Long Coagulated Poems
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O my country—
I cleave to you through cataclysm and grief,
even as avenues bleed vermilion
with the coagulated ire of the dispossessed.
The atmosphere quivers
with the dirge of the abandoned,
their supplications dissolving
into the ashen ether.
Yet, in the clandestine chamber of my chest,
a prayer still germinates—
fragile, obstinate.
Your rivers, unwearied,
intonate their primordial canticle;
your fields, still fecund,
proffer aureate abundance.
But the firmament, once lucent,
is now barbed with malevolence,
and the throats of the guileless
are muted mid-cry.
Once, benevolence flowered here,
now calcified suspicion
roots itself deep in the soil.
And yet—
if the hand sows fraternity again,
if mercy’s sap ascends,
perhaps a concord can still unfurl.
Let the splintered heart reconverge.
Let compassion accrue
like rain in a desiccated land.
Let faith, austere and indomitable,
illumine the labyrinth toward amity.
Through maelstroms I remain,
through conflagrations I endure—
for even the umbral abyss
concedes to dawn.
Your essence is unyielding,
your anima indestructible.
My country,
through the alchemy of hope
we shall resuscitate your breath.
Ascension
I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time
had blown away, the sand exposed millions of skeletons
and the memory of man wench the brain was walnut-sized.
The brain is larger now, filled with images of ***********
and wars on many fronts.
I came to an oasis I must drink or explode into atoms
but the water was full of coagulated blood.
I walked on crushing rib cages gleaming in the moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way, sparkled like a diamond
decorated with religious promises of salvation.
I had to climb up and over the hindrance if I wanted to know
what was on the iceberg’s other side?
Emptiness or the final axiom?
I reluctantly began my ascent, the hands cold as my heart.
Finally, my blood began to coagulate.
However, I felt great, energetic, and alive.
But, now that I was old enough for Medicare,
I decided to have a medical exam at 65.
After a series of various tests, my primary
doctor recommended a cardiologist.
When did my heart condition start?
And what is the medical remedy?
What on earth must one do?
It's like a traffic jam.
The traffic light alone can no
longer direct the traffic flow.
Too many vehicles; Not enough lanes.
My doctor asked questions and more questions.
What was your father's cause of death?
My father's demise had occurred at the age
of 58, and in fact, no males in my father's
family had lived past the age of 65. So,
I never knew if their blood ever coagulated.
She talks to blackness
Madness running in the night
I follow her trial through
Field and wood
My trigger finger heavy, good
Pshow the twenty two fires
Blawo blawo the shot gun calls
I can hear her breath
Collapse, revive, collapse
Revive running for her life
Shoeless, naked
Her bare flesh ripped by brush
The hunt is on
The hunt is good
I fire into the darkness
Gauging her distance
I begin to circle. Circle
I cut her with my hatchet
Right in her throat
She wants to scream
But only bubbles belay her bereavement
Blood drips from the hatchet
Like the wax drippings coagulated
My pet is dead!
Calls the madness from the darkness
The urge is calling
Already pecking for me to bleed them
Hiding in the darkness
It consumes me, coughing
Collectively choking my breathing
What madness is this?
Down on one knee
Chocking on the blackness
My love is gone! So what is life?
Meaningless.
If only I could be ElaineScisorsHands,
under tonight's half moon;
on the precise sec past midnight
I'd creep into deep shadows
and slice evil in two.
SLASH! SLASH!
Black cats and black rats and
even blindass black bats,
would go cross-eyed with terror
feeling the ominous... impending global doom.
I'd swing my long black cloak round myself and,
hop on its tail, and be swooped up by
the howling winds, setting me off on my aim.
SLASH! SLASAH!
I'd cut out chunks of infested flesh,
pluck out pink, rheumy eyes with
their bloody stringy bits-
slice up and stab all evil doers
in their deformed spineless-backs.
Once I've made full circle round this orbital globe-
chopping and dicing and splicing, I'd
swoop back into my dank hovel,
with my cloak pockets glug-full and,
long shiny serrated blades dripping
coagulated black blood. I'd reach for
my engraved crystal goblet and,
drip blood in ...PLOP! PLOP! SWIPE! SWIPE!
then wring my cloak tail of every gruesome drop.
