds sucked
warmth.
"You're gonna like where
you'll be." repeated Momma K.
A stroke.
A kiss.
A nuzzle.
A forelock felt.
He thumped down.
Momma started.
We four knelt down,
knowing that but
three would rise.
Syringe after syringe.
Twenty two years.
"His heart's stopped now,"
says Doc
"That's just his diaphragm
tryin' to do its job."
Astro huffs heartily.
- - -
Blankets cover him now,
in a damp paddock.
His bridle off.
At long last.
He is still.
She shakes.
Tears from both.
- - -
The wind won't stop.
He seems to breathe.
It's just the wind
under the blankets.
He really seems to breathe.
- - -
"I learned so much from this horse."
Limerick: Once the Yogi of Himalaya
or the laughing gas Yogi
I
Once the Yogi of Himalaya
Preached laughing loud with Prânâyâma*
They thought him immortal
Put him on pedestal
Now he’s the toast of lost Gondwana.
II
Once the same Yogi Himalaya
Taught laughing during Prânâyâma*
Lungs stuck to diaphragm
Voice: phonocardiogram
Now he’s part of iced Fujiyama.
• Sanskrit for the art of breathing in yogic practices:
• prânâ = (cosmic) energy; âyâma = vitality.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Control of breathing is quite complex
And if you really check the specs
You find all kinds of balances and checks
Within the medulla, cells playing their role
The DRG, inspirational control
Using cyclic neurons for their goal.
Actions potentials from the DRG
These cells are cyclic and fire intermittently.
Then muscle contract to the best of their ability.
To the external intercostals and diaphragm they talk
And these muscles, at the neurons’ stalk
Follow orders and they do not balk.
And when they stop, the muscles relax.
Air is forced out as muscle slacks.
Volume decreases and Boyle’s Law acts.
So breathing in costs ATP
That means the use of energy
But calm expiration? It’s just free.
But when you need to force air out
Or at something, really shout
The VRG is what it’s all about.
It talks to abdominal muscles as well
As internal intercostals to make pressure swell
And air in the lungs can no longer dwell.
The Apneustic center in the pons is a source
Of a center dealing with force
Of an inspiration’s course.
The pneumotaxic center deals with duration
And both centers talk to each medullary station
And help regulate breathing condition.
The limbic system has some sway
In breathing fast or slow at bay
More than most realize, an important say.
And the hypothalamus, always of import
With its influence never falls short
In aiding ventilation, it lends its support.
For other than limbic, it deals with fever
When it tips the temperature lever
And makes ventilation a greater achiever.
Lastly there’s the cortex of the brain,
Whose job most think, is always to reign.
But when it comes to breathing, it is quite plain.
You can’t stop breathing by your will.
The lower centers always still
Make breathing a reflex, cortex input almost nil.
And just what drives this reflex to ventilate?
From where does the need originate?
From the chemoreceptors, it does emanate.
Receptors monitoring proton concentration.
Then messages sent without cessation
To the brainstem for increasing ventilation.
And hydrogen ions, where are they from?
Carbon dioxide and water, voila, they come.
The magic formula, carbonic acid does succumb.
20 Line Haiku Hijack
I stole a haiku from Japan
Stuffed it in a duffle bag, added 20 lines
Fed it chocolate day and night before the flight
Then placed it on the market when I landed
Shrimp and whale tails make sound haiku
Deliciously simple like sushi. Japan hated mine.
Called it distasteful, too heavy and rude
Complaining it suffered from too many lines
I sold the stolen poem to a toothless man next
An Afghanistan Taliban in need of a wife
He realized the mistake and returned it at once
Calling it bland, loveless and torturously trite
I injected a diaphragm on the haiku 2nd line
To prevent undo pregnancies
When left alone to expand, haiku will multiply on command
It grew from 3 to 20 lines in what Japan calls a crime
Hijacking haiku and adding more lines is wrong
It changes the meaning and makes it too long
Haiku will never be the same again
In the end I put it on a train to India…a quatrain to be exact.
