Best Smarting Poems
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked,
a secret kept like a pebble in my shoe, now smarting.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
Make scars worth the fight, put back the pin from grenade you grasped,
moment of truth arrives, met with two lips bruised and parting.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
I thought I walked the streets alone, wearing a grotesque mask.
You were inside me all along, sweet message imparting.,
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
How I've missed your awaited touch, and hoping it would last,
our sun grant'd pardons galore, for love's kindled restarting.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
I didn't say why I came back, you never took me to task.
tho' written in an inkling, the tear your eye was guarding..
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
You never miss something until it goes and die is cast.
Your present regifted, from a long ago departing.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
26 December 2020
Categories:
smarting, desire, forgiveness, friend, motivation,
Form:
Villanelle
in my yard stands a tree
lone like a hermit, regal like a monarch
its roots dug deep
its branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
sometimes its leaves rustle
overall it is silent and still
still....................
like waters without ripples
it stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
indeed a tryst with destiny!
under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
it remained uncomplaining
below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle pricks
it stayed nonchalant
when the wind swept across
bending its branches in all directions
it stood on firm feet unwavering
it tells a tale of struggle and survival
it had stood there before I was born
now it displays every scar and every stripe
on its knotted bark as a proud trophy
sometimes I feel its pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
yet it holds an umbrella over all
who come to it in sun and rain
Placed First
A Brian Strand 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian strand
Categories:
smarting, beautiful, environment, growing up,
Form:
Free verse
Life
Life is often
Like a shattered vase
On the tile floor
Scattered fragments
With jagged edges
Clinging to the floor
In a puddle of water
All it takes is one nudge
One careless bump
One poor choice
Sends it spiraling down
Scrambling to fix it
Fingers brushing glass
Pain erupting along your hand
Glowing red-hot pain
You wish you could fix it
Hold it together
Cover it in tape
You wish
With sore hands, you walk
To the sink
Running hands under the tap
Pain smarting in your palms
Finally, with bandaged hands
And a sore heart
You sweep up the broken fragments
Into a little pan
Slowly
you paste
The little shards back into place
Filling the cracks
It doesn’t happen overnight
But after a while
You no longer remember that it was broken
It looks almost the same
The cracks do show
But the vase holds
Standing proudly in the window
Holding firm to the sill
And the marks on your hands
They fade
And you almost forget the pain
And the vase remains
Categories:
smarting, beauty, life, loss, pain,
Form:
Free verse
*PV - Proverbial Verbiage
The Old Rotary
Dialing out…zzzzip…zzzzzzzip…zzzzzzzip
and
zip…zzip…zzzip…zzzzip
and brring…
long distance was not a thing
for children. they could only
ring those within their corridor
ching…ching
money didn’t grow on trees
the grown up made sure
we were wise
or they’d wise up
our behinds
but we didn’t even try
a bit smarter back then
smarting at smaller things
like
eating Mr. McGregor’s produce
throwing
stones at cars
but
we kept our hands
off the old man’s
cookie jar (PV)
rang Grandma
once a year (PV)
It was more fun to dial out
but by then a burglar
tied you up (PV)
Categories:
smarting, nostalgia,
Form:
Light Verse
We would sleep oft as light as a flagging breeze, eyes dry and smarting; with minds ill at ease..'
Our lives then the currency to pay your dues, who would return from our sorties? we had not a clue.'
We fought off the nausea, as well as the foe, we'd tied wires to ailerons if it meant we could go..'
Our aim was sure, our desire's to win.' Our hearts burned for freedom; midst the dogfighting & spin,
We honoured this country, child maid and man, from the bankers, to the bakers; lords or labouring men.
Our thoughts oft assailed, by the task on our hands; our limbs felt fatigue, yet we held to the plan..'
We came back from our 'bailouts', to a pittance of pay; then returned to the sky by the night & the day.
Our flights held this country, kept its hope; earned its trust, we hold no regrets for blood spilled in the dust
We know that our sacrifice, will be not effaced; keep the faith we've delivered, here in our covenant place.'
©Joe Maverick 7/2/2015
Categories:
smarting, memory, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Dots of light dotted the dome
Displaying dismal disks
Halfhearted innuendos of harmony
Repetitive, unremarkable recordings
Minimally interesting, middle class, mediocre
Small wonder he thought, smirking, smarting
Discipline dismissed, discarded
Replaced with fun, funk and fad
Foolishness fueled Fukem, he fumed
No more, no more, no more
The military, military school, immediately!
Categories:
smarting, family, father,
Form:
Alliteration
They weave, they weave
They weep and they weave
Smarting under the persecuting whips -
Verbal, literal or carnal whips
They weep, they weep.
Locust-like they swarm the streets
To reach the factories before the sun settles well
In its diurnal rounds.
There are no circumstances unavoidable
Reach they must the gates at the hour final….
Sartorial gladiators they are
Salary they draw but in the
Etymological sense- they are well off
Enough to buy salt.
Eagle-eyed lustful look
Do the ups and downs of their physique hook -
Surveying the geography of their constitution
And the lecherous bosses or carnally starving colleagues
Devotedly concentrate on each continent
And ready to pay compliment
Only if they are crowned with the sovereignty to discuss
Issues that make the gynecologists blush!
Penelopes of the modern times,
Your hands transform loan-sharks
Into pot-bellied, globe-trotting tycoons.
These textile Sheikhs
When their family or female(s) sneeze
Millions and millions they unsqueeze
As if they are sylvestral leaves
Falling beauteously in the vernal breeze!
But alas! These helicoptered and villaed
Villains, as if through the alchemy of a vile wand
Into penniless paupers transformed
When the Midas-hands entreat them
To get exchange for their tears and sweat.
All big talks, fountains of philanthropy run dry -
And they weave and cry
They weave and cry!
Cry no more, Penelope, weave no more,
Never will your Odysseus come
Cease weaving, cease embroidering.
Yet the dream-laden Penelopes
Weep and weave,
They weep and they weave!
They weep and they weave!!
Categories:
smarting, sympathy,
Form:
Rhyme
One of my grandsons, name of Benjamin
He likes eating toast made with cinnamon
But uses his wits
To not eat his grits
Then excuses himself like a gentleman
Charlie thrives on competition
Out smarting you is his mission
Bear hugs
Tiny bugs,
And “stick to it” repitition
William’s impish smile is contagious
The attention he wants is outrageous
That slobbery kiss
He can’t let you miss
Borders on being sanctimonious
The little princess is Laura Nance
She wears frilly, girlish underpants
She loves a warm lap
Cartoons and a nap
Getting attention with a coy glance
Joseph loves learning karate
He seldom is rude or naughty
A steady grind
Kicking behind
Finding wisdom beats the haughty
There is much to say of Caroline
She is definitely DNA of mine
Quietly aggressive
Lovingly possessive
She calculates when to toe the line
Jackson just started to first grade
I’m sure he has more game plans made
Like the rest
Mom knows best
His lunch is PBJ and marmalade
Colin just finished his S.A.T.
I’m sure he did better than me
Sharp as a tack
Knows how to rack
The pool balls to break wimpily.
Derek made the junior varsity
The “main man” he would seem to be.
Fit to be tied,
Praise not denied,
He’s still that six foot little boy to me.
Ryan—such a smart young man
I teach him a card trick when I can
He learned how to play
Challenged me one day
Skunked me then got up and ran
Three dogs, alpaca and a kit
Where in my family do they fit
My pseudo grands
By a daughter’s hands
Who admires them more than a bit
© 02 Dec 2010 Charles Henderson
Categories:
smarting, familyme,
Form:
Limerick
Take me back to my mother's womb
Where darkness was light
Vision my perspective and my third eye well versed
Fluidity championed my freedom, movement boundless.
Where the only ropes that tethered me
were cords that brought nourishment to my blood,
limitless were my stores
My soundtrack the constant beating of the heart that accepted me
before I encountered...you
...and me
Please take me back to my mother's womb
Where my tears mingled with the waters that surrounded me
never to be witnessed by man
These same waters that buffered the inevitable jarring of my body
and ultimately, distortions in my soul.
Toil was not known to me as hours became days, weeks, then months.
My form, strength, it simply became, effortlessly as was originally decreed.
Oh! I beg you, take me back to my mother's womb
Where visions of my Creator were still vivid
and instructions for my purpose well memorized!
My buttocks still smarting from being bounced on my ancestors' knees
as I listened to stories as good as my own
Clear in my mind, the echoing laughter of my Asian sister to come and
the Senegalese brother that never was, as we played innocent games awaiting our calling...
Listen to me, as I plead with you to take me back to my mother's womb,
where all was as it should be.
Categories:
smarting, birth, blessing, change, creation,
Form:
Free verse
Is it any wonder that on a recruit's first day of service he is befuddled?
From day one he's told to do things by the numbers and his brain is muddled!
From the moment he stepped off the bus, mean ol' sergeants began to yell!
Sergeants, it seemed, were born to make life for raw recruits a living 'ell!
He was herded to the barbershop where he was shorn of all his hair!
He was as bald as a billiard ball, but the barbers didn't seem to care!
Next on his rite of passage was to strip bare as the day he was delivered,
To be poked, prodded and given shots as he moved along and shivered!
Sergeants double-timed him to the quartermaster to be issued all his gear,
Still smarting from all those shots he'd just received in his arms and rear!
He drew a gun, socks, drawers, uniforms and a couple of pairs of boots,
Then the sergeants taught him close order drill and how to make salutes!
The next stop was at the mess hall where cooks concocted dubious fare,
Mysterious vittles that in no way with his mom's cooking would compare!
He was double-timed to his barracks where he was assigned a sagging cot.
Along with fifty snoring and snorting troops, this was to be his hapless lot!
He aspired to be a fighter pilot but the tests he couldn't comprehend,
So he was assigned to the good ol' ground pounding infantry in the end!
At the sound of "Taps" he felt mighty blue as he collapsed on his bunk.
He was disillusioned with the whole affair and was in a dreadful funk!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
smarting, funny, day, day,
Form:
Rhyme
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
in Grandma's loft I found, the week after we
laid her to rest next to her slain husband.
He was only twenty four yet a squadron leader
when his spitfire was shot down over France.
Mother was only three at the time and my uncle
a babe in Grandma's arms. How awful yet how
familiar those sad stories were then.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when Grandma would tell us of Grandfather's
gallantry in the face of an evil oncoming foe.
Those stories now came flooding back as I
rummaged in the attic of her cottage with
a candle to guide my way, tears smarting as I
imagined myself as Mother then, missing a father.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
Categories:
smarting, appreciation, farewell, funeral, granddaughter,
Form:
Narrative
SOFT HEART – RAW NERVE
suspecting my position is unsound
accepting sinking feelings I
may drown
heartbeat limp and malleable
gentle and mellifluous yet
scarcely stable
smarting anguish of frayed nerve
raw, synthetic hyper alert
tests reserve
escaping at last to spaces I go
pacified nerve and compliant
heart flow
(‘mellifluous’ = pleasing to the ear)
© Kim van Breda—April 2014
Categories:
smarting, feelings, heart, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
My son knows one plus one is two, and more
That two plus two will always make four
If he can add that all up, he’s ready for starting.
He’ll begin his first day, not home but away
And I know in my heart, that he’ll be ok
On his very first day, of kindergarten.
Kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten.
I drove him to school, the first day you know
Because I had a hard time of letting go
It’s never easy, when it comes to parting.
As he walked into class, I had my fears
But when the crying began, they were my tears
Of joy for his journey, in kindergarten.
Kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten.
He took the bus home like all the others
Including his older sister and brother
But when I saw his face, I knew he was smarting.
He said that he didn’t make any friends
I said soon you’ll have a hundred and ten
He smiled and said that he loved kindergarten.
Kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten.
It’s been thirty years, they’ve flown by too fast
I naively thought, that they’d always last
Although I try not to feel too disheartened.
Since you never know when, you’ll get that call
From your grandson, who’s so glad and all
That he started his very first day of kindergarten.
Kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten, kindergarten.
-For Hallelujah Contest
Categories:
smarting, family, growing up, home,
Form:
Lyric
"Wedding Dress"
Innocence
betrayed a white page
divesting romantic notions
of a pristine life marked
by sibilant soft-tongued seduction
green apple plucked
wrapping serpentine legs like vines
rosy cheeked blushing
a student smarting around
Garden of Arden's Puck
captured essence
from a torn portrait
of picket fences
climbing soft caresses
towards the wild
bee's stinging under
the tightly stitched
waiting room of a
hemmed in
wedding dress
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"To drench your skin with lover's rosy stain.
A chance to find a phoenix for the flame,
A chance to die, but can we
Dance into the fire,
That fatal kiss is all we need.
Dance into the fire
To fatal sounds of broken dreams.
Dance into the fire;
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
When all we see is a view to a kill"
Categories:
smarting, desire, romance, sensual,
Form:
Romanticism
Stunted fingernails scrape back
the first slither of orange skin,
bounding a torrent of zest to spurt
into the royal keyhole of my soul,
stinging, watering - heartbreaking.
Reluctant, I remove the fruit’s shell
longing for a worthy distant aim
to splash upon an unwary significant,
instead, my citrus emotion’s reflected,
discarded, rejected - abandoned.
Eyes smarting – juice offends a single soul.
Pith concealed – surplus heart needs healing.
Categories:
smarting, inspirational, introspection, lost love,
Form: