Short Cadaver Poems

cadaver bled
lifeline spread
posthumously read
endearing stead
perpetuity fed
vanity shed...

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a fly fell down dead
some ants stage an autopsy~
‘cadaver’ in shreds ...

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The cadaver of an emperor
Lying in wait at the bottom of the catacombs
He is halcyonily waiting
Not for bandits but for Life...

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Will the house our cadaver impeach?
Mike's abused his freedom of speech
With head in the sand
Johnson takes command
Like a selfish son of a beach...

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Accepted to medical school
Too old but in the entrance pool
Where is the back door? 
There's my dorm with a drawer 
Since I’m a cadaver quite cool...

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How groovy my little guests were,
They vanished like vapor, I swear;
It took time to catch on,
I saw them in the lawn
Crunching on Mildred's cadaver....

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Hawks spy chicks: Vultures spy cadaver
                                 Bats! repulsive dangling terrestrial 
                              Eagles--vision: Nightingale--soul sound...

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The moon can withdraw; she will crawl
into her colourless body and stitch together her new skin;
she is reborn and basks in her costume of cadaver.
The heart is not that evolved; once broken, she is dead forever....

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Breathing tedious life into a heedless cadaver,
 Peering over barbed wire to see the edge of never,
 Building on the ashes of love that branded the heart painfully slow,
 Deteriorating hopes plunge deep to the abysmal stillness only received once below....

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Metamorphous; Trickling on the violet rose, decaying into a crimson thorn.
As sinners vibrant words branch and become dusk, in the fog.
Their cadaver the canvas 
Will truly know the swift, and elegant touch of my,
Retribution.
For I am, the dull - revitalized soul of your sufferer....

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I wanted to write you
the same love poem today,
but I forgot the words.
As I began to
etch them onto paper,
my fingertips grew
heavy, and
nostalgia crept in
like a lonely cadaver
on a stainless steel platter.
I've been writing
the same poem for
too many years,
and the butterfly of my heart 
has finally folded 
in
on 
itself....

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The tree does not at the hewing suffer
Albeit the callous thwacks all edges raining down
Nor the tons of muscles befalling on its cadaver
But savvy ing a bisection of the axe stems from her own

She protractedly taught him to target archery
How his bow bends unerringly
When he at last imbibed the art secrecy 
Betrayingly shot her uncompassionately....

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Tragic Bir al-Maunah
These humble men
Worthy of art memorizing
Repeating verses beautifully
Delicate rendering of tenderness.

The deepest poetricalism
Each nuance of meaning
Stand to read iambic verses
Illuminating the darkness.

But Blood-thirsty illetterated
Did not heed.

A flock of flying cadaver eaters
Swirling around, literature dead....

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January, beckons the army
February, joining the infantry
March, with a bride in church
April, young wife looking frail
May, new life well on the way
June, whistling a fatherly tune
July, days passing rapidly by
August, feeling down and lost
September, a marching order
October, consumed by his fear
November, home now a cadaver
December, darkest time of year....

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Cadaver, Godiva and Quiver
     I believe that I've poisoned my liver

   Pushcart on the ramp fell apart
     I'm afraid I've damaged my heart

   Pencil Lead, Interbred, Seeing Red
     I think I've a hole in my head

   Had to beg for a keg of bootleg
     They just amputated both legs

   Only one thing I dread even more
     ~ A fall from the bed to the floor...

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a     Crime is but a vengeful word that splits us open like a cadaver impairing our
                '''Normal routine with vengeance greed impure thoughts that leave our 
          neighborhoods in fear the rage that is felt only suppressed to us with pain
       not able to express
    not able to relive 
  not able to control
  the unjust use
  of armories
  the use of a
  G......U......N...

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A young woman, her form
still bearing a mirage of beauty.
In her detail she decays
closer still, a beauty returns
as a micro-delicacy.
Her charm dips in and out
like a swan through the bodies spoilage.
Da Vinci and his artist acolytes,
those red-handed anatomists,
all owe her rent.
The swan should be redrawn,
blood-money paid
with those same blunt tools
they broke into her with....

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like vultures and yet
like pigeons on the vine you made for thee
the branches crack over the open fire

yet, how to thee
i relinquish all thought
i can't stand on my own two feet without help
like locusts you feed on my cadaver
don't speak yet
i speak alone in whisper

tines strike threw my night
the sky blinded
by only the illusion of despair
don't regret to walk
take your time...

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Let me tell you about this girl, 
this girl from Luxembourg who live in the middle of nowhere.
Hair in a bun, golden blonde.
Her smile shines that light up her eyes.
Gentle strong healing hands, you'd wish you're a dog, a cat or a cadaver in a medical lab just to feel her touch.
The troubadours would fall on their knees for this indescribable beauty.
And those who can't read knows she is a poetry....

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You become a chair.
A dream sits in you
for a graphic detail of
pelvis. A trophy ?

Was it undecorous to present
a cadaver walking on the earth ?
A serial killer wants a plaque
on his grave after the verdict.

Saber-rattling has started,
unplucking the lovers of game.
A peltate shield in hushed silence
covers the undressing.

The prisoner of words tempers with
a mask to become a bruise. 




Satish Verma...

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As the Pauper sleeps...

The king no longer counts...

His castle stands dishevelled...

...his jester eats the mouse...

More gold arrives on boats...

...His men they build a moat...

Wring a Wring a rosy...

A pocket full of lint...

The scavengers are circling...

The kings pinnacle is spent...

Cadaver a his only Ali...

Coma broken...infection sent...

No more time to harvest...

The cow snatched the moon
with the sheep......

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I grew up in a one roomed shack
a king size Coca-Cola space
crammed like Marlboro cigars in a pack
a place I ran to for defense
my home which some see as a plight
where my family had to find the right way
it was my bedroom at night
my mother's pantry by day
a lounge where my dad like a doc upon a cadaver dissected
The Star while his kids goggled at Luxor television
I grew up in a shack protected
by corrugated irons walls of a mansion...

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I am pulling out from the committed
sin, cadaver walking,
digging the gold from the pit.

Footwears of dead men were
heaped into a pile when
god was praying.

Was it a perceived tragedy
of a man drawing doodles
to offset the sunset ?

You were alone, dousing
the fire and shaping the clay. The
hamlet was less inclined to intercede.

Your flesh slips from my hands
for a rebirth. I was flying a kite.
I was dead before you were born again.


Satish Verma...

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Drip, drip
Drip, drip
Melts the soiled soul onto
A dusty field of abandon

Fenced in by human limbed pickets
Yanked from the graves
Of broken hearts

Skeletal branched silhouettes
Clatter above the bloodless
Hole in the ground

The Ravens hide in the shadows
The shadows hide behind stone crops
The crops provide bountiful skulls

What is the illusion without a live audience?
Who, or what heard the solemn incantation of
Abra-Cadaver?...

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A night poet discovers -
late arrivals,
words surfacing in the light of day.

Throw a grappling hook,
lower a life-raft
it will soon be too dark to see
to rescue
the drowning.

Words lay down their lives
enter another night
aboard ghost ship.

A nocturnal unrest
trawls for time tossed bodies,
attempts are made,
cold lips to warm

Upon the surf of another morn
a fully formed cadaver,
newly dressed
presents itself for further study....

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