Long Indications Poems
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It seems that, much to my elation,
they’ve scheduled me for an ablation,
the actual ramification
being no more need for medication.
The actual source of frustration
has been atrial fibrillation;
regularity takes a vacation
and causes a thumping sensation.
Electrical cauterization
shuts down the heart’s over-stimulation
via pathway elimination
of excess cardiac innervation.
‘Twould be nice to see a cessation;
there are certainly good indications -
the hard work and culmination
of research in my generation.
In the process of ideation,
the heart boasts personification,
depicted in fine illustrations
of longing and imagination.
And so, Lord, grant my supplication
and eliminate all consternation,
such that I might thy glorification
continue with much adoration
and improved syllabification.
A lady is missing.
She does not answer her voice mail,
distant friends look for signs
indications of further steps.
It can be presumed, assumed
that the end of her brilliant earth existence
faltered somewhere between night and day
where she wrote her poems.
Such poems!
She had come through,
she lived in the heart of Rumi.
Perhaps even now a Sufi wedding
between her and her unnamable Beloved
radiates across ten thousand heavens.
Let the sweet scent of ten thousand lovers
be her virginal wedding shift.
Let her be robed with light.
Long may her love poems
forever feed the hungry.
Live on forever Dorothy.
overprotective
like ink in a scar tissue
you said I'm stuck in a bad version of a life
and gave me your life mask as a present
now I have an owl in my iris
you've cloak me in aluminum foil
so I can be preserved for later
and settled in the last drawer
to watch patiently how you consume
some other, tender pieces
as my vascular system hinders your digestion
waiting hidden under this metal sheet
through cheap fragrances I'm covering the indications of putrefaction
just in case you decide
to place
one more plate
mine
but you've settled me in the last drawer
where surfaces freeze the most
of our muscles
to the bones
bones become unsteady
a fire whirl has thrown us out of balance
now we're seeking
desperately for solid ground
to lean back
as the option of leaning on one another
is off the table
Written: July 18, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Tom Woody
Walking around the edge of a massive crater that seemed to beckon her with all sorts of bizarre things, Alice—now an adult but still not quite—felt a strong pull. She still had an insatiable need to travel, even if it had been a long time since she had done things such as dancing with white rabbits or drinking morning tea. She discovered a mirror encircled by shimmering stardust while searching the enigmatic Moonrock for indications of madness.
The mirror flickered and changed, as a beauteous glass serpent, opening doors to wormholes from another galaxy. She touched its surface with her fingertips, but they went right through it like it was liquid light. The aromas of cardamom oil and starlight were so powerful that they flooded her whole body. It was an amalgam that savored such as the core of time. Her body parts swayed and twirled bizarrely, as she was in an intense nightmare. The nebulae above laughed with joy as they opened up. Comets spun around a celestial chessboard, making a symphony of clicks that echoed through the universe.
Alice traveled through planets ruled by quantum queens. Their eyes were as deep as black holes, and their lips formed the language of math. A drink infused with the essence of auburn was handed to her, while another crafted melody defied convention and pushed boundaries. The atmosphere in the room was warm and inviting, reminiscent of an expanded Wonderland, now adorned with an enchanting layer of twinkling stars.
She met a dark matter cat along the way. Its smile had the power to break apart galaxies. "Tell me," Alice asked as she drank the delicious essence of entropy, "is this a memory or a wonder?"
The cat looked back with knowing eyes and said, "Both." We never truly depart; we only shift.
spacetime came apart
curiosity sewed string~
mirrors still call out
Scars, like lace etchings, a pattern
Rippling indentations against porcelain skin,
What is that? I ask her, never quite
So humble as my heart when she pulls her arm
Away, like a secret not ready to be opened,
An ache not quite ready to be known
By anyone who might criticize or judge,
Anyone who might see the decorative design,
The shape of clever lines, so foolishly sketched,
Carved into delicate flesh with who could know…
Whatever tools she must have used, a knife –
Most likely a knife, yet it could have been something
Smoother, like a razor blade… sharp and willing
Against the tenderest flesh, the feeling bringing
Release from a mind, unbending – a mind, pleading
For the relief.
The act of cutting bringing respite from the pain,
The heartaches with their own stealthy blades,
Cutting into the soft flesh of a heart, like stilettos
Puncture the black earth, leaving hasty wounds,
The bleeding earth never promises to settle, healing
From the rupture the way weeping flesh, bleeds
As she blinks back the tears…
Seeing only the liberation, the freedom that comes
From slicing through the surface of her skin,
Exposing the inner demons that breathe easier
When the wound has exposed her anguish,
Leaving marks for the world to see, indications
For you and me – inscriptions beckoning, whispering
Into the silent night, erasing the throbbing of emotions,
Washing away the sensitivity with the subtle hint
Pain bleeding out its answers through the gash,
A laceration, filled with feelings that won’t last –
Feelings who sing of darkness and doubt,
Feelings who are mysteries of the fragile heart,
The heart who will reconcile, one day it will mend
only…
Will it still feel? Will this cutter ever genuinely heal?
