In their eyes a disingenuous dream, pertinacious pestilence in their stream,
Solitudes sanctioned in their scheme, sacrificial surrenders in their scream…
Hearts contused crippled and crushed, of their voices hindered and hushed,
Landscapes forgotten and flushed, bruised, and battled for death has brushed.
In their world, a cataclysmic crumble, as they rejoice in a homeless humble,
All surrounds their squashing stumble, traumatized in a tenebrous tumble…
Hunger a friend through the night, an empty shell awakes the morning light,
Ecumenical echoes that do excite, as pious pretenders plague their plight.
Subdued souls within a shameful storm, trampled tears of their nomad norm,
Against their will, they must conform, white gloves command in a sinful swarm…
Vanishing views in their mist overpowered and oppressed in a tangled twist,
Will their love ever be missed, for we are all God’s children upon His midst.
_______________________________________________________________
...listen to the poem after 30 seconds of the video...
June.16.2020
CRUSHED
Sponsored by~ Anthony Biaanco
N/A for contest
Tim Timid No Longer
In the misty midst of diabolical centre ground
Timothy vows to replace the endless loops
of mindless regurgitation and rise to the fore
Indigo crescents point to the crown and middle
ground that periphery holds for a place in time
where short cuts and diagonal matter no more
Where is the rainbow he questions himself
when waters have dried with sun eclipsed
by sordid caves and forceful dis-illumination
He strikes a forlorn figure has burnt the candle
at both ends yet wicked wick has found a match
Together they gather the light from contused confusion
Sheltered at their hearth and shivering from darkness
they search and retrieve a firestone of nascent meaning
and glow the colours for themselves to prime the prism
Slowly rain falls again to dry their tears and sores
sun soars to wet their appetite for more adventure
Emerging from a fog of blessings Tim feels whole again
Wars in my mind
Rain strains and pains of a cruel kind
In circumstances I suspect
Tear promised prospects in every respect.
Wars in my heart
Tear my trust system apart
When blues bathe my trust
In seas and rivers of russet rust in a crimson crust.
Wars in my society
Signify sorrow sown by loss of piety
Bathed in wintry waters
Diffused and contused in my quivering quarters.
Wars in my morals
Defy etiquette stuck on mortals
Whose desires diversify and crucify moral codes
Society neither encodes nor decodes.
The road leads to somewhere
the toll sometimes greater than needed
the road leads to nowhere
the dead end ever dreaded
The road is filled with hazards
always keeping you bent on edge
The road is filled with sympathy
always allowing you to continue forward
The road is Never shaped the same
always bent and contorted
The road is long and contused
choose to walk ride or run
The road is full of passion
life love and happiness
The road is full of Aggression
Anger pain and turmoil
The road is always changing
never allowing you to get comfortable
The road is always demanding attention
Always making you the decider
The road will always be there
even if you stray of path
The road will always guide you
if you feel youve lost your way
The road may be hard to see
through rain and snow and dark
the road will lead to everything
The road is beating to the same tune as your heart
When tears came out of my dour eyes,
In depth of faint soul and sobbing sighs,
All the cosmos here felt inutile,
Of rich hearted folk, but introversively futile,
Birds passed by me to revive a new hope,
Not to think of tieing new knots, a new rope,
I was lost, lost my reins, went insane,
Trees shed leaves commemorated my pain,
And all my endeavors, hopes, got objected,
Contused soul, detested, and twicely rejected,
Where could I find a beacon of salvation,
Undernaeth there might I find the warmth of consolation,
There I found hundred of stars directing and suggesting,
Solacement is the only way of living not sobbing,
We live solo, scattering in the immense sky,
You are not alone, see through this peak high,
Embrace all suffering and the pain with open eyes,
And be a man of concrete and wise,
No matter how massive is your pain in depth and size,
The angst will perish, and you will rise.
Written By
Shahid Hussain
27 oct, 2015
I will admit to being confused
my face this morning, looks contused
I have memory none of what went on
where I was or what had on
I appear to be wearing womens’ clothes
and there’s something strange tickling my nose
Down below’s all intact, I checked before
with zealous tact
The strangest writing’s on my chest, sort of
text-speak, rhyming jest
And using mirror I read on, appears
quick-written by a girl called Ron
Rhymes with duck and punt and rum
and parting statement says “what fun!”
Wallet’s full, I don’t despair but
something sticky in my hair?
Trying to rise from out my lair,
I see I’m handcuffed to the chair
But what’s more vexing is the sign
on front room window’s polished line
The man in here, should get a medal
he’s fun and such a sexy devil!
Who is it that knocks on my door?
It is nearly midnight and not a single creature stirs about
Yet, I hear a faint tapping of feet upon my cedar floor
Assuredly, my mind lends to perception, a sense of doubt
Lo, a man stands before me
His hands very much contused
In better light, I come to observe the somber face I see
A broken man indeed, very much confused
I extended to the visitor, a kind greeting
One, of a most humble nature
The ailing man appears to have received some sort of beating
Perhaps he was involved in an unsettled wager?
This guest of mine spoke clearly now, and his words were of fright
The man was my brother, whom I attended to on this dreadful night
Thanks ABELOPEZ!!! LOVE THIS ONE
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Family secrets told
Through your hearts spew
A white wild orchid
Bruised and stained with brown,
Its virgin petals touched….
Emerging blooms will frown
Mama lily beat purple,
Her seedlings green;
Siblings often wonder -
Why is he so mean?
As the wind carries seedlings
Away from garden’s home;
Lily’s tears water contused soil
Her heart becomes eroded loam
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Wounded whispers weep
Longing affirmation from you
that bruised and contused
epidermis after a skirmish
bandaged and anti-somethinged
for whatever next is coming
that fleshed out scathe of
open wound from what was said
and the way the knife turned
as it quickly sliced out pride
some diligent nursing will
form some scars to cover
the vulnerability felt, raw
but too, will deaden the nerve
lord, to be like you
and forgive for what they do
defeathered and skinned
soul bared from within
thin skin or no skin
what matters most
is what's within
close to the bone
the marrow of the matter
© Goode Guy 2011-09-09
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Family secrets told
Through your hearts spew
A white wild orchid
Bruised and stained with brown,
Its virgin petals touched….
Emerging blooms will frown
Mama lily beat purple,
Her seedlings green;
Siblings often wonder -
Why is he so mean?
As the wind carries seedlings
Away from garden’s home;
Lily’s tears water contused soil
Her heart becomes eroded loam
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Wounded whispers weep
Longing affirmation from you
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*few thoughts on domestic violence*
On gossamer lips
Wisped coppery tendrils
Showering sparks
Riding evening breezes
That radiate off my
Eyelashes in papery
Wet slivers
Sticking only when
Your song of ill-boding
Is breathed over me
Its primitive amity
Contused and crusted
On baneful syllables
In sweet consummation
Where at last I see the
Crumbling bouquet
That’s falls
Onto your pages
the wheels just thumped
a jazz beat
(and it woke me
from sleep- with my Lunch
Poems) that made me think
I was somewhere else
like the drug-
stores
that all look the same
inside
only nothing like that nausea.
(not the sweat I get
from the stale air-
conditioning
not that prefab
disorient
from offwhite
prefab aisles
that all twist
in the same direction, all
born in
weak perfection).
the startling rhythm displaced
me;
its syncopated thump
contused me
and left these little ugly rainbows
on my arms
and that tattoo really goes
at the start from each station
but here
the cadence has slowed
(like the wagon wheels in an old movie
that spin the wrong way)
as we move backward it sounds more like a train,
more humane.
The wheels catch their groove and the pace relaxes
the bumps disappear -
it sounds more like a train.