Best Brutalized Poems
Her smile was lopsided, crooked
And her eyes had lost their shine
In a wheelchair bound and broken
Sat this mother dear of mine
Once the one that they called “Sunshine”
Now was bowed with grief and care
Garbled speech and eyes unfocused
Made the people stop and stare
Yet in this woman there was hidden
Beauty of the rarest kind
Love for God and for her family
Love for words all graced her mind
She was brave and she was noble
Took the falls and burns and smiled
Knowing that her child, a daughter
Lived with fear so justified
People did not see the beauty
Hidden in her crumpled form
All that they could show was pity
Perhaps that is just the norm
But in her dear withered body
MS had so brutalized
Was a mother’s lasting beauty
That her daughter eulogized
Once a flower brightly blooming
In the garden of my home
She remains my flower ever
In the memories where I roam
Eileen Manassian
I grew up knowing my mother was ill and that she would eventually die due to MS. I lost my Mama on March 19, 2000. I still miss her...Her name? Angel. That was my Mama's name. When she was younger, they used to call her Sunshine because of her dazzling smile....
More poems I've written about my Mama:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/may_17_429673
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/my_mothers_daughter_480741
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/march_19__464436
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_remember_you_443028
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_hypochondriac_429384
Categories:
brutalized, mother, tribute,
Form:
Quatrain
There is sun in my window this morning and it makes me smile. My wife is buzzing about outside, watering her plants, trying to nurture back to life some that have been brutalized by the recent heatwave. Soon she will leave for her bi-weekly water aerobic therapy. Not much on my schedule for today. What's new on the soup? I read a poem that is sad, melancholy, and I feel it deeply. So much suffering in the world. Little ones being bombed out of existence over land disputes and raging hatred. Just as I am musing on this rather morbid theme, a poetry friend on Facebook sends me a video of a little boy singing a pretty song and I think, "How precious is this young fellow?" And how lucky. He was born in the right place under better circumstances. Some aren't so fortunate.
Then I read the poem of the day. It's a light, heartfelt poem telling us all to look for the good in others, and to be happy. My mood suddenly shifts, and I think of all the little things in life that I have to be grateful for, most of them admittedly undeserved. It is in this moment I realize that poetry is life. All the moods, the hopes, the wishes, the frank truths and the hateful lies, the ups and downs of life, all of it. It is we and we are it. Poetry can save a soul or destroy it. Those that have the gift of skillfully weaving words also have an obligation, to tell it like it is. To make us laugh or make us cry. It is humbling and at the same time, liberating. I am... poetry.
sunny day delights
hot espresso in my cup
think I'll skip the news
Categories:
brutalized, appreciation,
Form:
Haibun
The tragedy of a Miracle started today
Our Lord’s brutalized body passed away
Of all the tragedies in the history of man
This is one I try to grasp, but never can
For some reason I find it impossible to see
We crucified the greatest man in our history
Through all of the gain and all of the loss
It was a predestined coin man had to toss
I wonder how Pilot must have felt that day
He washed cowards hands in a cowardly way
Beaten and tortured, his skin ripped to shreds
As a thorny crown dug holes into Jesus’ head
While nailed to the cross he had one final goal
Through the mercy of love he saved another soul
He saved that soul and then our Lord Jesus died
Can you imagine the countless tears that were cried?
As we all know Jesus' body was placed into a tomb
To my minds eye it was no less than a spiritual womb
And from inside that womb salvation was born
For the tomb was found empty come Sunday morn
This is not how the story ends it is only how it starts
The Lord now lives up inside each one of our hearts
Even those lost in Prison, the ones like I used to be
Can turn to the Lord and then they will be set free
Freedom is a thing that I think we all strive to find
It is etched in our heart and engraved in our mind
I was locked up in a cell nestled tightly away
Facing several years that I would have to pay
Up inside of that cell I made my own decree
A true miracle was taking place inside of me
I was a very evil man and I was so proud to show it
In the wink of an eye I was transformed into a Poet
I learned there is only one way to truly be free
Ask of the Lord, “ Jesus please come unto me”
And just as the Lord Jesus Christ rose up out of his tomb
We can all live with-in the comfort of his spiritual womb
Categories:
brutalized, death, devotion, faith, father,
Form:
Couplet
On top of this mountain, I stand to proclaim,
That Jesus Christ our Savior died for our sins, He reaped all the blame.
On top of this mountain, I have to look up,
And think of His disciples on that last supper, as they sipped from His cup.
On top of this mountain, you can feel the anxiety as He knows His time has drawn near,
On top of this mountain, I see Him being led away by the soldiers and the outcome is
painted quite clear.
On top of this mountain, I see Him tried, sentenced, and abused,
On top of this mountain, I see Him brutalized, beaten and so wrongfully accused.
On top of this mountain, I see Cavalry and the crowd gathering round,
On top of this mountain, I hear the ringing of the hammer as it makes such a sickening sound.
On top of this mountain, I see three crosses raised to the air,
On top of this mountain, I see my Savior and He is covered with blood everywhere.
On top of this mountain, I hear the words our dear Savior spoke on that last day,
On top of this mountain, I heard Him ask His Father to forgive us, the last thing I heard
Him say.
On top of that mountain, the deed was finally done,
On top of that mountain, God showed us His love, the greatest sacrifice ever, His only Son.
Categories:
brutalized, forgiveness
Form:
Verse
I once said to a barren friend of mine,
Anyone can write poetry – it is just words and emotions combined.
It was a long time ago – but then I realized,
The ease for him, is the hard for me, we all customize.
Poetry…
Yet, a talent can be unique in such a way – that only few can be categorized,
For I know nothing about singing and dancing – try to adapt – I will be brutalized.
So what of is it with words and ideas – rhyming or not – a fun way to state?
With black, blue or green ink on paper, for poets it is a path to escape.
Art…
I once glanced over a famous piece of art,
With paint and pictures the artist created happiness and pain apart.
With colour he emphasised his love and proud,
With pictures he silently yelled his joy out loud.
Poets…
I have collected a lot of reasons to earn my discharge,
Now with Poetry… one can be amused, one can be relieved of reality so harsh.
Poets can learn, poets can teach and poets can relate to another’s theory,
We can pronouns, we can read and we can write of any topic sincerely.
Poetry…
I once told one of my barren friends,
Anyone can write poetry… that thought came to extent.
For poetry is unique and highly valued,
Poetry is used to show every poet’s gratitude.
Poetry is not just words and emotions on a piece of paper,
It is a fine description of truth, thoughts and poets using them tenderly.
Poetry is a piece of art that should be respected in a gallery,
It is the work of the artist – the poet – using nothing to create something extraordinary.
Categories:
brutalized, art, meaningful, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm floating right below the water
And you are trimming my feet and my head
So it'd be easier for me to collapse
Like you'd mow the lawn every week
I was 5 and in your bed and mostly scared
They'd been trimming my arms and my voice
As I was floating underneath the water
They want me to take brutalized limbs then march
But I'm floating right below the water, most of the time
Categories:
brutalized, water,
Form:
Gorgeous green garden
Filled with fantastic flowers
Three tremendous trees
Tall enough to hide tormented towers
There dwells a dark demolisher
In this garden, green with grief
Suffocating me in senseless sorrow
Being brutalized, my breath becomes brief
You might see many marvelous plants
But these plants grow a poisonous pain
Vomiting very venomous fumes
As agony fills me up again
Categories:
brutalized, sorrow, green, me,
Form:
Alliteration
We were free and safe
Facing the challenges of life
In much more desirable manner
We were at least happy
For the peace we were enjoying
On our land of birth; our homeland
We never anticipated this at all
That war would tear us apart
And leave us miserable this way
We witnessed so powerlessly
Our brothers and sisters brutalized
Our homes and properties burnt
And then followed our displacement
We have hopes but in despair
We cried peace but in bloodshed
That oh, we’d better seek refuge
We run for our dear lives
Hunting for safety across the borders
Our dreams seems direly shattered
As we saw our children butchered
While there was nothing we could do
What is happening?
A little girl asked the mother
Our lives are in danger,
Answered the victimized mother
Where are we going then?
Another child asked the father
We are running to seek for safety
Answered the desperate father
What about our homes?
And what about our homeland?
An elder boy thought deep within
Where is the collective security?
That guarantees our safety and surety?
Why are they killing our people?
Why all these humiliations and brutalities?
So who is the cause and to be blamed then?
We must not accept this indictment
We must have a far fairer dream
And we must wake to the challenge
We can’t afford this victimization
Just one wish do I wish to accomplish
Yes! To return home blessed day
The guns kept rattling
The soldiers kept battling
My people kept dying
As the bombs kept flying
We have lost everything
Except for some few lives
So who gains from these pains?
And who deserve the blames?
Thanks to the international community
For their supports and sympathy
Now that our hopes seems lost
All we are praying for is total calm
So we can sail free and safe in the storm
We want prevailing peace to reign
To clamp down the war campaign
That we may return home; our wish
And put together every piece in peace
The time is right; the light is bright
We shall realize our beautiful dreams
And we shall accomplish our wishes
Yes! We shall accomplish this one wish
To return home one blessed morning
Categories:
brutalized, home, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Logo streets
Tarek Hassan
I saw in Kathmandu in Nepal
Hand-crafted paintings of the city, aesthetic artistry
She did like him forgot
Suddenly the door sound memory.
I went to the Indonesian island of buttam
Filled eyes saw, the sea shore
I wrote the name of the plane splitting book
Baluchar got to bed rest.
I saw the sea waves Malay
A long line of rows in the garden of the plume,
Malekkara arranged the scene, to me,
It was really fascinating, bhuleni mind.
I saw the Maldives, around the island city
Travel enthusiasts spend hours in the parlor
Small passenger plane shuttled everyone
No it does not flying and landing airport.
I've lived long, the city of dreams
Eternal spring in the country, the love
Took her as his workers,
He went to the city, I saw how much
Are there to touch hands
luxury lifetime pass in Palace.
I traveled in China in technology
Many people say to me they don't understand
I was impressed to see the love of their homeland,
How many state alleges the new angirase
lightning at night I have seen in Beijing.
I went to Hong Kong on the way
He also saw how the people
I am surprised the external mix, fascinating behaviors,
I have no one to tell details.
I have seen skilled people in the Philippines exercises
Again I saw something there to look dirty,
I was shocked to see their culture
Girl brutalized the country.
I went to India, to heal the mind
How many scenes have been unknowingly plunge
I have seen the Taj Mahal in Agra, I thought again and again
Why do we need so much love.
I bent down and touched the high mountains of Bhutan
I shook with fear of their lives when the plane varies
I'm going down through the mountains.
I went to Australia, on the ground
I could not keep my feet,
The fate did not respond to me, warning that day
dream is still chasing me.
I love to this day, do not see the city
I did it in the hope chest, one night,
This is a dream I have traveled on the fog
Logo luxury streets.
Categories:
brutalized, art, bangla, beach, beautiful,
Form:
ABC
the swinging swings
of the ups and downs
of the unbalanced scales
of justice now hang stilled
and suspended in bigoted air
anchored by the selfish weight
of the 5th amendment privilege
that remains a death sentence
choice for the defending
underprivileged innocent…
brutalized innocent mortals
whose spiritual morality abhors
death penalty finalization but
whose same moralistic
spiritualization upholds the
thy shall not kill commandment
must likewise demand the unwritten
beatitude of justice for the forgiving
meek consistently brutalized by acts
of non-good samaritan atrocities
chiseled in abject crucifixion on zion
mountains of molded injustices...
today’s waiting and being
of good courage has become
the teasing test of waning time
tic-toting life’s hours of redemptive
realities caged in the belly bowels
of a seemingly abandoned noah-like
arch sailing a treacherous sea of hell
with sour flowing tears from bitter eyes
stayed on the prize of promised equality
we still sing sweet amazing grace songs
applauding the coming resurrection
of our declared redemptive liberation
for like those of moses out of africa
we are the new exodus people sojourning
the shadowed valley of death with undying
faith in the promise of that beautiful morning
when time breaks up in eternity setting god’s
beloved hued children free at last…
Categories:
brutalized, allegory, america, analogy, black
Form:
Free verse
beaten and broken
bruised and battered
brutalized and bare
bandaged and braised
bashed and butchered
bold and brave
Anguished
Slayed and silenced
slaughtered and seduced
strong-armed to surrender
squeezed and squashed
bleeding hearts
clad in elephant vestment
with an eternal spirit,
pugnacious against
the system from the walls of prison,
sentenced for a crime they didn’t commit
cogently grilling them to submit.
They have hearts of a lion,
Giving their own for a million
That is what it takes for freedom
To be in our hands.
Categories:
brutalized, bereavement, bullying, change, courage,
Form:
Alliteration
The brutalized girl breathed her last in faraway Singapore
She met her fate returning home, a couple of weeks ago
To shift the focus of the masses on an issue so emotive
And moved to a hospital in a distant land with a purely political motive
Reputed for organ transplants in which their hospital specialized
What good did it do to a grievously hurt girl whose condition had not stabilized
The six hour flight to the distant shore was surely a misadventure
The government was uneasy with restive crowds near their hallowed seat of power
The government paid lip service to the girl who is no more
Making promises to a nation, both aggrieved and sore
But in the interim, another girl in a neighbouring state
Ended her life, harassed and denied for weeks from recording her rape
The administration’s handling of such incidents
Are not far and few and have many precedents
A woman parliamentarian and doctor to boot
Said something very strange in a television interview
Referred to a victim from the past
And on her character, aspersions she cast
Pronouncing to media that it was not rape at all
But a call-girl’s transaction gone wrong; what gall!
Another MP, this time the President’s son
Sought to have fun with his knowledge of the English lexicon
And portrayed the women demonstrators of civil society as ‘painted & dented’
The backlash was so vicious, on national television he recanted
With red lights marking them as their sirens wail through the streets
Breaking traffic rules and followed by a bureaucratic fleet
Politicians think that from their ivory towers they have seen it all
As elected office bearers they never cease to appall
In times of crisis you can sense the disconnect
But democracy is about people’s choices, who do we elect?
And to men, I must ask why bestiality has become our way
Together we can surely change the world for a better day
Please resist if opportunity demands when you see a girl harassed
Or at the least seek help fast, you have to save the lass!
Categories:
brutalized, angst, death, girl, girl,
Form:
Narrative
Between Two Dunderhead Friends
What if dunderheads befriend dead-woods?
They can only do as cowards do,
For they are just mentally constrained to;
Rationalize than defend
Their defenceless senseless;
Being and pride in helpless
Cry-foul.
They're just as thin air between dark clouds,
They descend in envious yet porous;
And empty as vessels of a dumb
Mongrel that only bites when fed
And often
Fall from grace to disgrace their soul.
For they not know their purpose,
They just are dead;
As walking skeletal kind.
They are never here nor there.
They chase a silent wind from imaginative deficiency,
As though theirs were a brutalized kind without remedy,
For enemy
Is their most adorable human face. They are ready;
For what does not concern their little mind.
They really are just as innocent like a broken child,
Their innocence is deceptive, as snake to a tongue.
Yet enslave their brethren with perceptive arms;
Of a lost but lunatic. O what a vulnerable pal,
For yours would fade into pages of the missing. After all;
Life cares not about you either. You can harden to a stone,
For hard ears rebel against their deafness. They're prone
To know the truth as though they had known,
And I know that you feel weak when I talk,
As days have coloured in empty blue skies galore!
01082015-0320
Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema
The Voice of a Shadow: Life, Reality & Mental Inspiration Poetry, 2016
This poem discourages greedy and seemingly narrowed-bourgeois friendship. It scores further to forewarn human beings against such deceptive 'mark of the beast'. For life is just a friendly kind, yet distorted by shadows of friendship.
Categories:
brutalized, anger, anxiety,
Form:
Concrete
Oh my dear friend, its time to vent it out. Forget about the control, forget about the petrol , burn yourself up in the luminosity of your novelty. Let your hands freewheel, let them dance on the tunes of your vehemence. Clear your throats and recite that unheard and unsung poem you once wrote in a closet for the artistic satisfaction.
Can’t you see the world in complete disarray, can’t you see the Beauty of Women been brutalized and vandalized. A lot of contemplation goes into penning down verses on Women’s mysticity, but those verses are like dead ducks in a plush milieu. Place them among your brothers, among the crowds, in the Flames of atrocities and believe in the substance. They have the power to rise and conquer. They have the depth of your Conviction.
Crowd is storming and buzzing but disoriented. Gather it with your fervent Voice. If you believe you are pious, share your last breath with them. If they don’t have a Face, you give them one. If they want to maul each other down, you calm their anxiety. Get over your block, come out of your closet. Leave the rodents and mice in there nutshell milieu, let them dodge ahead. You forge ahead.
If you know ‘The Vedas’, ‘The Upanishads’, ‘The Bible’, ‘The Quran’, then share them amongst the Juveniles. Embed them with ideals, enrich them with Values.That’s what Brotherhood is all about. Don’t walk gingerly no more. Don’t join that long grey line of Manhood but make your way into the Crowd.
The Stage is set. It was always there and will always be there. It was there for Mahatma Gandhi, it was there for Martin Luther King. They were the ‘Stand Up’ Guys. Forget about maneuvering your train of Thoughts. Spill out your rawest of emotions with rawest of expressions along with Tears of hope, a hope of a better future. A hope of churning out another ‘Stand Up’ Guy.
Categories:
brutalized, beauty, life, love, philosophy,
Form:
because…
the hardware store
owner smirked
when he collected
my money order
to pay the utility bill
to get the lights turned
back on.
because…
I slept on a worn out
mattress on the floor,
in a bedroom shared
with my older brother
who brutalized me for
sport, in a trailer on the
edge of a sugar beat field.
because…
I was so naïve as a
teenage boy that I was
completely ignorant of a
product called deodorant,
that I often wondered why
people who weren’t being
polite, usually gave me a
wide berth.
because…
on the school bus one day,
a friend from ninth grade,
David Fullington, said:
“hey Dan, everyone says you smell…
and I say-like crap he does!”
because…
I would lay on my mattress
at night and hear the legions
of mice scampering across
the aluminum ceiling and
between the walls of the trailer
on the edge of a sugar beat field.
because…
of all of the mouse turds
I would have to brush off
my clothes in my underwear
drawer when I was getting
dressed for school.
that is why,
when I was thirteen,
I discovered a mouse
trapped neck deep in an
open can of Crisco
sitting beside a sink full
of dirty dishes.
looking up at me,
with black dots for eyes,
and his nose twitching,
struggling to free himself,
but hopelessly mired
in the can of lard fat.
that I gulped down
the last of my Pepsi Cola
in the 16 ounce heavy,
greenish glass bottle,
and used the blunt end
to plunge the mouse under
for good to die a death of
torment and suffocation
in it’s Crisco grave.
and then
I belched loudly.
Categories:
brutalized, angst, childhood, teen, me,
Form:
Free verse