The copious serpents bedded the wolves and the sheepish grins so too unfolded the poker table is lit tonight, stripped table legs that oaken tonight, so left from the gambler were his life savings like Vegas unmatched the true course of daisies, and so darker hell-bent marble furl and regain consciousness so that we may too see the world.
Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said...
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell Me, if you have understanding...
When the morning stars sang together
And all the sons of God shouted for joy?"
Job 38: 1, 4, 7
Grace, a godsend, good night my friend;
the stars are peeking down on us.
Yes, I’ve been sent your hurts to mend -
grace, a godsend, good night my friend.
Innkeeper has more funds to spend
should you need them for pain and thus -
grace, a godsend, good night my friend;
the stars are peeking down on us.
Skin felt the pain
While playing a peaceful golfing game
Challenging the course’s blister campaign
Terrorizing the toe
Forcing a temporary surgical sew
Oh
No
To keep this show
On the go
They must know
Basic health care
Not to scare
Removing infected nail
Transporting remains towards the waste management pail
Bloody and red
Now dead
Left as trash
Above the fairway grass
Next to Frank’s Furter
Who was murdered
After pork barrel spending
And over lending
Worth commending
Pending
Cooking the links
Hearing what others think
About another medical review
Of the pinkie one too
Country club house bound
And the parfect round
No bogeys in sight
Feeling right
Since all has healed
Closing the deal
Without a squeal
Or scream
From the green
Manicured and pristine
Ready for a four-day dream
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The body keeps its ledgers~
purple ink beneath the skin,
a ledger of missteps and collisions.
Some bloom tender as dusk,
others harden into topography,
maps of what we survived.
They whisper in fading yellows:
here,
you were alive enough to hurt.
The past rises
grey and pink
amid rasping gravel
barnacled to chasms
sunken and sodden
clawing at hasty feet
that skate manically
and hurl bodies cruciform
onto mocking concrete.
The marred morn pauses
for a nanosecond
to ponder the maelstrom
of mangled flesh
and sirens.
The urge is overwhelming –
to see my battered skin break open.
To feel, believe, that I’m alive –
might thaw my soul, so frozen.
I’m cold, I’m numb, am I even real? –
or a figment of someone’s mind?
(For) no matter how much blood I spill –
(there’s no) feeling left that I can find.
I’m lost within a realm of souls –
where all but mine can matter.
I hate this suit of flesh I’m in –
it’s torn, beaten, and battered.
I’m branded as the “useful one” –
but all the same, disposable.
This hate could fill a sea —
(until it’s) shores should burst and overflow.
My loathing, not for others –
although they care not of their sins.
But if I must be honest –
I hate this soul which lies within.
I never understood –
why I was treated as an outcast.
I guess I’m just too sick –
perhaps it’s why my friends don’t last.
While walking to school
I was thinking about last weekend
- it was great. we did nothing -
and I stumbled on uneven pavement
it was a trip down memory lane
I was wearing a dress and I skinned my left knee badly
Charles, walking with me, grimaced at the blood
- which almost made me laugh
he wanted to call a car but I doughtily soldiered on,
scraped, bleeding and cursing my own clumsiness
If people noticed they didn’t point, stare
or barf at the grizzly sight
at school, I went straight to the ladies,
and washed it with soap and water
sticking pieces of toilet paper to the worst of it
to stop the bleeding and then limping to class
in emergency medicine, that toilet paper
would be called an ‘immediately sterile’ cover.
.
.
Songs for this:
Walk Like an Egyptian - The Bangles
.
.
Each year I made a Christmas playlist.
If you like Christmas tunes, please enjoy the Christmas feels!
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_35.mp3
Happy Holidays Everyone!
I rose from deep sleep much too fast one night
and, oh, boy howdy, did it cause a plight!
My brain was rearranged to shape much strife
by becoming my bratty pal for life.
If you live with low blood pressure, hear, please,
my advice: perform a tight bladder squeeze,
place feet on floor and pause before standing.
This prevents a ceramic tile landing,
many questions concerning your hurt brain
and sharing, 'my bladder needed drained.'
MY NEUROLOGIST SAVED MY LIFE TODAY SORRY I WILL NOT STRESS OVER IMMATURE PERSONS SENDING TERRORIST THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES TO A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURED DISABLED WOMAN TODAY AH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY RELIEF GOD BLESS AMERICA
I run my hand across my wrist,
The rough scars feel normal under my fingers,
But to anyone else, they would be foreign.
I was a fighter, I had to be,
But everything has its consequences.
Running the blade across my own wrist was mine,
It was the only way for me to feel something.
Since I was small I was forced to be strong,
But a child should not need to be strong.
I wasn’t even 14 and I had to fend for myself,
I had to pick up my broken pieces.
The scars on my body tell that story,
They are reminders of my pain.
I run my hand across my wrist,
The rough scars remind me that I will survive,
I did before, and I will now.
Love is everything,
A game, a passion, a dream.
Basketball, my greatest love,
So tiring, but so much fun.
Though I cannot play today,
An injury keeps me away.
Jumper’s knee, it makes me wait,
Oh, what a shame, but I still won’t hate.
The pain, the cramps, the hard work too,
But it’s worth it for what I do.
This game is part of who I am,
It lifts me up when I feel down.
My love for you will never fade,
Basketball, you’ve made me brave.
You’ll always be my favorite game,
Forever I’ll love you the same.
"...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush."
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down,
Sparkling white trinkets, sparkling white dears.
‘What do we need to do now?' you ask
I got my husband’s winged gift around my neck, a blue stone dragonfly.
Isn’t my green dress an ornamental kingly shroud?
Both stormy and luminous, the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood;
You are sad: your heart bleeds into mine with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises;
The doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame.
You are all marble, Plato, self-contained;
I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born.
My scars are greyhound clouds or maybe trim poodles
Whose slightly wolfish eyes will bleed
A blazing cornucopia of yellow wattle sprigs;
Doctor, your heart is a gold mine and joyous as Spring.
Divided under the cities
streams mapping decisive
endings while toiling about
the beginning boldness
reaching for braising
characters galloping
amidst a certain angst
we’ve devoured nothingness
and opened the sky
with truth thrashing
tempers meaningful tools
craving an emptiness
above the continuous
Bayshore a quiet offering
pelicans landings sinking
yet surrounding the
jaded light house that
withered to soon exposing
only the dim lantern leaning
to one side still brightening
the rippling waves
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
April 7th 2014
getting injections
for traumatic brain injury
When I was in high school,
I had a fall,
It was from a cycle,
but changed my all;
I had ligament tear
in my right foot,
Could not go to school, got
typhoid to boot;
Weak in my body and
stressed in my mind,
When I did go back, I
fell way behind;
I lost my life's purpose,
Despair set in,
I failed in my exam
to my chagrin;
Had a nervous breakdown,
Redid one year,
Mind full of sad questions,
Heart lost all cheer;
Today, when I look back,
I wonder why
such a thing was allowed
by God on high;
To teach me a lesson
about setbacks,
To increase my small faith,
In God relax;
I learnt to lean on Him,
when troubles come,
He taught me to stand strong,
not to succumb;
All things happened for good,
This I know now,
Eighteen years have gone by,
I've grown and how;
That phase transformed my life,
It was a test,
In hindsight, I perceive
God knows what's best.
I went outside to pee
Underneath the cactus tree
But now I'm in the Ho Spittle
The cactus fell on me.
Oh the cactus tree the cactus tree
I went out to pee and it fell on me.
The cactus tree the cactus tree
It's such a mystery.
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.