Venous Poems

Coagulation

Coagulation Starter – 3-28-24
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Coagulation

Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
Flowing like insomnia
Between the wounds of dawn and dusk
When wounded memories drip pools of enigmas,
Fleeting gossamers of absolutes,
Drying into sticky puzzles.

Bloodied dreams wander labyrinths,
With no exits,
Leaving spatters of millstones 
For ruminating relics to follow,
Thin images of wispy encounters
Fade
In lost chords of words,
Ghosts gel from gashes.

Impostors of reality 
Spit rebellious clots into ruminating plateaus, 
And phantoms,
To leave a crimson stain
On unwelcomed daylight and martyred Mondays
Stirring penance from clotting confessions.

Tourniquets unbound, 
Veins transfused congeal in coalescence
As platelets and corpuscles gather yesterday
Into the flow, a cadence, blood pressure restored,
The pulse of reminiscence throbs
Memoirs course through venous vessels,
Then seek a place
To dream.

Weeping Willow

Written: January 03, 2024
                 _____________________________________

Wrenching writhing
of capacious weeping willows
In a dubious dream vault
I felt spurred to seek safety
from scorching sun
subsequently, in confusion,
I broke into a wide smile
that reverberated within
an inane, jumbled heartbeat,
venous thrombosis.

Imbue a pulse to svelte vessels
I didn't realize when it started
lacking friends and love
shattered heart, rotting core
halcyon recalls vanished
just dying is the goal
It's exhausting to suffer and cry.
 
Every sound in your name
whispered in the breeze
strengthened our bond
going toward dreams
amid fluttering twigs
I discovered serenity and solace
weeping willow's embrace
wind rustled its twigs as music
quiet fears of long-lost hopes
seeking refuge from the hot sun
I discovered this secret treasure
a vault for memories and dreams
It's a long way to hell alone
life isn't awful, but no one phones
I can stay here until earth scorns
stay with my weeping willow.

Fog

venous fog wraps around oaks populating the neighborhood

                                                       — shades lifting


1/13/2020

Maman Afrique

Soul rich beauty, boundless resources
Filled with deep venous riches  
Rising from beyond perfectionist blast
What strange natural goddesses look?
One with such grace and contentedness

Sweet lilies, bitter roses 
Green, red, yellow inky
Filled with inflated love and grounded greenness
Dirt that surpasses cleanliness

Storminess, closure, seizure
Peace encloses to safe keep
Mother Nature, Mama Africa
Surprisingly factual above all power

Weathers off ailments and danger
Destroyer of anxiousness 
Bringer of peace and happiness
Mon esprit, Mama Afrique

Loved By Few-Hated By Many

An expression of a Nurse

I am a Nurse,
I am loved by few and hated by many
Everyday I dedicate my life to saving lives of others
From 7 o'clock in the morning to 7 o'clock in the evening
Whether its winter, whether its Summer

Day and night I sacrifice my comfort
And put myself at risk of developing deep venous thrombosis
Through standing
Swimming in life threatening infections
And deadly diseases
Yet I am loved by few hated by many.

My dedication, my determination,My willingness, my passion, my care
They are all never recognized
Only my mistakes are visible in the eyes of everyone
Because I am loved by few hated by many

From vomitus to faeces, Urine to blood, sweat to sputum
My hands discriminate none
In all body orifices they navigate to heal where it is injured
Assess where it is wrong and comfort where there is pain
From head to toe they travel to provide holistic nursing care
To bring back good health to those afflicted by sickness
Yet I am loved by few hated by many

I am a Nurse, hate me, love me
My hands will always be receptive 
To accomodate your entrance.

Woman At a Stop

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.

Banking

Leaving banking, I am thinking about banking. When the red humour from the human system drains off, we irrigate the haematic fluid inside through vein-channels. ‘Blood Banks’ with sanguine loans come to our rescue. In cases of renal malfunction, we ransack kidney colonies for mercenary donors. Or don’t we eye greedily at the safest vaults for the bean-shaped organ - at the healthy kidneys inside the frames of our beloved ones? For grafting damaged skin, happily we become clients of ‘Skin Banks’. Those banks supply us with new apparel – bio-RMG, culled from the *****sapiens. In needs cellular, ‘Tissue Banks’ help us consummate the transaction. Aren’t ‘Eye Banks’ the last resort of the visually deprived or underprivileged ones? To cater to cerebral needs, there are ‘Brain Banks’. ‘DNA Data Banks’ through gene cartography help us circumnavigate the vast continents of bioinformatics. Oh that we only had a ‘Philanthropy Bank’ to supply us with liquefied humanity for intra-venous infusion into the sadistic, misanthropic minds!

To a Dark Heart

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.

Thrill

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

Pohutukawa Tree

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

Lima, Peru

Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows…
	all the colors of the rainbow glow
in the mist of Pacific sea's
hectic days and disco nights
	 beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.

Lima's life flows 
from Palacio de Gobierno ...
	in measured meter from the fountain glow
amidst a Catholic sea
spirits rise of the children of the sun
	cleansed of their faith by papal decree.

Lima wealth flows
its chic denizens prance baroque boulevards
	barricaded behind razor wire's show
life for the wealthy addressee
distanced from the hovels of El Salvador
	and the festive strum of the mariachi.

Lima has a pulse
arterial and venous it flows...
	as buses disgorge invaders, colorful, slow
Shamanism lies in a Catholic sea
proud, head held high, clinging to He
	beat into the sand at the ocean's lea.

Life Sabotage

I am the muteness behind naivete
Born as the duplication of despair, flunked
A demented soul
An impaired self of bureaucracy

Jaded at the tip of shadow
Above it stood the gray
Quietly stabbed the main arterial venous of the real life chemistry
Sneaking low to a shallow sac of each personal sense

Like a deadly poison, odorless nor tasteless
The fall gradually buried in faint

Dejected
Lonesome
Lost images, abstained lite
Living as the reality of achromatic which yet spurred

Speaking of the colorless 

Speak to the life with no magic

The life which got sucked by the spell of affliction
Beneath the autism of a blur
Life decayed when the magic got sealed
Illumination shriek within the cavity of its dull voice

Speaking of the somber

Speak to the life with no magic


*************************************************************
                                               Honorable Mention
                                Life with no magic Free Poetry Contest 
                                             Sponsor Sandy Ivy D

My Morning Drive

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

Of My Determination For Success

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

The Nihilist - Four: Don'T Look Now

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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