"sepsis" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata
mabubuhay akong minamatay
san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini
sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon
pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda
muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i
kendi na nagpapahibi
mesias na naghahala-hala
magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana
para laen ko makita an liwanag
malaog siya sa kahon ko
laen para magkawat
kundi dagdagan an pagub-at
makasakat an pagbagsak
siya na ako
masurat tula.
~Written by Melton Balicano
(a bikol dialect)
since these eyes have been weighed down on unending
i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body
this body where the craven had once boasted
surging chagrins that blaspheme
blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark
treats that shed tears
a messiah that taunts.
he shall constantly peep through the window
so that I see no light
he will break in my casket
not to thieve
but to burden further
the downfall shall rise
then he becomes me
penning a poem.
~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece
Glenn Sentes
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Writhing, violent rebellion
Systems shutting down
Uncontrollable behavior
Powerless, I frown
Fresh wounds by the second
Digesting razor blades
Flickering old habits
Born of old flames
Shredding softest weakness
Corroding iron strength
Nothing will escape
Mind snaps, and bends
Healing salve corrupted
Swallow all the same
Eradicates stomach lining
Emptiness becomes pain
Consciousness cradled
Craven slumber, debased
Maybe this time
Maybe - !
Maybe not.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 9:12 PM UTC
When the eggs all hatch
inside of our bellies
and begin to bore holes
we will bear it
because we're
not good enough
for a doctor to touch
When we give birth to the babies of flies
we will love them like our own.
Because they're
not good enough
for better parents.
When our fly babies grow up
they will ask us why
they are so different than the other kids
We will tell them it's
because they are better
than the other kids.
When we die slowly and painfully
from sepsis when the holes
in our stomachs finally leak out
because we were too engrossed
in our fly babies
We will wonder if it was worth it.
After our funerals,
attended by our fly babies
and our parents
there will be hor d'eourves
with which our children
will mate.
Our dads and our moms
will eat the food
crunchy with their eggs
because they are not good enough
to ignore free food
we will be reborn.
And leave holes in the stomachs of those who made us not good enough.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 8:34 PM UTC
By your leave, let I slumber once forever..
And my moment shall never realize itself.
My portfolio possess no wherewithal wager,
My seat of affection is now dull and rough.
Sepsis leak a foggy black since blight is nigh,
The sea is feeble whilst the sun shine naught.
The corpse of venal men flow unhealthy dye,
Henceforth pervade the soil with miasmic malt.
Lest my mistimed demise be not remembered,
Shall the script mark y'all failed to deter abuse.
Today my ember is snuffed and plundered,
On the morrow a bright star will rise, I muse.
Heed thine auguries borne from frigid stupor,
Vicious tendrils cascade upon my rigor mortis.
O gray vision as though gazing through vapor,
Hear that silent gasp veiled under my spicy lips.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:11 AM UTC
Staccato's of clasping chains.. feverishly flaying your wrists...
As a rabid dog chewing off its own limbs to crawl away.
You hide in my shadow.. The only place where they cannot get you...
While your children burn...
A sour scent of ***** floods richly within these forsaken walls...
A tranquilizing melody of ****** gargling
I will mutilate the memory...
I will stain the status you built...
I will pluck your fruit and devour it with voracious appetite
Gnawing your rotting tongue bit by bit...
i drink sepsis that drips from the shank of your thighs..
My hunger everlasting...
Ravenously, depraved, my claws rend and maim your angelic wings...
A carpet of feathers gusts at your final gasp....
A cold lick on your eyeballs...
We drag you into our grave...
Rats...
Swarms of rats...
And i wear a crown baptized and blessed of your blood....
Adorned with warm and beating entrails of the defeated and the devoured...
Bricked in walls....
I can still hear you clawing during the most sleepless of sleeps...
And taste your rotting tongue...
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
I aimlessly drifted in teenage years,
From subtle scion to zaftig plebe.
Seen phony glory, vanquished fears,
And the stench of a wicked glebe.
From below, saw the stars up high,
Igniting horizons with callow wonder.
Beheld colossal beauty with mine inner eye,
Begged for chained thoughts asunder.
Amidst the serene flock to be slain,
Oft' a titan, seldom a vacant savant.
Known sorrow, elation, gain, vain, pain,
This mortal hour, hear joyful lament.
How quick we are to bid farewell,
How slow for friendship to pierce the cloth.
The rhythmic ache of that darkened knell,
The sobbing whimpers for a lover's warmth.
Nix for reciprocated amity, yet!
My seat of affection thrives in twilight.
Herein discipline is adamantly set,
Whence shall this ****** ire take flight?
Into the night that covers my soul,
Unleash that verdant star I see.
The divine abyss have taken its toll,
I pray the shadow is only me.
Note the ease to neglect one's clan,
Yet savored glee of reunions by blood.
Fury cease my elder ties, an infant plan,
By filial ardor, I still kneel in mud.
Star-shine ablaze onto vivid blooms,
Arise the stench of broiling debris.
Beauteous summer-tide metronomes,
The sinking scythe follow gales of peace.
Labor come sweat yield sweet fruition,
Tis annual come the bronze harvest.
Wrongful vengeance seek humble redemption,
Autumn under siege of well-fed zest.
Stormy vista rime graying meadows,
Entrench the sepsis by the ice age.
Taste weeping woe of guilty widows,
Lest their beloved hunger in cage.
Arise young lilac out of barren frosts,
Touch the vital aura to begin anew.
Altruists gladly pay auric costs,
To stalk vile leviathan into dew.
May stones bear indistinct distinction,
So my stride shall stumble and falter.
Peace paint heroes of sluggish fiction,
Chaos rouse prodigies from quiet slumber.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
You’ll never know how many times a day I fantasize about running a blade across my skin.
Feeling that dull burn and the pull of my flesh against the blade.
The sweet crimson relief pouring from my soul.
I feel the blackness in me.
It’s toxic, flooding my veins with poison.
Causing sepsis within my heart.
Killing what is left of me.
I need to release it before it eats me alive.
It can’t get out if I don’t make an opening!
It’s fingers reach through the wound and slowly tears me apart.
Pulling at my skin until the hole is big enough for it to slink out of.
I am frozen.
Forever haunted by my shadow.
Forever tormented by her words.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
They must not hear of
things that have gone on,
under this roof,
during these hours,
they would scream at the top of their lungs,
You do not want to know,
pressing intentions
why his waist bulges over his belt,
why his face is so red,
a murky sky,
eyes slits in ebony stone.
she is gone,
someone must know why,
others are left to guess and to gossip,
hens clucking,
you must not know,
what they whisper with thickened tongues,
There is a kind of pride,
in being the one that sees and knows,
nervous,
menaced by petty stimulants,
Events become like a sepsis,
webbed,
sickness multiplying,
years kind pass like temporary paralysis,
fear is a currency,
sometimes.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
Snared heart kept, imprisoned could be potential dying day,
Lips regaled in ischaemia, blue blood,flows.....cold,
Face scarlet,temperatures up, pyrexia rules, as she tries too cool,
Mouthing strange babble,
She's talking in tongues,
Beaded mask sparkling, droplets trickle,
Tachycardic, heart beats, trying not to escape this life desperately, Heart trying not to explode!
the forties....roaring!
She breathes, so fast... the forties....roaring!
It's tragic,like everything's trying to meet demand with supply........!
Inadequately,
Currently on remand, waiting for her sentence to be be passed,
Docs and nurses they rally, running with obs,
All taking their roles, while doing their jobs,
Mews activated, doc visits he's, anxious,
Iv antibiotics he orders,
In plastic sachet, hanging up high, hereby, lies the awaited decision, if she'll have the will to live, or will she die...
Hope not!
It's not in an instant, but, recovery apparent, as breathing slows below twelve,
Heart beat, it settles,
Her kidneys show function,
Her temperature chills slowly, 36.5, she's still alive,
Thank God,
She got off the train at sepsis junction!
Copyright Livvi Kent (RGN) 11 /04/2013
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
in disguised fashion,
and contemporary flair -
Nazi-laden euphemism -
rushing thoughtless at
bricked wall.
knowingly, no way
through, though run
on tip-toes to
gain agility of ancestors.
pseudo rain-dance;
is that cultural
or is it racism?
no room at the bottom anyhow;
we'll linger here
developing emotional interlingua
as means to better,
to comprehend gaped chasm;
allusions, perhaps
it's a bit more magic
oriented than prior presumed.
(the ever consumed)
then fretful sitting,
continued curiosities of death;
(perhaps hyperbolic?)
feet still stink ten years later
while linger understanding
of sepsis; is this life infected?
is this a gangrenous growth
in existence;
was dead at birth,
and rehearsed the gurgles
prone to an actor's drowning
monologue. euphemism?
perhaps only rhyming to
schism metric longings.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
Liquify,
Modernize,
Affix,
Me.
Dicast parts,
Formalize,
Metastasize.
I am Growing this agar's too small.
Feral,
Lycanthropy,
Hearts.
Through the stigma,
my bones bleed,
my wreaths hanging,
Sagging.
Of unwelcome,
all my being.
of unwelcome,
all my being.
The Truth of getting older,
the senescence of emotion
The people we love and once were,
Are gone forever.
I am not for this heartless place.
I am but Peter Pan,
understanding.
A bitter struggle,
While trampled underfoot.
Of a world,
Not built for us.
Built for no one.
Jan 16, 2022
Jan 16, 2022 at 11:22 PM UTC
blunt deadly weapons of mass destruction
electrify, fracture, and
jeopardize **** Sapiens
species (and entire biosphere)
continuity rent asunder
doomsday declared (nuclear winter
gallows humor spelt
with eternal snow day)
dystopian authors outflanked
nuclear fallout wreaks worst
rocky horror picture
effected upon mankind
global (worldwide)
big screen radioactive
wee ***** weber webbing
materiel severely seared
sepsis poisons deoxyribo
nucleic acid future generations
organic fiber cursed
simultaneous single simulcast
broadcast airs live after Royal Wedding
audience participation demanded
bumping ugly fleshless
formed fruitless fatal fumes
anomalies all – blinded
******** begotten bemoan
brethren brood
brutal burnt offerings
crackling, snapping,
and popping surreal muck
shapeless liquified populace
sloshing helter skelter
quests slither towards
aimless destination
bone a fied skeleton crews cruise
crying cretins creep cavalierly
crepuscular cratered city
cruel mushroom clouds
cloaked croaking cellophane charred
cancerous clumps career,
clomp continuously
chaos charts choking climate
cold comfort commanded collusion
commander in chief concurred
crumpled coveted constitution credo
crass conceit communicated
cooly came clean concerning
consensual ****** cavort
crazy cream craving characterized
condoned combined crunching
crotch crab free **** -
****** free crux
contractual commingling
cashiered coverup
chic chica chick
cigerette chewing
clutched cocked club
choked chicken concluded
das capitol business
before he returned
to regularly broadcast program
the sea son finale
last chapter of human race
no winners, nor survivors
bleak contaminated Earth gasping
heaving jackknifed lost
nonpareil planet reduced to vapor!
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
For I cannot bear to cut you off
I will live with the open sores
Waiting for a word from you
To be finally restored
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 11:58 AM UTC
As much as one hates to use the pronoun “I”, writing or speaking, there are times when ‘I’ is the middle point and of the essence.
Sincerely,
Arlene (see footnote).
Now & Then, How I Miss…
I practice living the Now.
But now and then
I miss the old Arlene
Who had ten
fingers;
Who could play arpeggios
With ease:
Adagios, capriccios,
Effortlessly
Trouble-free.
Un-nostalgic, chanced to see
And old Youtube of Arlene-me
Singing, playing“All God’s Chillun” speedily,
Gleeful, musical and jazzy.
Wound up teary-eyed.
With just three left to play with:
Thumb and index on the left, only lonely thumb the right,
Filled with weakness
I can play a swinging bass
With Monk-like dissonance between,
The right thumb not at all a small dumb finger.
The trick will be to sow creativeness anew.,
Augment, stretch, grow and not go into
Any other place than Now
(if Now at all can be referred to
as a ‘place’.
I rather think of it as space).
In any case,
I was a little sad today;
The old Arlene who cannot play
The way she used to,
Caused by nature’s vagary.
Dear reader, please forget
This sentimental, reminiscent “…How I Miss…”
A useless business at the very least.*
Now &Then, How I Miss…1.6.2020 Vaguely About Music; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Nover Corwin
*Arlene Corwin collapsed on August 3rd, 2019. In a coma for a month, when she awoke, there were 4 fingers missing on the right hand, 3 half fingers on the left, and two catheters in one kidney The cause: Blood poisoning or sepsis (from the Greek ‘sepin’ make rotten). After two months she was home. Muscles shrunken, walking with help she began a regime of sit-ups, pushups, yoga…and using every object inI the house as tool now is fully flexible and growing stronger with each day.
But the hands, those hands…We’ll see what happens.
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 7:12 PM UTC
Damaging thoughts invade my mind,
enveloping all the parasitic positivity
poised to curtail them.
Resurfacing memories surge like viruses;
enlisting others to help send
septic suggestions racing through my
Synapses. Converting creativity
into anxious apprehension
Overcoming the entirety of my being…
No one understands this feeling.
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 9:16 AM UTC
I haven’t shed him like I should have,
an undercoat that I didn’t need.
Too hot on my belly, stifling
and dangerous.
Heavy layers that take on water –
if they get wet they could pull me under.
I should have shed him like a snakeskin.
It’s wrapped around my throat, taut over my
thighs, my ******* my eyes.
It aches familiar, a size too small.
I’m wrapped in it like chicken meat – sterile,
unable to grow.
His heart is a rejected *****
It looked plump and pink but it didn’t fit.
His organs and my organs pressed together,
Hair, bone and skin, but the sepsis had set in.
Now it lives in my throat,
a bile I can taste but I can’t throw up.
I offend myself with my desire.
This tether, woven by my own fingers
going over and over the same patterns.
His mouth, my mouth, the words we say
are not magic, not a promise
but a sarcophagus.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
I will not deaden the pain
I will bear the lacerations
To keep my heart open
The price for your possible return
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC
As much as one hates to use the pronoun “I”, writing or speaking, there are times when ‘I’ is the middle point and of the essence.
Sincerely,
Arlene (see footnote).
Now & Then, How I Miss…
I practice living the Now.
But now and then
I miss the old Arlene
Who had ten
fingers;
Who could play arpeggios
With ease:
Adagios, capriccios,
Effortlessly
Trouble-free.
Un-nostalgic, chanced to see
And old Youtube of Arlene-me
Singing, playing“All God’s Chillun” speedily,
Gleeful, musical and jazzy.
Wound up teary-eyed.
With just three left to play with:
Thumb and index on the left, only lonely thumb the right,
Filled with weakness
I can play a swinging bass
With Monk-like dissonance between,
The right thumb not at all a small dumb finger.
The trick will be to sow creativeness anew.,
Augment, stretch, grow and not go into
Any other place than Now
(if Now at all can be referred to
as a ‘place’.
I rather think of it as space).
In any case,
I was a little sad today;
The old Arlene who cannot play
The way she used to,
Caused by nature’s vagary.
Dear reader, please forget
This sentimental, reminiscent “…How I Miss…”
A useless business at the very least.*
Now &Then, How I Miss…1.6.2020 Vaguely About Music; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Nover Corwin
*Arlene Corwin collapsed on August 3rd, 2019. In a coma for a month, when she awoke, there were 4 fingers missing on the right hand, 3 half fingers on the left, and two catheters in one kidney The cause: Blood poisoning or sepsis (from the Greek ‘sepin’ make rotten). After two months she was home. Muscles shrunken, walking with help she began a regime of sit-ups, pushups, yoga…and using every object inI the house as tool now is fully flexible and growing stronger with each day.
But the hands, those hands…We’ll see what happens.
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 6:54 PM UTC
Underneath the thorn
stinking, **** suppurates.
It throbs–
pulling the splinter–
pressing out the ****
squeezing until the green sepsis runs ******
The thorn's scar
is permanent
biding time,
waiting for bacteria.
Nov 13, 2024
Nov 13, 2024 at 2:38 PM UTC
As deadly as sepsis
It makes your world so small
Creeping in
Inch My inch
Until you suffocate within yourself
OCD has made my world so small
I'm not sure there's any world at all anymore
But I will fight back
Push back
Against the walls
That suffocate me
I will push back and
Kick and
Scream and
Swear and
Fight.
Until I can see the world again
"OCD no longer engulfs me.
I engulf it."
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
I'd forgotten I'd rung
the hospital ward
that many times
about you
my son
and when I saw you
that evening I was
blown away how ill
you were
and I told the nurse
how ill you looked
and how swollen
you were
and how breathless
you sounded
and she said
the doctor is busy
I will pass on
your concerns
when he returns
from A& E
and that's all
she said to me
despite my pointing out
what needed to be done
and I sat with you
and helped you
on the bed
and rested your head
and talked awhile
but you were tired
and were
closing your eyes
and I said:
I'll leave you to rest
and be back tomorrow
but later that evening
they rang from the ward
and said to come quick
as you were in a bad way
three heart attacks
my son and a long wait
listening to your
machine made breath
the next day
came the sudden
out of the blue
neglected sepsis
death.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC