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Best Sick Poems

Below are the all-time best Sick poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of sick poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Sick Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Sick poems are below this new poems list.

The sick sea by Motaung, Pheko
Unto death my sick baby by Motaung, Pheko
Am I sick by Raynes, Lewis
SICK part 2 by Earnings, J. W.
SICK part 3 by Earnings, J. W.
SICK part 1 by Earnings, J. W.
Sick in Detroit by Kimmel, KA
Someone Sick Like This by Horn, James
Sick Leave by Negron, Nayda Ivette
Sick Spirit by Kopec, Patrycjusz

View all new Sick Poems

The Best Sick Poems

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Sleepless Night

Sleepless Night

***
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle around the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "She's Gone With the Wind."

The idea of love, 
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today,
her arms, my shelter
her wings now immense.
Beauty --- she's gone forever! 
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have are lost memories,
tracing what is left.
One last deep breath
tequila vice
to wash away the pain.....

At Last, Now I See!
Under the drunken stars 
I had an epiphany 
Stricken like a match
A sunken treasure 
At Last, I Knew
You did not belong in there,
you were there for the taking
Frail and sick, no longer sane.
Memories lost, no longer - her
My Mother! 

What had become of her since? 
You're a demon, who played us all
Made us cry, while she slowly withered away

The way you laid waste to her body
nipping both her legs
Fed her through a stubble

She rapidly forgot
our names'
our faces'
I hate you Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you Death
I hate the way you claimed her final moment!
***

Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caress a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights.


7-08-13


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Bleeding Love

Introducing: Jan Allison & Poet Destroyer

Pierced by shards of shattered glass 
Deeper and deeper you stab me 
With lies and venomous words 
Dissecting my heart piece by piece 
Crushed like the petals of a withered rose 
I’m dying … 
Scarlet blood seeps into my very soul 
    Drip 
       Drip 
          Drip 
Into pieces and a bloody mess 
I sacrificed secrets; 
Secrets you tore and tore, 
Gracing a fake friendship, 
Trust tossed like a sweaty towel 
Now karma a poisonous snake 
You plea ... 
To be on death row, decomposing 
Dripping into the night -- Silently 
fading and fading 
Stung by my viper lips, 
     smiling 
        grinning 
           laughing 
Until you are no more


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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FINALLY

Finally 

Doctor, it's been 7 months 
The MEDs aren't kicking in

My dreams are getting stronger, 
The blood remains to run code red
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed 
Dark images keep taking place inside my head 
The voices - The voices, are not all right!

I no longer lay laughing 
The screaming never stops
In irons,  my mind rattles 
Theses thoughts are all I got
In slow motion, my mind plans the perfect plot

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Counting every single second on the clock 
At first, I could not breathe 
I felt, I was left alone, 
Broken down --- Incomplete  
In your eyes, the schizophrenia spoke loud
In my eyes, everything is dark and gray

Doctor, now listen closely, open your eyes
While the walls slowly close in on you
I have my hands around your neck
Finally, I feel my arms, the needles are gone

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
The tightening of the chest is clearing
Today I possess a little more than yesterday 
Knowing exactly what needs to be done.

DOC YOU AREN'T LISTENING!
Was it all for nothing, the bloody wrist?
The faucet constantly dripping every night
The voices I call my friends

Deep, deep down,  
I'm still a child, painting  bedroom walls
Setting fires after my mother's death 
A crazy peril in its most threatening state

Doc, here you are again,
No longer will I allow you to waste my time
With your fetish lies, trying to make me better 
The problem is not me, it was always you!
Painting pink butterflies and white skies

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Don't you understand  she's dead!
Pills aren't going to bring her back 
Padded rooms aren't going to help me,
Help myself --- grieve  the proper  way!
Straitjackets aren't going to restrain me, 
--- from wanting to hurt badly!
Psychologically, I'm perfectly sane 
Expressing my emotions a different way.

Doctor, you're not saying nothing 
You're not moving, 
You're just sitting there pretending to care.
Doc, I hope you aren't mad?
The voices explained it had to end this way
How else could I make you listen?

Finally, the impulse is gone 
Finally, I'm going to be alright 

       by: Pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Near Death Experience

Lying silently on my bed, eyes open wide.
Watching as darkness moves in like a heavy fog.
My breathing seems to echo against the cold walls
And my heart beats rapidly as I’m plagued with thought.
Prayer like questions, if I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take, will he take me?
Instantly thoughts go to grandma, surely she’s there,
Surely her open arms will be there to greet me.
Harbouring such thoughts bring to me a peaceful smile.
I start counting all the loved ones I will soon see.
I count them as others count sheep in darkest night
They have become like soft comfort blankets to me
They make my nights less scary, should it be my time.
Soon my weary body gives way to pure darkness 
I slip into a place of total nothingness 
Time stands still and now I am neither here nor there
I am nowhere, floating helplessly forever
Then far off I see a light shining so brightly 
Now I feel once more as my aching body hurts
I moan and roll toward the window lit with sun
Realization sinks in, I’ve made it……one more night.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
11.01.2014
Anthony Slausen’s Contest:
Near Death Experience
5th


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Laughter, the Best Medicine

We live in a world where sickness abounds, Sometimes stumping the best of providers. Symptoms and tests almost always expound, While the emotional costs grow wider. The travel and care and expenses we bare, In dollars and tears for a healing. Pale when compared, with the voluminous prayers, Our reverence and humility kneeling. Seeing through to the end, great strength we must take, And the position that attitude matters. A stiff upper lip and a smile sometimes fake, Anything less, and fragile hope easily shatters. Yet until we’re called home, to streets paved with gold, Or abodes filled with love and affection, Widely known in the hearts, of the young and the old, Laughter remains, life's greatest healing medication!
(This poem is dedicated to my wonderful Sister Cindy, whose strength and positive attitude throughout her struggle, encourage all who cross her path) User Name: Wedge Motif: Philosophical


Copyright © Michael Wegman | Year Posted 2014

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The Great Swan

"Who's woods are these anyway' .

Who's woods that I  dwell .

The house of Usher I know so well.

I seek to skate on the frozen lake.

These's woods are deep, dark, weak.

Though I would dance like a swan if I could.

The lake is always frozen this time of year.

How I love the night woods that covet me.

Under the bulging night skies of death.

Beyond the place of wrath and tears.

I would dance upon the lake till not.

Alluring ,always caressing in gentle touch.

I would be remembered as " The Great Swan".

Though here I sit in my bed chamber of death.
And wait for God to call my name.  



1pm wed.  7 / 24 / 2013,,,,,  " house of Usher" stands for death,,, " right"   the woods are a metaphor for the sick body .


Copyright © Debbie Duncan | Year Posted 2013

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Heart and Soul

I see…
red splotches on her night gown
still oozing down her face
“I fell again.”
She looks at us
with that same wobbly smile
“I’m Ok! Don’t worry. I’m OK!”
I can’t see
a clear liquid oozes down my face

I see…
Mama is dazed
clutching her face
Couldn’t light the stove fast enough
An explosion
We thought a bomb had hit the kitchen
War time years
Everyone running around 
Mayhem
Mama burned her face
“I’m Ok…I’m fine.”
She tries to smile
I scream
I can’t see clearly
watery haze of tears
covers everything
along with the smoke

I see…
Mama gasping for breath
Mama going red in the face
“Mom, are you ok?”
Another coughing fit
Can’t get the food to go down
I pat her on the back
I pray…
Will this be it?
Will she choke this time?
Muscles that don't work
I see
I see
I cry
I scream
Raspy voice
Tears streaming down her face
I’m…Ok…..I'm OK now."
That lying smile
Her hand goes up
I can’t see
Double tear vision
Life is unclear

I hear
I hear
“You’re afraid I’m going to die, aren't you?”
I see
Kind brown eyes
Looking into mine
They are filling up
the wobbly smile is gone
she lets her tears speak
Oh….to talk to talk about it
Release
What can I say?
What can she say?
We feel
We feel
She crushes my body to hers
Neither of us can see
Blinded by tears

I see
Clouded eyes
She’s in a place I can’t reach
I shake
I shake
“Mama, can you hear me?”
She tries
I cry
I scream
ANGRY
I SCREAM
“Mama, listen to me!”

“GOD?
God…HEAL HER!!!
HEAL HER!
NOW!
A miracle
For ME!"

I beg
I plead
I demand

“Mama, do you believe?
Jesus can heal you!
Do you believe?”
“Yes,” a whisper
Almost inaudible
I pray
I can't see
Eyes of mustard seed faith
Shut tight
“Forgive our sins!
In the name of Jesus
Be healed, Mama!”
Eye lids fluttering open
I see
I see 
Mama is still on the wheel chair
She’s bound…not free
I don’t see anymore
My head drops to my knees

I get dizzy
I drop things
In the shower
I fall
Cracked ribs
I cry
I scream
Alone
I hear
I hear
“You have MS TOO!
It has come for YOU!”
I can’t see
Shower water mixes with tears

“God?!
GOD?
Do you SEE?
DO you HEAR?
DO you FEEL?
GOD?
I’m here!
I’m….here!
No wobbly smile
No one to be strong for
I'm not alright!
See me!
SEE....ME!"

Eileen Manassian
In dedication to her MAMA, Angel Manassian!


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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What's up with Santa

                                             What’s up with Santa
                                            He's acting like a child.
                        Santa Claus is upstairs in his big red sleigh bed, 
                           warm and cozy in his red flannel comforter, 
                           wearing his red dropseat pajamas, and hat
                                               sick with the flu, 
                                       constantly ring that darn bell. 

                                          Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                                             There it goes again 
                             Yessss… Dearrrr… I know you don’t feel good,
                           your throat hurts and is sore when you swallow 
                  your body is in pain, like a herd of reindeer has run over it 
                 A warm cup of hot cider and a cinnamon stick to give it flavor
                                               will ease the pain.

                                  I should have never given him that bell  
 
                                           Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                       Yessss… Dearrrr… I know your frequently, coughing 
                       is making your rib cage feels like it’s going to break
                          I will get some milk and chocolate chip cookies  
                                  so you don’t have to get out of bed

                    I wish Santa would quit constantly ringing that darn bell.
                          If he hadn’t shoveled the snow off the sidewalk 
                  and let the elves do their jobs, he wouldn’t be sick right now

                                            Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                     Yeessss… Deeaarrrr… I’m sorry your head is stuffed up, 
                              nose is red, hurts, and won’t quit running
                                 Reading the Naughty or Nice List 
                      will help you not think about what you're going through

                                 What came over me to let him have a bell

                                           Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                Yeessss… Deeaarrrr… You’re running a fever, freezing, and shivering
                               I will go inform the elves not to dawdle
                            keep making the toys in Santa’s workshop 
                           and make sure they take care of the reindeer

                 Oh! My! I hope Santa gets well before Christmas gets here, 
                                 so he’ll get better and out of my hair
                                or I am going to hide that dumb bell

                                                
  
 
By Eve Roper 

Sponsor: Carol Eastman

Contest Name :Story poem about Santa Claus 


Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014

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Just Around The Corner

Maybe the most deadly disease is just around our corner
Carried to our doorstep by an unsuspected foreigner
Ebola is lethal with a fatality rate that is extremely high
If infected you have a 70% probability that you will die
 
Incubation period can span from one to forty two days
If stricken, severe flu like symptoms will leave you in a daze
Most symptoms will appear 8 to 10 days after exposure
Bleeding from extremities will have you praying for closure

There is no cure, a strong immune system is your best defense
Why there is still air travel from Africa truly makes no sense
Predicted cases to be about 1.4 million by January next year
An epidemic like we never seen is upon us, that is very clear

If this dreadful virus makes it to your corner. beware!
If stricken with this affliction be diligent not to share
If this disease become airborne, many millions will succumb
Our world will be left in disarray and left feeling utterly numb


10/15/2014

*WHO changed the incubation period from 21 up to 42 days, be safe everyone.


Copyright © Cecilia Macfarlane | Year Posted 2014

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Oh Turn It Off



When Dad passed I moved home with Mom,
       We were roommates at first;
Shopping, lunching, gardening, it was fun,
There were some signs that began, slowly.
     A small forgetfulness,
One day, Mom said I cannot write my name;
     So, I did the banking,
Soon I was doing all the groceries.

The housework, the cooking, I did it all,
       Mom needed full time care;
She was sick and stayed mostly in her bed,
I became the Mom, the daughter gone.
     My own life put on hold,
I was her everything and this adult said;
     When all hope was gone,
Oh turn off the life support please, please.


_______________________
April 21, 2015



Verse

Submitted to Screwed III contest, sponsor, Rob Carmack,

Seventh Place


For the contest, The True Meaning Of Being An Adult, sponsor, FJ Thomas,

Honorable Mention     


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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TENDER LOVING TOUCH

TENDER LOVING TOUCH don't fear she's dear tight clutch soft touch wears white polite too sick she's quick your ache she breaks your ill she feels one pill you still preserve your nerve correct inject your shock she blocks you scared she cares through sleeps she peeps recharged discharge "thank you" she coos ___________________________ Sponsor Judy Konos Contest Name YOUR FOOTLE POEM ---Placed1st--- O.E. Guillermo 8:41 pm, April 04, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

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Broken

I cut to see if I feel how it's like being human,
I cut to see the pain relinquish inside,
I cut for all the memories that remain to drain down in the sewage
What symbols life runs with death in that rusty pipe.

A slash here and a slash there,
What happened in the past?
A slash here and there,
Soon the memories don't last.

Scissors, knives, razors and sharp edges
keeps a bloody smile, no more weep.
Slice and dice, trim more than the hedges
And I don't care if I go to deep.

One scar closer to a never ending dream,
I don't care if I go to deep.


Copyright © Miggy Lomeli | Year Posted 2014

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I Am One Of Them

Life's Hard
It's filled with pain
And misery
My mind is stained
Stained with every memory

Sometimes I think today will be my last day
This place causes me so much pain
I wish I didn't have to stay

Some days are worse than others
I'm starving
Dying for food
I'd do anything

To many things go through my head
Will I be able to keep down my next meal?
Will I live for tomorrow?
Is this terrifying place even real?

I feel so alone
Yet I'm surrounded by people
But this place could not be called a home
There's no life in these places
Or in these faces

Everyone looks dead
As so do I
Most of us haven't been fed

My eyes have been marked
With these dead bodies that lay upon the ground
Without a soul I still look at them
Soon I may be found
As one of them


Copyright © jack Taylor | Year Posted 2014

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I Feel Like Dancing

Drink me ill this pleasure still,
And cure me with your poisoned pills-
Before I lose all my strength,
But, oh! I lost that long ago!
Dreamily dancing to and fro...
With legs of lead and no feet to stand,
And a phantom partner to hold my hand
A languid trance and lulled Romance
To seize me whole in its expanse
Never I yield, though quite out of breath-
Drunkenly dancing in the Depths Of Death

*RHYME BATTLE CONTEST ENTRY
8-29-13


Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

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For Mama and Kayla- Falling into His Arms

I have several poems up about my Mama, Angel Manassian. Mama died on March 19, 2000 at the age of 74. She battled with MS for most of her life. She had me at 41...a surprise!

Turns out, Mama had MS even before she and dad got married, and she didn't know it. My childhood in Iran was the best. We lived in a big compound and had lots of fruit trees, a pool, and wonderful weather to enjoy it all. In winter it snowed. My brothers would jump down from the roof of the house into the snow. In summer, we'd swim all day. Mama taught language at the school Dad was principal of. Ignorance IS bliss. I didn't know Mama was sick. She burned herself once. Really badly. Needed skin grafts....I still didn't know. We moved to Lebanon. 

During my early teen years, I had to come to grips with the fact that Mama was sick....Mama would fall, Mama would get stitches...Mama would burn her face. It scared me. It scared me because I saw Mama getting worse....She'd need help walking, then there was the walker, then there was the wheelchair. Oh...I can't go too much into this...the bruises, the choking fits, the catheters, the slurred speech, the crooked smiles....It broke me. Through it all, Mama tried to give us a semblance of normalcy. She'd smile after every fall...She'd smile to hide the pain; I'd cry to relieve the pain.

My Mama was a brave, caring, kind woman. She was well loved by her students, and she instilled in me a love for words, for singing, and a belief in my abilities. I watched a video on youtube today that reminded me of her and made me cry...again...for the woman who is no longer with me.  This video is so powerful.....It's about a young girl's battle with MS. She is an accomplished runner, but after every race...something incredible happens.

This one is for my Mama and in honor of Kayla.  Watch if you have a spare minute..... Mama finished her race. She had a firm belief in the goodness of God and in the saving power of Jesus. She was an ideal pastor's wife and a fervent prayer warrior. She could say with Paul, " I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."
(2 Timothy 4: 7 & 8) I believe with all my heart that one day my Mama will be whole...body and spirit. You make of that what you want, but I believe she will be awarded eternal life one day. 

Here is the story of Kayla:

http://fbshare.sfglobe.com/2014/11/24/coach-catches-teenage-runner-with-multiple-sclerosis-during-every-race/?src=share_fb_new_20016 

It had me in tears....I hope she finds the inner strength to keep running for as long as she can....Bless God for people in whose arms we can fall....




Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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Dying young

They say sticks and stones may break my bones but I 
came face to face with a wall today.
I keep on searching but I'm lost
I keep on climbing but I'm falling
I'm walking but your pulling me back
Haven't you had enough of the scars that I already have
I'm shouting with no voice 
I'm crying but the well within is dried up
Gravity keeps on pulling me back
Katrina keeps on coming back

Its dark where can I find the light
I'm chained,  trapped, binned-ed by this chains
I can't breath your suffocating me
I can't sleep your controlling my life
I'm shouting and kicking but your laughing
Im torn apart and bleeding
You see the the beauty on the outside but I'm dying 
within. 




Copyright © Asiphe Tomeli | Year Posted 2013

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Silent Killer

Kill the Silent One

(Silent Killer)


He has invaded, unseen
Lurking and silent
Evil destroying one and all
From cell to cell
Crawling underneath
Leaching blood and soul
Smiles are murdered
Futures destroyed
Families ruined
The silent one is a killer
Who must be killed

The order has been given
Command centre now on full alert
Maps perused and studied
Strategies contemplated
The invasion...........
Will be at early dawn

Men prepare their battle gear
The landing party both excited and nervous
Life depends on them
Ones death also looms
They have no guilt
No fear
For whom shall be killed
The silent one's days are numbered
Victory is their only option and concern
War has been declared
And
We shall overcome
The silent one

The dawn is approaching
The men kit up in their uniforms
Preparing equipment, double checking their instruments
They march forth ready to do to battle
At dawn, as the brightness above shines down upon them
They enter the theater of operations
Weapons ready

Doctors in full dress
Scrub nurses ready for action
Technicians monitoring vital signs
The battle has begun
More saline, clamps, increase IV, Scalpels
Blood stains the heroes of the moment
The end, a silence, a satisfaction, a tear
This patient can be declared
Cancer free

The silent one was murdered
Cancer removed
Life restored
Family rejoices
Tears and kisses
This battle won





Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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This Hell

His thoughts go off like bombs inside his mind,
so deafening, so poisonous, so doomed
to thrash against a dam of memories
that take him back to hopeful yesterdays.
His thoughts will shout but never make a sound,
his mind as sharp as when we was a boy.
His body, once so strong, has flickered out
like flames that reach the end of blackened wick.
His head is full of words he longs to speak,
but in this hell, he cannot move his lips.
As constant tremors steal his weathered pen,
his stranger-hands will never touch again.
He yearns to feel her porcelain petal-skin,
to count the fervent beats beneath her chest. 
But she can only kiss his hollow cheek
where salty tears commingle in despair. 
She sits with him and holds his withered hand.
She runs her shaking fingers through his hair.
He needs to see her soft, angelic face
until his lungs can't hold another breath.


Dedicated to those with ALS and anyone who has had to watch a loved one suffer through this terrifying disease


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2015

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Lost To Dementia

Night of the dark soul 
demons infiltrate, 
the gap between self
and oblivion. 

Your mind’s a fragile  
dysfunctional place,
that is under siege
and cannot be saved.

As reality 
morphs into a dream,
sanity slowly
starts to slip away.

And part of you is
lost to dementia,
as confusion lurks
behind every thought.

Hope is depleted,
only time exists,
and your lonely heart
cries out for a friend.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Smitten Kitten

Leapin' lizards up in dem’ gizzards, something we call the creepy crawl. And her womb spew forth blasphemy, and her lips uttered deceit. Black alters in Bone orchards. Praise hell syndicate burn down this town and everyone in it. Red lights…, blood lust. Ambrosia, with her hair so fare.  Clearly obvious why the gods chose her. Devourer of subtleties... Tenderest of vittles. I know at night your bones up and come to life causing mischief. All monkey minds in devil times, chatter chatter, screechhhh... All lost, no hope. And then there was you. Burn down the temple and sing. Eyes bare witness to the rise of her. Dance to the rhythms of a free will symphony. Bleed from thyn eyes,... I don't mind. Bliss bliss and heaven. Your absence is the bane of my existence.


Copyright © Pauly Plaster J.R. | Year Posted 2014

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Miracle on 10th Street

On many long, drawn out nights, his routine was to
shuffle aimlessly along dimly lit city streets.
Much of the time, his only companion was a
concealed remnant of cheap bottled wine. He
scavenged for food and money. He would walk
enveloped in deep, weighty shadows and
halo laden street lights. Solitary. Lonely.
Emptiness that few people feel or know.
The raw hollow of an alcoholics tightly 
drawn stomach. A gnawing pain that craves
food but will only be quelled when he gets
enough cash for another pint of cheap wine or gin.

Where to spend the night? Maybe with
some of them under the 10th st. bridge.
They may have some money there, or a
blanket to share. Might rummage garbage
containers at the restaurants on the way.
Could walk the parking lot at the grocery store.
There's always change lying on the asphalt. 
Could act like he passed out on a city
bench. The police take you to the Detox
Center then. He hated that. Have to stay
72 hours. Guts ache, skin crawls. They
feed you well, but there is always
that craving.

Just keep walking. Frail, vaguely awaren
of hissurroundings as he treks in shadow 
andsepia. On 10th, the street lights are so
damned bright they hurt his eyes. 
What's that at the bus stop bench
in a brown paper sack?
Two loaves of bread, two wrappers of
bologna, and a luxurious bottle of Gallo
wine tucked in the sack. My God. 
Providence at a city bus stop.
Someone boarded the bus and left 
their supper. Probably headed for the
homeless shelter overnight. 
White bread and meat for one hunger.
Cheap wine for the other.
There might even be some food to share.

                         Miracle on 10th St.



Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2015

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Girls Like her

Pieces of my mirror crash to the floor
As I throw it against my bedroom door
I’m sick of seeing what I see
I know that other girl just can’t be me

She looks so ugly I’m not surprised 
To see the loneliness swimming in her eyes
That girl just doesn’t know when to quit 
And quite frankly I’m getting sick of it

From head to toe she’s just a mess
To lock her away would be for the best
I really don’t think anyone would care
If she went to her room and just stayed in there

For girls like her there is no hope
Just trying to find different ways to cope 
Girls like her don’t get the cute guy
No matter how hard they try and try

Girls like her grow old and alone
Never will there be a child in her home
She’ll die one day but no one will care 
They’ll just put her in the ground and leave her there

No one to bury her in a proper grave
Just think of all the money that they’ll save
With a nameless headstone and a coffin made of wood
Won’t even use nails though they know they should

Girls like her have no future ahead
Girls like her know their better off dead
As tears fill my eyes so thick I can hardly see
I realize that the girl in the mirror really is me


Copyright © Christine Portwood | Year Posted 2007

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The Four Walls of Darkness

                                     The  Four Walls of Darkness




Darkness envelopes the reaching hand in front of me, it is gone as I am gone,
Captured, barricaded, tortured day and night within these four evil walls...

My Hell, this 10x10 room without a view, with nothing to do but wait, and wait again,
Waiting for sanity to lose it's grip, waiting for reality to slip, wait, and wait again...

The only comfort for me are these four walls I can't see,  in darkness surrounding me,
Haunting me, taunting me , Laughing at me, my only company, four walls of bad company...

It's so very dark here, I must be dying, finally, I can't seem to feel anything, nothing,
like there are no walls in front of me, but where did my prison go, suddenly...bright light!!

Eyes opening to a different room, steel walls, antiseptic odor covering, something,
four new shiny walls surrounding me, but still torturing, all around me dead bodies...

Visiting the morgue before they bury me inside the four walls of my 
casket...Bastards!!!



Bmdavey@02/19/16
Poem written for contest  4 walls creative free verse sponsored by C.J.


Copyright © Brian Davey | Year Posted 2016

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Internal Flora

Gabriel, 
blow your trumpet in my ear
so I may hear
the rise of lilies
Marching down my throat 

Naked ladies and daffodils
King proteas and petunias
Spinach, celery and rocket

For the venus fly-trap has lost her teeth
in semi-nation feasting --

My gut is a gaza-strip:
holier than seven maries
times eleven matzot, squared

Who would raise the dandelion and the khaki-bos, 
Who would shield the cornflower and the joseph's coat 
in semi-nation trepidation

My gut is a gaza-strip
My nerves: a dead sea . . .

But Gabriel,
blow your trumpet in my ear again
so I can see
the significance of shattering


14 August, 2014


Copyright © Christine Ueri | Year Posted 2014

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Wallflowers


Wallflowers


Wallflowers with their faces raised, 
     and others too, with heads bowed low;
          the weak, the stronger, eyes all glazed... 
those flowers there all in a row.

Wallflowers placed against the wall, 
     stems bent and twisted, on display.
          In a long row, they line the hall, 
like wilted plants, no role to play.

Wallflowers there lined up as eight; 
     tomorrow perhaps there are less.
          So soon replaced by whims of fate...
more added flowers in distress.

They stab the heart of those who pass; 
     eyes look into our depth of soul.
          Blank eyes that glare like faded glass...
sad hearts that know there is no goal.
     
Wallflowers there against the wall;
     from wheelchairs come the quiet cries.
           I hear their silent, pleading call...
My anger I cannot disguise.


Sandra M. Haight

~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Weepy Quatrain
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 05/21/2016

~Honorable Mention~
Contest: Dancing With Description
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Judged: 11/09/2015

================================
I wrote about this moment, which is
intensely frozen in my mind, because of a visit to a local
nursing home. (photo from Goggle images.)


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015