Short Venous Poems

Perfection is my 
Prey- and I am its most ra-
                    Venous predator....

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venous fog wraps around oaks populating the neighborhood

                                                       — shades lifting


1/13/2020...

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Relationship was a big blow,
         Evident was the lack of glow,
              Just to try the skill,
            New romance and thrill,
     Surely increased the venous flow !




Bawdy limerick - 8/8/5/5/8
Written on 23/6/14...

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Woman at a stop.

She stood at the stop
Cracking knees, stooping shoulders
Mothball odors
Medicine pores,
Disparate thoughts, waves of empty,
Numb buzzing nothingness
Imbibing vibrations of motorists,
Whirring, whizzing by
Crumpled yellow sere sheaves blow 
By the venous sheer skin, her feet
Swollen out of her shoes
She waits,
For the bus....

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Pohutukawa tree I wonder
Which of man’s endless bloody battles
Planted you here?
Your venous red needle flowers
Drop to the ground below
Where they lie in corpuscle puddles

Whose mothers are they I wonder?
Lying in the branches
Morning the senseless loss
Of their loved sons and brothers

Pohutukawa tree
Reminder of war’s terrible cost
So Pohutukawa tree be
Keeper of the peace...

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A bad moon on the rise,
Grinning like sour cheese,
Drips a rivulet of blood,
A groovy facial scar;
On the canal rancid surface,
Blacker than a witches’ bowel,
It smiles back at itself,
Death reflected from afar.

Don’t look now, for
Something wicked comes,
Trailing rotten funeral wreaths,
Along the catacomb way;
And the bad moon surveys
The handiwork of conscience,
Turns the plastic red and slick,
Predicting venous spray....

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This morbid fascination

My unending procrastination

I hold out for everything

And come up with nothing

My nightshade heart

Plays it’s part

A special place

Not made of arterial lace

Or venous denim or integumentary leather

Made to endure every weather

I hold our for a dark heart like mine

One made not to sparkle, not to shine

To a dark heart, these battle scars are fine

To a dark heart, I will be thine....

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Pristine crisp, clean morn

Crescent moon floating above

A monochromatic wintry scene,

Frosty crystals clinging atop 

Rolling, sleepy meadows,

Rugged white peaks all round,

Lush conifers – jet black, set against

Soft pastels of blue,

Venous deciduous with bouquets 

Of birds leaving their tops

Like petals drifting at will 

Upon a lazy, summer stream

Afar, wispy crimson marks the 

Direction a lover rests, in wait of

Of a new year and new beginning...

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