Best Rashes Poems
On the pan she cracks on the edges
Flows in her white gold love rashes;
Wet to oil, bottoms turn up in fumes
Sigh, sizzles to burns in her top cues.
Hot as roasted, spiced in cheekiness,
Crusts within the silky ceramic lust:
Fingers feel cling to the push shove
Tongue melts into lick, flip; lip sucks.
Molds fold with in the hardness cuts.
Aroma breaks the churning of beats,
Touches to heap and urge the squeals
Lifts and drops akin to the greasy eel.
Life is passion in word promises
Beauty in metaphors is my trust.
*“Ring around the Rosy. A pocketful of posies.
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down.” - a nursery rhyme
Gone to ashes.
Each town was a burial ground
gone to ashes.
Multitudes wore rosy rashes;
The Black Death’s ring was on them found.
Dead bodies smoldered all around. . . .
gone to ashes.
Now children chant
“Ashes, ashes,” while in a ring.
Now children chant
and they’re strangely exuberant!
Of pockets of posies they sing
and think not of one deathly thing!
Now children chant.
Written by Andrea Dietrich/ Feb. 16, 2012
and inspired by nette onclaud's
ALPHABETS OF RONDELET Poetry Contest
(I chose Ashes, but also Chant was used
in verse two).
*Please click on "about this poem" to see
the origin of the nursery rhyme it discusses.
I'm thinning out some things of mine
I do not want or need
Some for sale some for trade
Most of it is free
My poisonous relationships
They gave me fits and rashes
All the bridges that I burned
Well, there's the can of ashes
Wishes are a dime a dozen
Believe me there are plenty
You can have my broken dreams
And thoughts are just a penny
This box of nickels is dirt cheap
They're all made of wood
A pack of lies that I bought
Some are pretty good
There used to be some happiness
It seems to be misplaced
I lost some time that I was given
But most just went to waste
These mirrors with smoke, a pig in a poke
A hook, line, and sinker
All came free with my insurance
From unscrupulous hood-winkers
My policy is "No returns"
I hope you'll understand
If you're like me then you'll agree
This junk's still in demand
national poetry competition entry under my pen name "poemdog"
Translucent is the beauty of the foxglove flower,
hiding is something they never ever do; they are
poisonous giving rashes, nausea and headaches !
Find them in a cottage garden mingling, entangled with cat mint,
often they self seed in very strange and odd places,
xcelsior hybrids are available in many lovely colors;
go look inside the tubular flower for freckles and spot decorations.
Love and admire them in a woodland theme garden,
on sunny days I pause to treasure their loveliness;
very respected flower to treat heart failure for over 200 years,
enjoy them but do not touch them without gloves.
Foxgloves make a nice gift (with warning) for a friends garden, but
like taking over yours- you need to control their rambling ways;
on tall spikes these dreamy gems grow tall and stunning,
walls of this charming flowers that are a true natural beauty.
Every color imaginable is available but I am fond of pink,
remove the tallest spikes to make room for new growth.
_________________________
January 13, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/The Foxglove Flower
Copyright Protected, ID 16-744-392-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
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.
Allergic species of alphabets causes itching in my mind,
Like rashes, lonely frail but gigantic when unite,
Words carrying meaning in accord with linked dialect,
Languages holding cultures but biased,
Such a biased word the SUN whenever screaming,
Compelling east to run for reverie when west is still dreaming,
One color of sun symbolizes one earth’s existence,
Conversely spectra signifies the seven subsisting continent,
Colors with variable wavelength, continents with unique independence,
Though I love independence but specific day is appalling,
No matter its gala of 14th august or 15th’s reveling,
Each parallel day retells story of slavery,
Concurrently imparts the feeling of diversity,
Discrimination based on race, extermination based on dialect,
Annihilation based on region, termination based on religion,
Despite of existence of immense segregation,
Still each independent slave proclaims globalization………………..
To all you great dog owners out there,
here's a shout out from a groomer,
who sincerely cares,
keep your dog's grooming routne,
to insure that their skin and coat are prestine,
itchies, rashes and hotspots,
not only cause your dog pain,
but the constant scratching and licking,
are likely to drive you both insane,
dental hygene's important as well,
brushing teeth and gums, so breath smells swell,
a neatly trimmed coat,and a fresh clean dog smile,
will keep allour pup's,
in caninedippity style.
