Best Injured Poems
Today I found you cornered, drenched in cold,
your fur coat nothing but a newborn's down,
a tiny ball unfolding while I hold
you shivering. Your lacerations frown
and at a distance, I can see the why
of your abandonment, the birds of prey.
I’ve saved you, but you’re causing me to cry:
serrated weapons, Nature’s passion-play,
as blood-attracted sharks, still circling, wait:
I sense the breath-starved fright that made you flee,
those teeth, those claws, you were their blameless bait.
You can’t yet comprehend that you are free.
I see the wounds, some healed, some raw and new,
they're deep, beyond the matted fur and skin.
Four little paws, so tender, sprawled askew,
I seem to feel that you and I are kin.
You mark each move. Mistrustful eyes, so green,
incapable of rest, stir to suggest
you'll try to bite if I will try to clean
the bloodclots, so I hug you to my chest.
You flinch to feel my cuddle. Have I planned
some fiendish way to torture you anew?
The tiny space your wretched life has spanned
has taught you only suffering is your due.
Careful now, I’ll wrap you in a cloth,
And whisper words you cannot comprehend.
Oh tiny one, you're no more than a moth!
It’s alright now. You’ve come across a friend.
Your warmth is blossoming against my breast.
I want to teach you gentleness and calm.
There’s nothing here to threaten you: so rest,
You’re safe now from anxiety and harm.
I'll guard you through the night until you sleep,
until the chesty wheezing eases up.
This is protectiveness, it's seated deep:
I’ll always help a vulnerable pup.
Your heart is racing hard against my hand,
awaiting pain, as wizened captives do.
Believe me, Little One, I understand.
For I have been a broken prisoner, too.
***
May 30, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
ON RESCUING AN INJURED PIGEON
I.
sliding screen door screeches, pigeons scatter
thump of wing against breast, shockwave breeze
more frequent than in the past, shimmering necks
soundtrack squirrel zig-zags, new-green lawn
perches like the pigeons, await my departure
II.
he appeared in the night, a tattered statue
grey as the rumbling skies, white patch on his back
must be hurt, too painful to move, teal collar
my compassion swells, how can I help?
leave him seed and water, natural healing
III.
red-toed demon leaving bird-turd on my deck
can barely walk let alone fly away, railing perch
rain or sun sits most of the day, ruffled feathers
hit his head or fallen, maybe a scuffle with a cat
wants to be part of a flock, I move closer
IV.
day three I made him a coop, Bucky by name
Becky if it’s a girl, I’m not checkin’, won’t go in
moving better, flies a little, short bursts
still prefers my perch, watch him sleep, still
hours to days, nothing seems to change
V.
the four-legged’s have found the coop and feed
I become my grandmother chasing chipmunks, futile
Bucky likes grass, hacksaw walk, double-banded
looks strong enough to fly, abandoned racer
wonder, is it psychological or could it me?
VI.
trail of seeds brought him to the edge, coop and me
as I watch him he watches me, wide ruddy eyes
huddles in a ball on one foot, freckled vest
finally, twice today he found his way to the coop
sad he can’t go home, sheltered but dispossessed.
VII.
animal rescuer Howard came with a net today
tried clumsily to catch him, lift and accelerate
over the treetops he flew, circled back to land
from the rooftop he smiled down at us, relieved
proof time heals all wounds, in rock pigeon world.
Aug 30/18
“Should we deny ourselves pain, we would deny ourselves entry through many doors in our heart leading to where our soul patiently waits.” Poet
Many cannot conceive truths the faithful believe,
such as jagged edges lead us to deep places
where tranquility waits to be reality.
If only brains could disengage that souls alone
decided what to leave behind or closely hold.
When I stumble from life's roughness and bruises swell,
I cannot help but deep dwell in my heart and soul
where my injured bits sit ripped in cramped, frozen fits.
If we do not hurt, we do not bleed a true need
to learn which medical aids best persuade healings.
Life often snags me in jagged edged episodes
until I repair all frailty-stretched through prayer
and place it in my Father's hands of perfect grace.
The more jagged edges adhere, tagged for repair,
the more need we build to yearn for and turn to God
which grows awareness of our true depth caresses.
Fear no roughness on your heart but recall toughness
in your faith that will divinely define what gift
the rift can bring forth, be it soul growth or knowledge.
Jagged edges can teach us more than a college.
He fell, fell to the ground
At the gunshot that created such a sound
Nobody took notice of the injured soldier
He was left there lying as the war grew thicker.
He screamed from the pain growing in his shoulder
Nobody realized the pain he would suffer
Trampling feet and screams grew monotonous
The injured soldier tried to ignore the pain that was so venomous.
He made a decision for himself
If he was to survive he'd have to help himself
Nobody was going to come to his aid
Not when each one was looking out for their own head.
He winced in pain as he got to his feet
He wouldn't give up now, not when he still had an army to beat
His shoulder cried out to him in vain
He had already chose to ignore the pain.
He took his rifle up
He adjusted his helmet and refused to give up
He kept fighting till the war was over
Each soldier fighting for their country, their home and their lover.
When the war was done and the battle was won
Every single soldier put down their gun
the injured soldier's shoulder still bleeding
now blinded him with pain and made him lose all feeling.
This time they gave him attention
This time he was treated to friendly affection
He wondered what would have happened if had given up that night
Would they have still won after all that fight?
But he was glad he hadn't for he would have been seen
As a pitiful injured soldier who wasn't keen.
It's the choices we make
And the chances we take
That set us apart
Only when, of course, the decision is made from the heart.
I dressed with style in my best suit,
As off to church I went.
I knew I looked quite lovely and
My time had been well spent.
I was to read the lesson so
I sat in convenient pew
And listened to the choir
As I waited for my cue.
I walked gracefully with confidence
As I hurried down the aisle,
Then wondered as I faced them, why
Each parishioner wore a smile.
It wasn't until I was home
And changing from my suit
That I realized why every one
Had gotten such a hoot
Out of the somber lesson
That I had read that day;
A prim and proper Lutheran
Will seldom act that way.
As I removed my shoes I saw
I'd worn two different kind.
One had a solid back and one
Had just a sling behind.
Placed 3rd in Light is on But nobody's home contest
Finished before start
Colts fans leap from Bandwagon
Peyton Manning's hurt
Still coming around
Like an injured bird
It's all just a matter of time
But that will come too
4/11/2018 6 pm
What lies well hidden in your heart
Is there because you knew I’d weep
To hear that I had played a part
In your torment within the deep.
If I had been then truly wise
To understand your love for me,
I would have never let the rise
Of sorrow maim your will to be.
You were twice injured, thrice deceived,
And I should have sustained you through
Your days of anguish when, aggrieved,
You bowed your head, though pure and true.
Our time went by unfelt and I
Regret the errors of my past
As I am left behind to sigh:
These hours and days may be your last.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
White Cadillac
waiting for her.
Black night shadows
hide crimson lips.
Rude passerby
tosses a coin.
It injures more
than just her arm.
Someone's daughter
of meager means.
On my palm, as I keep to rest my chin
Injured heart among the city din,
Healthy spirit to live it search
Days are so dark, for there is no torch.
Sand I am baked, in the desert brown,
Unfamiliar is the place, insipid is the town.
Absence of its candid human clay
In the strange city, I am alone today.
Modern life is in such a mess,
It is too fake that we wear is a human dress.
Did we think, neighbor next door, is unknown
Such has been the condition grown.
Where growing mind in love with matter
Did we not our spiritual connection shatter?
Absence of its candid human clay
In the strange city, I am alone today.
Easy life, where the world is advance
For the peace of mind give not any chance
Oh! Breeding strangers, what land it is?
Or we forget our spirit to ease.
Absence of its candid human clay
In the strange city, I am alone today.
Where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain
bleeding shades of layered shame on blight-lined highways below,
their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Interred on unkempt plots, crumbling brick carcasses maintain
evidence we’re forced to see if the trails of traffic slow
where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain.
Rush-hour bottlenecks, the frustrated drivers’ daily bane,
exact tolls of tribute to hollowed homes lost long ago.
Their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Daylight, drowned in the windowless dam of a plywood pane,
begs blackness, dwelling within abandoned walls, who’ll dare go
where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain?
Does the doll left naked on a spray-painted stoop remain
to testify children once played under its portico?
Their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
As darkness descends, the caravans of commuters wane,
leaving deserted the injured, desolate Jericho.
Where silhouetted sentinels silently stand in vain,
their ghostly shadows remind us of dreams we dared to drain.
Guns, Guns, Who Loves Guns
Oops, We Shot Our Own Loved Ones
Guns, Guns, Tons Of Guns
Shoot You In Your Flabby Buns.
Tow my burdensome feather of essence,
And ignore the ghost of my regret,
Watch the trail of unseen and broken tears,
Stain the dust sapphire with vacillating reluctance.
Stretch me; rip me towards one poison or the other,
Sit, reflect—agonize,
Confront the demon who damaged me,
Or stay as unspoken as my intact existence,
Let the weight pour off of my chest in a typhoon of yellow rage, lament, and grief,
Or fester.
As swiftly as I came, I am departed,
The rock of indecisiveness devoured another victim,
And I am once more hushed.
4 Marines Murdered and I am wondering why? He killed 1 Police Officer and I still have no clue but let’s continue and move on, looking back at what is at stake I pray for the families who will be crying each and every day remembering how this coward took 5 lives that fought for us day by day. Protecting us we need more help, remembering how we all felt. On 9/11 many were killed, still wondering why they had to kill. Looking back the violence needs to stop how can we change For Chattanooga sake? Shootings are getting worse people are dying is it really worth that time for the families who are crying? Praying everyday it always works but for some reason someone ends up dead why does it hurt? Never looking back seems to do no good praying for the families to stay strong we all should. Waking up is kind of hard knowing that it is not all good, praying For Chattanooga is all we can do because fighting back and killing wouldn’t solve a thing or two? Looking back will we will ever be ok scared for others that protect us till this day. For Chattanooga keep your head up because God knows and please don’t ever give up.
Finally my blood began to coagulate, the bleeding had stopped.
Not sure how far along the tunnel I had come. All the way I hopped.
Now to make my way out of this loathsome place.
Cobwebs drooped from the ceiling like filigree lace.
I stepped carefully over sodden earth, choking on the thick rancid air.
The pain from my wounded leg was throbbing and becoming hard to bear.
Dimly lit this tunnel seemed endless. Glimmers of hope mixed with fright.
Will I emerge from this horrid place, is this tunnel to be my tomb, my plight?
Eerie noises pierced the silence, and seemed to signal doom.
Wished I was home again in my own peaceful, pretty room.
Peering into the darkness there seemed to be eyes ahead staring at me.
“hello, is someone there?” No answer so I called again most warily.
The ‘eyes’ were not seen again. I guess it was my imagination.
Am I first to discover this fearsome tunnel since the beginning of creation?
My mind is wandering losing control, getting harder to keep on going.
A sharp turn to the right, the air feels fresher, a soft breeze is blowing.
It has to be coming from outside in the open, this must be the way out.
I tripped and nearly fell, and let out a small yelp, Suddenly I hear a shout.
“We are coming “ says the voice, “Are you OK?” I have been found.
My trembling voice tries to answer, but try as I will I can’t make a sound.
Scooped up by two burley men they carry me out to the bright sunshine.
My leg is cleaned and dressed, as they lay me back to rest, feeling fine.