here we careen through the scheme
riding the vortex of the american dream
seen behind the blind scenes in hiding
keep fighting the design on the frontlines.
the career of a degenerative peer
is not measured by how they appear
or adhere the commandeer of said steer,
as long as they down beer and disappear.
clear as this fixates the mistake of the states
we would augmentate and drown hound fears
sheer will could astound the nouns quo
leaving them in tow with woe as one said so.
illuminate the sewn, find a darker home alone,
brash and beating the bone into the stone,
not grown eating scones of the blindly shown
that well-known handmade status throne.
grenade low tossed at the cost of some human loss
for fuel that is obsolete and crude at high-spreading moss
green fabric the waxen-elitism roster head boss
with a thumb gangrene, the color of his blood pulse.
down a flask of mezcal with a spliff of mary jane,
we aim to numb the pain from their dumb games -
switching lanes through the lazy river zaftig maze,
eyes glaze over, middle fingers raise at their gaze
Excise Exercise 2:
In a wasteland
decision is a choice.
Faced with Life or Death
makes progress clear-
What are the options?
Face the Fear of both.
One brutal truth.
Find love's survival hope.
Cut off black poison.
Amputate the hate
that cast love out of reach.
Gangrene was never the colour of Peace...
In a wasteland,
Green is the colour of Relief.
Nestled in undulating dunes,
crystal clear the clarity that dispels
myth's mirage shimmy shake
Faith is a caravan-
Tuareg Blue and White.
Waiting out duststorms.
Burnt Umber.
Brief.
Aqua M Pen Umbra Poetry.
27 January 2024.
Choose to live.
127 hours. A story of survival.
"To err is human."
To err is to miss the point.
A scorpion will never face it’s own stinger. A bear will never maul itself. Why then do some men have wounds they wont talk about?
It’s not always the arrow that kills you, it’s the infection. Gangrene is a slow death, spreading slowly but surely. It loves an open wound and marches it’s death brigade ever so gradually to the heart.
The unforgiven has a unique gaze his eyes. It’s says he’s longed for the barrel of his revolver. Looking at him is like staring right through a bullet hole. And he knows the choice is simple, cut off the trigger finger that betrayed his love, or just welcome that slow but certain death.
The path to survival is clear, but he just hasn’t decided yet.
As the night foster, sank my fragile heart,
Because the frivolous moon began to play with my thoughts,
As gleam the the moon up high , heart began to go in deep,
Thinking of many butterflies that come to me and left ,
And of cemetery I went with flowers , bestowed,
With gangrene and extinguish bodies which once glowed,
The chain of thought broke , with a marvelous sight,
Once dead sun again stood for fight !
The sun rose for them , who burn and got too far,
Still night for them, who let exodus the stars!
The God Who Sees, from the seed to the reap.
Not like man. He’s keen to depths of our hearts.
Our imaginings, our unholy gripes,
dissipate with our Lord’s glorious light.
The Lantern of Life certainly cares for
even our simple needs, our daily bread.
But do you think we need to spur a cause -
apple to apple - elementary
students scratch their heads at the egregious
gangrene, the implausible depiction.
The exaggeration of imagery
meant to leap off the page and boil the blood.
A blood bath of hatred ensues - bubbles
frothing - O such majesty - let’s join in…
After all, it’s the latest cause - prayers
unheard of. The God Who Sees watching us.
2/3/2021
On screen
My spleen
Gangrene
Gone green
I died
Wife cried
Doc sighed
He'd tried
News clip
Now RIP
Mary had a gecko
Its skin was shamrock green
But everywhere that Mary went
It changed its colour scheme
When Mary went to Heaven
Her gecko made the scene
Saint Peter sent them back again
He thought they had gangrene!
So when you get to Heaven
And you need a go-between
Just ask for Mary's gecko
Its the Devil's own routine!
"INTRODUCTION" -
Now after Nobel Prizes for Insulin ... now Gangrene
We owe it to our grandchildren, to reverse
The "ILL PILL" industry and psuedo-education:
Diabetes is "metabolism of the liver" issue
Not a sugar or insulin or diabetes problem -
So auto-immune ills relate to hate, an anti-human emotion
I - (I L L)
It used to be said, "For every ill, there is a pill!"
Let us not repeat slogans; beyond rapping for ads
Let real education prevail; is your food good medicine?
II - (P I L L)
Please use the internet; google Dr. Hegde's contribution;
Investigate who campaigned but failed to de-frock him
Let any crime, malpractice, be proved! As to statin -
Let it be known, after each pill comes many an ill.
DO NOT KILL THE MESSENGER: investigate the message. Is it valid? shalom
Some got a pathological need,
a dirty obsession for that coffin wallpaper
They wrapped themselves in the black widow veil
of murderous deceit
For what?
To taste the yellow snow
of an unclean life insurance policy,
a crimson crypt guarantee
They’re willing to scarlet signature go
to the pit of perdition below
With the gnashing of their plaque teeth,
their lying gangrene gums
have a bottomless covetous bleed
Oh how filthy is the color of greed!
Their gain green ways
is dirty money laundry madness
A purple reign whitewash rinse
is obscenely falling at a Faustian pace
The prince of this world
got them brown nose benders,
those bloodhound coin sniffers,
on a silver urn lucre loco motive chase
But the code blue folly of it all,
the gold digger worms
do-do come to a flatline crawl
And that dollar bill cadaver feed
is a pink ink lip lust envy
for violet dye poison ivy —
A sin dung beetle sordid concede
Oh how filthy is the color of greed!
Melancholy days, listless, all through
Then, out of the blue,
A comment comes along to cheer you
My friends, I feared I had reached the end
Those words, once so lively and hale
Now crumble, numb, on my tongue
Tasteless and stale
Repetitive rut, creative gangrene
(Seriously, how many similes
for sunsets can there be?)
No flair to wear, no colors seen
Then kindness, unexpected, left in a note
A flicker, stirring, a melody spoke
Your remarks can mean more than they seem
A trickle, then sparks into a flowing stream
So when the page is blank, the well is dry
With a little help from my friends to get by
Perhaps - I can give it - one more try.
10/04/19
I come before you holy;
Ah! but the pebbles on my feet are so rough;
The mack daddy will flee, in pants of poly;
Forgot to check for cars first though;
Hope is never hopeless;
Alas, my leg of dry gangrene,
hath fallen off again;
Where's the Scotch tape?
In a dress? A dress, address;
Out west,
is where I went, alone in my escape
4/24/19
Lurking in fuzzy leftovers is seen
A quivering, crawling hairball of green
A florescent prune
Or cheese from the moon
Gurgles gastric, plastic alien spleen
The miser squire requires gluts of caffeine
To dissect this science project's gangrene
Harpoon on a spoon
Zoom to the saloon
Lunch ladies' supreme mystery cuisine.
3/15/19
For Green Humor contest
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
An explorer called Nicholas Bean
Used a jungle path for a latrine
He started to pee
Got stung by a bee
His poor wotsit swelled up with gangrene.
The natives said you need a vaccine
Their witch doctor arrived on the scene
With some healing plants
Said “drop down your pants”
Too late it had already turned green.
Both limericks 9/9/5/5/9.
Written 15th March 2019
For green humour contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire.
They love to puff the beryl nicotine
Incendiary lungs
sucking down the cancerous green
Hard drag queens,
dressed to mass extinct kill,
inhale poisonous mushroom dreams
Napalm verbal smoke:
fungi promises coming out of plastic windpipes
Pinocchio nose choke
pollute the global atmosphere with mint gripes
Cigar truth snubbed in a submarine ashtray
New Cuban missile crisis
put cerulean code Leviathan in play
Naval equatorial smoke circles ...
Ring of Fire raze reprisals ends a Green Day
Negotiated denials has got a jade glow
As the wizened warlords
sell refugee passes —
Microchip markers ... gamma emerald
Dragging chain smoking kings,
boast ballast policies of reptilian oppression
Puff fork tongues pack a blowtorch sting
Black-hearted lungs
exhaling cold malignant scorch gangrene
Dirge windpipes hate the cure love brings
a decayed
unfulfilled dream
of mine
an antique coin
that has oxidized
on both sides
coated
brown and green
as if
dry gangrene
has set in
on a dead tissue
no longer flickering
light
when kissed by the sun
(Yalto)
Patina Poetry Contest/Winner(10th Place)
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Date written and posted: 06/30/2018
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