Concussed Poems | Examples

The journey within

The most beautiful things in life cannot 
be seen or touched, but can be felt by the heart. 
— HELEN KELLER
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  It was just a slight sight of your beauty,
    that spurred my heart to start to race.
  Lust and love swam side by side in my veins—    
    some bound to haem, some dance to hymns.

  The choice of dominance–no longer mine;
      lechery, at times, sailed faster,
  leaving love to gasp in breathless pretense.
      Other times, love was the master.

  In my brain they took to serious fight,
    Both injured but neither took to flight,
  My brain was concussed by their fright,
    And confusion replaced their freight.

  They both ran to my soul that they had stolen,
      There, they tortured me with their fangs,
  Their greed my spirit could no more cope with,
      But they stayed on in defiance.

  Their journey within me became endless,
    Yet far from my heart your love stayed,
  Come closer to free me of their torture,
    Otherwise, my brain will soon explode.

Megalith

(center)Visions grow
out of our imaginations like vines.
We want to excavate a bare-knuckled past
with the jaw bones of concussed elks.

A cold moonlight carves them still.
They are the blunt teeth of a low wailing sky,
the works of a hand-crushed faith
far beyond the ken,
of we curious and depthless delvers.

We who stand now non-plussed,
our minds turned around
these mute megaliths
as if we were stone thoughts
upon a grinding lathe
searching
for any distant sense
of - why
while myopically questioning
the source of our
softly rooted selves.(center)

The Sound of Falling Rocks

Months piled up on themselves,
became a road block.
I can still hear
the sound of falling rocks.
I am concussed by the years.

Bought a pair of new sneakers,
bought a wristwatch that counts steps,
bought a wish and a hope
from a thrift store.

In-between the turning of the days
time flips the script,
becomes a shadow on a sundial,
gives you a plow to push uphill,
the mind falls ill
becomes a landslip
bars a way.

The morning is upside and sunny,
Lilliputian restraints
pop and loosen ligaments.
I am on the road again
but taking it slow
no-place is a better place to go.
Ears pricked, waiting,
suspecting,
ever recalling
the distant sound of falling rocks.

War City

Reddish city forced
city conquered, suffered...
concussed freedom
lost self life,
enslaved by foolishness
of absurd men..
until when my God!
   Will live like this, without having life...

Standing Stones

They grow out of our minds.
They excavate the past
with the jaw bones of concussed elks,
time is not in them,
it is only we who shimmer then disappear.

Wind and a cold moonlight
carves them still.
They are the blunt teeth
of an endless angry sky.

The undead
deadness of their weight
anchors the soil
keeps it from flying away.

If we let them they will ask of us,
lead us to recall the dust
in our green bones.

Tidal Waive

Tidal Waive

I woke up at the bottom of a wave.
At least, I think I was awake.

You collapsed upon me
and ground sand into concussed
memory.

My eyes opened, but my breath, in terror, was taken.

Rolled into a ball on the dark beach,
I am afraid.
I must...must stay awake.

Somewhat Injury-Prone

First grade, pelted with eggs
  Second grade, broke both legs
Third grade, fell down the stairs
  Fourth grade, clawed by a bear

Fifth grade, ran into a tree
  Sixth grade, twisted a knee
Seventh grade, concussed my head
  Eighth grade, fell out of bed

Ninth grade, had meningitis  
  Tenth grade, appendicitis
Eleventh grade, torn hamstring
  Twelfth grade, acute bee sting...

So, to allay any fears from admission committees
  I wrote the following college application ditty:

You may consider me somewhat injury-prone
  But I have yet to break my first wishbone
And I give you my whole-hearted assurance
  That I will use my parents' health insurance

Standing Stones

Visions grow 
out of our minds like vines.
We want to excavate 
the bare-knuckled past
with the jaw bones 
of concussed elks.

