Long Lacerations Poems
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More often, this soul stretches
farther than the breath of a moon....
and through jaded eyes,
I saunter on the ledge of woodland,
past time's curfew and sharp lacerations
from kin's betrayal : a wanton walk
glazes the ripeness of cherries----
that such pageant from susurrus of woods
weaves a new , disparate tune.
I twirl along pebbles and sand,
kindling night's liniment
glorious as the slow climb of dusk...
this shard of pain spewing a wanton blaze
--radiant like a celestial star rising
from chambers, healing my ache
and waking pewter stones
while I half- slumber in a lull...
and I wrap my navel in soft linen,
the flickering, feathering night
differently cloaked in such nourished balm.
--I must be changed, my world honoring piety,
a lesson on life's lesion imbued through
the fragrant balm of my long , journey's song.
she heard the sound of pigeons overhead
looking up she saw them whirling and gyrating
forming ever emerging patterns in the sky
they soared on and on
until they turned into black dots in the blue
such sights would have sent her to raptures
sometime back......
but now when she sees them
she can only think of the years speeding by
and the chances missed
her whole life- a fading black dot!
she is infected with a virus of melancholy
she walks with lacerations in her soul
pain consumes her without flame
forever she wages a battle inside,
to drive out the demons of dejection
but she feels as if a sharp knife
is cutting right through her heart
and she winces at every chop
though she tries hard to cover her bruises
they bleed red and make themselves known
pain has sucked her out
in a leaking vessel, she collects her tears
to water the parched terrain
of her drought stricken domain
light has sorely betrayed her
and now she lives in perpetual darkness
fighting with black shadows
day in and day out with a broken heart
that can never be mended!
A Brian Strand 1096 Poetry Contest
Placed Fifth
Feb.26.2022
Some Broken Hearts Never Mend Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Faraz Ajmal
That moment
That perfect moment
Where time became eternal
I saw
I opened my blinded eyes and saw
The expanse of your soul
To reword
To match time stricken words to an eternal glimpse
Absurd
So, I write
I write without reason
Flowing with the ink blotting the page
I ran
I ran around - all around
Into darkened corners and wounded places
I knocked down fortified walls
Cleaned up forgotten issues
Dressed open lacerations
With my arsenal of
WORDS
I SPOKE
I sang
I hummed
I belted out notes from the depths of my soul
I lit you up
And I giggled as I watched you shine
You skipped with glee at the sight of
ME?
I tried
Oh how I tried
To climb out and walk away
I yelled - I cannot be here -
You belong to another
But you offered me no ladder
So…I…
Stayed
I played
I played with words
Rearranging, inventing, creating
New ways to express…love
It was ok
I mean…I was just playing…with love
Not your
Marriage
One day
One beaconing reckoning day
She saw your light steps
Almost dancing with your secret
Play with love in words
With me - not her-
The invader
You didn’t withhold
But you didn’t invite either
I gave her my words too
She read, fed, and bled
I stood still
In awe of my
Words
I rewrote
I rewrote them again and again
But she couldn’t play
Fear had bound her soul
Some of my words reached her
Then, she decided
To kick me
OUT
She expelled me from hers
And expunged me from yours
She tried to push me far away
I stood in silence and
~ grieved ~
Your lighted steps
Became a plod
Her concern
Entered into rage
I put myself
To rest
In my Savior’s arms
Written by Trudy Schrader on 7-6-10
It's always those who reside in our hearts,
whose words, like lightning,
electrocute our soul,
and in each pain there is a lesson.
Her life was like a room without a view,
those 'rainy day' eyes,
could have formed a deep river,
but no ship sailed upon it,
to carry me to her
and I would have kissed away every tear.
Misplaced, I could feel her yearning,
for a home, she had never known,
confused and lost, but her silence,
left her trapped in burdensome meadows,
and I wonder if I could have shown her the way.
From the silent echoes of her tongue,
I could feel the malady of her spirit,
feel the lacerations piercing her heart.
If only my words could have soothed her,
but even they could not save her.
As the lights dimmed,
silent stars became the nature of my poetry,
I asked the moon why?
but clouds covered his expression.
Now my mind is a time machine
of her memories, her voice still haunts,
as I ponder if the thunder will persist,
because I'm too afraid to close my eyes.
Simple Musing
Silent One
4 October 2018
Jack and Jill went up the hill
This was never in dispute
It was how Jack fell down
With severe lacerations to his crown
That the jury had to conclude
Jill had a bun in the oven
The news was all over town
The bakers' wife was aghast
Her husband and his shady past
He liked a cream tart
Though, when cautioned down the red-light district
Cream was never mentioned in the Constables statement
Back to that ill-fated day on the hill
Jill says Jack was going down, on her
He was certainly on the edge
A couple walking their dog, state the baker was on the ledge
This was later dismissed when the couple admitted they didn’t have a dog
This was light relief for the jury in this sorry affair
Mrs Black didn’t turn up to church on Sunday
The stand in vicar didn’t know this, being new
All hell broke loose as the witness swore
Jill gave birth on the floor
A black child appeared
There was uproar
The baker shouted to his wife, with a frown
Three women stood up
So he sat down
They all turned to the bench
The Judge was holding his gavel
Somewhat in despair
DNA later found traces of poor Jacks hair
The Judge was taken down, mumbling
She said she was on the pill, Jill
That was the end of this sorry tale
Though the papers ran amok
Mondays headline read
Jack and Jill went up the hill, with the folks of Trill for an orgy and thrill
But things got out of hand
The Judge saw red, and whacked Jack dead
And they all came tumbling after.
Blistering drought assembles vacant sun stroke’s radiance
An empty solar ray’s destruction leaves waxing shadows of a doubt
Jennifer’s mental wheel chair is leaking slimy midnight oil
A candle burnt at both ends struggles like thundering whiplash
Metastases have bound her ice-cold soul and vacant mind
Malignant growth revels in cachectic apathy like frosty fire
Passion torched and skinned alive dwells raw in molten agony
Her soul eclipsed fragmented memories have replaced
Once vibrant sparkles suffocated and deprived of joy
Neoplastic gloom’s surrender has high-jacked myriads of love
Lonely lacerations have captured her Self and World and Future
Metastases conform on auto pilot inhabited by grief sadness sorrow
She feels lobotomized but the surgeon’s knife cannot dissect
The hollow solid growth of malignant cantankerous co-optation
For when the topic of her cancer strikes the cure evades salvation
At times the scorching heat unleashes flashing floods of tenterhooks
Incinerates the one remaining hope that terminal means lasting Peace
Environments are feeble though and as she grasps Pandora’s box
Boards falling rapids lets go and meanders to a novel solar system
Evening settles evermore again as Jennifer settles for a rising moon
29th May 2019
Alarm bells sounded in his head
Relentless ringing
Waking him in the night
As though a train of doom was approaching
Each second growing louder
He turned to see
There was no train, there was a woman
A woman with a hooked tongue
A metal hooked tongue, chasing him
Up the stairs, trying to escape
Any second to feel the lacerations
Screams, futile screams
Could not be summoned
Thumping hearted desperation overcame him
And there it was, he felt it
It was too late
Then of course, he realized
His wife had just awakened him
She could not sleep with all that noise
And she reminded him to
Put the trash out in the morning
Life is the struggle
The struggle is life
Destination is death
The journey, a knife
Lacerations, sporadic
Quota keeps you afloat
Everyone's an addict
There's no antidote
Each soul has a fire
That burns within
A need to feel higher
Just around the bin
No matter the effort
You'll never quite achieve
Dreams, they flirt
deceiving to believe
Things will be better
Or so you think
You only get wetter
Before long, you've sank
If only we could stop
The train of thought
Precisely crop
The things we've been taught
Easier to swallow
The existence capsule
With expectations low
And a cup, slap full
Overflowing with emptiness
And peace, just being
Imagination at rest
No peripheral seeing
Dreams dismissed
Dreamers banished
No need for a list
The future has vanished
Dark misery
how you wrap my heart
like a black cat around the leg
waking world thrust back into dream
vaccume un-escapable
i fall backwards
into your dark embace
slowly i sink , deep into your blackness
i feel the air course through my fingers
air rushing around my ears
as i decsend into this mist of tears
burn down my face
lacerations in thier wake
tears like blades
tears of dispair
i reach for the sun
now a tiny point of light
i see it's folly
in this black night
i look up and there you are
eyes hollow as death
you are made of a billion stars
glistening upon your midnight coat
Form:
Skulled hill
supports
the lifted
standard;
skull bent
and dark;
naked for
all who travel the high–way to see those exposed:
the arrogant, the proud; the humble and forgiven;
the one who forgives the most needs no forgiving.
Red sealed
and stained
with filthy
lacerations;
suspended
with spikes
on toothed
roughhewn
dry kindling
envisioning
the fires of
hades itself
trouncing on
the carnage.
I accept and
make it my
own. The Cross.