thy worldith isith thy canvasith.
thy painterith thy paintith.
thy poetith, makeith thy poetith.
thy worldith thy endith.
chickenith jockeyith.
flaming snakes
bite the Hanged Man
plodding sky swallows a squirrel
clinging to a gnarly tree
blemished pens bemoan
wily wordplay
out of nowhere
i am sadly too late
they have built the battlefield
in a collective coma
i build sorrow
my words disappear
one gloats madly
i go savagely into twilight
the Wheel of Fortune
spins into the Sun
Velvet Coma
Slumber to ponder.
Die to find you.
However long it takes.
All wait by your bedside.
I’m writing you a letter.
Rest like a feather.
The only one I love.
Deep emotions.
A hug forever.
I would take your dying place.
I can’t live without you.
Waves calm and beautiful.
Memories Azure, water front.
Could never fathom leaving you.
My soul mate.
All stay up late.
Squeeze my hand when you're awake.
Heaven holds us everyday.
The doctor had a worried face.
He asked me how I let it get this bad, and how I could be so stupid.
I really can’t remember…
I tried to tell him I was sorry, but I don’t think I could speak.
He says I should sit.
Sitting hurts my soul.
He says I should lie down.
Lying down is scary.
Somehow I’m more dizzy lying down too.
Just lie down and sleep…
It feels like I’m slipping into a coma.
So at first I fought my exhaustion.
Until a coma started to not sound that bad.
Maybe I would wake up a few months from now.
And everything would be ok.
But no, I was going to wake up tomorrow.
And the nightmare will start.
Comma no coma, we just pause
Silence enables bliss
Fears and desires, suffering cause
We contract, serpents hiss
Slow dow hermit, slow down
Wipe of ego borne frown
In blissful rapture drown
Feel love’s aroma
Comma no coma
10-March-2023
Quietus
The person stuck on that memorable throne,
They are not too immune,
Twitching with suspicions,
A knife behind their back,
Soon they will be by your side,
A partner ready to behead,
Constant checks, Lonely Medicine,
The pool of influence,
Followed by infection,
The recovery time is raw,
Developing more than before,
The morale of their greatest actions,
Only a fraction of their innocent mind.
*Image of Vulnerability by The Conversation.
Coma
Endeavoring eyes opened
to the nothingness ere it.
Harkening labyrinths aches
to the silence yond.
Alone spoke I and
loneliness echoed
in faint whispers.
There remains
a trace of me
airing silently
the breath of
belonging.
Inspired: 2022 March 28
*7th Place*
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4
~~Mark Toney: Judged 2022 June 25
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND 1098
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 30
vocation to bloom
puzzled buds in dizziness ...
spring smiles soothingly
20 February 2022
She thinks I’m in a coma.
It’s time for her to be gone.
She goes to the other room.
Leaving my body behind.
It was 1st July 2005
The day that changed my life
An holiday car crash terror
An experience of horror
Quick dash to hospital port
Put straight on life support
My conscience was asleep
I could hear but not see
I could feel touch but not pain
My husband tried in vane
To wake me from my coma
Holding my hand and shoulder
Talking and whispers in my ear
Get up and get out of here
Two weeks of unconscious
My husband was continuous
My slumber finally broke
From my coma I awoke
To hear devastating news
I couldn't believe the truth
My husband died at the scene
So was it all a dream?
Or was it all real?
An angel helped me heal
Mattressed fall skies surround naked framed trees--the coming of old man winter
Comatose and half dead
Yet hearing every word they said.
It couldn’t be worse for me or them.
Expect my death, and pray-Amen.
Coma
As I spoke with loneliness
it echoed its dreams
in faint whispers
a trace of me
air silently
breathe
life in
me.
2020 February 27
She was lava lamp pliable
Easily moved and positioned
Flippy floppy appendages
Ridiculously compliant
Rare signs of life
Loud breathing
Danger of falling
Bed sore bound
Six year coma
Come closer, the canvas collapsed
This clairvoyant contains no confidence
Constant creative calamity clouds his clarity, continuously complicating his collective
From conscientious to cataleptic
Cooped up, closed off in his cranium
Centuries and centimeters continue and contort, constantly trying to keep count; counting the clicks of his center clock
A creator, now a captive; cut off from his countless colors- his core gets colder and colder
The conscious consensus has been cleaved, captured in his comatose cocoon
His chi calls out to consult
Without complaint or coercion, he is calm in his current conundrum
Conjuring a circumventing counter to this circumstantial change
Comfortable in his corporeal cathedral, catapulted through his cerebral cosmos
His life cannot cease
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