Short Viscera Poems

My journey of blood
                        Sword of viscera and steel
              The Black Rose Thorn Queen
...

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viscera besieged 
      elbow deep in ecstasy 

       succumbing to bliss





11.05.2019

Sexyku Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux...

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UPSIDE DOWN
inverted, topsy-turvy
unhinging, disorienting, confusing
puzzle, somersault; details, viscera
twisting, wearing, turning
front to back, socks
INSIDE OUT

written October 10, 2021...

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recklessness attacks ego
fury attacks soul
adrenaline attacks viscera
middle digit attacks upward
foot attacks accelerator
vehicle attacks vehicle
hand attacks pistol
lead attacks flesh
remorse attacks fury
gavel attacks sound block
inmate attacks inmate...

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viscera wound tighter
   than the tightest rubber ball
   never mind bouncing off the walls
   guts like a pinball machine
   an arcade between the ears
   with tilt alarms screaming




02.10.19


For Capture That Emotion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter...

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Farting is a cool poised own vis 
Has safe six-fold gains of wellness  
It may seems cannot -at all- be a vista
Yet, sure it does good to your viscera
It is fine to say to it "be a vis"!
It is all natural healthful process
No need for any sort of prowess 
Laughing because of a sudden fart,
Rudely that is seems its only fine art...

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no sound
in a cascade of nerves

submerged
amid a myriad of silences

a serpentine fold
slices through the viscera

and a breath
of phosphor
burns
in the chest’s hollow

a crawling rhythm
of an aborted name
shapeless

a lunar longing
locks into the bones
among the remnants
of a collapsed nebula

I do not heal
I do not return
I am
flesh that refuses form...

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one of viscera
                                                bearer of every passion
                                                      becomes victim of.........

                                                   heart makes life live on
                                                 gives highest contribution
                                                       till dies to the end...

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Let this be my sacrament of lust.
Red dripping flesh I tear with my teeth,
Absorbed by my viscera,
Becoming one with my being,
Merging with my soul.
I am an eater of dead things,
As are we all.
Why should I not indulge my instincts?
I am as I was made,
Not as you would wish.
Simpering vegans, 
Pantywaist abstainers,
Steer clear of my path 
Lest I eat you alive tonight
And you’ll all be defecate by morning.
Na zdravie....

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I have been dead for many years;
entombed in a mausoleum
of viscera and rigid bones.
There were no prayers or eulogy
spoken on my worthless behalf.
Within the tomb lies a stone-cold,
dead heart and a extinguished soul.
Both suffered a long, lonely death;
its cause was flagrancy and strife;
until one day she came along
with an amorous kiss of life
that resurrected my remains
infused them with vitality
and a different man was reborn....

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I lay here in the bunk
all made of white
a sharp twinge of my viscera
a small request I make
to take some ease.

In she sweeps on quiet feet
to bring some abatement
without a soul
she trods with a cold heart.

In my stream the fire does spread
slowly, then with increasing heat
my brain burns, my skin aflame.

I call out through the fog
the siren I blow.
It falls on deaf ears
she hears all with no regard.

I beg relief
none do I get
what can one do but wait....

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Amidst the hushed whispers of a fading day 
I wander, lost, through paths rosy poised thorns 
Seeking solace in the floras sweet newly buds
Rose petals scattered, viscera of spite 
Petals that once adorned the beauty's scorn 
Now wither, like the nigh memories we cling 
To the fleeting moments of  sugar cloy
In darkness, chanting mantra whispers low 
Ennui’s eternal flame, that burns dire
A symbol of peace, in the heart's darkest night 
A secret garden, where seeds take root in fire...

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