"heimlich" poems
Liquids and lipids
North and south
Fatty and lean
Mouth-to-mouth
Resuscitation
Breathe
In and out
I think I need the Heimlich too
Compress my chest
Until I come to
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
I wanted to eat you alive with my heart,
Disseminate my love for you,
soul coughing a Heimlich dance routine
that struggled to keep us one.
You were to busy ignoring the coward
that kept me alive
to see the bravery fighting chance
and drawing curtains against fate
There was feeling in these young bones
where the medicine was make believe,
all sugar coated fiery tales to drive us to the well,
wishers of hope forgot that love is an effort.
Liars will tell you that there is just one,
and that one and one is one, and I too,
will lie to you but only to keep the placebos
sweet jesus if you knew the truth.
There's a colourful cobweb
I tangled round us
And yeah, I'd take the floor away,
if it would keep you falling for me.
There is not a thing I wouldn't do
to keep the demons from your door
And the wolves in docile dream states
Nodding yes to your every request.
But Memory lane is no place to build a future,
Lets move past all the haunted houses
and build the home from more than cards
glued together with coffee stains.
Fits of laughter and pits of passion
litter landscapes of love in foreign places
where speaking in tongues
becomes common language.
Blissfully aware of our ignorance
We turned a blind eye to status chorus,
breathing freeform jazz into
independent harmonies,
Shards of Shotgun Showers
Add bass to blissful dreams,
A sense of the real, reeling us in,
A foundation shaken in eternal sin,
As the sax plays us out,
its a standing ovulation,
that keeps us on course,
encores are for failures, and things that... stop.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
I hate to break it to you but heroes like Superman, and Batman, and Spiderman don’t actually exist.
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t heroes in this world, they just aren’t in capes and spandex. They can’t fly or shoot lasers from their eyes. They can’t lift a car with one finger and they aren’t affected by kyptonite. These heroes are people you pass every day, you may speak to them, and you may not. But they are there.
The 18 year old kid who takes care of his brother when his parents leave and decide not to come back he is a hero.
The 9 year old boy who saved his friend by pulling him out of an icy lake, is a hero
The mother that decides to leave her husband and take her kid with her when he starts hitting them, she is a hero.
Those who stand up for what they believe in, are heroes
The little girl who used the Heimlich maneuver (which she saw on a disney channel show by the way, see disney can teach us useful skills) to save the life of her 1st grade classmate who was choking on an apple, is a hero
Every friend that will drive to your house at 3 am because you are home alone and you are scared of what you might do if you are alone much longer. Every friend that tells you that everything will be alright, and that you may be ******* up, but that doesn’t mean that you will always be that way, friends that remind you things can and will get better. Are all heroes.
The woman who caught a baby that fell out a window is a hero.
The firefighter who risked everything to save a little girl or little boy is a hero.
The men and women in blue are heroes... Or they are when they aren’t shooting innocent people...
Or the man who broke his neck and had to give up the career he had done his whole life, but then turned what could have been a devastating change into an opportunity to follow his dream and is now happier than ever because he realizes that life is too short and can end too quickly to be unhappy, and now he is one of the strongest, funniest, most joyful person I’ve ever met. He is a hero.
Or the woman who went back to school after her divorce and now is happy and able to not only support her self but also her family.
These people are real life true heroes, not some made up ******** with super powers. Because you don’t need to be able to fly or see through walls to be a hero.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
Push false math theorems between slices of white bread.
Shove it down my throat.
When I choke,
refuse to perform the Heimlich.
Open up my insides.
Force the twisted logic through my intestines
like a broken machine.
Sew my mouth shut so I can't throw it up.
Carve the periodic table into my arms
with your sharpened Swiss army knife.
Smile while my skin is replaced
with ****** atomic numbers.
Saw my fingers off
so I can't use them to cover the halogens.
Glue my eyelashes to my eyebrows so my eyes can't close.
Color my irises black with permanent marker:
just like yours.
Force me to see the way you do.
Tear from my mind every original thought.
Shout at my dreams until they run away in fear.
Vacuum my favorite memories out through my ears.
Fit the remaining contents of my brain into your incorrect physics equation.
Extract my heart from my rib cage with kitchen tongs.
Watch my skin go pale.
Watch my eyes go still.
Tell my empty body it's for the best.
Tell this shadow of my soul that you love it.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Today I went to a
Red-Cross Baby-sitting course.
And we had to pair up with a
partner,
so the girl sitting next to me
turned to me to
practice
heimlich positioning.
So she stood up behind me and
put her arm across my chest and
we went through that position,
and then tried the other one,
where she put her arms around my stomach.
I could feel her breathing against my
ear, and her hair smelled
sweet and fresh and for the first time ever,
I wondered if my hair smelled like my
watermelon conditioner.
Then we switched,
and I put us through the
first position,
and I liked hugging her waist and
feeling her against me.
We sat down after that and learned about
CPR, and the instructor said we wouldn't be
practicing listening for breathing on
our partners,
and I let my mind wander to
a place where we could,
where she put her ear down
to my lips,
and her brown and blonde hair
fell over her ear and onto
my face.
I shook myself out of that
reverie,
and tried to pay attention,
but my eyes were drawn to her,
so I studied her instead.
An over-large grey sweatshirt,
with an icon of two green hockey sticks.
Blue denim shorts with
light blue lace on the ends,
black hightops,
and her socks were the same
hot pink as my own
shoelaces.
We practiced bandaging each other
up, so I wrapped
a strip of gauze around
her right forearm
and she did the same to my left.
And at the very end she rolled up her sleeves,
and I saw why she had me
wrap up her right arm.
Her left contained a
tile of faint scars,
criss-crossed like
spider-webs,
along her arm.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
It’s thought provoking
and emotion evoking
I feel like I’m choking, {Heimlich}
Truer words have never been spoken
by a dancing mime with only one leg.
Minds have reeled
Fates have been sealed
Unknowns become real
It’s a negotiated deal made by some lawyer with a soul.
Tragic, Comedy- Tragicomedy
Shipping-handling. As seen on TV.
What’s the cost of free ?
Nothing comes really, with a money back guarantee.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Operators standing by- keep your seat.
Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat.
And know your victory isn’t over defeat.
Miller time- the best time of year
But I’ll never need another beer,
My life’s so complete when using Tampax.
The latest miracle cure is as safe as anthrax.
Who has time these days for voting, when I feel the blight of bloating ?
There are no important politics or elections.
When I have four plus hour erections
but I bet my doctor won’t be the one I decide to consult.
>>>>>
Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net.
Oct 1, 2009
Oct 1, 2009 at 1:49 PM UTC
I was gagging on poetry
And nothing could help:
I was gagging on poetry
So they let me lay my head
On Emily's desk
And her inkwell spilled.
I was gagging on poetry
And they covered me up
With Whitman's army blanket
On which I promptly threw up.
I was gagging on poetry
And the Poet Laureate
Sent me a get well bouquet
Of forget me knots.
I was gagging on poetry
And all my poems
Kept getting rejected
For Selective Service.
I was gagging on poetry
And they performed
The Heimlich maneuver
And up came
Twelve autobiographical
Sketches of poets
Thirteen anthologies
Three missing manuscripts
Two thesaurus books
One rhyming dictionary
And my good luck eraser.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
The wave of your love
washes over me,
drenching me
in hopes and dreams
and yet somehow
I still manage to choke
on the seashell of panic,
worried that I will be swallowed entirely
the moment the water
trickles down my forearm.
You’ve given me the heimlich
so many times that
I start retching before
You even reach me.
The sting of the bile
of my past in the back of my throat
Begs to be brought up again.
I try so hard to shove it back
into the deep dark hole
it came from,
but eventually
it bursts past my lips
And sprays all over you.
I attempt to clean you up
but I can see the remnants
of my pain all over your soul
And yet you still smile.
You're gleaming teeth
look as if they were made of pearls
and your eyes look magnificently blue,
overflowing with the ocean
of love you still have for me.
You strip me of the wetsuit
that shields me from your ocean
and I melt into you.
Blending lava and water
in a steamy swirl.
Fiery hot and chillingly cold.
Etching our love for each other
in every bend and curve.
Leaving burns and ice ******
all over our souls.
The hole in my heart
that your ocean filled
frozen into place.
Permanent.
Your ocean carves out a place
for itself in the mountain
of my worry
and turns my mountain
into a canyon replacing
worry and panic
with love and trust.
The seashell of panic
crushed in your wake.
Now as the wave
of your love
washes over me
I no longer cling to the sand
begging for shelter
I dive into your ocean
naked and laughing
hoping to drown
in the sea of your peace.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
It hurts like a butter knife,
carving into my soul, my being.
It aches as though all of the worlds pain-
is on my shoulders.
It stings as though toxic waste-
has been poured into mine eyes.
It shivers as though little spider-
crawls up my spine.
It chokes me,
No need for the Heimlich maneuver.
It serenades me,
With a song of agony.
It whispers to my ears,
only words of spite.
Creativity is a must,
If you tend to dance in the dust.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
Shadow, you *******
bead box upended,
a galaxy of beads beckon feline eye;
you’d choke in your bliss
for cheap plastic pieces.
Your toys remain unchewed, dusty;
my pens remain missing, useless.
Four a.m. is for sleeping, not eating;
I slam the door,
no longer listening;
your crying piercing my brain,
deep as the bead nestled in your throat;
They’re never the same again
once the damage sets in;
the special diet,
medication tucked in cheese;
hairballs requiring the kittie-Heimlich,
like squeezing a black, furry accordion;
and then it is I who cries
for forgiveness.
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 5:17 PM UTC
PROSE FOR ALL PEOPLE
CONSIDERING SUICIDE.
The last month has been torture.
I've tossed and turned at night.
I've been begging God just to take
me Home... then MAD at Him for not
answering my plea.
My body is wracked in pain.
My life is a dead-end.
My dreams are shattered.
But now I know why He did not...
This morning my 90 year old
father was choking. He hardly made a
sound as the breath left his body. I don't
know how (God?) but I KNEW something
was terribly wrong. I went over to see
what had me so disquieted in his regard.
He was gesturing to me frantically...
This had happened before. We both knew
the drill. As I put my arms around him
from behind and began the upward jerks
of the Heimlich maneuver, his arm got
caught in the mechanism of his power-
chair. We began to do a sort of a gruesome
dance... his body struggling not to die...
mine to bring it life...
I screamed at my mom, who was in
her room, "Call 911!!! Dad's choking again!"
I applied pressure to his solar plexus,
just under his ribcage by lifting him firmly.
With each motion saying a calm prayer... "Not today, God. Not today. He's going to LIVE. Today... in Jesus' Name. AMEN."
Then my father spit up the eggs which
had been lodged in his windpipe. His
breathing was ragged. But became regular.
No ambulance would be needed today.
As I looked at the wizened little old man
in the power-chair I realized something.
I had not saved HIS life as much as
HE had saved
MINE.
I may not be much or have much.
But I have him
and my family to help out.
I may never realize my dreams. But God
will always give me another day to try
to live them... a precious Gift...
LIFE.
SO WHO AM I TO THROW THAT GIFT
BACK IN HIS FACE?
So think about it. Perhaps later today
you may see a child run out in front
of a car... and pull him back. Maybe
you'll find a frozen starving kitten...
you'll smile and put a dollar in the hand
of a homeless person who was ready
to give up til your act of kindness made
him reconsider...
Who knows?
The life you save....
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/17/2015
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Thank you
Dr. Heimlich
For your
Life saving maneuver
It has saved many lives
And you used it
To save an 87 year old woman
From choking
On a hamburger
At the senior center dining room
He was interviewed and said
This was the first time
Using the maneuver
Although in a 2003
Interview with BBC online
He said he used the maneuver
One previous time
Three years earlier
So that is one confirmed
Successful application
Of the Heimlich maneuver
And possibly two
Successful applications
By Dr. Heimlich
This is a heartfelt thanks
To you Dr. Heimlich
To a technique
That has undoubtedly saved
Thousands of lives
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
There is nothing more exhausting
And equally refreshing
As crying yourself to sleep
I know this in how much lighter you feel when I hold you
In all that racket
And shaking
And heaving till you are breathless
Something heavy fell out of you
The dust that settles in your lungs needed to be shaken out
It’s okay if it made your tears muddy
Pain is *****
Life is *****
Even when god made us
It was from earth
Damp earth
For all we know
In the loneliness of space
And its coldness
And lack of light
God cried himself to sleep one night
And made us
By accident
From the dirt that settled
On the days he needed to be breathless
And he wasn’t lonely anymore
And you
You don’t have to be as lonely any more
I can hear you
And see you
I understand the sound of weight shedding
Pounds lighter till you can walk head up again
Without gravity workin’ overtime
On your heart
And eyes
And hands when
I try and Heimlich-hug
The heart stuck in your throat
You can never really see anything as clean
Until you see it at its dirtiest first
Because in the end
All we have is the mess that we leave behind
Leave your dirt behind
Where we’re going
We won’t need it
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 11:42 PM UTC
there is a boa constrictor
wrapped around my ribcage
there is an old story lodged in my windpipe
and i wish Heimlich had been a composer
so i could write it out without turning blue
i am lop-sided
but, alas
there is no one to lean on
it is heavy
(i must sit down)
where is the floor?
i long to talk to strangers
and keep my house clean
and run my hands across my husband's beard
just one more time
all i feel is a loss of circulation
my words won't reach higher than my chest
struggling to escape,
to wriggle through a sealed-off space
i cannot tell if it is my love reaching through my chest
or if it's....
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
You can not cure my intoxication
If all you know is CPR
You're trying to do the heimlich
I'm not even aware of where we are
And to think you think you can help
Ignites the rushing blood in me
I swallowed all the poison
So I would not see
As it pours out my mouth
And my life is choked up
The sun rises over the bay
As my eyes flutter I know
I will never have to see her again
That's all that matters
As I lie on the ground
And feel the cold earth I will join
I cannot speak
Everything hurts
This is the most my pain has ever been worth
One tries to save me, but it's too late
I ate off the feasting plate
I ate at the queen of the festivals table
I love her and long to be able
To be in the moment once more
I know it won't happen.
So here's my reaction
My action to the action
Of her death in my life.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Dinner by candlelight
underneath the stairs, down
in the bomb shelter,
dancing to love, peace, and paranoia.
An evening called quiet
resentment, where there's
canned goods and children's games,
Duck & Cover,
or if you prefer,
Heimlich Maneuver.
Then little sleepy heads
go gently into their bunkered beds.
They might not outlive
the threat, but
the plan has a half-life of a chance.
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
Über mein verlorenes Selbst.
Der tiefe Schmerz, das dieses 'Ich' für immer
in der Vergangenheit gefangen ist.
Denn die Zeit ist heimlich vergangen
und hat den Schlüssel mit sich genommen.
Aufnimmerwiedersehen.
Sadness
Over my lost self.
The deep pain
this 'Me' will forever be captivated
in the past.
As time has secretly passed
and with it,
it has taken the key.
Farewell.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
Thoughts we think we have for no reason
we think poor, we think as a slave thinks,
we think like a sharecropper.
Reaping what our children selves sowed
so others may eat it.
We forged the chain that chains the wolf,
never fear,
vengenance has been tamed since
shame was shown to be
avoidable, flushable
biodegradably wiped clean.
Beans and corn remind you
Chew your food. You can choke.
You can die swallowing an untold lie whole.
When you choke among those who wish you lived,
Heimlich points blame straight at you, you
expel the lie as if it were our creation, you're
to blame, to shame, to prove
you did not digest the story the lie intended to tell,
the lying spirit in the mouth of magi
sybils and seers and prophets and poets and such,
who forgot the origin,
the idea of binding a bubble into a being
bubblin', bubblin,
bubblin' in m' soul
m'nordic nomadic hunter soul singin' along mit
revinoor disdeemin' relations o'mine, who
all dance to
Flatt and Scruggs fiddle tunes. 't'sinthe blood,
Galacian flutes and Persian fiddles and wooden clogs,
mockasin-
soft shoe, round the... shhh listen shuffle
yah thisaway yaha thisaway hey hey this away
ever
coom buy ya'll, come by
touch, in passing, take my piece, play to win.
wink. wink.
the one-eyed white man hands you his cane, wanders away
as if he had some better place
to be.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
They're just an assortment .of letters that bounce off the corners and crash into the netting that stands as a barrier
but
each to his master or the spirit where the level's lopsided,
then the line up begins and each letter wins a place in the heart of some beast
and words issue forth as if Moses had dropped off the radar and boosted a sports car to get down to the start line and taste some of that water that the spirit had turned into red wine
and the words stand in fine print, tuxedo's, bold Romans still bouncing off corners,
I'm all for the underdog if he doesn't have fleas and if I catch him scratching he's out on his ear,
queer how language finds so many meanings in the slang words that strangle and stifle conversations,
I choked on a dialect once and someone performed the Goering manoeuvre which is like the Heimlich one but more Teutonic,
thank you and mine comes with gin.
This is what Thursday is capable and culpable of,
homicidal tendencies
that's it
the letters stopped moving around
there is sound but that's from the street vendors
who send kisses by air mail
and
I am left with the assortment
some achievement huh?
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Limericks VI - Religion
Pell-Mell for Hell Mel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn’t fail!
###
Why I Left the Religious Right
by Michael R. Burch
He's got Jesus's name on a wallet insert
and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of his shirt
and he upholds the Law,
for grace has a flaw:
the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt.
###
Hell to Pay
by Michael R. Burch
A messiah named Jesus, returning
from heaven, found planet Earth burning
with children unfed,
so he suggested: “Instead
of war, why not consider cheek-turning?”
Indignant right-wingers retorted:
“Sir, your pacifist views are distorted!
Just pull the plug quickly
on someone who’s sickly!
Our pursuit of war can’t be aborted!”
###
The Heimlich Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M.
The sanest of poets once wrote:
"Friend, why be a sheep or a goat?
Why follow the leader
or be a blind *******
But almost no one took note.
Keywords/Tags: limerick, nonsense, light, humor, humorous, religion, Christian, Christianity, religious, right, Jesus, Christ, bible
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
i forgot to mention a teaspoon of garlic paste...
with all things in the asian cuisine,
you need some sort of piquant addition,
in that "recipe" / more like an organic
chemistry experiment, the quantaties are hidden
from view... so the whole 'teaspoon of garlic paste'?
it's not necessarily true; by my estimates.
wait... this is not what i was going to write
about...
now, i do understand the divorce
of state from church... i get that,
it's plain to see... young politicians, old popes,
or thereabouts...
that concept is perfectly understandable...
what i don't understand is the modern
quest for: the divorce of subject
from object...
in cartesian terms of three little words:
cogito ergo sum... that's truly unfathomable!
it only leads toward a confusion that's the algebraic
equivalent of an x, i.e.
i think = object i am = object
x
i am = subject i think = subject
or is that?
i think = object i am = object
x
i think = subject i am = subject...
yeah... that sounds better a second time...
but how on earth are you going to do this, and this is
an ultra-secular heimlich maneuver,
there literally is no logical ergo follow-up
mechanisation of this, so-called social-science "procedure";
because what is happening, right now,
is this grand debate about being objective
to the point where, your emotions are worth zilch,
summed up akin to: a penny for your thought.
it's pretty much a realisation that's happening
in islam... a second wave schism,
with the first wave being that from the divorce of
state from church... even though the fact
that the vatican is a church-state...
so that worked out, just fine.
i really don't know how this new divorce is going
to play out...
but trying to divorce subject from object,
or object from subject, it a bit like trying to divorce
cogito from sum, in the foundation of
cogito ergo sum... how's that going to happen?
and, more important to suggest: will we see limbs flying?
is throwing a decapitated head going to be the competing
sporting event at the olympics, alongside shot put?
well... **** me... good luck!
the subject is the object of its subjectivity...
as the object is the subject of its objectivity...
and yes, that's ownership inclusive;
a bit like a copyright.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
outside a car is rolling by and they're throwing big blocks of wood
that sometimes other cars run over
and it splinters
and hits pedestrians and i hear
yelling and cursing
and babies shouting
as the ambulance arrives
and performs the heimlich-
and a hellicopter in the distance is swallowed by angry clouds.
any way-
i haven't been to the grocery store in 2 months-
but i buy plenty of energy drinks at the rite aid and sometimes nougat bars and various
fruits and grains.
i walk out of there
and a woman kind of leers at me, and her dog is lunging at me and i grip my knife--
but it was my fault
because i'm ugly apparently.
then the rain comes,
and i'm stuck for 6 hours swinging my head around and looking into an eclipse
and the ********
all ride ponies while the apocalyse looms ever nearer and
the doomsday horsemen behead a man in istanbul.
the bag of coins
is shiny like fresh tin foil
in a box of mints
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 1:00 AM UTC