Long Disfigurement Poems
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Jah has laid out the design of his plans
a world wherein happiness stands
each man will have his own land and vines
within his life will see happier times
The pursuits of his toil in joy he will seek
the fruits of his labor not another will eat
a child will reach an hundred years old
millennias past this truth was fortold
Some seek Nirvana and some Shangri-La
the truth about life some prophets saw
a place where mankind will dwell in peace
from the pangs of this life and deaths release
The fullness of what we are will exist
the bounties untapped within not resist
irresistible will be the Love of neighbor
the sharing of all for which we labor
Treatment of others and our earth will be good
instruction to build wisdom is understood
nothing on earth will be causing harm
no child will ever suffer alarm
No disfigurement or mar in body be known
the curing of disease Jesus has shown
healing the nations and teaching the truth
enlightenment of mind for mans new youth
Six thousand years of comparison God gave
to know that we have all been enslaved
enough of time to see what we've lost
and the price to all that it has cost
The first angel to fall into sin did man lead
God has taken advantage to show us our need
we will be like God knowing evil and good
no longer deceived by lies and falsehood
For centuries religions have kept man asleep
so few among us the secret do keep
Mankind in joy will reach his perfection
each now responsible for his own rejection
sources Gen. 1 & 2 Isaiah 11, 13, 24, 28:5-12
Jer. 12:10-11 John 5 , 6:32-33 Rev.17-21
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C Michael Miller
It is the awakening.
After long dreamless sleep, my time has come again.
Through endless cycles of night and day, of heat and cold
I have lived throughout history. My birth unremembered
as is my youth. I have lived for a thousand years but too many years
have passed for concern over such trivial matters.
I remember the long decades without water.
I was in my middle years then. A time when almost everything was lost.
This was the time of the great fire. The fire that almost consumed me.
Bright white flames burned down from the heavens and in an instant
scarred my rugged flesh, my beautiful skin blackened in jagged disfigurement.
Many of those around me perished.
I can no longer mourn those who have gone before me.
It has been too long and in that time I have recovered from my injuries and the disease that followed. I am again strong and tower over the
youth that surrounds me, young ones of a hundred years. Many my own. Now I must concentrate on drinking in the nutrients that the earth provides me, as I watch over the shrinking forest.
The past is the past
and the receding winter
is slowly fading away,
now I have felt the long
rays of the sun warming
my limbs once again and I have
awakened to a new world, a world
of renewal, a world of hope. My trunk
is strong and my pollen will soon fill the air
covering the woods in a yellow green dust.
New life will come as acorns sprout, and I will stand silent watch.
08/24/15
Searing, disruptive, gravitational,
the face came into focus from too far away,
long before anything at that distance had a right to,
monopolizing eyes.
There was an audible gasp from the passersby.
Or at least it felt that way.
A form of disfigurement,
as if someone had taken a lovely face
and tampered with it until the proportions,
the lines, the feeling of it were all wrong,
in the way that perfection was wrong.
Painful to look at.
I felt sorry for her,
burdened as she was with a miracle of beauty,
so far out of the sphere
of ordinary perception
it couldn’t even be remembered.
Except as a lingering of light on my retinas.
for far too long now
he had bottled up his emotions
stuck reason to his wavelength
and built an intricate structure
in the glass bottle of his mind
a real showpiece emerged
crafted by a master sail maker
a museum piece of an anchor however
and a bell that refused to ring
so tightly was the voyage enclosed
static it towered on a fire place surround
with other less prominent trinkets
a skinny laughing Buddha and some
Russian dolls mocking his very own
Potemkin villages and a bottle of Vodka
when the vessel hit rocks once more again
and descended into an underworld of passion
it crashed on a lighthouse in passing
and the beam of confusion burnt
a hole in the glass shelter
disfigurement shone until the bottle
emerged from its molten ruins
in the shape of a lifebuoy
he had always thought that
one pull on the life line
which raised powerful trim
would adapt to winds and slackened lull
easily at the push of pure will
illusions in doldrums and thunder
storms fair weather and dolphins
rocking his boat taught him
to swim on his own
search for sea shells and driftwood
and a hut on the beach
the best part about his construction
was that the old ship had never been
seaworthy and that trial and tested error
had been worth a passage of terror
now pacified and calm near the shoreline
23rd October 2021
The best artists are outlaws
Vandalizing our sanctity,
Our sanctimonious freight trains,
Our parsimonious neglect.
The best artists are culprits
Chiseling our school desks,
Scraping our bathroom stalls,
Doodling our notebooks.
Graffiti spray paints the struggle,
Scribbling defaces the pretense,
Defilement arrests the complacent,
Disfigurement sullies the platitude.
Defacers embody the dialectic,
The opposition to conformity,
The betrayal of uniformity,
The rebellion against authority.
The best artists are pariahs,
Trashing our temples,
Tossing out our moneychangers,
Driving out our shysters.
Blood soaked disfigurement on the Cross of Love,
Etched markings of whipped cord; sinew of flesh torn
To shreds. Grimace of pain; ashen face of love
"Water! water! He cries, for I thirst. I thirst for love
For you and My Father. My body is weak and scorn
Is my food. My mouth is dry and I thirst for love"
Gazing down He cried "Father, forgive them, they
Know not what they do". Gazing heavenward He whispered
"Father, into your hands I commit My spirit." Day
Became night, incurring His rapturous hour of death
And with victory gain'd He sung His last words of life.
"It is finished" and fell asleep, now exhausted of breath.
Where now death your victory, where now death your
Sting? Can you not hear the Christ of God sing
His canticles, His psalms and glorias to His King"
Cradled now in His mothers' arms, her tears fall
Gently and mingle with her beloved Son's blood;
The sacrificial Lamb of God - Do YOU hear His call?
"Come unto Me all you who are heavy laden and I
Will give you rest and learn from Me; for I am gentle
And humble in Heart, and you will find rest for your
Souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."
Inspired by the many true crime documentaries I have watched
and in memory of Judy Malinowski, whose death set in motion
a law in Ohio called Judy’s Law, to increase punishment to those
who use accelerants leading to disfigurement in felonies.
He started out gas-lighting her -
the wicked man who loved no one
except himself. He thought he was
number one– that narcissistic sun.
He also isolated her.
To no one could she ever run
except to him – that self-important
filthy scum – a narcissistic sun.
Her sister said, “No more. No more”
and helped her see that she
was not to blame for anything.
From that brute she had to flee.
It wasn’t easy. There were kids,
but when he blackened both her eyes
and bloodied her, she knew at last
she had to cut with him all ties.
She got an order of protection,
yet she lived in constant fear.
He stalked her, and she couldn’t even
know whenever he was near.
She was his prey, his possession.
To see his ex-wife having fun
he could not tolerate because
he was a tyrant narcissistic sun.
One day he followed her to work.
She did not have a clue
when she stopped to fill her gas tank
of what he had planned to do.
Gasoline he doused her with.
What pain and terror she was forced to feel!
That narcissistic sun, so hot with rage,
ended up gas-lighting her for real.
Getting a good slot
You may have to play a lot
When experience is fed
Hours worked worried about reality debt
You arrived noted as a star
Talked about inside the local bar
Needing a transition in life
Having the power to say a my kid and wife
Taking your time
Success coming at another’s dime
Driving in
Listening to rock roll sin
Or the barking voices
Making rhetoric noises
This was the place to go
Since they said you know
About the ball you throw
Checking the hour
Glimpsing at the bank clock tower
Entering the security gate
Person inside the booth makes you wait
“I know you from the college game
Please let me know your name?”
Pushing the button to let the window down
Smiling no need for a frown
You did not lie
Telling the uniform guy
“Touchdown Tony
You know me from your flat screen Sony”
Defense trying to assist
Being the right guard checking the list
“Touchdown Tony
I know you are not a phony
Welcome to the Land of Broadcasting to the Lonely”
Taking his ride to another level
Touchdown Tony cruising like the Great Satan devil
Finding the best slot
Parking himself thinking he was still hot
Sitting there
Nothing to fear
Elevator in the midst
Up down it will go hit or miss
Suddenly a one arm bandit appears
Still having a fortune’s ability to steer
“I am so glad
You came Dad
Pull my arm give it a spin
Touchdown Tony once again you may win”
You left the car
Not showing any disfigurement scar
This is going to work
A good idea to pay the bills from the flying stork
Everyday Touchdown Tony went back
Communicating in a sound track
Observing other quarter backs
Get sacked
It was then
You decided to retire to the den
Being the perfect Ken
Barbie serving you naked wings
As she tried to sing
A lovely lullaby
Putting her child to bed not hearing a cry
Only a sigh
Knowing she married a rich guy
I do not like to see my face floating
At the foot of a ewer,
nor in drops of water, nor in the glassy eye
of a slaughtered goat.
I am beautiful, but water and cloudless gems
distort, they are torturers of disfigurement.
Since I saw my reflected beauty
I have been unable to mirror that perfection.
I have ardently endeavored
to emblazon the beacon of that first time,
when I, suffused in beams of crystalline air,
beheld my countenance clear
yet now I am caught, caulked, and diked
forever dogged by a stark magicking
from ever parading that delicate radiance,
that inaugural art of my gift,
my exquisite features.
Yet ever my mind’s eye returns
to that translucent and timeless time
that empyreal morn, so fine and fair
where I beheld what I thought was there
and believed upon it.