Best Slits Poems
Thank you
“And if the sun refused to shine”
Music finds my sleep and calls
from a bedside table,
slits of light through the slatted blinds
create mini horizons on the wall
Time has caught me once again
as Led Zeppelin reminds me
“I would still be loving you”
For the morning throws me back to reality,
the longing in my heart which faded
beneath the moon has returned
to view this bed of only one figure,
reaching out for what was
“When mountains crumble to the sea”
Finding the rocky coastline depicts the feeling
in my heart, as I stumble
Tear filled eyes a constant,
empty arms waving freely in the air
to the haunting rhythm
of a plastic clock radio
“There will still be you and me”
If only music were truth, and truth was a melody,
easily sung regardless of tempo or flow
Key changes finding a bridge
of lonely footprints that take me to your memory,
remembering the good, remembering the days,
and forcing a smile, for each day I whisper
“Thank you”
The italicized lines are from the Led Zeppelin song “Thank You” which inspired this piece
11/14/16
For “The Poet’s Ear” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Greg Barden
Categories:
slits, loneliness, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
My picture of pain,
Exists with a slight twist,
I place a sharp razor on my wrist,
Dragging it vertically and horizontally I make slits,
Feeling the urge after every heartbreak,
Feeling the urge to cut with every mistake I make,
Someone help me, but please do not refer to me as insane,
I’m not seeking attention; my body gets numb to the pain,
Expressing the pain I’ve felt emotionally by hurting myself physically.
The endorphins which releases from each cut causes me to fell high
If you ask what’s wrong I’m going to lie.
But as you can see the truth, I am not fine
I’m slowly breaking down inside,
But I cover up all this pain with a smile and pull down my long sleeves,
That cover up the all the memories that each scar leaves.
Categories:
slits, addiction, dark, deep, depression,
Form:
Narrative
Words in italic by Angeline Lim
Words in regular font by Timothy Hicks
Hydrangea blues
blooming in seven colors
versatile at heart
Storm clouds in a tantrum and yet
the rainbow
Gently wipes away a facade
reveals a layer
hidden within
Pretty just like yesterday
red-hot pokers
Playing fireworks
on lovers' palates
scintillating senses
The shared spaghetti noodle
growing shorter
Sunlight fading
into a sweet dream
aromatic Osmanthus
'tween the slits of enclosed fingers
flashes of a firefly
Smolders of passion
unfolding within
Chrysanthemum mysteries
Instead of the bee
her tender touch
Frozen fixture
all the yellow once in the field
now in the moon
Aesthetic display
of a crystallized Rose quartz
The snowy hills
at this time a strange warmth
morning blush
Purplish Crocuses
pop their cheerful heads up kisses blown
Thinking himself
to be King Arthur
startled butterflies
Surprised Tulips
opening lips with an exclamation
August heat!
there goes the evidence
of the snail
Spiraling down a Corkscrew vine
into a time portal
P.S. Haven't been on lately ... hope all is well with everyone :)
Categories:
slits, appreciation, beauty, flower, image,
Form:
Rengay
A town unlocks their Baptist cage.
They shout and scream unholy rage.
The scorching sun sears all beneath,
Forsaken whips snap from their teeth.
Their eyes are slits that sting of salt.
Born black; born here; it's all his fault.
And what they learned at mothers' knee,
keeps cadence, creaking, from a tree.
Categories:
slits, social
Form:
Rhyme
Gripping pen in desperation
for just one word to appear
An hour passes, two, then three
til the day's end is near
Just when I feel like giving up
something sparks within
as thoughts are put in order,
I see it's half-past ten
There can be no stopping now
the words would quickly fade
I won't give in until I know
a masterpiece is made
Here is doggie to my right
and kitty in my lap
Patiently waiting once again,
for me to rid my thinking cap
I pat their heads from time to time
so they know I still care
But to stop right where I'm at,
oh no, I wouldn't dare!
The words are flowing smoothly
and now I'm going strong
Looking up, I realize,
I've been up all night long
The sun is slowly peeking
above the mountains grand
Aching back, slits for eyes,
there's no feeling in my hand
I may now be a zombie
with a body tired and worn
But, I feel a sense of gladness
another poem has been born!
Categories:
slits, life, loss, nature, words,
Form:
Rhyme
The sun was setting, as it usually does
The town a ghost town, the main street all but silenced
The wind blowing leaves and dreams to and fro
The tension in the air was palpable
The few souls about all peering out shuttered windows
When in from the west, came a storm
Her name was Serena Storm,
They shivered in her wake, the poetess of dead lovers
Then over to the east side, riding in slow and steady
The grim reaper or so it seemed, hollowed eyes
Dead soul and dark mind, his side arm at the ready
The greatest duel in history, right here
In the town of Nowhere
The setting sun reflected of her dark long coat
The last tear drop, falling to its death in the dust
She stared ahead, face blank
Daring, with a glare, shoot me, shoot me, try
He dismounted his horse, called Heartless Soul
His eyes slits, staring down the curvaceous storm pacing untoward
His hand inside his coat, slowly pulling out a mickey
He belted down a shot or three,
In the town of nowhere
They both paced, hands at their side
Closer and closer, the saloon keeper
Not quite sure his bottle would be paid in full
Then as quickly at the sun set……
Vaso drew first.
The finest long black quill one ever saw
His other hand dropped his bottle
Magically a writing pad appeared
Serena drew second, pen at her side
The color of blood, and for good reason
She too tablet in hand, putting ink to paper
As they both furiously wrote
In the town of Nowhere
Hearts were murdered
The meaning of life was hanged not long after
Love was beheaded
The main street a river of blood
A storm of tears washing away crimson desires
An empty vassal, Vaso’s insides already dead
Dropping his pen, he pulled out his sword of mourning
The duel to end, as he lopped off his own head
She dropped paper and pen to the ground
She faced down the grim reaper, and it’s he who is dead
The only one to know, his name was Arthur
King of the dark, ruler of lost dreams
In the town of Nowhere
The poetic duel of the century
Both won and lost
Long ago
Categories:
slits, beauty, dream, gothic, writing,
Form:
Light Verse
Smooth as ebony silk, black aquatic waves the melting
Essence of liquid evil, stirring this lake placid of our
Eternal nightmares, deadened space in the fathoms
Deep, beneath the dreaming realm for which we sleep.
Translucent tears, left dripping in our unconscious mind,
Trick, trickling, encroaching, drowning us within the
Fear factor, heaving, and tugging at the reality of
Humanities thin realism.
Raw is this blackened well, of emotional plunging,
A pit bottomless, in suctions raw force of power.
Thy soul trying to cling against the porcelain sides,
Yet sliced by the roughed edge of illusions delirium.
Sheer glasses elliptical memorization, hypnotizing
The lucid mind, smacking hands blister at the panes,
Begging for this bad dream to end.
But your voices scream remain nothing except
Echoes refrains, that are lost amongst the complete
Darkness surrounding thee, in this murky abysses
Tidal surge.
Wake up, wake up, this is not real or is it,
The torn spiritualist grasps at faiths buoy, but
Instead sinks farther below the currents swift
Under currents, then light slits through the dark,
As lightening slashes at the blackest night, and
The dreamer shivers beneath his covers warmth.
Laying within his twisted sheets of sweat,
He wonders if any of it was real at all!
But whom can tell what lucks under the black
Waters of our nightmares, dare you to go swimming,
Into the rivers of the unconscious to find out, and survive.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
slits, anxiety, dark, fear, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
sure...she'd forgiven
though heart had been riven
she loved him: a given
she said, "it's Ok...
that's how the boys play.
Don't worry, I'll stay
but not again, hear? No way!"
But that broken trust
shattered by his lust
turned contentment to dust!
Forgive him, she must!
she kept it inside
could not bruise her pride
to the gossips, she lied,
but something had died
she smiled and she gave
her children to save
Acted steely and brave
must take secret to grave
But what of her dreams?
in the silence, she screams
her tears flow in streams
Can life be the same?
his infidelity has a name
there's no shame in her game
she's wild and not tame
So in shroud of the night
with no sound, and no light
With no one in sight
she slits wrists, oh so right!
the next day...what a fright!
Blood stained words that he read:
"'I forgive you', I had said
but when I'd lie in our bed
all I could see in my head
was you with her instead...
Dear...I'm better off dead!
I'm..better....off....d..e..a..d!"
Eileen Manassian
Footnote: I am NOT suggesting that someone who has been betrayed take this path. I am narrating a story of a single case. I'm sure there have been poems, songs, stories in literature of the kind. I mean no offense.
Categories:
slits, heartbreak, , literature,
Form:
Narrative
Necessarily to Samora
On the stream, a cork was thrown
She sank in
She tripped on
She was picked up
A beach, a wave and a sailing ship don’t matter.
You will arrive at the time of coming back.
-Faceless towards passion-
When the dawn was agonized, morning came
I’d be dreaming my dream
The delusion of paddling the sea of love without safety
That passing by valley slits the front of my house
Brings and takes water -don’t you mind giving me a cup!-
This instant…
Domesticated with pain
Your loyalty is vital and you are well-worn
Imagine you
Laying nearby in others snaky arms
The arms that shot my heart
---it shaded lights on more beats
Instead of the distance
Gone astray is not at ease. With the wind and with the wind
This instant…
Time struggle against time
As you smoulder my mind's eye into a fantasy
Days are nights and the same line of attack, sub- stories
Why reddish rose in my hand as you are all roses
I obey the truth; I’m only irritating other’s plant
I gain the fragrant of my tiredness –walking on by-
This instant...
Up above where air outdoes
The reverie is stubbornly standing
I still jump onto the floor preparing a glider for love
Uncut ropes and a silky seat for two birds
Poetess is my bird on shoulder, in veins and between bones
This instant…
Underneath the last sparkling star thinking and gazing
Into things that have been my own
That will never be my own.
Getting back to the memories
Swimming in an endless pool of images and words
Quenching the desire of missing, just somehow
This instant...
My senses flounce your absence
Your silent acquires me the language battles
---God! A German flight pierced the atmosphere
Shelled many wild birds there as I was only watching the scenes
This instant...
The valley’s slit leaves a border line
Face on the pane; I steal glimpses
Wiping away tears by sunny bar entity
Hanging on someone to bring me gathered drops
Steadfast-
“No more than one” I say to heaven-
Categories:
slits, lost love, love, me,
Form:
Prose
A cloudless day, should have been warm but the frigid southern roaring 40’s cut like flailing daggers into the skin, leaving bones and joints to succumb to the maddening icy grip of winter’s callous fists. Even the Curlew, who, usually undaunted by such torrid tempest, seek shelter among the rocks and crevices that dot the sea, battered coastal fringe.
The boy was lost….
Melaleuca trees stand century, like gnarled soldiers gathered around the fallen, giving full acquiescence to the polar blasts that bend and twist them further still. Their wispy fingers reaching down to engulf the child with grasping hands, beckoning further into their forest lair. The only sounds that can be heard is the deafening roar of tree and wind as they battle in the canopies above.
Panic fueled anxiety long ago gave way to terror, since replaced by resignation as night enclosed the restless child, who battles the lure of sleep against fear. For in his mind he believes that in this foreboding place, creatures beyond the realm of humanity will visit unspeakable harm upon his being. Their prying eyes ever present awaiting the moment he slips into unconscious sleep to exact their egregious deeds.
When dawn arrives the child awakes to the gentle touch of sunshine’s warmth. Like God himself has stroked his face and chased the demons from his thoughts. His weary eyelids flick open like snow pea slits as he adjusts his sunken, fretful eyes. A smiling face before him bends and before realisation takes hold in his mind the words escape his cracked and tortured lips. “Daddy”.
Categories:
slits, adventure, child, fear,
Form:
Free verse
Death is all in the mind
Thinking only of it for sometime
Will things be different or the same
When I am gone under my tame
Knife to use, to let skin flow
Blades from shave, let blood go
Cuts on the arm
Now fades, so don't be alarmed
Cuts on the leg
Look like dark threads
Slits on the wrist
Barely seen, it's a twist
Thinking it was over, how wrong
Hiding in the closet, deaf for long
Here, the face is purple pale
But still breathing well under life's spell
Running to the restroom
Forming the cuts again in my doom
My blood mix's with water
Turning pink, may not utter
Head first; deep
Thinking it will be better in my sleep
Diving in deeper, losing more breath
Knowing I could do it, it was like theft
Coughing up water from the mouth and nose
I quickly get out for my clothes
Sports bra seen
An idea rings
Again with the cold face
But dying wasn't a race
Stopping, for it wasn't too tight
Now I've face no light
Bed time rose
My face and my nose
Both covered by a pillow
I die my good fellow
Yet, it did not close this neck
Trying to find, I am recked
For a new way to end
So I won't have to begin
Choking at school
No one notices me, a fool
With my hands on my neck
Ready to ride hell's deck
Options were limited
And my life was sprited
Trying so hard
But there were no death cards
Categories:
slits, depression, emo, gothic, how
Form:
Blank verse
Hello my exotic, glorious maiden,
By now they all know you are taken.
I possessively, poetically, clearly, and eloquently
Told them you are promised to me, a sensual, delicately,
Known beauty, could not marry a canal walk about, a
Wannabe, curling his moustache and swinging his cane,
With no title or aristocratical fame,
And who is just playing a game.
He drinks he smokes, he womanizes, and he is fat
His face ruddy red, he belongs in the sewers with rats.
Every time I see you mon amour, be it every minute
Of every day, my heart goes aflutter,
Concerned my romantic words will go asunder.
As I helplessly stutter.
You push up your corset, and alluringly overflow,
My lovely, anymore tightening, you will explode.
Your thigh high slits in your dresses tantalize men,
And with your matching parasol you look so irresistible,
No one in this town matches your looks, not even contestable.
Love of my life I love you as you be, my mistress soon to be wife,
For the rest of my life.
Time drags by so slow,
I want a ring on your finger,
Then I will whisk you away, to my Chateau,
You blow so many kisses, I know they are for me,
Your blue-eyed wink, a secret code that we will meet in the
Gondola and enjoy our passion,
You are breathtakingly beautiful, considered to be quite the catch,
We have known from our teens, that we were the perfect match.
Categories:
slits, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Dear Kitty, with small paws tucked underneath
your furry chest – I watch you slumbering.
Instinctively, your sweet eyes open wide
as I lean in to study eyes flecked gold
with oval slits. I watch you watching ME!
I wonder can you see me. Am I just
a shadow figure? Do you see me gray?
Or in this room with sunlight streaming in,
am I as vivid as the very hue
in which I’m viewing YOU, sweet pet of mine?
With me inside this room, you have no fear.
But when you dream, perhaps you wander plains
of ancient Egypt or of Africa,
and catching sight of me inside your dream,
you flee, to prowl through ghostly reeds where howls
of predators – coyotes, jackals, wolves -
are shattering the stillness of the night.
Do you then creep into a secret place
to later waken to an orb of gold
that shines above you as you run to play
with your cub companions, tumbling in the grass?
Then in the arid heat of afternoon,
do you lie down and tuck your lion paws
beneath your chest and doze off, dreaming of
a distant space much smaller where there looms
a strange new species? And among it there
is one who meets your needs by bringing you
strange food spooned from a can and also grooms
your coat and keeps you safe and someone who
most curiously, watches as you sleep!
12/20/16 for Broken Wing's Form B Poetry Contest
Categories:
slits, cat,
Form:
Blank verse
Life’s not like it used to be
my world’s caved in.
I am a vacuum, a hollow vessel
hopeless in attempts to bend and flex.
The shape of things is crushed.
Deformity replaces beauty and
I am cast off with others
ill-fated as myself.
Dumped into a droning darkness
many, some half some whole
speak clanking their way to someplace.
Empty and loud.
What can a dented can hope for?
To be undented again?
Filled with the fluids of laughter or pain?
I think not.
But see the light that peeks through slits.
A new place, brightness, movement
and soon, dear diary, I’ll have a major change
to sleek, aluminum foil.
1/9/18
CRUSHED Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
slits, change, life,
Form:
Free verse
The blood that remembers
That of brother-to-brother or sister-to-sister
The blood that holds a family together
The blood that brought us here from a far and distant land
The blood we share in toil and strife and in war and death
Who made this blood and why do we have so little of it?
Shouldn’t we be able to farm it and grow it like tomatoes on the vine?
For it is our blood. We own it. Who can take it from us?
War, most certainly, but that blood is given for righteousness and should surely be returned post haste.
Can we cut ourselves like the Indians and become blood brothers? Does that strengthen our numbers? Or is it just some silly myth or rite of life.
I would like to think that blood would give strength but as it pours from my body I only feel weakness.
These two slits in my wrists are conduits to another world right?
They will make strong and give a warrior the strength to shoot the arrow straight and ride the pony hard.
My giving is their strength. It is a good day to die.
I bleed myself slowly for I know that they will need the energy in increments. My soul is that of a warrior and it can only strengthen their cause.
From Wounded Knee to DaNang the dead have given their souls so we could be free.
Why would I stop that tradition now?
Categories:
slits, suicide,
Form:
Free verse