Long Pulmonary Poems
Long Pulmonary Poems. Below are the most popular long Pulmonary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pulmonary poems by poem length and keyword.
I had a love, but it flew like a bird
out of the cage but never heard.
I had a voice that spoke with tenderness,
rendered softly, but now I digress.
My charm was thick and melted like butter.
Now it's forming artery clutter.
I had ballooned lungs that clung to your air,
but your absence left a pulmonary tear.
My eyes, once wide, indulged your beauty,
but they can't relay what a heart can see.
I had a heart like a tender, ripe plum,
but it's been chewed like shoe-stuck gum.
Honey dripped from my playful mouth.
Now it's tasted onion, hard to brush out.
My belly would flutter with butterflies.
Now they've come out like powdered lies.
My ears were entranced with your melody.
They pranced like deer... into a tree.
I had pennies wasted on vain wishes.
Now they're poisoning the fishes.
My nose was enclosed with rose's scent,
but it blew with the breeze, a memory spent.
Secure were my arms in your sturdy care.
Now they're free, yet lonely, bare.
I had soft hands, interlocked with yours.
Now they hold open their own doors.
Silken were these legs you loved to caress.
I keep them neatly under my dress.
These eyebrows gave raise with praised arousal.
Now they're abased, full of sorrow.
I had a mile-wide smile like a child's for cake.
Now, I faintly make one, but it's a fake.
I had instincts, but I let them go
like a rambling tongue for ego's show.
I had a notion that this would end,
but remained devoted like an owing friend.
Deep were my regrets of yesterday's crime,
but they've been bleached like toilet grime.
I had cavernous wounds, dripping with blood,
with prints that followed like galoshes of mud.
I had a self, differently sorted,
once vibrantly alive, now aborted.
THE MANY SPEAKSIES JAZZ SESSIONS BLACK PANTHER DAYCARE BREAKFAST PROGRAM CIVIL RIGHTS RIOTS WITH MY FATHER GROWING UP IN CHICAGO I WAS BORN IN THE MIDDLE OF THEE COLDEST BLIZZARD IN CHICAGO ON SAM COOK'S BIRTHDAY THE BEGINING OF THE YEAR OF 1963 MY DAD DOTED ON ME SINGING I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU ALL OF MY LIFE AFTER RETURNING HOME FROM EUROPE FACE TO FACE WITH BEING EMOTINALLY TRAUMATIZED TO WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATIONS ARLINGTON HEIGHTS ILLINOIS MY DAD WAS VERY CONERNED ABOUT ME AND MY FOUR LITTLE CHILDREN I MOVED IN BACK HOME TO THE GARDENS WITH HIM 1989 AFTER MY NONA DIED OF A STRANGE BRAIN CANCER MANY OTHERS WERE DYING AS WELL EVEN INFANTS BORN WITH BRAIN TUMORS LUNG PROBLEMS I REMEMBER AS A CHILD I WAS VERY SICK EVERYTIME I WENT TO THE GARDENS SOMETHING ABOUT REACHING 131ST I WOULD VOMIT ALWAYS SO SENSITIVE TO TOXIC FUMES NO ONE COULD PREDICT WHAT WOULD BECOME OF THE PEOPLE OF ALTGELD GARDENS IT WAS THERE SINCE 1945 AFTER POP RETURNED FROM WW11 I SUPPOSE ALTGELD GARDEN WAS BUILT UNFORTUNATELY THE GARDENS WAS A DUMPING GROUND OF TOXIC CARCENGENIC CAUSING CANCERS MY DAD WAS SO DISTRAUGHT HOW MY NONA COULD LIVE BEING BLIND ALL THESE YEARS AND OUT OF NO WHERE BRAIN CANCER WE ALL WERE IT WAS 1988 HER PASSING WAS DEVESTATING 1126 E 131 STREET NOW MY CHILDREN AND I WERE BACK 1989 IN THE GARDENS MANY REPORTERS TO LAW GROUPS HEALTH DEPARTMENT IT WAS THERE WE ALL SIGNED THE PETITIONS TO REMOVE THE ABESTOS TOXINS FROM ALTGELD GARDENS RESIDENT ISSUES MY DAD AND I WERE BLESSED TO HAVE THE CHANCE TO SIT AND TALK WITH BARACK OBAMA COMMUNITY LEADERS SIDE BY SIDE FIGHTING FOR ENVIROMENTAL CHANGES AIR QUALITY IN LOW INCOME COMMUNITIES THESE ISSUES WERE VERY IMPORTANT ISSUES TO MY FATHER AND TO MYSELF PENNILESS LAWSUITS WERE FILED SETTLEMTENTS AS WELL THE LOSS OF LIFE THE BROKEN DOWN QUALITY OF LIFE JUST BY LIVING AND BREATHING AIR IN THE DONUT DISTRICT TODAY I HAVE PULMONARY ASTHMA REMEMBERING MY FATHER FIGHTING FOR ENVORMENTAL JUSTUCE IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY NONA LIKE AN INFANT DEVELOPING BRAIN TUMORS WHILE BEING A LONG TIME RESIDENT OF ALTGELD GARDENS
I have braved the river of truth just to see what you would do,
I have passed through the sea of time just to see if you were mine
But hope lingers on the days gets longer and the moments get closer
And hearts meet silently in the village at the end of the street.
