CADAVER
(a philosophical dissection)
Dissection hall-bedding the dead,
The air thick with formalin,
Moving blades, dissecting-
The stillness in front.
Frostiness of death, biting-
The warmness of breathes!
Cadavers at peace,
Motionless and still,
Dead and fighting to decay,
Naked bodies-
With veiled existence!
I wonder,
If the dead had left some stories to tell,
Tales that neither made the pages of story books,
Nor been recited at bed sides.
If the dead had some songs to sing,
Melodies that neither echoed in the stars,
Nor rolled-down with the rains.
The untold stories and the unsung songs,
Can never be dissected out,
No matter how sharp the blades are!
Categories:
formalin, death, emotions, how i
Form: Verse
The night comes down heavily upon the skull
In every fancies of wired images:
Lady Macbeth's dagger or Old Hamlet's ghost;
Or in my own term - ripped off from the organic herbs.
Yes, it came to be, a being
With conviction and character
Of a hullabaloo, buried in silence.
I fear the gesture, unwelcome,
And the pathos of lost self,
Tearing down the heart tonight
In benign pathos.
Havoc wrecking in my bio-chemistry,
Diluted in the solution,
As my corp cooling in the formalin-wall.
Categories:
formalin,
Form: Blank verse
I flow like the river and fall like a spring
Dazzling many like a pugilist on a ring,
Interact with many people and classes,
Making young men to raise their glasses.
Racism and apartheid are not in my book,
Even though I`m finer than a brook,
Making beautiful girls to dance like stars,
And dealers and entertainers ride in posh cars.
I make sorrow varnish like faint smile
Making sportmen to go the extra mile,
Causing the rise and fall of thermometers,
Brains beclouded for moving on few meters.
To help men solve their problems this I crave,
Yet I`ve led many into crime and the grave,
Scientists plan to wed me with gasoline,
Which makes me better than formalin.
So,what am I?
Categories:
formalin, fun, life,
Form: Quatrain
Einstein’s brain was more complicated than any Swiss army knife.
A pathologist took it from his cranium creating its’ ignominious afterlife.
He confined it in a formalin filled Tupperware tub that stunk
then tooled around America with it in his Buick Skylark trunk.
True story; check out the synopsis of the book (I’ve read it) called “Driving Mr. Albert” by Michael Paterniti on Amazon.com.
Categories:
formalin, history, life, loss,
Form: Clerihew