Best Severing Poems
Betrayal devastates your trusting heart,
severing the bonds of love from the start.
And depression slowly entraps your soul;
for disparaging lies exact their toll.
Chameleon clouds change to match your mood
by releasing tears, sad emotions brewed.
And at the crossroads of sane and insane,
your heart breaks under the weight of your pain.
A fickle Sun no longer shares its light,
sulking within shadows gathered by Night.
And feigning feelings, you struggle to cope,
for a broken heart cannot harbor Hope.
The specter of fear festering in dreams;
fuels frightening bouts of silent screams.
And at the end of the tunnel, no light,
the future is opaque, obscured by fright.
The promise of tomorrow made to youth
was written on yesterday's fragile truth.
And happiness is a wine without weight;
simply a bouquet decanted by fate.
Unrhymed tercets
The Withdrawing Room
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made
Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back
In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets
A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory
The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice
Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity
Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered
A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion
Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been
not touching the soul properly
The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace
a co written piece by Liam Mcdaid & Donna Loughman
Dear members of Poetry Soup, here I present my most awesome poem to date.
It is best appreciated while listening to my mate Andy's recital.
So please open-
http://www.andyevansfiction.com/interviews/andy-reads-a-poem-called.html
and read along.
Here goes:
DOUBTS
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight sinks
And dark shadows
Lay across your thoughts
Spiteful talons
Scrape against your reason
Their dragging
Resonating
In your mind
Out beyond your vision
In the darkness of the hour
Your doubts stir
Shuffling
Muttering
Foul damning words
That pierce you
Slicing through your certainty
Severing the flow
Of your integrity
Chill words
Spoken so close
They breeze past your ear
And settle like ice
On your dignity
Threatening
Menacing
Sounds of movement so near
That doubts brush
Your confidence
In the gloom
These doubts
Analyse
Scrutinise
Your every mistake
Real and imagined
Emphasised
Magnified
Demonised
Your honest intentions
Mercilessly proven
Futile
Trivial
Infantile
Your courage
And Morale
Shattered
Scattered
Lost in the darkness
Surrounded by doubts
Fearful
Deceitful
Doubts twist
Blur reality
Ripping
Façade
From hidden self
Clawing
Screaming
Igniting fear
Pupils dilating
Stupefied
Skinned
Heart racing
Blood
Gore
Torn from your chest
Undesired self
Splayed
Exposed
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight rises
And dark shadows
Are chased from your thoughts
Hopeful hands
Massage your reason
Their comforting
Relaxing
Your mind
Transition From Deep Dark To Brightest Light
(Chained Sonnet--100 words)
Within dreams sent into this world of shades
shades full of heartaches and long slashing blades
blades severing sleeping rest on soft nights
nights of diminished hope and sharpest pains.
Pains of death at this sad door now knocking
knocking that promise evil in the flesh
flesh burnt hot, flayed back exposing raw nerves
nerves once made of black iron and hard steel.
Steel born of ancient warrior's deepest pride
pride in truth, honoring family name
name reminding one of future promise
promise of blessings and rewarded fame.
Fame's generosity and greater love
Love pure, in serving only God above
Robert J. Lindley
3-21-2017
Chained sonnet-- and in 100 words
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 100
Note- This sonnet was inspired by my reading this morn, a truly magnificent chained sonnet, written by my great friend Teppo Gren
Note- This is my first chained sonnet, theme is the transitioning from Dark to Light.
FOR MORE ON -- "CHAINED SONNET FORM"- CLICK LINK BELOW
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/chain
While attending a social do
You meet and greet others
It’s more a social norm
Than any ‘real’ connect
As you attend to calls
Or get yourself updated with ‘Updates’
Or simply fiddle with your phone
And mind you
You are not alone
Almost everyone is doing the same
Some listless bites of conversation
While chomping on the fare
And it’s time to take leave
But ironically
The same social do
Which you had so perfunctorily attended
Finds the pride of place
On social sites
And horror of horrors
You too find yourself
Engaged in mindless chatter
With the very same crowd
You didn’t much involve yourself with
Just a couple of hours before
In that crowded venue
The story is the same
Whether you are with friends, family or neighbours
The present moments are sacrificed
With ‘smart’ phones smartly severing you
From your surroundings
Ironically when face to face
No one has much to say
But there’s frenzied socialization
Every day
In the ‘virtual’ world
Leading to tch, tch
A 24/7 disconnect in the ‘real’ world.
The air splits as jets rip the sky
as death pilots every flight tonight.
And fearing that everyone may die,
panicking people scatter in fright.
Harboring hate, oft levies steep tolls
in the struggle of east versus west.
For martyrs possess revengeful souls,
to that, human bombs can attest.
The sting of a bullet takes a life,
unleashing reality's nightmare.
But, severing a head with a knife,
makes killing a personal affair.
Standing on arrogance, we feel tall
till a mine strikes with its shrapnel bite.
And sold on right, we think we can't fall,
but a boy lies dead, lost to this fight.
Innocent blood spills upon the sands,
among the casualties of war.
And God-fearing souls wash crimson hands,
never knowing what their child died for.
(Quatrain)
2/19/2015
Sepia photo hides a face
With creased lines that could not retrace;
The details of Grandma’s allure
As tints cover those outlines pure--
Blemished by wartime, its grim tales
Dark the image of life’s travails
Severing her forgotten youth:
Through my lamp's pearlescent brightness
Her keen eyes depict forthrightness
An aura mildly intense...soft
While her glances raise them aloft,
And in my thoughts, lips gold as moon
Seem to hum a brave woman's tune...
I clean this old token again
Savoring her warmth, her own pain,
For though dull Gram’s portrait may be
Rare this keepsake which speaks to me.
Contest 555 of Brian Strand
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made
Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back
In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets
A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory
The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice
Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity
Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered
A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion
Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been
not touching the soul properly
The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
Inside a boisterous tavern,
a-light with drunken gaiety
of spilled ribald laughter,
he quietly sits alone ...
gently cradling his mead darkly
Brooding thoughts of past paid coverings
buzzes inside his head
Talking flies having the faces of the dead
“Have mercy, please”
This haunting cry, they all pled ...
except the halo head ones
“I forgive you”
This they all compassionately say
in time dispersed unison
The self-muted giant rubs his eyes,
still in somber inner disquietude,
at this troubling sight he has seen several times
Witnessing a bright, shining glow,
which radiates all around the tops of those
who call themselves Christian disciples —
before descends the sharp, quieting blow
It is by his liege, Caesar’s command,
to eradicate the scattering vermin radicals,
that he daily swings the severing blade
The duty-bound Herodian executioner
must always stay masked
when the murdering performance ensues
This is by privileged decree:
the entertainment requirement rules
A black cloth covering,
sprinkled with scarlet droplets,
is the terror mask his masters has him use
Rabid crown sycophants love their crucifixions,
the Roman preferred method of capital punishment
But, his under-lord, Herod, still adheres
to the ancient Molech ways —
Death by the beheading blade
Sighing, the brooding giant gazes about the riotous inn
with roaring, unspoken disdain
Even without the ritual Deimos mask on,
all within the tavern knows his occupation,
evidenced by his massive frame
They yield a fearful wide berth to him,
no one sits in the seats around his hulking presence
Looking down at his Pilate-cursed hands,
he sees the blood of the guilty and the innocent
Bloody hands that can’t be washed clean ... never
As long as he raises his arms,
and lets the body-separating blade swing
You are a stranger
With a different color
With a different nose
With different eyes and ears
Once upon a time
The world was familiar
Where we exchanged roses
Where we shared mirth
That time we mourned for severing
The world was big and
Beautiful like a poem
The season has changed
Leaves have rusted
Earth has burned and cracked
With a new painted face
You are a stranger
With a different color
With a different nose
With different eyes and ears.
-puvi-
“Embrace and Release”
In the quiet of night, I pondered—
the art of severing ties, like pruning a tree.
The weakest links, once tightly bound,
now set free, like a maiden’s unclasped bra.
2024 dawns, a canvas for transformation.
Covid’s grip loosens, and clarity emerges.
Meltdowns yield to focus, tears to savings.
My sex life, like New York’s winter, chills.
Raw verses spill forth, unfiltered and true.
Yet my smile softens toward strangers,
and I find myself liking humanity anew.
Trust remains distant, a horizon to reach.
Biblical tales echo vulnerability—
the weaker devoured by the strong.
Have I surrendered my worth for fleeting moments?
No tears stain my words; they remain silent.
As I gaze upward, pondering thoughts,
my brain’s triad—forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—
collaborates, yet sometimes drifts apart.
Do I know myself anymore? Today, I listen.
Goodbye, old lover; hello, new friends.
Life’s tides carry me forward,
and I embrace the journey, raw and unafraid.
May vulnerability be my strength, not my undoing.
Unrealities and realities
grind together in mortar’s mouth,
spilling, pulverizing, volatile perfumes—
succumbing scents of citrus, crushed copper,
musks of bruised lightning,
threshing thunderous throbs.
Instability incarnate sings her reveling wails,
fragrances of something
Beyond Name.
I guide existences into black curve,
severing them against sharp, obsidian walls,
letting them rupture—letting them bleed
—syrups and statics—
messy marrows of forgotten equations.
Their shapelessness mutable,
pliant pages to pulp in the plunge
of the merciless pestle.
How many combinations will one
blend and crucify—
to crush, to coax, into coherence?
Rasps of bone bend against sanguine salts,
sheens of opulent oil merge with ember embryo—
iron filings licked into life by tempests reigned.
Anything of matter becomes
moisture—mass—mold—
hunger pooling at my basin’s heart,
seething for impending strike,
for sudden and unforgiving
birth.
She rode a tiger's back
through a canopy of briars
beyond the speed of light
their silent claws slashing night
but tiger tired of the game
and shook her off to the side
panting over her bloodied life
it snickered like all tigers do
just before severing all ties..
though starving it didn't feed
it already took what it needed..
the indigo from the deepest sea
where all dreams dare not fly
and dead birds never sing.
JACK FROST
January crushed the life of all
Angrily encased winter in the silence of ice,
Caustic cold burning the surface of the lake,
Knifing winds severing the threads of sunshine.
Frozen - in the moments of their hesitation
Ragtag groups of flaked snow mold themselves
Onto the shivering frames of twisted trees,
Silvery statues glistening in the blue moonlight
Traced by the fingers of the artistic Jack Frost.
11/26/2015
submitted to – Acrostic : Jack Frost – Poetry contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
In the past when a girl was "in trouble" pregnant,
And she finally confessed to the reality;
It was clear she was not going to keep her baby,
A back alley abortion was an option.
Many sent to bleak maternity homes,
Forced to name their newborn babies;
To sign adoption papers severing ties.
No help existed or was available for these girls,
Their human rights to be mothers, sadly violated.
___________________________
August 20, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Unwanted Babies
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-421-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Knock Us Down With Your Lines,
Sponsor, Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Third Place