With one precise wave of the baton
the Oboe starts playing a single melody
beautiful notes flowing upwards, fluttering downwards
reverently renders on the last note
well-balanced diaphragm for soft and loud tunes
before the final note disappears into the air
the Violins fill in the silent intervals of resting space
painting a background of sweet flower gardens
their bows joining voices with synthetic core strings
singing brilliant and responsive tone with a nice complexity
the Violas, the Cellos, the Bass all join in the chorus
bright blue skies emerge from the strings
unaware of the approaching dark thundering clouds
tonic and dominant rhythm of the Timpani
announcing the presence of something sinister
the black lightning monster hidden in the billowing mass
twisting sounds conversing with the Percussionist
cooking charms from the Glockenspiel
metallic echoes of bells ringing in the rain
suddenly interrupted by a menacing shrieking Tam-Tam
mixing chemistry with the guidance of a mad scientist
a jumble of words that make no sense
struck by a combination of Chimes and Crotales
shouting judgments into a creature's ears
so lacking in self-consciousness
gliding on the outer shell slipping softly away
always craving to fulfill the starvation of empty souls
green eyes looking towards the Harp for its unique resonance
ebony lips licking in anticipation of the next composition
This fleeting love was so
Mustang GTO
One zero zero mpg galloping flow
Past percentages said: don’t make the wrong turn
Cool convertible joyride took a cardiac slow burn,
lip swerve around the infidelity curve
Rubber denials hit the road,
asphalt inquiries touched a raw nerve
Infatuated wheels spinning out of control ...
me thought the fantasy was real,
but the ecstasy was showroom fool’s gold
It’s a hairy situation,
my Afro instincts can feel a crash coming
Moving like an Energizer bunny,
I’m starting to feel
like a test car strapped-in dummy
Mustang love custom GTO
Binary triple digits zooming nitro —
Deceleration shift was a clutch much too slow,
had the top down
when my left will took an aorta puncture blow
I can hear the crash coming:
Icy surface eye contact
initiate the pain buffer airbag
Crushed lung gasp,
muffled passenger fear
How long did the unconsciousness last,
what happened to the frightened deer?
Pleasure vulnerable pulmonary lapse,
ventriloquist sound gave me backseat fear
Accidental pain motor reflex synapse ...
my unbuckled conscience got thrown clear
News flash: Another fresh love roadkill
Couldn’t avoid the crash,
even with no strings attached
Hopeful breathing went diaphragm still
for the wouldn’t dummy behind the will
WHERE HAVE ALL THE OLD DIAPHRAGMS GONE
THEY ONCE WERE THE THING
IN THEIR FAUX PEARL CASE
LIKE A JACK IN THE BOX
WHEN THEY POP OPEN IN SPACE
HAVE THEY BEEN BURNED OUT FROM USE
OR HAVE THEY JUST DISAPPEARED
WITHOUT ANY TRACE
BECAUSE OF THE PILL
WHICH IS MUCH EASIER TO FACE
OR HAVE THEY BEEN BURIED IN THE GROUND
WITH THEIR LOVED ONES OF OLD
BECAUSE THERE IS ONE THING FOR SURE
THERE IS NO MARKET FOR THEM
AND
THEY ARE NEVER RESOLD
OR HAVE THE FEW REMAINING ONES FOUND
BEEN PRESERVED IN MUSEUMS
ALONG WITH ANTIQUATED TORTURE AND
WAR MACHINES
ALL OBSOLETE MEMORABILIA
AND REMINDERS OF A CULTURE PAST
THAT WILL NEVER RETURN-
FOR TODAY CULTURES CHANGE FAST
AND THINGS BORN OF TECHNOLOGY
NEVER OUTLAST
GOODBYE THE NINETEEN SEVENTIES
GOODBYE FLOWER POWER
GOODBYE INNOCENCE
GOODBYE PAST CULTURE AND TECHNOLOGY
AND
GOODBYE COLUMBUS
.....