There are too many times when my eyes open and it’s still dark.
It’s useless to think that I’ll go back to sleep, and it’s no good at all to lay in bed and watch the passing parade of worries that comes marching down the Main Street of my mind. When I do that, the entertainment seems to take on its own life. The parade grows longer, more spectacular, with the noise of marching bands, my thoughts, growing louder. Clowns scurry ahead of the band leader, throwing red balls in the air. There are too many balls to count.
The best thing I can do for myself is to rise from my bed. But there are days when it seems too much to bear being home before the rest of the world rises. There’s just too much emptiness in my small house.
I leave, escaping to DD's, where I sit and sip my coffee over a newspaper. Sometimes there are others sitting waiting for the light to come, too–like the woman who gives an animated “Hello” to everyone she meets, staring too long into our eyes. She takes out her cell phone to call a friend about the rashes on her legs. Something is biting her during the night. Raj and the other DD workers snicker, and I am drawn to–but at the same time repelled by–her morbid troubles.
Sometimes, in the winter, it seems as if the time I spend in the dark before the light comes is endless. I don’t think it’s normal for darkness to last so long; it’s probably one of the punishments for eating the apple in Eden.
I much prefer the early light of June and July, when the morning allows the gentle unfolding of life around me. Somehow, when the sun is in the sky at 6:30 a.m., a passing gasoline truck rattling my windows does not sound so lonely. Nor do I mind the sun revealing the stains from spring rains on my windows … or the birds loudly announcing their presence in the trees. Their manic chirping awakens schoolchildren eagerly counting down the days til summer.
When the darkness is especially long, and I have already sought out the comfort of others who cannot sleep, I will sometimes return home and do what I am so reluctant to do — sit still. I take up my position in a special chair near a window that looks out onto the street. I close my eyes and listen to the heated rhythms that only my body can make. My breath … my ins and outs.
But I wonder; why is it so hard to be still? Especially in the dark before the light.
i
Rising and falling all
These while,
Do cast out your burden
Or your world keeps breaking,
You know where it pinches
Blow it out like ashes
Or it remains and scratches
You like some rashes.
ii
Today you stand on your feet
Tomorrow you fall off your feet
These come and go
Because of your uncertain decisions.
The verbal menace you mention
Are all attributes to your
Horrible reception.
iii
If you must shine then you must rise,
For in down fall you find doom,
All around,gloom,like in dark room.
Upright upright like a star...
Far above to be a star.
Apply healing curing faith,
All to keep your mind alright,
All these do,your heart will be bright.
iv
Now stand up and walk
If you please,
But if you choose to remain slacken,
Then you will have your self to blame....
IMPERFECT WORLD
Oh! What a terrible beast
The great serpent that drifts from west to east
The words from my mouth speak the pains I bear
For we live in a world of injustice, inequality and despair
Everything in life was once the design of the creator
But now man tries to take over the role of the creator
But who is the creator I cannot explain
Who is God because I know not his true name?
Is He an invention of man’s ignorance?
Or did He invent man with ignorance?
Avarice has enslaved the conscience of men
And there is total absence of tolerance from now to the end
The earth was once free for us all to enjoy
But now we treat our fellow man like a common toy
The Haves and the Have nots
The slaves and the free
The man that I am and the man that I may never be
Man created evil
Evil is not of nature
The lamenting fool says it is Lucifer’ doing
Anytime he confronts a gloomy future
You have sapped the earth and there is nothing left
But dust and ashes
Brought about plagues with terrible rashes
When I was hungry
I could not eat because of you
When I was thirsty
There was no water for me to drink
Because of you
When I was naked I had no robes to wear because of you
When I needed advice there was no one to whisper in my ear
Because of you
What justifications have you?
For Jacob to have everything
While Esau has nothing
For millions to die of starvation
While a few have silos filled with grains to last them a thousand generations.
Peter steals an apple in the market place to feed his dying children
And his hands are hacked off by his own brethren
Paul the merchant steals from his people
And they call it fair trade
When a wretch steals from Paul
He calls it a highwayman’s raid
Justice is like a blind traveler
Trying to find her way home with a sword for a stick
Little did she know that she was heading for a pit that is deep!
Scarlet trees of blood
Subhumans exploited forever
Kings are born
And so are slaves
But we share a common destiny in the graves
We sing your praises long before you’re due
and after you’ve departed—all year long!
You bring green grass and flowers into view—
plus bugs, torrential rains, and winds so strong.
You come with warmth to woo the Earth to life.
Sweet fragrances come wafting on the breeze.
With allergens, the springtime air is rife.
My faucet-nostrils drip; I wheeze and sneeze.
But allergies and rashes can’t negate
your glory. Nor can pollen steal the praise
you’ve earned. Now I’ll just take my meds and wait
till I can relish your more winning ways.
I’ve sneezed on this creation seven times.
My dripping nose baptized the latter rhymes.
February 11, 2023
written for the Spring Is Not All Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
February 11, 2023
My body confides in me
in grudging ways,
with little murmurs and signs,
each trying to get attention
without snapping its fingers in my face,
like faint, mysterious radio signals from (inner) outer space
that escape detection often,
comprehension always,
small aches that ghost through my body and
the already over-populated radar of my consciousness,
as if keen on being missed,
rashes like miniature night bloomers on the
vast landscapes of my limbs and torso,
origins unknown,
non-rashes, equally tiny, anonymous things,
that surface but don’t stay long enough
before sinking back into the realm of the forgotten,
eyelid twitching out a code decipherable by no man.
I receive frequent messages,
hinted, insinuated, encrypted.
My body has its own mind.
I’m trying to be a better reader.
Part Two
Till October comes around with its bounty
The granary stuffed to the full
Lush fruits still pulpy and juicy
Ripen to a filthy rashes on skin brashness
The greenness of innocence
Turned to an over-ageing dun-yellow
Tell-tale sickening silliness
Soon detached the firm leaves will lie
Thick on the ground spurned and trampled
Earlier than the appointed hour
No matter
Recourse to pins and stitches
Breast uplifts
Straightened nosebridges
Dead Indian women’s chevelures
High straining buttressing stilts under heels
And thick sticky chemical tasting paint
Squeezed carcasses concentrated musk
Furs of bludgeoned seals and foxes
Haute couture paid through bankers’ loots
Or the easy secret service paid trysts
Through hard-earned tax payers’ sweat
In five-star deluxe hotels
Will lengthen the hour
Yet
In the boudoir
Yes
Pity the woman
She has but a score years
from teen to thirty-five
Before men take her
for a whore
Some women know this well
And cleverly work to use this sell
She’ll kick and thrust her lolly chops
from bum to cheek
In the later Heaven’s southwest sky
Fascination oozing from her loins
The sacred portals of propagation
Bruised all over under fire-dragon skies
Bloody a limb or two out of joint
and the gnawing ignominy
Of having relented in June
Sowing your wild oats
with the blessings of 13.7 billion years
The trained and disciplined chromosomes
Without the company on whom to work her wiles
and sap nourishing energy to continue
She’ll seek the riotousness of her ilk
and at autumn’s summit
At the height of smoldering flesh
When worms and germs
will make a merry feast
Of the beast in her meat
Let her fade away with her booty
Seek not to set right wrongs
You have only yourself to blame
For thinking easily entered gamboling
Will not be made out to be your aim
For weren’t you then the spirit consoling
© T. Wignesan, May 10, 1987 (rev. 2012, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)
archetypically,
I sow my hysterical libido,
in the Jungian brain garden,
and reap only ecclesiastical weeds,
and subconscious rashes...
breaking apart, engorged,
mad egoist, freudian slip'd,
spilling repressed aloes,
into her ashen columbarium...
penitent, penniless,
scrabbled up the storied mount,
silently trapp'd, interlocuted,
cast back to a southern field...
adiposed, juniper kiss'd,
scarlet nin, flagrante delict(oh),
wagging tongued, freely spoken,
i'll come round again,
ecstatically.
S)cars Are What They Are.
C)uts are deep.
A)nger dwells inside
R)age becomes you
S)ilence is the end.
A)ctions make wounds
R)ibs are broken
E)yes stay swollen
W)rist's are bruised
H)ate engulfs you
A)buse is from you
T)humb's are sliced
T)oes are blue
H)ead has gashes
E)lbow's have rashes
Y)elling will not go unpunished
A)rm's are knifed up to the bone
R)eality here is death that awaits
E)ngulfed in horror is my life.