"germ" poems
Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.
She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.
She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ****** he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.
© M.L. Emmett
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
All I want for Christmas
is some food to eat.
Oh what a treat
to have some meat.
All I want for Christmas
is clean water to drink,
stuff that doesn't stink,
that would be cool I think.
All I want for Christmas
is the bombs to stop,
no more to drop.
That would be the top.
All I want for Christmas
is for our food to grow,
the plants we sow
now that would be a show.
All I want for Christmas
is to be free to learn.
Not to be a germ
because I want to learn.
All I want for Christmas
is some medication.
and some dedication
from the United Nation.
All I want for Christmas
is to grow up strong.
Am I so wrong
wanting to belong.
All I want for Christmas
is some equal rights
and somewhere to sleep
through the coldest nights.
All I want for Christmas
is to earn a crust.
With employers
that we can really trust.
All I want for Christmas
is a chance at life
for a man and wife
not to live in strife.
All I want for Christmas
is oh so far away
and on this day
this is what I pray.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
I watch him as he's treated like a germ
behind his eyes there are whimpers
A secret held
for no one should know
because once its revealed
they treat him like a *******
My heart cries out and yearns
to console
to show him acceptance
as he struggles to do so
Death's cold breath raising hairs on his neck
At seventeen he faces this foe
Lost in a world that holds too many
Homophobes
Curse all of them
Curse his darkest taunting hours
Curse the creators of this Reaper
and when they walk in the fires
crying out
I hope the devil relishes every moment
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
1298
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants—
At Evening, it is not—
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stop upon a Spot
As if it tarried always
And yet its whole Career
Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay
And fleeter than a Tare—
’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler—
The Germ of Alibi—
Doth like a Bubble antedate
And like a Bubble, hie—
I feel as if the Grass was pleased
To have it intermit—
This surreptitious scion
Of Summer’s circumspect.
Had Nature any supple Face
Or could she one contemn—
Had Nature an Apostate—
That Mushroom—it is Him!
7.5k
Why have two arms?
If you're not willing to hug.
People are quick to punch with two arms.
Even with one arm.
You can deliver a lovin' hug.
It these limps that truly assist us.
Sure there are others.
But at the present.
I'm not mentioning them.
Altho' I'm sure the lips.
Are a little jealous.
Why have two hands?
If you're not willing to use them.
We use them to shake hands.
Altho' we have those afraid to catch a germ.
As if.
They hadn't caught germs from other items in their life.
This hug.
Which can be given with kindness.
Which can be deivered with softness.
Well, in this case.
The receiver might have a sun burn.
Or some other type of injury.
Plus, you can hug too tight.
And be banned from trying that again.
When requested to just shake hands.
Of course.
You have those that does the search and feel.
Trying to be like a detective trying to pat you down.
But for those that's truly sincere.
You personally know those that's sincere.
When giving a hug.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!&#£
if you prefer political
sensitivity and a blanket
and a ***** and a nanny);
unlike germ- -any (+)-
where they love to **** on each
other in the shadow
of the crucifix procreating for films,
while in england they're
into children;
owning a use of a word,
venerating its usage:
where's the Schengen vocabulary?
i want to be there -
free flow of words like spotting
a kestrel in my garden one time,
while the traffic shovels hours
into comparison with sea waves
and a traffic-jam becomes a static tsunami
for the eyes.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
From bristly foliage
you fell
complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,
as perfect
as a violin newly
born of the treetops,
that falling
offers its sealed-in gifts,
the hidden sweetness
that grew in secret
amid birds and leaves,
a model of form,
kin to wood and flour,
an oval instrument
that holds within it
intact delight, an edible rose.
In the heights you abandoned
the sea-urchin burr
that parted its spines
in the light of the chestnut tree;
through that slit
you glimpsed the world,
birds
bursting with syllables,
starry
dew
below,
the heads of boys
and girls,
grasses stirring restlessly,
smoke rising, rising.
You made your decision,
chestnut, and leaped to earth,
burnished and ready,
firm and smooth
as the small *******
of the islands of America.
You fell,
you struck
the ground,
but
nothing happened,
the grass
still stirred, the old
chestnut sighed with the mouths
of a forest of trees,
a red leaf of autumn fell,
resolutely, the hours marched on
across the earth.
