Long Carotid Poems
Long Carotid Poems. Below are the most popular long Carotid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carotid poems by poem length and keyword.
Where's this years "Turkey_Pardon"?
Pardon me, where's the pardon on the Family?
Was the CCP funding too lucrative, Universities?
Any press briefing, explanations,
the WEF financial mechanisms
too carotid in artery.
I guess hunting season is still on,
"Runningman" repeats.
still a filler for
Commercial Broadcasting Disservice,
regularly scheduled reprogramming, propagandizing.
Meanwhile we are in Psalms 83 and Ezekial 38,
looming. .. 3 8 3 8 3 3..
I wonder what it means?
Too bad for that one potential lime-lighted Turkey.
Judgment is coming too Humanity.
Makes one seem crazy to report these days.
In perpetuity. One thing after another
and all against the People. For the leaders, a totally separate reality.
Why are they not arrested and questioned
by the People?
Is it because they polarized us against each other,
so that they are not the objects of scrutiny.
Maybe they will throw us a bone or a stick next,
to keep us occupied.
The question is, would it be laced with Fentanyl
or biologicals from an unsecured Chinese Lab here in America?
Or will it be one of those costly imports
maybe shipped from our Southern crosswalk.
Hey at least this year there is no ban on Church, gatherings,
as our leaders again gather mask free
with saline booster shots instead of what
is mandated for you and me.
Knowing that the vaccine was untested
(for Public transparency),
and Pfizer the only ones given immunity.
For aiding crimes against humanity, no apologies.
[Yeah, I can remember students dropping dead
on the sports field happening all the time
growing up (Saturday morning football death before
cartoons was a regular thing).
Who knew also that veins
are supposed to have long black graphene
induced clots, and young people to
die of heart attack and stroke at age 13.
Although, on a happier note,
2024 is a fresh year, for slavery.
It's Springtime eclipse a warning of disasters incoming,
vote casting,
ill Confederacy, Rhinoplasty, !CONSPIRACY!
reciting an x across the Country with 2017's.
Cancelling freedoms, Christians
and the World as we knew it to be.
Planet X mirrored,
icing, a crystal clear reveal i
n chaos waxing a seal of unmasking
our present real judgment, reality.
In the same month,
my husband had
two close encounters
with death.
First, a stray bullet
that landed a few inches
from where he was.
What are the odds!
Then a week later,
He had a small stroke.
It forces him to undergo
a carotid artery surgery.
Waiting for the surgery,
made us a bit anxious.
It was a good sign, to know
he had escaped death weeks before.
A period of profound teachings.
Trusting in “God-Universe”
Made the whole process easier.
We went with the flow.
He is recuperating now.
We are humbler.
Appreciate each other more.
Grateful with doctors,
nurses, family,
life in general...
Death was near.
Offering us another perspective.
The adventure of being alive.
Life never ceases to amaze us.
At first I wondered if all things have been said
already, spent
by poets of the past. They stole our words.
We found them stashed. We rearranged, often
deranged the lines with slash marks and nonsense.
Death was pretty back then
before we hid, behind
the nettles of windows and doors.
The lowering of a casket, not too many urns.
Burning the night
oil and the sound of ravens -
a door knocker that eerily caws.
The cause of writing strong with true feelings
that crawl up one’s spine, teeth that deeply plunge
into the carotid. The festering of sores
Upon palms and heels. Worn
out pages with feather quills and ink blots
cold and alone in the night squats.
The tender rendering of a seagull and a ghost.
A captain that is bearded and robust. The tales
of blind mice and braided hair; and children
with no coded habitat. They curl up
at your feet, next to the roaring fire
of your speech and devour each word
like curds and honey. Honey,
that is sweet. You buzz with excitement
as you leap off each cliff, hang-gliding.
The tummies of development,
in the youth, filled. Likewise their mouths
form oohs and ahhs; and good girls and boys
laugh and weep. They kick the dust
as they follow their own paths home -
imagination goes wild like a frenzy of bees,
their nest disturbed with a poking branch.
