Long Scabbed Poems
Long Scabbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Scabbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scabbed poems by poem length and keyword.
The room was full of artist,
the abandoned and the lost,
and even the redundant,
all were out in force.
The mike blared bestiality,
brutality, divorce;
and even loves most precious gifts,
in angry flames were tossed.
The piercings and the black tattoos,
strobe, colored lights embraced,
the tracks of terror , tear-filled nights,
depressed upon each youths face.
Kohl black eyes in somber garb,
with scars, scabbed on wrist and souls;
in drunken haze or drugged dazed phrase,
Their stories all are told.
In rivulets of cruel crimson,
their black boils are set to lance;
leaving pale pink pock marked placards
in memories of the Dance.
The room was full of artistsans
all their arms were opened wide;
their eyes where full of wonder
their hearts so filled with pride
A pride in giving of themselves,
pride in the taking too;
for if not for tortured artists
the world would not be so true.
Scrawny Kid
Part one
Do you remember that Scrawny kid?
What’s his name in Class 4D,
Constantly holding on to himself,
Running out of class, desperate for a pee.
Never had a Handkerchief,
Always wore Green sleeves.
Spiky hair and worn out shoes,
That smell that made us heave.
Talked with a nervous stutter,
and didn’t have a special friend.
Kept forgetting his homework,
Lame excuses he couldn’t defend.
Remember when it came to Sports,
My God he got some stick,
Absolutely useless at everything,
Always the last to get picked.
His Jumper had massive holes in it,
Knees bloodied, scabbed and cut,
Couldn’t answer any questions,
Empty head, brain closed tight shut.
We knew he was going nowhere,
Just another life, under achiever.
Then my jaw dropped to the floor,
I’m no longer a disbeliever.
Part Two
Yes, that’s it, now I recall his name,
Scrawny Luke Took, from Class 4D.
Well, not so Scrawny anymore,
Torso carved like, a great Oak tree.
Not the sort you’d push around,
Runs a Gym down Knightsbridge way.
Tailor made suits, slick black hair,
and a motivational speaker, they say.
Married to a Hollywood Actress,
Drives a flashy Ferrari Car.
Has his own range of fragrance,
One thing is true, he’s definately gone far.
His handkerchiefs are made of silk,
Sleeves of finest Green Kashmir,
No longer that nervous stutter,
Oozing confidence for all to hear.
Never did his homework, way back then,
But clearly didn’t do him no harm.
The perfect city gentleman,
With a wealth of talent and charm.
So, he didn’t have an empty head,
And knew where is destiny lay,
Don’t be fooled by the Scrawny kid,
He’ll be better than us all one day.
My heart is depleting, it is becoming thin and fragile.
I can feel it slowly crumbling.
The pieces have started falling to the floor.
They instantly shatter.
I try to pick them up,
yet my fingers are sliced from the shards of black glass.
I want to collect all the pieces,
put them back together to make my heart Whole and beautifully alive again,
but I continue to slash my fingers wide open.
I’m unable to put it all back how it once was.
Without my beating heart I have no energy, no love to give.
I want to lay down and not think at all.
I don’t want the small fragment that is barley still dangling,
to fall and shatter,
continuing to building upon all the tiny particles below.
The Pieces on the floor are now soaked in blood and tears.
I feel I may never recover.
I no longer know who I am or why I am even here.
Everything seems lost, dark and horribly hopeless.
I pray that the one shred of this coal heart will turn pink and grow.
That somehow it can expand and create a new heart,
a stronger heart that will beat loud and full of pure love.
I have given myself healing time to process everything.
The tears from my eyes are finally dry,
the sliced fingers wounds are now healing.
I can see clearly now,
I look upon the lifeless broken pieces of my heart,
still clustered on the floor.
I can see that they no longer serve me.
My heart had turned so weak and frail because it was not reviving any love.
I put my freshly scabbed fingers to my chest,
to feel the flicker of the one piece of heart still hanging on.
I close my eyes and send pure love to it.
I realize I need to love myself and love my heart,
that is what it needs to grow and become whole.
Self love,
being completely excepting and fully in love with me is the answer!
