Best Pummeled Poems
a rose is a rose
though bent by the spiteful wind
some petals are lost
its fragrance has not lessened
beauty changes but remains
its essence the same
yet overlooked, you pass by
touching another
perfection your objective
you forget time's truthfulness
beauty is fleeting
roses were not meant to last
yet this bleeding rose
pummeled and bent, almost crushed
offers you the sweeter scent
Eileen Manassian
To the sound of pelting rain, she woke in early morning
Upon the tattered tin roof, it rhythmically pitter pattered
No sunlight peeked through clouds on daylight's dawning
She thought of him and of the dreams that were shattered,
of the nights she'd spend without end, remorse spawning
Windblown rain pummeled windows, on sills it splashed
Obscured was her view, vision blurred behind each pane
Howled as does a wolf, thunder growled, lightning flashed
In rivulets like rain, was weeping she struggled to restrain
Like drops of blood from a wound, her teardrops splashed
That night, in shadowed lamplight she espied on the corner,
a familiar silhouette of one whose countenance was a given
Dark eyes of a raven who had waived his right to scorn her
No vocal cawing was riven as torrents of rain were driven
He was beyond the reach of this sad beseeching mourner
Outside she ventured, into the sting of nettled showers
for just one glimpse of him, she would offer as her reason
On the street, scattered at her feet, her espousal flowers
Fallacy, was an act Charlotte Bronte' would label 'treason'
Uncloaked, soaked, she stood with her memories for hours
From grief she could not hide nor abide her mirrored face
His eyes, for once unveiled, yet not one word did he speak
A webbing of fine silk threads spun, woven in warm embrace
He had raised no hand in farewell. A tear grazed her cheek
Without solace she would linger in portals of empty space
She trembled, shivering, eyes teary, there was no mistaking
her sips from tainted cup had the caustic taste of bitter gall
The impeccant knight chose the right to claim his forsaking
Nimbus skies lay overcast without surcease of a graying pall
Fraught with aching, she sighed one word, "heartbreaking."
i lay stilled atop this muddied cold ground
a castaway like autumn's leaves deadened
unable, unwilling to move around
i sit bloodied, like skies of dawn, reddened
i am bathed in november's cold, harsh rain
pummeled by the fate of past's sniffling cries
slowly succumbing beneath weighted pain
i reach out attempting to dry my eyes
perhaps it is the will of fate to die
to wither and crumble atop this ground
to gather where the helpless others lie
to succumb here, unseen, wrinkled and browned
is life's pain something to be remembered
or cast off in the winds of december?
11/21/2020
Through the opened orifice
of humanities consciousness,
the whirling, whirring, rush of rain;
tumults round the asphalts plane.
Spritzing, spreading, shrieking, zing…
the staccato sounds of wet spring;
the tinkling chimes, the brass banter
the clop of clogs, children canter.
All the sizzle of an oiled pan.
All the sparkle of dew on land.
All pummeled, a peonies pain,
the soundless swirl petals, drain.
Beautiful Lamp
In the distance there is a beacon.
It is brightness, a calm calling to you.
It is a perfect kindness,
enduring, and ever lasting.
On the shores of the island,
giant rocks are pummeled by the sea.
The sound is cataclysmic,
yet it is not alarming,
but expectant.
Sail on, into the harbor…safe.
Sail on, out into the sea…
coming and going…
unknown, but not alone.
“He” shines brighter still,
than all the lamps ever lit.
Darkness, watery death…
Murky… places that steal the breath,
of every soul that dare feign complacency.
Look not into death’s face.
Guide your eyes and set your sails.
Keep “Him” ever the heading…
Straight and on course!
“He” is the Light,
The Light House of the World
From the moment we met
he'd treated me like a princess
I was young and naive
flattered by his attention,
misinterpreting it as a forever love
Mum took an instant dislike to him
She said he was like a chameleon
and I should be wary of his dark side
but I was too loved up to listen or too much in love
In fact, it only made me want him more
Within a month
I'd moved into his flat
Swapping girly nights out
for cosy nights by a blazing fire
He revamped my wardrobe
threw out my sexy dresses
preferring me to wear jeans
Mum used to ring me
but he told me to ignore her
said she wanted to split us up
I deleted her number from my phone
Friends stopped calling me
I always said I was too busy
One night I burned the pizza
and he went ballistic
A black rage engulfed him
His eyes flashed as dark as coals
and his fists pummeled me
like a volley of cannon balls
Vivid, violet bruising covered my body
He couldn’t see the scars in my heart
and I doubt if he'd have cared
He begged for forgiveness,
said it would never happen again
Like a fool I believed him
I even blamed myself for ruining dinner
Next morning, I put on a long-sleeved blouse
painted on a smile and went to work
It was then the cycle of abuse began
Verbally, he’d fly into a rage
sometimes over the slightest thing
Then, physically which ended up
with him using me like a punching bag
One night, he went too far
grabbed a hammer and beat me
neighbours heard my screams
and alerted the police …
Hours later, I woke up in intensive care
Mum was sitting by my side
a look of sadness in her eyes
instead of one that implied, "I told you so"
I only wish I had listened to her
The year was 1832 when she slipped out the pub back door
It was stormy and cold as she walked out far across the English Moor
She stood at the edge of a craggy cliff as waves slammed rocks below
Her hooded cape flapped wildly as the wind began to blow
The fury of the rain and wind pummeled her tiny frame
She wondered if they'd miss her or even knew her name
For she was just a tavern maid who sometimes shared her bed
But what she earned just barely left enough to keep her fed
The sailers stopped at the Rose and Crown for whiskey, vittles and more
Then slung their bags and left the pub to sail for distant shores
Although it did not show just yet, she feared she was with child
And some of them who'd bedded her, made her feel defiled
She saw no future for herself nor means to raise a child
Then softly cried forgive me lord and bid the world goodby
Cornered in a vulnerable position;
kicked and pummeled into submission.
That mad horse had its way,
I lay dazed on the hay,
but am found in a stable condition.
Upon the horizon darkness loomed
mocking the shadows in my heart
Love was doomed, dismally abused
Emotions bleeding out
Have I succumbed to malaise and died
If there's a faint pulse
I have no notion
of a vortex if one is whirling
There's a windstorm's fury howling
somewhere in the distance,
an angry thunder is roaring back,
mimicking the zephyr's bullied shout
revealing the deviant taunt
lying deep within his black soul
A safe haven have I found
since I've been swept away
into a sanctuary he cannot enter
Emptiness is but a pittance to pay
for a portal into the eye of a storm
Lightning flashes outside my sheltered nook
striking as quickly as words pummeled me
Emotional scars from verbal blows
left me numb, drained, void of feeling
Twisters are not appeased or reconciled
by anyone for the devastation they cause
They refuse to say penance
Slowly, the tempest soothed. Quiet its bellow
Was I to be left naked to eyes that pry
And what of the coward, the spineless fellow
who ridiculed my love with a smirk
Turbulent gusts calmed, ceased blowing
I was fetal tucked on sodden ground
Loneliness reigned in solitude,
tears overflowing beneath closed lids
I was saved by the eye of the storm
but he was never found
I found that profound justice
Heavy had been the albatross of emptiness
that had long strewn itself around me
I suppose he lay somewhere among the debris
Wounds healed from the storm's cleansing
I no longer cower for I have been set free
Clear skies as I rise
pillow pinched, plumped, plopped
pummeled, punched, flattened, flopped, dropped
at long last got up
french-press-boiled fresh-ground coffee
supplements insomnia
Beneath my feet
Erode these blue granite mountains
Pummeled by rain and wind with hail and sleet
Forming creeks and fountains
Into a crumbling of three hundred million years -
A process so slow that no human sees or hears
Or understands the flowing tears
Which mark the beauty of crumbling as bittersweet
6-10-19
Challenge: Writing Challenge,June 2019, Crumbling Rhyme
Sponsor: Dear Heart
To the sound of pelting rain, I woke this early morning
Upon the tattered roof, it rhythmically pitter pattered
No sunlight peeked through clouds on daylight's dawning
I saw him in a dream and those that were shattered,
and of nights I'd spent without end, remorse spawning
Windblown rain pummeled windows. On sills it splashed
Obscured was my view, vision blurred behind each pane
Howled as does a wolf, thunder growled, lightning flashed
In rivulets like rain, was the weeping I struggled to restrain
Like blood dripping from a wound, as if my heart was slashed
That night, in shadowed lamplight I'd espied on the corner,
a familiar silhouette of one whose countenance was given
Green eyes stared at me, not with looks of a foreigner
No words were spoken as riven torrents of rain were driven
He was beyond the reach of this sad beseeching mourner
I ventured outside and into the sting of nettled showers
for just one more glimpse of him ~ that was my reason
On the street, scattered at my feet were wilted flowers
Fallacy, was an act Charlotte Bronte' would label 'treason'
Uncloaked and soaked, I stood with memories for hours
From grief I could not hide nor abide my mirrored face
His eyes were unveiled, and yet not one word did he speak
There were no spun silk threads, woven in warm embrace
He had raised no hand in farewell. A tear grazed my cheek
Without solace I would linger in portals of this empty place
I trembled, shivering and teary eyed. There was no mistaking
that sips from a tainted cup had the caustic taste of bitter gall
My impeccant knight chose as his right to claim this forsaking
Nimbus skies lay overcast without surcease of a graying pall
Fraught with an echoing ache I whispered, "My heart is breaking."
…thirteen miners…
…only one survived…
…still clinging to life...
...with a history of violations...
It wasn’t West Virginia.
It was I.
And I’m taking the day off.
I know it won’t rhyme,
But I’ve been pummeled.
Run through the wringer.
It’ll be coffee now,
Black and bitter,
The way I like it.
Later, I’ll have some soup.
Chicken soup.
Chicken soup without the chicken.
Chicken soup without the broth.
I’ll just look at the can.
Art soup.
It wasn’t Warhol.
It was I.
…Sago Mine officials…
…two miles inside…
…280 feet down…
...Wall Street rallied on rumors…
… of sexual improprieties...
...deep discounts expected…
…news and talk all day…
…classical music all night…
But mostly just dead air.
…The president will be speaking later today...
...the leak came from a well-placed source…
It wasn’t his press secretary.
It was I,
…a suicide bomber in...
A place I can’t even pronounce.
Suicide?
In the realm of no-time,
Everything exists simultaneously,
Everywhere, nowhere.
Vast universes containing infinite sparks
Of universal consciousness
Erupting with intelligent randomness.
Everywhere.
Nowhere.
Nothing can be extinguished,
Merely transformed.
…Intifada…
…Gaza…
What does it matter?
It wasn’t Hamas.
It was I.
When Garrison Keillor Recites this poem
On Writer’s Almanac tonight,
He’ll speak different words
And attribute it to another author,
But that’s OK.
It wasn’t NPR.
It was I.
…thirteen miners…
… only one survived…
…still clinging to life...
...with a history of violations…
It wasn’t West Virginia.
It was I.
And I’m taking the day off.
Stand here crucified with sin
Pummeled by the howling wind
Arms stretched wide, just you and me
Thrown to the mercy of the sea
Torn open to the blackest ocean's
Hypnotic, murky, moody motion
Pulled to the edge and feeling small
Drawn here by your ghostly call
Rooted there on ancient stone
Petrified, I'm not alone
Through violent waves I search for calm
Trusting you'll do me no harm
Souls screaming, shattered space and time
Take back what's yours, give me what's mine
Tortured surf, I feel your pain
I will not sink in you again
Jet black water, purple skies
Stung my ears and pierced my eyes
Primal, raw, bathed in your song
Part of you, though don't belong
Your ice cold breath whipping my face
It's time for me to leave this place
I turned my back in to the night
Stare up at your guardian light
Black hounds descend and steal the day
Pounding heart, I'm blown away!
Six tiny feet softly padded through dark passage,
inherent sensory abilities guide the way.
Sight, smell, taste gleaned in clearest detail.
The ancient surface society, once quite different,
shed optic devices in the imposed subterranean life.
One little Martian was on a walk,
a favored pastime of his kind.
Mars now a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns,
built by the Early Ones after the Great Storm.
Once a lush world of fauna and waterways,
the Great Storm pummeled and scorched the planet.
In retreat to the safety of underground havens,
society adapted through vast ages and thrived.
Mars now airless, cold, devoid of water,
held great resources deep under the surface.
Huge reservoirs of mineral rich water,
flora in abundance produced sweet oxygen.
Free of ancient distractions, wealth, property, war,
Martian interest lay in art, music, and social bonding.
Life in a secure world devoid of harmful influence,
allowed and encouraged travel and interaction.
New born Martians developed quickly to self sustain,
family units would then disband to travel, once again.
Exploring the galleries of Mars, creating new unions,
a population, one family, strong and unified in purpose.
Martian life was rich in song, art, and oral lore,
experience passed from citizen to citizen freely.
Each new enclave offered welcome and opportunity,
a place of safety, home, open to all.
The spirit of life thrived and brought contentment,
in social unity all prospered of body and soul.
Six tiny feet softly padded through dark passage,
excited, filled with hope for what was in wait.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/11/16 ©