Short Transfusion Poems

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transfusion of need
awakening dormant seeds…
fat thunderheads bleed...

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Listen to poem:

sun beams paint the sky
crimson, gold, and ruddy red,
day gets transfusion...

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jaundiced swells
anemic sunset swooning…
  blood moon transfusion 

         07 May 2016...

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emotions I've bled
words spring from my head....
Finely sharpened lead

All Rights Reserved © MMX...

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Poetic transfusion,
 prose bleeding through

Words but a suture
 —stitching the truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)...

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Poetic transfusion
  prose bleeding through

Words but a suture
  —stitching the truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2014)...

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 TRANSFUSION

I’ve got to see you
It’s an emergency
My heart is bleeding
I have waited too long now
I need a love transfusion


Tanka form for Rick Parise’s contest...

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Absolution and Conclusion

Of sins are remission and an absolution;
What we came up with was a conclusion;
We realize, 
God defies;
God's Holy Spirit, we need a transfusion.

Jim Horn...

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Looks good
Tastes sweet
But rots in the belly

Turns to poison in the veins
Travels to the heart
     Corrupts it
     Hardens it
Dead inside

Need a transfusion
Type Christ-positive required...

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Your blood is ninety percent water
My blood is ninety percent sugar
I am glad I am me
And you are you

My blood cannot be taken
The transfusion would wake up the dead
Even Dracula has refused it
I gloat....

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The last few years we've heard a profusion of
  Media voices strident -- 'Russia-Trump collusion!'

Mueller's investigation's sowed considerable confusion
  We patient citizens -- citizen patients -- need a blood transfusion...

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wine clear of transfusion
bared scol of atrithive
blurs of the wakefeild life
a minute to comprehend the mantarc
A lavegeded mirdor swacks the mood
IN the making of the changed alood
Winling to make a move
unchained in fray...

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I have a precarious delusion
That there is underhanded collusion
Which causes a teensy bit of confusion
In the form of a dendrite transfusion,
Poetry, a magnificent conclusion
There is no imagination preclusion.
In my own self-fan-fusion....

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Peace, an illusion.
A mass delusion,
A cone of confusion,
Has made an intrusion.
It is my conclusion
Excessive inclusion
With Satan’s collusion
Has led to occlusion.
We need a transfusion
Or perhaps perfusion
And quiet seclusion,
Not nuclear fusion.
Maranatha.
...

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In stillness and silence, I hold it all in.
The dirt and disease underneath my skin,
born of the fall, and wrought from sin,
withers within.
My blood is filthy, in need of transfusion.
My life is stale, full of disillusion.
Jesus' blood is pure and lively.
Have I asked Him today to dwell inside me?...

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I visited the Met* today
And came to this conclusion –
My spirits were revived as if
I’d had a blood transfusion.

For two long years I’ve stayed away
And all of my seclusion
Has weighed me down and filled me with
The sadness of exclusion.

But walking through the galleries,
Enjoying my inclusion,
I feel prepared to join the world
And shed my disillusion.

*Metropolitan Museum of Art...

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Running wild 
Through beds of rocks and stones 
His voice echoes... 'Neath the mountain tops 

Years gone by 
Slimmed thin; his narrow bones 
His arms, still trickling slowly downstream 

Of man-stocked 
No more reproduction 
Like a blood transfusion...the trout swims 

Just like that 
Outliving you and I 
One day, Old Man River...will be gone  



Images in Parallel Poetry Contest 
Sponsor: Joseph May 
2/15/2021...

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“Silence is the bliss vivifier ~ 
Exhume ego cravings in the fire”
            - quote by poet


mind searches for a metaphor
a shadowy symbol esoteric
deepening dark delusion

vibrancy of pristine presence
beholds from the vast void
need for bliss transfusion

staid silence sets into motion 
a sublime ethereal vibration
that we recognise illusion

subtle sensations suffuse form
imbibed if heart be tranquil 
with Holy Spirit fusion...

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In the teardrop light of the misty moon,
the apparition shimmered and swayed.
Concern that victory would leave too soon,
evaporate and offer me, full splayed.

Cracked, fractured, delicate psyche open,
bare, and opiating into nightscares.
Turning soon to stare, reflect. I. Broken.
How much can one asseverate he bears.

The teardrop light now glimmers as golden,
pure and unfettered by dark delusion.
Chasing shaky hubris to embolden,
encourage, brilliant gorged transfusion....

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While living a life in seclusion
Some folks may react in confusion
When speaking with those,
Far more brave, I suppose,
Who have plans for a Covid conclusion.

The optimists feel the inclusion
Of travel plans, like a transfusion,
Will fill them with hope
And will help them to cope
But it’s possible that’s a delusion.

We pessimists think the collusion
Of those who fight Fauci’s “intrusion”
Will keep us in chains
Until all the remains
Of what’s “normal” is just an illusion....

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