Best Sputum Poems

Ghosts of Glory


They came to Auschwitz and Treblinka...
they tore down the walls that confined us.
How we wept with joy as the SS officers
were taken away - we spit in their path,
those of us still able to call up sputum 
from lungs tortured with malnutrition
and iron...

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Heart Attack Self Help

A viral message of self help  is making its round through whatsapp..
Reportedly written by a cardiologist Dr Siva, a senior doctor of the heart…
It implores each reader to spare a mere 2 minutes, to please read his message…
Doing so, you will...

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An expression of a Nurse

I am a Nurse,
I am loved by few and hated by many
Everyday I dedicate my life to saving lives of others
From 7 o'clock in the morning to 7 o'clock in the evening
Whether its winter, whether its Summer

Day and night I sacrifice...

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I stood and cried in The Magazine Bus,
Deep in New Orleans, in the city rush, 
as it plowed and choked along
like a curved-back dinosaur
wheezing through the swampy ways, 
rattling electric wires in a maze
of strangling city vines,
stamping the earth with oil and pugmarks,
straddling, shifting, sliding...

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My stomach rumbles after a hot meal,
I pack along the road to obey this call,
As I run into the bush, it rumbles still,
On bending down ‘bou~bou~bou’ its gases fall,
Sounding like a thunderous trumpet…,
Anus releases the mighty from rectum,
Which makes flies to sing praises to kismet,
Its...

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13/3/2012. 

Doleful lugubrious quests feverously churn within my mind,
To quell thirst of my hunted and sought cravings consigned.
Every night and every day they scald and scorch,
Thoughts charred smothering move in and fade away, akin a blinking torch.
 
I seek with hankenrous desires, faux pas,
Yearn, carvel...

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Ford score and...Chevy
five years ago,
my Model A strapping
handsome big bro,
(who sped like one

speeding Triumph font lee, crow),
wing, & swooping Thunderbird, with
bold face observers whistling Geronimo
(Holy Jeep), this meant war
whooping Comanche 
decked out as armadillo

kicking up red feathery colored dust devils
rivaling the fastest Alfa Romeo
(while choking,...

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Past psychological development
describes zigzagging mama's yoyo
casually, aye publicize, (asper
mein kampf) personal woe

unpleasant memories indelibly
etched, jagged, scar outlined like ticktacktoe
solitary games invariable resultant
draw between every “x” and each "o"

metaphorical of course for this poetic,
formerly non opportunistic
generic Joe Schmoe,
hoof hound cathartic airing emotionally

rocky terrain, whereby floe
tips of...

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Are they now here, the old golden days?
Are they still in mem, days well modeled?
A day I see now, those deeds weren’t
When what the story, I hear was starved

A day now what, a cock breaks eggs
A cock drinks York, for hen to hutch
A day now...

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You
Sat wherever you were
Spotted me breathing
Saw how happy I was
Scowled with jealousy
Slipped sputum with furry
Sed with an evil plan
Slithered all over surfaces
Scattered yourself everywhere
Spanned from arid to airborne
 
You
Set up an ambush
Sauntered into my body
Swam through my blood
Strolled in my bronchi
Slid into my cosy lungs
Slit...

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Ford score and...Chevy
five years ago,
my Model A strapping
handsome big bro,
(who sped like one
speeding Triumph font lee, crow),
wing, & swooping Thunderbird, with
bold face observers whistling Geronimo
(Holy Jeep), this meant war
whooping Comanche 

decked out as armadillo
kicking up red feathery 
colored dust devils
rivaling the fastest Alfa Romeo
(while choking,...

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This love is chaotic
My anxiety to feel your skin texture
Leads me to severe headache and fever,
My breath cutoff, 
And eyes turn red 
When ever I'm vulnerable to your presence,
Your love is a sweet virus,
Virus that pierces my esophagus
And sets sputum in my lungs,
A sweet virus...

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gentle pops of ice
as surging streams
release its imprisoned brethren
decaying leaves grasping onto blackened fingers
as weathered wind encircles
sputum gurgles past
as stream seems to gasp
chiselled bedrock teeth
laugh as speckled waters
erode and carry
child particles
far away...

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Lungs like burnt paper—
folded too many times
by hands that forgot
how to be gentle.

Morning comes with wires.
He wears machines like
second lungs,
ghosts that sleep beside him
and hum.

Each breath is an audition.
He performs survival
on a stage made of ribs—
a collapsed theatre
with no curtain call.

They say he's brave.
He knows...

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