Best Bandaging Poems
The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible
the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate.
How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another.
He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney
and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it.
It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated.
He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor.
Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus
aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished.
He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go.
The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind,
and set to work bandaging his festering wounds.
She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison
that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever.
Then she covered him and stoked up the fire.
For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war,
not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage.
Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other.
Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point?
A simple disagreement about Creed had started this.
Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal
yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink.
To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view.
These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully.
He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace.
Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values
not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace.
After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope?
Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act.
So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.
Categories:
bandaging, dark, hope, war,
Form:
Epic
I want to be a child again.
I want to skip down the glen, singing
Here We Go Gathering Nuts In May.
Holding Daddy's hand in mine.
I want to know I'm loved.
That someone is watching over me.
Bandaging cuts, kissing bruises better.
Making sure I have my tea.
I want to learn to swim again.
Ring A Ring A Rosie....we all fall down.
Until I learn to hold my breath.
Then doggie paddle...then float.
I'm free in the sea.
I want to play hide and seek.
Try not to giggle until I'm found.
To climb The Mount, then roll down.
To be back in school, with Miss Mc Cloon.
Learning my ABC's and Do Re Mee's.
I want mum to cuddle me.
Call me her "Wee Angel."
Dad to hoist me on his shoulders.
So I can see...360 degrees.
Wobbling on a grown up's bike.
Down the school lane.
Big brother Derek
holding on behind ,then
letting go....laughing,
as I glance behind....terrified.
If I could start again,
I would revel in it all.
Being grown up is no fun,
when little ones are getting tall.
and you are responsible for
keeping them on the ball.
I want to be a child again.
Categories:
bandaging, child,
Form:
Rhyme
It started at 25 , has crossed 75 and will continue forever.
He came closer to me
Shivers ran down my spine,
I looked everywhere else
Instead of his eyes,
Cuz I know I couldn't handle his eyes,
Which drugged me like WINE.
There were crevices in my heart
Emotions were oozing out,
You were the one to stitch them up
Bandaging my doubts.
I realized I was in love with you
When your shade of red ,
Coloured my existing black palette
Shattering the clouds of darkness,
Whose thunder didn't scare me
But rain calmed me down.
Looking at the stars
Talking to the sky,
The galaxy that was missing
I found it in your EYES.
-REEVES
Categories:
bandaging, 12th grade, appreciation, encouraging,
Form:
Rhyme
Tattle cries are just as loud as battle cries,
but the difference is
tears from mannequins dry on untouchable skin.
You may have a purpose, but your attempt at a movement
is motionless because your passion
is a carefully constructed image
replicated in a false ideology
that manifests into something specific
obtaining a manual manipulation.
A self servant visibility is indicative
of an egocentric personality and everything insinuated
to be perceptually believed as sacred
usually doesn't leave further than the tapping of your fingers.
You proselytize by regurgitating the ways
of a preferred deity and establish yourself
by turning your mirror to reflect the angle
of how you want to be seen and adjust your thoughts
for a higher seat in your vanity
in order to possess everything in your hypocrisy.
The feedback you get initiates a sedimentary mask
you proudly wear and give a name to because
as a statuesque representative in an upscale consumption
of physical and mindful gluttony,
it is the exemplary rock to inscribe your identity.
You disguise it as spirituality, enlightenment, or awareness
labeling it as politics, religion, parenting, racism,
abortion, extortion, activism, or sexism.
It does not, in anyway, alleviate
the struggling strong minded from with holding their weeps
on garments bled by friends in unsung tongues and private sin,
in time well spent where the secrets
of the heart are kept for keeps rather than exposed and disposed of
in a widespread generic documentary
for the world to see the effects of their warfare.
Where words of vulnerability and exposed nerves
are perceived as nothing but memes and black sheep
trying to be shepherds making lists of things
to better humanity in articles utilized by a machine.
As if the top ten life hacks will take neglcted children
out of the slums of a poor shack
and stop the hateful attacks on those who need welfare.
The bandaging by labeling and over medicating
will not eradicate the urgent need for eye to eye,
flesh to flesh, heart to heart
laughing, kind, grateful, melting of this
plastic society.