It’s so obvious to me now,
I’m grateful for my old neglected heart,
it is no longer trying to survive off the love of others,
scared when it didn’t receive any,
for now I don’t need it.
I have myself and that’s who completes me.
I thank the shards as I sweep them off the floor,
my feet are now ready to dance upon where they once lay,
so thankful that the body I never thought would want to get up again is thriving,
flourishing once more!
the blood is pounding in my ears,
The sounds of the cafeteria are utterly drowned out.
Her round, pink lips, mouthing obscenities at me
As her fists rain down on my face and chest,
Legs straddle me, scabbed knees on broken tile.
I should be in pain,
But I am elated, finally, she touches me.
Her short red and brown hair is matted against
Her face. Salty sweat and tears trickle onto my shirt.
The blood from my broken nose and busted lips
Cover her blouse.
I am at home with her pain-other students, not
Understanding, gather around our scene. Hateful,
Piercing blue eyes hidden behind a sheen of tears.
I have long since let her vent, shaking
She falls forward, her arms around my neck.
Carrots and Grilled cheese scattered
Around the dodge ball line, where our
Bodies lay still. She sobs.
My eyes swell, a reddish pink that will darken
To lavender, a mouth full of copper blood is what
I deserve. Hot, sticky fluids soaked clothes
Like a feverish dream, our bodies convulse;
Memories like a highlight reel flash as a custodians
Calloused hands bring a mop and bucket.
Blood pools around, a thick aroma wafts into hearts.
I didn’t mean to hurt her, I shouldn’t
Have said what I said. He was a fool,
He never loved you.
He was our best friend
Her Ode to Joy, my partner in crime,
A hero to me, her first crush.
There’s a surprise in all flesh
And I hope one day she finds it.
I have conversed with the common man
in warm and well-worn pubs.
I have been a ribald, and a leery lout,
a seducer of barmaids.
I have been common,
the way a city pidgin is common,
its scabbed claws a common sight,
slipping in and out of poorly lit doors.
Poets are born poor, poorly treated,
and poorly thought of.
The wealthy used to be poets,
but their intelligence
was pawned and loaned to them
by the winking, wicked streets.
They made daffodils out of dog,
many swooned,
but the common people,
we spat out their perfumed souls
for they were distasteful,
much more so
than the knowing fools I talk to
in the most common of pubs.
Dare ye! Dare ye!
Dare ye unlock the tomb
release the musty words of fear
unleash the vitriol of anger
upon the rusted lockset
Freedom does not free one
from the mind’s dungeon
nor sweeten the stench
of clutched bitterness
Dare ye step away
deny the bindings power
to entrap us as we flee
the burden of being free
Scars are not the price we pay
only reminders of its sting
scabbed testament to a will
that would not bend
Dare ye breathe
the breath of who we are
leave behind the shadow
of what we had become
Shed tears that cleanse
blurred opaque vision
smile through the pain
of joy’s remembrance?
©John G. Lawless
4/5/2017
The bark was almost the color
of charcoal and too rough
for a boy to grip and hold on
to climb without bare skin
being grazed and scraped
back to bloodied welts.
The trunk was scabbed in gum
oozed out of old wounds.
That almond was the tallest tree
in the backyard, its height
remained unconquered.
Come August it was first
into blossom and gave
the sweetest smell to seal
the last of winter's musty damp.
By the end of summer its shells
were hard as granite
and a miscued strike by a hammer
on a brick to crack would send
the nut flying off like a bullet.
Once cracked, the kernel
was almost tasteless
and not worth the effort.
It was there to service the needs
of the other almond trees.
Stretched beneath its spread,
a carpet of nasturtiums kept traffic
away from its base. One hot afternoon
a brown snake broke from the flowery
cover and slid across the lawn.
My father cut it in half with a shovel.
It hung draped over the clothesline
all afternoon, its glassy eyes
fixed in a constant stare
towards the other half
of its severed self.
That almond tree holds an uneasy
place in memory. It stands
unconquered, taller and deep
in its own dark, always aloof,
its perfumed blossom hiding
whatever lays coiled at its feet.
