Best Psoriasis Poems
I'm not wearing underwear
I can’t afford to clean my clothes
I shower every day
and sensitive skin from soap and psoriasis makes me itch
But I have bills to pay
I know you understand
Raising my little half brother and half sister
I've only met once
who are an ocean away
But this isn’t my story, it's yours
and the memories that remain
I know we've talked about it
Your pain and mine
About dad an alcoholic, and the abuse
and how you’re still attracted to it
But I still remember soo many nights
And soo many strange days
You dragged by your hair
I'll never forget
You thrown through the door
is embedded in my head
You with black eyes
you fell out of bed
The screaming
The fights
I remember everything said
My name
My brother’s name
Psychological abuse for you
soo long ago mom
You left and I don’t blame you
Years of you being cheated on
And dad would introduce us to his girlfriends
Easter holidays treasure hunt
While your husband was out betraying everyone
I know you know
That he talks poorly about you
And acts like the better man
But mom I remember
and you need to understand
What you went through
And the nights when I heard the door slam close
because you were fighting
and he told you to leave
That was how I met god in a sense
and always prayed for you to come back
Then finally I prayed for you sanity safety and for you to leave
And I would cry
as quietly as I could
cry myself to sleep
and chances are
dad either fell asleep
or went out in his drunken stupor
to cheat on you again
The divorce is over
It’s been over for years
But yet its still messy and I bite my tongue and remember
The night you came into my room
And told me you had to leave
I remember taking beer to kindergarten
Hiding it from you and dad
To throw it away
And my teacher in grade three finally asked
No lie mom
I had the same teacher in kindergarten and grade three
I could write an entire poem
about all of the people who shaped my mind
But I need you to see
When I come visit and am called an incest family man by your boyfriend
for giving you a hug
You’ve fallen into the same trap
And it’s like my own mother I’m not allowed to love
Categories:
psoriasis, family, forgiveness, life, sympathy,
Form:
Free verse
A Rare Rhinoceros
Nothing seems so rare as a robust rhinoceros
Trying to point long nose into business like us
And incredible case in point never could prove
Because with big mouth he wanted to behoove.
He was rhinoceros always being the rowdiest
With his nose's point many things had missed
Then ended up raising a really big fuss
From scratching poor skin all full of psoriasis.
They never would ever leave him alone
Until his level had been low on testosterone
And rumors started to run amok and amiss
Monstrous mate he might have forgotten to kiss.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Hate to say this butttt
How about this one for
humorous Horn poem of the
day? Don't want to horn in
on anyone's business though.
Ho-ho-ho
Categories:
psoriasis, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
Tough skinned -strong, take it and dish it out.
Thin skinned - overly sensitive.
Skin of our teeth -
struggle for life, survival.
Skin defines and designs us,
the skin we’re in, through pain, color issues, death and life.
Skin-If skin could talk.
Fascinating story.
Not just color of skin but skin which is our body fabric, the material that wraps our
soul and our innermost parts silky, splashed with water, warmth, cologne, love
and labor-skin.
yes john heck this is prose but...the skin I'm in Part One
Touch comes through skin and touch informs us of so much. The way people
touch us tells us if they are comfortable with us and with themselves.
It can be hostile, strident touch; rough, accusatory, disciplining, invasive or it can
be sensual, exciting, invigorating, accepting, encouraging, loving, comforting.
Skin Talk
too frequent breakouts, rashes, allergies, sores, impetigo, suffered
embarrassment, pain and shame. Scars! Coco butter for every nick and scrape.
But my black knees and those scars embarrassing in
swimsuits or shorts
legs were scarred with black spots.
Marvin Taylor called me leopard legs in fifth grade and fifty years later,
I remember the sting, shame and pain of it.
Campaigned against my scarred legs with scrubs and other potions until the
spots began to fade and a sense of perspective...
skin challenges, burns, rapid tissue growth that should disfigure -yet the
elephant man walks with dignity and grace in his could be monster face
severe acne in the face, severe psoriasis and yet their character and ways of
dealing with these problems determine their real image, reflection and persona
life is a gift that can not be determined by black spots on legs.
Categories:
psoriasis, black african american, health,
Form:
Narrative
His hair is like a black dwarf with white freckles,
with eyes like sharp, jiggered icicles,
a nose like a white man in a lineup of Africans,
and a mouth like shredded onions should you choose to cross him.
His chest is like a cow’s udder ready to feed her young,
with a stomach like a hippo basking in the sun,
and stretch marks like cancer, savagely out of control,
and psoriasis like an angry storm of dusty dry snow.
His arms are like shoe strings dangling in the wind,
and hands like angels cover with sin,
his legs are like drum sticks, fresh but not young,
and his feet are like popsicles, but aren’t very yum.
His body is like a freak you would pay to see,
but he outweighs this freakiness with his personality.
30/7/2012
Categories:
psoriasis, funny,
Form:
Sonnet
Pimple Faced Boy
Pimple Faced Girl
Their heads in a Whirl
Despair in both Eyes
Dismal Mirror Eyes
Psoriasis a Barrier
Who would Marry Her?
He doesn’t mind
Sees kindred Kind
Children Fine
They have Nine
Categories:
psoriasis, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Categories:
psoriasis, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
========== O
Monday night. Moving magazines. Aimed dead at killing an evening, my fingers target =========
These same old four buttons; >.
1, 2, 3, 4. Five’s a pipedream. Gaudy, small-minded and trapped in affected Americana.
Just like whatever the hell this is. Too much smiling.
====== > Diseases. An old man’s mouldy cock. Right there, mid-screen. Mid-bite, I choke,
as they mumble about vulvas
======== > A dog rolls in a mound of white paper. Whimpering at the softest **** tickle.
Like his little tongue? He’s running! With T.P! The Hilarity! Ho ho
======= > A mother and daughter swing together on a sunny day. One is singing like a
xylophone. They bond across a yoghurt.
Processed fried chicken cracked open with a wry smile and a twinkle in those white, white
eyes
======= A familiar street, full of families too awful to hate. Bald men stomp, cheeky
guy’s grin, heart throb’s pulsate. Young filly’s flounce, old hag’s huddle and all moan
mournfully. Other’s pass in between, and outside of, the broad spectrum of emotional
alliteration and post-modern punctuation without so much as a smile ==== >
Kevin Bacon and Kyr =========== > Michael Dougl
========= > Widescreen TV’s at my fifteen inch window
========= > A man with a silly haircut, waving a knife at a pepper with intent
========= Women in windows waving enhanced monstrosities at the wanking and eager.
Tittilitation for the text buck, a half-filled screen of despair. Tribute to the madness
that grips young men through the night
========= > Still, writing this keeps me sane. More sadness
======= > More sales
============ > ============= >
============
That’s a thought.
These images do not create ======== O
Categories:
psoriasis, faith, funny, social, old,
Form:
Free verse
I am a grossly overweight midget
of later years.
I have a penchant for funny women,
the absurd,
and baked goods.
I have 826 thousand dollars in the bank
and a dose of psoriasis.
My personality is that of a freight train
with two, loose wheels.
I must use bag balm
on my undercarriage and
moisturizers on my elbows.
I burn with barbaric breathing and sweat.
My reptile heart is that of a porkyitalian lover.
I can beat out a double-paradiddle on a snare drum,
or compose electronic pieces.
My time is best passed writing,
and romping
with my 4-legged friends.
-----------------------
If you don't already know, ABOUT ME
usually refers to a section of a web site or
BLOG that tells about the author. This is
parody, BTW.
Categories:
psoriasis, angst, funny, people
Form:
Free verse
there once was a guy named Dwight
who sat next to me on a flight
the trip was so shaky
his skin was so flaky
and when I looked
the seat was all white
Categories:
psoriasis, body, sick,
Form:
She looked down into her hands resting on the table.
There lay the remnants of her life.
The scars and pains of another time.
The mark the cut made on her palm
from the baby food tin when she was thirty.
Her bitten nails torn and ragged.
She smiled at the little pains and pleasure there.
Hints of psoriasis on the backs of her hands.
The worry of that, all that, all her life.
The first diagnosis when she was seven.
The pain and shame of it as a girl and woman.
Oh how she used to cover herself.
How she wanted to be beautiful for him.
She looked deeply at her hands
and could not see the tears that had fallen there.
Tears for her lost baby.
Tears for the worry and fears of a good life.
He came into the room
and walking by he touched her.
Never a word said as he went to another room,
she raised her head and watched him,
smiling deeply at his back.
She was happy.
Categories:
psoriasis, love, remember, world,
Form:
Free verse
The house now quiet, the family gone.
She looked down into her hands resting on the table top
There lay the remnants of her life.
The scars and pains of another time
The mark of the cut made on her palm
from the baby food tin when she was thirty.
Her bitten nails torn and ragged.
She smiled at the little pains and pleasure there.
There on the back of her hand a little blood
from a careless scratch from her youngest's new dog.
The knuckles swollen and painful.
from the years Splitting fish at the fish plant.
How many fish had she reduced to food?
Was it now the other side of the ledger, the fish seeking pay.
Hints of psoriasis on the backs of her hands
The worry of that, all that, all her life.
The first diagnosis when she was seven.
the pain and shame of it as a girl and woman.
Oh how she used to cover herself.
How she wanted to be beautiful for him.
The black ink stains from her leaky pen
on her writing fingers.
They told of all the lists that she had made
of food and household stuff.
And, she paused, the poems too
Her poems, how they pour from her,
and completed her, filled her
with aches and delights.
she smiled gently then at
the smell of the gentle cream
that she put on her hands today
after she had washed her
oldest daughters newest baby.
The rings that marked her love,
she heard him in another part of the house.
The engagement ring received
the day she went to his bed.
the wedding ring she saw
the day they married.
Should she have worn white.
That day it rained and rained
and she was so happy.
forty years since those raindrops
and that ring had been made
She looked deeply at her hands
and could not see the tears that had fallen there
Tears for her first baby gone
tears for the worry and fears of a good life
He came into the room
and walking by He touched her.
never a word said as he went on into another room.
She raised her head and watched him
and smiled deeply at his back.
She was happy.
Paddi march 15 Dec 2013.
#6 visual
Sorry its too long but it wanted to be longer than 22 lines.
so I expect it to be Disqualified but I wrote it for your "with these hands"
So, anyway, thank you for the idea, I am pleased with what your prompt produced.
Categories:
psoriasis, happiness, introspection, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
As psoriasis; old scoros is'
With vulgarity; of method-biz
Darkening all hearkening
Bloated out ego-cankering
Blood money his diocease!
Categories:
psoriasis, allegory, allusion, conflict, education,
Form:
Limerick
almost died of scurvy
had psoriasis ever since
safeguarding my mind
step mother made the worst meals
i blamed her but now my taste buds
have changed and i realise
worked my mind
she really could cook
found my soul
devil's massage
got sick and began eating veggies
another sleight of hand
of the spine to live with
and took vitamins
lost to myself
and an exercise routine to see if i could beat it
lazy bones
Categories:
psoriasis, family, food
Form:
Free verse
An amazing fact so say the scientists
That every ****** can actually clear one's sinuses
If you have a cold or not
It will even clear old snot
As well as make you happy and gets rid of psoriasis
(Not confirmed yet)
Categories:
psoriasis, uplifting,
Form:
Limerick
You were sitting on a honeycomb
I wanted a life
without stink or stain.
Intently staring at every celebration
listening to every sound,
and warding off the hissing reptiles
near my ladder.
Nature, I do not want to fight with.
Grief brings psoriasis,
the eternal itch and restlessness.
I scream at every red patch,
my unreadable pain forgets the date.
Mutism was not the answer
to protect the purity of tongue.
Silence was not a golden word.
Without becoming hoarse
one can shout to tell the dimensions.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
psoriasis, adventure
Form:
ABC