"embalm" poems
[tongue taking taken prayer]
*come worship in my temple.
your tongue gowned by silence,
thy teasing vibrations disperse my slack,
exchanging it for a rigidity that is even softer, looser,
an improvement possibility impossibly incomprehensible
the noises of freedom from anonymity is thy silenced tongue
unleashed, teasing, speaking tongues unrelenting and unremitting, tongues unforgotten for they never were
learned, and incapable of being self-taught
my pleasure sprouts mushrooms in thy loamy foam,
thy rainfall nourishment, seed plant growing life morning borne,
thy tricked up sonnets played within my hearts harp,
tunes never known but coming from the land of plenty,
my new promised land
teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and
why the question mark is curved and dotted like my body,
why we need punctuation to separate the first from the next
trees weep as if every dry rain petal is instantly imbibed,
wanting more for my swollen by thy ministrations,
I cry out
my ice storm, my thunder, embalm me within the
electric spreading in my veins shocking steady constant
thy name thy name I beg to give thee a name
to understand what has befallen me*
you can call me by my favorite of
all my seventy two,^
your first baby squeals and
even now in human manufactured agreed upon symbols
(words),
every utterance a prayer heard and answered
my name is a heated and unbroken
hallelujah,
I am thy god, and you, darling you,
my beloved
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
When Death comes knocking at the door
And as the curtain finally falls
My voice will be stilled
My heart, now ticking off like a clock
Will ever be silent
My foot falls shall no more be heard
All my songs will be stifled in the throat
All my crazy thoughts will be frozen
And I shall take leave of all
And the whole lot of petty things I hold dear
But what difference does it make?
The earth will continue to spin as before
The stars will illumine the night sky
Days will follow days in endless succession
Time, chanting the refrains of joy and sorrow,
On wings, shall fly to destinations unknown.
Will there be anyone to grieve my absence?
Will my sons ever miss their Mama?
Will my loved one still hold me close to his heart?
May be for a while
A short little while
But as years glide,
And my tomb lies over grown with weeds
And the engraving on my head stone
Fades out in morbid grime and moss,
When I merge with the dust as dust,
When I lie inert, a rattling heap of bones under the sod
When my spirit still hovers around in vain
With insatiable longing for all your love,
Then give me, my Lord! A ride in your chariot!
Remove from my spirit the languor of endless waiting!
Carry me to Thy *****
Embalm me with Thy love,
That I shall no more crave for earthly love
And with you in bliss, ever united
Look down evermore content
As the wheels roll down to Eternity!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
In this trouble torn. Grief stricken world
Only music embalm my aching soul
When corruption and bribery are the order of the day
Goons and rowdies show me the real way
Even the judges succumb to dishonesty
Morals and ethics have lost their identity
The veena, the flute, the clarinet, the drums
And the guitar make a soothing effect to my ears
When there is incredible symphony
The distinction between East
And west is totally lost
Only peace and harmony forever last
Music is more intoxicating than vine
It is undoubtedly divine
There is music in the blowing wind,
Flowing stream, chirping of birds,
The hissing of snakes,
The bleating of a goat
And the beating of a heart
And the passing of blood to each human part
But understanding the synchronization is a difficult art
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Bless me this Mentor of Sole Beauty's Heir
Yet Strong but Soothing Overtones bespoke
Your Man won your Lot; Such Blue Maiden Fair
Whose learned Feathers brushed my mind pre-note
Which perchance teach me this Indigestion
Of Quarter-Terms whose gods we must rely
Your Patience, prized, covet my Attention
Which by tri-week's end I will soon come by
And hope within months my Master become
Whilst you dear Lady try to taste our Flag
I realize, this Truth: Work most embalm
Then my Skills effect to Experience had.
Before I forget, I'll thank in advance
This Dumb Poet's Song in foolish romance.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
The blue dew is raining in
roaring fury!
It's a love cascading violently
from ****** blue mountain,
inviting grit from ocean of
courage, to offload tons of
bashfulness overload.
I reach a dime with hazel gaze
to a blue-eyed goddess in the
love garden, popping ogle
champagne in blind lust to
******** world.
I grin!
I grin in summary epic!
The amorous picnic turn and caress
me in mercurial adjectives, embalm
me in emotional stiffness, aloof
from the real, unfrozen me into
insatiable insanity.
Not long, the craze evaporated
into eternity!
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
beneath one effacing blush
simmers veil ties liquidly i stare
fears pink with praise lusts withheld thimble shames
embalm a gift identity
daily sunny graves
dissembled life
with deeper breath akin to fisher netting cast
fog caress mneumosyne lover's misty thigh
traps me willingly
blinded i taste ambrosia
gazing at between zones believing anything again
cliches pyroclastically reborn in celebrants of ash and cynic deaths
energetic swim i stroke a butterfly in Love
instant tribadists commit a joyous toast to joy itself
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
what is this love
for I have beheld it
cast in metamorphosis
a love that makes
transformations on the mind
permissible transformations
improvisations of the self
in ****** intensity
which emphasises the drama
of sometimes, dark, violent
and repressive potentials
vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment
of intense and exhausting experience
of vigorous vertiginous chaos
indomitable in its desires
what is this love
is it a registered predicament
made memorable by vivid language
that would butcher in ritual
gratuitous memories and testify
to an urgency of unwisely relinquished emotion
what is this love
does it flourish in flawed
and unreasonable understandings
accumulated upon the mind
in vicarious thrill of sympathy
where traits are highly exaggerated
and eagerly anticipates
the oppressive weight of the past
that functions upon a common collapse
of distinctions
or does it manufacture artificial precepts
pretending in attractive collaboration
to associate fiction rather than fact
what is this love
is it that by treaty or inheritance
with loving ferocity would embalm all tears
and hide all those collaborations
in flared conflagrations of the heart
and yes create a turmoil in the mind
hotter than a thousand summers
and vividly stamp upon a twisted body
a moral viciousness of fathomless malice
that wouldst close its ears
to the admonitions of conscious
and thus through an improbable
incantatory verbal rite
touch the hidden order of all things
in disassembling nature
what is this love
if only it was known
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
Surely a piece of me died back then,
Least I faced after it is physical pain,
Like needless needles it was stinging,
All I managed was writing a poem.
Not a regular poet but an enthusiast,
Within me someone happy had died,
I started embalming the dear & dead,
Only hoping that I shall be revived..
My dying song gave birth to a poem,
Heart for the poem healed my heart,
The poem was truly a miracle for me,
Nothing less than a potion of elixir...
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
What mists are these
That grow heavy in the palm
Making bruises weep
These mists that place themselves
By treaty or inheritance
With such ferocity
Embalm the soul with tears
Announcing their pleasure
To be resurrected
These mists that represent a tragedy
An imagination that beholds a bleeding
Yes, a bleeding from mine eyes
A conflagration of blood
That flares a collaboration of turmoils
With effortless deployment in the mind
Erratically as if impediment does not impose
Itself upon their mortal breach
An unresponsive pace that energizes
The tragedy of my great lament
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
My head is ticking like a time bomb.
I rub the back of my hand with my cold sweaty palm.
Silently whimpering, in pain, for my mom,
I kindly ask her to bring a canola oil embalm.
As I rub the embalm at the time bomb,
I can hear a gentle soft psalm.
My life fades away as if it were nothing more than a sitcom.
I perceive my conscious escaping me, but I surprisingly feel calm.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
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?
Two fingers 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)
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Moldy sprocket of time piece.
Stop watching my every crease,
As it folds into my cheeks.
Wisdom grows my crows feet.
Twinkly locket locked in.
Place based on my chest, breast plate,
Sternum pinned beside the window sill.
Watching the sun bathe.
Light.
Bring it to lips.
Hold that picture clutch it, touch it,
Smother with wishes, pictures held of
Long dark hair,
Sprinkle, glitter eyes and twilight of moon, inside,
This prize.
One small 1 inch circumscribed ebb and flow of milky skins.
As you can see in this tin man trinket,
Winks and blinks, under blankets and springs,
Of the bed setting marched upon by dark hair love speech.
To my Juliet, who never sweats, never worries, knows best,
Knows truth, no jealousy, nothing more than a friend.
Living in Austin.
Our paths never crossing,
This entire Texas will always keep her away from me;
But nothing will keep her from me like the grand canyon we've created between each other through pain submitted to.
“Christian. You should leave.”
walks away.
Ran through the hedge row, directly through head bowed,
Crushed it's leaves and vines and twigs, ten thousand mangroves didn't stop my legs.
Rammed my head into a wall with all the force to knock me out.
Collapsed my lungs.
In the middle of the night, sixth street and east.
Hated me for months. Maybe years,
Embalm some dead.
That night, she hit me with an oak board, over 70 times,
My buttocks bruised black and blue hue of the night like broken
Maxillary bone black eyes, the perfect color of sleep.
I Never Flinched A Bit.
I Hope she never reads this poem, I hope my future lover doesn't either.
It will still be just ****
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
These Circles, that they be Linked or Exchanged
Harness the Janitor in me maintain
Though Depressed be my Blinding Mind deranged
Help to Embalm this Un-Relenting Pain
These Sages through Time by their Words endow
And cause Wisdom one's Joy through Skin avoid
To force my Soul its Inborn Blessings enrouse -
Shake your Sugars from this fail-tripped Colloid
That's Milk to you. If your Matters be Sweet
Then carry your Mornings free from my Sense
As such would I, rake the Roots off your feet
And pledge my Sharp Evenings to recompense.
Funny how Loss, its Cross mint Cool Relief
Upon the Monk's Throne absolved your Belief.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Let me taste the sweet dew
That envelopes the casting glow
Reflected from the summers eye
Dropped below the exile of life
To where the water once ran
Beyond where sight can see
O'er the sturdy branch of elk
Perplexed between the sunspot
Of the shadowed stump
and summers eve peach
I see your face
Catch glimpse of early morning
sunrise, sunset.
Written in every sky;
lines that vaguely shape the horizon.
Of today, tomorrow.
Outlining clouds of present fate that unravels
within my fingertips.
No longer countless petals plucked
for seemingly this day
gives answer to my dedication.
What's beyond those eyes
A tragedy? A fallen corpse?
Nothing at all.
Drunk from too much water,
Rolling behind your daunting head
the mystery of yesterday
the tragedy of today
That cracks the inside of the well
until it runs dry
Wake up
I've been waiting for you,
for the moment it all gives way
to crumble and expose
my deepest regret.
Waiting for the ground to heal itself
the stump to blossom its early *****
And embalm the diurnal course of life.
I want to push away
clear away the pain,
taste the poison distilled from your root.
And drink in today.
Retreat the core,
and bring me closer.
I can save you when I save myself.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
I've wandered for days,
aimlessly bound.
Sown by my feet to a cold, murky ground.
My head, unexpectedly fell to the floor
a puddle was made from the blood that did pour
endlessly as if I was ******
to eternal hell,
being a conscious clump of cells.
Embalm me as I am.
Never more will I fail
to prove this life isn't just a fabrication.
Assimilation of this so called nation of the ******
Is this just a laboratory setting?
Are we subject to an observers meddling?
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
In the shallow capacity of a dream
Whose nightmare is compulsive
Whose argument is a melancholy
Of intoned attuned contradictions
Of that which is arguably another
With an express made more sober
By an emphasis of obscure fragmentation’s
That effects, in ambiguous contradictions
Mists that conjure in artificial reluctance
An unwrapping pretense that grows heavy in the palm
Making sleeping bruises weep
Those that have placed themselves
By treaty or inheritance upon a soul
And embalm a presence
On announcement of resurrection
For those who awake
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
a yellowish shroud
is placed hurriedly
upon starched white sheets
revealing vicious contrasts
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
its Hessian appearance
an omen, a foretold event
like breathing deeply in a silence
amidst the history of a great disorder
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
violent ink stains
on folding parchment
embalm themselves
upon the thickness of a sorrow
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
placed deep within
shallow subterranean depths
of an enigmatic being
that is both engineering and entrenching
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
its perplexing sensations causing
a wonderful ingrained passion
to erupt with imponderable abstracts
where truth does not exceed exception
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
the shroud provides a false tranquillity
where there is no longer breath
imposes itself unobtrusively
with wonderful staccato caresses
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
it proclaims an innocence of salvation
yet gives gauge to spectacular routes
and an enormity of misconceptions
amid prestigious beatifications
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
oh sweet smelling blue abyss
oh deluded reality
dressed in a winding sheet
of meaningless words
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
wrapped in phrases of falsehood
amidst this purgatorial fog
a twilight world of mysterious ailments
maintains a world of external restraints
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
creates and emptiness, a vacancy
provides an intoxication of vision
a strangeness of sensation
a world transparent
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
read the sentences of silence
breathe the perfume of never fading flowers
and see for the first time
the unfinished likeness of others
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
serenity is a euphoric surrendering
to the cerulean sky
the green grass swaying with
dandelions releasing
their soft feathery bristles
as tender as the gentle breeze
sending them far and wide
pillowy clouds
suggest ever moving images
the kaleidescope of a child's mind
taking on different shapes
along the sparsely trodden path
trees waving leaves in welcoming greeting
song birds endlessly composing a captivating melody
the air as clean and fresh
of purified aroma
breathing the deep
earthly essence
with each sigh
attaining tranquil purity
thoughts of stilled
quiescence and calm embalm me
in translucent cocoon.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
At first glance
You compliment me
Orange hues igniting
My brown sugar frame
I have been scratching tallies
Counting down
The days
Until autumns grace
You embalm me
Forever preserved
Begging to forget
To shed your memories
Brown shriveled leaves
Cracking swiftly beneath my heals
Dust which once glowed green
Filled with promises to deceive
My twisted beautiful frame
Will remain
Your words lost
In the crackle of crisp air
Autumns arrival
Will bring your ruin
But I
Will be born anew
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Sweet western wind, whose luck it is,
Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna’s lip a kiss,
And fan her wanton hair:
Bring me but one, I’ll promise thee,
Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm’d by me,
And all beset with flowers.
1.1k
We've landed a probe on a comet
and found it was made of green *****
Well, creatures within it,
decided to thin it,
serve probe a pea soup, then embalm it.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
When I wake on the steps of humanity,
I see the peril, the plotting, the running and the hasty implementation of torture.
For your children, we shall give them a crate and bowl and force them to live amongst their own feces to mold them into the industrious working class we so desire,
anything looking like upward mobility from the ditches we cry in.
For your animals,
we shall embalm them richly on your wall for you,
to gaze on with fond memory the corpse of an animal you never knew wholly,
merely the discipline you enacted on it to conform to your standard.
Never knowing the child without the work,
unable as a society to accept the being as what it is beyond all the standards and labels and cross-references of psychological history used to define your character and your place in this plane of existence.
At no time capable of committing to validating the true nature of the beast in every single conscious being on Pangea,
because, listen, listen closely,
in this jazzy age of deep beats and lack of swooning amounts of emotion,
you need validation to exist.
Confirm, tune in, download your inner interface to the great program,
and you shall forever be condemned to role of worker, or corporate building block, you lucky duck.
Feed the system as it so graciously has fed you access to knowledge,
filtered and just the right temperature for complacency bred by millenial laziness and hopelessness.
Or drop out, and matter to none.
What is it going to be?
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
The fuse is lit and burning fast, it’s almost to the bomb
The bomb goes off it’s WW3, you they wouldn’t embalm
-
You will rot right on the ground. Buzzards eat your ***
Not just only you, humanity in mass
-
If you aren’t killed, three weeks is all you got
From radiation you will glow, you’ll moan and puke a lot
-
So keep your head stuck in the sand, pretend it is not so
When you finally die, to Hell you're going to go
[1] Rev 9:17&18
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
That's a poet
Who sees the verve
Even in the pained nerve
Who sews with words
Re-igniting the sparks of love
Who can embalm pain
Without the motives of gain
That's a poet
Who can love the storm
For he can see
The sunshine beyond
He loves the drought too
That makes him want
Some showers of respite
He loves the bees and bugs
For they imprint the floral canvass
Of his imaginations!
That's a poet
Who embarks the journey
Of truth...of life...so real and yet unreal
He weaves a carpet
Between the real and virtual
He strengthens the genesis
For his words render a vision!
Immortal deeds
On the altar of timeless worship
By the mortal beings!
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 7:17 AM UTC
It takes a life time to write a poem.
For we are that poem.
We are that lifetime.
Borne untouched.
We leave the safety of a warm cocoon,
one that wraps us in our gentle embalm of trust.
And in this wholly venture,
of life now aroused.
Comfort is questioned.
Reason shaken.
Love oft spilt,
like a shimmering of milk,
flavoured on pages lived.
and this is us.
The knights spent, satisfied.
Discourse now a cacophony shattered.
But it is with presence that we remember and hold.
That the truth is waiting, always.
In bide of time.
Jubilant as the holistic Clementine,
tucked amongst the serene pages of yet to come.
And still
and still …
We are as sprinkle infinite, shredded as the coconut that falls as thought from our palm.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC