There are those who take what they want.
Pez dispensers of pain and suffering
,, gleaning, never planting
Rapists of fresh air and confidence.
Staining the souls of everything.
Tumors in the marrow of society.
They are small glimpses into hell
professional complainers and oppressors
With bachelor's degrees in deflection and deceit.
PHD'S in the blame game.
Others only take what they need.
Giving the rest away to those in need,
Calm waters, splintering calibers of decay.
They are small windows into heaven.
Bachelor's degree in responsibility and reason.
PhDs in fathomless faith.
The well-meaning try to fix evil with bleeding hearts...
Evil thinks they're soft tools-plays them for fools.
To be used for evil endeavors.
If evil isn't acting out, it is plotting its next twisted step.
Fashioning chalk pentagrams, dreaming in hues of death.
Evil can never be fixed.
Evil must be minced into oblivion.
The trend is to coddle and pacify-
Until it festers from an irritating blemish to
incurable disease and endless menace.
a blemish small
barely perceptible
until I discovered it and worked it over
Now it is enormous, angry, and bleeding
By the time I get through it will scab and scar
You can’t wash the pigment
of the past away
Its stain much deeper
than all regret
Coloring lost moments
with what you hide
Painting the future
— from palettes of broken dreams
(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)
Blindful, mindful you
partake of yourself blissful
leave no stone unturned
BLEMISH
Simple
Pimple
PAIN
Insane
Migraine
OOPS!
Little
Piddle
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's "Footle Finale" Contest
written July 25, 2021
Beauty without blemish... This is a unusual behavioral response to this beauty mishmash...
All along I've been in darkness...Not until her glowing splendor of beauty shone in my life with meekness...
I could do anything to impress her... I knew you're for me Vanessa..
Your lips speaks a flamboyant melody to my ear.. How I wish u were here...
Your smile so cute... It gives me goose bumps as I stare with my mouth mute...
Your hair is long, dark, exquisite & tempting to touch...although you said you don't like people touching it, I think of pulling it back your head & hope you don't scream ouch!
Cause I can't withstand seeing you in pain... I would rather suffer for your gain..
Vanessa! I love you, though I know this sounds insane... Can't help it but to wish I was dancing with you in the rain..
You're loving & cool...and I wish I was there with you...
I know you may think its all a chaff but it's true... Just as Roses are Red & Skies Blue...
Your image isn't fading from my eyes... Indeed in you that's where True beauty lies...
This is for you from deep down my heart... I hope and pray will never get apart..
She is young, startlingly pretty. He notices her when she takes a chair.
Be with you in a few, he tells her.
Look at the samples if you like.
She picks up photos of his art and begins thumbing through it.
Her skin is exquisitely beautiful.
He does not see this until she is behind the curtain with him.
She hops up on the table and looks at him with solemn amber eyes.
Did you see something you like?
She shakes her head ‘no’.
Her skin is virginal. He feels weird about this.
What do you want?
A new butterfly, an original. Something you have never done.
He nods.
Lots of markings, she said. Details.
Would anyone mind? He asks her gently.
Tears form but she blinks them away.
Not anymore.
Wordlessly the tattoo artist picks up his tools and begins
Determined to make her the most elegant butterfly he has ever created.
“A meager life!”
the world hurls out.
Brooding rage stirs -
grave music in mind:
an orchestra of feelings,
unsatisfied turmoiled thoughts,
perceived by paining wounds -
heartbeat
with frightening velocity.
An enfant terrible -
Alone,
singing to himself
a parable:
paradoxal
to martyred music,
divining
death
while the blithe world laughs
with an uplifted voice.
A broken vessel
trapped in
shuddering darkness
and contrasting quietness
secret stirrings,
saturated senses -
quick ticks the clock…
A twilight lit room:
shining whiteness spreads,
as stars burn bright
and rain sluices down
over sun burnt grass
and folded flowers,
the silver moment
bleached with rain
dies in darkness,
while a woeful crimson
glissades across eyes
acknowledging sorrow:
maybe a disguise
for vengeance.
A voiceless void:
phantoms of thoughts
from which even
shadows flee.
A lovely child -
alone;
smothered,
by bloodshot clouds…
and nerve strained eyes...
After considerable scrubbing, my attempt is in vain
Black blotches in my memory of you
Liturates my mind, still; It's too stubborn a stain
Every time I mentally scrape off the charcoal hue
Mud spatters all over it; besmirching it once again
Images of us keep cluttering my mind, it never clears
Stained, toxic memories of our failed love refuses to wane
Haunts me continually, after all these years
STANDARD CONTEST 195,any form,any,theme,upto a max of 8 (E I G H T) lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 08/21/2018
the mirror reflects every wrinkle
every blemish, every mole
looking closer in the light
seeing the pieces whole
though I tried to cover it
cosmetics made it pretty
the truth always returns
at the end of the day
when the powder is washed away
with each breaking crimson dawn
weakness filters in with the sun
after dreams...how real they seemed
cotton candied fantasies --
before they overcome me
before I trip on what's not there
I reckon with the reflection
and the blemishes of what we were
Without spot or blemish
The most powerful words I've heard
Paul said I die daily
According to God's Word
Tho many are called few are chosen
For not all will heed His Call
The lust of the flesh will make some stumble
As the greed cause others to fall
He gave us free will to choose our path
For Heaven is still our choice
But some refuse to listen
And ignore the Father's Voice
Without spot or blemish
Means clean and pure within
If we're to enter Heaven's gates
That means without our sin
The dream and the sight
one fateful night
came to me in bliss
I saw her there
long raven hair
and offered up a kiss
So perfect in dreams
are things that aren't what they seem
alas they all fall to fate
What was there
beyond compare
was something I realized too late
I saw beauty when there was fault
I heard Love You's when there was not
What was was not to be had
and the dream had begun to rot
What I saw was not what was true
the woman i loved was not really you
but a blemished dream reality had slew
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.