Hearts designed to beat together
torn asunder, grope and stumble
Seminal streaks of lightning flash
thunderbolts rend and rumble
Lips yearning, pried apart
demonic forceps ice-cold-sterile
Amnesia, sweet sleep imparts
Love’s embrace, for aye imperiled
trapped,
safeguarded,
each appendage
secured in amber,
some Jurassic specimen
created for your gaze
you regard me
with a quizzical eye,
comb your notes carefully
for collected data
on my anomalies
how to straighten this limb,
shape this abdomen,
bend this thorax
to fashion the perfect
exemplar of your
scientific prowess
no manufactured artifice
will satisfy you
you deftly maneuver
and rearrange,
cut and reassemble,
manipulating your scalpel
and forceps
until you have your prize,
flawless and complete,
but for the glue
leaking from the seams
I close my eyes
So I can see you
That I'm still in your heart
I clench my hands
So I can feel you
That I'm still inside of you
I rub my heart
To ponder... that you still care for me
I call my soul
To wonder... you're my home in me
You opened my eyes,
Covered and blinded
Under the dark skies
You softened my hands,
Rough and burnt
Under the sun that dries
You revived my restless body
And lifted up my spiritless life
You brought back
The smile in me
And laughter, long buried
Inside of me
You are my home
My heart and my soul
Wherever I am
I carry you with me
I walk in your footsteps
Holding my heart with your forceps
My strength in my biceps
My shield above my triceps
Your shoulder
Is my armor
Tempered with ardor
Your heart is my home
My heart that dwells in chrome
Note to self: In observation where there seems to be nothing there, there is
always air. Even without matter there is something for instance light waves.
The spirit of the Divine in me seeks the Ataraxian mode of living
Although I long for air in my lungs I keep bumping into tables and chairs,
like an old ghost who has forgotten the use of her legs and arms.
The elemental carbon of my living structure is no more matter than
the air I breathe. Through diffusive meditative qualm, I can almost
touch its ether, "my being"
He poured his Numen Spirit long ago inside my stillborn body
where once I was clear sky, today just brain on forceps.
Its when I place my breath in the womb of God that my skeptic nature, ?
to be continued ?
By ?
A pair of forceps the size of food tongs
turned off one light in my two room watch tower.
In those days Grizzly bears were called eye surgeons.
I did not see half the world slip away
over my left shoulder.
A cyclopean tunnel forgot it was ever
able to swivel eyeballs and see around
the edges of a circle.
It’s all fish-eyes under an arched bridge now.
As long as a telescope is applied to the correct frontal lobe
my bullet-shaped sight can punch holes through perception
just as well as any less precise cannonball.
Both Bach and Handel went blind under the helping hands
of one surgeon who’s name history has long forgot.
Even though their eyes were dimming
their music shone all the brighter.
Poetry is its own on-man-band,
it makes its own music even in the darkest cave.
These are the times when the sunlight is fragile
the peace that we’ve known lies empty
Flowers are crooked and bent from fatigue
Love letters lost that you’ve sent me
These are the days when winds of change blow
Seasons with drama are filled
Matters of mind and heart are inflated
Melancholy is outward spilled
These are the hours madness must move
Backs sometimes broken by these
Separate and big as iron bubbles bursting
Each day drops a clown to his knees
These are the moments that hang in the balance
Suspended by forceps of pride
These are the moments we hoped would not come
but from which we could never hide
These are the seconds unfolding to thirds
As each life, through His eye is cast
These are the times when the sunlight is fragile
and we, like this time, cannot last.
extraction of thoughts
forceps bent under pressure -
gentle touch instead
16th May 2020
a marginally redemptive micro biography
offhandedly ushered into this reverie
by Ellipsis the muse of all highway roundabouts
my first impressions at age minus 20 minutes
stuck in the birth canal of a woman
whose deeper psychological structures
think she is withholding permission
her screaming was possibly misplaced
since dying was only seemingly inevitable
not knowing what a scream is
I am struck by the echo in the delivery room
which gives me my first indication
of a space that is filled with something other
myself presently possessing nothing other
only a great body-long dimensionless squeezing
amplified by the gentle tug
of my deliveryman's forceps
though possibly not so gentle
since to this day I am left with
dents and ripples upon my peanut head
which would constitute a turgid prose novel
for any Nazi phrenologist worth his calipers
apparently a mighty heave ho
and some cheer leading by the hovering nurses
released her death grip sufficient to the task
of birthing another potential carrier of civilization
into the world of sequence and insanity
I suppose all that future grunting
kinda got its start right here
Giving birth to new feelings,
life to the unborn
Eternity swaddled,
cradled and warm
A labored delivery,
nibbed forceps demand
Prying out a new meaning
—each stroke of the hand
(Plane To Las Vegas: July, 2016)
A grey coloured dusk in a flask of tea that day
and you
With the shaft of sunlight
Both dim and bright
Both the sapling and tall tree
The trio is at breaking the granite in the pen
for a song or two to come out
So that the tower of twilight could be raised
for climbing into the mist
Where you both exist and do not
There is everything or none
Both dusk and dawn
The boatman has disappeared, taking the sun with him
in his cabin
no, not so exactly
You didn't let him
There is the golden bun now on your hair
Languid layers of tales
Lemon in a cup of ale
The split in the dusk
The musk from the grass
The shadow of the horses
The long unused forceps
The hazy roses of the park
Especially in this half light half dark
Come to the lawn
Let us write a poem
That we will read at dawn
The quest of the shaft is on
July 27, 2018
Dusk Or Dawn (New Poems Only) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
I’m a revelation, a mutation, a mutilation,
Divine will and hysterical damnation.
One nation under a spell of castration.
I’m the chemical, you’re the academical,
Condemning the notion of free motion.
Polemical
Hearing
Healing
Break through the gold ceiling, persist to steal it.
Stuck in the system.
Dreaming
Not feeling pure.
Imagination ain’t real.
In my defence, I make sense, making cents, on innocents.
Coincide your incense with my expense,
Our expense is your offence.
Picket fence. Pick a side
Why so tense?
Test the tide
Have a drink. Will it quench
Nuclear war on my doorstep?
Divorce
Death
Drugs
Forceps
Forced steps, first steps,
Towards complex subjects of the same sex
The safe sex.
Ain’t safe sex going through glass bars
In a sidesplitting suplex?
Forced ideas. Safe paycheques
Forged ideals. Save apex.
Stereotypes
I’m the two time two sided too tired top model.
I’m the type to go mono.
One nation under one channel.
That’s our new motto.
To avoid the pale blue pain hue
I do not visit the river shore any more
If I do sometimes by chance
One by one
Our spent moments
Both closed and open
Come in a long bluish queue
And in the snow of thought grow deep blue sores
Hospital odour
shreds of blue in the air
Prayers seem hollow
Blues inexorably follow
The river-shore blue beauty
Is elegiac and unbearable for me
Do you remember
The blue river shore
Would madden us more and more
The blue air from your hair
That we ecstatically shared
While dissolving our lips in the mutual cups
In the veins
In the blue lanes and bye lanes of our laugh
Would gallop the horses
Now they are dews on forceps
Of the frightening time
In tattered rhymes
All chimes robbed of
As one day all on a sudden you fell
The current went pell-mell in the river
Leaving me sobbing
In those blue myriad cells
Very pale by your sudden departure
Into the ethereal air
Never to return
Time sits in urn
When I come here
The moment broken seemed irreparable
The embracing blue unbearable
____________________________________
2/11/2016
Giving birth to new feelings,
life to the unborn
Eternity now swaddled,
cradled and warm
A labored delivery,
nibbed forceps demand
Prying out a new meaning,
each stroke of the hand
(Plane To Las Vegas: July, 2016)
I know a place; no one likes to be there,
yet nearly everyone I know has gone
to sit with trepidation in a chair,
and then reclined, each person sits and drools
while helplessly they stare up at the face
of someone who is cramming too big tools
inside their mouth, which has too small a space -
too little space to have to let inside
large forceps or that vacuum that lets pass
the grime collecting in mouths open wide!
Perhaps some go just for the laughing gas!
But go we must - and sit still for the drill,
enough sometimes to make a grown man ill.
Written June 17, 2016
for the If it hurts so bad, why do we do it? Poetry Contest of Silent One
Slide back the action,
The hammer clicks,
Reaction,
Pin hits the primer resulting in a kick,
I exit the barrel causing disruption.
I give no thought to my victim,
No mercy when I hit them,
Shredding flesh and shattering bone,
Pray one of I doesn't visit your home.
Cold now,
They try to remove me,
Forceps grip the portion they see,
I am pulled from my created cavity,
Men shudder at the damage I allow.
What am I,
A piece of lead coated in copper,
But packed in a casing with powder you can see,
The death I have to offer.
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