Best Viscera Poems
viscera wound tighter
than the tightest rubber ball
never mind bouncing off the walls
guts like a pinball machine
an arcade between the ears
with tilt alarms screaming
02.10.19
For Capture That Emotion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter
oh, yes ...
yes, I have ...
I've had them ... those moments
the deep, desperate, rare moments ...
"straight-from-a-movie" moments
of romance and melancholy
where the violins and violas and
cellos pull on your heart ...
forlorn music reaching down into your viscera
to yank at your soul in tyranny ...
heart-wrenching moments of
exquisite agony -
where the core burns, the hairs all
stand, the eyes close, and you're lost
to the consequence ...
brief, beautiful, tender instances that
you hold for a lifetime -
that shine like jeweled beacons among
the mists of the mundane ...
oh, how blessed I've been ... and how cursed
for this gift of creativity that so
many envy, is but a facade for the dark, dire
truth of the sensitive spirit -
we feel deeper, look deeper, wish deeper, love
deeper, and hurt ... so much deeper ...
I am thankful for those moments, for
they are precious ...
but there is a dear and diabolical price to pay
and it comes without music
in the dead ...
of night.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 1, August 2019 - Just Write" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
recklessness attacks ego
fury attacks soul
adrenaline attacks viscera
middle digit attacks upward
foot attacks accelerator
vehicle attacks vehicle
hand attacks pistol
lead attacks flesh
remorse attacks fury
gavel attacks sound block
inmate attacks inmate
And you will know me by the trail of dead,
the whistle of wind in cutthroat pipes,
the jolly japes and spring heeled capers
in the sepia pulp of the Sunday papers
and in all the Jack Tar bilge in your head,
for you will know me by the trail of dead.
And you will know me by the trail of dead
the gory tales of bright crimson stripes.
the intestinal spool of viscera and gutting,
the slashing swipe of steel blades cutting,
and the opening wounds awash with red,
for you will know me by the trail of dead.
And you will know me by the trail of dead,
the love-a-duck and strike-me-blind,
the dear boss letters and cunning stunts,
the hunter or hunted in Whitechapel hunts,
and the feverish sweats in every bed,
for you will know me by the trail of dead.
And you will know me by the trail of dead,
the buckle-my-shoe and daily grind,
the Juwes and gin and pea soup nights,
the whore flesh slaughter and ghastly sights,
and the legends of all I did and said,
for you will know me by the trail of dead.
My journey of blood
Sword of viscera and steel
The Black Rose Thorn Queen
UPSIDE DOWN
inverted, topsy-turvy
unhinging, disorienting, confusing
puzzle, somersault; details, viscera
twisting, wearing, turning
front to back, socks
INSIDE OUT
written October 10, 2021
When I imagined what it would
be like to be a writer,
I saw myself hunched over a
typewriter with bourbon on the
rocks sweating a ring onto my desk.
I could smell the ink on my fingers
and feel the burn of alcohol in my gut
and hear the keys clapping, a standing ovation
for the poor sad boy who wrote wings onto
his back and flew away from the red mud county.
But it's quiet here.
I sit alone at my desk and I reach into my guts
and I grab fistfuls of blood and viscera
and the keys don't move
I choke up the rage my father left in me
and the keys don't move
I cut out the fear my mother so lovingly placed
and the keys don't move
I drag out every black eye, bloody nose, and split lip I ever earned, every fight I lost, every single argument I had, every sunset I was a brother beneath, every truck cab I ever fell in love in and
THE KEYS DO NOT MOVE
Part Two
Older in age
younger in growth
still heeding His Master’s Voice
the Great swirling dark illiterate masses
led by less than nought point nought nought nought nought nought nought nought to the power of 32
who prefer nukes for toys
at the cost of common everyday joys
These that hanker after the departed master’s pat on the back
for the Man-Booker
for the National Book Award
for the Fullbright
for the Visiting Professorship and/or IIAS Fellowship
for the Ivy League-Oxbridge doctoral degree
for in short the Master’s pedigree-conferring embrace
These who do not know
do not want to know
do not wish to know
will not know
if there’s a difference
between a Genji Monogatari or the Monkey
between a Sakuntala or the Gitanjali
between a poem and a public parade
These that will *******ons of postcolonial muck
And oblige their students to gorge every bit with spit
Just to stamp careers with their brainprints
These that will turn their coat
turn their tongue
turn their souls
for a Nobel
These that preen strut pout pose pretend
mouth ready to swill the millesium
this bouquet mind you titillates the left corner of the upper palate
like a petal unfolding in spring from a hymen
the dark obedient swirling masses lie dumb night after never-ending night
to ebola and dingue and chikungunya swill water
shrivelling their cramped contorted viscera
(Continued in Part Two - 2)
GUTS and GAIN
When only hymns of old memoirs and faith starred,
as I lift my eyes, black! Blue is the sun and moon,
will shadows be my frown and sins my ground?
(Gone are the days of pleasure and days of sleep...)
Anxiety escalates clogging the wise thoughts flow,
light saving courage, bravery where are you?
Let your whispers hiss amidst these dreary earth,
stillness the loyal choir escorting my shuddering nerves,
strum! Strum of strength and speed on two heartstrings
nudge like that of a dove, pure to drop: dash of love.
Spin and turn, crash and burn tests a true heart
though no medals, no points there to earn.
Ah! Mercy... within dreich woes is a distinct voice
handing a probable answer blowing mists of confused
An instinct. An impulse, should I believe or not?
I … listened but only a true love call casts our viscera to churn
sensing the tunes, steps ain't easy but I patiently learn
to taste the essence, I let my lips sway in liftless dance.
Please lie still yet moan on strums~ strums of my tips,
"Maiden, forbid me to go..." Trembles, trembles run echo:
one tenor, one alto, various pitch for evanescent tones
with a passion drenched within warmth of sheer ecstasy
the blend of love will spark, heating eternal flames
and if the world brushes darker shades of light--
consent our tomorrows to paint a canvass of life...
________________________________________________________
James A. Fraser and Olive Eloisa Guillermo
9:21 pm, July 04, 2015
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
Shadows come creeping, silence grows trepid
Twilight so stark, not ‘beam of pale lunar
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
My thoughts become smart as my wisdom fades
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
I lone am the wolf whose fangs turned to stone
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Barren confines for this degrade machine
No solace comes for a soul like me..... so
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
I spied too late what I chose to forgo
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
No solace comes for a soul like me….. so
Shadows come creeping….. silence grows trepid.
I have been dead for many years;
entombed in a mausoleum
of viscera and rigid bones.
There were no prayers or eulogy
spoken on my worthless behalf.
Within the tomb lies a stone-cold,
dead heart and a extinguished soul.
Both suffered a long, lonely death;
its cause was flagrancy and strife;
until one day she came along
with an amorous kiss of life
that resurrected my remains
infused them with vitality
and a different man was reborn.
=====================================
Can any here recall my name?
Intoned by plenty years ago,
today I'd say but for a game
they play, not many here may know!
But here I stand and there you sit
and since we're comrades, more or less,
let's have a bit of fun with it!
What hints I give may help you guess...
I, with my face of stone, a lock
and walls by iron fortified,
encase His Grace in solid rock
while altercate takes place outside
My brother's straight across from me,
identical in width and length.
Twin towers, we wait silently,
each building on the others strength
I bide my time and mind the wall
that rises from the palace banks,
though sabres chime and soldiers fall
to foe that slowly climb the ranks
Still, I must wait to join the show
'til Bishop, Knight and gallant Pawn
have made a kill or died below
and viscera spills on the lawn
As yet, these casualties of war
stay in our thoughts and they are missed
but let us not forget two more,
who to this very day exist
While we salute remembered men,
the same, in suit, is also due
to distant members of my kin,
who I'll now introduce to you...
Mine uncle and his shining spouse,
fine experts in their elements,
Sir Windmill and the Lanternhouse.
I'll next define their relevance:
When rivers flow and wind doth blow
and each do meet the mighty Mill,
men who eat grain (opposed to crow!)
bestow defeat upon the hill
And as for she who light the sea,
true monolith illuminate!
Thee shine to shore mine enemy,
to be defined before my gate
Respect much paid to lance and shield,
today we play at gentlemen
but say perchance we meet afield...
none may expect such fancy then!
Nay, back to front or port to right,
I'll stay the course until I'm took
or paid in trade to black or white...
For I'm the force they call the ROOK!
=====================================
Within the simple heartbeat prowls a spell
Which hunts a tender cage in which to dwell
To resonate its richness: share its thrall
And claw dank loneliness from chosen voids.
It is a predator, and rest assured
Creature for which we pine is just as fell
As any carnivore of which they tell:
For mercy not in repertoire at all.
It strikes in seedy club and idyll dell
And tears internal organs, hope smoke-cured,
From bloody carcases as once it buoyed
Such viscera on optimistic swell.
It’s not that beast will drag all hearts to hell;
It merely rings for “self” that last death knell.
Farting is a cool poised own vis
Has safe six-fold gains of wellness
It may seems cannot -at all- be a vista
Yet, sure it does good to your viscera
It is fine to say to it "be a vis"!
It is all natural healthful process
No need for any sort of prowess
Laughing because of a sudden fart,
Rudely that is seems its only fine art
PHANTASMAGORIA
If you don't like where you are..take a trip in your mind
Look in your brain's dark corners and see what you find
There are places a groaning board tempts with an epicurean delight
But the populace heads for the worst comestibles in sight
When choosing Burma or Myanmar as it's now called
Or Manila where kittens are drinking sewage in a yard
Who knows? they might think kittens are viands too
But if this gastronomic delight does not appeal to you
Try a whole pig on a spit, cleaved open to reveal
Viscera and liver, cooked and ready to peel
You could try a lunch of grilled belly lining
If not, its pigs' snouts and tongues for fine dining
Egg on your face takes on a whole new meaning
When it's smeared on a face --slimy and gleaming*
Don't forget the venues where entrails drip over a fire
Or octopus tentacles tasting like a rubber tire
Remember...wandering is possible but not leaving your niche
Thinking how the other half lives might cure a travel itch
So start up the mind's motor and go anywhere you wish
Without having to eat even one revolting dish
*A sunblock