"thorax" poems
In a second grade classroom
a tiny ant with a treasure thinks only of taking it to his colony.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom floor,
the ant's work is hard but will be worth it.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.
he drags
and pulls
and tugs
On a second grade classroom rug,
the ant's task seems insurmountable but he knows of no other way.
So for an hour, he retraces his path backwards dragging a piece of popcorn
across the classroom rug.
He drags
and tugs
and pulls
In the open of a second grade classroom,
the ant feels exposed on the carpet but cover is closer now, he can feel it.
It's just there, where the wall meets the carpet.
A space just big enough to hide an ant.
Closer and closer.
He tugs and pulls and drags his prize closer still
Pulling and dragging the popcorn lurches across the carpet.
His rear legs reach cover
Then his thorax, his abdomen, his head with antennae and mandibles
then
The Problem.
and...
In a second grade classroom
a line of popcorn rests
where the carpet meets the wall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
Tell me you love me
With unending measure
My heart will bleed gold
Like a chest full of treasure
Beating and breathing
My thorax expands
With pumps of gold blood
From this heart to your hands
You make my heart whole
Once you draw near
So tell me you love me
For I need to hear.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Trump and Brexit,
Two beautiful scrolls in a sync
Singing a song of white nationalism
On the crest in the Ivy League station,
Busy Muffling the **** drop sounds
On the bowls of foot-loose beggars,
A lesson for you dark son of Africa
That tomfoolery is no defense before
The rational altar of Trump and Brexit
Riding on followership’s bitter hangover
For the Nostalgia of the waning glory,
Sired by Machiavelli, groomed by ******
Festooned by Mussolini into a Jim Crow tor,
But fault not them, that is politics or religion,
Always sweet only in full gear of power-piety,
Then Nurture your tiny ***** for no pawn earns it,
To pile your wood for pharaonic winter is obvious
In paranoia of Brexit and Trumpish megalomania
Coming in a stampede with Tigre’s thorax, only
To worry us for nothing as it is the fear of change
Truly, they are not the first clouds in the sky
Of global terror and politics of self-idolatry,
Soon to vamoose in service to their nature
Of aureate appearing to whimpering fade,
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
Here hails a huge, long and dragonish snake,
With myriads of dangerous heads on its thorax,
Roaming up and down in a nefarious duty
All over the African streets and hamlets,
Villages and terrains, the abodes of poor folks,
Swallowing daughters and sons of this land,
Swallowing a handful of them on each bite,
They are in a forlorn despair like never before,
Defenselessly succumbing to the dragon once in the grip,
Young and old, prebubescent and all others are cancers’ fodder,
Africa is truly diminishing to the abysmal jaws of cancer,
Forget of initial vices of *** Ebola and leprosy,
Forget of the contemporary terrorism and ethnic warlordism,
Cancer is ruthlessly swallowing poor folks of Africa
Into its inferno of early deaths, rendering many parentless,
A knot for the living to put aside pride and seek genuine help,
For the myriad heads of dragonish cancer violently **** the prey,
I have seen sons and daughters of poor Africa in cancerous agony,
Often with a blocked food pipe when in the grip of throat cancer,
Non-stop vaginal bleeding at mercilessness of cervical cancer,
In the torture of brute pulling weight in grip of scrotal cancer,
On the top of maximum pain in the grip of breast cancer
Humorously desperate before menacing eyes of death,
When misfortunately in the grip of heart cancer,
Deathly starvation condemns many poor folks to grave,
Always when in the unlucky tentacle of intestinal cancer,
In this desperate land of Africa where basic hospital
Stands a luxury, affordable by the rich in the political class,
As the poor without choice die and die and die,
O who will take me out of Africa, this nonchalant Africa?
Before the dragon of cancer condemns me down to its
Inferno of pains and miserably violent death!
I fear death due to punctured lungs without solace,
I fear death due to stunted blood cells without succor
I fear death due to poisoned blood without palliative
When the cancerous heads of ; lung cancer, blood cancer,
And Liver cancer will besiege this land of Africa to hold me a captive.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
As they tie the white blindfold
On my eyes They line up the
FIRING Line see if I do not stand brave
**** **** **** cocking of rifles*
Are explosions in my ears
Fearless I hold
Your picture in hand and take the
Bullets Crainial Spatail gasps
Lungs collapsing
My last thoughts hinge on your
White ******* as my tounge finds
The gunmetal taste of skin
Your haunting laugh
Screaming in frequencies
Unheard mere mortals
I reach the throne room of the gods
With a knife hidden in my boot
*Did you think I would forget?
Your scent still hangs on me
Electrical I squeeze out each last
Drop of Malice upon a silent hotel room
Even though the news on mute taunts me
With polite smiles reminiscent of your taut hello
A year I spend standing in the rain
Trying to wash the scent of you from my skin
Your taste on my lips
Leaving corpses
Hollow in your wake
The Forked Tongue she spills
Poison in my wine each time
I turn towards the candle light
Until one night I caught her in my Bed
You have no Idea for what you ask
Until at once you understand
I take your hand
Like the moth I rip the wings from your back
You twitch and ****** on waves of pain as
I bring you ever closer to the flame
Your thorax structure spasms of ecstasy
Won't you light me up?
As the beast gives rise
Parting porcelain thighs divine
I find god's stash of
***** tapes in the closet
When I was searching for
A reason not to empty the
Entire clip into my chest
Each bullet carved
With your name in
Perfect Cursive
I break into your house while you are out with your new boyfriend
And I lie on your bed that we used to lie in
I cradle the pistol in my pocket
I keep reaching down to feel
As if I have forgotten it
Flicking the safety
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
****
Chambering the first
Nine millimeter
Hollowpoint
As I hear your front door open
And you flick
The porch light on
Bathing the moonlit yard
In artificial light
The Roses red
I spent my last $12 dollars on
Wilt on the kitchen counter
While in the hall you kiss his neck and
Unzip his name-brand jeans
Leading him to your bedroom door
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
The lights were still on
As I lifted myself from
The air mattress
To check my back
For bedbug bites
I noticed a young roach
In the sink
He scattered quickly
Then stopped
Staring
As if to dare me
To try and **** him
He was the prideful matador
And I the swollen eyed
Stumbling bull
It was life and death
I tried to smack him
With a water bottle
But he ran and hid behind a pipe
So I took a bottle of aftershave
Tried to drown the *******
In a refreshing burning winterfresh
But he was untouched by the splash
Then he scattered across the wall
I ran and grabbed the worst book
In my collection
The premier book of major poets,
1970
They printed Simon and Garfunkel
In there
I tried to smash the
cunning cockroach
But my fingers touched the
Smashed corpse
Of a previous conquest
I quickly threw the book in disgust
And wished it was the roaches
Wife or mother
Lying dead
Smashed by an awful publication
He ran quickly
Laughing at my frustration
Proud
Then he settled in a hole
Under the edge of the counter
He was the victor
He raised his sword
Toward the sun
And stabbed me in the heart
I fell onto the air mattress
Drooling
The young roach returned to his nest
Proud
He found the fattest female
Flipped her over
With his filthy fluttering legs
He tore open her thorax
Then inserted his roach genitalia
Into the wound
Inseminating her
And assuring his legacy
While I slept
Alone
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Flexible old ladies
Extending their worn out muscles
Was first opinion about yoga
After taking class my life enlightened
Eyes contemplated the world
Push ups and sit ups is Kindergarten level
She requires all your mind and energy for full nourishment
Body bent like graph
She lifted my arms and legs into sky
While I pushed my body with force towards the ground
Thorax laid flat like a blue print
Back pulled up like crow bar
2 hours of meditating felt like two days in furnace
Filled with negative tension and tempting thoughts
All my problems expelled through my ****
She gave me the best love I ever had
Her tongue licked wax out of ears so I could hear truth
My mind was fighting against my body
Trying to escape this bomb *** high that made me feel like Jell-o
But brought back so many painful memories that I pretended to forget
That’s when she grabbed insecurity’s arms and whispered to me
“Baby, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
Her soft lips caressed my stiff brain down to my feet
Her breath massaged my bone marrow till I was unconscious
I awoke a healed soul
By Shannon Pollard
© July 18, 2007
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Apple taste
Placed atop
Your head--
Shotgun
*Klu
Klux
Klank*
Bang
00 Buck
Shattering
Thine
Crystalline
*****
Optera
Forever
Encased
Behind Glass
Locked and keyed
Plead
Plead
Please
Let me out
To
Use my wings
I'll allow myself
This
Dream
Only for a
While of
Rubbing
Antennae
(With"you")
Caked
In Pollen
(All the other children used
To laugh at my unobtrusive
Thorax)
I forgot
The taste
Of Breeze
Please
Free me from
This prison
Cell
Inside
Your
Nucleus
Warm and inviting
I think
I could learn
To lov-
To lo-
No, I understand
You don't use the L-word
In this
Kingdom
Phylum
Class
Order
Family Genus
Species
You
Use much more subtle
Habitual
Mating Rituals
Practiced by
Boys
And Girls
Alone
Once
Their government
Handbooks are issued
Ashamed and
Full of doubt
They seek out
The silence
Offered on
Forgotten
Moons
Where they can
Meditate to
The infinite hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of the universe
You can hear it
Now
If you listen close
Enough
*Almost
A
Whispering
Deep inside (me?)
I
Think
I could...
love you*
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Dumbrowski was a 6 foot 5 giant
from some hell hole mining town
somewhere south of Pittsburgh.
All sinew and bulging muscle
he looked like a painting
of the perfect, invincible warrior.
Perhaps he heard the incoming
whistle of his private RPG.
He opened his arms as if
to welcome its deadly embrace.
I was circling low overhead
in the waiting medevac chopper.
The round took him directly in the chest.
Every part of him took off
in hilarious random directions.
Arms went east and west. Head skyward.
Legs and boots travelled south.
His entire thorax just vanished.
Blood, brains and skin
splattered everyone nearby.
Later we picked up the pieces
and bagged them for his ride home;
the torn shreds of a man who had been
human one minute and meat on the ground
just a few minutes later.
Invincibility is clearly relative.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
i glimpse the dawn
through alabaster-flaked rickety-pickets,
like the cavity-riddled ******* maw
of tom sawyer’s crooked-grinning demon
trying to reap its earthly exodus
and rail at the wind
for its squalling disposition.
i have a head full of grass,
and a trail of ants in staggered patrol
clambering in one ear
in hopes of alighting through the other;
their bodies breaching synaptic copulations
of thoughts and ideas assimilated in lucidity,
but turning, like the thrusting-seed of climactic joy,
only to find their first glimmer of stirring light
is merely a preamble to a yawning, abortive dark.
the sun is blinding,
and yet i stare onward - inward,
finding comfort in the dazzling blur,
like a drug redefining the transcendent pain,
and rending heart and brain to simple masses
without flex or flux to pierce the void
and conjure illusions wrought
of patch-worked memories and dreams
that i can no longer tell apart.
here i have come perchance to bleed
in pools to stain the shape of my words,
and your eyes to dance upon their drift,
like the mortician's arms embracing the husk
of cuckoldly bones and beguiling flesh.
here i have come to cackle at worms
that chew holes in the leaves strewn like a sheet,
to shadow the moment i stepped off of the page,
and splintered these whittled stilts
to tempt the proffered flames.
it is a moment lost in orbits spent,
revolutions spiraled, twisted and turned,
like bitter shells spat from that forgetful sea,
where i cast line after line of salty breath,
to avail the deep with my own sullied hook.