The lustful sweet tooth, aflame - a story
takes shape climbing a lighthouse or tower
into the ears, mouths, eyes and brain.
Already spent, nonsense! Say what you have
to say, from sun to sun. Poet speak!
3/19/2023
wonderful fimagery
a fibulation of truth
a frenetic shark-tooth
puncturing the carotid
artery, artistically
fandom of fibs
will coddle your desperation,
lean into your fabulous
collection of fables, fry
the fish according to recipe
mendacious media robots
move their mechanical jaws
plainly stating the news -
the words they choose
according to choice list
listless and yawning
it’s never dawning on them
that the puppet master
controls the strings
of jaws, eyelids and
applause
plausible lies
they’re after
laughter in the rafters
hell’s forever after
8/15/2022
Exodus 20:16, 23:1; Matthew 15:19; Revelation 21:8
The unveiling confusion, infirmity,
the stars align with impunity.
To mock with signs
for seasons maligned in perpetuity.
The whore gives a peep-showing
no integrity, no humility.
The curtain draws open triple x,
Priestess in bold neon, font
sirens of the Media Multiplex
singing, dancing in seductive song.
Stars of staged and screened.
Alien dialect, speaking ambiguity,
all Nightmare at Christmas season long.
Oscars Wilde nativity clip clip scene.
Selling vintage vaults in Lots of salt,
veins of carotid archery,
Taught high strung looking back,
strung along by drafts for the daft;
washed with eros triggering
nostalgicfibromyocardier celebrity endorsery.
In Pyrotechnicolor- Fantasia -feastiality.
**** burns Fairytail obscenity,
for Toddlers, infants and Teens.
Minds in utter solution,
feeding abreast of endoctrinating ***********
matching the strike of keroscene tik tok meme.
Hookers-hooking the onlooking hungry
for Hunger Games
in Running Man, Bloodsport Jeans.
Air Force One has crashed into Manhattan.
To get the president out, it takes a special man.
For success in this task, there is quite a bit of doubt.
Once I go in this place, I should not come out.
The whole island is a maximum security prison.
I get a full pardon if I succeed in this mission.
The police have saddled me with some heavy loads.
There are twenty-four hours before this bomb explodes
This microscopic explosive is in my carotid artery.
The Duke of New York holds the president in captivity.
He has already lost a finger to the Duke's untamed savagery.
For help, I have Brain and his girl Maggie.
Another inmate helping me is someone known as “Cabbie”.
There is something else important that I must get.
Secrets of nuclear fusion are recorded on a cassette.
I have to get this and the president to safety.
I hope the president likes to listen to “Bandstand Boogie”.
Based on the 1981 film "Escape From New York"
He had seen chicken necks
twisted and broken in Chinese markets,
the plucked dismemberment
of flapping wings.
With help,
he could have strung his carcass up
like a hog on a hook.
He would have quickly cleaved himself
from balls to breast,
but this was a one-man job.
The cadaver
had to be bundled, separated and filleted.
Strange but he knows what to do.
His hands are now sharp as scalpels.
Fingers are boning blades, lancets,
curettes and shears.
He inserts a stiletto under the jaw,
angling through neck bones, the larynx,
drawing the point downward
severing jugular vein and carotid artery.
He does not collect the blood,
but lets it wet the earth.
He watches the bulbous purple coils
spill from his abdomen.
Chitterlings and sweetbreads,
plump jewels gleam briefly
then settle on the ground
in warm mounds.
A quick slice along the breastbone,
then ease the ribcage apart,
scoop out lungs and heart,
- fat catfish from a keep-net.
Looking upon his piled substance,
he feels as if the great work of his life
had now ended well.
He watches as the meat and offal
begin to dissolve.
Soon from the pools of blood
vine shoots will emerge.
One day there will be new wine.
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.