Long Shoulder blade Poems
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Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
Wings flutter
off in the distance
as I shuffle through these stones,
tasting the energy trapped in each,
scouring my lands
for my lost crystal,
that which can mend
what I’ve torn asunder.
In frustration
I abandon my quest,
deciding to find
my feathery deity,
the wind carries her scent to me
and I head Northeast,
diving through brush
and dodging trees
like only a Lycan may.
She must have picked up on my intentions
for I sense her
heading towards me
so I veer more northward,
there’s a place I know.
As I draw near
you can hear water
cascading off rocks,
when I arrive the moon is up,
clouds curled beneath it
as if it were a white pearl
resting on gray cushions,
to the right
the beginnings of a river
being fed by the waterfall,
about 80’ tall
careening off the three
stone outcroppings
and filling the air in the clearing
with a fine mist,
the left is ringed
by long needled pines
which have supplied the ground
with a soft cushion.
My winged beauty
lands on the third outcropping
whipping her hair back
under the waterfall’s edge.
I sprint to the water’s shore
and leap to the first,
as my claws connect
bound to the second,
paws touching
then legs thrust me
to the third
where I bring myself erect,
better to ensnare my love
within my arms.
As I bring her close to me
she raises her left hand up
and caresses my muzzle and cheek
with her claws,
I bend downward
and gently
sink my teeth
into the side of her neck,
she springs off the precipice ,
me entwined,
and glides down to the pine needle bed.
As we land
she pushes herself up,
drags her right claw
down my chest
and leans in to drink.
I drag one nail along
each shoulder blade
and let her blood
drip down on me
while I lick my claws clean.
After hours
she crashes down
into my chest,
exhaustion settling in.
I cup my hand around the back of her head,
hair entwined
in my fingers
and as she uses her wings
to blanket us
we drift off
into a pleasant slumber
while the stars blink at us
and the night creatures
serenade us with their calls.
C'mon Gimme A Botox Smile!
'Pon bing asked by spouse, while she didst dock
and pooched herself abed
handily at nine o'clock
to see "handsome" pedigree dentastix
dog face of yours truly, me no Kid Rock
yea just a chip off the
ole likeness ice sculptured block,
a sharp pain inexplicably
shoots thru left shoulder blade
generating painful electric shock,
especially after said missus
threw smelly sock
afflicting this muttering chap, where deadlock
partial paralysis analogous to rigor mortis
holding frozen designated
bleep within his flesh bound paddock
(as pop sic hull), non dominant side
of mine body hard as bedrock
(spoiler alert, I write with right hand),
despite best college try, could not extricate...
hell no, this ain't no poppycock
yea, this longfellow felt bewitched by a warlock,
which affliction froze botox smile
engendering gladness to celebrate bajillion
years of blissful wedlock
believe that and I will another truth,
how this lame rhyme stir, he makes buttock
of himself, nonetheless an
oar regional non Jew bull ant debtor,
sans courtesy Shylock
still prone to bouts of flibbertigibbet
ranked as more than schlock,
(no doubt, ye beg to differ)
with mine chock
lot of badinage, basically self mock
curry verging on persiflage, he
freely types what occurs within raw bitstock
of ma noggin akin to babbling
stream of consciousness
initially intending to divulge aftershock
when wife coos this kook
spewing wry verbal
(barley comprehensible) feedstock
as she mimes deadly smooch
inflicting plastered smirk ad hoc
showing pearl white dentures
aiming to entertain, while listening awk
chilly (inspired to contrive
potschke and pastiche) rendered
(if still alive) by P.D.Q. Bach.
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
Banished for years
I found myself wandering around on a sacred land
away from my normal life
I found sanctuary and peace in a unknown place
the stiff pacification allowed me to hear the
second hand stroke on the clock
everyday as the calignosity approached I would feel
a alacritous breeze on my right shoulder blade
without indecisiveness I continued to enjoy myself
turbulent and exasperated paying little attention to
the paranormal activity surrounding me
until a horde of banshees swarmed me
I had no idea what commenced this fright
my legs and feet were benumbed
I started to believe I didn’t belong in this place anymore
After being forthrightly besieged
almost sure that these incorporeal beings
wouldn’t understand my chronic vagabondage
It was time to migrate I was typhlotic to the fact
that it was an invisible mansion
where a shipwreck caused their souls to be buried their some even alive
I can hear the never ending snivelling in the dead of the night
penetrateing their voices into my ears
trying to abscond I became convulsed
the strange breeze brushed my shoulder blade again
only this time it stayed “what do you want?”