I have braved the wind and the rain, just to see what is happening over there but nothing has changed, all I can see is your four-chambered heart looking at me through the dark and the two ventricles operating in a double circulatory system .What on earth is going on I am trying desperately to understand I have to take out the science book and search diligently through the cook book before my emotions betrays me.
I have braved the fire in my soul to walk with you before I grow old, I have examine the chambers in the human frame just to see if the color inside were the same, the right ventricle pumps blood into the pulmonary circulation to the lungs and the left ventricle pump systematic circulation through the aorta the main and largest artery in the human body.
The aorta distributes oxygenated blood to all parts of the body through a systematic circulation of the left ventricle. And the valves keeps opening and closing.
Now I know where you stand we will walk hand in hand and sing a melodious song until we cross over, the gap between them has opened and it will take several thousand mile before he cross the bridge, I can enjoy a slow across the bridge and enjoy the company of my new found friend, we will spend quiet times underneath the lights and close the bridge just before mid-night; we just have a few days to go before we celebrate the success of the show. Reach out and touch the lover's heart.
I saw the primroses
Crave I the smell, splendid sweet Alyssa
Shall bring daisies
Summer sunflowers
They are perfumed from unseen crazies
I discovered the flowers
I crave the floral, flush flowering quince
With my ears I see earthy gardens amist
I feel the never mumming mums just so loud
By the grave, I saw the hollyhocks sprout
While in the darkest night
I see a floral light
That moment my soul grew ornamental
I heard a flush, peak garlanding
Much I marveled this ornamental pulmonary
As that moment my soul grew prime vegetations
Mumming mums just so quite now
I saw the hollyhocks rise
While in the darkest night
I see floral lights
8/14/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©
Shall I compare you, O streams, with my very veins?
Let me do it; let me see who loses who gains;
My veins fill up my body; full of flesh-and-blood;
Your presence fills each thud, spud, flood and little bud...!
Pulmonary, umbilical, muscular, Ha!
Hearing all these, I, a simple man, stand in awe;
I know you quench my thirst and refresh me until,
Unquenchable thirst is evoked toward God still...!
One-way valve, they say; duckbill valve; venae cavae;
Your works, O streams, I just can't leave, believe; perceive;
You serve as takers of blood from organ to heart,
Your functioning could be compared to a fine-art...!
Oxygen to tissues, is like sun to flower,
Streams, midst sun and shower, like clouds, each reach hover;
Veins in me keep me endlessly till end alive,
Streams assist mother earth to eternally survive...!
13 August 2022
I love beading, I love making gifts and jewelry to sell. I had a project in progress, beading a bracelet, but I ran out of thread a few thousand times and in the process of cutting another piece, mislaid my needle;
Alarmed, frantically searching,
I had every horrid scenario going through my mind.
What if I stepped on the thing and it went through my toe? My cat could step on it and it could get lodged in her leg bone; it was certainly thin enough; my god, what if she ate the thing! How would they get the needle out of her?
I’m breathing heavily now, flashlight in one hand and a magnet in the other, scraping it across the carpet. Even worse, I had a picture of myself falling on the thing; geez, it went straight into my eye; there goes that expensive implant!
Outright, panting, sweating, in complete panic now;
I can’t find it; what do I do? In the time it takes to get the vacuum; it could end up inside of my cat! Settling myself on the brink of a panicked pulmonary incident; I stand up from the floor and there, on the table...my eyes met that pesky needle; right where I’d left it when I pulled out that last bit of thread...well, now I’m too stressed to finish...no focus.
just 50 years ago
i was very sick
no school, no play
couldn't walk alone
I came and went between life and death
due to pulmonary tuberculosis
in our neighborhood
No pharmacy pharmacist
No hospital or doctor
There was no health center
Only
Unlicensed pharmacist and doctor
there was a woman
Afraid to get her shot, I even fell down
She hugged me every time
and she cured me completely
Traces of it still remain but
no one called her to be pharmacist or doctor
rather chatted
50 years after that
I met her again with someone's help
cannot be expressed verbally or in writing
she passed through hard times
We met in a shabby diner
enjoyed light meal
Her fork was busy carrying me food.
I'm boring through your ventricles
I'm being terribly invasive
My quiet warm breath
Keeping measure and pace
To such meticulous work
Fills your four chambers
You don't feel one thing
You feel everything
So close, so intimate
My eyelids flutter against your tricuspid valve
My whole body is fluttering now
Because now
With my lips brushing against your aortic rigatoni
I am swimming inside your deepest being
Your heavy pumping heat
My legs now dangling out of your pulmonary noodle
I've become miniscule in this glorious museum
That keeps you alive
Forgive my exit now, my darling,
This time in your heart has changed me
You are the force which wobbles this reckoning world
This I realize
Miraculously sliding up
Your superior vena cava
*Matthew Caliri
I was just four when I discovered that some grown-ups cry.
That’s because I saw my mommy dragging my daddy down the stairs,
Her eyes so full of tears that they fairly poured down her flimsy nightgown.
Daddy wasn’t crying. Daddy was dead.
When I was six, I had cause to cry on my own account.
Mommy had been dating a man, she said if they married I would be a flower girl.
One night she came into my room crying a little and said she was sorry, they eloped.
I cried quietly. I’m not sure it was all for me.
At eleven, a whole new kind of tears entered my life.
Asleep in my room late at night, I awoke to my mom screaming and sobbing.
My three-year-old sister slept next to me so I just listened as my stepfather beat her.
I cried so hard. I thought I would never stop.
Age 20 and happy to be in college away from the pain.
Divorced, mom found a new love in vodka, and he controlled her more than her ex.
I brought my love home to meet her, and she asked him how he could like a fat, lazy slob like me?
I knew I shouldn’t cry. It didn’t stop me.
In my life have been many opportunities to cry.
Being told I would die when my daughter was a baby and I thirty-two,
The death of my mother, my youngest daughter’s fiancé dying of cystic fibrosis.
With each tear I fade a little. I’m almost gone.
So now in my 50s, I find out my oldest daughter is sick.
Stage four lymphoma, and she didn’t cry through chemo, hair loss,
Almost dying four times in treatment, emergency surgery, pulmonary embolism.
It’s okay. I cried enough for both of us.
She is twenty-six, and sometimes I can hear her crying.
Her lymphoma is back, creeping into her spine like an armed terrorist,
And while it is a small encampment that hasn’t grown, our fear, sadness, and helplessness increases daily.
I hear her cry. I make sure she can’t hear me.
I am approaching sixty; sometimes I feel one hundred.
I wonder if God has allotted us a finite number of tears for our lifetime,
If those tears are stored in the chambers of our heart and we need to conserve some for what tomorrow holds.
Let her last tear be her last tear. But give me one last tear — sparkling and light — dancing down my cheek in gratitude as I fade to clear.
fbruary 2, 2019
She turns me around
Forty years ago
At High School graduation
And she says…
Something I can’t remember
It was probably something like,
‘Well, lookit that!’ or
‘Boy, Howdy!’ or
Some such encouragement
And… though I cannot remember it
Now, I would not part with it
For all the treasures riding
In all the ships on the sea
Music!
She gave me music!
Wagner and Mendelssohn
Beethoven and Duke
Ella Fitzgerald and Leontyne Price
But never the other stuff
Which she called ‘that crap’…
We could laugh
When my dad got angry
He was so ridiculous
Beating the air with his fists
But when MOM got angry
The house went still
Everyone like rabbits hoping to blend in
Once I said a certain word
And she slapped me so hard
That my ears rang for three days
She wasn’t going to take
Any LIP from her children
And ESPECIALLY not THAT… WORD…
Now she is on medication
That makes her loopy
Just a month after I finished
Reading her Harry Potter
With all of the voices
And it looked as though
Her cognition was improving
But her bones are soft
And her spine
It’s a good strong spine I can tell you
Is cracked in two places
She is not a candidate for surgery
So broken it will remain
Unless it heals by itself
I believe in the power of Prayer
So a heart condition
Two strokes
And a Chronic Obstructive
Pulmonary Condition
And a broken back
Are not beyond healing
Human minds though respond sometimes
Only to math
And the math
They say
Only adds up one way
But I prefer art
Which my mother gave me
And which is subject
To interpretation
Maybe this
And
Maybe that
On her last day on earth
My brother says
He will ask
Do you want to talk
About your plan?
And
He says
She will say
Why on earth would I want
To do that?
I am not going anywhere…