"lividity" poems
Curious. How we view ourselves, while on the slab we lie
Knowing forever shut, earthly windows, our eyes
Modesty behind us now, embarrassment we don't feel
Our flesh, we don't cringe away, from the frigid stainless steel
To look with no emotion, incisions, from the autopsy knife
Every muscle utterly still, relaxed as never in life
No blood to rush a blush, our cheeks a pallid waxy grey
Lividity of our skin, shows how in death we'd lain
Enevitably we will be reduced to a dusty grime
Either by an uncaring fire, or the mercy of time
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
One reason I knew we'd never last is even after a year in juxtaposition, our sentences never began to resemble one another. I could never get lost in the cadence of your vocabulary, because it all sounded dissonant to me. The way the words **** and **** couldn't flow from your lips as easily as they could from mine caused discomfort in the succession of my words. It was if a dam was holding back the waterfall of words and ideas kept in my head, and leakage or splinters in this dam caused an outburst of lividity or tears that couldn't be stopped by words or kisses. When two people are apart, the only thing they have between them is words, so the lack of freedom of speech is the biggest defect.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
“Life can have its share of tears and heartaches,
Malady and demise dolefully follows us in our lives,
Our souls exist with love laughter family and faith,
Life’s secret of caverns like the songs in your mind,
The enclave of sand rock and lichen reflects well,
Of that was formed ever so enchanting the abyss,
Of the stone with its furtive outlets afore the deep brine,
As it passed by your name a fiery flower than created,
The arduous waves rose like a barrier in the Universe,
A canticle now well beloved all things ode to love,
Earth time sea island life and tide are subsequent,
The sea is the mouth to the universe and tells all,
Flowers on the now spring unfold afore our eyes,
Observing us as if our passions are now in the begin,
Arduous waves of the brine are now burgeoning flowers,
A courtyard now surrounded with passionate flowers,
We were alive together on a macrocosm heretofore,
Yet not alone when the hour of our demise befalls us,
Our love was harvested as that of the fields of grain,
I the knowledge of the sea and you with gold lividity,
Mine exists in the caverns of the soil and sand
Fear not my blossom of life the fire of our love,
Soon loving kisses will join as our mouths,
Cleave perpetually”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 11/15/2018
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
Our pretty white house; the grand grey gates stood proud,
The blood-red roses, the lilac petunias; myriad flora- every hue, every kind.
The endearing blue sky, many a vagabond white cloud,
The colors of my youth lived on, embossed in my mind…
The joyous peals of laughter in the aureate beach, as tides swept by,
Ma, her orange dress bright, tracing the path of each bubbly wave,
Mauve, ochre and yellow merged, embellishing the canvas of the transforming sky,
Of those days-vivid red love, countless memoirs- I will ever rave.
My bonny bride in her lovely white dress; exuberant, free as a bird,
The dash of pink that adorned her cheeks when “I do,” she said,
The rage, the lividity- a sinister crimson; she had left without a word,
The blues we’d painfully endured, as Ma lay on her death bed…
The aged white house-home no more, now lay brown and sore,
No more of the red roses, lilac petunias- life of any kind,
The rusted brown gates-eternally shut, stood with pride no more,
The colors of my youth fading- embossed only in my mind…
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
Frustration
Revelation
Desperation
no Elation,
compounded by
the heavy
Situation...at hand.
Pride
Implied
Simplified
Justified,
truth set
Aside...consolation banned.
Spying
Prying
Dying,
no Edifying,
Defying, while I,
Complying
Intensifying;
some day...must take a stand.
Condescend
Pretend
Offend
Contend,
then a friend to
Comprehend
I Transcend,
lividity's End,
peace will
Ascend...new life to expand.
~ Conclusion ~
Transformation
Purified
Satisfying,
lessons acquired
and generously
Penned.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
I am from grease,
From Valvoline and mineral oil
I am from green grass surrounded by dead trees
(Heady, damp, somehow always smelling of jasmine and mint)
I am from lilies,
Tempered and beautiful in her rage
I am from perseverance and moxie
From Lyons and Rob
I’m from the never cries and please no secrets
From death is imminent and shrill screams of my name
I’m from losing my faith to an illness, it that stole more than an ***** from me
I’m from chocolate turtles and Smarties, from pixie stick dusk wafting up my nose
From the ghost of my mother in the kitchen cooking, to her ghost that envelopes my soul
The colors cut and healed beneath her skin that I caress carefully,
The ink faded on her wrist as she succumbs to lividity
My grandmother holding her picture as she weeps quietly,
Her voice dichotic in my ears as I watch videos on a screen
Those photos, her headstone, grounding me deeply into my grief, like a needle piercing cracked jewels into my mind
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 6:54 PM UTC
**Hate not blood course through my veins
I want to laugh in your face, when you feel the pain
My fury is my story not yours to tell
Mine to yell, demonstrate, remonstrate
Wrath, in its purest form, presents with self-destructiveness, violence, and hate that provokes feuds that go on for centuries.
Wrath persists long after the person who did another a grievous wrong is dead. But, wrath is mine to feel, to touch, to taste.
Feelings of anger impatience, revenge, and lividity.
Wrath is allowing my revenge, call it self-destructive, call it
bad behaviour, my sin of wrath is directed internally toward me.
Suicide, deemed as the ultimate, albeit tragic, expression of hatred directed inwardly, a final rejection of God's gifts.
But,you made me angry so it's you I reject.
When cold tempered steel,
meets hot vengeful blood**
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Have I gone too far?
I know I missed the curve
miles ago. . .
But how far have I gone?
The question with an answer
that has no meaning.
Was the question even worth asking?
Every ending must have a beginning,
but every ending must never start over again.
How have I become this man?
From a quarter century's worth
of a lifetime time lived in colorful
exasperations.
There isn't anymore questions
that I can ask myself with this solid lividity in my face.
All I know is that nothing is the same.
Each day just gets more and more strange.
It fills me up with this central gasp
Of the nostalgic grasp of yesteryear.
I've needed this flow
This current illusion of pain
I've watched it all go down
I've felt it all change.
I know what tomorrow will bring
The same thing but with a little more sting.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Digging underground
Found the diamond
Lost
In the crowd
Soundly speaking on the floor
Beaten badly wanting more
Bruises
Delirious about the uselessness
Of therapy and Sunday classes
By the masses
Childhood memories of running
On a beach
Sand between my toes
Mechanics strange and
Wired like gadgets
Tickets on trains to seafoam
Shores when
December comes
Beguiling smirk
Gazing like a toddler in wonder
At the said shutters of others
Maybe in split-screens with
Vivid color
The lackluster utterings die
At the sight
Cat-eyed and wild
Sighing like a child at coarse
Trivial arrivals of those
Suicidal yearnings resurfaced by
Days-break
Dysfigured in space as shapeless
As the speech that defined it
Butterfly darlings my
Coat flowing on the windless air
As a cocoon I'm enveloped in
Bed by many toppled books to
Beseech in disparity at all the
Shared pairs I erased
Like tickled bruises all sunken and
Hopeless in keeping up with
The moment
Gloves stitched
Kerosene patched dribbled
Against sunscreen
Tired-awake unable to sleep
Fascinated with miracles and the
Shadows in sight
Dismissed while in a crisis that
Felt steep in the night of one's
Soul
A tourniquet strapped around
My elbow in the cold snow
What's the criteria for the
Mentally unsuitable
We are preachers, poets, wives
With ribbons in our hair
Cradled in hate
Dissipated softly only to
Awaken with grim morning
After morning
Dark-days of chaos-tripping
Laid flat on my stomach-ache
Removed by time like an
Hourglass state of mind
Written on my tongue in a
Glamorous sheen caught deep
Within the recessions of my
Brain
Unseen and I imagine
I am that firefly caught in the
Glass container
Blue as lapis lazuli
Blue as the livor mortis after
Suffocating
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
So proudly we stand by liberty's side
She's fraught with lividity
With no life in her eyes
We are plagued with insanity
So we can't see this disgust
So blinded by grief
That this is what has become of us!
Posing the corpse of our beloved mother...
Searching for an answer that cannot be found
Too reluctant, too proud to put her corpse in the ground
A picture is taken, we smile so wide
You can't even tell that liberty has died
Cursed is the seed of our creation...
Our mothers not too rotten for manipulation
We try to conceive an infant nation
But a dead womb can only host...
A carrion infestation
"Why mother, why did you have to die?"
Too much malediction had poisoned her mind
Abused by strangers to create a home
Thus killing the only mother we've ever known
How is a nation that claims to be free
A nation of lepers, of beggars, disease?
Because of insanity we cannot see the disgust
Of this Mourning Portrait of America!
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
So waited...
In human color
The reasons of a fury, to be fated
A wish of service to an ideal, as patience's fulfilment
Clear the worth
Care for a stomached hap
Calls of when, we were the roles of earth
Comes with a friend, to same and laugh
The boding nature
Of a promises jealousy
Toward the final lip, of coming whole to learn
A wish, is for any who would the rise of anarchy
The race of shame, succinct
To the liberty of virtue, a heart of sincerity?
With creation as a name, a place of inclination
With the volition of time, came in words of simplicity
A wager of pomposity:
If a callous form to ethics is to be
Is a legend of redoubt, ours for a clashing lividity?
See the cope, the succor of avid live; collect a hold of identity...
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 8:10 AM UTC