Coagulated Poems

genesis

i remember now
the sucking whoosh and rattle
of my life
as I was uprooted
still squirming - caught now
in the slalom clutch
of a blood smeared latex glove

a world as cold as a morgue
coagulated around senseless perceptions
a fluent reality that dripped slowly
into clotted forms

for a moment I wallowed
in that instinctual mud
that is both a sacrifice
and a subterfuge
a lamb born not to suckle
but to swallow all before it

if i was aware of anything
other than
my newly crushed heart
it was just the fading echo
of an erstwhile progenitor
either weeping
                          or laughing

My Heart

Finally, my blood began to coagulate.
However, I felt great, energetic, and alive.
But, now that I was old enough for Medicare,
I decided to have a medical exam at 65.

After a series of various tests, my primary
doctor recommended a cardiologist.
When did my heart condition start?
And what is the medical remedy?
What on earth must one do?

It's like a traffic jam.
The traffic light alone can no
longer direct the traffic flow.
Too many vehicles; Not enough lanes.

My doctor asked questions and more questions.
What was your father's cause of death?
My father's demise had occurred at the age
of 58, and in fact, no males in my father's
family had lived past the age of 65. So,
I never knew if their blood ever coagulated.

- Stranger -

    His footsteps
    an echo chamber
    on cobblestones
    Ruminative walking -
    shoulders are slumped
    Bruise, wounds and lacerations 
    coagulated blood
    Sour mouth ...bile
    - or vomit ?
    Pebbles splash
    smashes the streets lampshade
    Convincing morbid trance
    The vein pulsates-
    on the outside of the skin
    No antidote
    Signal flashes; red
    Glowing grey exhaust smoke
    Hidden, destroyed
    shadows ...
    The night train 
    passed the stop
    He is gone

Suzeeka

My mother did it again!
     She laid it pridefully on my plate.
     A coagulated, creative, colorful texture.
     She called it Suzeeka.


     I said, "wait!"
     "Oh mom of mine what is this feast?"
     She studied the mound carefully and said,
     "Well it's green and brown."
     I took my fork and stirred it around.
     "It's healthy too".


     I sniffed at the phosphorescent glow.
     "But I still want to know!"
     "Is it fit to eat or will I groan in my sleep?"
     "My dear", she said in a huff, " I make it three hundred days
     a year. I notice that you are healthy 
                 and still here."


     She turned around.
     I quietly slid the Suzeeka off my plate and on to the ground.
     Murmuring softly to myself, I debated the fate of what had been
                  on my plate!
     "See, I knew you would like it if you tried it," she said.
     "And it filled you up better than bread!"

Slave No More

The Symbionese Liberation Army hushed
Dusk paved the way for a new day.

Who speak for poor, once rich?
Murderous men surmised-
Women, too, brewed wealth.

God forbid we stay enslaved,
Numbing, numbing, as with
Sexual molestations...
Chasing blood from our brain
Coagulated into pain.

We hurt ourselves not knowing
Why we pine, yet
Long before that final breath,
Moment after moment will meet us, 
Forgiving as new day's light.

*

Ascension Rewritten

Ascension 

I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time
had blown away, the sand exposed millions of skeletons
and the memory of man wench the brain was walnut-sized.
The brain is larger now, filled with images of ***********
and wars on many fronts.
I came to an oasis I must drink or explode into atoms
but the water was full of coagulated blood.
I walked on crushing rib cages gleaming in the moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way, sparkled like a diamond
decorated with religious promises of salvation.
I had to climb up and over the hindrance if I wanted to know
what was on the iceberg’s other side?
Emptiness or the final axiom?
I reluctantly began my ascent, the hands cold as my heart.

A Woman

As I beheld a flower of rare beauty
In the silence choked heart of wilderness
The facsimile of a pretty woman came alive 
From the coagulated heap of images

A woman…….! 

Isn’t she God’s supreme handiwork?
An animated form of chiseled art
A joy to behold
A figure of curvaceous ups and downs
God’s beautiful calligraphy

Her skin glowing as satin
Hands and fingers of creamy softness
Eyes reflecting love and gentleness
Voice, musical and sweet
Moving with measured cadence
Walking with fluid ease 
And one who smoothens the rough edges of life

A loving daughter to her parents
An adorable mate to her man
A forgiving mother to all
The fountain spring of new life
The lovely mother to her children! 
A marvel of creation,
A miracle worthy of adulation!
In every drop of adversity,
Glistening like a diamond.

But Alas! A treasure rarely valued.

She is often branded by many
As frail n’ fickle, infirm n’ impish
But how empty is a man’s life
Who hasn’t known a woman, 
As a mother, sister or daughter
A lover, a companion or wife!

Landser

Sitting in the snow, I look at the holes in my boots. My toes are frozen solid as I stare at the winter sun that shines against my reddened face. I have no food, no ammunition, I have nothing but death. The air is full of smoke and the horrid stench of decay, even in the dead of winter the smell permeates my nose like fire. Most of my comrades lie lifeless in pools of coagulated blood or have turned to statues of ice. We tried to retreat but the Fuhrer ordered us to fight until the last man. Stalingrad must be taken at all cost, flucht nach vorn! Sadly, the front has become the nail in our coffin. Frost fills my lungs as I hold a dried Edelweiss flower I brought from home in my burning cold hands. I hear the rusty tracks of T-34's in the distance, the shelling grows stronger now. Gazing towards the west, dreaming in crystal blue, I am on the path to great enlightenment beyond human understanding. The Edelweiss I hold blows away in the Russian wind....

