Long Scalpel Poems
Long Scalpel Poems. Below are the most popular long Scalpel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scalpel poems by poem length and keyword.
there's power in
the word of Our Lord
sharper than
a double-edged sword
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
It cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It can penetrate souls, spirits,
joints and marrow
temper thoughts, measure hearts
keep us on the straight and narrow
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
the power in the word of God
reveals what and who we are
the good, the bad, the ugly
our wounds our scars
reforms, transforms
never breaks
precise, concise
makes no mistakes
there's power in the anointed word of God
let it shape your actions, permeate your heart
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It's alive. It's active
sharper than a double-edged sword
for there's power in the word
that comes from our Lord
That first lone leaf twirling slowly to the ground
The first casualty in the war of this season.
One swallow does not a summer make
That one leaf shows what is to come.
Soon it will joined by so many of its comrades
Victims of the insidious sniper of the fall.
The scalpel of the East wind cuts through
The softness summer supplied.
Flowers fading, the absence of bird song
Both signalling the entombment on the way.
Hills cleanly etched against a pale blue sky
Coldly carved in the brittle brightness
Sunlight with all the warmth of a stepmother's smile
Draining the goodness of the moment
The chill of decay portends death
In that illusory cheating glint
Skeletal trees, bare fields, lowering skies
Icy frost and thick blankets of snow.
Some will not live to witness
The ritual of resurrection
But come it will
The earth shaking off its shroud
Then there will peep out
The shy green shoots
Prelude to the glories and glamour of summer
With its heady scents, rich colours and bright song.
This yearly drama plays out its four acts
To let all know everything has its season.
Depending upon where you start
It can be comedy, tragedy or farce
*
Everyone grieves in their own way ~ time will only tell if healing comes, * for some, deaths blanket; unbearable and Thanatos is nearby —poetess
*
*
Despair? so be it. *
If else, is there? how does one bear *
the cold loss, dooming despair
sadness deepens * when *
first breath taken, Reaped, listlessness creeps *
Lethargic fate what does it rate on a splinting scale?
Repress with a paralyzing scalpel *
severing deaths pathway to a pining lobe
Incase powerless, * with a lack,
while lactating breasts bleed tears
Depress with Thanatos’s betrayal *
As nipples * drip with nourishment in a holy grail *
wetted reminders that youth itself hold no leniency
The warm blanket of death betrays
a death wish, ineffectual this death drive strays
a young mother’s dreams vanish *
in thin air, * one too frail, grows pail
numbness, quietness, * and repetition,
The warm blanket of death betrays
Yet she is not * alone, but lonely
They watch the despair she holds
These spirits, soulful * a family's
surrounding * with love’s repair
*carrying * the warmth that fans
of a love true * God's plan
*
*
*
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
The first soft snows of winter falling now;
Clinically cold, the wind cuts like a knife.
The surgeon's scalpel deals a final blow
To the numb fabric of the summer's life
Whose yellow lingered in the autumn's leaves
And warmed my hopes and brightened my despair.
Threads of past winters brightly interweave
Bright music from the myths of youth time where
All things must end in joy. To cold white earth,
The crystal messengers from steel-grey sky
Assassin's tidings bring of the year's death.
The seed of hope must wait and must not die.
The circle holds its hope within its round;
In deepest Winter, Spring waits in the ground.
Kim Helen James
December 1996
How are you the aggrieved
right now madam messenger?
All this chaos was created by
the careless flapping of your lips
Wagged your tongue all nilly willy
and stirred up a storm in the process
What exactly were you expecting
when you poked a sleeping dragon?
A rotten hog is bound to raise a stink
when it finally gets debowled
You willingly roasted us in its stench
Who should we grill if not the bearer
of the scalpel
Don't shoot the messenger you say
But you happily leapt on the privilege
to shoot your mouth right then
Why give unsolicited advice
on what you haven't experienced
Do you even believe what you preach
Suddenly you are cowering back
and acting fragile
And we instantly get crowned the
aggressors as usual
Are you feeling the pain of disparity
on our behalf madam?
Why are you the victim in this?
Were you forced to bring us this
false hope dressed up as an opportunity?
Or maybe you were simply lured in
by the lucrative reward you'll reap
from playing the role of a messiah
For a cause you clearly couldn't care
less about, no doubt
What kind of person does that?
