"gastric" poems
A child holds out a hand.
He has no tears to cry.
His stomach is a gastric band.
His future is to die.
He doesn't have food to eat.
He has nothing to drink.
To him this life is far from sweet.
His future is to sink.
Whilst all around that other place.
People cause disarray.
By getting started in the race.
That we call black Friday!
Whilst many have to pray for life.
That we treat as the norm.
We're fighting for the cheapest price.
And doing it in swarms.
How can the peoples of these places?
Hold their heads up high.
Does greed reflect from our faces?
Whilst so many other die!
We seems so motivated.
Over a child's toy.
It's ok to get aggrevated.
Over the things we buy.
It would be another story.
If it was a fight for life.
But it doesn't show much glory.
When it's a new coat for the wife.
We have a poor economy.
So can anyone be blamed!
We are all healthy, fed and free.
And we should all feel ashamed.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
They Call It Heresy,
We Call It Genuine Science
We designed the genes' primers,
Ordered them along the oligomers.
Our aim is an elaborate one,
It involves molecular cloning,
Sequence characterization, and
Relative expression analysis of
Bovine Trefoil Factors.
Now we hope to clone the gene,
The gene which is of a bovine origin,
By extensive working hours input,
And bearing in mind the risks,
Of not getting the desired output,
The possibility of failure always therein,
But pregnancy, healing & immunity it's governing.
Three types of trefoil factors there are,
TFF1: It suppresses gastric carcinoma,
And also helps in pregnancy,
TFF2: Helps exclusively in cancer research,
TFF3: Helps exclusively in pregnancy maintenance,
And also our prime interest.
After cloning the genes,
We have to sequence them,
And after characterization,
We have to analyse them,
After relative expression.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Ever since you left me
in rude awakening,
I get up each day to a madness
which seems endless,
when my mind is a playground that homes
psychedelic dreams.
I am confused and
consumed by this make-belief
reality.
But what if I told you
that I am enjoying this little bit of madness?
The constant churning of ideas
like juices sloshing
within gastric walls.
The effortful creation and feverish writing
through midnight
under the soft glow of the night light.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might
my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat
a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.
"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.
Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
Before the thaw, my feet will be rooted
Into this nation’s primordial freeze
My muscles and bones will be acquainted with malaise
The sun’s altruism will be refuted
Before the thaw, I will struggle to find consciousness
The frost will leak through the bedroom window
And don the facade of a blanket
The door will prove to be bottomless
Possibilities will seem unachievable
The brain will itch for what it can not have
Buses will limp through congestion
And the blizzards may feast on the feeble
You may want to write of your misery
But your automation will halt in cataclysm
Because someone held a door open
For the gust that billows bitterly
Gastric emissions will become tangible
As smouldering wastes contrast against the sky with rancour
The wispy whites, marginalized into *****
And the world remains infallible
I will lack the tools of incision
To enact my life’s revisions
I will weep for my unguided millions
While I saunter into oblivion
After the thaw, I will smile
My expatriate soul will run in the whimsical wind
Of the morning dayspring that will march unto me
I will stand over a kingdom of honey-filled tiles
After the thaw, the arks will converge
Into the straits of the Bermudian Sea and the
Elusive Caspian Forest, where I will learn to love again
While bidding farewell to winter’s dirge
In the waking world, I will ***** a limestone castle
Where entropy will rule and the mind’s domain
Is left susceptible to perennial reverence
The sea, coloured true, nesting a fairgrounds vessel
In this Great Revision, gargantuan skyways
Will show the world how exiguous we are
That we must not wait for exodus to come
Should we fear to waste away
Into icebergs
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
there is no such thing as an antihero,
only a villain
who has found an exuse,
an antagonist who can speak more prettily than
all the others
who can lie holes straight through
the hero's
heart,
find their place in the universe
and blot it out on the map because
the universe
does not tend towards anything
but solitude.
you will find yourself all alone.
you will find yourself all
alone
and you can snap the neck of every doll you own but
despair will never be anything more than
an unrequited love, an
attachment that you never grew out of, a
high school crush that you stapled to your heart so as you grew it was like
a gastric bypass
you cannot hold as much love in your heart
as your mother
said you could
but you can kiss and sigh and with every moue you'll wonder just
why
your chest feels fit to burst when you get any deeper than
touch
heart fit to rupture you are the main villain
of every book
i've read
the antagonist in every story you are
the angry girl whose doll parts
lay in pieces
at her feet
whose bomb will detonate if you get too close
{the character i could relate to the most the character i hated the most the character
i talked to whenever i could and
memorized every line to replay, god
i hate
the way you speak
and i want
to hear
it more}
i ripped out your staples and added my own.