Shattered glass around my feet
Fog against sliding glass doors
Murky shapes moving all around
Like half formed thoughts
Congregating outside
Peering inside
With glowing scarlet eyes
Scabbed hands upon the glass
Blood drizzles in streaks
With a start I realize
Blood runs ankle deep
Clouding my nostrils
I puke and the smell is putrid
And when I open my eyes
I'm falling from the Heavens
Towers are mere pinpricks
The sun shimmers
I behold the curvature of earth
Bells ring in my mind
And I'm standing on the ledge
Of a magnificent cliff
Overlooking the raging sea
I see myself falling
So I jump from the ledge
Squeezing my eyes shut
And when my eyes open
I'm all alone in my room
My heart aches when I look up at the night sky.
I miss my goddess, but she just won't reply.
She knew how I felt inside;
She knew that without her attention, I’d die.
So she took care of me, encouraged me to change
Ready to love the man I’d become.
I failed her.
I could not change, at least not quickly enough for her patience.
Sometimes I wonder if her patience was too timid, too little.
Most times, I blame myself — what if my heart was too brittle,
And her loving, smothering hands unintentionally shattered it to pieces?
What if she cut her long, pale fingers
Trying to piece the shards back together like a jigsaw?
On many a night, the “ifs” torture my mind,
Like maggots that fret constantly on a scabbed wound,
Cruel thoughts that remind me I’ve been a fool.
A goddess cares for her jester.
She cares for those who place her happiness above all else.
She listens to his tales many a time under the lunar sphere,
She tells her court of his japes,
The letters, poems, and songs written for her eyes and hers alone,
Sung for her ears and hers alone,
Transformed into japes:
Instruments of adoration, amusement, and jealousy for her court.
A court of ambitious men, ready to enter through any crevice in her heart.
A court of parasitic women, leeching off her popularity and beauty,
For any association with her is a gift from the gods.
A goddess cares for her jester — but too many japes make her
Apathetic towards him.
Of her inner court, the jester is the first she’d lose.
I was your jester.
I was your fool.
Even now, I’m still a sucker for your remnants.
I refuse to accept my axing from your court.
I eagerly await your visits on my glass screen,
Analyse your statements for subtle clues that you may want me to return.
In doing this, I prove I am a fool.
Have I not matured from the boy I was at school?
Cynthia, Selena, goddess
My heart aches when the lunar sphere illuminates half the world.
Its monochrome rays remind me of my abrupt axing.
I was tossed over your castle walls as I slept,
Forever exiled.
Without warning, cast out.
Perhaps for stirring a storm of feelings in your heart
That you weren’t ready to weather.
If I could hear your thoughts, find closure,
There’s a chance I’d heal better.
Be My Guardian, My Fearless Guide
Lend Me An Ear for My Beckoning Cries
Prodigal Pilgrim Prevailing
Where Grace and Mercy Abide
Grace Sufficiently Abstracting Fears
Throughout The Changing Ambiance
Star Seed Parlance, A Gifted Chance
Yea, Bared Feet In the Valley Of Tears!
Landscapes Adorned With Banners Of Ostara
Cobbled Stoned Road, I Thread on the Beaten Path
Inking My Sorcery, Spilling My Heart
Nobility in Meek Humility
Guide Me Gently, Safely
For I am A Traveler Seeking Refuge
Refugee Granted Reprieve, On Bruised, Scabbed Knees
Braced My Joachim and Boaz
I Shall Fear No Insecurities In the Valley of Tears!
Redeemed By Dawning Hope, For I Often Stray Along the Way
Wandering, Wistfully, In Euphoric Bliss, Despair at Bay
Thirst Replenished By The Well of Words that Never Runs Dry
Flooded River Reviving The Roots Of The Ever Fertile Trees
Of The River's Bountiful Side
Bearing Fruits in Destined Time
Governed by The Council Mazzaroth Constellation
Sacred Matron and Paternal Provider Conceiving Salvation
Springing Forth, Under the Dog Star's Intent, Germination
Renewed By Dawn's Dew, With Due Care
Consciously Sincere, Noonday Clear
Consecrated Sweetly In the Valley of Tears.