Best Pulmonary Poems
Riding off into the Ivory Palace sunset,
in a pitch-black limousine, no less
Hear the heavy metallic chariot roar,
leaving exacerbated fumes echo deplored
Aural palette, enamel pestilent pain
on burnt crimson background grain
Scorching prairie brush fire
was the cruel comfort desire
It’s aghast portrait in pandemic grief,
pyramid scheme exit of paucity relief
The curtain call, pulmonary rating king
is a modern-day Nero
His favorite numbers (violin strumming)
are the printed zeroes
Fashioning a Fourth Reich,
naked emperor be blew Lenin unsound
Ballot dropping the psych,
bosom burning the divided house down
With a teary grift posturing diddle,
Amerikan Nero is playing the fiddle
Rearview rolling one last Rublecon riddle,
carny Fahrenheit was the plucking piddle
Crumbling democracy
was brimstone seen through the smoke
Ash trail of hypocrisy
left an urn nation crematorium stoked
12-29-20
Categories:
pulmonary, allegory, future, history, visionary,
Form:
Couplet
YES !
Written in my palms
Within the plasma tempest of my cellular flow
Courses in the pulmonary oxygen
The direction linear fate
Souls writing indicates
Always through pass of time
Reverberates
My breathing in
Links my hands
Physical over mental
Pours consistent
Suffused empire shudders
Tangible still earthquakes
On a single point
Of longing
Yearning
It filters me
Through the hours
Designs my wishes
Sleeping naked
In a diaphragms rising
Lake of want
Each morning in helpless moans
At this state
The continent
The ocean
Of my empty arms
Emptying this need in me
Fills me more
Than any love
I have ever
Known
Re-born
I hanker in swelling desire
Even lust exhales
Its animal fire
And swims in the sails
Expressive
Storm wracked and howling
As I sit motionless
In this envelope
Of aching final
Suspended
In what it means
To be
To me
Completely
Powered by an undeniable
The force surge
Inscribes
Etches
Ensnares
And capitulates
To recognition
Without resistance
Builds a formulation of my destiny
Written in my palms
Within the plasma tempest
Of my cellular flow
The thunderclap
Resounds from above
YES !
I am in love
( And I weep
And I laugh
Each morning in helpless moans
At this state
The continent
The ocean
Of my empty arms )
Categories:
pulmonary, lovemorning,
Form:
Free verse
“For I have seen you from far places
Shinning in bold light because you are made
Of Copper and tellurium; CuTe,
You are like the transition metals
You display love of many colours,
You are the sunshine that speeds up the release of
Oxygen I breathe in gears of photosynthesis,
How cute?
Periodic table of my love,
May we physically bond?
And be like the ionic bond
To display our love like graphs on the Cartesian plane
May our love be hard to fuse like
Like ions with the intra-molecular forces of attraction
Be like an equal sign,
And you call me “Lo” and I’ll call you “Ve”
So we can produce a product called LOVE when we fuse?
Damsel you are like a sensory neurone to me,
You act like an enzyme on my happiness,
You duplicate my happiness to its level best,
You become a protractor when I’m down there,
My oxygen,
My love gene,
My star akin
That shines my goal scene
How?
You become a kinetic energy
When I’m drowned by poverty
Caused by long struggle of loneliness,
My love,
My heart,
You are the love in the oxygenated blood
That enters my double pump
Through the pulmonary vein,
You are like a scientific calculator that smoothens
My number struggle,
May I say?
May I play with you like letters of algebra?
May I be the gradient in that steep slope
That will take us to the home of our love?
I mean the periodic table of our need
Let’s heed through like a linear sequence
And be like…
Periodic table of my love.
Let’s make love and shine like crystals obtained
After crystallisation,
Accelerate uniformly like a pair of ethanol as it slangs
Between bonds of chlorophyll,
Let’s chill and make our love our quadratic homework,
So you will tell me when I’m wrong like when it reads Error 1,
2 or 3,
My periodic table of love,
I want to watch your curves that reminds me of the brackets in
Mathematics,
Touch your majestic body that makes me to cry when I’m about
To slice an onion,
May our love be like the mitochondrion?
May you be my nucleus?
And guide me like equations of motion,
Drive my innocent mind into your bosom akin to
That of an angel,
Periodic table of my love,
Be my love,
Be my time,
Be my tickler,
Be my world,
Be the periodic table of my love.”
Categories:
pulmonary, africa, art, love, ,
Form:
Ballad
the sound wave slips serpentine
isolating notes from the chaotic noise
the ocular ray rebounds on the rock
refracting its boomering-photo of corrugated surface
the pulmonary sponge expands its alveolum
to the sea of pre-prejudice aroma
a hand of outlining mass tolerates its first electric mutation
when caressing the iron rod
a sucker mouth inflames the nipple
savoriing milk and saliva secretion
...the pilgrimage of experience through the layers of time
pulverizes ego into oblivion
the being-enemy alloys tender wisdom
and death arrives with torch tongues
incinerating the decadent organs
and blushing illuminating existence
silence, brightness-light
the sound waves weave sonatas
with limpid multicolored rays
Categories:
pulmonary, philosophysound, sound, prejudice,
Form:
Free verse
I'm tired of writing love poems and trying to put spins on them;
So for inspiration and ideas i go brainstorming;
But each thought, each idea seems to be a duplicate of the last poem;
"The glimmer of her memory never seems to diminish" if i should quote one;
The most amazing part about all these poems is not that I wrote them;
its that they're all about you;
so a thought about you is always around the corner from my mind;
But loving you was always harder than putting thread through a needle if i was blind;
And i could never figure you out even if i was smarter than Einstein;
See pain and love reside in the same exact address of my heart either one would answer the door when you runged;
Like when you didn't say nothing when your brother called me out my name and we got the scrapping cause i ain't no punk;
Or when you finally said i love you who would've thunk;
In my hearts mind i know i have to free you from the prison that is deep inside my aorta, pass the pulmonary valve;
there you'll find all of our memories that were once upon a time;
before i unlock the doors with the keys of forgiveness and free the memories we once shared like wind to leaves;
I just want you to know a couple things to put my mind at ease;
You were my definition of love when problems arose we chose to be more discrete;
Who knew my heart would tremble, broken like a Haitian street;
They told me to be patient and that time heels all wounds;
But you leaving left a big whole in my heart the size of a balloon;
Ive been walking around these streets hoping nobody pops it so i wont end up a guy in a loveless casket
Categories:
pulmonary, anger, betrayal, break up,
Form:
I was just four when I discovered that some grown-ups cry.
That’s because I saw my mommy dragging my daddy down the stairs,
Her eyes so full of tears that they fairly poured down her flimsy nightgown.
Daddy wasn’t crying. Daddy was dead.
When I was six, I had cause to cry on my own account.
Mommy had been dating a man, she said if they married I would be a flower girl.
One night she came into my room crying a little and said she was sorry, they eloped.
I cried quietly. I’m not sure it was all for me.
At eleven, a whole new kind of tears entered my life.
Asleep in my room late at night, I awoke to my mom screaming and sobbing.
My three-year-old sister slept next to me so I just listened as my stepfather beat her.
I cried so hard. I thought I would never stop.
Age 20 and happy to be in college away from the pain.
Divorced, mom found a new love in vodka, and he controlled her more than her ex.
I brought my love home to meet her, and she asked him how he could like a fat, lazy slob like me?
I knew I shouldn’t cry. It didn’t stop me.
In my life have been many opportunities to cry.
Being told I would die when my daughter was a baby and I thirty-two,
The death of my mother, my youngest daughter’s fiancé dying of cystic fibrosis.
With each tear I fade a little. I’m almost gone.
So now in my 50s, I find out my oldest daughter is sick.
Stage four lymphoma, and she didn’t cry through chemo, hair loss,
Almost dying four times in treatment, emergency surgery, pulmonary embolism.
It’s okay. I cried enough for both of us.
She is twenty-six, and sometimes I can hear her crying.
Her lymphoma is back, creeping into her spine like an armed terrorist,
And while it is a small encampment that hasn’t grown, our fear, sadness, and helplessness increases daily.
I hear her cry. I make sure she can’t hear me.
I am approaching sixty; sometimes I feel one hundred.
I wonder if God has allotted us a finite number of tears for our lifetime,
If those tears are stored in the chambers of our heart and we need to conserve some for what tomorrow holds.