Wind and a cold moonlight 
still carves them.
They are the blunt teeth 
of a low wailing sky.
They are rock-hewn prayers, 
works of a drowned
weight of era’s, 
constructs so deeply layered now
that they are beyond the ken, 
of we curious delvers.

We who stand non-plussed, 
our minds twined
around these mute megaliths
feeling for any sense 
of who and why?

A Star Who Saw Stars

Rob Gronkowski, known as 'the Gronk'
A football star chiseled from rock, no 'policy wonk'
   At the top of his game, retired at age twenty-nine
   A star who saw stars ~ concussed at least nine times

The Shoes

It must have happened in the night.
In the backyard, a pair of men’s shoes.
They loll now,
mouths agape and concussed.
                   
Crows are pecking at the shoelaces.
Rain-fish splash into the uppers
bobble and plash inside leather throats. 
       
The shoes have gained weight since dawn,
They’re water-logged by the drenching.
They cannot now be carried off
by small wet dogs, or ground hogs.

Were they abandoned,
or is this a more sinister augury?
I imagine two pale feet,
awaiting to be discovered
in another part of town.

I confess these fears to the officer;
he assures me these feelings
are quite normal.

The Noise

The noise is a wound that won't heal
Vibrations don't let scars take hold
Held by a grip that tightens at will
No mind over matter
Because my mind is its hold

Even when seeing it coming
Light travels faster than sound after all
I can brace for impact but still

Adrenaline is injected
Muscles clench
Shaking starts
Without fail   Again here I go

It is simply a noise     I know
     Still
car horns leave me screaming
bus brakes I am squealing
when my lover does dishes
   I cringe     taking cover

     Still

  The Noise
isn't all noise
Again my mind is its hold
  be it threat or loss of control
Not all noise is my foe
fireworks and thunder are spared
and the right beat at the right time can be blared

but I have been concussed was
knocked out for three days 
cussed at on my bike
blaring horns two decades

So I ask you to   Please keep it down
and one more thing please

  please

no parrots please.




For The Noise contest Hosted by Shadow Hamilton
Composed in the wee hours of March 6th 2017

French Fries

They are without a doubt
my favorite potato delicacy
French fries
Just the aroma makes me swoon
in sheer ecstasy ... bang   zoom
As a youngster, I could eat them everyday
if it were left up to me
French fries
Sliced in circles or sticks,
tossed in the deep fry ... hmmm,
has me licking my lips
Scientists try to tell me
that their nutritional value is low
But what does an egghead know
Anybody who disses the fries,
they must be slow
Or gotten concussed in the head
by an errant elbow
The bottom line is this:
give me the French fries,
and you can have the rest of the menu
Kwaheri, arrivederci
and a fond adieu
Call me king of the potato heads,
now what shall I call you?

Concussed

There was a loopy boxer named Lars
Who was continually seeing stars.
He saw them day and  night
In and out of a fight.
And declared he won a match on Mars.

Reminder

Just recently I was badly concussed,
With a weapon I never saw thrust;
My wife said to me,
What is on the TV?
Without thinking my answer was dust.

Poem: Spiritual Upgrade

Something great is happening for me,
regardless of the situations I see;
my Lord is working behind the scene
and I have been spiritually weaned.

Walking by faith and not by sight,
insures that I sleep well at night.
Happily I enter daily into His rest,
knowing that I’m divinely blessed.

I’m often filled with peace and joy,
when sacred Scriptures are employed;
with a heart of a believer’s trust,
I overcome the pain of being concussed

in all aspects of my humble existence.
Despite hardship, I’m going the distance.
Elevating faith with a spiritual upgrade,
I pray with confidence- having been swayed

by the absolute Truth of God’s holy Word.
With a poetic voice, my soul is spurred
to write Christian verses unto my Lord,
as His strength, from my spirit is poured. 

 

Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Mark 9:23; Acts 16:31; Jam 2:23;
Rom 15:13; Heb 4:3; John 11:40

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.

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