Best Slash Poems
Another word flashes in my mind
Another slash in this heart of mine
They say all good things come to an end
They don't tell you that you have to lose a friend
They don't tell you that a part of your life would end.
It hurts so bad
There are not enough synonyms to sad
The sadness I feel ignites my anger
Now I argue out of desperation
The constant need of things you deem taboo
Like the idea that you have an attitude
Or that sometimes you don't have to be rude
and you say that no one deserves to know you
But do you know you?
I feel pain for saying that
But who other than me could tell you that?
I wrote you a letter in the form of poetry
Because the only people who think on this level is you and me
Sharp The Edges, Of Poet's Pen Turned To Fight,
( New Dawn,Third Battle And Final Slash ) -
Part Three
From within, a gifted calm brings a tranquil peace
to poet's soul that searched and found a new lease
and with foresight decided to take pen to write,
about shadowy black beast, that stabs in dark of night.
Now massive strength that old poets's pens often yields
succors heart and grants victory on battlefields
new ink hones blade, gifts poetic words that destroy,
that savage beast that sought to make a whipping boy!
From poetry comes a Light that, gives true powers
which destroys wicked beasts, lurking in dark towers
by shining wisdom from classic poetic verse,
to cut those, that such illuminations do perverse.
Lo! Be aware what may be found seeking true Light
Sharp the edges, of poet's pen turned to fight!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2019
Sonnet, ( The Third And Final Battle-- Part Three)
Conclusion- Three Part Series..
Note: This is the last to be written on this subject in regards to
this specific incident. I offer this series for the hiding fool,
the worthless opponent to come on and try to refute.
nuff said... old poet, Still writing...
I cut myself holding on too tightly to broken dreams
Bleeding away my hopes dying a slow death
I don't bother to bandage my wounds
So used to this self mutilation that it no longer hurts
Numbness overcomes me with each cataclysmic episode of love
I can feel no more
I just watch the blood trickle to the floor
The world plays audience to my self destruction
Careless whispers of advice only make it worse
Shades of gray are splattered with shades of red
Everyone will watch in silence until I'm dead
A lifeless body roaming the earth I will be
Refusing to toss of those shattered dreams
The double edge sword of holding on or letting go
Slices deeper into my wrists as my dreams slice my throat
Dreamy state of being
My heart harmonizing,
Harmonizing could of, should of,
and would of....
My mind wonders,
wonders of the why's
The was I good enoughs?
pretty enoughs?
Hmm...
Fantasizing till dawn
Night fall, realizing
My heart, my affection,
been slashed
Slash from deceitful
passion,
cloying nothings
misguided
temporary emotions
my soul left in the cold
longing for our spirits,
to union as one
left defeating war with
my head and heart
Only to realize
my hoping and wishing
been slashed....
If I we're to be a wedding singer
The bride would obviously have
to be dead and wearing a black dress
And I am sure they would not only
ask for their money back
But I would never be asked back either
or be able to use them to provide me
with a glowing reference
I then would have to go away and
reinvent myself as a funeral singer
The sullen ilk of Johnny Cash
at a cremation service
Whaling a rendition of
Ring of Fire
And
I did it my way
So out of tune and with lyrics you
have never heard before
Until everyone is looking at each other
so confused they are now no longer
sad but laughing out loud instead
And thinking to themselves this
has to be the best funeral I have
ever been to in my life
So much so I might just laugh
myself to death
And if I do please promise me or
grant me this my dying wish
When I die you will book him to sing
at my funeral
Because if anyone could he could
raise the dead
“The moon’s vision of humanity
Was something that it once desired
Tinkle, swoouf, it pondered
As it’s luminescence gazed at its prodigious oceans
The defunct dissection of the body fell into silence as it glanced back
Clish, clash, it wavered
It’s fluorescence gestured odiously
Enraging it’s radiance with envy
Woosh, clasps, oceans grew in his incensed intention
It never had a society that walked on its ground
A place, that humans recall home
stomp, clasp, It thought
Oceans trickled with peril as the moon grew its waves
Slash, sloosh, the clutter that pollutes the water clustered against its weight
The moon then rebounded; remarking the objects
Sling slang, swoosh, oceans sang it's mercy
It’s reminiscence then discerned the cunning truth
“The grass always seems greener on the other side”
Carpenter slash!
Hook up your heart my dear bae from Iceland,
In your watch my hand laid in the armpit like a clown.
The moses vocal in the bush to the lord.
You bug my heart and put it in a lawn.
My heart wax that the cerebral could not hold its weight,
Little talk,carpenter slash on the head,
Why me and what could have been my worth,
That this greatness my life made?
Papa in his heart could not comprehend that ocean gorge from the ray,
In your mercy dear divine let this cup pass me by.
Be far from here you this pot of wine!
Your handmaid is not a drunk but making her request to Him that will make the pay.
Your faith has made you whole,
Go and sin no more.
By nature,
Bar ( | ) very arogon,
Obedient Slash (/ )
it summer
let be bummer
run have some fun
have a champan
bash
come baby let
SLASH
we when to the beach
we each
we all stripp down
no one was around
we got started
the music we jump and bump
was at night under the moon light
it was
SUMMER NIGHT SLASH
SEX PARTY
they run and have fun
the weather don't get no better
as they dash
theyer beach bummer
KIDS SLASH AND BEACH
AND SUMMER
then:
I swallowed escape
in pastel capsules,
my pockets jingled with regret.
The nights pulsed—
bass, sweat, strangers.
Every weekend was a blackout baptism.
Every Monday, a resurrection I didn’t ask for.
now:
I wake before the alarm.
Feed cats who love me
with a certainty I never questioned.
My home doesn’t hum with danger—
only kettle steam and quiet purring.
then:
I stole to feel full,
thought hunger was my birthright.
I measured worth
by how well I could vanish.
Almost traded years
for a number on a cell door.
now:
I count anniversaries of sobriety,
not court dates.
Four years clean,
nearly one without drinking.
No more smoke in my lungs,
or fog in my choices.
then:
The floor was often my bed.
Sofas borrowed.
Hostels echoing with strangers’ ghosts.
I called chaos “home,”
because I didn’t know better.
now:
My walls are mine—
painted in colours I chose.
My name’s on the lease.
So is my joy.
And the love that brushes my hand
in the morning light.
then:
I mistook noise for connection.
Friends who disappeared with daylight,
jobs that slipped through my fingers,
love that cut deeper than silence.
now:
I hold steady.
Four years with someone who sees me.
No parties.
No promises I can’t keep.
Just textbooks, shift work,
and something like peace.
what makes me smile?
That the girl who once vanished
into every room she entered
now walks in like she belongs.
That I traded craving for contentment—
a full fridge, a warm bed,
a quiet mind.
That my joy isn’t borrowed anymore.
It lives here now,
between the purring cats
and the humming radiators,
in the way I kiss my partner goodbye,
and mean it—
knowing I’ll come home.
It’s in my voice
when I say, “I’m so happy,”
and no one flinches.
Not even me.
What makes me smile?
Not just the life I’ve built—
but the stranger I used to be,
and how she somehow
carried me here.
THRUST AND SLASH
A sword in a scabbard, hung from the belt
For the Teutonic Knights, it costs much geld
Heated and tempered but it does not melt
Most blades are l straight and double sided
Easy to draw as the long blade is guided
To the old Eastern mind, such is derided
The Moorish influence is in Toledo still
With a special steel that is designed to kill
For fancier guardsmen it would fit the bill
A cutlass is curved with cupped brass guard
Designed for slashing when stabbing is hard
But need sharpening if the edge is marred
Knives however, like most daggers, are hid
An arm for a lady to grip, and quietly slid
Ready for determined action, as many did
Some thin to a point, as a poignard will do
But there are other places to find them too
As for a Scot in a sock, that’s a Skean Dhu
'2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 19' entry, 03 Nov 2022. Sponsor=Mark Toney
it our house
we run like mouse
to where it cool
we act like fool
in the summer time
as the moon lght shine
we start a bash
and have a
BACK YARD SLASH
some do it for fun
its a beach run
a it jump and fall
you do this with a bash
its
BEACH SLASH AND KICK BALL