Long Ventricles Poems
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Heart Folds
Beginning so small
this mound of tissue
time's perpetual resuscitation
life's bellows for passion
protection's engine of flow
So simple its form
this muscle of pulsation
innocent of harm's way
liquid breathing of body's dependence
wanting only to maintain tomorrow's awakening
Sentries stand guard
immunity's breach driven back
poisons held at bay
health and longevity made secure
So flickers this flame of flesh
resisting winds that might extinguish spark
designed impervious for decades to come
until the kiss
Fold one
Intrusion of passion
begs emancipation of opened heart
as anguish of unrealized pleasure
hints
but
withholds consent
Rhythms explode
prying open the chambers of mind
exposing the unknown magic
inner eye bliss
distinction
disruption
dysfunction
bends arch back on themselves
Fold two
More kisses
pausing ventricles to stop
breath taken away
glimpses of forever
Until
Folds become pleated
become a chaos of creases
Wrinkles constrict passion's meadow of bliss
tributaries of spirit become dry beds of fossil remains
Will reason ever concede
to love's unspoken treatise
heart's hidden secret of survival
Or
Forever remain but love's monitor
life's data bank of questions without answers?
How precious the newborn heart
How precarious its journey
when Medusa feathers
of midnight fractals
dip in my soul
and smear
soft hemlock stardust
across the
celestial ceiling ~
smothered with spinel
my shadow seethes
in the scent
of flaming jasmines ~
as I slip
a n d trip ~
drunk upon opium,
cruising in
cursed ventricles,
and pleading
for the release
of my muse ~
perfumed with
pensive passion,
that burns in the
chamomile craters,
courageous
yet clawed
by the cowardice
of your corvid
cruelties …
this heart is a hostage
held in the heat
of hypocrisy ~
hypnotised to the hues
of your heather hush,
tamed to obey
the time-travelling tunes
of the sun and the moon,
who impersonate
the aura of aurelia
yet, breathe the blush
of bitter-silk butterflies ~
illuminated within
the ivory incandescence
of my inkless innocence …
but, still I am immune
to your illusions ,
as I am nevermore ~
an oasis-rose ash
plucked from the
desert of oblivion,
desperate to deem
this desire my own,
before I stretch
these hands of hurt
and block
the periwinkle
pulsations ~
flowing
in the arteries of
arrhythmic
attachment …
My innocent crimes transcend into sinful mistakes,
While yours roam in circles to stay the same,
Pangs of conscience rip my melting ventricles apart,
When metal-cold claws depart out of your mouth,
And my viscera learns to keep itself together,
When you say your metallic jaggedness was ‘as light as a feather’,
And now, the claw that mauled my heart,roams about my body,
Sometimes in my throat, otherwise in my eyes,
And changes their colour into a red gaudery,
Watery tears flush from my eyes,
While you only notice how fast they sublime,
And so, I wish my tears were of blood instead,
Just so you could see the guilt that relentlessly stabs my head,
But I know it’s of no use,
And I know my efforts are futile,
For my innocent crimes transcend into sinful mistakes,
While yours roam in circles to stay the same.
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.
A solitary tear escapes my eye,
As poignant thoughts shuffle my decor.
If only I could rewrite the script, defy,
To release the burden that anchor my core.
"Why me?" reverberates through the ventricles, mummified,
Ripped apart by destiny's cruel spell.
In this moment of truth, I stand crucified,
Awaiting light to penetrate each cell.
Acquaintances revel in my agony,
As I waddle through the puddles,
Tripped by the weight of bitter irony,
In molasses-like mean shackles.
Yet I strive to rise from the ashes of fire,
As cadavers of self-pity unleash,
Infusing life into a desert's sapphire,
Elevating my spirit—hope as a feast.
crown petals unfold for lofty Light
fontanelle gaping softly smile
Centre Point’s hole blazon mile
pineal connects as conical way
to galactic edenic binomial rays
loosens ovuliferous scales honed
thyroid equalises, tongue relaxes
cylinder opens larynx true blue
speech becomes intended hues
heart softens atria, ventricles
valves linking doors of paradise
protected golden it rhapsodises
coin-line verticle-horizontal spherical
solar plexus flowers monumental near
mystical super might no incidentals
feed flows smooth for tantric beats
sacral seat in creativity knowing heat
power is orange action satisfaction
rooted into Earth mooted primordial
authentic estate mirthful immemorial
aligned connection very refined
~~~~~~~~~~
The young generation, who believe in dissolution,
promulgating the manifesto
“tradition is the grave of the banality,
only solecism is the quickening of new life…”
yell upholding a flag similar to a bad check
which is unable to secure the needed guarantee for the debt.