so here i lie with a head full of grass,
thoughts taking flight on thorax and gaster,
staring onward - inward, of the blinding sun,
to purge the umbrage of a threadbare soul,
and wander the void
perchance...
to bleed.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
I've found a sharp rock
Would you like to see me
Sheer away the nerve endings
I saw a thousand scars upon your wrist
Your hesitation is unbecoming
Much too shallow to hit the main line
And finally find your way home
I collect no pain
I keep it in a jar
Sterilized
and I
lay upon your shoulders
My hide in one piece
Camoflauge to rob the bank
With my face over yours
You may
Enter hell as a king
Or enter heaven as a sore filled Lazarus
Look at me
In the eyes
They are naked
A heart beats in my thorax
But you shine a torch down my throat
Just be sure
So tell me the secret stories of your heart now
I am curios of the dark recesses of your soul
I have torn mine
Root and all from its placement
With it I was rebuilt
Brand new
Taj Mahal
Look upon my architecture
Quite spinal?
Gaze long upon it
Do not forget
**** thoughts
Intricate in placement
Poetry
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
The tiny red ant scampers
In a forest of greenish mold
Its bristly legs carrying
Biological modules:
A head with pincers
An imperceptible thorax
A swelling abdomen.
It has nothing but a laborious drive
A pheromone-induced servility
For the queen: the lazy, bloated tyrant!
The sole purpose being
The laying of eggs.
The noble red ant
Moves on to scavenge
Blind and dumb
Oblivious.
To the ruthless cycle
Of its existence.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC
Laying there stagnant
My fingers percuss
Your ivory spine
Striking tendon strings
With fleshy hammers
Filling your thorax
With the vibrations
Of a thousand wasps
Stinging at your heart
As you stung at mine
Injecting resin
Injecting reason
To stay forever
And I ignite you
You, the Brazen Bull,
Cremating your heart
Still beating “I love you”
In boiling Morse code
But howling His name
In perfumed clouds of
Carbon Monoxide
Insensitively
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
On Nunday morning came at my door,
A Pharaoh ant of Elephant size.
A thorax, six legs, two antennae
A form well - shaped, flawless, textbook
With perfect beginning, middle and end
Over and over I rubbed my eyes
The ant, it stood still at my door,
And bracing itself for all my wrath,
Annunciated at the highest of pitches
The nonsense of all my senses
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
I write poetry when thoughts infect me
catching colloquy in a web to feast
my thorax alates pearlescent scales
I capture nectar from dewy books
***** waxy words that form in the back
of my throat in honeycomb shapes
they taste sweetest directly from my lips
until you notice six legs protruding
or ten eyes staring up at you in fear
the apex of my elytra is rainbow chrome
but all you see is a hardened shell
admittedly, all I've ever had is ability
to filiform syllables and sounds
dangle lexicon delicately from silk pages
in hopes of creating all the beauty
that I have never felt I possess in this form
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Tuesday, off-day of this world.
Pale faces ignore the sideways
Skewered poles of the symphony
That we so attentively abhor.
These hands are not weapons,
They are tools. My world,
And the one I share it with is handled
Through them.
Because of them, I can be a part
Of you.
I like to make indistinguishable shapes-shapes with tissue paper that lies around.
I like what my thorax makes, those unintelligible sounds.
Starting in or below my abdomen.
I hope death finds me
With this silly note in my hand.
I hope death understands,
It's fun to not be all that might-yee. To be a layman,
To fully and humorously
Understand just what it is
To have wiggle room.
In the eyes of god I want to be Slime.
