Best Bandage Poems
I’m tired of knowing
That because of my race
Because of where I live
Because of my last name
I’m part of the band…
The children of a lesser God
I’m tired of knowing
That there is so much hate
That it can only escalate
Till someone presses the button
And we blow up in nuclear hate
All because
Some of us are children…
Children of a lesser God
First world
Second world
Third world
Labels and degrees
Different ideologies
Religion no longer a balm
But something to cause harm
Human life of differing values
We mourn them differently
for some of them are children...
Children of a lesser God
How it must make God cry
When His children bleed and die
Unable to understand
That there is a grander plan
One of perfect harmony
In another place in time
He won’t be sitting at heaven’s gate
Asking for an ID
Or checking your nationality
He won’t see the color of your face
Or ask about your race
All He will want to know
Is if you let love grow
Did you live according to His will?
Did you try to relieve suffering and pain?
Were you the bandage of peace
that bound up the wounds of hate?
First, second, third world people
Are all children of one God
Though some may disagree
I ask you all to see
That we are all
Every single one of us...
Children of the Greatest God.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Some say you are lost
If you are not found
On their ground
Some think you are blind
If you do not find
What they find
I am an atheist who believes
The universe is a tapestry
Not a thread
The science to chart the stars
Is but a celestial church
That medicine and vaccines
Are answered prayers
That communities
Can save each other
That math and music
Language and learning
Rebuilding destruction
And regretting a wrong
Are inherent miracles
That to plant a tree
Water a garden
Kiss a scar
Soothe a bruise
Give a smile
Hug a sorrow
Cook a meal
Play a song
Clasp a hand
Bandage a cut
Wipe a tear
Hear a need -
Is divine
I believe the soul of nature
Is sacred
and a rainbow's refraction
Is all the more radiant
For the formula it contains
I believe the finitude of life
Makes a more precious day
And, to my friends of other faiths
I believe - we can meet halfway.
4/27/20
(this was inspired by a poem I read by Anil Deo called Any Athiests out there - thank you for your kind response to my novella-of-a-comment, Anil!)
When I got home from camp today,
My parents almost died.
They asked me how I got this way,
And here's what I replied:
"This little cast from heel to hip
Is nothing much at all.
Some broken shingles made me slip
From off the dining hall.
"The poison ivy's not so bad.
It missed my back and chest.
Of course, I guess I oughta add
Mosquitoes got the rest.
"I tried to eat some hick'ry nuts
And cracked a tooth or two.
And all these bruises, scabs, and cuts?
I haven't got a clue.
"I got the lump that's on my head
From diving in the lake.
I should have watched for rocks, instead
Of grabbing for the snake.
"That leaves this bandage on my chin
And these three finger sprains,
Along with lots of sunburned skin
And sniffles from the rains.
"And oh, I got a muscle cramp
And very nearly drowned.
It's some terrific summer camp,
The coolest one around."
'Twas the night before Christmas
when I and my groom
finally found a motel
but with just one room.
My groom was in the bathroom -
leaving me alone-
so that he could douse himself
with some cheap cologne.
I - in my red negligee -
thought of bump and grind,
visions of his sugar plums
dancing in my mind.
Then a noise I heard outside
gave me such a fright!
who was out there in the snow
on our special night?
Opening our small room’s door,
I felt like a goof.
It was just an icicle
falling off the roof.
Then I felt a sudden breeze.
One unlucky bride!
As the door behind me shut,
I was locked outside.
When upon my motel door
I began to pound,
it was clear that my dear groom
did not hear a sound.
Right before my startled eyes,
what should then appear?
Someone dressed as Santa Claus,
filling me with fear!
His eyes, though not so cheery,
lit up, seeing me
as he crossed the street and came
stumbling drunkenly.
I stood helpless, trembling in
scanty siren red
when an icicle fell down
clunking my poor head.
I revived in the ER,
thong still on my rump!
Underneath my bandage was
an enormous lump.
Thankfully my groom was there,
smelling of Old Spice.
But we’d have no chance to give
gifts naughty and nice.
At our room I later saw
Santa Claus was there -
that same guy who’d seen me in
sexy underwear.
Having seen my accident
he’d informed my groom
right before he then collapsed
stone drunk in our room.
Santa on our honeymoon
with cheeks rosy red,
(but not one “Merry Christmas”),
stole our wedding bed.
12/8/12
Now used for Joseph May's
The Night Before Christmas Poetry Contest
… after Langston Hughes
You know how they do. They say that
we run, that we fit descriptions, but justice
ain’t blind, she just sees who she wants. Is
it any wonder we hold our breath? A
body ain’t a body when they label it a threat. Blind
fold her, watch her peek, call her a goddess.
Watch her drop the scales. Watch how balance is
a myth chased between our nana’s prayers and a
judge’s gavel. They got this thing
for claiming fear while standing over bodies. To
serve, to protect—who? Which
way to run when history's got a knee pressed upon the we
aried? Red light, blue light, a flash, a name gone black.
Mothers wailing thru the street. We are
n’t new to this. My father knew. And his father wise.
Still, she won’t look. Her
hands steady but the bandage
doesn’t stop her from peeking. It hides
but we see it slip. MLK's two
Americas on display. Wounds keep festering
and this country born of scars and sores
struts like a wayward siren. That
same scream, same prayer, same fear. Once
we thought time might change things. Perhaps
we were fools to hope. Seems we were.
Though standing here. Still, we look her in the eyes.
###
I'm here because.....
I need you to believe in me
You...Yes, YOU!
My fellow poet..
You who understands
my love for words and their nuances
denotations, but even more...their connotations
their play and interplay of emotions
I need you to believe in me
believe in my voice
my selection and word choice
believe that I can make a change
with my catalytic composition of rhyme
in this present time
when the world is in pain
when there is so much to gain
by the prophetic cry of a poet in the wildness
I need you to believe in me
I'm here because...
I need you to empathize with me
you who sees my words dripping
the blood of my lacerated heart
I'm incomplete
scarred
I'm scared
I'm holding on by one last thread
at times overcome by dread
life is hard
I need you to empathize with me
to write a little word
that will lift my heart
and caress my soul
with the balm of poetic love
friendship's bandage
Cover me....
I need your empathy
I'm here because...
I need community
others don't understand
this is not just a pastime
a cute little way to occupy my time
It's my heart and soul
my ever present dream...my goal
to live on when I'm gone
in some remembered little song
that you helped we write along
I need community
I need the you and the me
In the communal dance of poetry
They don't see
what words mean
to you
to me
I'm here because...
I need your wisdom
I fall short
I see only within my vision
my periphery
I cannot keep in store
all the mysteries and more
you bring wisdom daily to me
a feast for my hungry mind
to relish all the truth I find
your wisdom nourishes me
I bloom into what I'm meant to be:
a writer of sincerity
I'm here because....
When I'm not
I'm so incomplete
the missing parts of me
are here....
they live in my lines
they breathe in your rhymes
you write; I read
I write; you read
and life is born
and I am
whole...
I'm here because....
I belong
Here are people who understand
who help me to stand
who lend me a hand
I'm part of a band
of people like me
who taste the ecstasy
of a life that is blessed
by sweet
poetry....
For Jerry's Contest (Why are You Here)
December 30, 2015
The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.
And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.
PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”
Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Unfamiliar words
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.
Love is not just a spoken language
nor will it always heal like a bandage.
Affectionate actions and self sacrifice
should come naturally - not at a price.
Real passion is not only lust and desire,
simply two souls connecting to inspire.
Unconditional love is the foundation of trust,
learning to forgive in actions deemed unjust.
A gentleman is always thoughtful and genuine
yearning for a beloved, elegantly feminine.
After all these years, it's still his only dream,
the one wish changing his life into supreme.
When burdened he'll rest his head upon her chest,
listening to her heartbeat, he'll know he is blessed.
With soft hands stroke his heavy head lightly,
her heavenly sanctuary embracing him tightly.
Her beautiful lips tender, rosy and calm,
yearn to be kissed, like a healing balm.
Yet she remains a dream in the distance,
his heart craves for her with daily persistence.
Beloveds hoping to merge without resistance,
celebrating love, breathing it into existence
Silent One
Written 1 January 2016
Her heart was
whirling,
swirling,
twirling
inside the eye
of a
whirlwind,
so I
weaved words
to calm her rage,
because,
like an empathic eagle,
a poet is a
storm chaser,
unafraid of
human hurricanes.
A wordsmith word weaves
against windstorms,
decorating nebulous skies
with rainbow bridges,
kissing the warm balmy
neon glow of the sun,
softly soothing,
vivid vexations
through
intimate intrinsic artistry,
because,
a cloudless day
is a bandage wrapped...
Too tight.
Only a bard can
affectionately alliterate
the grip of grief,
as poetry can be the cure
to calm tempested trauma.
Ink is the mistress
to butterfly sentiments.
I will not stop the moths
from devouring you,
as long as they feed
on toxic thoughts.
I have made a home on the moon,
where stardust scribbles carry us to freedom.
THEIR GREATER SIN
They call one who speaks for Liberty a Fascist
They claim man made end of world as a proven tenet
And to them ‘free’ means imprimatur to ravish
Expressed with many a ‘You know’ ‘It’s like’ and ‘Ennit!’
They proclaim themselves as ‘liberal’ though they favour
The hard politics of socialism central
With a strong taste of Marx in its flavour
That just gives me an affliction in the ventral
Of dark villainy I now seek to accuse
And reserve a special torment to confer
Not for all the sins above from which I bruise
Nor self righteousness they constantly aver
It is the painful wounds for which there is no bandage
Their cruel destructive treatment of the English Language
When I feel puzzled and perplexed,
When in the maze of conflicting thoughts, I am held,
Wondering how to proceed and reach the port,
Then Faith in God comes handy to my aid
Over the turbulent waves, as I get tossed,
The promise of His Word gives me courage.
