Best Pried Poems
Knotted in the Dance
Our eyes in a silent promise locked,
the way only stranger's can.
Perhaps foretelling of lover's, unfrocked,
langoured and breathless ran.
You, I think, blushed in surprise,
though I really don't remember.
For I, like a thief rushed window pried,
saw only endless splendor.
Your face laying against my chest explored,
and traced the furrow'd line.
Though indifferent to that wound ignored,
the scar I tried to hide.
You, now with arms around my neck entwined,
my hands, the master of your curved hips.
Knew how with charms, bound to defect, divined,
to lands where time stands unperturbed in eclipse.
Few hovered the hall that night as we,
caught in love's magical trance.
Two lover's enthralled in flight shall be,
forever knotted in the dance.
Angels Above
A. W. Nutter
At fifteen, I was to young to become a father
At fourteen, she didn’t need to be a mother
We were old enough to have sexual relations
Unable to understand the implications
We cried out in anguish to the angels above
Pleading for their mercy and their love
Parents abusing us for this sinful union
Adolescents fearful and full of confusion
Not able to cope with the adult pressure
The mothers young body goes into labor
We cried out in anguish to the angels above
Pleading for their mercy and their love
My son struggled between life and death
I held his hand as he took his last breath
From my hands his little body was pried
The tears falling like rain from my eyes
We cried out in anguish to the angels above
Pleading for their mercy and their love.
Occasionally the mother and my path will cross
Seldom do we mention or discuss our loss
But every year at nine, on the sixteenth of May
We both agreed, to light a candle and silently pray
To the angels watching from heaven above
Shower our son with mercy, show him your love
Britches and snitches
Were out digging ditches
When out from the ground did appear
Gold that looked old
if the truth now be told
It was something someone would hold dear
A crown from the town
Just a little ways down
Perhaps it belonged to the king
With tools they found jewels
And these two were no fools
As they thought of the fortune it’d bring
They tried and they pried
Now with pressure applied
To remove the prize up from the land
A dream it would seem
As they worked as a team
So that wealth could then rest in their hand
A tug and a shrug
In the place that they dug
But the artifact still wasn’t free
A shove with a glove
The sun hot up above
Now a bundle of sweat they would be
Inspired but tired
Their strength now expired
They tossed down their shovel and hoe
Glad but not sad
And in no way now mad
They decided to let the thing go
A prize for the eyes
As they now realize
All the trouble this fortune might send
Greed they don’t need
As the two did concede
That their fortune was having a friend
An eye for an eye
Soon the world was blind
A place full of misery
Not one person was kind
People chose to get even
They believed in blow for blow
The bodies all stacked up
Corpses laid in a row
Forgiveness not heard of
Or the first going last
Antiquated ideas
Remnants of the past
Measure for measure
Cruel justice ruled the day
Each and every person
Had a debt to pay
The Bibles all burned
No saints could be found
The lovers of peace
All hidden underground
They waited their time
Those on the surface died
The keys to the cities
From dead fingers pried
"Blessed are the peace keepers"
They inherited the Earth
The past not the future
We witness new birth
For Dr. Ram's Measure for Measure Contest
My body tenses.
The soft padding of footy pajamas
approach
tiny fingers grip my eyelid
lift it....
Bright eyes gaze into
the freshly opened eye.
A voice shouts....DA!!!
The other eye opens.
Yes I'm in here.
......And he knows it.
His PJ's had that
"potato in a pocket" hang.
I close my eyes...
reopen them...
he's still there...
he shouts again....DA!
Milk dribbles from his chin
as he struggles
to master the spoon
Cheerios dot his forehead
as he throttles a banana.
The "eye" sips coffee
tries not to laugh.
The dog laps up
his portion of sharing.
It was a good morning.. until
he pried my eye open
then....it became
.......A GREAT MORNING
John G. Lawless
2/15/2021
She wailed her way into the world...
An avatar they said, Goddess Lakshmi had taken birth...
Her parents' pride, her brother's delight...
She loved and shone her brightest light...
She smiled she laughed in her radiant sight...
She didn't notice the prying eyes...
Pirouettes and piques, with aplomb she leaped...
Fell back on the earth, for a second it hurt...
Not losing her stride, among the cries...
She walked ahead, with her head held high...
Its a man's world, she was warned...
Not true she said, and walked along...
For she was proud of the woman she was...
She did not know of the waging war...
She had no right to dress as she pleased...
Her shorts were labelled as a tease...
She committed a crime when she refused his friendship...
She was punished by a splash of acid...
Pushed and shoved, groped and cut...
She burnt she bled, he simply fled...
It was her fault, said those in power...
She ate noodles, she should have called him brother...
She shouldn't have been out, late at night...
Well, he was justified in playing out his might...
She should have brought a car in dowry...
She wouldn't be laying, a lifeless body...
She gives life, akin to God...
Yet her life is an irony, unwanted... abort...
Lying about the scar on her face...
She tells her friends she fell down the staircase...
For she didn't know how to confide in them...
Of the scathing beatings, by the husband she'd wed...
Killing in honour of the holy mother cow...
Raping the honour of the woman of their house...
They'd given her wings, asked her to fly...
She flew away, and then they pried...
How dare she fly away so high, she was permitted to fly awhile...
Clip her wings, draw a ring...attach her to their pendulum strings...
Stamped her fate, sentenced to a cage...
Live like a prisoner, you deserve it, they say...
Yet they fold their hands in prayer...
To a Goddess, for their share...
For their share of golden glory...
While her life becomes another cover story...
I inherited a magnificent antique natural black diamond ring,
it is an impure crystal from Central Africa, it is entirely opaque;
a precious gem, absolutely beautiful and quite valuable,
a mesmerizing color created by nature, it touches my very soul.
It inspires me with it's hypnotic quality taking me deep,
and I see it's power in my accessories, always black and sensual;
the black diamond is mysterious and shrouded in drama.
many a death has been cast by a particular black diamond stone.
I did research and found out- a famous black diamond,
was pried from the eye of a statue in a sacred shrine temple;
in Pondicherry, India by a travelling monk thief, so the myth says,
the theft created a cursed diamond called the Eye of Brahama.
The myth then states that the diamond caused three deaths,
people would throw themselves off high buildings by suicide;
later the diamond was cut into three breaking the curse,
of course, my ring is not one of the pieces, yet is still lovely.
The days I wear my ring and my lovely black accessories,
I transcend this world, my makeup and hair become magical;
seeing the world with my third eye and it is so very amazing,
I am a different girl- dark, sensual, and so very mysterious.
And when I take off the black ring and accessories,
a mere girl stands in front of the mirror, natural and glowing;
the magic is gone but the inner peace remains and inspires,
I think what we put on our bodies should have a soul-
hypnotic and deep.
_____________________
August 3, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/Hypnotic and Deep
Copyright Protected, ID 16-813-746-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Black Diamond
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
Boxed Life
She sleeps with a nine
waits for his face
his distant return
too close
looming
A tragic slime
smooth stranger
smoother lover
pried into her life
obsessed
frantic
impossible to reject
she lives
twisted
a boxed life
pulled by strings
too tight
An explosion is inevitable
the storm's coming
and she knows it
so she sleeps with a nine
and waits for his face
When a child if gifted with a book it transforms into a key to unlock the mind. The gate to the secret garden of imagination is pried from its forgiving hinges and the child is free to expand their imagination to galaxy proportions.
The simple pages of a book provide a passport for a passenger seat next to the likes of Captain Biggles in his Tibetan adventures to locate the forbidden city of Shangri Lah, or a magical flight to Neverland with Pan and the lost boys. Who knows how each “child’s mind’s eye will envisage the loathsome creature that is Mr Hyde or the demure Dr Jekyll?
It captures the heart of a parent to witness their young boy, lying on his bed, engrossed in the pages of Stevenson’s Kidnapped. His imaginings transform him into the character of David Balfour, fighting alongside the Jacobite rebel, Alan Stewart. Such a comforting vision is a young girl, lounging on the couch on a rain soaked winters afternoon, fanning through a copy of Anne of Green Gables, engrossed in the character of Anne Shirley, wishing to emulate her outgoing spirit and giving nature.
The abundant bread basket of literary expositions act as a conduit, unlocking a child’s ability to make judgements about morality, injustices and an understanding of consequences in decision making. All the while the simple act of quietly reading procures an incalculable and surreptitious response to education for a lifetime to come.
The nostalgic aroma of floral vanilla and almonds that emit from the pages of an old book invokes a sense of anticipation to the imaginary adventures about to be embarked upon, creating an atmosphere of ambivalence.
An implore to parents across the globe to leave the television set and so-called social media, bombarding a child’s mind like a tidal wave, leaving in its wake a desolate landscape of nothingness. Embrace the tactile feel of pages in hand, gently stroking the mind, embedding feelings of, wonder and imagination. Read to your children every day and encourage them to jamb their noses into literary masterpieces from the likes of Stevenson, Doyle, Dickens and many more worthy exponents that have stood the test of time.
see that smile
it seems real
you would never know she's suicidal
there are so many things she must feel
there is always a label
it was pasted on
she was never able
till she was gone
the blood that flowed inside
as it spilled on the floor
the blades were never pried
from her hands when she wanted more
the crimson out of her wrist
she knew she wouldn't be missed
Lady laughed manic, scrubbing hands
blood stained fingers washed one another
The water, scalding, removed any trace
that evil had transpired here
Her eyes wide and wild...recounting, remembering....
...reliving...rejoicing. He lay dead, face down
Vengence surged euphoric
She whispered through smiling teeth
'You won't hurt me no more'
removing red spattered hand made dress
Naked she laughed and knelt to the splintered floor
piece by piece she pried the wood
Fumbling with foreign tools
Creating this corpses tomb
Rolling this limp, lifeless mass into the earth below
Her bruised, weary face stared down
His eyes, one stabbed, met hers as she smiled
pouring lye over his hated face and limbs
Tossing the dress down to the crypt
She grabbed the knife to follow it's path
thought better of it...keeping it gripped in hand
....a symbol of her new found strength, she couldn't part with it
Replacing planks of floorboards like jigsaw puzzle pieces
Hammering them in place to make a more familiar scene
The table was pushed over to conceal the calvary
She sat...eyes wide and wild...to a dinner made for two
she sighed...naked and relieved...slowly carving the meat
with death
i promise i'll be
yours faithfull
for eternity
my soul
forever by
your side
for i will not
be pried
away
my spirit
my will
to be with thee
will never cease
to be
it's is
a part of me
my love
my master
and my god
have bound
me to you
this way
Your smile was one of innocence before you looked away.
Was that a bit of fear in your eyes as you looked away?
For a month you served me breakfast every morning,
but tawny eyes never meet mine again; they turn away.
Cinnamon blush painted your cheeks as if by artist's brush.
I saw your hands tremble before you quickly moved away.
What I would give to see you smile as you did the first time.
No price too dear, for it hurts my heart when you sidle away.
The sun shines when I see you. Is there something I could do
that would sway you to talk with me instead of stepping away?
I'm not one to offer a sweet cliche' that's used too often.
I'm afraid you'd just bow your head and keep walking away.
I don't know your name but I heard someone call you, Brooke.
If you would once more look at me, I couldn't be pried away.
I'll show respect for your demeanor by avoiding your eyes.
Forgive me if I make you feel uncomfortable. I will stay away.
Across a flowered field, I gaze.
A daisy weeps through morning haze.
One lone petal departs her side -
a "love-me-not" is softly sighed.
Gazing away from love denied -
one more leaflet from thee is pried.
Another dream towards fate's romance;
a petal plucked lends second chance.
The daisy's hearth has met defeat.
Her children sob beneath her feet.
Deflowered by a lover's act -
one last petal remains in tact.
"Love-me-not or love me so true?"
I leave that answer up to you.
MOTHER'S WISHBONES, NO DOUBT
All furculae with not a fragment
of dried-up flesh or sinew
to despoil their luster — the slew
of them ranging in size from
Cornish hen to turkey. Funny,
I’d never noticed her extricate
one, strip it clean, secrete it
somewhere long-forgotten.
I took possession of those bones,
pried loose some of my own
from birds broiled, barbequed,
fried; primed each, applied gold
leaf. Made more of them
than Mother could’ve ever conceived
— the gilt, over the generations
of bones brittling whole, striking
beneath the wait of wishes.