Best Blisters Poems

One can live out his life with no baggage
but may hang on a rope to stay alive
a site seem as weak, bags out bad knowledge
to put its life in a box and deprive
from big cuts to acid lips, the damage
fun’s in the air, she only...

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Dream-Blisters
         by Odin Roark

“…Like the glow of star-dispelling lights
rising, 
saturating air
from 5th Ave
to Trump Towers,
to the Bronx,
atop the bridges glinting brazen shouts.

“Hurt and pain guised as success,
a purulent throb of discharge,
woulda
coulda
shoulda
now, 
like always,
decorative wounds,
cover-ups
flung high over and...

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You can hear the shake and crackle
as burnin' flames of grass are crawlin'
cross the bitterness and loss.

No farmer breaking free from a field today
to catch noon time plate of sweet corn,  
chicken, and key-lime pie. There's no one 
breakin' from fields 'cause empty fields...

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In the late 1960’s, Granny washed dishes
By hand – no dishwasher for her;
Though she often had her daughter wash
Who was 10 years older than I was
Who I followed every waking hour
Who I loved as only a sister is loved
Who I would always, to this day,...

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White walls
Red lights
Coloured umbrella 
Creating hole on the paint
Human laying on the bed
Holding a cute non sexy doll named Jason

Been two weeks,
Still trying to rap her hands 
On stuff to do and not to do
Who to love and not to love
How to go back to...

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Damn it’s hot
How does the wind make the sand
Stand up and dance like that
Why is the shade so close to
Those sharp spikes
I’ll have to dig a hole to really
Cool off
Piling the sand on the sun side
At least the cactus tastes good
That’s it 
No more day...

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roses and champagne 
         crimson petals sparkling rain
               carpet burns insane 

By
David Kavanagh...

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I am the twin of light,
born from the sun’s warm embrace.
Stars emerge quietly,
from the labor of hands,
carving history into the sky,
each blister a tale yet to be shared....

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11-year-old farm hands
David J Walker

What do the city kids do 
In the summer
We
	The 11-year-old farmhands
Don’t know
All we  know is
	Which end of the hoe 
Goes into the hard ground
And which end will blister 
	Our hands...

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