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.........
i climb inside my breath meeting purple light
bow of spine humming a gently- kissed timber,
toes, fingers stray along lyres of inner flight
on rippled hushes wading softly, chants glimmer;
even rain’s tunes outside succumb to soul’s night,
tempo of diaphragm lilts, whispers flutter
god of peace chimes, ascending inwardly
beaming with glow, i meet heaven's symphony
--------
I write much hic cup ado
About nothing, which involuntary explosive release
comes clear out of the hic cup blue
nary a sponge bob square pants handy dandy bellows clue
where in tarnation this uncontrollable bout
jarring the body electric hic cup do
why such physiological spasmodic trembling whacky
baa closure of glottis hic cup ewe
moost likely find annoying as this hic cup ping buck feels few
breaths short of taking drastic action…
like hic cup swallowing glue
as an extreme solution per tha series
of being held hostage hoo
dee knee probably lacked escapist artist skills
even if he trundled to an igloo
to emergency room of a hospital or veterinarian
such hic cup caterwauling catering to gentile cat or Jew
lean, thus, time and again when said hic cup affliction
holds me hic cup ransom knew
does drive me towards acts of desperation
such as sticking ma head in the loo
which bizarre reaction on par with holding
out an appetite until famished for moo
Goo guy pan in mixed with a delicious bowl of new
dulls steeped in broth or an island delicacy renown on Oahu
even this atheist would ask for salivation praying a pew
whereby sound of silence echoed by hic cup right on queue
when nary a burble until reach that amen hic cup rue
stubbornly persists, no matter trying to suppression sue
per upsurge of diaphragm, a diabolical force forcing air thru
nasal passage and/or mouth oft times faintly resembling a u
ca lay lee with a snort accompanied no doubt by a voodoo
Practitioner…until…at last whew
hic cups stop as mysteriously as they started
bringing relief to this caged primate in a zoo.
The implosion of a thought is neither a shred or a shard. In fact it is surely a pulsation of a wisdom whirlpool? Really? How rather radical. And amusing to the laughs of the rhombuses who gather with rhinos to celebrate the correct correspondence from a diagram which has been deleted by a diaphragm. No condolences required in a tepee but echoes of deaths can mean the picking of fruit would become timely,important,and long overdue. Oh dear. How unfortunate that a printed skirt can collapse on a beam like a fly on a wall. It is imperative to note that doctrines are not fables nor are they of importance for they merely feel that they are. And now it is the gatherings of the mutton mutations who are ingesting but losing wool due to the wisdom of wind capsules. Wow . The flotation of heifers timed is an undignified duty to an orbit of an orb and an orb can cast aspersions so never argue with an ambidextrous shrew in a multi coloured cape. And a four gee sim can always placate and be more interesting than placing order in a misty mansion. But misty mansions were supposed to be respected. Yet folk trample and tread and feats by fairies are often unnoticed by small footed monkeys. Balance not a tome whilst on a step ladder. And always bathe in a light fragrance for air is importance to balance,stabilise and renew. Such a groundsheet sewn. And even a sultry hairdryer gets weary when catering for a cantering follicle. So go dust that tree. And iron the gardens. Rest assured that a four footer will grow. Good. Godly given gratefully greeted greatness. And a tree sap to sip. Not to spill. Line up the priests are out. Linking lineage. Then? And a cosmopolitan cosmic cosmetic clap. Bang. Oh. Oblivious to none is agreed by some so throw the leper in the bin. Radical ridicule rather ravenous raping ruling rods reeking. And a little fly to the sands of time. Great isn't it? No. For that is an Orpheus snail that is barking and a cacti jumps up and down. Downloads are a programmable prison then. Fornicate not with an thistle. And carry a weapon to a gig. Guiding giving grabbing going gone. Gits. And a 190,000,987,567 tall pansy. Great. Greater the greater the greater greets. Garnished. Under siege. Vehemently z