Long Transplants Poems
Long Transplants Poems. Below are the most popular long Transplants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transplants poems by poem length and keyword.
What's new under the sun?
Lots is new but some say "none".
Skeptics claim all's been done;
the simple truth not begun...
a baby's first cry is one!
Lots we've never seen before,
every day there's more and more.
Gay marriage or organ transplants,
fuel from trash or talking plants.
Prospects of viewing a black hole,
the first to see a human soul!
Muse about a song not yet written,
sweet glances before you're smitten.
Stories that make your heart to soar,
human hope springs forth galore!
Thinkers have unending hopes for thought.
Are we the sum of all we're taught?
Of this, I'm assured so - even more.
Nothing new ever happened before!
Written 7/2/2019
Julia Ward Best Rhyme of July 2019 Contest
Word Painting In Black and White
Cubed ice dismantling the plank bridge with pliers
made of syrup spilled with a dash of grief and brawn
the reptilian doughboy mixes up another cosmic batch
of truth cookies designed to mislead with wishes of
the big power grab all manifesting inside the largest
television set ever devised with a flat screen as big as
a flying saucer that has at last come down to earth
so large and compelling my eyes were sucked out of
my sockets for five seconds of blind purgatory something
I thought of as an impossibility what with the moon landings
in the last century and all the heart transplants with
a dozen doctors dedicating a day of grueling hours with
silver forceps and scalpels designed to cut and close
as with all relationships between a tight skirt and a mustache
on the floor by a black vent kissing with fingers touching and
moans muffled by the hand of fear there on the green carpet
in a mad darkness by the black vent and the trees with lemons
invading from days and decades earlier when young women
found the tile smooth and electric with sharp tingling sensations
on naked nubile skin rubbed down with cold creams made of fish
ransacking a thousand anchored ships with knives made of pearl by
old pipe-smoking hippies who make love all day with sprawling girls
looking for hot thrills inside gardens made of stone and bootleg love.
I've scrapped the last one off,
No more hair there!
Each whisker removed,
Forth width,
Only took a little bit.
The fur coat I grow,
It's ridiculous,
I know!
On the way out,
My hairs do shout!
"Do not forsake us!
We will,
Will out!"
Tomorrow, we start again,
Perhaps I'll start with my chin.
A waxing job would take all day,
My skin might up and go away!
Looking at all the positives I see:
Cold weather insulation for me!
A soft fuzzy pillow to nestle my rear!
Possible transplants for the loss of my hair!
Being bald is nothing I dread!
The hair on my body being knitted just so,
Will cover any spot my hair doesn't grow!
'Tis off to the races now that homeschooling has ended.
One half earns for their subsistency,
other half learns about delinquency.
Be they friends and their best efforts were suspended.
Tale spring muses as the anticipant's
appraised specifies traditional hopes
load stages standard addictive transplants
secured cognitive lodestar prolonged copes.
Missteps venture the wide-eyed sneeze, and runny nose
a caption reads, "This be the Time.", gone are
the reporting authors, counting those
to acknowledge them, minus their star.
Bloom's wilt and hues fade know not the hour caused,
advents trending acquisitions neglect closure
but fail to end the brotherhood of friends exposure.
halls went silent the schoolyard empty, turned men paused.
Walking through the gardens;
sky sifting raindrops,
I was stopped in my tracks by a Hawk.
Wings flapping towards me,
he leapt from foot-to-foot;
a primal mating dance.
I went left, he went left;
I went right, he went right;
left right, left again, dancing foot-to-foot;
wings blocking my every advance.
I finally darted around him and looked back;
his expression… puzzled, revealed in
half-folded wings and stilled feet;
yes...rejected!
At the office, I reiterated my experience
to co-workers. One I could tell,
was struggling to suppress an explosive laugh.
Two weeks later she says:
“Do you recall telling me about
the hawk you encountered??
My husband was walking through those gardens yesterday
and one did the same thing to him!”
Hawks, red crested ones, are not common in this area;
the campus newspaper later reported;
“The city transplants 12 red-tailed hawks
to propagate the species.”
Did they have to do this in the middle of mating season?
Have these hawks seen each other
or do they think us humans would make better mates? Strangely, I was flattered.
"Above all I must have flowers, always and always."
Quote by _Claude Monet
Another day of rain in my dream garden
But, the flowers still seem to be quite happy
Cupid's Dart, seems to be created by an artist's brush
Dazzles in watercolour lavender-blue
English Daisy, so dainty and adorable blooms sweetly
Foxgloves, pink and translucent pop up everywhere
Geranium I have planted in window boxes are bright and sublime
How can I not be happy too
Inside my heart and soul I am tranquility
Jacob's Ladder, in purple is already eight inches tall
Knockout beauty will be my stunning garden in time
Lily-of-the-Valley, richly perfumed grows under a Maple tree
Meadow Rue in pink sways gracefully in the wind
Nothing touches my heart more than mother's Peony transplants
Oriental Poppies will soon be vivid red here and there
Peonies will bloom and I will take some to the cemetery
Queen Anne's Lace, a wildflower I planted because I love it
Rose-Mallow Hibiscus, so dramatic will be bloom in late summer
Shasta Daisy is so joyful swaying, dancing in the breeze
Thyme, Oregano, Parsley and Rosemary have their place
Undaunted by the rain, my flowers simply grow
Violets, in purple were the first to peek from the earth in my garden
Wild Ginger, with their heart shaped leaves makes good tea
X-ray eyes of this gardener will banish all weeds
Yarrow, I truly love you, with your fantastic blend of pastels
Zealous bees zigzag, zip, sip and zoom from flower to flower
_____________________
May 19, 2022
Poetry/Abededarian/Dream Garden
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1456-448-19
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, ABCEDARIAN
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, Judged 06/04/2022
First Place
She's the enemy to whom I've yet to be
Formally introduced --
Her sites set on my
Tennis bracelet or clutch...
She glowers.
There's something off about her hair
It's color strange and unreasonable.
She dons a skirt too short
And tight for one her age --
My age.
Her colors loud and far too bold
For this town.
She stares me down like I would flinch,
As though intimidating me would be an
Easy job.
Here's what we can't tell:
She's a child of the Bronx.
A survivor.
It will take much more than
Undivided attention
To cause cowering.
Don't force it.
She despises on principle
Though of which one I'm uncertain...
Probably doesn't like that
We are of the same stage in life
Relatively
And unusually surrounded on
This subway
By a majority who happen
To be of approximately
The same range, age-wise.
Not the usual youth of Beantown
Who seem to own this city
(Or think they do)
Transplants from other locales
Here for educations
Or jobs, or beer,
Or whatever opportunities come their way
To seize upon and take from us.
Why are we not on the same side?
These rides serve no
Purpose other than
Perhaps to bear witness to still lives
And words set upon portable devices --
Commutes and communions
Of little consequence
Other than the fact that
Moving through space and time
Reminds us that we're still
Alive.
Form:
It was a movement 70 million strong
So the CCP decided to annihilate Falun Gong
You wouldn’t think the movement was much of a threat
It was non-political, but its doom was set.
Normally a good thing – new organs extend life
But China put Falun folks under the knife
Organ transplants became a revenue source
That evil still has not run its course.
The details make your heart freeze
The best organs come from donors without disease
Donors shouldn’t be old, and not dead for long
What better source than the Falun Gong?
Dr. Zheng Zhi witnessed a tied down young man
Still alive, doctors and staff carried out the plan
Cut out his kidneys, corneas, death by operation
The man's eyes still haunt Zheng, shame of a nation.
Eyes desperate and fearful and in pain
An enemy of the people, annihilated for gain
Still alive, inside him a silent scream
Macabre, hard to believe, must be a bad dream.
Its valid to be cautious when extreme evil is assigned
In a word full of paranoia, we must keep a skeptical mind
But it's also true when brakes are off, and ethics go down hill
You end up in a place where medical staff torture and kill.
Many of us use Chinese media like TikTok every day
We buy Chinese products, our colleges take their pay
Under Mao, millions died, but that was then, now to get facts
we rely on testimony, and indirect stats.
But skeptics must realize beneath normality’s veneer,
Evil may flourish, and innocents disappear.
Let's hope this doesn't show what they'd do to you, if they could
Goodness without strength, always loses to strength without good.
The movement preached compassion, seventy million strong,
But the hard men with the power annihilated Falun Gong.
Mere mortal body has to die, but what of mind?
Brain transplants are defeated by mortal neurons, that will all eventually age and fail.
Uploading minds to robot super computer brains, is immortality's holy grail.
For conscious mindful robot bodies can become the new mankind.
Abandoning frail mortal flesh to dust in grave, or ash in smoke, consigned.
You can replace your robot host with the latest model each year, for an image refresh and tech upscale.
Your mind downloaded from brain to computer can be uploaded, again and again, full-scale.
The mind-file then can then live forever, immortal mind to replaceable robot body, uploaded and maligned.
But what would it be like to live inside a metal box forever?
With metal arms and legs covered in fake skin, denied the thrill of flesh,
Without the sensual joys of touch and feel, of imbibing food and drink, and all other such pleasure.
Would a life immortal in a tin can be worthwhile, even with regular robot refresh?
Despite all the simulations, gadgets, fake this and that, would this really be the answer?
Or is mind so tied to mortal body that a senseless mind, immortal in computer chip, could never really mesh?
Long time Shelton, Washington transplants...
also known as
noteworthy Trader Joe's patrons
bass sic lee did treble themselves
conducting taping jam session
assembling (boxing), compiling,
and hermetically sealing tight as a drum so,
a razor sharp machete blade got dull
trying to open in vain said holiday cheer
of awesome delicious goodies,
(especially the yummy
stuffed vine leaves with rice),
which holiday care package
received without fanfare
for this common man,
whose younger sister
(vibrant as Appalachian Spring),
nevertheless wiser sibling
Shari Harris-Dunning
a whiz (hard) at work
tantalizing, teasing, titillating
as a lead wrapper from home grown
organic foodstuffs, she and her bandmates
helped fit perfectly, meticulously,
and snugly together
analogous to outsize constituent components
of intricate jumbo puzzle pieces
amazingly, mathematically,
and thematically linkedin
bearing gifts subsequently mailed
(courtesy the United States Postal Service)
from Bend, Oregon
to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Lemme amplify how creative, innovative,
and opinionative yours truly (me)
a humble wordsmith,
who exhibits his freestyle trademark
Scottish matted style avante-garde,
one run of the mill (by the Floss) bard
wannabe wants to rave about your card,
he presumes unbridled
posthumous fame will ensue
after his lovely bones disintegrate
courtesy cremation, which cremains
symbolically distributed across
all four points across the globe,
cuz the earth will solely serve him
as eternal terrestrial graveyard
ashes repurposed hard
to believe buzzfeeding, jump/
kick starting seeds of life
and white lily obliterating ill-starred
legacy which afflicted one mortal
named Matthew Scott Harris,
whose chronic assault
with mental health issues
undermined realizing his potential.
Into the void of cosmic oblivion
eventually goeth as masterly cell bait,
the once unique human
(cited above) as (e) scripted inevitable fate
of all creatures great and small
death promises to liberate
uniting one garden variety,
and generic soul
linkedin among Spiritus Mundi
a never ending tête-à-tête.