Long Viscera Poems
Long Viscera Poems. Below are the most popular long Viscera by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Viscera poems by poem length and keyword.
(A flower in my garden)
Beautiful to the naked eye, yet growing at the expense of tears, From a fountain of overdue languish, watering down the seeds of regret.
Surprisingly, the passion to garden these flowers, a never-wilting will.The prickles, a subtle reminder of how painful caring is.
(I will be your helper)
An acclamation that never materialised.
I have been made a slave with a twisted spine and broken back, carrying loads of promises that never conceived.The help, a promise of a sun in winter.
(I will fight for you)
A proclamation of shadows on a cloudy day.
I have stood in rings of unwarranted bouts, an amateur boxer, taking on heavy uppercuts for being the bigger person and facing my demons head-on. Cheering on in the corner, the silence of a fighter that never was.
(Through trials and tribulations)
I take the stand as the accused, defending the honour for the accused, fighting the unfound litigation before the court of validation.
A suspect, suspected of heinous crimes that only the accuser derives from a vacuum of evidence.
(You are the food to my soul)
The culinary artistry of continental dishes I have been known to dish, Only but a paradox of "Gandhi" feasting his appetite to freedom.
The frailty of the soul that lingers, a clear manifestation of an ungrateful "viscera."
(You are the spark that ignites my desire)
The ignition that bore more than desire.
I sit comfortably, inhaling the smoke from the fires of constant outrages unleashed.
The spirit to quench down the blaze, are but tales of a ghost fire-fighter.
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.
There are stretch marks for every delivered line.
Skin keeps strumming until it runs out of sweat,
incipient and membranous they arrive
through a mutual tension. On their own
words in the woods unseen,
but when pushed through a primal viscera,
they slip through wet and new.
You try to make them civilized and grown.
you know that eyes are upon you.
Birthing’s a messy affair
something you do behind swollen eyes,
a stress disorder that defies latex
or the collective humming of incubators.
Then you look down and everyone’s looking
it’s not a poem, it is a configuration
of arrhythmic pulses,
meanwhile you swaddle an indigenous form
native to a ‘no man’s land.’
You hope someone will read it to the end,
but it’s not the end, it’s another beginning.
Liquor license for my rubbing alcohol
Fumes and vapors have me squinting like a mole
Open my window, let the wind blow through
A bunch of spiders came and crawled right to me
Shouting and stomping like a maniac
I squashed them all, covered in goo
of black
Looked through myself, right at the mirror
Who should really be the fearer?
Do good people kill spiders?
Mop up the viscera left on the floor
Some rubbing alcohol make the stink no more
I left it there for over a week
The time has come to be a clean freak
Lock the door, sit on the floor, and breathe in
Sterilize my mind and sanitize my skin
Guilt is a feeling, shames a disorder
But chemicals, they are my warder
Do bad people realize it?
EarthMother recirculates red
and dark blue blood,
through sacred veins
and springing arterials
of integrity's compassion
Healing
wounding segregated pathologies
of death avoidance
is not life gracefully danced
When we
together
see Alphas
StraightWhiteMale dominant
through every space
in timeless now
Circulating Anthropocene
patho-atheistic parching Earth
in Alpha taste
and RightWing touch
and LeftBrain see
Omega's green capital face
and organic viscera,
MeWe Janus de-polarized
feeling dizzy
with transgendered dissonance
Traumatized
by unsecretive eyes
for not-not shared objectives
With healthy words
usurped by straight
white anthro-engoddened men
no one dare name
or look upon
without shame,
monotheistic
punishing blame
Throughout our dynamic history
of multiculturally systemic
polytheistic
iconic
sacred becoming EarthTribes
continuously open
whole systemic filled
universal felt experience
Omega's tipping point
toward integral win/win
strategic green
bi-hemispherically balancing
co-messianic Spring i
New Year transitioning intelligence
Recirculating red
and dark blue blood,
through veins
and uprising Alpha arterials
of integrity's Omega
autumnal
replete compassion
Wintering climate
depleted dispassion
silently waiting
next season's green
return addiction,
summer's full climax
loving life
now sadly co-defeated.
Concerto D'amor
Whenever I'm with you,
Other things are amnesia.
Every single moment with you,
Suits decades in a catatonia.
If you were Bermuda triangle,
I'd often tread on the blast of shangri-la;
A picnic in the devil's triangle,
Run-of-the-mill than millenniums in ball park.
You're the Bermuda triangle.
I, being a wanderer.
The strong storm of South-America pulling me to you,
And down towards your smile I totter.
If you were an Iceberg,
I'd pull my Titanic towards you,
Rejoicing as you break me apart
Waters drowning the consciousness I'd built.
You're the iceberg;
Sybaritic, pudgy and turbingly symmetrical.
And I lost in the lust of the traverse,
With my patois feels your viscera.
Be whatever you choose:
A stark lasso repressing the rim of the sea?
But by bid can you loose,
Letting your waves gulp my plenary?
My heart through its mouth bleeds yearning,
Of how often for you I did fall.
Christ on a horse! I'm crazy 'bout you, honey!
This is my seven lives concerto d'amor.
19:05:01:16:48
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral piece. Concerto D'amor.
‘Krasue’
(A woman’s head with viscera hanging down from her neck.
She paralyzes like ice-cold lightning).
Where will you be tonight when the moon is shut?
Woman hater, where will you be
when the womb of your soul is shut tight?
Krasue will chant these lines over your stunned body,
her incubus birthed in you.
She will keep you pregnant until
your male belly bursts.
Then she will come out of you,
and the moon will open and shine again,
but not for you.
~~~~~~~~
‘Mae Nak’
(She's a female ghost who died at childbirth
and can extend her arms).
Mae Nak loves you.
She wants to carry you in her limbs
to the birthing couch. There she will
stretch her arms to the dawn.
Mae Nak loves you,
but you are a ghost to her,
she sees only an endless umbilical cord.
She believes you dangle at the end of it.
She believes that one morning
she will hear you mewing like a kitten
at her door.
Until then she lengthens her arms
like a sea anemone at a watery reflection
of the morning star.
~~~~~~~~
Nang Mai
(Lady of the Woods’, ghost-fairy related to trees).
Texture and grain are her domain,
but she will appear
if you are near her spider woven eyes.
She harms none,
but she can break the ties
to your own self,
make you see the mask
you’re wearing,
then she will send you home
weeping
until you break a thousand mirrors.
~~~~~~~~~
oh, yes ...
yes, I have ...
I've had them ... those moments
the deep, desperate, rare moments ...
"straight-from-a-movie" moments
of romance and melancholy
where the violins and violas and
cellos pull on your heart ...
forlorn music reaching down into your viscera
to yank at your soul in tyranny ...
heart-wrenching moments of
exquisite agony -
where the core burns, the hairs all
stand, the eyes close, and you're lost
to the consequence ...
brief, beautiful, tender instances that
you hold for a lifetime -
that shine like jeweled beacons among
the mists of the mundane ...
oh, how blessed I've been ... and how cursed
for this gift of creativity that so
many envy, is but a facade for the dark, dire
truth of the sensitive spirit -
we feel deeper, look deeper, wish deeper, love
deeper, and hurt ... so much deeper ...
I am thankful for those moments, for
they are precious ...
but there is a dear and diabolical price to pay
and it comes without music
in the dead ...
of night.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 1, August 2019 - Just Write" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
=====================================
Can any here recall my name?
Intoned by plenty years ago,
today I'd say but for a game
they play, not many here may know!
But here I stand and there you sit
and since we're comrades, more or less,
let's have a bit of fun with it!
What hints I give may help you guess...
I, with my face of stone, a lock
and walls by iron fortified,
encase His Grace in solid rock
while altercate takes place outside
My brother's straight across from me,
identical in width and length.
Twin towers, we wait silently,
each building on the others strength
I bide my time and mind the wall
that rises from the palace banks,
though sabres chime and soldiers fall
to foe that slowly climb the ranks
Still, I must wait to join the show
'til Bishop, Knight and gallant Pawn
have made a kill or died below
and viscera spills on the lawn
As yet, these casualties of war
stay in our thoughts and they are missed
but let us not forget two more,
who to this very day exist
While we salute remembered men,
the same, in suit, is also due
to distant members of my kin,
who I'll now introduce to you...
Mine uncle and his shining spouse,
fine experts in their elements,
Sir Windmill and the Lanternhouse.
I'll next define their relevance:
When rivers flow and wind doth blow
and each do meet the mighty Mill,
men who eat grain (opposed to crow!)
bestow defeat upon the hill
And as for she who light the sea,
true monolith illuminate!
Thee shine to shore mine enemy,
to be defined before my gate
Respect much paid to lance and shield,
today we play at gentlemen
but say perchance we meet afield...
none may expect such fancy then!
Nay, back to front or port to right,
I'll stay the course until I'm took
or paid in trade to black or white...
For I'm the force they call the ROOK!
=====================================
We set foot on dry grass at the cockcrow
of a nascent union.
Cheek to cheek as Cupid towers
over the rose inside my heart,
shooting arrows at a dyad draped in fire,
gliding through the tundras of charred weeds,
fin-like petals quake beneath our feet.
The sun unloads its savage heat in torrents,
thermal downpours drench the wedded seam,
blisters left on Sinai soul mate psyches,
rain shadow or bajada by the bye!
Aphrodite’s children from the pampas,
teether on phlogiston’s manic figment,
cauterized, rock-ribbed, raw emotion rivulets ablaze.
Firebrands of first flush in all but name.
Plumes of tropic passion wrap, us madagascan parrots,
trill and troll sidekicks one and all, showing off our feathers
high above the arid air. sweat soaked garments
reek of clammy cuddles, shredded, torn,
strung loosely round the limbs of new born flames.
Cindered patch exposed on lover’s skein without a balm.
Soaptree yucas proudly fence the rapids giddy gurgle.
Frothy sidemen serenade the cherry blossom sweethearts,
lilting love notes found in every strain.
Knotted woodlands understory,
nuptial suite propped up by swollen nodes.
Eternal palms outstretched,
love puppets on a compass point astride the boundless needle.
Viola viscera, songbird incarnate, bow to my enchanted fiddle.
Together forever, alone at last