Best Sutured Poems
Three pummels to the chest
abusive words wound the heart
slashes though sutured, never heal
daggers thrown without a second thought
Arrows fly to their target
three aimed to pierce the heart
a struggle that is far beyond measure
what pain do you feel; what tears you apart
What weapons do you use
when you strike a fragile heart
life lies in danger at the hands of men
three strokes of a brush, death is a work of art
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.
The female who
inhabited her
that night bare
outside and inside
the truths of the male
that entered without shame ...
She was allowed to walk
to the human wall,
with the tongue
thirsty for love ...
Received the balm
from that other mouth
with torpor ...
Thr lover flowed
all holy sap
that she received with joy
and made him come ... and came ...
Her pleasure so expanded
that her wound has sutured ...
The pleasure so scheduled
finally confirmed ...
If there is joy and pleasure
in love ... never again
She wanted to live away
of this lov
dialog with myself invariably involves others
we are all perceivers nobody escapes
no really and truly trust me on this
no manufacturing of childish evasions
maybe it is best to be born into a family
with family values
ablaze with comfort and sanitation
lost in a forest of memories
amusingly arrayed for shoppers
exactly like the TV version
fortunately I was in touch
with my inner juvenile delinquent
unlettered by any known normalcy
nor crazed by the expectation of gold
or even gold paint from a rattle can
our addiction to pleasure
is no Darwinian accident
we really do learn to act from movies
no really and truly trust me on this
our tune is a complicated little number
in several keys at once
upon your mother's pedestal is one
between cognition and reflex is another
in the keyhole universe
location location location
I may need an axe to free my thoughts
just so I can play dumb
when you know too much
you go for the guts
in a trail blazing effort to avoid
media suppression by the CIA
Clairvoyant Intelligence Agency
chronically in for interrogation
OK let's play who's more paranoid
if this poem is minus the above line
then it has been tampered with
754 million hand sewn Humpty Dumpty
nerve connections later
sutured like Frankenstein's test dummy
a bungee cord full of existential tension
I seem to be strapped to a microscope
plunging to new vistas and panoramas
recoil in horror from what you were
behavior can also be modified
by better info if you let it
how's that for mind warfare
pretty propaganda pretty pretty
for the young and the innocent
left screaming in a gas station toilet
wrapped in today's newspaper
comics section puzzle page
how long can the charade continue
when autonomous is still an illegal word
this is an audience participation piece
from the Federal Pencil Council
and for the terminally nostalgic
the night arched quietly above
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Swirling like an exhale from a cigarette that burns
Watching from a distance as the world mundanely turns
Everyday the same routine, a joyless empty place
You wonder when you look at her why indifference paints her face
A memory is hollow like a bitter broken heart
Nothing matters anymore as it all falls apart
Another indie song circles ‘round on repeat
A solemn understanding transfers though the beat
Melancholy strings plucked on acoustic guitars
How does the world feel so small but leave you so far
Out upon the edges where sanity knows its bounds
Would you plummet off the edge if nobody was around?
Without reciprocation we float lifeless in this world
Nothing feels; nothing bleeds from this lachrymose girl
Another day, another chance to see that things set right
One more minute, one more hour until the close of night
Lying awake in bed with eyes tightly closed
When the demons of sleep depart, she’ll never know
Kaleidoscope images and soundless words
Twist and wind into silent thoughts she’s heard
Dreams consume from head to toe
Encapsulate subconscious things she doesn’t know
Vivid nightmares, ghoulish scenes create within the walls
Like Alice in her Wonderland, too much time to fall
But with a sudden jaunt this girl will come to rise
She will stare at her reflection and see nothing in her eyes
No one will ever notice the things they’ll never see
Hidden, caged and bound her secrets to captivity
No pain, no sorrow, not a trace of fear
Not anger or regret could be found here
Each reinforcement, skillfully adjusted every morn
Straightened at the corners and sutured to the norm
“This is your life,” she says, “It owes you not a thing.
Too bad perfection isn’t as perfect as it seems.”
On the precipice it stands,
loose-limbed with a sinewy grace,
body taut with an implied swagger,
face, grinning, a sun-dappled gold.
Unclouded by the cataract of cynicism,
its eyes survey a horizon heat-hazed with
a thousand promises.
As yet, love has left it with no sutured heart,
nor loss summoned a creeping despair.
By no friend has it yet been betrayed,
from no purpose has it resigned and strayed.
Lies, it has heard, but, believed, cannot hurt.
Ignorant of what it doesn’t know,
it has an ego undented by falls,
not yet weaned from the milk of optimism.
It has yet to learn the vices of body and mind
that take a lifetime to unlearn,
or the discontent sired by desire,
and what it could gain when there’s nothing else it wants,
that wisdom can be glimpsed only by a sobered fool,
yet Sobriety keeps a lonely vigil over a humanity
drunk on hate-filled wine,
and Truth is a far-flung place,
maze-like in black, white and every shade of gray,
that an ideal is oft a shabby lover next to the
painted temptresses sent by Vainglory and Greed,
that too often, in a world of crass appetites,
an angel has to stoop low before it can fly high,
and, thus flying, loses its angelic smile.
It does not yet suspect Fortune’s mischief,
taking us unawares with its games,
demanding that we shuffle in time to the music of whims,
that the love of life is often repaid,
yet sometimes unrequited.
All this Youth has yet to learn.
Pristine, with not a wrinkle on its soul,
it stands on the precipice,
untroubled by hints of the limits of infinity,
emboldened by intimations of immortality.
With wings unfurled,
beaming in the sunlight
for one last time,
it soars wide-eyed towards
a life yet unspent.
Oh, the wounds, the gaping wounds
The wounds that never truly heal
Merely self-sutured, leaving jagged scars
left to swell, ooze and re-infect
A temporary stop-gap, a leaking dam
built to hold back the raging river of pain...
Oh, would that the scars would explode,
burst open and gush out
Gush out in primal fury,
leaving me helpless and drained
Helpless and drained before the Almighty
who is able not to simply close and smooth them over,
but who is able to brutally and lovingly rip them loose
Oh yes, He is able and willing; if I am willing...
Something has awakened you.
Your bed is soft--silky too.
You start to feel around,
side to side, up and down.
Then, you freeze--
screaming inside your mind.
Your mouth has been sutured shut.
It seems you’ve been buried alive.
Alesia Leach © 10/2014
I needed a friend because I was scared,
My curiosity compelled my decision,my choice.
To precariously balance on my tricycle,
To peer into the unknown,
The strange shaped glass covered
Gas meter.
I was almost able to peer,
Into the strange, yet fascinating
Object that hung on the brick,
Wall outside, in the backyard,
Of my childhood,
Home.
I don't remember exactly,
How my chin ended up,
Slammed against the glass,
Other than the wheels,
Slipped back, my head,
Forward.
My chin spilt open,
A gash,pain,blood,fear,
Shame, wondering why,
I didn't plan better to
Avoid such a dumb
Mistake.
So Mom and I, we walked,
Up to the corner to the
Bus stop, to ride the
Bus to the hospital,so
I could get my first,
Stitches.
I can't remember the pain,
Or the shot, or the room,
In the hospital, where my
Chin was sutured,but
I do remember you,
Teddy.
The gift shop had you,
Sitting on a shelf,
Waiting to be placed,
Into the arms of
A child, who needed
Comfort.
Thus began the friendship,
Of my brown-eyed,
Felt padded, mohair
Stuffed animal that,
I so carefully named,
Teddy.
Still today, I wonder,
Whenever I see a
Gas meter, placed outside
On a wall of a house,
What became of you, my
Teddy.
Did you ever love someone madly, never fully understanding why?
Untrained for such distress, when they touched your hand.
You shared a few days in the morning Sun, and loved on warm nights.
I would bring you the moon and stars if I could, though you never wanted something so grand. So why does it hurt even more, knowing I could never fulfill your simple desires?
I don't mean to make you uncomfortable with eyes that can't hide the longing...I tried so hard to walk away, even broke into a run..,once.
Pride goes quickly when the heart can't be bothered with such pettiness,
and seasons continue to move forward the clock.
I want to be free of this chain made to hold fast my soul,
I pull & pull but the links just grow stronger.
So I'll travel on, looking for a new dawn,
with a sutured heart that never healed..,
in search of love's end.
Can You Imagine
What else could I possibly ask anyone for
Except poems like mine who people adore
And decided to write more as requested
Hoping that they will be easily digested.
Once absorbed by an ambiguous brain
Even if outside or standing in the rain
One you like best will be hard to decide
And if I said everyone would have lied.
Might not find an exceptional perfect excuse
So rather then lose go ahead and choose
Maybe one or two you happened to miss
Because I was declared persona non gratis.
Could be Catholics who are found everywhere
All rich without a worry or an incredible care
Anyway why would anyone want to deny us
And say Catholic people are perfect and pious.
Through all of their rules we then had to wade
To Episcopalian made the cumbersome trade
Where Catholic services all have been butchered
And put together again they were all sutured.
So what if Catholic or Episcopalian does apply
To God in heaven we will have to answer why
No longer could Christ stand us anymore
Became brash and gave us cross He once bore.
A little bit of Will Rogers got in my way,
Wouldn't you say.
It’s been five long years since
I kissed your barren nape,
oh…from this tormented sorrow
it’s so hard to escape-
There have been days of pain
with tears that won’t end,
our family and friends have
hands that they lend.
When the cancer came
and took you away,
I needed answers with
unspoken words to say-
The mountains crumbled,
the reveries all ran dry,
I just can’t let go, no matter
how hard I try.
When I visit your tomb,
I swear I can smell your scent,
for you my darling,
have been heaven sent-
When I see marble surround
your lovely name,
I’m full of regret,
for it’s disease that I blame.
Once a week I bring you
flowers in honor of our love,
now you soar freely up high
like an ivory dove-
No words can save,
no wounds can be sutured,
for we had anticipated
such a long loving future.
You were my mate to my soul,
my line to my life,
I am just so grateful you were
my faithful wife-
One day we shall meet
and reverie shall fill,
until my final breath…
I shall love you still.
You were my medallion ray,
my sweet Leanna Rose,
we shared a love that
nobody knows-
Next week when I come
I shall lay more flowers,
for I shall count the seconds,
minutes and hours.
With a love like ours,
love can never be wrong,
I know my love,
it’s been you all along-
So, when you see me below
at your tomb with grace,
remember how once,
we encompassed our embrace.
I needed you then and
I’ll need you forevermore-
For my sweet girl…
it’s always been you that I adore.
September 19, 2017
When you were born did your soul burst,
Sending a part of it spiraling through the universe?
Did you continually walk around feeling lost,
At night did you turn and toss?
When the paths you did wander,
Did you begin to ponder?
Where is she,
The one that I seek?
Where is she,
The other part of me?
Did every path you followed lead to dead end,
Into fits of depression did you descend?
Did your feet follow their own road,
Always looking for the the other part of your soul?
And when your feet lead you to me,
Did you comprehend it was a little easier to breathe?
Did you automatically realize I was the one you had searched for for so long,
Did the vision of me make you strong?
Did you realize I have always been the one,
The moment you saw me did the cage holding your soul come undone?
Did you just know,
That I was the one with the other part of your soul?
Did what was once broken automatically suture,
Did my presence unlock visions of our future?
For me the second I saw you I knew my soul would never again roam,
Because in you my soul has found its permanent home!
MASQUERADE BALL MACABRE
clash of swords and ebony bones,
this masquerade ball quickens her pulse.
her mask’s sutured to her face.
panic embraces her opaque eyes.
silver flashes, like lightening bolts, to win her hand.
spectres did hypnotize her, thus paralyzed and
abandoned to this land of obscurity.
she reaches out to plead, in a grave moment of despair.
her white gown gutted, spills crimson from her limb.
Esmeralda remains aloof for the juncture of the clash.
head throbs from the sound of shrieking bones.
likewise, the wound pounds, as her heart sinks further south,
into oblivion, building a veneer of defiance towards eventual death.
pitch black horror and melting wax of a ghostly moon devours,
what’s left of her innocence. Her silent screams grow ever stronger.
the clash of swords and ebony bones have gone quiet.
5/28/2017
Use 10 bolded words
Max of 16 lines
Free Verse
Deep Dark Beautiful
Stood at the precipice of enlightenment,
Was she:
a girl who, until now, had been asleep.
Her eyelids, caked shut with dried tears,
Did little to allow her to see,
but there was no need.
Because above the bridge of her nose
and between her brow was an eye beneath.
And for once she understood life so clearly.
Her thoughts were no longer bound within her skull;
Instead they launched, and became an infinite part of the whole
Universe, which responded with secrets of time and space, filling and fulfilling her spirit with purpose and grace.
No longer did she sleep away the life she was gifted,
because her perception of everything had shifted.
Now she saw how everything connected:
The fragments of her consciousness sutured together
And suddenly her world inner and out assimilated into one clear picture,
She no longer felt alone, for her guides rushed to her side, and lead her home.