Love sits in the witness box,
ragged sleeves pulled over its fragile knuckles,
Yes, its voice a mere murmur in the courthouse.
Prosecutor: And what about the sallow allure
of verses written on discolored parchment?
Must we become venerable troubadours
to mourn love’s uncertainties?
Love: Definitely not! We tweet sonnets on Twitter~
text them to unresponsive ghosts who leave them on read.
The heart wails raw, untuned, bleeding through pixels.
What difference does parchment really make?
I have calluses on the inside of my body.
I am smooth and polished on the outside.
But once you peel away my cocoon, you will find cuts and bruises.
My intestines are knotted, tied in one big bow.
My bones are cracked and discolored.
my muscles are tangled and weak.
My brain has pins in it, i am someone's voodoo doll.
But no one will ever know, i hide it so flawlessly.
The flaws,
The way that my shoulders are broader than they need to be,
So that the small, tight tops never fit right,
So that I look muscular,
“Like a man,” my mother says,
The way my nose is a little too big for my face,
And my thighs are bigger than they need to be,
Where my skin is darker in some places than others,
How the acne scars cover my back,
The way the discolored birthmark marked its place,
In the dead centre of my back,
Or how I have a small black mole on the bottom of my right foot,
And one on my right, ring finger to match it,
A mole so small,
That you could mistake it for the numerous pen smudges on my hands,
How my nails are uneven,
And have little white marks on them,
How the nails on my right hand are tinted yellow,
How my chin wrinkles when I smile,
And when I smile,
I display my misshapen teeth,
For the world to see,
These I call flaws,
The imperfections,
What makes me different from the rest of them,
No worries because,
No one can even see past that,
That’s what makes me different,
The flaws
I will wear white pants all year long
with shoes scuffed from a sandy night;
Discolored waves that won't come out
those seaside moments haunt my eyes;
Capture the season keep it strong
hold those scandalous fashions tight;
Laid back vibe lingers all about,
when you're free it seems time flies;
Land of a thousand summers song,
one note I'm back in paradise.
Speaking no evil with nothing to say
Feel no pain life is numb
Prayers to smite thine enemies
Wanting to believe something just to belong
Being open to any idea but always the skeptic inside
Doubt everything for losing all you remember
Listen and journey to become
Never able to reach it
Tangle is the truth
Soothing lies
Belong
Apart from living
Dead inside
Take it to reach that high
Feel good
Joy
empty
crashing
down down down
Cold, spent and lonely
Abused body with a vacant soul
Eyes of beaded glass
Veins discolored
Tasteless is life
Shelter in a sewer for warmth
Life mingles with death eases into comfort
Why? are you more than this?
Rock bottom in a hell hole of survival
Pray for the first time you really pray
Asking for meaning, deliverance
No answers only questions
Frozen solid into darkness
Sleep deep sleep
Open your eyes
Brightness surrounds all
Floating into the light
Feeling forever
Can't be any worse
Being open...
Icicles hung from the roof
like translucent fingers
Clawing towards the ground
While behind the eaves,
She brushed her plain brown hair
Tired gray eyes in the mirror,
Discolored around the fringe
And gravity pulled at the frown
Like it did everything else
She was one of many,
A soul, a body
With all the glitter rubbed away
Winter breathed out its discontent
A heaving sigh that scattered leaves
Over mailboxes, churches, graveyards
You can lose yourself in those fields out there
Mired in snow, as countless as crows
As tin men, as a brick in the wall
And when three young girls,
All smiles and apple cheeks and roses
Walked by her window, she cast those grey eyes down
From above— her jaw nutcracker clenched
New England January froze her eyes
A hand clenched and unclenched
at their sparkly laughter
The brush rattled to the floor
As the girls disappeared from her line of sight
She was already a thousand miles away
Up into the cirrus clouds,
Each inch colder than the last
Icicles hung from the roof
like translucent fingers
Clawing towards the ground
While behind the eaves,
She brushed her plain brown hair
Tired gray eyes in the mirror,
Discolored around the fringe
And gravity pulled at the frown
Like it did everything else
She was one of many,
A soul, a body
With all the glitter rubbed away
Winter breathed out its discontent
A heavying sigh that scattered leaves
Over mailboxes, churches, graveyards
You can lose yourself in those fields out there
Mired in snow, as countless as crows
As tin men, as a brick in the wall
And when three young girls,
All smiles and apple cheeks and roses
Walked by her window, she cast those grey eyes down
From above— her jaw nutcracker clenched
New England January froze her eyes
A hand clenched and unclenched
at their sparkly laughter
The brush rattled to the floor
As the girls disappeared from her line of sight
She was already a thousand miles away
Up into the cirrus clouds,
Each inch colder than the last
So, you thought you have the right
To in my bed pass a night,
Not alone, with your lover,
Vulgar love-making brave,
Sensual pleasures coarsely crave…
You have my mattress defiled,
All night romances of the wild;
For hours with a pervert
Who claims she is a convert.
Now, a discolored white sheet
I’ll gladly burn in the street
To Junk Press give a story
And have you shamed Miss Glory!
Bed used without permissions
A sin not for remission.
Do not produce children
telepathic hypochondriac...
don't transform girls
in symptomatic blind
don't do women
changed functions
think of the wounds
Like splenic roses
But oh don't forget
the rose of the rose
From the rose of Hiroshima
the perpetual rose
the radioactive rose
monstrous and stupid
The hepatic rose with cirrhosis
The anti rose, atomic
discolored and unperfumed
Sans rose sans nothing... !
PS Interactive reinterpretation of the poem Rosa de Hiroshima from Vinicius
de Morais, Brazilian poet BY Alkas poetry
Pale sun thus haggard
halting light in the gray sky
discolored mornings
Fearing that our diversity may doom society.
We have worn out our discolored disguise.
Mental doodles have a limit in their entirety.
Leaving behind a youthful dream and surprise.
My work has been tainted by society.
Placing screens in front of trusting eyes.
Creative content requires time and satiety.
Hearing evil howling and looking for a prize.
I'm powerless, waiting for such a deity.
Miracles of modest nature need to arise.
Persists throughout daily anxiety.
Descriptive accounts that debated the size.
Written: December 2nd, 2022
vast night
reason disappears into its cushioned haven
the color fades like this in every october
even if the rainbows say no
it would be easy to gather the detritus of these days
pack the weakness
throw everything into the infinite space between the numbers
but after all who forgot the key to wisdom
and who are these who laugh grotesquely
wearing ominous ignorance?
only eyes under construction survive
and if the encyclopedia of life hides shy
it's up to them to turn over the discolored rubble
deep in the solace of mind
beyond, the realm assigned
an outer reach of body,
of kind
she drew me in
to a inconsiderable space
that i didn't even know
could evolve or exist
the time was ripe
the taste pure bliss
I could smell all the fragrant flowers
held taut, together in one place
not dying nor withering away
in some discolored, discontented
hollow filled vase
it was vibrance
it was pure grace
more than grasping for a longing
or an impossible embrace
we held tight in the scars we both shared
dancing through the meadows
where ghosts once appeared
we were the sun and we kissed the dark
enriched in the touch of another
leaving our mark
your echo still rattles my bones
your presence I still call my home
Emotionally abstract;
A rush of beautiful tears
leave behind discolored eyes;
All the passion fading
into the painting of her smile;
Chipping with every slow drop
puddles form chaotic shapes
casually described as art;
They see a masterpiece
in the splatter of geometry,
overlooking her face so
emotionally distraught;
Worshipping the body of work
she left behind;
Reconstructed over time
whispers of the past like art so abstract;
Painting the star crossed eyes of future artists
who embellish the magic of folklore.
Near the pleasure-offering joint
Was an illegal checkpoint
Legalized by police presence
And a militarily discolored jeep,
Whose size easily made the skin creep!
Also, a checkpoint proving the smell ‘Aromatic’
And off bringing romances Dramatic…
But mainly often eyeing The Heavy
And on it dropping Forbidden Levy
A doomed-to-be - seized ‘Their Gravy…
I think an invitation to watch a role
Happily parading a yawning hole:
Some Likely extra dosing on Tramadol
For shows of little self-control:
Their jeep on fuel-wasting patrol
With their ever assured enough petrol…
A checkpoint of really a kind
We don’t know who can its demons bind.
Sub Categories
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.