Long Inflicted Poems
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Agonizing with guilt-inflicted ailment
divine healing I earnestly seek
pacifying heart
against frustration-angst
toward soothing of soul
overwhelmed by self-pity…
Indeed, in need of healing*
through the great Physician
here am I beseeching, midst supplication
pleading for wholeness-rejuvenation
along speedy recovery
since brokenness has gripped me due to despair…
As healing offered from God works in my being
miraculously, I am cured ---
against blurred vision and impaired perspective
through heavenly ointment
unveiling truth, mercy and grace
illuminating perception with hope…
With healing of pardon that brings peace
along faith’s acknowledgment
relieving pain of selfishness, apathy and pride
reducing high blood pressure caused by stress
my spirit receives restoration glow
as well as freedom toward reaching-out...
Thankful for the healing of the Almighty
I now volunteer to be one of His therapists
sharing kindness, spreading love
serving as a blessing to the hurting
while aiding the aching ones
with prayer for their comfort.
*Jeremiah 17:14 Heal me, O LORD, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved: for thou art my praise.
February 20, 2025
7th place, "Healing" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann; judged on 3/1/2025
Always turned out to be tensed,
If she hear her sons are in merse,
Wish to provide all she have to,
Inflicted with hardship,to whom does she look up to?
Sacrifice drops anytime from her sweats,
To put smiles and comfort into the children's hearts,
She doesn't get missing from that priority,
Her hope is in GOD's conformity,
"For that's where help comes from",she whispers to herself,
Tradition took all the results of the husbands effort,
Leaving nothing as source of daily bread,
Beautiful and ebonic as she was,
Feels dismayed and left alone,
The complexion and weight is gone,
"I don't care to disgrace myself in this phase,
Getting my future champions on a rightful staircase,
With extremism,stress holds me tightly,
Why am I feeling so wimpy?
Won't let my eyes deceive me,
Won't allow the ears change my plans,
Though,I don't seem to be presentable in blanks,
Will surely have a better new me tomorrow",she heeded to that remarks,
"Surely,good time awaits us,
Prayers and hardworking will surely acknowledge your strong hand after today,
The travelling has brought souls into fain,
We've being chastised,your prayers have rescued us ideally",the first son appreciated her,
On rail,poverty thought to be a pathway to meet friends,
It rather set the description membrane of class they belonged to;
Place them on,"No friends bench",
"What else do we need hence?"
Didn't know it will be at this time,
Those days when nothing made me fine,
I stepped on a broken right,
Confidence wasn't part in the early preparations,
Friendship originates when one swims in richies,
This is my daughter;she goes by your name,
A dedication to your sacrificial shame,
And this is the mum,wedded wife of mine;
You weren't able to attend our wedding ceremony in the Englishman's land,
That was the younger son,
After hours,the alarm sounded when morning approached from the sparkling sun,
Everyone rose for new story from the greatest one.
A most terrible thing that brings me to tears, attacking my innermost soul
Is the only time I ever feel that I could lose control
It is when a human being injures or harms an innocent animal
Who are these wicked evildoers, for what they have done is unbearable
For animals show unconditional love to anyone they maybe with
Such beautiful souls are sent from above, true love they will always give
It rips me apart, almost breaking my heart, when I read of such evil atrocities
I am so full of anger, feel physical pain, so helpless I feel I am going insane
These creatures should not be called human, for they are the Devil incarnate
I would lock them away for eternity, they do not deserve life, so incarcerate
But deep down inside I’m a pacifist, finding anger and rage so draining
As I visualize cruelty these morons have done, tears fall from my eyes as if raining
In an ideal world these evil scum must be punished and their freedom taken
As they rot in jail, will goodness prevail, as their conscience begins to awaken
Can they express shame, regret or remorse, for the terrible acts they committed
Could they be forgiven for the cruelty and pain on those innocent souls they inflicted
But even then, they must never again have access to all nature’s creatures
Must live their lives being supervised, in a place where only kindness features
Written1st January 2019
Competition: My Loudest Feelings
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
2nd place
Standard Contest 545
Sponsor: Brian Strand
I chanced to see a story told
of pang upon a distant shore
a secret pain who's history old
and still practiced evermore
Within this land a maidens fate
is forced upon her knowingly
wherein old women eviserate
her private parts so secretly
Six thousand maids a day are there
whose injury upon inflicted
who will decry the secret bare
and shame to those convicted
The woe to women the world around
and this is not the only one
when at home can be found
everlasting silence of the tongue
Where young maids fair must beware
of their fathers and their uncles
and two thirds of maidens share
the fate beneath their buckles
In a land whose intellect
so often held on high
and morals supposed circumspect
who will with voice decry
And some chance with wicked glance
to lay blame upon the child
though to protect should be the stance
and the purpetrator reviled
Two thirds of men within this land
do not their children feed
It's divorced women who must stand
and fill their childrens need
How many children suffer fates
How many close their eyes
How many mothers and their mates
will with voice decry
How many voice in crimson rage
will seek with choice and mind engage
how many will seed anothers mind
that to voice they'll be not blind
Ex 22:22-24
Jer 22:2-3
James 1:27
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
Smiling Spitting Deadly Sins
Son of the Devil evil and twisted when his mask falls away
Through the curtains of death he turns truth into dark lies
With horrible shadows haunting over Love's light so pure
As jealousy reveals shades of a Soul’s envy at this moment
Cunningly you crawl behind colors pride with selfish hurting
Innocence casting stones—the fruits of a hideous lurking evil
Filling you with stupid silly emotions crying crocodile tears
Hate is your playground game as the Dark One takes his souls
Weeping from the deep wounds inflicted on others at your wish
While fighting one lost battle as your words burn from the ugly
Fork of your tongue while spitting venom they become a vile
Poison in which every last drop makes one’s very skin crawl
When I see the light of truth awakening in your Soul’s eyes
I really see a Hell-Fire scorching red hot who is the real you
Your pretty tongue of thy father speaks the evil words of the
King of Lies to my heart as it is touched by the serpent’s rasp
Yet ever you can never always hide behind this perfidious mask
And such words of beauty will not always hide what lies within
The darkest outreaches of your Soul’s descent into damnation
For Love itself is a journey of the gentle divine and the innocent
But those who breathe the Hell-Fire can only fool us all so long
And when their mask falls away they speak with a serpent’s tongue
So vile and gruesome that they know not of Love as they strike and
Bring eternal pain holding the Devil’s sword with their blackened hand
Causing pain with greatest relish as they laugh heartily at the pain
Inflicted on others not really knowing what they hold in their hand
In hate and anger while striking out at all innocent souls as their
Double-edged sword waits for those from the depths of Hell itself
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quatrain)
she was like a delicate daisy
picked apart by her petals
the wounds inflicted
because she chose to settle
what she thought was good
made her colors fade
a vibrant bright white
turned brown
then grey
but as she disappeared into the ground
she planted a seed that began to sprout
a new growth was born
a new chapter
a new life
her petals reborn into that vibrant white
but now she knows what soil keeps her strong
and which hands are right
and which hands are wrong
she’s makes sure she grows roots that are deep
so she can’t be uprooted
and thrown off her feet
she blooms new petals each and everyday
the once delicate daisy
can no longer decay
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
3s
Thank You God
Thank you, God, for your love and wisdom. Even in moments of doubt, I tried to keep my faith discreet. Many times, I felt the weight of my sins, knowing that conscience is not just a guide but a compass. I speak for myself when I say that each day,
I struggle with the inevitable tasks and the pain inflicted by evildoers. Today would have been his birthday, a bittersweet reminder that evildoers cannot harm us for long if we believe in your power.
I have come too far to let regrets weaken me. I am too proud and too strong for shame or regret.
Please, always come to me when I am in doubt. Keep shining your light upon me and keep my mind healthy.
My vision is clear, and I know my children will be happy and safe. I will fight for daily strength to move forward. I will adhere to your words and find rest in your guidance. You know me better than I know myself, and I love you, Lord.
Your mercy never fails me.
I grieve for others more than I should, perhaps being too mythopoetic. I am mortal, a giver by nature, and proud of the choices I have made.
I am who I am, black by nature, and I embrace my identity with pride.
I invite this pain,
Upon myself willingly;
Plunging a sharp sword each day,
Into my own heart,
You cannot see my deep wounds;
My own self-inflicted scars.
I pen my sad words,
From a damaged weeping place;
I send my poems on wings,
Written with my blood,
Swirling in the mighty wind,
Will they land in gentle hands.
____________________________
January 20, 2016
Poetry/Sedoka/Self-Imposed Pain
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 747-585-0
Al Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Self-Inflicted,
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Third Place
Cavernous
I do not believe !, nor do I want to believe
that the delineations you pain upon the canvass’
of our, oh so brief time upon this plane together
represents the true you, the real you, the spiritual soul of you.
I wanted, so much for you to stand by me,
so much for you – upon this earth – to stand with me,
to walk with me upon the raging waters of this sea,
this life of ours, to be with me in calming these waters
these storms, storms drowning emotions, feelings, desires,
sending them into the depths, into Davie Jones’s locker.
Down, down, down to the bottom – of our hearts, our souls.
Me - my spirit has slipped into the mouth of this great Cave,
the caves within – deep, dark, dangerous, opened mouth –
where a Carcharondon Carchanis, an Orcinus Orca, awaits,
it’s stalactites downward force, piercing the upper regions
of my heart, causing great geysers of blood to fly,
it’s stalagmite stilettos, thrusting upwards
into the lower, nether regions of my bleeding heart,
piercing every fiber, every beat that vibrates to the songs
that love’s composers lay at the feet of us hopeless romantics,
songs that have become deafeningly silent to these old ears and the light of their sounds, penetrates not these old eyes
as life’s blood, drips in vain, like tear drops through a vein’s
aneurism – the wounds inflicted by these predators,
wounds ripped into the living flesh of a stilled, beating heart
as it tries to navigate a coarse between Black Shadows,
between the teeth ( stalagmites, stalactites ) of this Cavern,
I have chosen to explore – once more - for Life’s, sake.
The deeper I travelled into the interior of this Cave,
The more I realized, my feeling became even more grave.
The question became, how do I avoid the sting, the bite, stave off the inevitable, – never to love / be loved – to the grave
with all I shared, all I desired, all that I gave !
From the mists of uncertainty, from the fogs of doubts
come numerous ( hundreds ?, ) pages of enlightenment
( for the blind and the blinded ) that project, that question,
that are, even, living statements.
B. J. “A” 2
January 30th 2009