Short Aorta Poems

when you knock on my door, i sorta
 feel a intense pulse in my aorta
loving you quickens my weak heart
but i feel i could die if we were apart...

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Narrated Aisha:The Prophet in his ailment in which he died,used to say"O Aisha! I still feel the pain caused by the food I ate at Khaibar,and at this time,I feel as if my aorta is being cut from that poison....

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give me your aorta ~ and in exchange i will give you a nice pulse

said the kidney bean to a cabbage heart ~ as it openly convulsed

but the black eyed peas protested violently ~ acting with impulse

of course i needed a leek pretty bad ~ and suddenly felt repulsed...

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fruit of the imagination,
poetry done in rhyme can be,
thoughts are deeds of damnation,
when the mind of eye can see...

as in when you do remote  healing,
see her aorta shrink for she,
having it shrink confirmed by ray,
magic it just seems to me...
re:
'Baba Ghanoush'  Michelle Mac Donald

Don Johnson...

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Just like your aorta
Carries blood,
Well It really sort'a ought'a
Or the shoes you bought,
Are sort'a tight,
Soon blisters will ignite,
Sort'a painful it just might,
Keep you up all night,
And when the mouse
dashes across the floor,
And you sort'a run for 
the door,
And your ad-lib scat singing
Sort'a thought was scatology
Maybe we ought'a sort'a sort'a...

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Smells like power
But tastes like chicken
Administrative duties
Make my pulse quicken

Repression wears a tie
Arrogance sports hose
Make Bossy smile
That’s how the garden grows

Timeclock sphincter
Clamped down tight
Constipation of thought
Absence of light

Artistic fire snuffed
Sculptor’s hand inert
Bottom line worship
Trade the smock for the shirt

Corporate aorta
Chocked with fat pride
With toad-lust for power
Freedom must collide...

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Viens à Maman,
let me show you how that shameful thing is done, 
you konw, with ink on paper,
for you not to be sorry anymore,
in the morning with croissant Triomphe 
and floating island by Abyssinian charms.
Fix your shoe laces, suck your belly
and grab me by the aorta.
Let go of me
over Père Malin´s brothel,
for more than three coins.
Eat it all up! 



From URBIS (Paralela 45 Publishing House, 2016)
Translated by me....

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By Fatmir Terziu

Read the lightning cloud!
In the sky stabbing exchanges
Where amid the still smoky sadness 
The sluggish revealing of letters begins
In the rampant turning of the tearful eye.

Somewhere amid these feelings
Icy particles begin to grunt
Starting for the funeral parlour
And making the shovels ready.

So flaming and smouldering
It burns the headlights and the Ferod in the wheels
The kiss that remained saddening 
In the stuck aorta valves....

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Visualise, create, arise,
 the thought behind a brow,
made solid if the thought does sniff, 
a future in the now,
for thoughts be deeds that intercede,
 and come to life somehow, 
the idea spawn is taking form,
and generates the how.


 I have been using "seeing" for 20 years :eg to shrink a bulging Aorta in my cousin Alice which did shrink on the xray....seeing works......Edgar Cayce said thoughts are deeds. and i believe and have great Faith......

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Many scientists know that there are many parts of the heart 
From the four valves to the aorta,
It is a beautiful thing 
But there are many parts of the heart that not everyone knows about
There is lots of wisdom that fills it
It makes you figure things out easily 
Love is another main part 
It is the life force of everything 
It helps you to find friends 
And to love others with respect 
Now you know, that the hear isn't just a muscle 
It's a machine of love and power....

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Disappointing children, burden their parents
With arrests, protest and defense
But when I take pride in letting you know
That I will not show and respecting you enough
To keep the truth on the down low
But disappointing picked on a pedestal 
I cannot do random things without your blessing
Your knowledge is pivotal and idle are dreams
Of infested nefarity. Negativitu is not centred 
In my spirit, feel it. I’ve been honest truthful
Without doubt and resolve to the bottom of my aorta...

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My aorta beats in golden poppies,
pulsing down slopes to pool
in a bruise of purple sage.
Though my eyes gleam
with lemon marigolds
snow caps of porcelain lupine
melt on my lashes,
undulating in a quiet tempest
of periwinkle asters.
Beneath a bluebell sky
the sun colors my cheeks
with the blush of primroses
as monarchs lilt
like birds of paradise
among velvet morning glories
and a shy alyssum breeze
caresses my emerald cloak.

3/26/19
Marathon Qualifiers Contest
Mark Toney...

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