Best Bloodless Poems


Premium Member Of Bloodless Thorn

So did the poet write on fading dawns
words to float across the pond as swans
white stanza a-dance against blue sky
ivory wings defy the wind and fly.

Dewdrop diamonds hung among tall brush
eerie voices whispering in dusk’s hush
scribble truth upon the shapeless mist
inviting passersby to listening‘s tryst.

Sunset’s solemn setting set ablaze
a look, a touch, a kiss become a craze
soft moons adrift across an age
painted words upon an unread page.

Darkness cannot obscure this light
left dormant on the shelves of night
yellowed corners of crumpled dawn
await silent prick of bloodless thorn.


©4/9/2018

submitted to – New Poems Only – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Emile Pinet

Bloodless On Mother's Day

There is a glare of stray sunlight
daring to reverberate
through spiderwebbed glass I haven't
found energy to fix
in the span of four years.
It is too much of a mirror,
too tangible a thought,
to make new.
It's lithe fingers, thin and bony, 
and mockingly bright,
steal over embossed cardstock that arrives, like clockwork,
in deepest sympathy.
And a thornless bouquet of pastels laden with
Babies Breath
only draws on blood long lost;
nobody seems to comprehend such an allegory,
or lack there of,
so it can't be carried
over the steps.




"Bloodless On Mother's Day"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Premium Member A Bloodless Conquest Underway

.
A Bloodless Conquest Underway
Armies of the world have United
All the military in common greed
Power-  in Weapons  is Authority 
Baying for blood- quite outdated
Patriots - …They saved their land 
Their citizens. …Future of Children
Made final sacrifice. ..They Returned in body bags
Brave and Poignant. …The Heroes - Real Men
Now They have been ….Taken control of
Arms dealers. Weapon …Manufacturers
Technology and MEDIA. …& Bad science
Lots of planning has gone…into all  this
They’ve worked out-  Every…What IF ?
Replace every working body ..All 
With Robots- Central control-AI
Use Humans against Humans
Divide & Confuse 
Take over children
Ruin the education 
Enforce digitization 
Create digital divide
A tad bad calculation
Done on Spread sheet
In language of machines - Thinking in binaries
In Black & White  or in 50 shades of gray. BTW
Humans are sparkles of light . Are Multifaceted 
Unlike robots- Humans do not wear their bones outside 
You can not separate and make humans take on humans 
Such experiments might have worked on lab rats and mice
After a while the forces will return to their homes to families
Folks will wash off the colors - Thank God We did not Bleed


Bloodless War

In a hunt I the werewolf stalk this vampire,
Pre-dawn obscurity with severe mist and cold,
Just in time to observe this nimble stealthy vampire;
Moving from the human graveyard fully exposed.

Dark feline shadow figure watchful eyes sparkling, 
Lets out a shrill cry as she discovers my guise,
Ready to pounce those demonic possessed contours;
The hands reach up to protect her fragile neckline.

In a pre defined move dancing on my hind legs,
Playing to her deadly fear I lash my tongue around,
Open mouth canines dripping with saliva,
Making her struggle and fall on the stone pavement.

Throws cookies as she shoo's away her predator,
In sheer joy I bark and growl biting at the crumbs,
Wagging my tail for more I twirl my nose to smell;
Savage lugging I snap to chop a piece from her.

Hiding her fears she pulls at her loosened clothing,
Turns her cold ashen face with the wide red lip smile,
Shadows under the black hat she wears, held in place
By her left free white arm, tempting me to attack:

Squeals terror as I pull her dress caught in my jaws,
Fore legs dig in for the tug-o-war and I gain,
Tearing a piece of her skirt as she kicks the air;
I watch the toes extend to become elongated.

The vampire in her starts to grow as mouth fangs sprout,
Fingers become deadly claws trounce at my soft furs,
In swift move I clutch her neck breaking it to rattle; 
Bloodless coup and the vampire dies thirsting for blood.
© Jai Garg  Create an image from this poem.

Dagger

In your bosom concealed, you are a fighter:
Who doesn’t a single matter take lighter;
The closest chap to you making a big mistake,
As you wouldn’t care what it‘d take

Inside your bag, some folk is about to drop dead 
Like some hapless character in novels read:
A murderous slashing of his windpipe
Or a jugular discharging services of the same type.
Soon traced to you, sun handcuffed,
A strong belief you should be in a prison overstaffed;
In others a  polite advice to you by the police
To go and hire a very smart lawyer
Be you Humphrey, Allen or Eunice
Or for that matter Tom Sawyer…

Unless it didn’t land –a dagger
Even bloodless angels would stagger!

Bloodless Bleeding

deep hurts of the heart,
                                 soothed by forgiving,

            soft healing of the soul's
                                 bloodless bleeding !


Premium Member Bloodless

The blade cut deep

She died laughing

Death was a relief

Unlike her life

Riddled with betrayal

He noticed no blood flowing from her hateful body

He was always sure she was bloodless

She certainly lacked all human feeling

But even a witch like her would possess some blood

He bent down to check just as she was rising

Something in his brain registered

Sudden disbelief, sudden shock

Words in mouth froze

As the knife entered his neck

Spurting blood in all directions

His fingers tried to stem the flow

She watched him

Fascinated at the pattern, he was painting

So strange she thought

He always said she was the bloodless one.
© Paul Bell  Create an image from this poem.

Bloodless Ties

He glimpses her, the peripheral life of her,
she abides in the corners of his eyes.

She is a tidal tug upon his shoreline,
salt for his blood.

Arcane atoms carry her presence
over tenuous thresholds.
She strays through his thoughts
upon SilkRoad visions.

She does not see him as a person,
but traces his nocturnal journeying
over her nomadic mind.

She is not a fantasy, nor flesh.
Mothwings and mist
clothe them in webs of intimacy.
He chases a midnight shimmering
that always alludes any palpable grasp.

Yet, she is no thread-thin phantom,
but what she is - he could not say,
and if he knew
he would not tell.

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