"abdominal" poems
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'm a Kool g rockin' coogis poppin' coochies
Haters get murked like Colhese my rap lease
Debutin' numero uno the heavy weight sumo
Born on Jupiter raised on Earth my heart's colder than Pluto
Mic judo flows stickin' of ya corticals
Check me in the articles I be the broken particle
Of the universal ya need rehearsal **** goin' commerical
I lay raps like a hearse flow for rappers funeral
I a criminal none keep gats by the abdominal rhymin' phenomenal the mighty Apollo
Blazin' my cocoa flippin' crime like Bardellino
One luv to my nino got it locked like a Vegas casino
We checkin' ya dough at the front door so stop ya show
Fronting and stunting once my nines get the hunting
Bullets spikin' like kickers punting raw taunting
Game hungriest similiar to the lochness
Mon-star far from subpar rhymes ride bizzare
A pharcyde takin' ya into a spiritual homicide converged to the angelic hide
Still a crime shame all of 'em say the same
Thing flexin' diamonds on they pinky rings yet another sad soul that sings sub siblings
To the underworld debators contract initiator so you can create a
Pace between the stage and the audience face
**** that rather keep a gat tucked in the front or the back
With wisdom to rack
Imagine that fools breakin' for stats? see where my heart at?
Diggin' reachin' into the minds of the youth with the brutal truths
Chippin' my tooth
From killin' booths once I plot ya will ya loose
bringin' the ghetto blues and cruising *****
Still a sober jealous God am I call me Jehovah
Tactics of a Cobra one strike it's over
Venomous ridiculous hataz so conspicuous
Hatin' us only to anger my artillery surplus and who bust?
More rounds than Matt Dillion coatin' ya brains
With my lyrical penicillin stealin'
Back the spotlight
Catch the bright sunshine that stares into my mind
A Pharoah prophecy laid in the back of me
Head til I touch my final resting bed I'll embed
The realist **** ya ever heard shooting a bird
To all my enemies I blast at 'em with as the bullets herd
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
Byron and I play
The All Topics Open.
Eighteen holes
Invariably draws nostalgic.
Byron mentioned he went to the WWF in Detroit.
I sliced into a childhood memory
Of midgets at Cobo Hall:
Cobo Hall, Saturday Night. Be there!
Byron started pitching old wrestlers and holds:
Leaping Larry Shane, great with the Anaconda Vice;
Killer Kowalski vs. Bobo Brazil, pinned by the Crucifix and Abdominal Stretch;
**** the Bruiser* tagging with The Sheik
To defeat Gorgeous George and Crybaby McCarthy.
Byron went on in detail, with tabernacle authority:
“It was a Bear Hug that quickly swung in to a Quarter,
then Half,
then Full Nelson;
Crybaby bounced off a knee,
Was driven to the mat and pinned
By a Front Sleeper.”
(Jimmy's newborn picture faded in,
and the pose he naturally struck
baby arms
cocked like a sideshow muscle man
Daddy quipped: **** the Bruiser*.
I was Leaping Larry Shane.
Daddy quipped: Larry the Stooge.
I didn't see that move)
Byron was intense. I could hear, but
I was zoning.
Crybaby and Front Sleeper dazed me.
How time Venns.
I was pinned today.
I recognized the feeling.
Tagged, then pinned by
The inescapable
Baby Nelson.
You know the hold.
On your back.
Baby on chest, face down.
Pinned.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 10:05 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
I scrutinized the miserable wretch harnessed to the table
Polished my knuckle with his murk, malice, and fable
Placing a centipede on his stomach as it shuffled to his eye
Languidly impending horror as he begged me to die
I put pressure on his abdominal with the ball of my hand
Took a breath to my diluted lungs as the boy’s jawline ran
Tantalizing screams of dread, poor boy fastened on steel bed
I protruded my hand deep and to his intestines, it fed
My malignant clasp ripped and mangled as it went
Like the centipede too, itched and mangled as it went
And as his entrails to, like sizeable centipedes they went
In a ****** stream of fluids crawling and sprawling as they went
I bound up with glee as my poor wretch lay be, and I swung him head-toe to a pit
Where billions of legs crawl, but human ones not at all, a realm where arthropods permit
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
If any of the following side effects occur while taking prednisone, check with your doctor immediately:
More common
Aggression
agitation
anxiety
blurred vision
decrease in the amount of *****
dizziness
fast, slow, pounding, or irregular heartbeat or pulse
headache
irritability
mental depression
mood changes
nervousness
noisy, rattling breathing
numbness or tingling in the arms or legs
pounding in the ears
shortness of breath
swelling of the fingers, hands, feet, or lower legs
trouble thinking, speaking, or walking
troubled breathing at rest
weight gain
Incidence not known
Abdominal or stomach cramping or burning (severe)
abdominal or stomach pain
backache
****** black, or tarry stools
cough or hoarseness
darkening of skin
decrease in height
decreased vision
diarrhea
dry mouth
eye pain
eye tearing
****** hair growth in females
fainting
fever or chills
flushed, dry skin
fractures
fruit-like breath odor
full or round face, neck, or trunk
heartburn or indigestion (severe and continuous)
increased hunger
increased thirst
increased urination
loss of appetite
loss of ****** desire or ability
lower back or side pain
menstrual irregularities
muscle pain or tenderness
muscle wasting or weakness
nausea
pain in back, ribs, arms, or legs
painful or difficult urination
skin rash
sleeplessness
sweating
trouble healing
trouble sleeping
unexplained weight loss
unusual tiredness or weakness
vision changes
vomiting
vomiting of material that looks like coffee grounds
Some prednisone side effects may not need any medical attention. As your body gets used to the medicine these side effects may disappear. Your health care professional may be able to help you prevent or reduce these side effects, but do check with them if any of the following side effects continue, or if you are concerned about them:
More common
Increased appetite
Incidence not known
Abnormal fat deposits on the face, neck, and trunk
acne
dry scalp
lightening of normal skin color
red face
reddish purple lines on the arms, face, legs, trunk, or groin
swelling of the stomach area
thinning of the scalp hair
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
I cannot figure out how to unplug the Emotional Pin-Ball Game.
And I am finished playing for now!
There are nights when I am absolutely afraid to move. Anxiety and fear ~ my current nemesis. Like, one night, when I was on the phone with the therapist and he was telling me to get up and do something, I could not do it. And it was not because I was trying (in that very moment) to be argumentative and defiant, it was literally because my body was frozen and I could not move. And he seemed frustrated, which I understand, as he was trying to help me, and it’s not like he could grab my arm and physically move me (not that he would do that in his office either, but I suspect it’s a little bit easier for him to deal with me in that situation when we are in the same room). It’s so difficult for me to communicate at that point.
Right now I am in this space where I really wonder how I can continue to live up to the person everyone thinks that I am. Who is this person that everyone has created in their minds with my name attached to it? This person that people are praising and say that I am doing great things…Why can I not see the Nita that they see?? I look in the mirror and see constant failure and disappointment.
And I have to say that I am not really in the position right now to be all warrior-like and face all of it head-on. It is really one of those days when I want to curl up in a fetal position with a heating pad and pull the covers over my head. Even though the therapist would say that isn’t a good idea for me to hide myself away from all human contact…I still want too. I don’t have any desires to hurt myself; I’m just tired and I don’t want to be all happy and sunshiny for other people right now.
My body hurts today. On top of my normal Crohn’s issues that I battle daily…my weak body has fallen to pneumonia. So for 6 days now I have been rotating from coughing to not being able to breathe…oh and let’s throw in a Crohn’s fare up at the same time. Way more fun than one person should be allowed to have.
WAH! I’m sure it’s all “emotional” overload, right? I feel like a pin-ball machine…hit the emotional ball and see where it bounces around and what part of my body it hits! Headache/dizziness: 100 points. Abdominal pain: 50 points. Nausea/vomiting: 150 points. Insomnia: 200 points. Cramps/bleeding: 300 points. Coughing fit: 500 points. Uncontrollable shaking or inability to move at all: 1000 bonus points.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
Slipping into consciousness
exploding with pain.
So much time spent, praying to this porcelain god.
Asking why
Begging for a break.
Those rare moments with the pain fades, and the absence feels like the strongest intravenous drug ever plunged into your veins
during those
late night ER visits that have become ever too familiar.
With sheets for walls.
And Judges for Doctors.
And cries from children echoing off white sanitized walls.
And you slipping out of consciousness
and into drug induced escape.
As the ceiling panels become beautiful,
and the scratchy sheets become cozy,
You breath a sigh of relief
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
Replicated "t" square, heated and manipulated to match a hand drawn schematic, eye-balled and transferred to a soiled napkin two days prior.
Recovery spent melee inspired by whispered breath. Kin to wind, multi- colored marshmallows, or hard candies that have been rewrapped quickly and shuffled to the bottom of the bag.
Periscope ala multi-limbed, e.g. tentacular. Rain spun abundant large geometric insect eyes radiating opalescent transit; here and there, over or under, stop and go, when = then, two - days - life - end.
Glowing hand, darkest white light in a vacant space. All secrets hidden with trust, imagination, and neglect; recalling memories for those who live to forget. Like a hunger fed plentifully followed by a playful belch aloud for honor and comfort. Later, the indulgence calls and abdominal gases produce an acidic truth that burns the memory back into awareness.
Flush it away now! Get rid of it quickly. There is no time to respect the whole past, only that which allows performance to continue uninterrupted.
Tuck those memories away deeper this time; the ***** will drown you before it drowns them. Laying around and crying aloud won't pay the bills; if nothing else remember, a good American is a good consumer and a good consumer never wastes time getting to know themselves when the alternative is television.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 6:46 AM UTC
This is a story about a man who ate love.
An odyssey of his tumultuous travels up above.
Coveting confection, he licked the sweet kiss.
Starving for affection, he swallowed the poor miss.
She lived inside his stomach for years.
Undigested and pretty, she slept in his fears.
Speaking in groans and abdominal aches.
At night, his disemboweled soul, in torment, shakes.
Insufferable disgust and miserably alone.
He prayed in hunger, in agony, to atone.
For once falling in love with a lady of wit.
He threw her up; a meal of true grit.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain”
- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
Clawing at the cages of this most abdominal confine,
The twisted pulp of bitterness and confusion screams.
Upstairs lies consumed, engulfed in the comfort of self-obsession,
Whilst the walls shake and collapse with the splendour of Jericho passed.
The corruption of the temple is absolute.
Though, the officiousness of the disguise is haunting;
None put forth to rid this virus of the domain-
For it is allowed to fester. Curious be the work of the Despoiled.
Just as Lucifer: son of the morning,
We are misguided into the obsession of control;
For there is none to hurl us into this accursed damnation
Except for the selves.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
I wish I was not standing here on this bus,
Where the crowd is so thick and the people do fuss.
For in pain right now, I am, you see.
And all alone, I wish to be.
'Cause all of the pain is deep in my gut.
And the only relief is out of my ****
Just a little relief , I hope to measure,
From a small release of some of this pressure,
No one should notice, there are so many here.
So I'll relax a little and open my rear.
Oops! Oh no! That's not just gas!
It's way thicker and sticks to my ***
Uh oh! Wait a minute! This is not right!
I can't stop the flow! C'mon **** get tight!
It doesn't matter how hard I try,
I can't seem to stop it! I don't know why!
Soon, surely, someone will notice a smell.
A funky odor that has come to dwell.
It's getting worse 'cause my underware's full!
And now down my legs, the stuff starts to roll.
A puddle now forms at my feet on the floor.
Oh my gosh! Where is the door?!
But it's too late and it really shows,
I'm having problems, so's everyones nose.
They all start gagging and yelling "P-U!!"
"Who is the idiot that passed that poo!!"
And just as the flow finally does stop,
Down the aisle comes an off duty cop.
"Hey!" He exclaimed. "What's wrong with you!?"
"You can't just stand there and take a poo!"
"I'm sorry sir!" I tried to explain.
"I was having extreme abdominal pain!"
"I thought I could vent a little gas,"
"When out of my **** this liquid did pass!"
"I wanted to stop it!" I said as I cried.
"It just kept on comming, no matter how hard I tried!"
And as I stood weeping because of my shame,
All of the people, to my aid came.
They all gave me tissues and one guy a mop.
So I took them all and started to sop.
By the time I was home, I had cleaned it all up.
And,thankfully,did it without throwing up.
I thanked everyone and apologized.
And from then on I realized
That if you're on a bus and have to pass gas,
Make sure you have kleenex to cover your ***
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
It has been an entire decade since we last spent Christmas together.
Less than three months later, you died and you were gone forever.
The last Christmas that we spent together is something I hold dear.
Time certainly does fly, it does not seem like it has been ten years.
After spending many Christmases together, your life came to an end.
After you died, it took nearly two years for my broken heart to mend.
You once cooked Christmas dinners and we opened gifts that were under the trees.
The memories of the years that we spent together are very important to me.
When you were only 64, you had an abdominal aneurysm and I lost my best friend.
Merry Christmas, Mom, it's sad that we can never spend Christmas together again.
Dec 3, 2022
Dec 3, 2022 at 9:02 AM UTC
its the difference between separation and anxiety
that breath taken and the stars you see
my head spinning and the scars they bleed
hands with trees and parts for thieves
taking more of our wants notta needs
deceive and leave before our guilt does freeze
precede to do what our greed internal feeds
triggers the fingers that only haunt our sleep
it treats the feet as stumps
smiles flip flop and fronts
drugs snorted huffed and blunts
man thats just the story of my month
mouth cancer after spliffs with lunch
abdominal six pack or beer crunch
i can stop taking all the medicine that is you
an addiction that i didnt ever see before it grew
its true
who knew
that you
would only humility the few
that tried,
never lied
and flew beyond more then his backyard or stoop
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Knee surgery Buc-ee’s Alabama
Diarrhea Buc-ee’s Bastrop back surgery
Buc-ee’s Fort Worth foot surgery Buc-ee’s
New Braunfels abdominal surgery
Buc-ee’s Texas City divorce Buc-ee’s
Port Lavaca gastro-intestinal
Series Buc-ee’s Pearland fever and chills
Cardiac workup Buc-ee’s Lake Jackson
Blood pressure pills Buc-ee’s Madisonville
Bypass surgery Buc-ee’s Brazoria
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 2:09 PM UTC
Nine years ago today, you ceased to be a member of the human race.
You died from an abdominal aneurysm and you went to a better place.
You're in Heaven and life up there is a nonstop party every day.
You're in a better place and you went there nine years ago today.
Time does heal wounds but a loved one's death will always leave a scar.
But I'm happy that you're living the good life in Heaven, I know how lucky you are.
When I learned that you were going to die, it was something that was hard to face.
But you're much better off because when your life ended, you went to a better place.
Mar 6, 2022
Mar 6, 2022 at 11:13 AM UTC
Me Being Me
Time is a wasting,
things I've been misplacing,
but still, I'm amazing.
Just playing possum,
love being gruesome,
but still, I'm awesome.
A bit ridiculous,
remaining anonymous,
but still, I'm fabulous.
At times very dramatic,
never enthusiastic,
but still, I'm fantastic.
Never ever cheerful,
down right dreadful,
but still, I'm wonderful.
Got no talent,
way to arrogant,
but still, I'm excellent.
Somewhat distant,
always very different,
but still, I'm brilliant.
Sometimes depressive,
a bit too excessive,
but still, I'm impressive.
No six pack abdominal,
mouth very washable,
but still, I'm phenomenal.
Always horrific,
never specific,
but still, I'm terrific.
Sometimes heartless,
live in total darkness,
but still, I'm marvelous.
I think you all get the point,
so go roll a big fat joint,
because like always, I never disappoint.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Cue upon the shore, through the heaving,
The pull might contrive the sediment;
What subject a mere iota might have strung?
‘Twas a hist upon some certain shut.
What course might have momentum brung about?
The dust through the maneuvers or
The time through the slip of a tongue.
What course might have held that time?
May be a hiss that slithers through the waves,
Or might have been a whirlwind of an abdominal clime;
Man must, therefore, certainly thrive(!)
What hardy keeps might be hither to chime?
Therefore, a man tolerates the bearing
Of an unfathomable crime
Through
Assuming
That
Some
Can
Still
Be
Alive.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 7:50 AM UTC
I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
The past can hurt, but I can either accept it or neglect it, and come up with a situation thats never going to be selected by reality,
She hurt me all over, scarred my anatomy,
From the left side of my chest to my abdominal cavity
To save myself all of the agony,
My dreams are where I lay now, with all the cartoons, thats where I stay now
Fruits on a stick being carried by a baboon, and I hope he's teaching this geminaic bafoon
that theres two sides to the moon,
Feel like simba stepping in his fathers paw print, as a vulture waits on my final seconds of coughing, but where are my friends? Timon and pumba to the rescue ;what it might seem, but it all actuality its just a pipe dream,
I have to fend for myself, and when life gets hard I have to pretend for myself,
I dont believe in suicide or bitter ending myself, Im not condeming myself,
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
I often think of the swimming body,
arms unfurling the rough afternoon lake
into smooth planks while stretching
through the catch,
carving mosaic reflections into
shapes reflecting glimpses of the sun
before strewn onto the surface like
broken pearl necklaces.
It was in this practice I learned patience,
in the process of the crossing
and perfection of glide,
the conclave with the lake and flow of
language between body and water
the dialogue of the skimming, rotating torso,
forehead below surface line, chin down
consummation of movement.
The body suspended
above the muddy bottom,
stretching through the round shoulder,
the square shape of the hand
with fingers slightly apart coiffing
currents,
surging naked anatomy forward.
In Autumn, the buoy clangs louder
conversing through fog
of the changing season
to lake swimmers, row on row,
blinded at their bow
reminding them of the turn,
the edge of the precipice
before cavernous depths
pilfer reason,
those masters of rhythm
turn attention to stroke of arms
away from blackness beyond sight,
where creatures dwell.
Pivoting parallel to the lakefront,
elongated through the feet,
into the legs, along the chest,
barren ******* cutting waters
connecting one shore to the next,
before absolute zero of winter sets in
the vein splitting East-West coursing
between inlets, skirting islands
and birch skinned canoes
dancing atop foamy plumes,
It was in this practice I learned patience,
when all thoughts are flex of body,
the slight curve of torso
and abdominal reach toward shore unseen
through glistening sheets of
morning’s mosaic surface
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
The mother of all oxo cubes.
Family trials and tribulations.
Queen of British t.v.
Between the programs, she would slip.
Sons at college.
And daughter's love issues.
Always there with good food and tissues.
Succumbed to the big bad "C".
Bowel cancer.
So in this poem entirely dedicated to this cool lady, I hereby leave a message.
If your body is playing up.
If your number twos flow out as water would, for more than a week or two,
Tell your medic about your flowing issue.
If you notice blood running through your it too.
May just be in the toilet pan.
Any persistent lower abdominal pain, my advice is please to do the same.
Go see your doctor as soon as you can.
This big "C" is fairly common.
Bowel cancer is treatable.
If you catch it in good time.
Linda Bellingham.
Rest In Peace.
So sorry you couldn't keep your real family's Christmas date.
Sleep well.
(C) Livvi
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC