Best Disfigurement Poems
The surgeon generals
are scalpel meeting once again
Fear doktors of war
are planning to raise another mar
on Earth’s topographical skin
Pigmented epidermal cells
are being prosperity lullabied put to sleep
under the celestial lights
Souls with eyes and minds closed —
their ears tingle lustily,
hearing cash pillow talk on poverty sheets
But, the gorgeous planetary patient
has no operating room human rights
Oh, such an awful terrestrial plight!
Yet, the view from the firmament heights
show another picture
of love from above
No stitches are seen
on the sky blue-eye, brown skin beauty
Regal global queen,
daughter of the Lunar tides,
your disfigurement is a cosmic shame
Moon princess,
Snow White seasonal changeling,
the galloping Four Horsemen are coming
upon the dispossessing gale wind
to trample upon
your perfect facial contours again
Hazel spring eyes,
with a cerulean crown
over her cloud-colored wedding veil
She wears such a Polar aurora adorable,
pristine mountainous gown
But the Jekyll dogs of war
are viciously on the shadow Hyde, waiting
to gnash another canine needle
into your verdant cheek vale fertility
Upon an evergreen face
does not one strand of virgin
forest hair
stand out of winter place
Until the anaesthesia bombs needle drop
to pockmark your oasis skin ...
and the monstrous dissection begins
Bloody butchers bullet love
slaughterhouse flaying
Stitching border sutures ... raised-flag lines
that are ever changing
As the summer fruits of world peace
are no longer autumn falling
Cris-cross scissor map marks
have so money land-lust sullied your timeless beauty
A planetary Bride of Frankenstein
is now your geo-political, laboratory scarred destiny
And I’m afraid to experimentally speak:
more stitches are soon forthcoming
Yet, from high above,
tho’ I hear
the negotiating table scalpel scrapes ...
I see no ugly stitches
on your indigo beautiful oceanic face
Without you next to me as I sleep, it’s like carbon monoxide in my lungs. I awake rotten and malnourished. Experiencing life as a ghost, everything is gray. Everything in ashes. Frail to the touch. Sickness resides in the majesty’s kingdom, yet I press on. Knowing you’re somewhere I must venture. I’ll find you this disfigurement of a waking life. My personal holocaust. The other side of the barbwire leads to you and I’ll rip myself limbless to bleed out into your soil. If only for a moment we’re together, than a moment shall be an eternity. My scared flesh tells tales of dreams foreseen. Golden rays of amber claim my vision, and I’ll never lose hope as I break my fists upon the stone walls of my oppression. With you in my heart I’ll survive the winter drudge. Towards the summer within your arms. Our love is timeless. Our love is God’s whispers.
Feigned love cut you deep,
left your heart bleeding profusely
Blood red, rose-colored stains,
drip, drip, dripping trail leading out the door ...
time to mop up this mess of a relationship
Wring all the tears into the bucket,
flush it out of the system ... get clean again
Can't let hate infection set in,
your fragile heart has to mend
Stunned by the deliberate stab,
a betrayal of a lover's trust
It hurt even more
when a twist came with the thrust
No one ever told you that pain
would be a derivative of the pleasure game
In your weakened state,
delirious passions swirl in your mind
Flashing images of past sated desires ...
you moan feverishly in the night
Love withdrawal has such a narcotic bite
And time doesn't heal the wound quite properly,
you're left with scar tissue on the soul
Touch it gently with your mind,
and feel the oddest sensation ... like phantom arousal
It sickens you that you feel pleasure
from neural memories
of when your two bodies pressed together as one
It frightens you that you still have these type of feelings
for someone who merely regarded you as a sex toy
Then cast you aside,
and tried to kill your soul and steal your joy
You must face your fears;
the thing you desired so, almost was the death of you
But you lived on with a scarred soul,
and much wisdom gained:
from disfigurement, your true beauty now shines through
UNTIDY HOUSE
Untidy house!
Round and round
Racing ‘round like headless fowl
Cleaning, cleaning frenzy is the go,
Guests are arriving nearing so
House of daily living though
Is not what they want to see?
All spic-n-span is not of daily grind.
So your visiting folk
Are introduced into a world
Of a falsehood here
But for them all they want to see
Is You!
The person of the house,
The rellie,
Or the one they call friend
And the one they’ve come to know.
Untidy house!
Tis equally same
As some wearing tattoo,
Ring nose piercing,
Being wheel chair bound mobility,
Speaking with a lisp,
Walking with aide of stick,
For those same souls
Maybe disfigurement
And if it’s that
Then over time
Magically a disappearing act
Therefore all the world to see
The real person in the skin within.