His everlasting love, I feel in my heart.
On my scars it serves as a safe bandage
All I pray is to give me grace to adhere to a strong faith,
To navigate the complexities of existence,
To find meaning and purpose in this transient life,
And from the pestilences of life, to acquire resistance!
Yet, frail I am and when through trials and tribulations as I pass,
And when they upset my balance leaving me unsteady,
To you Lord, earnestly I beseech, not to let me down,
Never allowing me to get drowned in the eddy.
In this vast universe and in its amazing wonders
From the mountains high and the oceans deep
I see the working of your Providential hand,
That from death and all dangers our lives keep.
When questions arise shaking my trust and faith,
All I wish is to fully abide by Your Word,
Entrusting my body and my soul into Your loving hands,
And like a child cling on to the safety of Thy hold.
I'm trying to be a better man
I want to show you who I really am
I need your help to grow, please give me your hand
You make me want to change and be a better man
I never cared about love, thought sex was the only thing that mattered
Leaving one girl in tears, to have the next in laughter
I was playing girls and bed hopping
I know you'll judge me, because these things aren't said often
I would flirt with every female in the streets
You're wondering why I'm putting these details on this sheet
I want you to know the truth and see my growth
I hope you'll see why we should be close
I thought my mum not being around gave me a reason
Using girls as a bandage who didn't understand the way I was bleeding
Then you came along and something felt different
It's like you're the puzzle piece that was missing
I want to start a new chapter and create our story
I just hope my past doesn't go before me
I'm not who i used to be, so let me be your happiness
I want to paint the picture with you, not capture it
I'm trying to be a better man
It's not about who I was, but who I am
I need your help to grow, please give me your hand
You make me want to change and be a better man
The job search continues, though unemployment has run out
For me, accepting a government handout set a precedent
If only the largest corporations are to qualify for bailouts
Then I’d like to shake up Washington and run for president
Not of the United States, no, I don’t want Obama’s job
But I’d like to take the reins of a business with some courage
To refuse taxpayer money like Ford, not GM on the rob
Like the public, I’d heal corporate wounds with my own bandage
Now I fill my hours volunteering for various causes
Senior centers and children’s groups show appreciation
Operating in the red, they are used to accepting losses
And in my heart I receive a different type of compensation
' '''''''' ' ''
Somewhere a hand is reading out loud
a Dickinson, a leather-worn journal
recording daily life’s soirees,
memorizing rain and shielding little girl’s eyes
from the blasting words of the sun.
Somehow someone reaches
from darkness to drive the shadows
that meet the body of her child: trembling
with excitement or fear,
sliding tender fingers on the back;
parts the arms like wind that rushes in
all seasons to reveal the lush, delicious
landscape of summer ; then rubs the elbow
down the forearm to greet the cheeks
with a kiss and watches while
the hands move back without help or
guidance from the daughter sleeping. ~
Somewhere a mother, grandmother,
godmother, stepmother, or mother nature
weeps over love’s broken child;
uses her hair to bandage
the wound on the youth’s head …unfolds
her hands from prayer to widen
the window of angel psalms
pressing her lips into alleys
of the sapling’s mouth: a tear transforms her
from receiving to giving. ..
and she feels without seeing the last light
of the night; lit for those who witness
its final extinguishing.
©
........ .... ........
*with love to my Mom who had passed on*
Gautami Phookan's Poet lll Contest
by nette onclaud
Winne the poo, had nothing to do, one dank and dismal day, as he sat in his chair rather filled With despair, when he heard a noise just plainly as day, it went kinda like squeek..!
Did his little chair creak? 'prhaps he had eaten too much honey.. ! Got carried away?? he was fond of that Chair, just perfect for a bear, painted a bright emerald green,with scrollwork in blue; he was Afraid it might break, oh..! Just where would he eat cake? & would his feet always ache? His thoughts they were all a to do.!!!
He got up slowly with great care, ( which is harder for bears ) it looked quite strong,
As he gazed at it long..... Then loud again came that squeek.." he followed the sound,
That came from low down.. To a rug right behind his small seat, and there was a mouse."
The first he'd seen in his house, he wondered how-why it was there, he bent down low
Hey.." the mouse didn't go..! It L 00 ked into his eyes, that was such a surprise...!
Then he saw why it squeeked and squeeked so.." Its small tail was trapped,
And yet had not snapped..? It was under the leg of his shiny green chair.." He lifted it clear,
Then continued to peer, at the mouse with two big black ears, now how are you named
Winnie exclaimed..." Mickey it said rather high, and my tail needs a repair, can you help me My bear?? as I don't have a spare, just you wait right there, Winnie said I will share, maybe There's a bandage somewhere, perhaps in my box of repairs..?? with the patches & string, needles and
Things,,! so he quickly ducked under the stairs, and searched it right through, then to mickey he Threw a bandage; to wrap round his tail, for repair, they became such good friends, as the bear made Amends, Mickey said you are fair, a really nice bear.!
For now; this poem has come to the end.)