Categories:
bandaging, fear, patriotic, planet, power,
Form:
Free verse
Kalinga- linga
A daughter of revolution fed on rich political nutrition
With a smile bandaging scars of the streets and falsehood by political demons
Fingers burnt in pseudo democratic pans of West, what a political humor
I see you smelling love through the thick dew of corruption and robots
True heroes and heroines swallowed up in the deep silence of chingwere and uzambwera*
Leopold hill shadows faking dances to the throbbing rhythms of vumbuza drums
Kalinga- linga- your rising sun will soon spread the beauty of its fingers in the skies of Afrika
*Cemeteries of the poor (Translator's note)
Kalinga- linga
Eine Tochter der Revolution, gefüttert mit reicher politischer Nahrung
Mit einem Lächeln verbindet sie Narben der Straßen und Falschheit politischer Dämonen
Finger verbrannt in pseudodemokratischen Pfannen des Westens, welch politischer Humor
Ich sehe dich Liebe riechen durch den dicken Tau von Korruption und Robotern
Wahre Helden und Heldinnen verschluckt in der tiefen Stille von chingwere und uzambwera*
Leopold-Hill-Schatten täuschen Tänze vor zu den dröhnenden Rhythmen der vumbuza Trommeln
Kalinga-linga – deine aufsteigende Sonne wird bald die Schönheit ihrer Strahlen verbreiten in den Himmeln Afrikas
* Friedhöfe der Armen
Categories:
bandaging, abortion, africa, allegory, allusion,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Purple pigments add a vermilion hue
to a scarlet sun that's about to die.
And pink cottony clouds bandaging blue;
sop scarlet from a hemorrhaging sky.
An icy chill saps the warmth from your soul,
exposed skin quickly ravaged by the wind.
For Winter has come to exact Her toll,
delayed by Autumn; Her patience has thinned.
A flurry of flakes, confetti the air;
swirling about as in Nature’s snow globe.
And skeletal trees no longer stand bare,
their branches draped in a soft, downy robe.
Winter arrives in magnificent form;
escorted by a splendiferous storm.
Categories:
bandaging, autumn, beautiful, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Sonnet
I live my life vicariously,
Through everyone else’s eyes.
I live my life through every low
And every one of the highs.
It began when I was a child,
I’d live like batman every day.
Pretending I was by his side,
Cutting and weaving as I play.
My teens, I was the movie star,
Robert de Niro, an extreme survivor.
That’s when I was the skin head, Bickle,
The paranoid vigilante Taxi Driver.
By my 20’s my kids success at
Debates and sports became my badge.
I was there to remind folks how proud I was,
Cleaning and bandaging every scratch.
My 30’s I walked like the enigmatic Jack White,
Of Detroit garage rock stance.
This phase didn’t last long though,
Couldn’t play the guitar, or even dance.
Now my 40’s, I don’t need actors or musicians,
To show I’m a flamboyant musical fighter.
I just feign that I know how to scrawl like the bard,
Living vicariously through poetic writers.
Categories:
bandaging, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Quatrain
He unwittingly hovers
...blankets of subjective weather
Plastering his artic tundra
Bandaging white clouds together
Blindly...
...withholding ill trepedation
Refocused on our tantalization
Frosting earth's core
.... with an icy show
Monstrously protecting grounds below~
Alerting those...
...napping numb spirits
With his icy mantra of sickles and cold
Old Man Winter's snowflakes unfold
Frost bitten chills triumphantly bold
A frothy iced message
...with wisdom to acquire
...conjuring those with a hidden desire
Here he laughs
...taunting from within
Old Man Winter is relieved again~
As our spent energies are woken
He does not speak...
...but has already spoken
His gift...a dormant spectacle found
As winter coats
....our frosted ground
More time now
.....with winter so cold
Kept indoors
....to ponder wonders untold~
Categories:
bandaging, hope, imagination, inspirational, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Love shall say it's sorry so truth may atone
My soul brings praise to no other, you alone
Like the stars tell stories of your eyes alone
Like the tides weave history in every moan
I have languished in the light of other moons
That made our emptiness bright. The ruins
Of my dreams I cusp in my hands, and walk
The printed sand to you. Trace my past now,
See again the dunes where I bleed, O talk
To me with understanding as trust will allow
For we long in the rain edge friendships blind
Bandaging fears with the solace of any kind
Yet never sucked in, nor yet content outside
We overcompensate for the thing we hide.
Shall I despise you, shall I disrespect you, or
Ever go back to my busy emptiness? Believe
Me, you are the jewel kingdoms fought for
And to you alone who fill my dim void, I cleave
Love shall say it's sorry. since our hearts keeps
No covenant with the night, nor your form sleeps.
Remember you are prized, and no beauty glows
Majestic in my eyes, like you who keep our vows.
Friends may wander, virtual or real, into my call
And sing there awhile to wither the heart's gall
But songs alone will never fill my void, you alone
Right the history of my shamble and of my moan.
Categories:
bandaging, devotion, introspection, lovehistory, may,
Form:
Verse
The hospital smelt of disinfectants strong bleach many potions, polish and ether,
Cleanliness so important always clean and polished, in the waiting room, leather,
A policeman down a corridor in a terrible hurry held his helmet by its chin strap,
He had appeared with a young girl a head wound was upset sat bleeding in his lap.
Many sad people waiting in agony for news wandered about around the waiting rooms,
Chain smoking cigarettes their eyes staring blindly towards cleaners with brooms,
An old man in pain feeling sick had caught two fingers in a heavy steam train door,
Rocking with pain bleeding he is getting impatient he should have been seen before.
Looking through a reinforced glass window of a door was a snow white treatment room,
A man in white was dabbing something yellow that stung before bandaging the wound,
The silence was broken there was a commotion by doctors nurses all running around,
Two policemen carried a seriously injured man that had been knocked to the ground.
Categories:
bandaging, nostalgia, pain,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Bandaging wounds that we have not inflicted,
Embracing the weary, the poor, the afflicted,
In this, we find ourselves.
Needing to know the ways of all things,
Giving, and taking, we wear golden rings,
Hoping for meaning and joy.
Under all this is a question we face:
Must we continue to run in the race?
All of us answer when’er we laugh,
No thing can erase our life’s epitaph.
5 July 2016
Written for "Being Human" contest, sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
bandaging, humanity,
Form:
Acrostic
O pink horse, O timeless sun,
run on my body, run. Black magic
had pierced the needles into my heart.
Lying on nails to wrest a superearth
from amnesty, I start bandaging the bruised
ethos of my native conscience –
on the spike of a violence, refusing
to give up my home to fire, tending
the voiceless flora of a virgin rock.
The questions stand up, against
the black walls of silence. The blue birds
are going to fly in white desert.
Satish Verma
Categories:
bandaging, art
Form:
Who told you ?
Who told you that I would still
be here waiting ...
Bandaging and patching,
cooking and cleaning, hoping
and expecting,
Anticipating your love towards
me, but when the rains came, I
looked for you,
To nurture me, shower me with
kisses and undying love,
To pamper me with pillows,
fresh cool sheets, and hot
bowls of soup,
Maybe a massage or loving
neck rub,
But sad to say you were not
there,
Instead of tall broad shoulders
and
a braveheart I looked at my
side
and found a cold dark shadow,
so again I ask you who told you
that when you returned I will
still
be here?
My heart still lingers as my
mind
and body walk away,
My now misty love escaping as
hot
vapors from a helium balloon,
But instead of deflating my
heart
is happy and light,
A burden lifted,
So again I ask you who told
you?
Sunsets brighter, head lighter,
new
attire, Ooh and what's that
smell ?
A new sent in the air in search
of
new love, new kisses, new
passion,
New beginnings and new
experiences, something to
look
forward to, so I again I ask
you
who?
How presumptuous of you to
think that I,
Little "I"
Little " you" would last beyond
your cruel indiscretions and
bittersweet lies, Your cold
heart,
my lonely nights and bruised
heart,
Who told you? Tell me...
They lied.
Categories:
bandaging, farewell
Form:
Free verse
while atop the surface of planet Earth humanity
all abustle skittering
to and fro, hither and yon
engaged in self important activity yielding profits,
sans blood, sweat and tears won
full throttle industrial
manufacturers quaking unstoppably
only intermittently pausing,
where managers standing arms akimbo
asper quizzical looking hue cree ton
megaphone blaring orders to underlings
so "Boss" tweed can line pockets
for his/her daughter and/or son
Head Honcho most aggrieved,
when red ink doth run
undermining the bottom line,
thus farming out labor to distant places
(where wages amount
to pennies on the dollar)
locals such as Lake Woebegone, Qum, Timbuktu,
et cetera where pun
gnashing working conditions tantamount
to slave labor,
yet scare other options open
hence able bodied men,
women and children scramble,
despite back breaking grueling physically
exhausting grunt job accepting second to none
with nary any rest for weary
long as workweek includes a mon
day, where bloodied bare hands claw
purported Mother lode
with feigned frenzied zest
enterprise bolstered
via executive bank ministers
financing lucrative scheme
attended to by majordomo
attired in expensive vest
corporate investment project elicits
quaffing, imbibing, and chugging elixir
produced from heavily guarded recipe
qua electric kool aid acid test
where coeval business men/women rest
assured bonanza forecast upon
former green acres hiding treasured quest
marginally concerned such nettlesome
pillaging, ravaging, torturing ranks
wealth driven vanity as deleterious pest
shortsighted exploitation money making embarkation
glorified as investment nsync to feather nest
retirement funds despite leaving the environment messed
up, whereby future generations saddled with
poorly bandaging gentrifying, resuscitating
gaping wounds upon Gaia at best
shortening quality of life
for all (poetry) Earthlings aye attest.
Categories:
bandaging, 5th grade, 8th grade,
Form:
Free verse
I’m always scared,
I’m always at guard
my heart, from pain
skin from scar
she’s always in arms,
but given to such
Need to love
passion to clutch
true, unchained
naked, ashamed
we’re both afraid
we count up the gain
the loss, the fuel
To carry us there
in creation’s direction
distance, fare
We drag on the castle
stilts on wheels, slaved
afraid
dreading the kill
always scared,
bandaging scars
always afraid
always so far
Categories:
bandaging, angst, life, loss, love,
Form: