Best Tendon Poems
Is it not enough that you’ve hung me beside
myself from your fraying rope - tendered by
graying wooden clips with rubber fingers?
Must we really soak on dry until we are sepia
toned under-developed photographs, left on fix?
Why is it you still feel the need to marinate
my every flexed tendon in formaldehyde?
Is it the slow bumping up against red glass
that turns you on; that you relish? Or simply
the come-hither thrill of the bottled hunt?
Watching our developing forms (and by ‘our’,
I mean me and myself - I left the party half
cocked and ready for more long ago) submerged
beneath the red tinge of shadow forms split at
the wrists - dividing one truth from the
next - your tapping, impatient, ready to dance
fingers drumming my convoluted tumbler to
halves; throwing tomatoes, cabbage and micro-
brewed beer bottles at my smiling face as it
develops, appearing as every God damn thing
you never could do; slowly, quickly emerging
hung on the next pin over.
O’ how you hate that photo!
The one where I’m smiling and you’re not.
The one where I know who I am, and you
don’t. The one where even though there are
two of me; there are, (at last count) 10,000 of
you. And if you could see your own face through
the wide V darkroom dusk looking back at
yourself, you would see that sometimes even
the best photographers get it wrong. Sometimes,
all there is, is shadow covering up the best parts,
leaving no room for light meters, fixer, or dull
graying clips clutching white Mickey Mouse fingers,
forcing the image still.
© Kristin Reynolds 5 7 09
Raven, rook, black as soot; peck the eyes, erase the lies
Eagle, buzzard, kite makes three; tend the land with sight that sees
On wings, on horse-back, cling tight to sacred mane. Kick dirt violently skywards, falling, earthy rain
The drum, the drum it resounds with hoof force; muscle, tendon, bone, blood, powers take course
Heart beat meets drum, meets feet, meets fist, frenzied, fueled, fearless rhythm attack; sweat soaked hair and back
Wild is coming, surfacing fast; no apology, full synergy, unashamedly cast
Alchemy, soul fire, black crow hair takes flight as searing eyes catch brightly alight
Baring teeth, baring all; sweeping, flowing, pelvic bowl
Skin alive as once remembered, tonight we dance entranced, dismembered
For all that surrounds us, encompassed in one; the beat, the feet, the pounding drum.
Your eyes a dark archipelago
Mysterious then exotic drifting across
my shore;
I perceive their warmth inviting
While those lips blow a tangy flavour-
Irresistible, poised to reach for a kiss
Brewed by the kiln of summer’s
ember…
Carefully, my logic examines the
prospects
Between reason and wantonness,
As the fluid air spins amorously
And the evening grows too blind,
naked--
The waves within my navel dilate,
fluid as current's unknown motion...
I forget what happens next except, I
was
Drunk with the body- rhythm of something
untenably spontaneous;
Coasting on a body outside a bend
ebbing flowing through a belly and
tendon
Of a conniving sea.
Pounding at the resonant head
of my chest—he of hunger
latches his fangs just beneath my jaw—
not to sever silence, but to pummel poison.
Tissue parts with wet reluctance,
he with need more than malice
burrows into the larynx of what
was once controlled, fearful sound.
Nameless, shapeless he who
with shark-possessed teeth does not ravage—
but infiltrates—peeling cartilage from confession,
mining marrow-thoughts clogged in
curse-traversed trachea.
I am a conduit split open—
voice extracted in ligaments,
fibrous and twitching,
stripped from the cords—
myofibrils separatus tendon.
Nameless, shapeless he!
How does he so musically reshape
what I cannot say?
How does he gut syllables
I do not recognize—
yet still, convince me
they are mine?
With his guiding talons,
my breath comes out red,
heavier than blood—
tastes of steel-bitten soul—
boiled vowels
that never knew air
but somehow rise.
His incantation:
Spiritus somni!
Spits into my mouth—
a blessing—not!
a summons—not!
but a shameful dream behind my teeth
like bruises that speak sermons.
Nameless, shapeless he…
He says I was never mute—
only sealed for some latter doomsday…
And now, with my throat laid open like a shrine,
he listens as I blaspheme
my dream.
Look the Pain is Gnawing through ME
Bloody Carcass and IM vain
Say my name I love to hear it
Slur your words with dopeimines
Gasping air from murky wated
Suspended tendon from a wall
Pry a push pin up in Sauder
Burn MY words in alcohol
Winded cause IM getn Evil
Bottems up your gettin high
Didnt quiet meet your level
level let ME let you die
pointing blame Streachy Fingers
said I did it, I denied
Do not judge ME on your level
level let me let you die
Written: October 28, 2025
I press my palm against your shoulder,
dust-streaked and aged
You unfold before me.
Heat rises from the folds
between the tendon and the tender dough.
I savor a bite of the dough.
reminiscent of the stars I once folded,
now scattered,
akin to lost receipts
in a tempest.
I arrive with my stained skin, as a flyer
marred by hurried typos,
hastily printed
by a restless intern.
Here, I consume you wholly.
A vendor presents grief in palm-sized parcels,
with you wrapped in sensational headlines
That twists the truth.
I swallow every piece of you,
even the mustard staining the captions.
But then the rain begins—my likeness of you blurs,
my ink a wing in flight as a winged creature.
A man in uniform smiles and brushes
the sugar from my scalp
casting it into the tide, a final farewell.
I slash with my sword and I push with my shoulder. Every muscle and every tendon is screaming in agony. I can feel every pressure when my blade makes contact. I’m grunting with passion as I push every extremity to the very breaking point. I let my mind wonder to the past, where my family was butchered and mutilated when I was 10 years old. I lost everything I loved and anything that mattered to me, but my passion. Revenge echoes in my mind over and over, like the rumbling of thunder in the summer storms when they pass. Revenge against those who could do the things I’ve seen, beasts that slaughtered my whole family. I have spent years here, learning the warrior’s way, feeling the grunge and toils from everyday training.
My sword is now a part of my body, so swift and true. I can draw it sharply and silent to bring it up my enemy. I spin my body and crouch down low, dodging my enemy and thrusting my sword into his chest. My body has become one single weapon for me to use. My mind is sharp and ready for the challenges of all those who oppose me. I will fight for honor and what is right and damnation to those who are evil and selfish. In the distance a voice echoes in my ears, “Piiid!” “Pid!” This sound grows louder as I strain my muscles and sharpen my skills. “PIIIDDD!!!” “HAULT!” and then I realize that master Baracus has been calling me. Turning around, I see Baracus standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He is a tall elder man with a chiseled chin and scars across both cheeks. His skin tone is deep red from the Sun’s scorching heat of the day. His balding head has traces of white hair around each side and the tunic of a trainer is all black with gold trim. His deep blue eyes gaze upon me in frustration, “You must focus on all things around you Pid, you will leave yourself open to attack without it”.
Baracus turns to walk towards the shelter as he mumbles various curses at me. “You young bucks have no attention and focus” as he slowly walks to sit down. “I was focused on my training you old goat” I persist. As we both sit down, he makes his brittle response, “Damn young blood makes poor fertilizer for our fields” as we both bellow with laughter. He is my mentor and trainer, but most of all he took me in and called me his son. He has trained me in the way of the warrior and what it means to be honorable and noble.
Aroma lingers
within the encasing bastion,
aisle upon aisle haunts the ancient catacomb
that is home to the decisive many.
User friendly ecstasy
depending on Fahrenheit fifty two,
this golden age to cherish?
Hypothermia guaranteed, with anything less.
Inward the soul is searched,
waves of thoughts woven by the juggler,
the body a vast kingdom to learn
yet the power to levitate.
The mind, acting out mutation
although not in the normal way,
“Optimist” He thinks he’ll save the world
when standing tall upon its pinnacle.
Ne’er question hell upon earth
or life in constant rotate,
darkness into light synthesize
the mingling tendon of dawn unfolds.
From the elusive underground the mind retreats
while hazily shedding off coats of vertigo,
worn, his weary body loiters with gleet
till “Xavier” goes flashing by.
“Screaming, his deep desires yearn
for the potency of ‘Zeus’”
© Harry J Horsman 1992
A form of ABC poetry, each line first starting with an A must contain
a letter in order, from the alphabet, second line B etc till the last line Z.
In the dream my nightmare strikes,
With human faces like zombies,
Hairy and teeth like vampires,
Deep in the jungle beneath the caves.
I tried to run but my feet were stuck,
Something holding them down,
The scream wouldn’t come out,
And fear took the best of me.
In the midst of my fears came strength,
My mind told my heart to be strong,
It is then I had the strength,
To pull my feet off the sticky grounds.
They followed me deep into the dark,
With their eyes shining in glitter,
Like torches shinning bright,
Their thunderous roar filling the caves.
I felt a heavy pounding of big steps,
Like giants moving the earth.
My heart practically jumping out,
As the zombies zeal remained unmatched,
To feed on my blood and take my soul.
I fell down and rose up on my feet,
Wishing the earth sallow me,
Because I felt the end has come.
At the end of the cave I saw the light,
Run towards it with a failing smile,
The zombie pursued with a deep roar,
They quickened their pace in pursuit.
I got at the end of the tunnel to the light,
I tripped and fell down in pain.
I broke my tendon and tried to crawl.
And there they were holding sickles
They lifted their sickles holding up,
Ready to take my last breath away,
I held tight to a fallen tree branch.
I screamed and woke up in the scream,
There I was holding tight to my bed,
The dream was gone and I was safe
But I was terrified and breathing heavily.
So I kneeled down and said a prayer.
21/11/2012 -
BERNARD WACHIRA
The “Itis” Brothers
(Arthritis, Bursitis, Tendonitis)
Written: by Miracle Man
10/30/2021
The “Itis” brothers, have a quite familiar name,
Arthr, Burs, and Tendon have garnered worldly fame.
All three have visited me, two had a short stay,
after medical encouragement they were driven away.
Sensing they weren’t welcome they chose to leave,
but hard headed Arthr was the one who’d cleave.
At 2:am this morning and in quiet I’m found,
Arthr was acting up and I couldn’t sleep sound.
He just hangs around all the familiar old joints,
just being a pain while soliciting style points.
He’s always present and just refuses to behave,
his daily shenanigans have made me his slave.
He’s very insistent, present, both night and day,
Tylenol, taken daily, helps to keep him at bay.
How many readers can relate to this?
I was working out back, while under the palms
I've a tendon-cy to stand under the limbs
to focus my eyes, and digest the surrounding glands cape
Plantar-d there on the ground was a carpenter ant
that caught my attention, and that is a fact!
Disarming he was, determined as well
making his way through tall blades of green grass
As hungry as a calf, he had shinnyed himself
He knuckled up under with all of his nerve
Hopped on an iris, like a tropical bird
and began eating his way through small fingers of lumbar
that was stacked against the rear of the old cellar door
Diget know? .. It was humerus to watch, how he testes his food!
Consuming the wood from the bottom to top
He tendon to stop, to take a deep thigh,
then back to devour, while munching his lunch.
Lashing away, until his jaws became sore
He must have consumed a whole foot, of lumbar or more!
Prostated he was, till he lymphed to the floor
Tomarrow I'll have only sawdust to store !
Ureter about fables, and stories of ants
They are truly able to eat a whole fence!
Their orbital cavitiy is bladder and bigger
than one might imagine…They've the gall to be pigs !!
____________________________________________________
9/10/16
For Contest: Body of Work
Sponsor Viv
Words of body parts used:
back
palms
tendon
limbs
eyes
digest
gland
plantar
digit
arm
blade
calf
shin
knuckle
nerve
iris
fingers
lumbar
ear
cell
humerus
testes
bottom
thigh
lash
jaws
foot
prostate
lymph
marrow
ureter
orbital cavitiy
bladder
gall
An Accident
On August 20, 1963 I was on
The back of a motorcycle going slow
At a pace of ten miles an hour in front
Of a shopping center that bowed
The belly of the bow was a blind spot
A young man we knew came around
That bend doing 70 MPH we had no where
To go pushing the driver off onto the ground
Rolled my head into my arms when the
Car slammed into my right side crushing me
The bike and I flew one hundred and fifty feet
Slamming into the pavement and slid into a tree
The muffler snapped and ripped out most of my inner
Right calf, I had thirty seven broken bones plus
Four compound fractures, broken ribs and jaws
My right leg hung on by a tendon laying in dirt and dust
I screamed “Oh God help me” and the pain
Left and I only felt like I had a cramp
I lost almost my body weight of blood
I spent one year in the hospital with pins and clamps
Three years in a wheelchair and one year on crutches
Had 28 surgeries, traction, body cast hard and shoddy
Was in a coma for six weeks had 22,000
Stitches In my frail 12 year old body
Over a hundred kids sat in the lobby
Enduring the wait for the surgery
That lasted ten hours, guitarist was Bobby
Singing and praying, I believe they are
Why I am still here!
As for my scars
They are my badge of honor
For I survived
08/11/2014 Shadow Hamilton's contest
Sometimes I dream about
that I could throw myself away
to a warm island with birds
and use my heel for this project
on my heel
you can find
the most powerful string
on my body
A frozen pulse a synergy and soon she was iced like cold hard glass.
Poor Clea in her purple orchid dress ensconced in a crevice of time,
from the icy tendrils of Ikthalon. Icy winds blow from the bowels of hell
she is rendered still as ice pellets pelt on her weakened body;
He wraps the sun and blindfolds the stars then plummets to earth with demonic intentions to search and destroy.
Along comes an omega mutant " Iceman" with a
hard packed intention to stop the villain from exploiting her.
Radiating intense cold from every tendon and nerve in his body,
he wraps a gossamer fabric round her to thaw her gently from
the frost bites and nips of her emissary, the evil Doctor Strange.
A multi-verse madness of evil it was but as the clock struck twelve
in Time Square, Clea defrosts and sashays forward in her pencil dress.
Using her tele-ported thoughts, she enters another dimension where
Icemen are heroes and Spiderman rules.
This is where the story ends folks. Tune in for a sequel,
same place same time, reporting to you from Time Square.
Aug 7 2022
Deep within, settle our diamonds of hate;
Descending, slowly through our mind, heart and soul.
Hurts refined and ignored, forgotten in fate;
At first nothing but, a burning lump of coal.
The black-sooted singed wound, is hidden within;
We put on a smile and voice, 'nothing is wrong.'
The battle of flesh, rages with slash and din;
The coal's journey to diamond, moves along.
Rough in shape, we cut a gem to perfection;
Overcome with our deftness, we hold dearly.
Slipping down toward heel, without detection;
Hurt pressed to hate, remaining a hurt merely.
Some diamonds sparkle, destined to adorn;
Ours collect in mass, near the Achilles' heel;
Grinding and cutting, until tendon is torn.
We slam to the earth, only able to kneel.
Confused and dazed, we simply don't understand;
Calling God, we are given the strength needed,
To pass these stones, as easily as grains of sand;
Only then, can we stand, and proceed unheeded.