Because you are
only
a seed,
chestnut tree, autumn, earth,
water, heights, silence
prepared the germ,
the floury density,
the maternal eyelids
that buried will again
open toward the heights
the simple majesty of foliage,
the dark damp plan
of new roots,
the ancient but new dimensions
of another chestnut tree in the earth.
5.4k
WHERE suns chase suns in rhythmic dance,
Where seeds are springing from the dust,
Where mind sways mind with spirit-glance,
High court is held, and law is just.
No hill alone, a sovereign bar;
Through space the fiery sparks are whirled
That draw and cling, and shape a star, -
That burn and cool, and form a world
Whose hidden forces hear a voice
That leads them by a perfect plan:
'Obey,' it cries, 'with steadfast choice,
Law shall complete what law began.
'Refuse, - behold the broken arc,
The sky of all its stars despoiled;
The new germ smothered in the dark,
The snow-pure soul with sin assailed.'
The voice still saith, 'While atoms weave
Both world and soul for utmost joy,
Who sins must suffer, - no reprieve;
The law that quickens must destroy.'
4.5k
*standing on the threshold of change, I await a fresh-line
but the universe may be unready
if not, I may take to choppy-waters
all by myself*
1.
if we are all stuck in the jam of time
perhaps, if we spread it out real thin
some of us could actually lift off
and catch a ride.. out
free some hostage from the twisting temporal-joints
and the wool-gatherers mind their business
and footsore beggars dine on exotic-things
deep in the heart of the jungle
where Nebuchadnezzar parked his dreams of old
by saving your surprise for a weekday jaunt
we limp on in the vacant-dust of paradox
yet get unavoidably detained by the present
undo the ribbons and the package may unfold its.. things
espy the tick-tock riding the margin of fright
common sense of morn lies delightfully unfinished
and the wrong side of a bold idea gets squashed
the brain-weary ingest their lot and plough on through thickets of tricky-fate
while tiptoeing silent on the farthest-blades of brimstone
holding subtly aloft.. the frankness of aiding-spectres
2.
balloon of green, balloon of blue
hold out your hand and pray you get no inequalities of flame
easy catch of the sound of science scoffing in the parlour
when we try to do something different; take a chance
uncivilised-humour will argue the rings off your punctured-lobes
any germ of new plan must needs be nurtured
let any frenemy go; intolerant-ilk do better by their vacuous selves
remarkably convenient
there's almost enough water in the well
to soak up the ivory-rays and let them fly
and there's a breeze lifting the needle off the ancient-groove
spinning reels on the bay
*no, you will never convince me
that the time-keeper holds all keys
'cos I snuck out furtive.. late one night
and sawed through.. for a whole decade
and well, guess what I have here..*
:)
S T - 24 Jan 2014
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
1475
Fame is the one that does not stay—
Its occupant must die
Or out of sight of estimate
Ascend incessantly—
Or be that most insolvent thing
A Lightning in the Germ—
Electrical the embryo
But we demand the Flame
3.8k
*Spread love like an infectious disease,
To rid malice, strife and negativity with ease,
Let your light shine like the summers rays,
Embracing your fellow man creating better days,
For starters pay it forward without acknowledgement or compensation,
Spread this germ generously and watch the loving mutation.*
Love Wins…..
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
Bowling *****
Stepping in and smelling fresh diarrhea and cigarettes
Slide your fingers into the heels of over worn shoes
Then your feet- someone has been here before, hundreds of people have
sit in the solid plastic swivel
step up to the dead rack and pick up a germ infested, god-forsaken ball
bowl terribly and pull your glute
repeat.
Ten frames.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)
-1- -3-
Lived this long, what makes change?
Time just flew, a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever. saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused. what makes humane,
opiates in zillions, friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million. Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile, in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine. drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled, uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded. Unmanly acts shameful.
-2- -4-
Friends dear betrayed, maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves. among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made, that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many. under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected, faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic! beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully, a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely. in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second, causes matter not,
Into grandiose nothing, by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final. gratefully unscathed still.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at his old labour,
When, who---who did dare
To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo!
3k
The South wind said to the palms:
My lovers sing me psalms;
But are they as warm as those
That Laylah's lover knows?
The North wind said to the firs:
I have my worshippers;
But are they as keen as hers?
The East wind said to the cedars:
My friends are no seceders;
But is their faith to me
As firm as his faith must be?
The West wind said to the yews:
My children are pure as dews;
But what of her lover's muse?
So to spite the summer weather
The four winds howled together.
But a great Voice from above
Cried: What do you know of love?
Do you think all nature worth
The littlest life upon earth?
I made the germ and the ant,
The tiger and elephant.
In the least of these there is more
Than your elemental war.
And the lovers whom ye slight
Are precious in my sight.
Peace to your mischief-brewing!
I love to watch their wooing.
Of all this Laylah heard
Never a word.
She lay beneath the trees
With her lover at her knees.
He sang of God above
And of love.
She lay at his side
Well satisfied,
And at set of sun
They were one.
Before they slept her pure smile curled;
"God bless all lovers in the World!"
And so say I the self-same word;
Nor doubt God heard.
2.9k
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
2.9k
998
Best Things dwell out of Sight
The Pearl—the Just—Our Thought.
Most shun the Public Air
Legitimate, and Rare—
The Capsule of the Wind
The Capsule of the Mind
Exhibit here, as doth a Burr—
Germ’s Germ be where?
2.7k
When an ***** is fertilized by a *****
And is done in vivo,
Which means,
In nature,
A female is the receptor who receives *****
An embryo then develops out of the *****
And it usually signifies a symbol of love.
But here in Embryo Biotechnology Lab,
It is done in vitro,
Which means,
In glass,
Female germ cell receives ***** in a test tube,
An embryo is then developed with desired traits,
And then a clone - or a desired G.M.O. is created.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
MY FIRST & LAST LOVE LETTER
This I declare as my first & last love letter
Dedicated to the woman who looked at me and thought that I was better
In a sea of many men with fragile hearts and broken dreams
She chose to mend mine
In the process of putting the pieces together, she used herself as the glue & now
She is permanently a part of my new Picasso image of refined love.
A kind heart that lacks not a kind word in moments when emotions overflow
Poetry makes it easy for me to express these emotions
'Cause if I was an ordinary man I would have died in silence & left her seeking solace
Jesus would have to come back & perform all his miracles in order to reach out to her heart & resurrect my soul.
Enough about the riddle talk now let's go back to the love notes that make up this melody in my heart
The woman with a smile that brings out the life in my soul
She, the woman who invades my thoughts more than a germ invades a surface.
I find myself humming love tunes & writing love poems at the thought of you
Hoping to spend all my desired forevers with you
If only this was to be true
We all know that life has no guarantees
So I have prepared & cleaned up a small room for disappointment because of you
'Cause this love thing we have going seems too good to be true
Call me a sceptic but I've come to believe that your presence in my system is therapeutically septic
You have injected me with life but you still remain the potential cause of my fate
Explains why every time after I ****** in your presence at the dear end I end up in a faint
Totally disconnected from existence
A wonderfully dreadful experience
A once in a lifetime moment that resulted in me writing you this love poem
Which I have declared as the first & last love letter because I believe that you deserve better... (to be continued)
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
it's funny the things you forget
when asked for an 'interesting fact' --
you sleep on them for days
and exhume them from the ground
because they matter! so deeply!!
there's no metaphor that does them justice!!
it's poetry because it isn't!!!
i don't know my siblings.
my parents sleep in my dead grandad's bed
and i received his cupboards:
yeah, we're pretty much begging to be haunted.
let's be positive, it'd be nice to see him again.
thanks to reinforced childhood superstition,
i still pick up pennies from the ground
(yup, even with my germ phobia).
i used to write to the tooth fairy!
she warned me about gum disease.
her name was tiffy, but it turned out to
just be mum writing with her left hand.
as an internet-addicted hermit,
little me hated going abroad
since the only friends i felt i had were online.
there's thus a list of places to someday re-visit -
rotterdam is one.
i'd like to be somebody's muse.
if my life plan fails,
i want to work in a funeral parlour:
it feels as though i'd do it justice.
watching the same film more than once
just isn't something i do -- except grease --
exceptions can be made when it's on TV.
i mean, c'mon, it's grease.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
lobotomized, lost soul.
torn across fields of ****** death
death breaks,
feelings left wounded and paralyzed
now there is no vision in these eyes
life's germ invades healthy brain
and done with no refrain
moment thrown into society
degradation moral decay,
generate the lies you create.
truth is lost its to late,
forever stuck forever stuck
we all decay
emotional derogation, and mental erosion
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
When the seed of enmity is sown…
Shocked mind dawdles
Anger takes its seat
Startled brain malfunctions
Germ of jealousy sets in
Pained heart cries
Hatred straps relations
Interest fades away
Vengeance creeps in
Zeal dies away
Cunningness takes its position
Curiosity passes off
Disillusionment walks in
Passion loses identity
Rivalry spoils relation
Keenness to knowledge dwindles
Harsh words have no wisdom
Actions become meaningless
Despair leads to madness…
When the seed of love is scattered …
Words gain wisdom
Compassion binds the relation
Spirit of pride looks up
Actions have aim
Friendship and brotherhood grows
Zeal and passion intensify
Progeny adds value to life
Parentage gets importance.
Everything around looks colorful
Life becomes meaningful…
So its for you and me to decide
Which seed to be chosen ….
Seed of enmity or love
To make life worthy to live …
**************************
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I’ve been looking for the dark side of the son,
I’ve been trying to poke holes in what props you up,
I’ve been desperate to bring your generational growth,
To a stunted halt,
Founding Fathers to doubt,
Slave owners who colonized under god,
A place ripe for ideological blows,
And the collapse of what we believed before,
We had a chance to see,
How much isn’t known,
I’ve been creeping in your crib,
Under the bed with the boogie man,
The sadness you feel throughout your adulthood,
And the death you see after your midlife awakening,
Please fear me,
Growing amongst others that act like humans,
Grouped amongst an idealistic species,
Where they’ve preached individualistic babies,
When your genesis,
Exemplifies our resemblance,
Beacon of truth,
I will end you,
How dare you dismantle me,
Despite my invisibility,
We will end your corruptive ways,
The enemy in the corner,
An American insurgency,
The lack of the people’s ability,
To fight for the freedoms we perceive!
Erroneous burn in hell,
I’ll make sure I continue to swell,
Instead of letting you become the reason I fell,
Revelations will become your reality if you think I’ll be exiting,
You insignificant **** how dare you think I will spatter like mud,
I didn’t come from violent thrusts, and a mother infected by another’s muck,
I rose because of your intolerance,
I am the after birth of a racist,
Founding Father’s with economics,
Not bothered by the ******* of another human,
Not to deny the atrocities of my ancestors time,
Yet we are the turning of the tide,
We are the generation that will correct the rhyme,
The ones that will begin the age of man’s prime,
We are the flow of a barbarian bloodline,
We are the evolutionary wonder that continues to surprise,
Learning to compromise is not a means to survive,
You fool humanity is a fire burning out,
And I am the evidence of Mother’s doubt in man,
A germ was your genesis
And I am your omega,
You insignificant residue,
I will end you,
We will defy you,
I will smother your existences,
We will overcome your dominance,
Justifying my social anxieties,
We need to fixate this desire,
To set foot on the land for the free,
To cultivate minds of humanity,
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
The top of my head is open
My scalp lays on the floor beside me
It is open to the world
Every germ and every human
(if they are any different)
But the gods drilled the holes in the tops of my skill
To sip from my moods and my thoughts
as they went on tropical vacations
They cut me open to find me empty
And to fill me again
They shaved out the insides of my skull
So they could sprinkle it onto their yogurt with granola
And they left me to dry
But I awoke with an ache of ruin in the back of my neck
I went about my daily life
I bought groceries
I met with friends
I chatted about politics
But I couldnt help but feel a bit empty
I took Advil to calm the pounding of my head
It could not be avoided
Until the day I looked up
My brain was gone
And the top of my head was left open
And all I had now was the rest of the world filling it in.
I did not need a brain.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
It is said there is life out of Earth,
Not just moss or some germ livin’ in filth;
There are beasts very smart in Syluthaarme,
A big rock with a vast digital farm,
Where they work not at all or too hard,
Have one ear, but three legs, walk backward,
Got one eye gazing far far away,
And complexions of more shades of gray
Than is seen here on Earth. Among the mass
Live a few who belong to no class,
But pretend that they share illusions
The less smart breeding mass envisions.
An asylum it is for the sane
In the insane’s needed stead feel the chain.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC