Best Callused Poems
Callused fingers press vibrating strings;
drawing passion from a violin.
With the burnished wood snug to his cheek,
the violinist plays from his heart.
Subtle vibes saturate my being
as crying strings elicit feelings.
And expounding on love's betrayal;
music stirs the imagination.
His bow hangs like a lingering kiss;
savoring the taste of ecstasy.
And then, with tears trickling down his cheek,
he unleashes unbridled fervor.
Experiencing pangs of rapture;
sound slips the bounds of reality.
And every note penetrates my heart;
igniting fiery flames of passion.
Those stars that sailors follow
Guiding less the sea to swallow
And the night seas black as tar
Beyond the wave a land afar
Halyards taught, blocks in tallow
Breezes fresh and salt swallow
Timbers creak, white horses foam
Callused hands and oceans comb
And the stars pull them forth
South, east, west and north
Cabin boy or salty jack
Afore the mast, bare their back
Seas of glass or howling gales
Stands his watch what ever ails
For them the ocean a magic place
For every dawn a changing face
The face of his one true love
The wind, stars, skies above
STAND WITH A FACE OF HUMILITY
Thou curse a great angel to fall
from the heavens of glory and power,
though let man build towers for himself alone
letting him gaze on earth down.
Daggers are unknown but
they are directed to oneself
piercing six-inches deep in the heart
though made unreachacble stars of ruthless dreams,
there bete noire, implacable enemies abounds ,
occurring impossibilities cause bitter torments
art a fortress a defense for nothing, nothing?!
A sneering wall for a human being
the lowly thou had trodden down
callused feet has stepped upon.
The anon ignorant void of wisdom infuse a poison
drops dripping from temptuous cup
of sweet assurance, of self-ambition and arrogance.
A pedestal thou arts amidst life's superficial ways
a courage to lift up a haughty face
the narrow rocky roads thou dwell is full of blooms
but will the ends refrain from drowning doom?
Poor man thou hast enslaved
in thy ruthless breaking embrace
secured within thoughts of highness
knowing not where he will stay.
Above, may he think and look unto the ground,
a place of fifth to step upon
for alas he has partaken from thy cup,
so now he's done.
Thou made a distance so near
yet to very far, unreachable.
A human never a god
harsh and vicious
are the gigantic trials knocking him down
Imposing.Intimidating.Haunting. Freezing
but must they be?
Must they be or should he rather
open his eyes and flee
to the flying flicks of times?
Crepuscular are the cascading days
but always they pass epiphanies.
A heart of stone melts but
from it births the human heart
who is able to choose paths which lead them
to face the world not with pride
but with humility...
__________________________________________
Sponsor Name: Broken Wings
Contest Name: Any poem trashed in a recent contest
~~6th Place~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
12:38 pm. August 01, 2015
I have loved him since I was young.
Through every cloud, he rose the sun.
His work was honest – one-on-one with land.
I loved this farmer and his callused hands!
Safe, strong arms would lift me to sit upon his tractor.
Picture boy and Grandpa - no memory could be happier.
Today, I took the inherited watch from my mantle.
Now the cherished timepiece accompanies my flight,
perhaps lending faith to my emotional plight.
Precious ticking in my pocket comforts my destination;
brings forth his presence and I will not try to stop it
for the watch soothes my driving desperation.
Steering, my feelings begin actively conceiving
wings in golden display soaring my car this day
thru prayer-filled air to timely see me there.
So many endless miles of thunder under my wheels.
Thoughts ever somber tumble various appeals.
I gasp down feelings he may leave before I show.
He stays in my heart’s eye while I consume highway
on burning, dedicated tires determined to fly
'cause Grandma phoned to say, Grandpa would soon die.
As I sat on the bed, and opened the box
I fondled the keepsake, in the palm of my hand
It is tied to a youth that I never lost
Often the memories may be callused by time
Some have been polished. Tho' some may be gone
into the reverie, where I cannot climb
Smooth as the dream, that I've kept like a glove,
wrapped tightly in tissue, and precious to hold,
is one little stone of no value, but love
With a glint of the morning, and the blue of the sky
sapphire veins, and gold undertones.
Inside are hints of a story once told
The heat can be captured like a piece of the sun
I remember a day, with a radiant glow
when the ocean was changing, and storms on the way
Thundering sounds, and in-coming waves
that swept us away, to world of our own
It washed up from nowhere, and you reached with your hand
and picked up this keepsake, to put in my own
The memory lingers, re-savored, when found
A stone of no worth, except for the love
There in the sand, as if it were gold
much brighter with colors, than all other stones
A talisman treasure that I'll always own
Shaped smooth by time, and polished by tides
Taking me back to the glint in your eyes
___________________________
1/22/16
Blue petals of a forget-me-not
juxtaposed against a white headstone
weighing heavily upon my heart;
I play my violin all alone.
Looking out of place against marble,
a blue as vivid as crimson blood
rebuffs the paling pallor of death;
conveyed in the promise of its bud.
The icy hand of fear grips my heart
shrouded in a cerulean hue;
callused fingers caressing the strings,
that lament the love I felt for you.
Grief resonates within every note,
sending sad tears trickling down my cheeks;
evoking intimate memories,
granting my soul the comfort it seeks.
Life’s never easy when you are riding the range
You grow use to hard times waiting for things to change
Sit around a campfire singing an old western song
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep moving along
Long hours and hard work are just part of their routine
Callused hands and dust are part of the American scene
He’ll take a stand against things that he knows are wrong
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep singing their song
Cowboys won’t tell you when they are feeling bad
They never complain when things make them sad
You’ll never see teardrops, holding onto their pride
Cowboys don’t cry, they keep their feelings inside
When their journey is over and their life is at end
St. Peter will greet them and say welcome home my friend
They’ll smile weakly knowing they’ll no longer roam
Cowboys don’t cry, they know that they’re going home.
Are we not blind-registered children,
tripping over our future tails?
Sight unseen enabled
for the will of night prevails.
Within the cone of silence
curve the angles formed obtuse,
at odds and plainly hidden
in the shade of the recluse.
Feeling numb along the crumbled brick,
cement and mortar Braille;
callused lesions blunt the tips
and rip out the fingernail.
If opened to accommodate
the scope of love's domain,
the arc-light blinds so fiercely
slamming eyes wide shut again.
And all the time in brilliance shine
their halos fired intense,
yet we, enslaved to self denial
reject the evidence.
For the sake of nothing ventured
breeds the compost of conjecture,
means we look but cannot see
the angels in our architecture.
Form:
Barefoot on the paving slab chill, concrete
feet feel frostbite emanations in their callused souls;
rooftop mystique clamours silent slate triangles,
perched the stray cat observers, red-eyes smoking coals.
Down to the river's edge where swaying reeds
feed mongrel contemplations with moist whispered words;
rusty oil-slicked surfaces lick the muddy banks,
karma sutra assassins are the predatory birds.
Fixated upon a frozen traffic system, bolt-locked,
dumb-shocked by electric one way streets to dead ends;
barstool poets weep sleep-sozzled cabbage tears
for the closing-time tragedy of long-time absent friends.
Drunkards shamble on beer-stained coliseum floors, grumble,
mumble incomprehensible diatribes into thin air;
the memorial park benches flake skin and rot within,
white spirits rape the dreams that anyone should care.
Deserted boardwalks spool a crooked travel,
unravel with myopic glint and blink, cat's eyes dying, died,
and the desolated song from night's deflated lung
hums doggerel consolation with no meaning left inside.
Illegitimate offspring of fatherless daughters and sons,
buns in sceptic ovens, burnt baked black offerings;
sacrifices on toilet stall altars, to lie in state
no more than ether, aborted ghosts, empty superfluous things.
Saviours ride no pale horses, immaculate white stallions,
galleons never sail to where the sun pristinely sets,
for the purpose of this life resides in its conclusion,
deserve has nothing to do with it and nothing is all it begets
Twisted Heart
Bruised and throbbing. A twisted heart.
No going back, the point of no return.
You spit your “empty” words at me,
Though your words are far from hollow.
Words are daggers,
Thrown at your heart.
Meant to tear you down to your very soul,
A heart can only take so much.
Quivering. Callused. A twisted heart.
You thought it was stronger than before,
But they find new ways to tear you down.
They say actions speak louder than words,
But I believe they are equal.
In the eyes of the heart,
Even a look can break you.
Spiteful. Hostile. A twisted heart.
They made you what you are,
No matter what they say.
You act strong,
And try to keep them distant.
Treat them how they treated you,
But that would create a perpetual cycle.
They ask you what’s wrong,
But all you say is just a dull ache.
The word I chose was aching
The giant beast grasped her in callused claws ...
Chaos swirled like the pupil of some evil eye
As scorched as the hems of an evening sky
The red of its piercings tread a bloody path
Like remnants, vermilion, of a wicked wrath
Cold crumbs of attachment, evermore awry ...
He brought her to his mouth, teeth shining ...
Dew dripped and froze upon the feral floor
Glistened with a magic that the stars abhor
Dark, dire poison giv'n as midnight's tears
So etched like an epitaph to bide the years
The crowning discernment of a carnal core ...
He paused a moment, as she fainted in fear ...
The black flame was licking at the sills of ice
One passionate potion with improper spice
Spilled, once it filled with the oft' killed time
As clocks suffered 'tocks', emulating crime
Oh, pride was the payment, a caustic price ...
The beast brought his lips to her and kissed ...
Tenderly ... then placed her on the golden altar.
This poem was written in July and N/A'd on August 4, 2020, in the "Strand Completely New ( 5 ) Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest
~ 1st Place ~ in the "N/A Rerun 10" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
More rocks than soil on those flinty hills
Where he tilled the grudging land.
He chopped the sprouts and manned the plow,
With cracked and callused hands.
No stranger to adversity,
Through hard and bitter years
He wet the dusty, stony ground
With a poor man’s sweat and tears.
He was not a man you’d hear complain,
Though hard times dogged his trail.
He faced the foe unflinchingly;
His courage never failed.
He cried unto his unseen Friend,
A Friend who always hears--
To the One who sees and understands
A poor man's sweat and tears.
The legacy he left behind
Was not of wealth or fame.
On history’s golden pages
You will not find his name.
He lived a simple, honest life,
In a world that little cares.
His name was written in the dust
In a poor man's sweat and tears.
No rocks, no sprouts, no callused hands
Where he safely dwells today,
In that everlasting Eden,
Beyond the Milky Way.
Where hope ends in reality
And joy relieves all fears--
A garden where no one is poor--
And no more sweat and tears.
Form:
Second chances are rarely granted
Wishes on stars are eternally chanted
I come to you in pieces to make me whole
I look into your eyes, but somehow see your soul
Your dreams of breaking out, being free someday
Searching for the answers, looking for the way
Encountering a light hidden so well
Likewise I’m hiding behind a mangled veil
My heart in your grasp, my innocence unused
Your hands I take in mine, callused and bruised
A moment of harmony, yet the note struck hard
The eyes of your heart are broken and marred
Use me once and I’m yours to discard?
My trust in you is forever charred
Now I’m hiding my scars yet you see them too
But what you don’t see, is I've been scarred by you
Form:
Could I hold your hand in my rough callused own
Walk you through soft Summer rain
Hold you so closely my nostrils explode
In joy so exquisite it’s pain
Wouldst care to go dancing on beaches of sand
Splashing in ankle deep surf
Close eyelids so tightly the red glows and clouds
And dream into softness of safe
We’ll travel together in dreamland of sight
Holding to pleasured delight
Winter wet wonders are yet to unfold
It’s not nice to be lonely at night
THE GAMBLE
Of all the men who gambled there on the hill that day,
I felt I’d be the winner when I began to play.
And sure enough, it happened! I shouted out for glee
When all the lots were cast there, the winner had been me.
I picked the prized possession there from the rocky ground,
But as I looked there at it, and as I looked around,
I realized who had had it, I saw it stained in red
From all the cruel whipping of the man who wore it bled.
My mind should have been callused--we’d done this times before--
But what I’d seen that morning I just could not ignore.
No other man had suffered the way he had that day
And through the awful torture could still cry out and say,
“Oh, Father, please forgive them, they know not what they do,”
Those words he had there spoken were something strange and new.
“What had I done?” I wondered. I’d listened to the crowd
As for his blood they shouted with angry voices loud.
And as a Roman soldier, I only did obey
Commands that I was given to beat him on that day.
Now as I held that garment I had won fair and square,
I felt so deeply guilty for how he suffered there.
There surely must be something that’s different in this one;
He said he was Messiah, God’s only begotten Son.
He never cried for mercy through all that awful trial
While we beat and abused him with words so cruel and vile.
I sensed somehow he’d done this for people just like me,
And though his body’s bleeding, his love for me I see.
That day I took a gamble, I’d won his garment red,
But as I sobbed in sorrow, I trusted Him instead.
I took that precious garment and hugged it to my breast,
And said, “I thank You, Jesus, for giving me Your best.”