Gouges Poems | Examples

The Phases of Faces

heels spin to worn paths,
mask grimacing yesterdays—
eyes not quite so sure
if this swerve of direction
is up down or whatever

sky stares down the gaze
but chin is still uplifted
as rain lashes face—
challenging storm's resurgence
mirror's stance of defiance

cliff gave no warning
of free-fall rocks in full view,
with no hold to siege
in the up-down tailspin crash—
to pucker up start again

chisel gouges bone
features blurred recast remade
as the past erased—
yet the scar itself engraves
phantom in impost's shadow

two mirrors collide
eyes locked in a frozen glare
neither one will yield—
defiance sharper than blades
masks slam together head first

shards spill out from glass
reflections just don't matter
tattered unravelled—
what remains is radiance—
that shines from the self within

long deep angry looking gouges on a tree

cat claw marks on a tree
long deep angry looking gouges
a huge animal, possibly a leopard, tiger or lion

I envision this beast sharpening her enormous claws
maybe a velvety black puma with yellow eyes
terrified, my hair stood straight up on end
am I being watched from the shadows?

The Machine

Beyond a big, yellow 
‘DETOUR’ sign,
an enormous machine
with flashing amber lights 
and frightening teeth
is grinding asphalt down, 
moving slowly along the street 
leaving a grooved wake
as it scrapes and gouges 
its way through a long night 
depriving the citizenry
of sleep by the sound
of a relentless,
ear piercing ‘beep’, ‘beep’.



Though the subject matter
and imagery is entirely different,
the above picks up a subtle echo 
from that famous poem by 
William Carlos Williams,
‘The Great Figure’.

Lights on the river

Icicle candles
sinuous laser lances
chromatic gouges

Jagged

Written: October 19, 2023

Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France

The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
                       _______________________________________

                        Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
            Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
                        Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
      Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
            Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
                        Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
            Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
      Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
            Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.

A Visit To My Drive-In

I knew you well many years ago
So full of passion
A cathedral where multitudes
Of lusting souls gathered
I watched intently at the images
You allowed me to see 

Such a majestic creature 
Towering high into the darkened sky
You gathered the light from a million stars
To power my imagination 

A haven for teenage love 
Your warm summer breezes caressed my heart
You showed me laughter, joy, love and sadness 
I was your legacy, and I worshipped you 

Time faded my memories
Progress devoured your simplicity
I lost youthful desires, hopes, and dreams
Replaced them with responsibilities, anxiety and conformity

I left you to die alone 
Discarded like an animal’s carcass on the side of the road
Rotting in the rain and sun  
Slabs of your silver skin decayed 
Fallen to the ground to reveal the bones beneath 

Tree limbs from the encroaching woods 
Stick their boney fingers through the gouges 
Like demons trying to pull free 
From their eternal darkness 
Nature is reclaiming you… 
There is no one left to care

The Tool Shed

It was a dark hole
into an Aladdin's cave of old tools.
A small window
gave the only light and fell
on a rough sawn bench wearing
scars inflicted by years of use.
Saw cuts, drill holes
and the miscued gouges
of chisels had crusted to
dark scabs. Oil stains blotched 
the surface like age spots.

Reclaimed tin beaten flat 
on an anvil length of railway line
covered the walls in a mosaic 
of odd shapes glazed 
in powdery rust. The floor
was hardened clay compacted
over decades by a pair 
of shuffling boots.

It seemed almost a holy place,
a grotto cut into a life to house
precious things a man valued
back then. Tools bore a sanctity, 
a purity of purpose,
the blessed instruments 
of a craftsman kept
and looked after for life.
Some were venerated relics
passed down by generations.

I closed the door, 
leaving the cobweb draped
silence intact.
Soon to be demolished, 
its contents will be thrown
into bargain boxes
at the local trash and treasure. 
Sad how the age bundles up 
and dumps the holy 
to feed an empty core.

Internal Crisis

Look at the way the clock hands move
But the time doesn't change at all
In a white walled room without windows
It could be morning or it could be evening
But it's the buzzing noise drilling into my head
And reverberating down my spine
Until I feel like screaming
That reminds me I exist but do not exist
That I am in a dream and a nightmare
That I am both awake and asleep
The walls start to move like ocean waves
Until I get up from my chair 
Picking it up and bashing it against the table
Watching splintered wood flying
And blood oozes down the walls
As I descend into madness by laughing
I bash the remains of the chair against the table
Creating deep gouges in mahogany
Until it resembles my agony
And the white walls are forever stained red
Until I dig a chair leg and gouge deep into the back wall
Revealing the empty black of a void behind it
But then when I blink I jolt back to awareness so I can
Look at the way the clock hands move
But the time doesn't change at all
Because it's all in my head
And I have no way to get out

Paint

Paint

The wall was full of small holes, 
and imperfections. 
There were gouges,
here and there. 
the surface, only an echo...,
of its original beauty. 

The "color" white. 
Not paper, but pure;
like a winter flower. 
Restoring yesterday, 
a privilege!

Sometimes full of memories 
past... and gone. 
Yet the effort, 
the work, 
the labor, 
creating new ones for the now, 
to keep for tomorrow...
and all our future yesterdays. 

A brush, 
a bucket, 
and the smallest drop, 
of truest faith. 
The final result...
a miracle!


Time restored, 
and renewed. 
A visual blessing, 
to the eye, 
and a spiritual lifting 
of the heart.

Blazing Beast

The ground gaped garishly, gored with ghastly gouges of glowing, gravelly gobs ...

Finally unfettered from a frigid firmament, flames flung fiery, flaring fingers 
          ferociously forward ...

The blazing bastions bent on burning the backwood bluffs bare with bitter brutality ...

Unholy hoards of heated horror hailing the heavens with heinous, heckling howls of                           
          hellish hostility.

Holding Hands With the Devil

What’s in her mind, sharp lines slice her in half, 
Into faded dark red, green and blue,
And the flowers cover up each emotional scar, 
From ever even shining on through,

To show the gouges ripped from her thoughts, 
To show the bruised, shaken, and torn,
Slit while she slept, in a nightmare of hell, 
For her public body to remain an unborn?

What does she think, where does she go, 
When her eyes are wide open to black,
When her eyes are blank to all of the noise, 
After her soul escaped the attack?

Does she remember those days that’ve gone, 
When she obeyed every little demand?
Does she remember those days when she sold her soul,
Just to hold onto his hand?

The Ghost Bar

THE GHOST BAR

gangrenous chains
rusted and burdensome
lambast the oak plank
etching ethereal gouges

the serpentine length drags
with warlike screams

ghoulish intensity
grabs each bony-disk
with heartlessness

the ice cold floor and
daggered eyes, seem
but a hallucination
to the drunken lot

but the barmaid sees!
she screams
as the breathless apparition
howls with wrathful laughter
she faints, fast and dreadful

the chains coil about his neck
in retribution for his act
yanking him about

the floor gives way like quicksand
and he plummets yet again
to certain death
covered by miles and miles of clanging chain

the barmaid’s brought about by salts
she tells the tale over and over again
until the legend of the ghost bar
becomes famous

detailed in rusty chains and eyes

...one peeks through

10/23/2017

In My Grooves

Find me here
Within graphite words 
breathe me deeply
until the lines are blurred
let my smoke fill your lungs
I desperately want to be felt and heard
Ash rises from my bones
from my mind to your heart transferred 

my thoughts are paper thin
Yet they levitate upon my imperfections 
Two three and four dimensions
The things I can't scream
without fear here I mention
Maybe it's all a cry for attention
is it really me these absurd expressions
I lay it out for the world
Find the holes in my communication
plug in your extension
Maybe the light from your lamp
will illuminate my apprehension

My record silently skips
a soundless sensation
The needle gouges deep
with its intimate groove penetrations
Is this any indication
of my faltering perceptions
or do I have  frayed wires
stripped by my preoccupation
So here now and from yesterday 
I form words into weird collections
maybe you can find me here
amidst my verbose fascination 
I'm here somewhere
in all of these indentations!

Guilt

Guilt...!

Guilt rides,
on the chariot of truth
and how long can it go forth?
It  obscures the facts 
and obliterates the figures and
peps-up and cooks it's own broth!

It feels so heavy, 
wears out the only one who is privy 
and it is one's own knot to the naught!
On the obverse of the day, 
when you join the fray, 
be assured it gouges out your heart!

It holds on to the rein, 
in attempts so vain, 
yet it completely mauls one's sleep!
Thereon the day that dawn, 
there is only groan and moan,
 as it weighs you down only to make you weep!

Stave off this sorrow, 
nay wait for the morrow,
there is an easy way out if you scout!
Heaven is here to rejoice
and so is hell too as a choice,
It is left to us to find the route out to rout.

Cavity

There they were
Dirtied like untreated cavities. 
There on the mirror 
Our benighted oblivion for actualities 

Somewhere across or below
The solution is not shared to bestow
Nor mercy allowed to freely stand 
But only is granted to be banned

The truth gouges our knowledge,
The truth that humans are cavities
Without shelters nor ailments

The truth refuses to gouge our heart
But only accepts to gouge our knowledge. 

To be under our sky is to be under their sky.
Thus we are the same people.

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