Best Lacerations Poems
We all arrive alone naked and vulnerable,
crying our eyes out, not knowing -
this is the first day of the rest of our life.
I guess the saddest thing in life is we have to grow up.
As children we live in a bubble,
gazing at lost stars - wondering which one is ours.
Not realising the impact of our childhood,
until we are adults and it is too late.
We jump in puddles, laughing at splashing sounds,
some even learn to place their coats over them.
Some swim within shark infested waters,
but only a few learn how to build bridges over them.
I have embraced the power of silence,
but some have succumb to it.
I guess it is all about the quality of it,
especially for those who struggle to listen.
There has been many a rose that has bloomed,
but every single one crumbled into dust.
Even the one whose thorns pierced lacerations
through hearts of stone - yet the heart healed.
Many birds arrived echoing sweet symphonies,
yet there have been those that flew away in silence.
Especially the silent nightingale who sat in solitude,
whose lyrics my heart still yearns to feel.
I've seen many a ship arrive at my shore,
but each one unloaded and sailed away.
It was me who removed their anchor
and smiled as they sailed into the distance.
As tumours poison our existence - I ponder;
will the human race survive earth's demise?
When death arrives we all leave alone empty handed,
not knowing that was the last day of our life.
I recall Freddie Mercury's famous lyrics...
Who wants to live forever.... Anyway.
Silent One
Simple Musings
19 June 2018
Categories:
lacerations, analogy, death, life,
Form:
Free verse
Dear December, Forgive my silence,
I’m still bleeding from
the lacerations,
I still hear the echoes
from our confrontations.
So much was
lost in translation,
though I’ve been
healing in isolation.
Warm is the smile,
when you stretched
your arms
with compassion,
understanding that
not everything
is black or white.
As I’ve learned about life:
it goes on.
and In the midst of the
somersaulted journey,
I still remember those
who boosted my sanity,
when September sorrows
slayed my spirits,
as I slowly severed my thorns,
to watch them drown
in a sea of
broken breaths,
whilst perpetually
praising the painters’ pain,
and the abstracts of
architects articulating
a peaceful pathway,
although I still dwell
on the regrets from
strawberry fed wolf moon,
the night when my
heart yearned to be heard,
as I delicately smeared
my emotions across
clementine and
cranberry twilights,
in hopes
of forgetting
withered willows,
whilst letting it melt
Honeysuckle vines,
with hues of the sangria
sky reflecting ever so softly,
showing me reasons
to believe again in
better tomorrows,
for there is a rainbow
aching to glow
after every storm,
and there’s far too
much to be grateful for
in this life of delirium,
so shall we allow this
winter to be the seed
of warm light and water~
forgive the stars that
veiled their silver,
as fate turned
her back on our garden,
let memories float in
paper boats of
lilac feathered forgiveness,
along the river of reconciliation.
Let’s flow and flourish together,
leaving behind an aroma
so divine on
cashmere sweaters,
with unwritten poems
tucked beneath velvety pillows,
that tasted so many tears,
and have seen too many
vanquished fears.
Categories:
lacerations, deep, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
It's always those who reside in our hearts,
whose words, like lightning,
electrocute our soul,
and in each pain there is a lesson.
Her life was like a room without a view,
those 'rainy day' eyes,
could have formed a deep river,
but no ship sailed upon it,
to carry me to her
and I would have kissed away every tear.
Misplaced, I could feel her yearning,
for a home, she had never known,
confused and lost, but her silence,
left her trapped in burdensome meadows,
and I wonder if I could have shown her the way.
From the silent echoes of her tongue,
I could feel the malady of her spirit,
feel the lacerations piercing her heart.
If only my words could have soothed her,
but even they could not save her.
As the lights dimmed,
silent stars became the nature of my poetry,
I asked the moon why?
but clouds covered his expression.
Now my mind is a time machine
of her memories, her voice still haunts,
as I ponder if the thunder will persist,
because I'm too afraid to close my eyes.
Simple Musing
Silent One
4 October 2018
Categories:
lacerations, death, loss, pain,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
lacerations, analogy, animal, hurt, metaphor,
Form:
Quatrain
Mardi Gras "The Medieval Story"
On a hot, heavy night in Orleans,
Joan and Jane were seen rubbing chest on chest
An inviting, intimate moment, to undress
Two pretty trimmed tops, eating like dames
They touched in ways, that drove those who make war insane
The secret spilled before the sun sprawled across the floor
Medieval England, banging on iron set doors,
All around men and women, wanting to witness the whiplash
Beads and beads of love, thrown at their feet
Joan' and Jane', having fun in front of, yesterdays courtyard
Sweet acts of flagellation were performed to stimulate the crowd
Screaming, and receiving, intense, brutal lacerations
In the eyes of endless nudity, everything wet in between
Left to right, a secluded society, dance in masquerade
Two men rise and ravage Jane, from hip to hip
Join-in, was a Jouster, and Lord Johnsburg,
They came in a little closer to claim, Joan
Closing, and inflicting as much damage as possible
Crestfallen forces of the unknown, -the audience grows
Remain firm and indulge this wet period of the Middle Ages,
The first crusade held stones in each hand,
Applauding to neck the beauty of friends
A noose hanging high held no head on this day
Yelling to feel the pain perils of anguish,
This was in reality the vassal of Jane
The King, ask to see them on their knees
Before he seeded, sending the Spanish tickler,
Fetching for the finest skin
At her end, Joan, watched Jane, spread like never before
Perfumed skin, rising up in smoke, -Joan's final stroke
Left burning at the Stake, In a Medieval World, from hell
The Siege of Joan and Jane did not end well
A lonely Bard, now sits and sings a sadistic tale,
A tale, of dirty deeds, -a dancing bloody masquerade
Joan and Jane, compensating for the Mardi Gras Parade
By: SKAT
Categories:
lacerations, adventure, celebration, dark, death,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
A dead man’s boat
rowed itself from isle to isle,
dragging its dead man in its wake,
partially submerged, their tether tenuous,
yet somehow never broken.
Past The Isle Of Reeds,
where the slaves had been freed
from the crack of their master’s whip,
and their master, with great resentment,
would be exorcised of the malice
that he had so slavishly curated.
To The Isle Of Defeat
where it was fortunate to escape
the ruthless jagged rocks,
its dead man did not escape,
but in death was spared the agony
of the broken bones and lacerations.
Painfully close to The Isle Of Cleansing,
adorned by sands and rocks made new,
freshly crafted for their arrival
just moments before their arrival,
but the dead man’s boat
would not surrender its dead man.
To The Isle Of The Precipice
where gulls and albatross
sullied the ancient cliffs,
the boat stared up at them
but gave no thought to climbing them,
its dead man may have fallen from them,
perhaps in a better life.
The dead man’s boat
left the isles
and returned to open waters,
it’s dead man dragged in its wake,
together to sink in time.
27th March 2019
Categories:
lacerations, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Finally my blood began to coagulate,
surrendering to wounds from constant battles.
I was fading in shades of an Autumn leaf,
crumbling to seasonal trials,
yet, searching for a remedy
to prevent winds from carrying me away.
In the pantomime of life,
I've learned how to pretend.
Hiding the truth behind each scar,
visible and invisible, engraved upon my skin.
My soul is a testament to inflictions fought and won.
Sometimes lacerations ache,
yet the pain can never define me.
For within me burns a spirit, fierce and full of flames.
I've soared over storms,
illuminated in the darkest night -
still, I rise to the call of morning Robins.
Each clot forming is a symbol of resilience,
as in the face of adversity, I find my lion nature,
so let the blood coagulate, let healing begin.
I am a samurai not prepared to retire my Katana sword.
Through every trial, I'll emerge stronger,
until it's finally time to go back home.
Categories:
lacerations, angst, strength,
Form:
Free verse
Written: December 13, 2023
____________________________________________
If the ocean's water
were used as writing ink for pens
to write down our words of praise
the ocean would eventually dry up
before it might be put in writing.
evil will triumph
if the righteous remain silent
Inner defect causes blindness
success depends on action
stand up and do what
you realize is right
raise exertion level
a smidgeon suffices
to allow notions of impetus
you can then sleep well
your pick is akin to lacerations
requires precise timing
curious but uncertain.
blind attrition is pointless.
reach for stars
obtain an aerial view of the world
wave farewell to the land
live easily a prospective granted by
you are misusing beauty
greet the passing clouds.
forsake worries and avert your gaze
fear is a foe you must overcome
soar high and be wise.
Categories:
lacerations, appreciation, dream, encouraging, hope,
Form:
Free verse
The year is 2025
I have come back to my past
To witness the Mayans
Who said Earth would not last
2012
Was the year they declared
That the planet we knew
Could never be spared
An Asteroid shower
We could never comprehend
Sends this heaven to hell
In catastrophic spend
The first to hit
Was the daddy of them all
Our axis twisted
The human race in fall
Just of Madagascar
In the Indian Ocean
It's where it all started
That set our demise in motion
Tsunami waves
Like giant tower blocks
Swamped Indonesia
As Polynesia rocked
The force of impact
Reverberated west
On the Canary Islands
A dormant volcano so reft
It's massive mountain side
Into the Atlantic slipped
To the eastern seaboard
Of the United States it shipped
A second Tsunami
Half the world long
Would submerge the east
Taking the weak and the strong
The second to hit
Hit a place struck before
Tunguska in Russia
Receives another sore
Daylight turns to night
As earth meets our skies
Fallout from the reactors
In shattered demise
Radiated clouds
Eventually filter down
Leaving bleeding lacerations
As we humans death drown
Smaller asteroids
Some just a few hundred feet
Around the world they were marvelled
Until they meet their greet
The place where I stand now
Was Yosemite National Park
Now dark ridges of black
So bare and stark
It's been many many years
Since the sun shone through the screen
When I close my eyes I remember
When the earth was lush and green
How many of us survived
Will we ever know
Was this in our destiny
I think all around me, now shows
Categories:
lacerations, angst, death, fantasy, history,
Form:
Rhyme
Paroxysm of pain inflicts this pen,
tears cry poetic allusion.
When petal hearts are misunderstood,
life is full of confusion.
Distasteful thoughts set camp in my mind,
an unwelcome intrusion.
Virgin pages innocent in white,
yearn to wear this mind's effusion.
Too many deep unanswered questions,
lead to a false conclusion.
When judgement lacks honest intellect,
darkness defeats diffusion.
Sun is cautious to cast my shadow,
intolerant in inclusion.
Forever immersed in freezing rain,
victim to their collusion.
When metaphorical daggers scar,
they say it's an illusion.
Melancholic lacerations scream,
ignored by deaf delusion.
I'm bleeding, but you ignore this blood,
it's too late for a transfusion.
Silently sad soul seeks solitude,
far from sound in seclusion.
Silent One
Simple Musings
1 February 2018
Categories:
lacerations, analogy, angst, dark, fate,
Form:
Monorhyme
"Curls...
Of spring passion?
Lacerations of decadence?
coiled in ringlets at the nape of her neck-
light wrapped in strands iridescent and bent
toward her silhouette's kiss.
Shadows on a match box painting
absorbing the skin and silk shed cloth."
Frozen air movement shakes me awake
as another museum goer
brushes by my sleeve in an attempt to read
the description... (I am nose close...)
Tremendously, I pull myself away
to the Hallucinations of a Toreador
pulling the scope out on my looking glass,
for one is finely tuned, painted with the single hair of a wishing bow...
and one is the size of my heart, unraveled and sky scraped,
and yet remarkably blurred to initial understanding.
I toss aside propriety and sit down on the ground,
Indian style, in front of grandeur-
a mist of streaming people dissipating my vision
of the surreptitious melting clocks, oozing time
all over the floor, soaking my favorite shoes...
And so I pass the afternoon alive,
briefly breathing in the dusty air and DNA of genius.
Categories:
lacerations, art, happiness, people,
Form:
Free verse
Give and take
barbs
then retreat
to wounded silence
licking our lacerations
before picking up
where we left off
with the razor wires.
Categories:
lacerations, life,
Form:
Free verse
Our Lord suffered so much many people don't know this
They're thinking out of touch and so much do they miss
Oh how our Lord was beaten, punched, spit upon the face
But sin Jesus was defeating and how He showed Grace
They tore off His clothes and kicking him to the ground
Torture the Roman guard knows thus Jesus was bound
One lash two lash three lash four, mocking His Name
Soon our Lord's Back tore the Roman guard's finest game
Nor would our Lord sleep as they tormented Him all night
Just Ponder really deep Jesus being such a bloody sight
But this was just the beginning His Blood would flow more
Punishment for all the world sinning by The Lamb so pure
Oh how they beat our Lord then made Him carry our cross
Even pierced by a sword my emotions so violently tossed
Because of why He did it, see, He did it, for me, and you
Think of every tiny little bit and maybe you will see too
The Romans’ scourging whip “had iron balls tied a few inches from the end of each leather thong on the whip. Sometimes, sharp sheep bones would be tied near the ends.” The metal weights served to cause serious bruising, or contusions, and the leather of the thongs cut into the skin. The sheep bones were also made to deepen the lacerations into the skin. After only a few lashes, the depths of the cuts would reach into muscle tissue.
Categories:
lacerations, journey,
Form:
Rhyme
Shadows 9-22-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shadows
Living in ethereal shadows of compassion,
In profiles of grace,
Mercy overshadows stumbling stones
Revealed in a lens of benevolent focus
To eclipse blisters of ebony shades
With wispy balms of healing from raining penumbras,
No longer shadow boxing with bruising lacerations.
Shadows of grace pursue cutting eclipses
And wraps golden coronas of clarity
Around impenetrable guilt, treachery and betrayal,
Forgiveness foreshadowed in rising cumulous mists
Chasing cringing palls back into impotent hollows
Creating translucent patterns of favor
In delicate dews of lotus clour.
Ever present living pierced hands of agape,
In crimson shadow’s continual canticles,
Engulfs dark demon wraiths with pure mystery
And with silhouettes of the eternal Eden
Reveals perpetual truth –
No shadow can with withstand
The incense of everlasting grace.
Categories:
lacerations, forgiveness, inspiration, life, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
"We can choose either to remain heartbroken all the time or with resilience, come back to cheer, as true happiness primarily stems from inside and not through external factors alone. Our happiness is mostly dependent on our way of thinking and how we see life"..... By Poet
She heard the sound of pigeons overhead.
Looking up she saw them whirling
forming emerging patterns in the sky.
They soared on and on until they
became fading black dots in the blue
Such sights would have sent her to raptures
sometime back, but now when she sees them,
she can only think of the years
speeding by and the chances missed
and her whole life- a fading black dot!
Under a virus of melancholy,
she walks with lacerations in her soul.
Pain consumes her without visible flame.
She's heartbroken with nothing to look for.
The world around her looks devoid of life.
She wages a lone battle inside,
to drive out demons of dejection.
But she feels as if a sharp knife,
is cutting deep right through her heart
and she winces at every chop.
Though she tries hard to cover her bruises,
they bleed red and make themselves known.
Pain has completely sucked her out.
In a vessel, she collects her tears,
hoping to water the parched terrain
of her drought- stricken dry domain.
Light has miserably betrayed her,
and now she lives in eternal darkness
fighting black shadows day in and out!
Categories:
lacerations, angst, pain, sorrow,
Form:
Free verse