{despair will never reciprocate but
i understand you i
do
because we are the same and i hate you because
you hate yourself
and i could give you nightmares every night and
listen to your motives
every
morning
'people are disgusting'
you said
as if it was
a revelation}
you're not ****** up, just out of luck
because four-leaf clovers can't survive droughts.
you are seventyeight percent water
and every drop you spent on
drowning
the background characters
and every doll on your bedroom floor
{i love the way you cry when you laugh because every time
i hope
that one, that one tear
is the final drop wrung from the shroud
of a sailor a burial at sea
and you will crumble
into
dust}
you angry girl your eyes
are a yellowing bruise on the storyline
your backstory is a rash
on the protagonist's hands
and all your inner demons told you you were not alone but
you explained them away and
appeals to pity left you empty.
i will rip out all your staples i
will make you
seventyeight percent
saltwater
my heart is a mirror you can find yourself there and
reassemble yourself
from all your broken parts
i will be the blueprint from which
you rebuild
yourself
{a story is nothing
without
a villain}
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
I failed the failure's exam
With honors.
Give me a scoop of harakiri.
Ectoplasmic gastric acid ****
I'm a cauldron soul.
I jump the sword often,
With a pen mighty foolish.
Guns Almighty Love ****
Gaping, blistered, gangrened LOVE.
Black dog eat dog.
Black cat luck.
Barely-there black jaguar spots.
White paled pink hope dies (dyes).
Funnel your ethics,
Fumigate your reason.
Lazy leopard
Scratch my face off.
Eat it.
Enjoy it.
Hate it.
Dispose.
Withdraw.
Calculate.
Repeat.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so.
Moses was found in a stream,
True for the times, it seems,
They foundered kids in fields and streams,
For the crocodiles to take them,
Yes, Moses was found in a stream..
It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that your preacher,
Is liable to teach you,
Read it all in context, you know,
It may necessarily be so,
Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Yes, Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Not in the abdomen,
The gastric juices would have taken over,
But it could have been the mouth of the whale,
People were much smaller,
The whales were much larger,
May necessarily be so,
May necessarily be so.
Then there's the parting of the Red Sea,
Chronologically sound, you see,
Thera erupted,
The Red Sea parted,
The Tsunami swept away the Egyptians and the Pharaoh,
May necessarily be so, don't you know,
We may be small plebs,
But oh my,.
We have a powerful God, don't you know,
The things that your preacher
is liable to teach you,
May necessarily be so....
May necessarily be so....
Yes, the things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so......
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
my heart is a hurricane,
hysterical with emotion.
my stomach is clenched,
bracing against the feeling of
all the butterflies I've ever felt,
dead and decomposing among gastric acids.
but my face is calm,
and my breathing is steady.
and my body feels like it's
tearing apart at the difference.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 12:06 AM UTC
Oh gastric sleeve, I've worn you long
To gasp, to cough disgustingly
For I have treated you so wrong
Ingesting drink not good for me
Green Tea is now my joy
Green Tea I may sip all night
Green Tea turns my heart to gold
This antioxidant, Green Tea
Your leaves I've soaked, as I've my heart
Oh, how your taste does capture me
Now I refrain from other tarts
My heart remains your cavity
Green Tea is now my joy
Green Tea I do sip at night
Green Tea turns my heart to gold
Such antioxidants, Green Tea
I hold you constantly in my hand
To steep whenever I may crave
I have both wagered heart and head
My microbiome you've help save
Green Tea is all my joy
Green Tea I will sip all night
Green Tea turns my heart to gold
This antioxidant, Green Tea
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 5:51 PM UTC
It's all conspiracy
Idle hands are the Devil's playthings
I told you so
Remove the feeding tube
But not during the gestation period
By after the gastric bypass
And right before the insemination
Put the fault on the horse voiced gentry
And the perpendicular denominations
What's it to you?
You estranged neo-native
Counterfeit piety and disobedient estranged friends unnerve you
You act so factious
Deliberately making everything a joke
Ponder the trajectory of my fist to your glass jaw
And the brass knuckles to your abdomen
You'll want to get an iron lung when we're through
Maybe a respirator and a catheter
Now, go count your toenail clippings as the idle minds cast their votes for this referendum
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
i have swallowed
the cosmos
whole.
the resultant morning
sickness informs me that
perhaps i am now its mother--
for a mother may
devour her children but never digest
them. my jaw
splits with the swallowing &
my hunger, never rational,
sets this meal in motion:
i feel it squirm in my stomach
as the acrid burning of gastric juices
sears the sphere of the fixed
stars like cigarette burns
on a tapestry. somewhere a möbius strip
rips itself in two.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
What it means to be man
I don't wanna know
Being man never got me any good
I just live to die
To be eaten one day by crows
I'm not from here
Will be gone tomorrow too
Clothe like grass, spin like lilies
Then down the hole you go, fool
I want more, I always do
Just one more bite before the Marshall he comes
A spoonful more as I blush in deadly crimson
I want some more, I always do
Why? Tell me that's human nature;
All the pains and merriment
Cry! Cry! We knew us that way;
The joys of mortal excrement!
You say I was born with some spoon in my mouth
Then take it away from me
Can't take that pig from the sty
Take the sty from the pig!
I want more, I always do
Just one more bite before the Marshall he comes
A spoonful more as I blush in deadly crimson
I want some more, I always do
Won't have some more, please, I'm good
Just one more bite and nauseam, the gastric works it comes
A spoonful more and I'm crushed in deadly crimson
I want some more, I always do
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Her blood alcohol level was point thirty three
when the trooper pulled over her car.
She had a flat tire and her speaking was slurred
As if she had just drunk a whole Bar.
She was over the limit and half in the bag
So they charged her with a D.U.I.
Yet her case got dismissed and the D.A. was miffed
When she proved she was naturally high.
In seems that some people who munch on French fries
Are host to yeast that is causing them grief, making sure that they never run dry.
For Stella’ own body was churning out brew thus explaining her bloodshot red eyes
(and her sad reputation as a cheap date as well as her poor taste in guys.)
Her babes that she nursed never fussed or complained
For her ******* they were naturally keen.
Kids back in High School all thought Stella was cool
(She was drunk off her *** as a teen.)
She now must watch carefully what she consumes
when she’s out for a night on the town.
She produces Grey Goose with her own gastric juice
So Pasta remains out of bounds.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
He got caught up
In the traffic jam in Fort Lee
Is he innocent or guilty
Guess we’ll have to see
But his presidential ambitions
He’ll have to leave be
Because he’ll never get
The White House key
He’s blamed it on aides
That he trusted too much
Who were over zealous
And now they’re in Dutch
Yet he’s been called
A ***** such and such
Who had his foot on the gas
And his hand on the clutch
He entered the campaign
As if on a mission
With his super-sized ego
Which fueled his ambition
But he relied too much
On a keen intuition
And now that he’s out
He might as well go fishing
His gastric by-pass
Left him still rotund
But he had the energy
And was fit to run
He savaged others
Without a gun
But they’re still there
Although he’s now done
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
On a cold night
He drowses a side of road
Heartly praying to God with silence
Next day , with gastric band in stomach
Endless umpteen tears in eyes
Rambles all around
Making melancholy melody
He eats and breaths poverty
And overdose leads to the ***** of death...
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
Destroyed city scapes lifted from concrete prisons,
old white men in traditional Native-American headdress,
a broken sky with holes dropping satan-spawn...
Flowers turning to sickly people,
their petals becoming their bodies,
their stems becoming their eyes,
their pollen becoming polluting coughs.
Eyes crying infected blood,
teeth dripping sour milk,
stomachs shouting for more bread crust,
hands becoming stubs,
unable to grasp the meaning of life.
Noses expelling gastric juices,
legs becoming hairy arms,
hairy arms becoming the nostrils,
does becoming pointed talons,
clawing away at the filaments,
of flesh and bone.
There is always method
to my madness.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
It swallowed a dictionary..
It did, it was a hexagonal lexicon,
It got stuck in the oesophagus of the great white whale.
He choked and choked deciding that he needed to clear his throat,
It was getting quite distressed,
Poor thing.
Threw him a packet of PPIs (proton pump inhibitor's,
(Rennie or the like)
Have you ever witnessed a whale ***** before?
The whale's throat was rather sore.
Sea dogs and skippers hold on to your hats.
There's a tidal wave coming and that's about that!
Watching the whale a rumbling and grumbling,
"Below decks the captain said"
The vessels rocked and rolled,
Tossed on the swell,
Good gracious me,
What a terrible smell.
The sea subsided,
The whale felt better,
The crew came on deck.
No need to get wetter.
The sea dogs all shivered as they looked at their boat.
The paint was all stripped off from the juices as noted.
Needed repainting saved them a job.
Gastric juice of the whale had finished the task.
Sick whales are most useful at times,
Especially in one of my little rhymes.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
I feel the back of my brain
and the inner corner of joints
I feel my gastric acid
and the core of my bones
I feel pain,
regret
and uncertainty,
I want to
do something
about this
but there
is nothing
I can do
if
I
don't
want
to
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
TIME was not there. But there is. On the crease lines around my neck, for example. It's lined up like a ladder. I walked there, not knowing I was on the way up, or down the stairs.
It was not there. But there is. In fat bags hanging outside my gastric sac, for example. Slowly he lowered his head. Being so full of where I should not be.
It was not there. But there is. On the tangle of wrinkles on the back of my arm, for example. Also the shadow of the scars, whose pain had been long, so intimate. I accepted.
Also on the hair that has been clear, the color of the fishing line, and I am an anxious fish, wielding its own age - a sign that time exists - that drowns, subsides, and shrinks.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
ox brome
laze his
trim and
tire infibulate
below and
water sink
his quinine
if she
arise pain
that spirit
heed the
noxious mud
where gastric
in her
bone only
a Bon
there seed
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
hunger has me now
gurgling gastric grumbling
my stomach speaks loud
drowning out the yearning sounds
in my silent empty heart
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Being positive is my thing,
But I do have an evil twin,
I imagine some weird things,
Like being a gastric surgeon,
Give laryngospasms for these durgeons,
I don't think they'll ever be men,
Ah, it's no use snivelling, you ken?
Hope they get chicks better than me,
Else, who is going to cook your tea?
You must stop being such sooks,
Get off buns, and learn how to cook!
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC