#liver
From within The Spy's enfolding spire,
There emits a glint of fragile light,
Revealing an unreachable, mist-fading city—
The vivid incantation of unutterable occult rites.
Before the riptide of the shore,
Illumed by the light of his flickering flame,
The Spy collapses into his spire,
Only to emerge once again:
Now past the water's glistening edge,
Having scaled the city's sky-flung walls.
Now moving between ancient shadows,
Following the light of his vermilion flame.
Now seeking catacomb chambers
Where, among dismantled skeletal bones,
The master of the slumbering dead resides.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 8:39 PM UTC
Hello poetry has talent
Countless poets write share and allow repost
Three were faithful followers to mine art through time
Only one broke my wall
one danced me on the floor of his art he loves my craft.
I call that brave poet dancing with his two Z's
My Kizombo Bachata
He's the one with elastic passionate moves.
Our innercore for love is
like rubber bands, we bend flex and break if love
pulls on us too hard.
We found the perfect theme songs we share two now
With poets who know our ink
our craft is similar to theirs, called love.
~~~~
By Karijinbbba.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 4:27 PM UTC
Poets write poetry sharing
wisdom of roads not taken
their gray brain sprouts multicolored flowers
of visions seeking love
splattered by remnants
of great lovers past
ankored daggers
in heart
Lovers paint their own ark
A poets spinning top is art
lasting longer as it may
their name De Plume
may dictate ageless
candor
but their tops spinning
out off ballance
topples and falls;
Poets and lovers notice
people aren't tops,
karma cause and effect
Action innaction
dictates
the inevitability of
their top's last spin,
Even of poetry
What may last forever?
new poets are birthed
like seasons do
returning thus
the spinning top
of poets and lover's vise.
~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
All Rights.
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 6:26 PM UTC
Perhaps the reason why
there are vices
is because people pay
hospital bills
on the heart, the lungs,
the liver, and the kidney
And people
are willing to pay
the price
to know
something
in them
is valued
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 4:11 AM UTC
The liver
Is a mother
It takes in the bad stuff
of the body
(the **** that no other *****
No other person wants)
Clean things up
Sometimes, the liver fails
But, it can grow new tissue too
Mother's are resilient
So, ya see,
"it is always something"
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 12:26 PM UTC
the humble dandelion
a **** to some
but a wondrous gift to me
clusters of yellow flowers
decorating fields of grass
like tiny smiling faces
signaling the birth of spring
delicious bittersweet leaves
nourishing earthly roots
cleansing to liver and body
abundant and free
nature’s most overlooked plant
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 4:18 PM UTC
Why is this still happening?
So silently, yet still reported;
At great lengths they will go
- to make sure its reported.
Although the Government are in denial,
We are grateful for those who report
The ongoing slaughter of innocent people
Men, women, and children are caught.
Journalists themselves are risking their lives
To tell the world whats happening;
There can be no more dangerous a place
From which to report the sickening.
So where is the world?
The situation is dire -
And unless action is taken
...its going to catch fire.
People are still leaving,
For Tanzania,
A country now turning them back
Back home to face their fears.
But where are the World?
What is holding you back?
How can you just sit there
And ignore these attacks?
For I for one cannot,
And I have no power to act,
All I can do, is spread the word
And hope someone...will act.
Yes there was a time,
When a hundred thousand were killed each day,
That is hard to comprehend,
Not just for me - but for locals who got away.
It may not be happening quite on that scale,
But the fact that it is still happening,
Surely is warning enough.....
And the Government is in denial...
I am worried for Burundi,
But why is no one else?
How can you just sit there
- are you leaving it for someone else?
The attacks are still happening,
Day after day after day,
Bodies are still being found....
Before being rushed into the ground.
Such brutality is hard to stomach,
And I have the stomach for much,
But when I encountered the plight of Burundi,
That was just too much.
I dont know if I will finish this poem,
Because the images I now have are horrific,
So what must it be like....
For those having to live there with it?
Imagine the fear,
The total despair,
And the feeling of more
- that the world doesnt care.
It can be no wonder
That this little country
Is the unhappiest on Earth,
It is so clear to see.
Or for those who choose maybe
To see what others refuse,
Or ignore, or belittle,
Cover up- whatever word you use.
Each day there are reports,
Women and children found dead,
Their throats have been cut,
Bodies lay with no heads
They are ***** they are tortured,
For hours, days, or months,
There are forced disappearances,
- those run into the hundreds.
A machete is no longer an agricultural tool,
It has become a symbol of terror,
It is used to slice, tear, stab, torture;
It is a symbol of ******
What must go through these peoples minds,
When they see someone with a machete,
What was once a necessary tool,
Now been used to butcher so many.
The genocide may be over,
And few even know it took in Burundi,
But the torture, the butchering continues
It continues horrifically.
I am a strong person,
I have read about, seen, and stomached a lot,
But there is nothing that even comes close
To how this puts my stomach in a knot.
The info is there if you seek it,
And please do - its risky to report;
I wonder how much more blood must be spilt
Until someone decides those responsible must be caught
The images they are many many,
The videos they are there too:
But why is it just me seeing this?
Where are the rest of you?
The day I saw the video,
I will never forget,
After what I had suffered myself,
Again I will never forget.
I do not regret what I saw,
For I believe it to be necessary,
Necessary for people to see,
But - those in Government - not me.
Now I have to be careful,
Because of what I saw,
That video put me in hospital -
It triggered something in my core.
It is spread through desperation,
To get a message to the world,
But I was one of only 3 to have seen that,
Maybe rightly so, but also absurd.
Pictures are horrific enough,
Sometimes missing parts are "shaded",
But then comes along another
The shadings not there, its a person beheaded.
But it it not the effect on myself,
Which pains me so much,
It is the fact that this is still happening,
And the world is so out of touch.
I now have to be careful,
But I will not stop,
I wont stop spreading the word,
Until this killing in Burundi stops.
The graphics are hard to put to words,
The testimonies harder still,
But I have tried to help you see,
Without making myself more ill.
The Imbonerakure,
The youth wing of the CNFDD,
Even seeing that word now..
Makes the panic rise within me
For they and the security are responsible,
For the majority of the brutal killings,
The **** the torture, the unthinkable,
People are not even safe when leaving.
They come out at night,
The raid peoples homes,
**** entire families,
While others watch on.
They harass in the streets,
The harass at the borders,
They are everywhere,
Butchering as they are given orders.
The President thinks he was put there by God,
This is nothing shocking I know,
For for Burundi it means a lot,
It means he may stay for ever, death will be all they know.
There are memorials built,
To the many genocides to take place,
Each containing thousands of skulls,
Cracked where the machete went through the face.
Thousands and thousand of skulls lined up,
Of course there are no bodies -
From "Ear to Ear" was how the saying went,
As each head was cut from its body.
It has become so common to find someones head,
Something that for us here would cause fear in itself,
That now in Burundi there are proverbs and sayings,
School children quote wise words from these heads themselves.
Headless bodies float along the river,
Headless bodies dumped in bags with the *******
A machete taken to the throat and then to the torso,
Ripping flesh, drawing blood, organs pulled out of the body for show.
For this is a living nightmare,
Blood flowing down roads and rivers,
Finding a hand, a head, a liver...
Would make many strong people shiver.
People are literally hacked to death,
Occasionally they are shot,
If I ever found myself in that position
I would outright beg to be shot.
The person I saw die in the video,
Took way more than 10 minutes for sure,
As hit throat was cut, he was stabbed, his skin ripped,
His blood spurted violently across the floor
I refuse to go into more detail than that,
For thats the one that triggered me,
I will never watch it again,
But I do want those in power to see.
Will someone please help Burundi?
I feel I have not done it justice with this poem,
The machete, the blood, the horror...
Please help... we all know who is to blame.
We all know....
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
Today the Sunday special brief
iCloud online worship session, I did attend
(via remote support)
found me feeling pampered,
when adept technical support
didst figuratively bend
over backwards, thus aye defend
glorious, righteous,
and zealous Gurus who did expend
their religious fervor, without proselytizing
and sanctified dedication they proffered
as if this secular chap hapt tubby
a long time Facebook friend
diligently persevered amidst
my woeful yelping alarm
where bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks,
required a secret char
which this netizen vaguely understood
as unfair be-tidings disallowing
thyself to purchase additional farm
ming out iCloud storage
in the deleterious harm
akin to buggy ah mush swarm
comprised documents
(painstakingly slaved over with zest)
plus sundry data necessitating mooch ***
legal tender (probably every
last red cent of mine) to in vest
concerted efforts of
at least one expert to test
her/his mettle in an attempt
(dim prospect) performing an in quest
to retrieve valuable data lost amidst a nest
of inaccessible "lost" information
(bantering with computer
jargon more so jest
with no intention to "FAKE"
trumpeting minimal knowledge
judiciously impressed
upon thine fifty plus
shades of gray matter, at my be hest
expressing scant cumulative
disc cussing duff frag
minted understanding lest,
a personal goal
to incapsulate in poetic best
not abandoning frustration
with this Macbook Pro
cuz, positive experience
wrought with Apostles eye attest,
so rather then vent
my spleen in vein
hie desisted
to rage against the machine,
and tack toward being urbane
thus, rejoicing with a cherry,
hearty, and mighty byte hooray,
asper driving,
exercising, and foisting
gentle circuitry vis a vis
neurotransmitters and neuromodulators
nudging pull-ups
within cerebral terrain.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
Swig and swill, so says the urge,
O’er the top, burning liquor in turgid drops,
Hands all over little Brandy’s frame,
My, my, how the little liquor drowns in fame…
Poor liver o’ mine,
Gulping poison and sweet grime,
Your cries can’t reach me,
Your pleas die before they reach my drunken mind.
Like a mage with infinite powers,
A necromancer to dead emotions,
And feelings buried under layers of self-consciousness,
You summon our deepest desires,
Lay out the red carpet, and let our deepest thoughts,
Strut along.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Only those without fear will rule the earth.
And thus, in your glistening countenance,
You drown our every fear,
Of rejection and awkwardness,
You break the chains that once held back my tongue,
And cause my deepest secrets to flow,
Like lava from angry volcano’s.
I revel in this new strength,
My body courses with the power,
I know not how to contain.
But like everything else, this happy night will end.
And so I ask, oh friend of the night.
Where will you be when the morning comes?
When the chains of panache return,
Will you be by my side, fighting the soldiers of reason,
Or will you look on from your shiny bottle,
Awaiting another chance to make a warrior out of me?
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC
I guess I was just temporary,
nothing really
just a person who came and left.
I was the friend you only knew
at work,
school,
or something.
Nothing more,
just a person to fill empty space
for a while.
Everyone knew this, but me.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 2:24 AM UTC
The poison of my expectations
immunized my body systems
creeping in the veins a shot
of disappointments, frustrations
I cannot keep setting myself up this way
Antidotes are not the cure. Nothing can remedy
the syrup of downfalls encroaching my liver
the gates are closed.
You can’t hurt me anymore.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
I created the tools.
I carved the stone and strung the bow.
I tracked the animal’s prints
across fresh snow.
I took careful aim,
steady, steady,
and then let go.
I brought you meat,
the liver & the heart,
and yet you
feast on
crumbs.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.
Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.
So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
It is clear to me on this dark night
That alcoholism is a temporary plight.
I do not wish her death,
But continue like this and she'll meet its breath.
I must hold myself together,
Exist throughout stormy weather;
Glue my pieces together with resilience
Understand my own brilliance.
I will survive this all,
Rise up against suicide's call.
This will not be my end,
It is always possible to mend.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
You're killing your body,
It's giving out under the abuse;
Your poisonous habits ending your days;
Why are you hindering your liver's use?
Oh wait, I know, you're depressed with life,
But you do realize that to us its also been a knife?
Everything has fallen apart on us too,
But this isn't something I'd ever do.
How can a person be content with harming loved ones,
It leaves me feeling so stunned.
It's clear that you don't understand love,
If a there was a deity above, it's you he'd judge.
Not me, not the homosexual,
The cutting, suffering boy,
Who has taken a toll,
Serving as your toy.
Poison your body, go ahead;
I'm not a murderer, but these thoughts are in my head.
If you want death so bad, I'll let it take you,
But I won't let you drag me along with the things you do.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
The Brewery
Located superolateral to 'The Abdomen'
Runs under the control of the four beertaps
Releasing the poisonous drops of frustration
Filling up the body of desolation
Drunk on liquor
Cells getting thicker
Squeezing out the blood, the pain,
the anger, the rage
Caged, in for so long
Growing more strong
Out of control and beyond
Anger so hot, so volatile
So stubborn, so in denial
Intoxicates itself within the factory of whiskey
Sipping in Jack Daniels to satisfactory
Feeling burned, its vessels burst out with migraines
A red face, blood shot eye strain
Bouts of anger frustrate the powerhouse
This house of pain
A house on fire
No ounce of rain
A house on fire
Caged, Tamed, Chained
Retired..
Drained.
This house of pain
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
the doctor said i have a fatty liver
so i started drinking straight *****
to cut down on carbs
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
Oh mighty powerhouse and largest gland
Snug in the abdominal cavity
Though few thy function fully understand
Should praise thee with the utmost gravity
Three pounds thy weight, but worth thy weight in gold
Four precious lobes through portal fissure fed
Tiny lobules in hexagonal mould
Each one formed by cuboidal cells widespread
Arranged in columns round a central aisle
Converting glucose into glycogen
Form plasma proteins and essential bile,
A, D, prothrombin and fibrinogen
De-aminates the protein that we eat
De-saturates the fat, produces heat
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
i doubt you know how much you mean to me.
If you did you'd be too creeped out to still be dating me.
But to me, you mean the world.
Not the "i'm nothing without you" kind, as I am a valid human being.
Not the "i can't go on if you leave" kind either as i know i could.
But i would really rather not.
Nor could i happily.
You're my world in the way that you make me a better person.
You are why i stay healthy when all i have is a cold.
You're why i drive safe and limit the stupid angsty **** i do
(believe it or not it is limited).
You're a good influence.
You're everything i wish i was and all that beachy ********
But you're so much more.
When i am lost you're my guide
(rife with dat symbolism)
needed more after i got GPS oddly.
When i can't think you're my muse.
You're my companion in this world whether you realize that or not.
The hotter, smarter, funnier,
more responsible, more beautiful half of me.
A liver half is enough to live but to live well it is best for a full one.
To continue this bad metaphor i am living well.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
A girl with arms and legs
A brain
A liver
A heart
A broken one
The liver I mean,
Not the heart!
Lost, but never in-pieces
She doesn't personally own one,
Or she does, it was stolen you see
The one she has now, she loaned
Just until she finds her own!
Though the time she uses to pay back her loan
Is time away from finding the stolen core
She pays through her liver
And her innocence
Speculating where her heart actually went
She gradually rewinds her life
To see when it disappeared
Maybe it was beaten out of her by her father,
Or flushed out when she put her finger in her throat.
Maybe she left it with her virginity,
Or she threw it away with her dignity?
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
How the hell
can someone love
to live
when my liver is
incapable
of living
How the hell
can you tell me
that there will be hope
after you tell me
I have 3 more months
How the hell
can
they
just
cry
when
I'm
literally
dying
inside.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC