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Curt A Rivard Sr Nov 2013
Shouts of a distinct color there screaming a code blue
You can’t be saved because the reaper has his claws
deep inside and there is nothing now a Dr. can do.
Pull the drapes, log the minute and tag the toe
To the hospital’s basement you now must go.
It’s a private encore only my eyes can see
I’m watching you laying there on the prep room table
Can you get up or are you not able?
******* on your wrist and I’m sniffing at your neck
No heartbeat, no pulse only Rigor Mortis
slowly setting in is the only thing I can detect.
Placing my vintage sterling pocket hand mirror in your clutch
Lifting it up for you, to your frigid blue lips it must touch.
Looking for something like fog or the morning dew
Nope it’s not there so now it’s time to
Embalm You!
(SirCARSr. 11-02-13)
Curt A Rivard Sr May 2012
The sound of a voice shouting out a distinct color,
Comes over the intercom.
Orderlies rushing all about in frenzy.
A screen that should look like an 8.9 earthquake happening,
Now only shows a razors edge thin line.
Compression thrusts must now begin
Once started you cannot stop.
Paddles please now to the chest, crackling static zaps,
Body thrashing about like a fish out of its safety zone
Log the minute, pull the drapes and tag the toe.
It’s a private encore just for me now
******* on her wrist and then on her neck
Still not any kind of clue, one last chance,
I reach again into my bag of effects and grab
Like having a last trick up my sleeve.
A Mirror in my clutch is unseen from her eyes
Placed now upon her lips as I look for something like a morning dew
Nothing so sweet can be found.
Her eighty sixth was the last time for candles that could be blown out.
Wrapping her now I try to keep her warm
Then slowly I help place her in her eternal slumber bed to rest
Now I’m given a key, O’ boy here we go
I know what time it is. I find comfort telling myself I’m just winding up a clock
I blow a breath and a last kiss; my eyes were the last to see.
If know body ever remembers, I will never forget!                            
                                                                                                                                                                            

(CARSr. 4-24 -12)
K Balachandran Jan 2019
An albino crow,
On a fogless winter morn!
Nature spells wrong!
Patrick Sunday Jan 2014
"Oh November, Oh November! Death, Hath In Cold Crimpson's Knashed!"..."Sweet, Sweet, November! Dressed, Hath Your Sons In Robed Black!"

"Your Wondrous Tales, Of My Moment Seemed, Thwarted!"..."Your Solemn Heat, Of The Summer Did Bring, Lament!"

"Of No Goose, Of No Goose, Flee, Shall Of Your Fogless Cloud Be Found!"..."Of No Grave, Of No Grave, Leech, Would Of Your Sanctuary Lay Ground!"

"And Somber Somber Days, Hath Us, Oh, Of Darker Times And No Brighter Rays, To See!"
Miko  Jan 2019
Slideshow Sweet
Miko Jan 2019
Take me to Geneva in the winter
where our lungs will be crowded with icicles
as our capillaries assemble on edge
each and every one aching just to quiver
like my bottom lip that I simply can't control.

Oblivious to the weather
fueled by a shroud of eager anxiety
that engulfs and embraces my skin
like the quick and even breathes I'm taking
just to stay awake
in something that predicts like a vision.

Follow me close as I perceive this vividly
that the moment wedged between inhale
and exasperated exhale
is flooded with thoughts of you
that I would drown in it willingly
that all I can credit my thoughts to be
is to the speculation if I am lucid dreaming or not
of your lips on mine
of your fingers earnestly entwined in my shaggy hair
as you pull me closer
and I can smell your warmth
and feel your passion through this possibility
that our our hands are locked
like the door of my bedroom
every night
in my empty apartment
because being safe
has taken me 21 years to understand
and even then
the fear shamefully crawls its way into my spine
like the hunter into the carved belly of the bear
for warmth and survival
for protection of incessant guilt.

But it is in this ten seconds
I can finally sink into this fogless reality
of enjoyment and felicity
at long last
the solace refuge.

And in this accelerating sound of assurance
I will teach you the language I studied
in moments so short
that a staccato could fill two lungs tip top
and still be 100 yards behind this message
gawking at the starting line
and as the gun goes off
I am already there
lungs filled
wanting to do justice
with more than just an ***** in my chest
but with the treatment hidden inside skipping beats
and minds running and screaming so loudly
as I'm howling this adamant resonance from the top of the complex
to empty my mind until my throat is sore
until what follows are the neighbors voices escaping angrily open windows
bellowing at me to please turn it down
for the umpteenth time
but I want to remedy this disease
with the softness of your neck
I want to hold you close
with your head nestled in my shoulder
where scars beneath clothes usually sit dishonorably
but not now
because now they know a relentless forgiveness
and amity so authentic
that now I can exhale

— The End —