Best Brittle Poems
Another layer of lavender scented lotion
Rubbed in vehement laughter
A quelling of sadness
Covered up in mascara insanity
Livid strokes of feathered paintbrushes
Hoping to see the big picture
She cried like oil paintings without a purpose.
A treasure hunter searching for rubbery remedies
Without heart’s sanctified atrium
To light the way
She bled from carnivorous pores
Bites against feeding palms
Struggling licks upon pacifier wounds
Mouth
Shut
Stone’s lonely lyric
Thrown against fragile lighthouses
Beaming through unacceptable horizons
Investigation of deity’s hidden agenda,
She questions validation’s esophagus
Its vocal chords
Torn
Another squeeze from lavender bottle
Empty
Its exhales shedding infantile whisper
…
A bounced reality check
Declaring that it wasn’t a disease
That afflicted her bones
©Drake J. Eszes
To wake up with the rising sun
Wishing me old bones stay in bed
No longer do I feel to run
Life is all but over and done
I look in the mirror feeling blue
Front teeth no more, leak like a canoe
Getting old, this is no fun
Spending my days inside, away from the sun
Ricky called, hey Arty lets go out
Sorry Ricky, I am too old for that
Ah come on Arty lets go to the park
Leave me alone Ricky I am staying right here in the dark
Ricky was persistent, come on arty the park the park the park
Art replied, I am old now I don’t do parks!
Why not? It’s a sunny day; we always have fun at the park
Cant, Stevie told me, I am too old to go out and play
Why he said I am too old for toys and my trucks
I am too old to play even with the ducks
I didn’t wanna be old but there you have it
Stevie says I am one big sissy with my toys!
Ricky, not to be deterred
Come on man, I love toys too
Lets go the park, come on come on
You are only seven years old Arty!
I feel older Ricky and missing all these teeth
No one will want to play with me, no one at all
I do Arty! lets go, besides haven’t you heard the news?
Seven years old why that’s the new five!
In January’s chill, my woe is exposed
Like a mesh of rough woolen lint
Hanging on thick icicles when hours pale ;
As brittle fleece of dreariness
Grips my pores, longing for a cashmere night.
Battle of Honorable Mentions
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureaux
--------------
Former Contest using Verse in 5 Lines
I was wrong to think that roses would last forever
You brought them to me that day so long ago
My heart was captured by your boyish smile
You were not yet a man and that I didn't know
We made promises and our hearts were glad
But you were gone when life began to show its face
Now I'm left with only those dry and brittle roses
And memories of that time that I can not erase
your brittle hands were once like mallets upon the lace of my youth
picture #2
...Continued from Part 1...
Poor little Evelyn, her poor physical conditions at birth puzzled local doctors,
It was a mystery she was born with a dislocated hip and a deformed right foot.
And evidence of bone damage whilst within her mother’s womb, that happened,
9 months of exhaustive tests, Evelyn the baby is confirmed a OI type III patient.
Today poor Evelyn is small in size, as typical of OI patients, her mobility limited,
She is constantly in need of a new body and leg brace with special shoes fitted.
With an anxious and loving mother and sessions of unending physical therapy,
Evelyn must have monthly doses of intravenous drug to increase her bone density.
At 4 years old now, imagine the frustrations and the helplessness in Evelyn,
She knows she is different, why she is so fragile, her little mind cannot fathom.
All the various injuries and the many broken bones about in her tiny body,
Life is such a challenge, why is she born so unlucky and so much different.
For every 100,000 individuals, six to seven are born with such dire conditions,
If there had been a more fortuitous mutation at a genetic level, these individuals...
They could have been born as legendary mutants, imbued with fantastic abilities,
But a twisted play in Fate's hand, OI children, they struggle even in normal activities...
Only with advances in Science and Medicine can OI sufferers have a normal life,
With bones so brittle that shatter like fragile glass, they have only sheltered lives..
http://www.star2.com/people/2016/01/03/her-bones-are-so-brittle-they-can-break-like-glass/
Brittle Bones Break
It is heartwrenching to read today of a grotesque medical anamoly…
When a cute little girl of four suffers from a cruel bone malady…
The medical journals have identified it as Osteogenesis Imperfecta…
A dreaded enough disease that begets in a baby at its mother’s placenta…
The scientific explanation is plain and simple enough, a flawed DNA strain…
It is usually non hereditary, it is by a cruel twist of fate, merely a mutated gene..
There have been cases of passed down defective genes, regardless who is to blame..
This disease is crippling enough, there is no need to play the blame game..
The odds of getting an OI baby is astronomical, yet it is enough to happen…
Yeah, this dreaded disease strikes in six to seven children in every 100,000…
What a living hell these unfortunate ones have to suffer in their innocence ..
Having poor bone collagen, they have fragile bones that are glass brittle….
Having bones that brittle, an OI child have a most challenging time upon birth…
Some severe cases are designated type II OI, they die shortly after birth…
Growing up is such a challenge, they have all kinds of medical problems…
They tend to be short statured, with brittle teeth and breathing problems..
Limited in mobility, they have curved spines, blue sclera and muscle weakness…
The severity of the symptons vary according to type, confirmed after proper diagnosis….
There is no cure, only proper treatment can make the insufferable symptons manageable…
OI kids, they grow up needing assistance for daily activities, on their own they are unable..….
....continued in Part 2
http://www.star2.com/people/2016/01/03/her-bones-are-so-brittle-they-can-break-like-glass/
Peanut brittle broken in tiny pieces
The immutable desire drove him forward
There was no interlude from the increases
Of his huge appetite sketched out straightforward
It was with formidable search for words
To describe how so a tenuous man decreases
The candy dish's immutable contents rearward
Not demurely but open-faced stuff'n eases
Bereft of the peanut brittle crunch, I fast forward
At least by his fast consumption, I'm honored
Totally made up even though my family can consume
that peanut brittle when I make it like it was water
rolling down..
Tenuous here means slender
Sketch here means drawn out or described
Written: November 1, 2017
My life has become a brittle bouquet
Of dead red roses in rapid decay
And all that I thought one day I could be
Is now but a part of lost history.
I look to the East and yearn for the West,
Confusion conceals the best of my quest.
Lost to the ages and rages of time,
Dreams of destruction destroy my sublime.
Life's haunting refrain just leaves me with pain,
I see only loss while looking for gain.
Shattered and battered from reckless crusades,
While searching for truth but truth always fades.
Bitter and broken my life out of hand,
Darkness descending as I make a stand.
I once was an eagle, flying so high,
But I lost my wings and then lost the sky.
Born with great gifts to both give and receive,
And when I was young, my youth did believe,
But then I became a pawn in the game
Of pleasure and pain, both buried in shame.
Disease of the mind I carried at birth,
A bipolar life would measure my worth.
Paternal genetics, a father's first gift;
Our two brains afflicted predicted the rift.
My childhood erratic emphatic with fears
Where highs too high and lows too low brought tears.
All chance of normal family stripped bare
Where blood to blood no love would dare to share.
Illusion with confusion then to war
As wasted worn tore through my inner core.
With hope I leave those years of fear behind
For now the time has come to heal the mind
So it can make this man forever free,
Immersed in verse with life's grand poetry;
This man who loves his sacred family
Is part of the bark that beautifies its tree.
As I lay on mounds of a shoreline,
weightless in eyes' astounded spirit
blending with angels, dirt, and crosses;
my soul bears this emptiness
in writhing streams omnipresent for day
and twilight's heavy float-- hours change
beyond primitive instincts--a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear, and below it,
the fluidity from incandescent waters lap
on mouths of frozen stars requesting patience.
Here am i sprouting below, above and under
their flesh; fulfilling my need for deliverance
out of some needled pinch :
awash by whimper of rain , all senses
moored and fashioned so lamely
on brittle soil of life unlived ,
seeking a depth of quiet within myself
time rippling upon this decayed shell undersea...
yet nothing came except a leaf falling.
At times I wish I could be…….
-Just like everybody else
But then I feel I could get better
-Being true to myself with everybody else
I am hard, strong & so unstable,
-emotions running wild and rampant
-deep and pensive my soulful thoughts
Though a shame to waste such depth in sorrowful indifference
-because I know that I am brittle
Broken, alone, dry and fallen
-a little stick shaped for the lord’s greater purpose
…………………..So I yearn ……………and I yearned
I yearned and I wished I could be
-Just like everybody else
But then I heard I can be greater
-im made and shaped for humble-loving-kindness
I can be better, for love is strongest & far greater
-a gift of sacrifice & forgiveness, a force without resistance
Just like the seas vast boundless and bare, a force prideness cannot conceal
Gotta little gray in my beard
A little pain in my tears
Gotta little anger in my fears
And a little problem that has reared
Gotta little ache that appeared
A little smile for most leers
Gotta little heart for my peers
And a little up for my geared
Gotta little place so endeared
A little style from my dears
Gotta little word for some jeers
And a little normal in my wierd
Gotta little way that was cleared
A little bill for my shears
Gotta little time in my years
And a little gray in my beard
Closed jars
of crystal mind
nesting our emotions
butterflies of many colours
colours of joy,sorrow,love,hate and more
those jars are more fragile than glass
handle them with much care
if once broken
it's gone!
Date:24th January,2012
Am eating some my wife made right now
so thought that I would write this poem.
Hansel and Peanut Brittle
We heard that when Hansel was little;
He always liked eating peanut brittle;
With petal to metal,
He ran over Gretel;
While around he would like to fiddle.
Jim Horn
Often we say the most lovable things to each other
But often we lie
We speak for the moment
And fall victim to Reality
Love’s brittle bone syndrome
The plated chrome covers the real issue
Because too little has been refined by the fire
In order to show the standard of gold in our hearts
Fear takes the loveable things that were said
And shows its weakness because
Words mean nothing without action
A fraction of our mind wonders about the accuracy of love
And the reality that echoes the true meaning behind our actions.
Often we say the most lovable things to each other
But often we lie because
Often we are in love with the process—
The process of falling in love and not
The circular nature of Love and so
We fall victim to love’s brittle bone syndrome
Mark Frank
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