Let her last tear be her last tear. But give me one last tear — sparkling and light — dancing down my cheek in gratitude as I fade to clear.
fbruary 2, 2019
Categories:
pulmonary, cancer, cry, family, sad,
Form:
Free verse
I'm boring through your ventricles
I'm being terribly invasive
My quiet warm breath
Keeping measure and pace
To such meticulous work
Fills your four chambers
You don't feel one thing
You feel everything
So close, so intimate
My eyelids flutter against your tricuspid valve
My whole body is fluttering now
Because now
With my lips brushing against your aortic rigatoni
I am swimming inside your deepest being
Your heavy pumping heat
My legs now dangling out of your pulmonary noodle
I've become miniscule in this glorious museum
That keeps you alive
Forgive my exit now, my darling,
This time in your heart has changed me
You are the force which wobbles this reckoning world
This I realize
Miraculously sliding up
Your superior vena cava
*Matthew Caliri
Categories:
pulmonary, science
Form:
Free verse
I remember when we were little and I always imagined we would grow old together. You always loved butterflies and sunflowers, the brightest things and even singing you are my sunshine to your daughter as we got older. We had our fights, but we always forgave each other. When that day came and you gave birth to your daughter I knew youd be a great mom but we found out something terrible. You had a disease called pulmonary hypertension. Your lungs and heart gradually got worse, I watched you month by month get sicker.. and thinner.. your hair was falling out. I never imagined how it would feel having the disease until November when I fainted and they told me I to had it. You were by my side every day, helping me through it.. through the change I never imagined we would face. Together we understood while everyone around us never did. The night you went to the hospital .. because you had pain and we found out it was a blood infection, you caught 4 months.. good and bad nights we were so close to that lung transplant but it just ... didnt seem good. We spent time together, I saw you every day I could. The night they took you in for your heart surgery.. I looked at you so beautiful so strong, you faught so hard.. I thought I'd see you again.. laughing and smiling.. talking walking and breathing.. days after the surgery you never woke up.. and we lost you. That day we made the toughest desicion .. to let you be free... and I swear now I always see butterflies.. everywhere I go I know you're still with me but I just feel like I cant see ahead .. I always thought wed stand.. together at the end.. you're at peace.. you're flying .. you are a beautiful butterfly and I know you will live on in memory and in the heart. I love you, my dear sister...
Fight for a Cure
Pulmonary arterial hypertension
Categories:
pulmonary, angel, birth, butterfly, death,
Form:
Lyric
As you look at me I'm not him.
Wearing a face of a man that does not exist, a myth.
For i am reserved, deep within the confines of self.
Ensorcelled, impelled, upon a journey of discovery.
Under the melanin pigmentation of epidermal.
Through the subcutaneous tissue, to travel around blood vessels, capillaries, and arteries, the rivers of life.
Observed and closely investigated all the fibers of the muscles, the joints, and the tendons which bind them.
From the plantar, up the nervous system, to the cranium.
Within the essence of me, the was, the is, and the maybe, the realms of my brain.
Continuing through the optic nerve, peering through the retina.
If seeing is believing, then there's more says my fervor.
So I close the lids and travel further.
Encaged within the thoracic, observing the pulmonary action of breath taking.
At that moment, I hear the rhythm, the drumming of existence.
Astonished with disbelief, awaiting to awaken from this dream.
All the days and years of believing me void.
There it is, pulsating with strength, feeding all the limbs and giving me life.
Contradicting the accusations and claims
of the misinformed strife.
Reinforced by the deeds and sacrifices, the joy and the pains endured.
Shattered like glass, the image i am not.
Against all odds, I found that I do have a heart.
Categories:
pulmonary, me, pride, strength,
Form:
Free verse
Now the feline and the masked loony coon.
They steal the deal when they enter the room.
The raccoon and the cat, rat-a-tat-tat.
Fire station seems to be where they are at.
A pair of cuties you see, plain they be,
of all things to be, they’re fireman, you see.
Cat has pulmonary resuscitation…
coon has CPR certification.
Raccoon many days saved the cat’s nine lives,
working pair like spouses never they strive.
Cat to raccoon, “We need to marry soon,
there is talk around town you Loony coon!”
Raccoon to cat, “I’ve carried you today,
guess mixed relation is given away,
oh say can you see our children to be,
rat-coon-cats or loony-tune-cat-coons, see..
We’re unlikely pair, guess people will stare,
know not how our mixed relation will fare,
we’ll chatter and purr showing them our fur,
then chatter the matter up fire ladder!”
For Francine Roberts
Contest: Tell Me About It!
Categories:
pulmonary, funny
Form:
Rhyme
i don't want to be just marking
time. i died on november 20,
2008, during surgery. i was
on a vent when i awakened
december 2, 2008....my sisters'
birthday. what made me llive
i'll never know. i know there
are things to do on this side
of death.
i have no time for marking time.
i have a stupid bag hanging from
my side now. i am supposed to
"get comfortable with it". well
that was a laugh.
that was a laugh until i thought
of the people that had these
things with no hope of ever
getting away from them.
i am so lucky. 14 days i laid
on a vent, then 22 more.
i came home 3 days,
then
i had
great pain in my chest...
.
well this is great i said,
a pulmonary emboli, 15 more
days, three days home.
then back to e.r. blood pressure
too high. this bought me
4 more days in e.r.
i am home now and finally
have spent 19 days home.
i feel every pain and i feel
every time that i feel good
yes, i am never marking
time again.....there is
something about fighting
for your life and your sanity
that straightens things out.
i don't recommend it but
i wish i could let your hearts
know what i know.
janetta
Categories:
pulmonary, friendship, funny, girlfriend-boyfriend, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
I had a love, but it flew like a bird
out of the cage but never heard.
I had a voice that spoke with tenderness,
rendered softly, but now I digress.
I had a charm that melted like butter.
Now it's forming artery clutter.
I had ballooned lungs that clung to your air,
but your absence left a pulmonary tear.
I had wide eyes indulged with your beauty,
but they can't relay what a heart can see.
I had a heart like a tender, ripe plum,
but it's been chewed like shoe-stuck gum.
I had honey dance in my playful mouth.
Now it's tasted onion, hard to brush out.
I had a belly that held butterflies.
Now they've come out like powdered lies.
I had tickled ears filled with your melody.
They pranced like deer... into a tree.
I had pennies wasted on vain wishes.
Now they're poisoning the fishes.
I had a nose filled with rose's scent,
but it blew with the breeze, a memory spent.
I had smooth arms secure in your care.
Now they're free, yet lonely, bare.
I had soft hands, interlocked with yours.
Now they hold open their own doors.
I had silken legs you loved to caress.
I keep them neatly under my dress.
I had eyebrows raised with arousal.
Now they're abased, full of sorrow.
I had a smile like a child's for cake.
I still wear one, but it's a fake.
I had instincts, but I let them go
like a rambling tongue for ego's show.
I had a notion that this would end,
but remained devoted like an owing friend.
I had regrets of yesterday's crime,
but they've been bleached like toilet grime.
I had cavernous wounds, dripping with blood,
with prints that followed like galoshes of mud.
I had a self, differently sorted,
once vibrantly alive, now aborted.
Categories:
pulmonary, betrayal, body, break up,
Form:
Couplet
"Pulmonary"
Revelations burn pulmonary
when all the bees no longer roar
life drowns in blue-green
Clairvoyants dance in time
with prophets to flux events
Light folds Dark inside out
Lizards Popes and Politicians
tread water in their black oceans
looking for an open door
Revelations burn pulmonary
when all the bees no longer roar
life drowns in blue-green
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
llb/gvlm/mlb/klb/jk,ak/io,to
"Dance of the Clairvoyants" (Mach I) / Pearl Jam
https://youtu.be/xJwuP5wPCLQ
“You don't need an ocean to feel like you're drowning.
You feel it, between your chest and your throat,
the weight of it stretching you outside your self,
like a dead fish on the shore.”
“If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe,
then man would have only four years of life left.
No more bees, no more pollination, no more plants,
no more animals, no more man.”
“The bird, the bee, the running child
are all the same to the sliding glass door.”
Rev 8 (NIV)
Zeph 1:3 (KJV)
1. Fish
https://www.msn.com/en-au/news/australia/murray-darling-thousands-of-fish-have-died-in-nsw-in-past-two-weeks/ar-BBZylHg
2. Bees
https://alumninetworkhungary.hu/magazine/blogs/yes-bee-extinction-could-mark-end-humanity
3. Bees/Wildlife extinction
https://www.wsj.com/articles/australia-fires-imperil-populations-of-green-bees-honeyeaters-and-potoroos-11578997803
4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulmonary_circulation
Lyrics/ "Dancing with Clairvoyants" (Mach I) / Pearl Jam
https://genius.com/Pearl-jam-dance-of-the-clairvoyants-lyrics
Categories:
pulmonary, animal, bird, fish, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
pulmonary, allusion, heartbreak, love hurts,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
She is the rustling of the leaves upon the trees
She is the buzzing of the bees
She is the reflection in your tear
She is the whisper of the wind that brushes against your ear
She is a sunflower growing tall from the ground
That is her name upon the grave mound
She is a butterfly, swaying around the flowers
She is the one who brings the April showers
For she is always near, she is what you hear.
My sisters memory is very dear.
Find a Cure
Pulmonary arterial hypertension
For my sister Kaysha Dendinger
Sept 15, 1992 - July 21, 2018
Categories:
pulmonary, butterfly, death, loss, september,
Form:
Lyric