"hemorrhagic" poems
My words are cutting themselves again;
razoring their loosely-sutured syllables,
deep as white-eyed bone.
The suave dipththongs butchered
to the cadence of bloodletting
in hemorrhagic oppositions.
Stapled-closed sentences, smeared with Iodine,
and subcutaneous sentence diagramming
for the retractable scalpel
swiveling along the edge,
of the well serrated cliche.
Once I pressed my wordy flesh
against the wrong side
of a paring knife, while paying no attention
and suddenly,
and without warning
it gave, like an over ripe peach
to the cleaver-
and after that, I was hooked.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 11:05 PM UTC
*So it's that time again!
Where was I?
Oh yeah, somewhere else!*
The pragmatic man is back again!
Anti-climactic game plan with slack in the chain
Snagged the habit, kicked it's *** until it's hemorrhagic
A spiky crawlspace,
Dogmatic thematics; slit your throat then cry about it
What an antic! It's kinda romantic... pack your bags and leave you nomad,
No man, would ever wanna deal with your vatic manic fits!
Every fabric of Satan's being isn't satin, it's chintz
Chances are my polysyllabic magic is tragically a product of status;
Maybe it's forced? Course it is, like a birthday party, you get gifts
I think I got this one, and now, I'm an addict
My words are indelible ink, spun in webs like the ones in your attic.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Some days I wish I were an X-men
and not just an ordinary mutant.
Some days I wish I had Magician
level magic like Bink,
just enough to negate other's.
But then I look around;
The Irish and English don't have it.
The Pakistanis and Indians don't have it.
The Chinese and Taiwanese don't have it.
The Hutu and Tutsi don't have it.
The neighbors in Bab Tabbaneh and Jabal Mohsen,
don't have it.
Why should I have it?
We’re all just a bunch of Muggles.
Maybe it's a good thing I don't have superpowers.
I look around and in fits of frustration,
in bouts of rage, I might destroy all the Husnock.
I'm kinda glad now my only mutations are thoughts.
Thoughts that I put here,
viral like - infective memes - hemorrhagic e-fever.
Outbreak? Snow Crash? Virulency? Survival rate? Epicenter?
Futile epidemiology because I know
exactly what and where I am.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Hands around the neck
In search of dying breath.
***** nails dig in.
Hoarse cries begin to thin.
I'm not dreaming.
I'm not thinking.
Lost all touch. please, don't wake up.
No, don't wake up.
Hemorrhagic ecstasy while bathing in your tears.
Innocence exhumed for you after twenty short-lived years.
Cheek to cheek
In my arms
Don't wake up.
Please, don't wake up.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 2:46 AM UTC
~.
Seriously
When it's said
some words can haunt & pierce
deeper, sharper & more brutal than a blade
~the pallid blood flows 24/7 from your vein
driving your mind to madness to pain.
~~
That cut, Gothic & red
an open, hemorrhagic gate
never heals, never fades.
And the pain
it will remain
it will remain
~
Always
&
Forever
&
Permanently
.
~~
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 3:06 AM UTC
EBOLA
Ebola a virus going around killing the towns
of all kind of clowns hoping to be found before
going to the ground,
A viral infection cutting deep in the intestine
with more viral hemorrhagic high fever piercing
at lives the young and the old hanging to hope,
But now not only was one being found to pass this deadly
virus around, we have hundred to be found
treasured ones, struck down,
Contagious lies that are eating away at USA lives
With death and no love Fly back to us,
By the joy of a clown made its round to be crown
To the Ebola Virus to be passed around,
A touch of grace must take place by a gentle dove
from heaven above through a plastic glove,
While in our land we see today another virus spreading,
Killing the babes,
More deadly in the soul that makes the body ****** and cold
Asking God to please take control of this pain they never known,
This is deeper and so severe penetrating on more fear,
'Why bring Ebola home to the ones you Love, To a place
You call home? '' Though you Oh God stump this sickness
By your grace will not be *******
Poetic Judy Emery © 2014
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
Masses flooding
running, gushing
in sclerotic streets
from Heliopolis to downtown Cairo
and from the great pyramid
to the stone lions
of Pre-colonial royalty
over the river Nile
lost in the way for country heart
me, my soul, and couple of my friends
whom I lead to end arteries
of the city hemorrhagic
were shot by snipers
of Victorian
national police
and some years later,
I want to write a poem
let´s say cosmic
or universal
about that trio human
dream, death and deception
"Emilio, Lorenzo, Enrique
Fueron los tres en mis manos"
a cancer larynx revolution,
of bad alcohol and tobacco?
two holy hands of fate,
and one of eternal ************
and a bored Lenin setting behind a screen?
(the algorithm will do the masses
when the masses are ready to run )
but time as God
is a lazy surgeon
forgot a scalpel in my throat
and I am being cured of every thing
even the nasty hollow
of my tired voice.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC