Sisters seated by glows
Of white glistens of light
A spirit floated down
Painting the sky golden
They knew she'd never desert them
Gentle hands of ribbon
And once the ring was over
It burned through their retinas
Sober from countless memories
They let candle wax melt their epidermis
Only a picture nestled in draws
Yet flooded with reminders
The fingerprints and dusty cries
Spelt out the name of a mystery woman
Birthing two daughters, then fading
Into plains of trees which bear olives
Mists of the Adriatic Sea
Embracing her shuddering coffin
For she is but a young mother
Selling what she could for glory
To feast with lords of lustfulness
On fish from Portuguese waters
But even she was never saved
From wraths of bacterium
Tuberculosis stole her vitality
And reunited her with her offspring~
TOUCH :- to come in contact of someone/something
or feeling something against the skin.
How ordinary the word is,
How ordinary the definition is,
However, the sensation is not.
While pressing the skin against something/someone
that is as abstract as our own-
Somehow makes us feel safe,
As if we have everything we need to battle all the
insecurities we have grown.
At that moment,
Everything seems to vanish,
the only thing that remains for a quick moment is that
sense of safety,
It doesn't make any difference even when the
epidermis is blemish.
Sometimes it can be as ordinary as the definition
itself.
However, in times it can change the perception of
vulnerability,
"Touch" can make one feel 'home',
Nevertheless is horrific when transcend.
The sensation is poetic somehow.
Perhaps exceeds poetry in explaining the purpose.
I believe it's as expressive as words can never be,
Does it make all feel this way, or is it just me?"
The emptying was torture
Like a queen bee on the back porch
Easy to avoid, ignore
No need to go out those french doors
Another route to necessity
Eliminating the need of more
...then came the scrapping
You showed me the epidermis
Of my well
I was certain my water was sweet
Til I saw it
Shock shook the core of my soul
Then you went deeper
You broke the foundation
Of my cistern...broken pottery
Strewn on the open ground
The wide open ground
My eyes caught a shadow
A shape of doubt melded
With elements of matter
Grief, pressurized grief
Made a form
Walking under my well of HOPE
Breathing sorrow upon vision
Whispering...I'm aggrieved
...........does anyone care
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-28-2024
There is a darkness in my life,
a forecast of torrential rain that drowns my heart with sorrow,
and its gloom clouds my mind,
washing away any hope for tomorrow,
This darkness overshadows me,
eclipsing whatever light that remains within my soul,
and the more I try to fight it,
the less I feel in control,
Tears spill onto my cheeks,
tracing the outlines of a smile seldom shown,
as I sit alone in this cave of a home,
hidden from the world and hardening like stone,
It's as if I'm dying inside,
trapped within the confines of an epidermis tomb,
while my cries for help echo through the barrenness of my existence,
resonating with apprise of my impending doom,
But in this aphotic zone in the depths of my core,
my words are a sconce on the walls of my heart,
illuminating the halls of my soul,
so that others may navigate their way through the dark.
Written: November 03, 2023
_______________________________
Beyond the misty shades, there is peace.
Irreconcilable with retaining inner ease
Noshing prefers tugging at my soul.
Bearing wounds of stale apathy as a whole
Confusional twinges twist and confine.
mesmerizing me with its emerald design.
The rays, while flowing, are being broken.
A punitive pulse that shrinks is swollen.
Voices and visions visit the void vacuum.
The reality is shown in my idle bedroom.
My pores are a way for dread to escape.
Provide solace and safety for my shape.
The epidermis gets tangled in salt.
It lands in a vibrating pressure vault.
Exposing the exquisite havoc of the mind
Ensuring me that I can properly bind.
My path to the afterlife begins here.
I'm a speck of sand thrown at a sphere.
Subtle gestures are used to indicate time.
The sole residual insight has grown grime.
The day I was born
The day I was born the sky was clear with blue scattering,
If at all not I have not seen that
The day I was born, the air was blowing incessantly
If at all not how do I know to bother unnecessarily
The day I was born, I hope the earth smelled uniquely
If not then also I was not bothered as I had no smell buds developed
The day I was born, the water was the only fluid I must have touched
But how could I know as the epidermis was not in tune, I had no clue
The day I was born, I do not worshipped almighty as there was no meaning to it
Or perhaps no one took me to chapel, Temple, Mosque or Guru Dwara
As six days birth rituals were observed as told later on by my mother
But I should have remembered I was breathing that time with Ida, Pingla and Susumna,
For my survival as understood lately
Probably not sure of who took care of my great entry to my mother’s lap
But all I know is zero, zero and only zero memory prevails till now
But yet I survived with all odds and even
Then who to thank for all these cosmic phenomena, a million dollar question to my co inhibits….
I am on clothes I am naked
nothing covering me but my epidermis
I'm in a mess
First stage bare stratum basale
Don't look at me raw, wrong
I'm uncovered appalled
Who told me I need coverage covering
Stratum granulosum I bet you can't see 'em
Naked for I am
Uncovered wit jus my natural nature showing
I'm clothed unclothed
Stratum spinosum, I don't want none
Stratum basale, nothing favorable
Being seen uncovered
Papillary Layer covered vessel
Naked I am I stand before you raw
Dirt-dirty in raw clay form
I am on clothes I am naked
nothing covering me but my epidermis
I'm in a mess
First stage bare stratum basale
Don't look at me raw, wrong
I'm uncovered appalled
Who told me I need coverage covering
Stratum granulosum I bet you can't see 'em
Naked for I am
Reticular layer
In mine housed spirit form
My God has said who said I was naked
8/5/23
Written words by James Edward Lee 2023 ©
Quadroon
An African journey through Hawaii, Haiti, a detour north
settling in between the extreme, where summers are hot
and winters are bearable.
In a country old that has an Arabic tone in the tonal voice.
Her epidermis is almond milk drunk before a spring’s dawn
with the mystic of the exotic.
Even slow her movement, a rush was not her concern
but her eyes, dark brown tiger eyes, told of passion set free
Healthy, her black hair shone brightly in nights of love.
She is old now, her hair still black, her eyes not dimmed by age
handles her walking rattans with customary stylishness
Time has been kind to her as she lives on and on.
Framed blemish.
Heavy as a tumor.
Solid as surrender.
Dig into epidermis.
Uproot the moment.
Unclean kernel.
Hard, cold reflection.
Show me pretty.
Clogged pores.
Yellow teeth.
Rheumy eyes.
Ugly is as ugly does.
Smile at the mirror.
Try to forget.
This is you.
Forever unlovely.
Look at what you did.
Children are so cruel.
Rose scented perfume.
Disguise the stench.
Excrete from every orifice.
Sweat soaked lace.
Urine stained ribbons.
Paint and purify the meat.
Shave the head.
Smear on foundation.
Sever the lips.
Dust with powder.
Extract the teeth.
Cauterize with lipstick.
Amputate the feet.
Brush on eye shadow.
Saw through hip joints.
Smudge on blush.
Open up the abdomen.
Suture with mascara.
Remade.
Smiling through distortion.
Deny the trauma.
Repair the shell.
Convincingly Beautiful.
Improbably clean.
now this is a jecture of a con
some flimsy before tense
so back to the point
some may say it has the consistency of a cloud
with rolling bumps of epidermis mist
tonally ambivalent
or would it have the creaks and groansd
would it have the liquidity
of a sploshing frothy brook
or the wisp of eagle swoop
what if it has the shape of unknown
no sides
no vertices
just a breath of undecidedies
soz i like undecidedies
he's been there doing that for
about twenty minutes
it's both palms on both
face pastries
he was here the other day
laptop in front of him
bopping and biffing
like in a boat race
chronic stress? enervation?
or giving the epidermis
something to think about
sod retinoids and clarins
maybe the brain is fusty
needs a few yawns too
like the sound of an alaskan
salmon against sham praise
is this the future? when i'm gone
on buses, trains, offices
a democratic spanking
Rewriting Fear
That sudden unknown, so unrevealing,
it's the tell-tale trademark of the one in question
as it sets off nerves in every-which-way,
plainly creeping aimlessly neath the epidermis.
Shock-waves traipse, recruiting ghostly minions to crawl hither,
steeping the fleshy folds with squirming eels marinade,
forever slithering downward and chilling our brittle bones,
while simultaneously causing us to gnash our pearly whites.
Until we came upon the realization,
that what had truly manifested itself,
was self-induced and that it was so absorbing,
it had overwhelmed the mind in consuming anxiety,
losing dominance of all mental faculties,
proffering it free-will to buildup theoretical obsessions,
and alternate concessions.
2020 September 30
*2nd Place*
"The Unexplained"
~~Carolyn Devonshire
A nation of millions, converted to the round table of a charmed circle
ruthlessness, propelling dictatorship in absolute efficacy
just an innocent blink is deserving of a cruel sentence
he escapes out of the republic, which is now a family directorate
the scars are the consequences of his choice of religion
blood stains his epidermis, ascribed on it, his tribe
the need to be free from a society where humanity is obsolete
cannot be debunked from the groans of his persecution
a writer, a poet and a doctor with cracking skills
his value distances liability for his new home to dance
a great one to be who you are without any high impact slam
his family, escapes with him from brutality’s enforcer
allegiance cannot be frugal, patriotism has changed its uniform
teleporting from death’s training ground, run with no air
he settles for a better one to enjoy life which comes only but once.
You may shoot a round of golf with your goofy neighbor Rolf,
or smack handballs 'round until your fingers bleed.
You may pump your mountain bike up the peak named after Pike,
and I'm sure we'll all applaud the mighty deed.
You may hunt the antlered moose, you may perforate a goose,
or with bow in hand confront the ring necked pheasant.
But a sportsman's not a hero t'il he fishes in sub-zero
temperatures that lesser men would find unpleasant.
There is nothing quite as nice as to lumber 'cross the ice
when the northern lights are shimmering o'er the pole.
With your tip-ups and your thermos and frost bitten epidermis
and a double headed axe to chop the hole.
On your upturned spacklin' pail there you'll squat through sleet and hail,
and snow so deep that folks can't see your hat.
And some may call you "nuts", and some "a silly putz",
but you're a proud ice fishin' man for all of that.
Though you've never caught a trout and never will, I doubt,
that the prospect of a catch is what will tug ya,
to the frozen lake each season; no you do it for the reason,
it's the only place your spouse won't go to bug ya.
That About A Face
Previously responsible concerning an adolescent resplendent facial hallmark,
Awarded to privileges and sanctioned embellishment favoring enhancement,
Over time, years chip away unnoticeably o'er worn breathless moments,
Taunt texture of an arduous youth evaporates in a whimsical hallucination,
Face delicately immersed in a penny-filled wishing well made full by an Irish spring,
Whereby, encroaching four-leaf clovers anticipate deviating hands to favor,
For a wealth of squishing palms to rub gently the verdurous lucky
chartreuse petals,
Against foretelling fluctuating skin with moisturizing balms that saturates the aged cavities,
Alas, rebellious slaves to periodical moons ebb the epidermis as once kept promises reneges,
Former fields of the dermis yield a harvest worthy of an ample supply of suppleness o'er a lifetime,
Where cherished glorious heyday occupied a magnificent proffered face for cameras to envy,
In the advance of time, I am content to gracefully tender the waning years for a fair measured distance as a camera poses for a closeup.
2019 December 22
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.