Grace answers this with a resolve that feels like
Yes, etched into her flesh… Yes, God can reconcile
The only scars written on her flesh as her heart
Is returned to its best… with Him beside her,
There is the promise that she’ll be a survivor!
When your boss calls you aside and asks
why you are smiling all the time
on the salary he gives you,
you know
he suspects you of raiding the till.
When for three or more times
your girlfriend cannot keep a date
because she’s so busy,
you know
you’re about to be dumped.
When your six-year-old granddaughter
greets you with the question:
‘Where’s your credit card?’
you know
your place in the family hierarchy.
When your family doctor
allows you to smoke and drink
to your heart’s content,
you know
it’s time to make your will.
When you are reading the obituary column
and you happen to notice
that you are included in it,
you know
that you failed to attend your own funeral.
*My beloved Oval, I fear that my words fall short of what I am feeling in my heart. May you accept these few lines of love as my best effort of expressing my concern for you. I have heard much about you, but I have yet to visit and meet you in person. The pictures of you are rather striking and stunning.
It was during the 90's that I first became gravely concerned about what seemed to me, 'a tarnishing' of your office. Circumstances surrounding your occupants caused a great deal of weeping in my soul. It appeared as if the dark clouds of contamination were setting over you, and determined to drive out the awe and aromatic presence of your enduring reverence. Nevertheless, like the giant I always believed you to be, you came roaring back to a place of renown in the early 2000's. And Oval, it was so good to have you back. A new leader so deserving of your atmosphere took great lengths to restore the sacredness that was so rightfully due. I tell you Oval, the reality of your presence and power is so pervasive that it extends far beyond your palatial walls. For centuries you have adorned the shoulders of presidents in attire befitting their sacred trust.
Again, I stand aghast that I am observing a cloud of low regard for your office. Oval, this concern is not about presidents. More than 40 presidents have sat in your room, but you are still here. Presently, you are the one I am concerned about. It's my duty to speak up for you at this "high tide" of divisiveness.
Oval, in closing, there are many forces parading through our country; and it appears that these opposing forces are conspiring for a 'perfect storm'. Be advised and encouraged that much prayer is also invading the air waves. I see indications that not only shall we prevail and survive, but we shall also thrive because of God's Good Graces and His magnanimous mercies.
09292017 PS Contest, Early October Standard, Brain Strand Personification Form *Oval: The Oval Office in The White House
I'm thinking of nero..' as i read on (vision zero?) The rhetoric
Seems all burnt-out' like patriotisam.? Must be so many seeds
Of doubt? There's (ground zero) and zero carbon? Maybe a
Link.?? Do we need, a think-athon.? I'm putting it to you.!!
Maybe you'll notice ? Enough to take a look.? See whats
Going on.? Behind the seedy crooks.' Behind (the hope not
Hate) the positive slogans..That outline your fate?? Will you
Comply.? Shall many bend the knee?? Think.? i urge you all.!
On insinuation, on destination, on foreshadowing' upon the
Macarb indications to absorb.' Un-seeng such dark signalling
And virtue-less typology!
The heaviness of this bed draws indications that I’m not sleeping alone
The squeaky sound of a loud spring creeping in as it moved like an aggressive ocean wave at night
I could hear I’m not breathing alone
The shivering sweat ice skating coldly down in the back area
Making-it difficult to toss and turn
Not moving quietly listening to each and every sound just to pick up a diverge scenario
What could be it that is joining me at this very night
Starring at the time will it passes 2am
I’m still awake wondering the weight that exist in this bed
As closed as my eyes the heart pounds hardly with fear I can even taste the figment behind with a ounce of fog as I’m breathing in and out
Creating the event of course invading my resting cage
Merchandise my movement
I’m no longer in rest
I can feel the breathing it’s getting anticipated as much as I’m panicking
It felt like both of us are as much scared at each other
The crib of the sheets stout the fingers as it was tied
The unknown visitor in this bed has no introduction
It felt so cold it needed my warmth
The irony is the actual senses felt the same energy
As if the same weight and heat belongs to me
Ashleigh Ngoqo
Suddenly found in a situation that would scare,
half an idea, half unaware,
perplexed, yet bare,
I’m here, but where?
enter instinct,
brain unravels threads,
Overdrive instant
Occupy half my head
Into a state with senses heightened, mental survival,
no time for frightened,
taken down unsighted,
impromptu strike,
who’s the fight with?
Who to bite?
This all unlikely
who doesn’t like me
acts impolitely
seems to spite me?
We live in a world of warning
you can sense the storm forming,
but any indications went undetected
negotiations were neglected
just striking me down unexpected
Must be a dictator or total ickhead
Empowered no doubt
there’s a coward about
a pretty little flower
Full of resentment and sour,
when where why, what?
Seems a rival is striking their plot
When where why what?
it's what we’re alive for brings out what you’ve got
the cause?
what sores?
Can’t pause,
it soars,
This is a war they know they can’t win
a sneaky attack from behind to begin
now they go into a silence hiding
find them and give them a bloody good hiding
A sick mind with minion lice
too thick to behave and treat nice
announce to them and warn advice
their war will end if they strike me twice