I asked the strange cadaverous speckle flash
it flashed at the entry walk way showing me an invisible door
that I had walked into a haunted invisible mansion
and could not get out until they released me
my eyes instantly became blood shot red
furious and rampageous I tried to run away but was pushed
to and fro by an unseen force was I indeed trapped in another dimension
I asked myself without skepticism I was ambushed
you raise your knee
then stamp the foot down in a quick thrust
as a mare in warning, snap your head back
we lock eyes
then meld in each other's arms
we move together
your hand upon my hip
my hand secure at her shoulder blade
the other arm extended hand in hand
she must be maintained in this position
to lead her in the curving moves across the floor
i am the Earth holding the Moon in our orbit
as we swirl thru our own universe
it is a dramatic reenactment
of a movie that inspired her, we began lessons
another notch in her list of accomplishments
it is an unending play at playing
i am forever grateful for the request
i may not be the most adept
not exactly someone to be envied
as we glide across the floor
but as i hold you
as the music surrounds us
your eyes hold me in
more than a magical moment
i have come to know, That's Amore
when you waltz into fantasy
knowing it is not imagination you are holding
thankful you never loved the Charleston
yet, if that is what it takes
i will add it to my burdens for love
there exists no cross too large to bear
and in spite of my initial thoughts
i love every moment with you
kind of like sitting at the table
what seems forever waiting
for you to walk in
dressed and ready to depart
and as soon as my eyes
fill with you now ready
i never remember a moment spent waiting
life is all about enchantment
and that exists only when dreams
walk in life hand in hand
1/26/19 Kismet
A fuming, fierce and moving target
On yor species will you place yor bet!
Aiming the blade into shoulder blade or beating heart
all toreadors hope to throw that fatal decisive dart!
This bullyboy to score a bloodied bullseye in bullfight!
O'course not for the fainthearted that gory sight.
Well, that counts timid me out from any bullring
naturally I a bulwark against this lurid thing.
I find in the sport a sort of sadism
Like cockfights it must reek of masochism.
The carmine cape, the only screen between him and the jaws of death
or should I say rather, the sickle horns of death
Oh no, what if the matador ain't ever allowed to catch his breath?
For promoters a thrilling spinechilling
Spanish folk art in arena
For objectors a bloodsport
they wish as dead as the myth of Athena.
The Spanish might be divided about their picadors
on this sporty bloody battle between man and beast
No telling till when spectators will throng to watch those matadors
while I wonder do they on the trophy bull then feast?
Ah ban it to history
or fan it to the future
Call it cruelty or not, oh the thrills of our humankind
Tis fair play or fair game for the raging bull tis half blind?
Yet if any bloodlust instincts be satiated by those stuntmen toreros
matadors maybe far better than murderers and war heroes.
Many times the clock goes round, sometimes the world hold still
She can hear the tiny little drops coming out of the rusted tap
blood rushing down her cheeks as it does every cloudy Friday
popping veins throbbing like the anger of a fiery eyed monster
Something he had never seen before, His heart pounded fast
He knew this was the time, he could do nothing about it now
She eagerly pounds on the cage waiting to see the bright light
Awaiting her at the other end, She doesn’t belong in this place
He pondered on what to do, to die by the sword of his creation
Or to have his hand stained by the dark red blood of his very love
feet growing bigger than her head, she was so thirsty for life
before he could even think twice she was standing all over him
shoulders pinned to the ground he could feel her very claws
clasped to his shoulder blade, he knew this was the very end
he could feel the chills as blood soaked his Milky white coat
she couldn’t stop herself, some part of her knew him so well
but another part just wanted to smell the stench of his death
one more glance at it, he smiled as life sipped out of him
Then came a new being ,one who rattled with great wrath
This is the predicted time, The awakening of a new being.
(This is Church
Heres a seat upfront for you sir
The gentlemen said
After I followed him down
The Roman Road.
I stride over a couple next to my chosen seat
And find an overzealous believer
With his tootsie roll grinding into my shoulder blade
While trying to lift my arms in praise
To a man that I got peer pressured into loving
I start to thumb through
The morning announcements that the mid-life
Crisis women gave me.
She’s the one that stands in the back
Behind the bleachers, raises her hand
At every service to be another “Amen” at the end
Of the Pastor’s prayer,
Number on the daily bulletin,
Or body in the “I just accepted Christ” line.
She fell in love with Jesus to justify her
Righteous acts of celibacy
It’s OK, I’m a Christian
It was in the speakers smile
That I was reminded of the homeless man
I saw downtown a couple nights ago,
Rummaging through the dumpsters of
the IRS building in the rain
he found a jacket and a rotten half eaten apple
his teeth glistened off the yellow street light
through the rain that poured down his face.
he raised his treasure by the arms
with praise to a man he doesn’t even know.
Jenny leaned against the counter, counting the stitches where Ariana’s arm had been severed, each segment arranged in clinical precision beneath the glass. The overhead lights hummed, sterile and white, reflecting off the muscle striations, the fine marbling of fat. The attendant, masked and impassive, weighed the cost. A rib’s soft curve. A shoulder blade, gleaming. “Is this enough?” she asked, voice catching in the cold air.
Ariana’s skin, rolled tight like butcher’s parchment, was pressed beneath the scalpel, measured by the inch. Each cut—exact, economical. Josh preferred the delicate portions, the leanest tissue, the parts that held the least resistance. He inspected the yield, thumbs tracing the tendon’s taut line, fingers pressing where nerve met bone, the quicksilver exchange of possession.
Outside, his boots clapped against wet pavement, the rhythm steady, expectant. Jenny imagined his hands pawing through the parcel, the slow unfurling, the practiced hunger. The body, greater than the sum of its parts, was dissolving into the transaction.
The register chimed. A cat licked the wrapping paper. Steam rose from an open vent, curling into the streetlamp glow.