Long Phalanges Poems
Long Phalanges Poems. Below are the most popular long Phalanges by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phalanges poems by poem length and keyword.
Akin twin invisible presence coaxing...paranormal
Action across ouija board
herald Faustian bargain
as fingers of left hand appear to move
planchette of their own accord...
inexplicably, silently, and verily
along a barely traceable minuscule chord
dance, with some spatial force
from outer limits, perhaps dimension unexplored
twilight zone, (where spirit of Rod Serling dwells)
horizontally, linearly, and peculiarly unmoored
hashtagging, kickstarting, and zigzagging
while just barely hoovering
with maybe a hair breath of space to afford
between alien world and terrestrial
plain playing field, when oh my lord...
(this premature ejeculation from an atheist sword
like cross my heart and hope
to die a martyrs death), thee paranormal
shenanigans witness movement toward,
and away from death still participants mouths agape
with bated breath until last letter scored
which message... uh...ah...cannot be revealed
yeah...yeah...yeah...due to HIPAA laws...
...Without explanation,
there gets heard clangorous din
along with whooshes of ice cold air
brushing against my chin
analogous to some unseen
genie i.e. and/or jinn freed
from the lantern by Aladdin,
then,...how odd...
a deathlike stillness one could hear a pin
drop pervades painfully quiet
as if sound got vacuumed in
to a void of parallel universe...
...Though I don't dabble in black magic,
nor nothing linkedin with the occult,
yours truly titled poem
to "grab" attention fast as Usain Bolt,
he dashes off runners block
blinding earth shattering jolt
faster than speeding bullet,
a praiseworthy athlete
with no win tent to insult,
but merely chose his name out of thin air
(in accordance with abracadabra)
and flimsy rhyme that did result...
But, aye beg (bribe
with wealth of Midas)...please
believe me you, this rather cheese
zee poetic endeavor got
wrought eyes wide shut
(for all intents and purposes eyes closed),
where gentle force did cease
phalanges asthma southern paw
of righteous honest to dog
gone guy with pennywise
and pound foolish sixth cents sees
dead people as like miniature floaters
(in my eyes with ease)
poised and struck unbeknownst to me
computer laptop black keys!
Akin Twin Invisible Presence Coaxing...
Action across ouija board
fingers of left hand appear to move
planchette of their own accord...
inexplicably, silently, and verily
along a barely traceable minuscule chord
dance, with some spatial force
from outer limits,
perhaps a dimension unexplored
of twilight zone, (where spirit
of Rod Serling dwells)
horizontally, linearly, and peculiarly unmoored
hashtagging, kickstarting, and zigzagging
while just barely hoovering
with maybe a hair breath
of space to afford
between alien world and terrestrial
plain playing field, when oh my lord...
(this premature ejeculation
from an atheist sword
like cross my heart), thee paranormal
shenanigans witness movement toward,
and away from death still
participants mouths agape
with bated breath until last letter scored
which message... uh...ah...cannot be revealed
yeah...yeah...yeah...due to HIPAA laws...
...(Without explanation, there
gets heard a clangorous din
along with whooshes of ice cold air
brushing against my chin
analogous to some unseen
genie i.e. and/or jinn
freed from the lantern by Aladdin,
then,...how odd...a deathlike
stillness one could hear a pin
drop pervades so painfully quiet
as if...all sound got vacuumed in
to a void of parallel universe...
...Though I don't dabble in the black magic,
nor nothing linkedin with the occult,
yours truly titled his poem used to
"grab" attention fast as Usain Bolt,
he who dashes off runners block
as a blinding earth shattering jolt
faster than speeding bullet,
a praiseworthy athlete with no win tent to insult,
but merely chose his name out of thin air
(in accordance with abracadabra)
and flimsy rhyme that did result...
But..., aye...beg (bribe with
all the wealth of Midas)...please
believe me you, this rather cheese
zee poetic endeavor got
wrought with eyes wide shut
(for all intents and purposes eyes closed),
where gentle force did cease
phalanges asthma southern paw
of righteous honest to dog
gone guy with sixth cents sees
dead people as like miniature floaters
(in my eyes with ease)
poised and struck unbeknownst
computer laptop black keys!
“…Man serves the interests of no creature except himself…” - Middle White Boar
You came from behind, like a snitcher, and I twirled like a sunflower, as you tingled me. I smiled. The rain dove sang.
You came to me as a covert opportunity, as I could not wait anymore because I had my feet temporarily pinned on the side of the railway line, being used by a crusher crashing my phalanges, a day before. I must say, the crusher was a Canon who had been stripped off his duties because of you, sun-kissed.
This lustre was a bummer!
I immediately ride on your waggon, because, my Clock was exactly 23H45, I thought was already finished, as had been walking for almost twelve hours, and when you came, I had forgotten that the lustre was not the main object because the other half was still to be seen.
OOOOOH! Patience, my blood, you left me destitute, as this lustre was a bummer!!!
You took advantage of my inept schoolies, which prompted my desire to jump on your jet. I missed remembering that when you came, I was morose and wearing a catsuit, as bones had been crushed, a day before. I, indeed, sinned by giving you that brimming smile.
I had forgotten that the lustre was not the primary object because the other half was still to be seen.
This lustre was a bummer!!!
If I had asked for your passport to observe the countries that you had flocked, I would not have been here today,
If I knew, I would have remembered to look behind you to see your handlers,
If I knew, would have remembered that I did not personally invite you, but my catsuit asked you,
If I knew, would have negotiated with my soul,
If I knew, would have looked at your approaching direction and remembered that those from horizontal are not from the cross; those from the ground they are bound to run aground; but, those from the vertical angle required me to be underneath all the time as they would overflow and cloth me.
If I knew, the white powder on the snowball would not have tilted on my white gown. And the Canon's duties would have been intact.
Oooh, this lustre was a bummer!!!!
Metacarpals Phalanges and Sesamoids - Beauty Immortal
The hands, it's all about the hands for me
Streamline with creamy silk skin so fine
The elegance, the aesthetics, the peripheral view
The long slender phalanges, so ethereal
The disquiet beauty, the flowing artistically magnificent lines
So alluring it feels as though the hands can't be real.
Knowing deep inside my blackest of hearts
That those delicious beauties
So feminine and fragile, graceful, pristine, and agile
Could very well rip you apart
Deviant, sinister, lethal weapons, they could easily end your start
They masquerade as magic - mythical and superior
Far-advanced, emotively austere perfection
Of which all else is seen as inferior.
Hands of refinement that have been pampered, oiled, and manicured
These hands have created masterpieces, they have been held
They have been loved
And have always had a comfortable home
They are a blood moon in a deathly dark sky
The want I feel for them is all-consuming, a demonic obsession looming
Intombing comes to mind
Which is actually macabrely amusing
For a crypt of the finest design is where I house all mine.
Affirmation - yes indeed you understood correctly
That is what I did say
Trust and believe - I would not have them any other way
In my sanctuary of cool, and dimly lit, embraced by all of evil
And of the most impervious kind
My meticulously chosen, surgically removed pairs of hands
Are anything but bland
Individually glass-encased, labeled, and displayed
In the most iconic of ways.
This Otherworldly renowned domicile of hands
I am proud to say - is the only one in all of the lands
A kind of designer boutique of all hands unique
And definitely not to be confused with Trick-or-Treat or feet
Of the countless sets of hands in my collection
My most treasured pair that are there
Are those of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
How's that for dereliction of the Host?
School days
The elastic energy of my ears were increasing
When the teacher was pulling my ears
This was connected later to the earth
When I was doing up and down touching my ears
There was an expansion on my anger
And exponential decay of my knowledge
The faster diffusion of C6H12O6
And I was being pulled down by the gravity
His theory said he was trying to change
The electron that I am to proton that we all should be
But I knew I was an element that
Cannot be broken down by any chemicals
Knowledge is everything he said,
His knowledge was gigantic
You bloody fools you knowledge is in billion X micron's
Even electron microscope cannot see
I can't find the latent heat, to change your mind
I know that an object remains at rest or in uniform motion
Unless acted up on by external force
I can't change the damn object that you are
You are disgrace to the law
You'll learn on your way to ontogeny
The physiology of life
The world is a vast sea to live and
You are nothing but mere plankton
That day will come when you metamorphose
Into adult from puparium
He used to talk about some kind of symbiosis crap
And I used to press my phalanges against my pinna
You are nothing but a pathogenic micro organism
For which the antibiotics can never be found
You are a parasite and this world is a host
Your friends are like the rotten potato
That creates a chain reaction
We must pour some alcoholic KOH on you
Also perform dehydrohalogenation
Your brains were made chloroform by god
But you have turned them into phosgene
Your brain is fermented by sacchromyces
The fresh water that you were born is dying
As a pure distillation of C2H5OH
The qualitative and quantitative analysis
On you will result as a major disaster
You deoxyribose sugar must really code you to be a liar
Dear fool child your solubility product must be really higher
Form:
"Ennui Sets In”
Whenever pen is placed
Between purloined phalanges,
When my mind unfolds and tears along the seams,
I know it’s time to move my thoughts,
Through the underground;
That dark crusty void
Of dreary dreams diminished,
Where loose hell raisers floss and shine,
Comb and spray,
As drowning voices backwash yesterday’s histrionics,
Dark-eyed winches peek through the
Centers of dead doughnuts;
Bleacher seats rust and wallow
In half-moon emancipation,
Ennui sets in…
My bow tie knows all the answers.
I cry and beseech for all those tomorrows
To resurrect, to pontificate, to loose
The bowels of screaming sunsets, yet sutured.
I flinch. I sigh.
Force majeure got in the way.
Polka dot panacea,
Wretched weasels in the underbrush,
Prufrock is the metaphor to mangle, impugn, vivify,
And otherwise squeeze until the cows come home.
I’m a poet without a message.
My heart pumps vexations of vaseline,
I am dry and empty
Like the musty moans of sweet madness,
Emanating elusively
From the hollow of ancient days,
Amidst unanswered questions,
At the fork in the road,
Two blocks northwest of my last dying breath,
I am the last sunset!
Ennui sets in.
Twilight vivisection holds the door open this time.
There is no respite,
From Raphael’s regurgitated Renaissance.
He jumps backward,
Through the darkening dissonance,
Dissolved, dismayed, dumbfounded.
Skipper Frank lies dead in the glittering gutter.
The Pancake Man melts into the waxworks.
Madame Tussaud wonders why.
Ennui sets in.
Dead meat saliva feeding
The roses of Robespierre.
Little Lord Fauntleroy is mixing martinis, and
A dozen dainty dames are dancing
Past the midnight of my time.
A blue trumpet, buzzing in the steamy shadows.
Lapping corpses line the phosphoric hillsides;
It’s not what it appears to be.
Truth and beauty perceived in the morning mirror.
Ennui sets in.
In Nursing School
In nursing school they have us learn all the proper medical words,
Because in Greek and Latin we defecate, but we never make turds,
And what's worse than learning about all these dreadful diseases
Is forgetting my English to replace it with obfuscating medicaleses,
Lest we forget that great chemical known as adenosine triphosphate
Which is the powerhouse of the cells, or did she say an exudate?
And though I've been to India and seen the river Ganges,
I never knew my fingers were really called phalanges,
And we must learn about colitis, encephalitis and diverticulitis,
But I hope these germs don't decide to get up and bite us.
You can't find out a lot about someone by palpating the patella,
Not even if the patient is female, or if he is a fella.
And we must distinguish anemia, diarrhea and gonorrhea
From the almost identical condition known as leukemia.
Sex is one thing, I think, not one of us has time for,
For after school it's off to work until you're blind or
Wishing you had never heard of cellular necrosis,
Not to mention the hundred kinds of psychoses and neuroses.
And then there's that other major hurdle called getting adequate funding,
And if you can't get a loan or a grant they'll have you do the plumbing.
It seems the clinical locations are never really near ya,
In fact most of them are deep inside Siberia,
And if out in the Sun recall that your skin can get tumorous,
For the study of medicine is serous – very, and hardly ever humerus.
Your medical books will have you believe you've every disease known
From autophobia to an ecchymosis to cerumen on the bone.
But at least there are no bullies insisting we are all big wimps,
For studying things like urine, saliva, bile, blood and lymph;
And if there's one more part with the outlandish name of buccinator,
I think I'll lose it all and become a hallucinator.
Child lying
In a deep pallor
Looking out of a balcony
The last greeting
To island nature
Sunset is preparing
To surrender to the darkness
The gloomy and regal laurel
And the flight of the swifts
In the gulf and the plain
Sitting with a hat
On the bald head
Without the blond hair
The white little legs
Reflecting the rays
Of a summer sun
Your gaze is laying
Now on the surf
Of the waves that come
To their end
Now on the olive trees
And on the vines
That from the high cliff
Leap in the infinite blue
Your silent mother
From behind sees you
And sigh to the sky
To make you a miracle
Her hand reposing
On your heart
To have you still there
With her in everlasting love
But you're flying now
With your mind
On white steeds
To places that are
Forelocked to us
You already turn
Between the marine phalanges
With whitish helmets
And the deafening clang
A castle of solar flames
Is the fortress
From which you raise
Leader of your dreamlike armies
Now there is the oblivion
Of the mortal enemy
Who is sieging you
You that your body
To it g-r-a-d-u-a-l-l-y abandon
And the mirage persists
And it lays thee
Upon the wings of the sea-hawk
Then to the gallop of the stallion
That always neighed
When you came back from school
The last farewell with your mind
To your little house of red and warm bricks
With the roof of dark beams
To the vases with fragrant oregano
To the geraniums and to the oleander bush
"Goodbye friends
Yellow ginestra that whistles
Solitary pine
Scent of green algae!”
"The pain calls me
But the feeling of an Infinite
Fills me with joy
And gives me oblivion.”
“For a moment I shiver for my fever
But then I am heartened
By the grassy cliffs
The reddish vines
And the voice of mum
Whispering to me ‘My love!’”
If function is king, then there aren’t any Types,
but the living show us that’s simply not true.
The class tree is ordered according to forms
and not by the functions a critter can do.
So here’s a conundrum you might find odd:
a superclass known by the name Tetrapod.
Vertebrates these, the four-legged animals:
reptiles, amphibians, and also mammals.
Dinosaurs found here and therefore the birds;
The scope of this superclass: rather absurd.
A feature that all of these share in common:
Four pentadactyl limbs, from the top to the bottom.
Think humerus, radius/ulna, phalanges,
or femur, tibia/fibula, toesies.
All of these critters, extinct and alive
share a limb bone pattern of one, two, and five.
I know that you’re thinking I’m proving the point:
With all that evolving, we must Darwin anoint!
The fittest survive, “Change or Die!” what they say
So why does that one-two-five get in the way?
Are you telling me that to swim, run, or fly
that the one-two-five pattern is the best of all tries?
In bats, five fingers prominent, birds show just two,
But during development, all five are in view.
If you look at a horse or a pig, it’s a ruse!
But in the embryo, those bones will fuse.
No matter the adapting it takes to survive,
They always start out with the one, two, and five.
Three hundred sixty-five million years past:
that’s when the pentadactyl pattern was cast.
What in the world caused this weird isolation?
Such fixation defies Darwin’s explanation.
The limb is just one of the numerous features
that uniquely identify classes of creatures.
An a-functional body plan resisting change…
Even Gould veered from Darwin, finding this rather strange.
Aye pride myself
being sui generis
verb hose subject for a zoologist,
cuz webbed phalanges
branch handsomely
from mine feet and wrist,
where perforce great expectations,
asper the next greatest (I SCREAM)
scoop of the month intimated,
conducted under top secret
controlled laboratory conditions
with yours truly (as the de facto
par excellence)
rodent named "Oliver twist"
Lady Dedlock key ping
watchful eye within bleak house,
while Thomas Gradgrind
feigns tubby bad company
during these hard times
temporarily all quietest
lull on the western front
since Donald Trump
detente foretold by a palmist,
whereby said President
of the United States
feeling as an optimist
met with Kim Jong-un,
(cautiously side stepping morass,
viz hit blind side dare devil hoodwinking,
via awe shucks faux bully)
suspending noninterventionist
impact unexpectedly witnessed leader
of North Korea as multilateralist
on historic June 12, 2018,
summit minus linguist,
where fist pumping in Singapore
for unilateral negotiations
offloading nationalism
weighing down
figurative chest i.e. kist
by resplendent sun, where ma lounge
sotto voce, somber solemnly
sober ensemble re: joist
uniting this stately isolationist,
whose approximate
ten stone heft easy to hoist
merely sustains purposelessness
this poem without a gist
hence if Yukon spare one
(or more cruxes) lemme be fist
in line, though first, aye
would need to convince thee
this scribe doth exist!