Wholly satisfied, on this grave Halloween night,
I'd feed my dark side on the dark side of the moon.
* note my FB name was Elaine Petgrave
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
So, I went to this place, where everyone had a familiar face
But at the moment of connection, I experienced an abrupt correction
So, I turned and walked away
Oh, they smiled and played, til I got in their way
They grimaced at my informed premise
That LOVE was welcome to stay
....in a room
I moved with a glide, to see all the people inside
A reality of familiar lies, that the majority buys
With ease and great pleasure
Every time I drew near to intently hear
Reason, no matter what growth season
I longed to know and treasure
...LOVE was pushed out of the room
But I came to the final straw, when spring arrived to thaw
Coagulated desire, that only needed a roaring fire
To rekindled my "old ways" lack
After I tried to engage, on an uncomfortable stage
I moved to privacy with covers, to lay down with my lovers
But saw a rat, and took a step back
...to see my people
From the bottom of my soul, a cry out, healed the hole
Created by half-baked lies, offered to divide
Self from acceptable practice
A bright light shone through, the space between belief and do
Revealing framed gaps, where injured chaps
Walked thin wooden lattice
....to avoid linear people
NO, logic is no friend, to those who choose to bend
Obvious truth to color and suit
The agenda of every climbing member
Don't they know that height will never make right
The lazy desire they've accept just to avoid being rejected
By the majority that will maim and dismember
....the people at the top
The fall is greater from the top...and oh, how the mighty have fallen
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-07-2019
A flowing stream had inevitably given way.
To gently rest and recover in quiet splay.
Of the nectar stream of her fantastic brain.
Neural links coagulated on stale sustain.
Savor pulled loaves over a roaring fire.
Her leading center was a charcoal wire.
Thoughts went up in flames on the grate.
Darkened in a frigid kettle of fear innate.
Prudently, all that remained was her gold jewelry.
A contracted charm has been reduced to currency.
Expectation on a high wire; garrotte and tightrope.
The act of tearing her scrawny startup to rope.
In a frantic endeavor to cut off the unique string.
She felt frustrated over the bug that ensnaring.
Sitting in the snow, I look at the holes in my boots. My toes are frozen solid as I stare at the winter sun that shines against my reddened face. I have no food, no ammunition, I have nothing but death. The air is full of smoke and the horrid stench of decay, even in the dead of winter the smell permeates my nose like fire. Most of my comrades lie lifeless in pools of coagulated blood or have turned to statues of ice. We tried to retreat but the Fuhrer ordered us to fight until the last man. Stalingrad must be taken at all cost, flucht nach vorn! Sadly, the front has become the nail in our coffin. Frost fills my lungs as I hold a dried Edelweiss flower I brought from home in my burning cold hands. I hear the rusty tracks of T-34's in the distance, the shelling grows stronger now. Gazing towards the west, dreaming in crystal blue, I am on the path to great enlightenment beyond human understanding. The Edelweiss I hold blows away in the Russian wind....
My muse did her fealty recuse
My honor she did stealthily reconnoiter
My discourse was grounds for divorce
Finding my writing no longer enlightening
My blithe parlance no longer my mistress did entrance
With my prose she did forthrightly dispose
Each short she did subsequently abort
Each regaling verse did prudently disburse
Each perforated line truncated with lackluster shine
Each conjured sentence only increased my penance
Each glamorous byline she did smugly decline
Each dilated phrase with a bridling border did encase
Each gilded stanza a burnished extravaganza yielding no artful bonanza
Each tethered word coagulated into a stolid curd
Each bloated quote sunk my creative float deeper in the moat
Each lofty rhyme labeled too smarmy and sublime
My metric time no longer struck a concordant chime
Each literary device neatly spliced would not even a novice entice
Each repetitive, stagnant metaphor made my verse a bore
Each strained, tortured simile engendered no empathy
Each supplanted metonymy a shock wave lobotomy