Best Shoulder Blade Poems
A fuming, fierce and moving target
On yor species will you place yor bet!
Aiming the blade into shoulder blade or beating heart
all toreadors hope to throw that fatal decisive dart!
This bullyboy to score a bloodied bullseye in bullfight!
O'course not for the fainthearted that gory sight.
Well, that counts timid me out from any bullring
naturally I a bulwark against this lurid thing.
I find in the sport a sort of sadism
Like cockfights it must reek of masochism.
The carmine cape, the only screen between him and the jaws of death
or should I say rather, the sickle horns of death
Oh no, what if the matador ain't ever allowed to catch his breath?
For promoters a thrilling spinechilling
Spanish folk art in arena
For objectors a bloodsport
they wish as dead as the myth of Athena.
The Spanish might be divided about their picadors
on this sporty bloody battle between man and beast
No telling till when spectators will throng to watch those matadors
while I wonder do they on the trophy bull then feast?
Ah ban it to history
or fan it to the future
Call it cruelty or not, oh the thrills of our humankind
Tis fair play or fair game for the raging bull tis half blind?
Yet if any bloodlust instincts be satiated by those stuntmen toreros
matadors maybe far better than murderers and war heroes.
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
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 there's a nasty fall.
The 12 pairs of ribs
act just like a big ring,
while 10 fix to the Sternum
the bottom 2 are Floating.
The shoulder blade or the Scapula
is joined with the Clavicle
How they organize the movement
Is another spectacle.
The arms have the Humerus,
the Radius and the Ulna,
The hands' have wrist bones
called Carpals (not made in China).
With Metacarpals and Phalanges
we complete our hand,
don't you forget the lower limbs,
upon which we stand.
The hip bones make the Pelvis
from which the Femur originate
If you gyrate it like elvis
the Patella is sure to break.
Tibia and Fibula
are there in the Shin
The Tarsals and Metatarsals
shape your feet as it's seen.
Our journey ends here
Let me take your leave,
Take good care of your bones
for as long as you live.
Wings flutter
off in the distance
as I shuffle through these stones,
tasting the energy trapped in each,
scouring my lands
for my lost crystal,
that which can mend
what I’ve torn asunder.
In frustration
I abandon my quest,
deciding to find
my feathery deity,
the wind carries her scent to me
and I head Northeast,
diving through brush
and dodging trees
like only a Lycan may.
She must have picked up on my intentions
for I sense her
heading towards me
so I veer more northward,
there’s a place I know.
As I draw near
you can hear water
cascading off rocks,
when I arrive the moon is up,
clouds curled beneath it
as if it were a white pearl
resting on gray cushions,
to the right
the beginnings of a river
being fed by the waterfall,
about 80’ tall
careening off the three
stone outcroppings
and filling the air in the clearing
with a fine mist,
the left is ringed
by long needled pines
which have supplied the ground
with a soft cushion.
My winged beauty
lands on the third outcropping
whipping her hair back
under the waterfall’s edge.
I sprint to the water’s shore
and leap to the first,
as my claws connect
bound to the second,
paws touching
then legs thrust me
to the third
where I bring myself erect,
better to ensnare my love
within my arms.
As I bring her close to me
she raises her left hand up
and caresses my muzzle and cheek
with her claws,
I bend downward
and gently
sink my teeth
into the side of her neck,
she springs off the precipice ,
me entwined,
and glides down to the pine needle bed.
As we land
she pushes herself up,
drags her right claw
down my chest
and leans in to drink.
I drag one nail along
each shoulder blade
and let her blood
drip down on me
while I lick my claws clean.
After hours
she crashes down
into my chest,
exhaustion settling in.
I cup my hand around the back of her head,
hair entwined
in my fingers
and as she uses her wings
to blanket us
we drift off
into a pleasant slumber
while the stars blink at us
and the night creatures
serenade us with their calls.
The Bible says we are all made in God's image,
in every way we're a match,
so why can't I reach part of my shoulder blades
from above or below for a scratch?
The Good Lord resides in the Heavens above,
perfection, where nothing can fail,
so why can't I lift my foot up far enough
on my other leg to clip my nails?
God is immaculate, he stands incorrupt,
in all aspects nothing he lacks,
so why is my fingertip just that bit short
when I'm clearing my earhole of wax?
Is it because Adam and Eve were perfect until
they disobeyed God and they sinned,
and everyone born after that had their faults,
the original model God binned?
And that is why though we are all sinners now
because of the choices they made,
the Good Lord had mercy, invented the spoon
so that I can reach my shoulder blade.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
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 bones found in the neck
Twelve vertebrae are attached to ribs if you check
Lumbar, sacrum and their parts learn without fail
And don’t forget the coccyx that looks like a tail
Of the maxillae and mandible the jaws are made
Collar bone is the clavicle; scapula shoulder blade
Humerus in upper arm, ulna below, radius thumb side
And in wrist and hand carpals & metacarpals reside
Phalanges are found in both the fingers and the toes
The femur, patella, tibia and fibula in the leg goes
But this is only a small sample of what Joey must learn
If an excellent grade in his biology class he will earn
On white skin
the butterfly
in contrast
pale perfection
now enhanced
permanently
an explosion of colour
shoulder blade
the resting place
butterfly
with vivid wings
represents
a wish to fly
in colourful abandon
~~~ for nette's contest
the Crown of My Body- a Whitney~~
14/06/2012
I feel a touch on the back of my neck
and warm breath
on the right muscle of my shoulder blade,
softly fingers slide
across my side,
down my belly
where they come to rest
as smooth skin
presses against my back,
legs entwining.
Not daring to open my eyes
and ruin this dream
I release a soft growl,
place my hand on her hip
and drift back to sleep.
C'mon Gimme A Botox Smile!
'Pon bing asked by spouse, while she didst dock
and pooched herself abed
handily at nine o'clock
to see "handsome" pedigree dentastix
dog face of yours truly, me no Kid Rock
yea just a chip off the
ole likeness ice sculptured block,
a sharp pain inexplicably
shoots thru left shoulder blade
generating painful electric shock,
especially after said missus
threw smelly sock
afflicting this muttering chap, where deadlock
partial paralysis analogous to rigor mortis
holding frozen designated
bleep within his flesh bound paddock
(as pop sic hull), non dominant side
of mine body hard as bedrock
(spoiler alert, I write with right hand),
despite best college try, could not extricate...
hell no, this ain't no poppycock
yea, this longfellow felt bewitched by a warlock,
which affliction froze botox smile
engendering gladness to celebrate bajillion
years of blissful wedlock
believe that and I will another truth,
how this lame rhyme stir, he makes buttock
of himself, nonetheless an
oar regional non Jew bull ant debtor,
sans courtesy Shylock
still prone to bouts of flibbertigibbet
ranked as more than schlock,
(no doubt, ye beg to differ)
with mine chock
lot of badinage, basically self mock
curry verging on persiflage, he
freely types what occurs within raw bitstock
of ma noggin akin to babbling
stream of consciousness
initially intending to divulge aftershock
when wife coos this kook
spewing wry verbal
(barley comprehensible) feedstock
as she mimes deadly smooch
inflicting plastered smirk ad hoc
showing pearl white dentures
aiming to entertain, while listening awk
chilly (inspired to contrive
potschke and pastiche) rendered
(if still alive) by P.D.Q. Bach.
you raise your knee
then stamp the foot down in a quick thrust
as a mare in warning, snap your head back
we lock eyes
then meld in each other's arms
we move together
your hand upon my hip
my hand secure at her shoulder blade
the other arm extended hand in hand
she must be maintained in this position
to lead her in the curving moves across the floor
i am the Earth holding the Moon in our orbit
as we swirl thru our own universe
it is a dramatic reenactment
of a movie that inspired her, we began lessons
another notch in her list of accomplishments
it is an unending play at playing
i am forever grateful for the request
i may not be the most adept
not exactly someone to be envied
as we glide across the floor
but as i hold you
as the music surrounds us
your eyes hold me in
more than a magical moment
i have come to know, That's Amore
when you waltz into fantasy
knowing it is not imagination you are holding
thankful you never loved the Charleston
yet, if that is what it takes
i will add it to my burdens for love
there exists no cross too large to bear
and in spite of my initial thoughts
i love every moment with you
kind of like sitting at the table
what seems forever waiting
for you to walk in
dressed and ready to depart
and as soon as my eyes
fill with you now ready
i never remember a moment spent waiting
life is all about enchantment
and that exists only when dreams
walk in life hand in hand
1/26/19 Kismet
Paradigm
She imagines
you’re attracted to her glow,
her energy,
her aura.
She imagines you see the woman
shaped by parents,
molded, treasured,
wrapped and gifted to the world.
You imagine
how she would look naked.
You imagine how soft her breasts
must be,
resting on a strong abdomen,
protection for
butterflies that live there
and awaken
with your touch.
You imagine her
holding a scale to weigh
her self-worth.
Eyes searching yours,
hungry for approval.
You imagine yourself
painted into her
unfinished self-portrait,
hushed tones
of two lives
melded.
You imagine your hands
on her fragile back
bordered by soft, round shoulders,
supported by twin columns
of muscle.
You imagine yourself a tattoo on her spine
that curves all the way down
to the separation
of fleshy mounds.
Imagine your surprise
as she walks away.
Hips gently swaying,
see-saw motion of shoulders,
and the mole just under her left shoulder blade
winking goodbye.
Many times the clock goes round, sometimes the world hold still
She can hear the tiny little drops coming out of the rusted tap
blood rushing down her cheeks as it does every cloudy Friday
popping veins throbbing like the anger of a fiery eyed monster
Something he had never seen before, His heart pounded fast
He knew this was the time, he could do nothing about it now
She eagerly pounds on the cage waiting to see the bright light
Awaiting her at the other end, She doesn’t belong in this place
He pondered on what to do, to die by the sword of his creation
Or to have his hand stained by the dark red blood of his very love
feet growing bigger than her head, she was so thirsty for life
before he could even think twice she was standing all over him
shoulders pinned to the ground he could feel her very claws
clasped to his shoulder blade, he knew this was the very end
he could feel the chills as blood soaked his Milky white coat
she couldn’t stop herself, some part of her knew him so well
but another part just wanted to smell the stench of his death
one more glance at it, he smiled as life sipped out of him
Then came a new being ,one who rattled with great wrath
This is the predicted time, The awakening of a new being.
An object
Forms the marks on my skin
They are permanently engraved
They are part of who I am
Artistic lines
Form my entire shoulder blade
Artistic, natural, and exotic
My ancestor's connected roots reassembled as something symbolic
A hummingbird
Forms a single warrior in the Aztec parade
My blood that runs through my veins now enhances color to the hummingbird's brain
A flower
Forms conflict between beauty and mass destruction
The flower wars was what my ancestors called it
They fought for what they thought was right
Believing in their gods and believing in their king with all their might
An object
To whomever else that sees it
To me
A rare and unique piece of history through a line of blood's memories
(This is Church
Heres a seat upfront for you sir
The gentlemen said
After I followed him down
The Roman Road.
I stride over a couple next to my chosen seat
And find an overzealous believer
With his tootsie roll grinding into my shoulder blade
While trying to lift my arms in praise
To a man that I got peer pressured into loving
I start to thumb through
The morning announcements that the mid-life
Crisis women gave me.
She’s the one that stands in the back
Behind the bleachers, raises her hand
At every service to be another “Amen” at the end
Of the Pastor’s prayer,
Number on the daily bulletin,
Or body in the “I just accepted Christ” line.
She fell in love with Jesus to justify her
Righteous acts of celibacy
It’s OK, I’m a Christian
It was in the speakers smile
That I was reminded of the homeless man
I saw downtown a couple nights ago,
Rummaging through the dumpsters of
the IRS building in the rain
he found a jacket and a rotten half eaten apple
his teeth glistened off the yellow street light
through the rain that poured down his face.
he raised his treasure by the arms
with praise to a man he doesn’t even know.