Lumbar Poems

The Night Sedans

Lumbar ladies stroll by as the night sedans plunder the ho-dad hostels.
Looking to find nothing except another dozing cigarette beyond the cadenzas.
Another hot afternoon in suburbia with the repeated barkings of a distant dog.
Billy boy in his red asphalt-eating machine turns the dial to San Bernardino. 
There is cool music bobbing in the hot accepting winds, south of Dragons Head.
In smoggy Corona, the dizzy Volkswagens travel in circles like demented dogs. 
Billy boy guns the engine as he and the Mexican chick cruise in a ’67 beetle.
They pass the Chuck Wagon, as Slim Harpo melts the sun with Little Liza Jane.
Traffic signals, and the elderberry trees, pretend to dance to the muted cadences. 
The hot afternoon winds play their own love-games as Billy boy comes to a stop.
Brown-eyed señorita with long hair flowing tells Billy boy to turn up the sound.
‘Music is life,’ she says, as the red asphalt-eating machine turns left at 6th Street.
Lumbar ladies stroll by now as the night sedans receive the night’s embrace.
At City Park, Billy and his latin lady sleep soundly in the cottonwood darkness.

To the Facebook's enquiry

Seemingly that things are over there
In my mind, let me seek to tell you?
Booming such like flowers in the spring 
Or  spreading something like ripples

I am trying to understand them 
For what they are attempting to show 
To me, and why are they trying to tell 

Surely, they're always under my control 
Stop or continue is only a little thing 
Yes or no must be up to  how I  feel 

I am so sorry to answer the facebook inquiry 
This way, as I felt the quest was a bit compelling 
Anyhow, hold face smiling and lumbar stretching

My Heart's Keeping a Bo Diddly Beat

"my heart's keeping a Bo Diddley beat"


looking back at
yesterday now

i've got a back 
brace like training 

bra in place 
and a lumbar 

belt round my 
waist as i 

seem 
to be 

wasting 
away 

in 
my 

old 
age 

but at the very
least i can

say i can get
out my guitar

and play
just like

yesterday
and do that 

hip 
shake 

thang

Chogadella

Chogadella, chogadella

gleef a finkle, fangle doo

Sanking froth a wank forchella

bleetting hist la trencheled sloo

 

Calibali, spork n’ mally

jopelwanker deef walore

Ectaglancy, fallet plantsy

untwotopa feething glore

 

Mannyouopo, slifered glupoe

dangelation, clastig blaye

Homertempor gleeving sempor

happystead youngstuckers kaye

 

Gurf-a platted, lumbar chated

cheeperbrest du mingle bee

Chogadella, chogadella,

made up words for poetry

The Best Meal of My Life

Writing.com daily dew drop prompt write a food poem

the best meals of my life
has always been what my wife
cooks up for me every night

she is a genius in the kitchen
always making something great
from the simplest ingredients


Because she came down with celiac disease
she could  only eat 
what she prepared from scratch
and so she was forced
to give up all processed foods

and in the process she became
the greatest cook
in the universe

I wait with baited breath
to taste the great food
that she creates for me

on lunar new years
she threw out her lumbar disk
and we were forced to stay home
just as the corona pandemic
swept across the world

if we had traveled
we would have contracted 
the dreaded corona virus

and we were forced 
to stay at home
and she took advantage 
of staying at home
to try new dishes 
every single day

I recall the Korean proverb 
saeyeong jima
as her misfortune
turned into fortune
and once again
she saved me life


I am the luckiest man in life
the best fed man of all I know
due to the cooking skills of my wife

Sons of Eden

The call of morning roosters,
Is a call of God's gardeners to duty.
I see footprints cast
In the breezy dew of the early morning,
As they lumbar to their fields

Ignoring the ache in their backs,
shadows of sleep under the eyes
and the hurt of their callused palms.
They still hold to hoes and cutlasses
Duty calls, a call they can't ignore

With cracked but soothing voice,
they sing to the spirits of the air
whilst grabbing weeds away,
from the paths of their crops.
There's no sigh of relief
until the sun starts to sleep.

They give no ear to tiredness,
even when their veins scream for help.
For they were born to serve at the altar of God
With bread from their fields of corn
and wine from grapes in their yard of vine.


They were chosen by the heavens above,
to work under the sun's very radiation
to feed and care for the whole nation.
Their love for humanity,
was incubated and hatched in lands beyond
the reach of mortals.

We live on their crops
and feed on their livestock.
Eden's sons deserve our applause 
For they sustain our lives.
         Long live Heroes...
               ...Stranja

Hypochondrial Illusion

Hypochondrial Delusion

A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
 In schizoid arrest

A hepatic paranoia 
of dermal yellow 
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start 
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy 

A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession

Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia 
Comatosed by 
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems 
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria

Musings of An Ignoramus

Musings of an Ignoramus

Why wake up from this slumber
-Slumber in my ignorance,
And give up my bliss?

Why sit up and strain my lumbar,
Study hard to forfeit this empty arrogance,
And give up this peace?

Why pore through countless pages?
Why seek knowledge?
What type? Every type

Why read books of all ages?
Why waste time in college?
Need for education, an empty hype?

Knowledge, what can it bring?
Of the future, a peek?
A better life, for sure?

To life, added zing?
A tomorrow, not so bleak?
These, can any assure?

Listen!
Why speak and be heard?
Why write and be read

Why work until from sweat, I glisten?
Why not live free like a bird?
Why lead, why not be led?

Why wake up from this slumber?
Slumber in my ignorance
My ignorance, my bliss.

One Tired Torso

One Tired Torso

One tired torso stands and sits,
reeling from its aching hips.

The lumbar vertebrae are all but gone,
with femur bones that are old and worn.

A pelvis full that bore two baby girls,
is now a barren and empty world.

A gnarled patella is the mark,
of the many prayers said in the dark.

But it’s the feet that tell the story,
whether life was grind or glory.

Swollen talus and bent distal phalanges,
only a hard earned living understands these.

Heel spurs from years walking and standing,
in a challenging job, very demanding.

Both feet have severe plantar fasciitis,
the entire framework has osteoarthritis.

Old bones know all your life's true tale.
All they do at this juncture is wail.

You may say this body needs to rest,
but it still strives for mankind’s best.

9/9/16

Body Parts in Poem
Torso
Hips
Lumbar vertebrae
Femur bones
Pelvis
Patella
Feet
Talus
Distal phalanges (toes-tips)
heels

Update On My Surgery

Everyone thanks for your prayers and well wishes!! the soup is the best group of people I know of to help you through a rough spot.

My surgery went well, I had a diskectomy in the lumbar region and I need one more on the right side but so far it is not hurting me too much. Maybe much later.

I am still having pain that is caused from swelling and the surgery; at least that is what the doctor says(Hoping and praying that this gets better)

Maybe I will be back more at the soup as soon as I get off the pain meds.
Doris

Joey Contemplates a Skeleton

Joey Contemplating a Skeleton

By Elton Camp

The teacher told Joey to learn each bone by name
And that there were only about 206 of the same
The parietal, temporal and occipital are in the head
At least that’s what the biology teacher then said

The atlas and axis are two bones found in the neck
Twelve vertebrae are attached to ribs if you check
Lumbar, sacrum and their parts learn without fail
And don’t forget the coccyx that looks like a tail

Of the maxillae and mandible the jaws are made
Collar bone is the clavicle; scapula shoulder blade
Humerus in upper arm, ulna below, radius thumb side
And in wrist and hand carpals & metacarpals reside 

Phalanges are found in both the fingers and the toes
The femur, patella, tibia and fibula in the leg goes
But this is only a small sample of what Joey must learn
If an excellent grade in his biology class he will earn

Degenerated Fourth Lumbar Disc

Pain 
Constant throbbing
Never ending
Day and night
Stop
Night and day
Ending never
Throbbing constant
Pain

Indian Ink Under the Skin.

Eyes widening on her fashion tattoo
Fine black lines freshly pierce you
Faded blue scrolls on a sailor's arm
Thick black Celtic lumbar tattoo
Egyptian hieroglyphic symbols taboo
Tiny fine line rainbow and blue.
 
Mischievous eyes hinting a secret spot
High fashion models strut for the shot!
The tiniest tattoo there is so discreet..
Teeny rose tattoo inside there is so sweet.
The needle sews in another fine stitch
Forever under the skin their name on you.

Little designer angel and heart tattoo
Back of the neck, inside the ankle
Armband,lower back, tummy,inside of lip
Skull,have we missed anywhere yet?
Tribal markings to denote you belong
"They're beauty adornments"so goes the song.

Imitation of Life

Nought but an impression left upon the deepening snow,
  Where once upon a dying lay my bones on New Years' Eve,
Who or what I have become you do not care to know,
  A broken heart worn shamelessly upon the trench coat sleeve.
How I stared up at the stars and felt the crystal glow
  With ice that stabbed like needles lumbar puncturing my spine,
How the tears froze in salty pools and simply ceased to flow,
  Weeping inward into emptiness and sorrowful decline.
If the falling flakes could blanket me and bury me below,
  I would gladly give my ghost to hypothermia and frost,
An impression left no longer on the surface of the snow,
  Only memories of life and imitations cold and lost.

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