Best Bruised Poems
A letter to my wounds,
fragranced with powdered incense,
every word woven from carnelian ink,
beauty lies in the readers heart,
bruised syllables define nothing,
when everything phrased and vented,
are mere signs of bravery,
flowing in eloquence.
So, see beyond vague verses,
crafted from mystical metaphors,
and sanguine similes,
there streams,
truth of a healing mind,
still bleeding broken ballads,
and soulful sonnets;
same rhythm as the
art of a passionate poet,
pleading to be heard and seen,
amidst silenced skies on gloomy nights,
as this quill desires no accolades nor
condolences but compassion.
TEDDY AND I
Teddy is my childhood cuddly toy,
Who brought me a lifetime of joy,
He listened to all my baby cries,
Biding his time to reveal
His surprise!
I sucked on his ear,
Had a regular chew,
Whilst I spoke to him in
Gobbly goo!
One day I dropped him,
Ouch, he cried,
Don’t do that again
If you do not mind!
When he spoke I got such a fright,
I screamed with all my might
I was two,
Teddy too!
But intrigued, so poked him here,
And there,
Hey Teddy said, that tickles,
Which gave me
Unstoppable giggles!
We decided no one must know,
Hush he said, not to a soul!
Teddy as he grew older, look bruised
And battered, for which
He was well excused.
He’d lost his one eye so he
Couldn’t well see,
And always stayed,
Very close to me.
His arms and legs
Had drooped,
If he stayed up too late,
He was pooped.
On my 50th birthday,
He was fifty too,
A life led by teddy,
Perhaps lived by few,
He had been loved all
Of his life so much,
But his fluff has now become
Less, due to every hug, and
Cuddly clutch!
He’s still with us up to this day,
But is grumpy and will glare,
Jealous of hubby, a stare
Out, between human and bear!
Your wings aren't broken,
just bruised and singed.
From holding them too tightly
against the burning breast of indifference.
Battling storm, surf, sweet siren songs
blood fish praying for your falter...
but you fought them off one by one.
Atop the waves
you've seen many beautiful things...
that little patch of green dancing on the sea.
Where you landed ever so briefly.
Salted eyes tended by birds of paradise.
They sent you off with satchel ...
filled with shell and song.
Each offered a feather to blunt the alone.
Remember that smiling dolphin
the one with mirrors in the eyes
offering silver shoal and golden heart
to rest your weary soul and mind.
Then you sang a duet with him
a nearly perfect -pearly blend
of sweet chirps and minty clicks.
You almost stayed but fliers are not of the sea,
swimmers are not of the sky...
so, you just drifted by... on by.
Here you are today
perched upon a graveyard fence.
Huddled in a nest of pure blackness,
Isn't it time to unfurl those wings again.
Soar onto the next journey...
Wear the colors of paradise
offer a shell to the surf
to quell the forever hurt.
Another dolphin awaits you
this one has rainbows in the eyes
and the divine gift of gilded flight.
Certain moments make this all worthwhile
'Random' presets left but to defile
Blink your eyes to see the flash of white
Blink once more to gain a different sight
Milliseconds gazing at the stars
In which I understood you as you are
And in that time the notion came to me
A sigh of love bled out of honesty
The story of a bruised and rotting pear
That learned to dance on wind and open air
Never let go, the
strand of my hair
tucked behind
your stare
Exquisitely soft,
as my fingers
cross..
Even the simplest
of touches, burn
their imprints
into the skin,
So that every root
and every vein
I have felt,
Whispers your name.
The radiance of sunlight glistens upon a trickling stream,
whilst cotton candy clouds float in the turquoise skies.
Floral scents dance on playful breezes,
as the warmth of a midsummer day blankets the emerald moss.
A weeping willow waits just past the expanding horizon,
among paths of primroses and lavender.
Beneath its draping branches lies a small earthen grave.
Etched upon a smooth piece of granite reads:
“R.I.P. Cheesesteak. In this life your soul may have been bruised,
but in the next, you will soar with the stars.”
My sad life story lacks glory.
Fathomless singed pain bears my name
as echoed in gray rhapsody.
My sad life story lacks glory
and will bruise thru eternity
for no quietus seeks its aim.
My sad life story lacks glory.
Fathomless singed pain bears my name.
Bare hands stirring over my body
Little resistance, pushed against wall
Echoing of my scream shivered down
Strong figure felt like a known to me
The stare sensed me of my own blood
Little did I know, Dad about you..
In the resplendent dawn of one seraphic spring
I saw a delicately weaved bird’s nest nestled
on the baroque bough of the magnolia tree
that was in full bloom in the backyard lawn.
Since then I saw every morning a cheery Robin
fly low in zest through the crispy fragrant air
with the wings spread to span the cerulean sky,
and descend to its nest as my songbird.
The bird of bright daylight flew with sunburst zest,
kept the secrets of avian delight in scarlet breast.
When thrushes were silent it sang to the first sunray,
the winds carried away the lyric of the dawn.
Little Robin swung on tree boughs in the surge of squall,
fluttered with rhythmic melody when rainbow appeared.
I heard the bird perched high outside my window
sing for me the sunrise song of the new day.
The charming bird dancing on the bowed branches
gave me enchanting company in the lonesome hours,
singing delightful songs that sailed in the gloomy air,
suffused my time with the ether of sensuous joy.
As I enjoyed the friendly closeness of the chirping robin
my pet cat sat by my side at the edge of the portico.
Perhaps with a built-up feeling of envy she watched me
engrossed with the little bird, unmindful of her presence.
One sunny morning I placed some corn on the porch,
found the bird fly in, hopped around to eat the grains.
My cat appeared from nowhere, pounced like lightning,
caught the robin in her sharp claws and ran away.
Sitting now by the window I miss my robin on the tree,
but in my ear still resonates the twitter of the bruised bird.
The black cat was a mercy I couldn’t give.
Two years she reached through bars
with patient claws, marking
each white feather dark, each bright day
bruised. The cage held dying, not living—
thin wires promising safety
while offering only delay.
I watched her practice
on all four, teaching me
what love looks like
when it can’t protect:
a slow scratching toward the inevitable,
wings beating against their own bones,
song turning to the small sounds
prey makes when mercy
wears a black coat and will not hurry.
The fourth one taught me this—
that sometimes the killer
is kinder than the keeper,
that claws are cleaner
than the prolonged kindness of bars,
that the hand that built the cage
holds more blood than the mouth
that finally opened it.
Too high
on Rye
Make pass
at Lass
Her date?
Six-eight
Out weighed
(DISmayed!)
BRIEF brawl
Get mauled...
Forsooth!
(Loose tooth)
Oh my!
(Black eye)
Behold!
(Out cold)
------------
Sunlight
Too BRIGHT
I ache
I quake
I heave
I grieve
Poor me
(Agree?)
In the dreary whisper of midnight’s groan,
when streets escape the punctured cry
of thinning breaths, a line of stars blinks
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond numbing sighs this dark possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
metal of cups and breadcrumbs for waifs,
as youngsters huddle in damp corners, till
a single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of a crowd rendered
by lesions worn: a gauze of dingy shapes
coiling in fetal postures like bruised grass,
................
For Rob Carmack's Contest: Screwed lll
Theme: Pain of night
3/01/2015
Her spirit was made of pastel colours, glitter, tears and light
Her heart was made of smiles, strength and dynamite
She wore courage on her sleeve and bravery on her face
She welcomed resilience with a warm embrace
A part of her was the moon who rose above drama in the sky
A part of her was a shining star who refused to die
Leaning on the other stars in her milkyway
Her friends were her support structure and there to stay
Do not judge her assertiveness as it creates protective walls
Not only from a crazy narcissist, but from any other great fall
Do not judge her walls as they kept her alive
It was all part of her process... shatter and then rise
She had worn many titles in her life
Such as daughter, friend, counsellor and wife...
She had been the provider, a teacher, and one who strives
But most of all, she wore the title of one who survives
Yes! A survivor who many times did not need to tell...
The world of the numerous times she fell
Because she used her energy to get back on her feet
And go once more on life's rollercoaster's seat
To the narcissist who dared to come close to my domain
And attempt to inflict her misery and pain
Come closer once more and play with my chaos...
Prove to me what I already know - (her sanity was always lost!)
Her bruised soul starts to heal and slowly discards the pain
As she dances to resilience in the summer's rain
She takes her scars as a souvenir and token
That her soul was once bruised, but will never be broken
Plea of the 'Bruised Reed'
On my knees; my head low
What to say I don't know
Can not speak yet it seems
though no words my heart screams
But that's the sound you hear
more than a word spoke clear
Each tear rings as stirred chimes
Each one dear not bound by time
In you're heart they're held tight
Kept safe from the world's bite
To you my worth is high
A gem tween earth and sky
But this I do not feel
I try but my head reels
My heart just can not see
the art you see in me
I have not much to give
By your Word I will live
I'll not let my faith go
Please help your child so low
Matthew 12:20
~FJ Thomas
02/09/2018
1 syllable words
Grief that constricts my heart,
Cages its screaming walls,
Grinding its bars roughly into its flesh…
Where they meet, blood oozes,
Life does what it chooses,
Heart shies away from the pain of its mesh.
[unsure as to whether to continue]