They are sycophantic speculators hopping on the bandwagon
of the time, they are nothing but a product of a certain moment
of the swinging pendulum, their unfounded thought changes in consonance with the direction and the amplitude of the pendulum.
Although they think highly of themselves,
they assert themselves as the forerunner of the times,
actually, they are unbridled reckless colts jumping, hopping,
and running blindly in the wilderness.
They consider heteronomy as a shackle,
they, therefore, rush to a smithy and heat the shackles to cut it off,
they insist upon autonomy as the beat of the heart,
they, therefore, lay on the cold operating table to cut it open
to see the inside of the heart bearing an excruciating pain
but they found it full of red and blue blood
clotted in two atrium and two ventricles, the blood
contaminated with filthy and turbid human minds
which carried on from generations of generations
of past unchanged.
They try to ascend their thoughts, nonetheless,
above the traditional ones, it’s nothing more than
a word game, a disgusting prank.
Are they mad? Though they cannot even jump
nor have wings, they try to fly,
ah, poor generation, ill, crooked, lost,
who were not even touched by a drop of Medusa’s
poisonous blood, flap wings imitating Pegasus about to fly.
I am a homegrown girl but I have traveled to many places around the world. I am a home-grown girl and you can find me on the map with just a single dot. I am a home-grown girl in search of my permanent soul.
I love variety, I value diversity and I cherish honesty. I have an invisible soulmate but we have never gone out on a date, I love it from the depths of my heart and I would do anything for its career to take off. I want its dreams to come true because I don’t have much ambition to parachute to the sky. I am just a home-grown girl with a deep message bubbling up in my soul.
If you look into my heart, you will understand where it starts; my heart has two ventricles, one on the right and the other on the left and they pump blood into my body that keeps me alive and put my adrenalin on a ride.
I can cook a fifty-course meal in one day, and I would still have energy to cook a pot of curry and invite Hallie J, Sarah M and Jane S for dinner and still find time to shoot the next scene after supper.
My brain is wired in a special way and for this reason I will never go astray. My brain has a left side and right side too, from which that miracle always comes through and, it has never deserted me and you.
The ventricles in my heart sometimes collide and sometimes I have to go on a short trip to examine what’s in the precipice. The left ventricle wall is the thickest heart walls and absolutely nothing can pass through if destiny binds me and you.
Sometimes I stare at the wall and wonder where to start. Is it at the Texas border or the Great Wall of China? My heart has a three-layered heart wall made of connective tissue, endothelium, and cardiac muscle but layer one and two cannot function, if the muscular middle layer myocardium doesn’t function. It enables the heart to contract so pay careful attention to what the heart is saying to you.
I am a home-grown girl but my Turf is not here, it belongs to the rest of the world. It lies beyond the horizon in the quiet hills of demparades, a town full of beautiful people from all color race and creed they speak different languages from every nation. I am a home-grown girl and now it's time for me to face the world.
I have searched hard and long to find a Christmas song, I have searched in the depth of the sea to find a rhythm that was compatible with thee.
I know your taste and the kind of rhythm that will make you move your waist; the rhythm is new and will make your dream come through.
There are many rhythms out there, rhythm that was created with a fork and a spear and the juke box used to be the epiphany of hope. The children used to crowd that shop and use all the money that they have got to play that special music in the jukebox.
Sometimes it sends my heart racing and increased my Adrenalin; it stirs up a familiar heat, it is the passion that is hard to find and it is that passion that makes love so divine I am searching for that rhythm for you.
I have listened to many Christmas tune composing of lyrics that will make everybody move, lyrics that send them dancing in the street and set fire to their lazy feet.
You have got to learn how to wave your hand to the Christmas song that was created with a hammer and a pan, it is the sound of the eighteen century and the Duke of York knows all about it.
Sometimes I have itchy ear and the sound sends missiles crashing in the air, it is the cross between two ages and the classical beat baked in modern vibes’ that rips up the charts and send some people wondering in th dark, it is the sounds that is new and embodied the prefect melody for me and you.
My Christmas song is embedded in my heart, my Christmas song has been there from the start, the myocardium is concealing it and the atrium and ventricles are releasing it.
The Sopranos and mezzo-soprano are in place and the alto will complete the musical phase but the bass is still running all over the place, the tenor is obscure and sooner or later it will go straight out the door.
I have that harmony in my head and the tenor and the baritone are already dead, I have the musical beat for the December Christmas treat. Come and join the group and sing this original Christmas song with me.
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