Best Wrist Poems
"Notes on a Wrist"
the pulse felt
under nibs
of fingertips
translates a life
the semicolan
stretches like
the devil
hungers
it can
wait a long time
eternally feeding you
drip by drip
ever present
the missing
hovers, like a
hummingbird
never sits
beak and feet
wet in the detail
tasting the temptation
to cut strings
fleeting
and fickle
like a child
switches graces
the keys
black and white
the forest contains
all your precious things
hard to leave
leaves, all their
autumn winter stories
sentences written
and spent
like veins
singing stinging
the body of work
temporary rent
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"There is a fable in the forest
whispered by branches as they blow,
a tale about the truth of leaving
things that no longer help you grow.
For on the surface it looks simple;
like you need only lace your boots,
but there is nothing quite as painful
as untangling your roots.
And proof is found in tree stumps
of the price some pay to flee,
that they would cut
their lives in half,
to cut the time before they're free.
Yet from the little left behind
Life has been known to grow again,
for unless you take your roots,
a part of you will still remain."
Decisions-decisions
Do you take a job where it's always womb-warm
working for dirty broken pennies
or poke around in the wind and cold
for a taste of that sweet northern gold.
Do you marry the stable steady
with the ice box that's rarely ready.
or stick with the gold jigging, rock-sucking vagabond...
To take the shortcut through the war zone.
or go around the world just to get back home.
Do you turn the other cheek for eternity?
Or bash them in the skull and set yourself free.
Do you slowly yellow away
or tend to your wrist on a whim and call it a day?
Decisions-decisions
I use to cut my wrist and hope to die,
You never understood the pain behind my smile,
Depression took over my body and all I did was cry.
But I couldn’t feel too sorry for myself I fought to survive.
But when I couldn’t take the hurt and the lies;
I’d cut my wrist and hope to die.
I use to get insecure and wonder why.
Why did you break my heart and made me cry,
So then I’d cut my wrist and hope to die
This was definitely our last fight,
I shed a couple tears and wished to die that night.
You were my soul mate, my best friend, you were like my brother
Now I reminisce on the days when we use to love each other.
Now I’m stronger, I’ve moved on
And you’re now in past,
I regret the day I believed you when you said,
“Darling I’m gonna make us last”.
Time, night, and sleep, I could not tell,
For down on the bathroom tiles, I fell
I hit my head but not so bad,
My hand, my muse screeched “are you mad,
What have you done”, confused, in pain
I looked, down at our hand, a monster
Glared at me, broken, swollen, angry and red,
“Wake up first don’t sleepwalk from bed,”
Hubby rushed for he heard me scream,
Called our son for this needed two, a family team
Dressed and wrapped me up, my hand, cried,
“Careful ouch" my muse sadly said,
"Its three degrees outside, a cold winter night”
I was in shock do not remember all, I got a fright,
Carefully I was bundled in the car and taken
To our nearest Emergency Department.
X -Ray’s on the double, diagnosis broken wrist.
My muse was still muttering, did you say something,
Asked the doc about pain,
There will be an injection soon,
No, I hastily replied, I merely said it looks like rain.
I had an injection on my bum,
The following morning an injection to succumb,
To the anesthetic at 7.30 am.
The photo hubby took of me shows I have no pain,
In my snazzy theater gown, which are always so plain.
10 days later stitches out, my baby elephant tattoo,
I noticed surprisingly was joined up like a puzzle by,
The greatest Orthopedic Surgeon I have ever,
known, heard of, or seen.
I am typing with my broken wrist, have a guard I wear.
Oh I’m “sorry, so sorry” said a little voice,
“I’m your, Muse we're one, I know,
You have the same pain as I,
Do you believe me as I look into your eye”
We both got a shock,
Walk mindfully is my motto,
Hey, I ditto,
You on that,
I’ll warn you and you warn me,
And together from danger we’ll
Always be free.
I wanna be able to show everyone the scar on my left wrist
Without being judged, or mocked or laughed upon
I wanna be able to tell the story behind the scar
To everyone who asks
I wanna be able to tell everyone that my life
Isn’t perfect
That however much I may pretend
I too am broken
I don’t really care about the world
But I wanna be able to tell you
How I feel
Without fearing
That you too will leave
I don’t think I will be able to hide the scar anymore
For I no longer have any strength left
I just wanna be me
And sometimes I feel its too much to ask for
I wanna be able to tell you
How I cut my wrist
With no gist
Not using a blade
But a soft graze
And how much it hurt
After the blood spurt
I wanna tell you
How I feel when I lose control
And how much better you make me feel
I just wanna be me
A girl with a scar on her left wrist..
I can’t believe today that I broke my wrist!
And I can’t push the button for the cream that’s whipped
How am I to eat an ice cream sundae?
Without that white topping that brings it thunder
And what am I to do when I want some jello?
Cause on top of that dessert whip cream is stellar
Oh woe is me now that I broke my wrist!
I can’t get the cap off since it needs a twist
Maybe I can borrow you for this?
Then together we can dream of ice cream bliss
The others, of course,
are more rabid than I
but less apt to show it.
Whenever I strike,
I never romp off.
I stand under neon,
the wrist that I’ve snatched
tight in my teeth
as I wait with a smile
for the wagon.
As one of the few
wrist-snatchers still
on the streets of Chicago,
I make all of my rounds
in old tennies.
They allow me to dive
for the purse hand,
whack it and sink
my teeth in the wrist
of the free hand,
give a terrier’s yip
then head for the neon
where I duck so my head
can spin on its shoulders
till I am certain
I have no pursuers.
In dreams every night
I see all of the women
whose wrists I have had in my teeth
standing like Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving
their stumps like flares.
Every night their screams
carve a frieze of patrol cars
in the middle of the street.
Donal Mahoney
scars on my wrist
shadow clouded memory
of that day
dec cghjr
Blood flows down the drain
as i slowly cut my vein
deeper and deeper the razor goes
less and less oxygen flows
Blood drips on the paper
to let suicide be shown
slit my wrist and off i go
emotionless
letting no pain show
They call her fat
She says it was the cat
They don't see it
She tries to stay fit
They only look at her eyes
She closes hers and cries
They try to be a boss
She makes it go across
They want her down
She usually frowns
It's not like she has the crown
She want's it too stop
She just want's to drop
Stop everything
She doesn't belong
She watches the blood
She is just a dud
She gets pushed in mud
The time is
coming-Soon-
when the children
of GOD
will not be
able to
buy or sell-SOON
They will encounter
Great Tribulation
And the only
little ones
who
( BELIEVE)
(WILL HAVE EVERLASTING AND ETERNAL LIFE)
a message on a day in may
from the Holy spirit
BELIEVE!
And to quote the greatest American poet o prophet of our Last Times] Bob D.
" Everything is Broken "
# on buying when the machine was broken.
graydye 5-6-15
( for what its worth. )
-- Instruction: How to know there's nothing left ~ you've over-stayed your visit
I recall the sun of old thoughts seeped under:
~ How to 'Improve the world' ~ leave something useful behind ~ something better.
--Instruction: The first evil act is eating
I see the shocked wine bottles
steak sauce and
jutting ribs of celery bunches
the next shelf
down
but if i eat the stings
of honey bees
claws
of the great bear
follow
these wild-flower trails up
into conspiracies of wood
and whispers
where all else
watching following is santified
by my return
but men weep weed broken
sorrow condemned
See the little beetle there
safe
crouched in a crusted earth church
sleeping in a god circle
only men careen cloudward
wandering into the gray ends of the world
Now the old oil lamp bends
the kitchen dark
the lines dark
forms looming
from the side
I see myself
ablaze in the still hours
before dawn
it doesn't show on my face though
sad like salt or
shadow spent
like ash gone cold
07/06/01
Technological marvel:
who’d have ever guessed?
They went to the moon,
powered by less.
The thing receives phone calls,
it’s got GPS,
a mindfulness app
for when you are stressed.
It monitors heart rate,
can produce EKGs,
prompts you when it’s time:
take your medicine, please.
Blood-oxygen levels,
hours of REM sleep;
If you’re under the water,
it knows just how deep.
If you’re lost in the woods,
it will help get you back,
or blast a loud siren
if you’re under attack.
The steps that you took,
the stairs that you climbed,
record a voice memo
to capture a rhyme.
Listening to music,
or receiving a text,
keep up with your groceries,
so your wife won’t be vexed.
For the gals, tracking cycles,
and for all, track your phone,
keeps up with the NASDAQ,
and the stocks that you own.
But it doesn’t record
all the things that you missed -
Life in arrest,
watching your wrist.
The Wrist
Bears the watch marking time
And moments sublime
Shakes the hand to impress
And flaunt success
Deftly bends to play the notes of staccato
And trills of vibrato
Takes the pain
As drugs enter the vein
Radial pulse strong and steady
Then later thready
The rhythm of life eventually ceasing
Unleashing, cut like a knife
Leaping, spilling, jumping,
The flowing crimson flood
Pours forth, my heart still pumping
The river of my blood