Best Cutter Poems
She went to sleep
closing her eyes
beginning to dream
of broken butterflies
tearing her lovely monarch wings
on faithless love that angels sings...
She finds shiny metal in kitchen sink
in an evening absent light
she finds peace in cuts of pink
watching crimson blood flow feels so right..
Starlight shines upon her tears
I whisper darling, you cannot bleed
all of your suicidal fears
at night when you begin to cry
I'll sing you a lover's lullaby..
My love do not wish that you were dead
dreaming of an absent pulse
laying on silken sheets bleeding red
I will offer love so do not bleed
give me your knife I am all you need...
~ ~ ~ ~
Mutilated. I sat there; scars upon my wrist.
Ultra sadness. Blood upon my heart.
Tainted are we. Broken am I; shattered are you?
Illuminate the darkness that controls. Wonders that fulfills dreams.
Lies upon lies. Beauty is in the heart of a liar.
Annihilate the good in me. Evil shall prevail.
Terrified. Confusing is the mind of a hurting man.
Exorcise the emotions that rest in me. Crying for pains I can’t feel.
Deny the love that was stolen from. Can’t fathom the pain.
Cuts I possess.
Unique scars I hold.
Terrified I cry.
Till whence I’ll never know.
Eternity of pain.
Relish alone with no one by my side.
On a whim,
a demon will grab a fist full of mind.
Slap it down- roll it out- sprinkle it with lye.
Then pull out its cookie cutter heart.
press down hard...real hard...
Feed pieces of sanity to its hoard.
Half devoured they crap you out.
Into the shadow of an indigo night.
Clear the eyes
of the craggy miles.
Slug down a cup of fog:
What is that sharp pain-that dull sound.
Just beyond the cobbled soul...
Something just isn't right.
Stroke the cat
sweep the floor
croak "good mornings"
shower
wash away that crazy gray:
snakes are in the showerhead...again.
Go for a long walk.
pick some daisies.
sometimes that helps ...
but not today.
Hissing is in the swaying veins of the leaves,
the locust eat throat deep into peace...
Stagger toward home into a hearth of talking bones.
Read the daily dread.
Stroke the cat again.
take another nap.
Pray for a warm breeze dream to move the bloom of life.
Back into its golden vase to temper the pendulum.
Sweep the suckling demons from the chest...
Where the hell is my rolling pin god in all this ffin mess?
This is a cookie cutter culture
We all must think the same
If you're outside the PC box
Talking heads call you insane
You better hold all their values
Zombie minds.. must be lead
Christians are old fashioned
Everyone knows, God is dead
There are no absolutes today
What counts are opinion polls
Kiss the ring of our great king
Or you might end up in a hole
Blinded by group arrogance
In ignorance we all pledge
To follow cultural relevance
As we step closer to the ledge
I'm about to go James Dean
A rebel who can think and feel
Quit trying to program me
Your perfect utopia isn't real
There once was a tiny village where a stone cutter lived with his family.
He loved his job and he was the best there ever was. For no one could cut a stone the way that
he did. Some even said it was in his blood, for his father before him was also a stone cutter. He
always made sure to take his time and get the cut exactly the way the customer ordered. His
whole life revolved around perfection, he had the perfect wife and kids with the perfect job, so
perfection was part of his everyday routine. Till one day, there was a fire in the tiny village and
several houses were burned and three lives were lost. The village leader came to the stone
cutter and asked him to cut three stones. The stone cutter's heart was saddened to learn that a
mother and her two small children were killed in the fire. So right away, he started carving the
stones to mark their graves. When it came time to carve the names into the stone, the stone
cutter was horrified to learn that the three souls lost in the fire were his own wife and kids. These
were to be the last stones that the stone cutter ever carved besides his own. When he learned of
his loss, he simply couldn't go on living. And on the day he finished cutting his own stone, he
simply died of a broken heart. The whole village mourned the loss of the stone cutter and his
family. When they buried him beside his family his stone read, “Here lies the stone cutter, who
lived by perfection and died by a broken heart”. And on his stone was a heart with a single crack
down the middle.
Contact with the skin
It hurts but in a good way
Now I feel alive.
Driving through the broken, potholed streets
Lined with houses spanning decades
Each with a thousandfold more character
than that of the cookie cutter impostors they call homes
I appreciate the creaks and groans
Much more than the sheen of granite stones
Value comes down to values.
What are yours?
Like the rapist
and the molester,
a nose-cutter with
chilling impulses
emerges from
mind’s murky nook.
He always drops
atrocities
in his wife-bin.
Male chauvinism
creates a
concentration camp
in her kitchen
and bed-room.
He’s her gadget
producing
hypertension.
Her nose ring
is not
merely a metal,
but a
charm-multiplier.
Alas!
Teeth of his machete
take off the tip
of her nose,
demanding
the dowry due,
disfiguring…
Red woman sap
oozes,
staining...
First published in The Literary Hatchet
I vividly remember the pools of blood on the floor
the soul, once mine, standing in the door
the Pain, the scars, the blood falling drip by drip
my teeth carving their way into my bottom lip
the razor to my vanity
unleashing my insanity
my pride, once strong, diminishing in the blink of an eye
my pride, now gone, weeping as it waved goodbye
the floor, the walls, the bed drenched in crimson red
10:43, the time my ego's pronounced dead
crying, yearning for salvation
being clenched tightly in the arms of desolation
stains of blood repeating in my mind
the vision of my arrogance leaving me behind
my pride, once a god, a messiah with no stutter
slicing itself with the edge of a box cutter
COOKIE—CUTTER VERSION
true confession time stands and gears
itself to concede in honest declaration
the guilt of heeding to the scrutiny of
veiled opinion from self-seeking minds
the process is set in motion as worldly
influences pull you to match the mould
and modify yourself pleasing their moral
principles tweaking your uniqueness dry
one of a kind we are inimitable and rare
our essence blends our behaviour and
appearances selected in singular specs
rarely the ‘cookie-cutter’ version we
perceive
© Kim van Breda—May 2014
I was looking at the small pill-cutter box
Which I was holding in my hand.
Blue colored with a sharp edge of the blade
To cut the medicine in halves, one-third or
Could also be, in one-fourth, maybe.
I was thinking, simultaneously, about the news
I heard today, which made me puzzled….
Churches and bombings, again, so vulnerability!
So vulnerable with this cloak of religiosity
In this utter disastrous time of unrest and confusion!
I woke up again…. just to get another news of the death
A death in the family, ending of a marvelous life, so precious!
I whispered a line of supplication for the departed
And also, for me, as there was something to do….
And, I was holding the pill cutter still in hand, indecisively.
(April 21st, 2019)
In a cutter he sailed
This tanned foreign man
Muscled and handsome
As i watched him step on my island
His long brown hair
Mm, shoulder length
I went weak at the knees
Losing my strength
The evening drew in
As i sat on the beach
Admiring his ship
Craving his reach
When i heard a voice
Saying " good evening to you "
I turned around
And the want in me grew
I said " hello back "
Would you care to join me
On this sunset evening
As i joy at the seas
On the sands we sit
Our lives being discussed
My inner thoughts of this young man
Were beach laid lust
We continued to chat
As we moved real close
We shared a kiss
As our skin was exposed
He picked a red flower
And placed it in my hair
Into his eyes i looked
To desire him here
His muscled body
Held me to his
My breasts outing
My heart in bliss
The warm evening air
Drifts over our skins
In the sands we join
Our pleasurable sins
Its as if the warms winds quieten
Allowing our chorus of love
As the stars peer through
The palm tree leaves up above
In explosive crescendo
Like the breakers on the shore
He excites me like no other
As my body cries for more
In symphony and in sync
We writhe and absorb
Our passion shared
Before natures sinking orange orb
In his arms i lie
Until well into dawn
For i know in my heart
Unto him i am drawn
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-7.php
(for Rod Nichols)
Oh, he rode in from Texas
On that sweet, high road trail—
His bright light was infectious—
His goodness did not fail.
He made us a warm campfire
And welcomed friend and foe—
Passed along gentle wisdom,
Drinkin’ a cup of joe.
He always had a poem
On any cowboy theme—
I’m glad I got to know him
And share that Old West dream.
He often was too modest
And hemmed and just said “yep”—
We cherish things he taught us—
Into our souls he crept.
But true cowboys always leave
Treasures we never see—
And for him we should not grieve
A life of memory.
He rides now on higher ground,
But we won’t soon forget—
His words leave a wondrous sound,
A soft glow in God’s sunset.
she was granite jealous
sick of it all
his drifting eye
yellowing indifference
the secretive calls
so while he slumbered
she cut it off
she cut it off
with a giggling swipe
like a rabid cat
in a back ally fight
but come morning
nothing had changed
he hadn't noticed
one blasted thing
the new flowered blouse
the whitened teeth
fresh pot of coffee
clumps of hair in the sink
she cut it off
and
dyed...it
all
for
the
love
of
Mr.Indifference
COOKIE CUTTER LEAVES
dark green cookie
cutter leaves -
so many
they shouldn’t matter?
do we love one more
than the other?
if each one gained
an inferiority complex
cut their wrists
from the old oak tree
and flew away
to who knows why
leaving us
with broken branches
would rain run
mascara from our eyes
produce raging rivers?
would Spring become
a painful season?
Kim Rodrigues © 2017