Untidy house no more......
Francis Cooper - Mac © 22-Jun-20
Interconnectedness
Life with all its twisted
Train wrecks
Contorted metal
grappled around
steel, disfigurement.
And at the heart
of it all, I want to crash
with you. Be a witness
to your incriminating truth
Twisted in ways
censorship can't explain
Remove stop signs at intersections
and T Bone with you,
Bleep certain words
as I drive right through
Swerve on curves
Creep through school crossings
and race towards
Photogenic finishes
Connectedness
like snowfall on Georgia freeways
cautiously making incredible
feats of disbelief
writing under the influence
of you, hard to avoid
your touch even following
the six second rule.
I want to rub paint with you
have fender benders
and crash our bodies in ways
our spirits become unrecognizable
as to who belongs to who...
Remember how intersection negotiations
and lane integrity created anxiety
when you first learned to drive?
Collide
It is the awakening.
After long dreamless sleep, my time has come again.
Through endless cycles of night and day, of heat and cold
I have lived throughout history. My birth unremembered
as is my youth. I have lived for a thousand years but too many years
have passed for concern over such trivial matters.
I remember the long decades without water.
I was in my middle years then. A time when almost everything was lost.
This was the time of the great fire. The fire that almost consumed me.
Bright white flames burned down from the heavens and in an instant
scarred my rugged flesh, my beautiful skin blackened in jagged disfigurement.
Many of those around me perished.
I can no longer mourn those who have gone before me.
It has been too long and in that time I have recovered from my injuries and the disease that followed. I am again strong and tower over the
youth that surrounds me, young ones of a hundred years. Many my own. Now I must concentrate on drinking in the nutrients that the earth provides me, as I watch over the shrinking forest.
The past is the past
and the receding winter
is slowly fading away,
now I have felt the long
rays of the sun warming
my limbs once again and I have
awakened to a new world, a world
of renewal, a world of hope. My trunk
is strong and my pollen will soon fill the air
covering the woods in a yellow green dust.
New life will come as acorns sprout, and I will stand silent watch.
08/24/15
‘PURPLE NIRVANA JOURNAL’
Dedicated to the legendary Kurt Cobain—(20 February 1967—5 April 1994)
“What else could I write—I don’t have the right.....”
Words are a big pile of contradiction—split down the middle, sincerity and fiction
Feelings we have, sarcastic rebuttals—bohemian clichés exhausted and shuffled
Finding my nest of salt—every word an imperfection, fault, defected assault
Translated opinions an obvious search—proof of intelligence wasted besmirch
“I’m not like them, but I could pretend—the sun is gone but I have a light...”
An infrared light will stimulate the sun in winter—when darkness comes everything splinters
Infinity does not exist mathematics is based on ten—numeral variations create a retrogressive pen
To be forever positive ignores all that represents significance, value sanctified
To be ceaselessly negative threatens derision creating instant credibility nullified
“I wish I was like you-- easily amused... I’ll take all the blame... Aqua sea-foam shame...”
Talk to your friends, they will offer you lists--- remedies already tried, they don’t exist
Translated opinions are apparent attempts investigating proof of intelligence
Abusive, obscure descriptive words—a desperate expression, sincere but seldom heard
We stare at the sky with petrified vision—clouded images of a purple collision
Sunburn, frostbite, prevailing bronze star-- noteworthy disfigurement scar
All in all is all we are.....
The best artists are outlaws
Vandalizing our sanctity,
Our sanctimonious freight trains,
Our parsimonious neglect.
The best artists are culprits
Chiseling our school desks,
Scraping our bathroom stalls,
Doodling our notebooks.
Graffiti spray paints the struggle,
Scribbling defaces the pretense,
Defilement arrests the complacent,
Disfigurement sullies the platitude.
Defacers embody the dialectic,
The opposition to conformity,
The betrayal of uniformity,
The rebellion against authority.
The best artists are pariahs,
Trashing our temples,
Tossing out our moneychangers,
Driving out our shysters.
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Blood soaked disfigurement on the Cross of Love,
Etched markings of whipped cord; sinew of flesh torn
To shreds. Grimace of pain; ashen face of love
"Water! water! He cries, for I thirst. I thirst for love
For you and My Father. My body is weak and scorn
Is my food. My mouth is dry and I thirst for love"
Gazing down He cried "Father, forgive them, they
Know not what they do". Gazing heavenward He whispered
"Father, into your hands I commit My spirit." Day
Became night, incurring His rapturous hour of death
And with victory gain'd He sung His last words of life.
"It is finished" and fell asleep, now exhausted of breath.
Where now death your victory, where now death your
Sting? Can you not hear the Christ of God sing
His canticles, His psalms and glorias to His King"
Cradled now in His mothers' arms, her tears fall
Gently and mingle with her beloved Son's blood;
The sacrificial Lamb of God - Do YOU hear His call?
"Come unto Me all you who are heavy laden and I
Will give you rest and learn from Me; for I am gentle
And humble in Heart, and you will find rest for your
Souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."
Inspired by the many true crime documentaries I have watched
and in memory of Judy Malinowski, whose death set in motion
a law in Ohio called Judy’s Law, to increase punishment to those
who use accelerants leading to disfigurement in felonies.
He started out gas-lighting her -
the wicked man who loved no one
except himself. He thought he was
number one– that narcissistic sun.
He also isolated her.
To no one could she ever run
except to him – that self-important
filthy scum – a narcissistic sun.
Her sister said, “No more. No more”
and helped her see that she
was not to blame for anything.
From that brute she had to flee.
It wasn’t easy. There were kids,
but when he blackened both her eyes
and bloodied her, she knew at last
she had to cut with him all ties.
She got an order of protection,
yet she lived in constant fear.
He stalked her, and she couldn’t even
know whenever he was near.
She was his prey, his possession.
To see his ex-wife having fun
he could not tolerate because
he was a tyrant narcissistic sun.
One day he followed her to work.
She did not have a clue
when she stopped to fill her gas tank
of what he had planned to do.
Gasoline he doused her with.
What pain and terror she was forced to feel!
That narcissistic sun, so hot with rage,
ended up gas-lighting her for real.
Was it a mirage of innocence
in the age of push ups of a
violent surrealism ?
I was wary of the repeat
acid horrors. They come back
again and again.
I want to get an abili by
sitting between the sunset
and moonrise. The wounds-
refuse to heal up and I
will not lament the disfigurement
of a verse by scars.
I want to say I like you yet
I will not be able to tell-
for want of a book
which remained incomplete within
its mask and pronounced words
as soft as feathers.
Satish Verma
A primate with disfigurement...
His stare, facing back at me...
A crystal he was holding...
his light ascended truthfully...
His wild cry escaped-with defiant will...
This dream no script pretend...
his judgement sorely with impale
his identity has been refused...
his freedom in deep detail...
Soon the same will fall to some...
due to cruelty and abuse...
His denial remains,
his life locked somewhere in his truth...
I am starving
For a dream
For a fantasy
That has escaped me
I wish I was never born
Because I cannot be perfect
Because I cannot be beautiful
When I starve
I feel powerful
I feel in control
Every compliment I get
Makes me feel like a fraud
I can hide my disfigurement
From the world
But when I am alone and bare
I cannot hide from myself
When I was a big beautiful woman
I felt confident, beautiful and desired
But, now if anyone knew the real me
No one would accept me
Because I am a freak
I just want to be normal again
I just want to love myself
Getting a good slot
You may have to play a lot
When experience is fed
Hours worked worried about reality debt
You arrived noted as a star
Talked about inside the local bar
Needing a transition in life
Having the power to say a my kid and wife
Taking your time
Success coming at another’s dime
Driving in
Listening to rock roll sin
Or the barking voices
Making rhetoric noises
This was the place to go
Since they said you know
About the ball you throw
Checking the hour
Glimpsing at the bank clock tower
Entering the security gate
Person inside the booth makes you wait
“I know you from the college game
Please let me know your name?”
Pushing the button to let the window down
Smiling no need for a frown
You did not lie
Telling the uniform guy
“Touchdown Tony
You know me from your flat screen Sony”
Defense trying to assist
Being the right guard checking the list
“Touchdown Tony
I know you are not a phony
Welcome to the Land of Broadcasting to the Lonely”
Taking his ride to another level
Touchdown Tony cruising like the Great Satan devil
Finding the best slot
Parking himself thinking he was still hot
Sitting there
Nothing to fear
Elevator in the midst
Up down it will go hit or miss
Suddenly a one arm bandit appears
Still having a fortune’s ability to steer
“I am so glad
You came Dad
Pull my arm give it a spin
Touchdown Tony once again you may win”
You left the car
Not showing any disfigurement scar
This is going to work
A good idea to pay the bills from the flying stork
Everyday Touchdown Tony went back
Communicating in a sound track
Observing other quarter backs
Get sacked
It was then
You decided to retire to the den
Being the perfect Ken
Barbie serving you naked wings
As she tried to sing
A lovely lullaby
Putting her child to bed not hearing a cry
Only a sigh
Knowing she married a rich guy