In the eye of dog,
I am sublime.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
I’ll never forget you
not because you’ll never forget me
but even so if we were on opposite ends of the earth
I would still find you
I’ll never forget you
because the way you looked at me melted my soul
It melted the chamber of ice around my ribs
melted the cold heart that sits inside my thorax
melted my mind and reminded me
that not every living creature is as bad as the last
I’ll never forget you
because the seeds that were neglected in my ribcage have turned
into beautiful flowers because you never forgot to water them
your eyes were blue like the ocean and they drowned me
I’ll never forget you
because you always came back when I needed someone
and I don’t always need someone
but I always need you
and I can’t do this alone
but I can’t find you
are you here?
where are you going
I hope you come back
I know you will
I hope you will
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
i am the beat
the crescent shape
of a bent
smile
before a row of
coffee stained teeth.
i am the heart
that seeps
into bathtubs
filled with
blue water
before the blood
turns red
as it bleeds.
i am a pair
of wobbly knees
bent beneath
the thorax
of a
pious human being.
i am the voice
that screams
into the
fractaled crags
of a
barren
canopy
made of
the tops of dying
trees.
i am the
thinning heat;
the quickened
silver drops
of mercury clung
to the
mercurial
summer solstice
breeze.
i am that
i am these
and those
over there
the filthy and
the clean.
i am the
saddened longing
for what
hides
between
the
knees -
the skirts
the kilts
i am birds
i am bees.
i am
the Christ
born again at
11:11 am
gestations in the
akashic amniotic
fluid of
celestial
Krishna Kosmic
seas.
i am the dragon
belching
fires
as he breathes -
the
coiled serpent
sleeping
at the
base
of the
Knowledge Tree.
i am safe
because
i am He
and She
i am
the babe
at the *****
of the
Holy Mother,
i am
the Crone
on a
long
incarnation’s
Eve.
i am the
wounded
and the
weak;
the boastful,
macho - man ********
and the
humility
of the meek.
i am the
paycheck
at the end of a long
two weeks
and the long
walkabouts
of lotus- trodden
feet.
i am the
sinew
in
the
meat,
the tea
while it steeps,
the
pressure of the deeps;
i am the
EKG-
magnetic
snake skins
and
electric beeps.
i am the
one
who
perceives -
my self
upheld
in the arms of
Isis
swaddled in
Her
sleeves.
i am the lute
i am She
Who plucks my strings
Who listens
Who watches
while
i
dance
while
i
sing.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 4:05 PM UTC
If butterflies were piano keys, when played they would create a sound so faint and beautiful that it would resonate within your eardrums for a thousand years.
The music fabricated from the monarchs would take you back, way back to the years where your grandmothers windchime that hung from her old rickety porch pinged and chinged playfully in the wind.
The music from the Swallowtails would sound like the rustic countryside plains, filled with rustling waves of weeds that you call flowers because they are just to pretty to be called weeds.
The music played from this piano is not just beautiful however.
These tunes come with a cost.
For each key pressed on the mosaic of keys that symmetrically flow down the keyboard takes the life of the butterfly used to bring forth the sound and the memory.
Not only do you hear the song, the memory, you hear the crunch of nature’s thorax.
The crushed and crumbling thoraxes play a song too.
Not beautiful, but melancholy.
Like the whisper of a flower that will never bloom for the morning sun again.
A faint light that leads unto eternal darkness and into a world where no butterflies soar through the sky.
All because you played the piano who’s keys were made of butterfly wings.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
VLTORIS MEA INCIDENS SVVM ÆTERNVM IMAGINE THORAX
DIXIT VNIVERSI MIHI LAPIDE AΠΟΦΘEΓΜΑΤΙ TYRANNVS
DVM SCYTHIÆ SVPER SANGVINE ARDEOR INVICTO
SEXTA RESVLTANS MEA NOCTIS SPECVLO FORMA
CÆDIT SVO PROBVS SIGNATOS FVLMINE POSTES
QVO VASTATIO CHALYBE DICITVR ESSE INDIGNI
VICTRICIS AQVILA TVRMA SACRI CONSONA
PRIMO SIGILLO TEVCRVS NOMINE CRVORIS
VINDEX XYSTO DÆMON IΕΡΩI
MITHRÆO TEGVNT FVLGENTEM TENEBRÆ HOSTES TEMPLVM.
Mar 24, 2024
Mar 24, 2024 at 8:08 AM UTC
in the summer her mother cries out her name,
as the harvest comes in.
rows of pure indiana corn,
swollen, pollen-filled and
waiting. festering.
in summer, she sits hungry and
wanting. like a sick dog she waits at her doorstep,
sweltering; silent; whining through molars
and drool.
she hears her mother call her name again and
through the spit she imagines
a billion corn-seeds
crying with her. she walks toward
the porch and sees her mama and
all her broken fingers.
she feels the pregnant stalks call after her;
they use her name and spit her mistakes back at her
like sunflower seeds.
she opens the screen door; her head aches,
she smells
of grain and pond-water and
baby powder.
she feels her arteries and
extends her elytra,
jerks her thorax toward the setting sun,
breaks all six legs on
impact.
her pollen-friends insist they're laughing with her,
they poke her limbs.
they watch her writhe.
"oh, isn't this beautiful? how gorgeous
you look with your
husk shucked off you."
she nods; silent. how flayed she is,
how vulnerable, how innocent,
like a pig led for slaughter.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
A spider
Still
Drinking the life
From a bee’s
Thorax cup
In sunlight
Between the dagger
Fronds
Of a palm
That I planted
Drinking tea
I watch
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 4:50 AM UTC
Art thou arbitrating an anecdotal end?
Thou apparition of past anthropologist's enlivened to enormity and feline fiasco bend..
Paupers come in packs,
Patter soo bicuriously the patrolmen and thine percolaters match!!
Penal supplements calm nerves of shredded steel,
Pawn broker's to choker's,
Satires greatest wheel!!!!
Come all ye scapegoats!!!
For now you've one to blame,
No debit cards , no yards to take off to,
No torment to shallows fame!!!!!
Amazing grace for how sweet is thy sound?
How young is thine ground?
When one may come and go!!!!
No tunneling through promontery snow,
Yet beautifiers of nature's naturality!!!!
How come thou seeketh out others,
Only to find thyself?
No crystal italic ball to showeth you thy way,
Nor any lead to help!!!
Reiteration of emotion replenishes only if for a few,
Solely I need dire solace listener!!!!
Temporal fixtures and hangings ignited to one fire worked display,
Timid footsteps expanded by black and of Grey!!!!
This thorax goes pained!!!!
Underlying velvet cruor from one to be undervalued and drained!!!!
How hapless to be stood up wherewith your at captive!!!!
Welfare is nowhere to completeth me!!!!!!!!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
The Kakboori was so excited by the prospect of his vengeance that he was literally shaking. He clutched the receptacle containing the horrid creature with almost a death grip. The closer he came To Namé's cell the more he shook, chuckling was glee!
As he stood before her doorway he could hardly contain himself. He urinated forcefully into his own uniform. The Tripilliad, sensing the blood of its Target, scuttled about in its container, making insectile noises.
Boorjami released the venomous monster by barely opening it's **** filled container at the end, after placing it on the floor of her doorway so it could slip underneath...
What happened next was that time almost folded into nothing! The mad Tripilliad made a beeline for its new host... NAMÉ!! She kicked her slight foot out with all the force she could muster!! The Impossible happened. She slammed this side of her foot into the creatures orange beak! This slit through through the Tripilliad's sludge like brain clear into its thorax!!
Like a dervish the monster spun about making noises so horrific they could barely be credited. Boorjami shrieked in absolute horror. Dropping his dagger he headed for the Hills!!!
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 10:44 AM UTC
as i drop my foot
on the head
of an unsuspecting insect,
i think about the time
a hulking finger came
out of the sky
and crushed my thorax,
guts spilling from my ruptured
exoskeleton.
i looked around at my legs
with a snapped antennae
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC