Long Artery Poems
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Header Note:
Poem TitleThe Scalpel vs The Prayer DHR
Sponsor Name: Daniel Henry Rodgers
Theme: Science vs Faith
Form / Type: Diabolical Dialectical Contrapuntal Poem
Date of Submission: July 10,2026
The Scalpel vs The Prayer DHR
LEFT COLUMN: THE SCALPEL RIGHT COLUMN: THE PRAYER
Steel failed to hold the artery Knees failed to hold the floor
Gloves went red, then went still Tears went salt, then went dry
The clock stopped with the bleed The clock stopped inside her chest
Air left the breathing tube Words left her whispered prayer
Silence ran door to door for news Silence ran through her bones
Names were tagged for the body His name was lifted to God
A flat line held on the monitor Hope fell from her cracked voice
Sweat cooled on brow and mask Warmth left her empty hands
Doctors spoke in loss and counts She spoke in "God, take me too"
The door opened, dark came in The door in her shut closed
"We did all we could," they said "Bring him home," she heard
We lost the fight, and he's gone God took the prayer, and he's gone
The suburban pressure cooker expelled its multiethnic horde north. Laden with implements of leisure, bicycles, kayaks, canoes and camping gear; world weary travelers of urban and suburban bent surged north ever, north. Bucking, they wrenched in unison at road repairs, shunted into single lanes by flaming orange cones of warning like so many track horses at the gate. Tail bitten, truck locked windows up; the denizens drove forth cocooned in metal steeds seeking the clean air and open expanses, north.
Few, freer souls dare the unfiltered air of the artery, north on motorcycles or in convertibles, hoods down, or windows down, blaring an enlivening mantra of sixties rock as they shimmied forward in the in the endless conga line of commerce, past urban blight. The trip north became a Chaucerian Pilgrimage from Nutmeg State to the Green Mountain State of Vermont.
The border crossed, the sky opens wide-eyed, ridge rimmed dolphin gray clouds swim in a cerulean scene. Roadside picnic tables fill. Monarch butterflies flit in the breezes between majestic rows of pungent pines. The whoosh of traffic dulls and the robin’s call emerges over the roiling hills and gurgling brooks. Silence falls, complete; upon the entrance to the first gravel road. Heaven is immersed in the scent of fresh hay and sweet purple clover.
Broad boulevard laced with selfish desires, vain dreams
Paved with good intentions; spliced with frivolous seams
Shining beacon in the distance with opportunity gleams
Burnished with luster; with every delight streams
Availing light glowing bright; dimming all peripheral beams
A narrow path from the main artery doth pare
Sharply angling away from the gilded thoroughfare
No sign posts or guides do its obscure location declare
Its small, unappealing entrance no adventurers snare
Its rocky surface strewn with obstacles; the carefree traveler to
scare
Wise soul doth the harder path stroll
Gracefully shouldering the heavy load as they troll
Patiently bearing the reproach that trite gawkers dole
Pressing forward with a higher calling toward the goal
Sacrificing material wealth; helping the poor pay their toll
Sheltering the weak; the lonely outcasts do console
If love is not a butterfly, what then is love?
a ripe avocado pear, maple julep, honeycomb?
momma said I didn't know
much about honey bees that she kills the drone
first before accepting she is in love tune,
then hummns love melodies.
Love ; tastes of honey in my
mouth at dawn, at dusk It goes
sour or in between.
even if I let go, still your taste
like memory, a painful memory,
reopening itself into itself
like a wounded artery deep down
as my blood got congealed.
so love is not just a lovely butterfly
it first became a butter then flew
so if you say you don't love am gonna wait
till you drain of me. then you can humm
love tunes in melodies of me
Then love is a sacrifice,
but am I ready to be your Sahara?
Gideon Idudje
There is a monster in my bed and I let him in. I supplied the pillow to rest. His quiet wickedness I don't address. As he fondles my body while I lay still undressed. I don’t reciprocate his love or affection and he won’t allow me to stop it or reject it. That must be his thrill. Just begging for me to pet it. Like a dog. I like dogs. They don’t force me to love them. They just are. He has a darkness beneath the face, beyond the freckles and scars. He stays inside until he thinks you bought the bit that he is a chivalrous guy, but he has secrets to hide. As sweet and willing as he seems he is holding two sharp blades to your carotid artery. In plain sight but you choose not to see. You let the darkness in because a part of you believes you too are a dark fruit fallen from the forbidden tree. Another lying message you allowed your brain to receive. You are more than an object of affection, you are deserving. Sometimes we have to burn it all down to start anew. A cleansing of the medial prefrontal cortex erasing desires previously initiated for a few as I currently have a monster in my bed and I am the one who invited him in.
My hero to me, was just a simple man
He was ill throughout his life, but he raised two sons
Two jobs he held down until he couldn't anymore
Then fate took it's turn, and turned his heart sore
First was the youngest, on a broken bottle he fell
His artery slashed, was the start of his hell
I recovered from my trauma, nearly losing my life
But my accident increased, his ill health into strife
Over the next two years he was hospitalised
His sons fostered out, in fatherless cries
To children's homes they went, from pillar to post
Yearning for the person, who loved them the most
He gradually recovered, we became a family again
Once again fate took it's turn, returning life's pain
On a Monday night back in nineteen sixty nine
What every parent dreads, returned him to ill health decline
His two boys excited, joining the local Boy's Brigade
Running as fast as they could, for time to be made
The older was faster, he ran well ahead
The younger lagging behind, his little legs so delayed
On turning the corner, all I could see
Was my older brother, running well ahead of me
Without looking left or right, onto the street he ran
A split second later, he was hit by a van
My life entered slow motion, whilst I witnessed it all
To see your brother knocked down, a sibling to fall
He was caught under the van and dragged down the street
At seven years old, too terrified to greet
Over the next six years, his heath gradually became worse
He was more in hospital, in illness immersed
That's why he is my hero, to my lost brother and me
He's the kind of man that I've turned out to be
He had no quality of life, but what he gave meant more
The love for his two boys all through his life's sores
Holding down two jobs through illness and strife
Admirable, that's just a word, he gave me my life
My entry for Crystal Wilkins contest 'My Hero'
A soul in flight soars above the grimy midnight,
mist only to be swallowed by audacious moonlight,
droplets. Heart, mind and artery
skip seamlessly across canvass wet and damp,
soaking up the wild blue mildew spot flood.
Chair yoga skeleton figure, quaking in mid-air,
much to the chagrin of startled night owls.
Baby moth or butterfly swept up by artic gusts,
the rainbow in my psyche whirls neon signage.
Blood red flash alert, wee small hours
traffic signal vaulter that I am.
Ghostly cry from rendezvous of past enchantment,
bony elbow echoes at the edge,
neck craning memoir distorted mirror,
a foghorn on mute
Today I live comfortably, peaceably
Tonight a hurricane washes ashore
Tomorrow I am homeless, secure no more...
Today I have a challenging job and work
for someone I greatly respect and admire
Tomorrow morning, the company goes belly up
I'm out on the street, carrying a sign
'Day Laborer for Hire...'
Today my country is flourishing, the economy humming
Tonight we are attacked by a nuclear superpower
Tomorrow death and destruction everywhere
In every crack and crevice, like rodents, we all cower
Why does man pray? Who does he pray to?
Insecurity pumps to and from his heart like crazy
He stands naked before his Maker, every sinew and artery exposed
Beseeching the Almighty for Mercy, eyes and heart wide-open now
His purpose no longer hazy --- energetic! ~ Long vanquished is lazy!
Stealing Oxygen
with seduction, i quail to touch
n' play, sensually displaying
your body, vividly distinctively,
cross examines the moisture of
my lips, stealing oxygen,
deeply under hypnotized vision,
I dare not awake, the passage
of my drug, for it is the love
that ponders our souls, so tru
n' rare, through my veins, to
never lose it...pumping through
your veins I charge...in and out
you heart by large...at times
slipping into
ventricle...dispensing oxygen
from lungs...collateral artery
slit this time, love splattered
spectacle...making me feel
impeccable...
Carma Reed
01-22-13
The Broken Fountain Pen Disaster
Underfoot the dropped was-so-lost pen breaks snapping its midnight ink artery to spurt explosively out like some imprisoned force nearly dead but up again sucking in saving air and spread on
dispersing into freedom in a fly across the floor the long streaks of such random black arcs streaking falling staining the canvas on which our living room is drawn together between a sofa and yellow wing- chair on the gray carpet there will be an awful task to clean this now became a Jackson Pollock’s winking quickly cast so rapidly set.
After the stroke we gape as the room itself clutches a stiller life mood blank in an erased atmosphere forgetting any will to find a contour of drawn new breath or speech only yet
whispers feel of loss in a similar kind of dreaded time as when the casket sits in the room for a wake under mounds of white roses while hinting of prayers and phrases of grief
by Rilke
until finally someone declares the tragedy Into the past turning to suggest the use of gold leaf rather than ink on the outlines of the next drawing of the hour as it may proceed.
**********. **********. **********. **********
(C) sally Young Eslinger 11/2020
Thanks be to God