Magical Euphonia

A flowing stream had inevitably given way.
To gently rest and recover in quiet splay.
Of the nectar stream of her fantastic brain.
Neural links coagulated on stale sustain.
 
Savor pulled loaves over a roaring fire.
Her leading center was a charcoal wire.
Thoughts went up in flames on the grate.
Darkened in a frigid kettle of fear innate.  

Prudently, all that remained was her gold jewelry.
A contracted charm has been reduced to currency.
Expectation on a high wire; garrotte and tightrope.
The act of tearing her scrawny startup to rope.
    
In a frantic endeavor to cut off the unique string.
She felt frustrated over the bug that ensnaring.

Pork Knuckle and Sauerkraut

He had taken the last train to Stalingrad. ´Join the Army and see the World´. 

The track of events unfolded when the tank chains came off. His brother had 

bombed Guernica with the Condor Legion, when the war had been ´civil´, always 

the lofty fellow he was, in full of flight. The infantry soldier's military canteen 

had become rather frozen but the Russians did not wish to share their Vodka. Let 

alone land, homes and women. Blood coagulated in his steel helmet from the 

outside and he wiped off his comrades´ brain with a shoe cloth. Uniforms have to 

be immaculate. It is quite a fine line between killer and puppet. But not to worry, 

the Führer has decreed that with a folding spade one can dig out of any minor 

obstacle. But when the frost broke his spirit, he saved the last hand grenade for 

himself to go out with a bang. Sour Kraut and frozen legs. Much cleaner than a 

bayonet although he would be missing in action forever. Maybe the supply lines 

would take home his last letter.


not my fatherland

remember me my sweetheart –

disobeyed my oath



24th August 2020

Haibun Contest ´Let the Pens Flow´

Sponsor Jenish Somadas

Brain Injury

She lay on the hospital bed
like a grotesque monster
barely recognisable ...
head swollen
face battered with vivid bruising
hair matted with crusty coagulated blood
the scans revealed 
two bleeds on her brain

After nine years
Her short term memory is 
Her short memory is
Her memory is

     f
            a
                       d
                                     i
                                               n
                                                                       g

She’ll always be my amazing mum
But sadly with just a little bit missing


Brain Injury Contest

My mum had a fall in the street on 6th November 2009; our lives have never been the same since


12/27/18

Letter of Liberation To Kenya

Change makes time brush us,
so we're bruised and guarded 
like a thorn melon in a basket.
 
Blood has coagulated into
something dark and hard.
Do you feel like scratching?

Don't, lest you spill a gallon of puss,
a dark scar still represents a malady
that entomb the hurts of men

Yet we must burn our noses 
in putrid own flesh and find
no room to spit nor scowl   

We, brothers of Kenya
let's create timeless change
in a beautiful scar of immunization

By remaining shy, 
we breed vanity and less hope. 
Then false liberation will come 
hard on us like a monkey wedding

She Talks To Blackness

She talks to blackness
Madness running in the night
I follow her trial through
Field and wood
My trigger finger heavy, good
Pshow the twenty two fires
Blawo blawo the shot gun calls
I can hear her breath
Collapse, revive, collapse
Revive running for her life
Shoeless, naked
Her bare flesh ripped by brush
The hunt is on
The hunt is good
I fire into the darkness
Gauging her distance
I begin to circle. Circle
I cut her with my hatchet
Right in her throat
She wants to scream
But only bubbles belay her bereavement
Blood drips from the hatchet
Like the wax drippings coagulated
My pet is dead!
Calls the madness from the darkness
The urge is calling
Already pecking for me to bleed them
Hiding in the darkness
It consumes me, coughing
Collectively choking my breathing
What madness is this?
Down on one knee
Chocking on the blackness
My love is gone! So what is life?
Meaningless.

Street Walker In Oslo

Street Walker in Oslo 

As the black-winged night occupies my balcony
and spread its wings in triumph and shop lights
try in vain to illuminate and gladden a grubby street
I see you leaving your flat and begin your night shift
As you walk past splashes of yellow light,
I can see your white powdered face has not yet
settled into its customary inviting grin and your
lips are a machete slash where blood has coagulated
into lumps long ago.
Dressed in red tonight in the hope of attracting 
rampant lust, but since you are an old bird
you are reduced to service those with a putrid need
for violence, but even in your disgrace I know 
your heart is pure.

Deus Et Tribulatione

time slides ever to the right,
neither scabrous skidding mark,
nor faint leavings of wisdom’s feast,
only gouged furrows, upturned days,

to love only ideas of love, 
inane this hate of a cruel gentle kiss,
blackened hollow, sunken chest,
banal sacraments bless clamoring voices,
blown down a narthex like noisy wraiths,
screaming attention emotional ear stoppers,

when I'm here- 
I'm there,

and when I'm there- 
I'm here,

a self wound-ed pocketwatch missing a chain,
endlessly inward, the self-seeing eye,
germinated in murky hothouses,
stumbling over obligatory roots along blood red claybanks,
wine and honey, summertime of days, 
flow past, rushing torrent of softer kisses unwetted,
aloof, removed, astrally projected, 

the world perceived in gloomy mastication,
a demented ascetic in a cold mountain niche,
grown older in the dimlight, stranger to himself,
nary the wiser, sunblinded, threadworn,
stumbling towards an emptier ending of,

impure unsaid poetry,

coagulated prose,
clotted in the footprint, 

trailing behind.

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