Best choose one side of the struggle
and stick by it from now on madam
you can't serve two Gods at the same time
If you feel porcelain fragile
Then refrain from spreading
any messages that you can't defend
Its as simple as that
Form:
there's power in
the word of Our Lord
sharper than
a double-edged sword
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
It cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It can penetrate souls, spirits,
joints and marrow
temper thoughts, measure hearts
keep us on the straight and narrow
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
the power in the word of God
reveals what and who we are
the good, the bad, the ugly
our wounds our scars
reforms, transforms
never breaks
precise, concise
makes no mistakes
there's power in the anointed word of God
let it shape your actions, permeate your heart
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It's alive. It's active
sharper than a double-edged sword
for there's power in the word
that comes from our Lord
In the cool, white
fluorescent light
a scalpel rasps, whispering,
insisting on detail.
A chisel flicks,
deft and sure,
snicking, razing,
in the clean steam
of icebreath.
Formless, frosty
bulbous ice
has pattern
punched into it.
An awl starts clattering,
keen steel stabbing
shards of crystal free
to shower down
as glassy shrapnel.
Ruth Amid the Corn
takes form,
growing
as matter falls away.
Final flurries of fussing,
flowers wreathed around,
and the beauty is inched
into the fug
of the banquet,
sweating.
Ruth weeps unseen,
pristine for now,
but already warming.
Her words were mumbled unprovoked and put him through the grinder
minced they were tearing apart they hurt like a dagger so he finally knew
where his heart was dismembered as it stood still one sentence then silence
No stream no consciousness emotion arrested a world destroyed broken shattered
He picked up the pieces the fragments shards of an ugly mosaic coloured in black
The cutting edge of glass penetrated into frozen blood in icy veins turning tattooing
engraving the twisted knife chopping torturing where passion kindness love
had once been the messenger grinning at the grisly gristle ground to the core
With surgical precision her scalpel incised at the flesh scarred in a flash razor
wire ligatures asphyxiating suffocating mortal wounded lost mindless soul
Denervation ensured neurochemical transmitters flowing into nothing a wide open
schism fissures fission exploding with nowhere to venture a road not yet travelled
Blessed in disguise of disaster her words grew into an unlikely story of hope of
a mixture of memories retold new pathways narration novel meaning of words
No more mill stone weighing the rope round the severed necklace of horror
he found undreamt off passion with a new soulmate and lover a poet tree in motion
Weaving kindness now sensual emotional reason scribed on paper fantasy clouds
written on dreams healing momentum of moments nights and cinnamon bark
their sizzling skins their touches feelings new found beauty make love and make
loving and making love with words and with lived meaning worthwhile again
16th June 2016
When they couldn't sedate me
And needed to cut strips of flesh
From my eyelid, I heard the sizzle
Smelled the scalpel burning as it sliced
And glimpsed the steam rising
Through a peephole under the
Sterile towel tent covering my face
Flesh harvested from my eyelid
grafted into the cavern under my eye
Pit left from digging the cancer filled
One hundred and twenty three tiny stitches later
an ice bag tapped to my head with a warning
it would hurt like hell when the Lidocaine died
I lied-I was going back to my hotel
And on that dark highway in the pouring rain
I could see well enough with one eye
Until sixty miles west on I-80
Burning hot all consuming hell, stabbing, sharp, wish I were dead
Pulled over into aq Wendover casino
To kill the pain
When I'm drinking and gambling, life doesn't hurt.
Faded away until it really wasn't there
Enough to sober up, get back in my truck
Poorer than I was--but money
Never made me happy.
You did
My emergency contact.
My ride home
Pathetic that this is your poem
You are not a bad person.
You gave yourself away.
You took yourself back.
And that's alright
I take me back, too
And like that, there's no emergency contact
No one to drive me home
And I wish you had a better poem
Than this...
I'm-hurt-you-should-feel-sorry-for-me
and my wounded heart
Attempt to what?
Get you back? Hell-no
Don't know what you were, or why
But you had to be removed
Just like the cancer in my eye--you had to go
It's not pretty and leaves a big hole
That some other part of me must fill
It's uncomfortable
And it hurts
Yeah...
and there's nobody to drive me home
But I've been through worse
I'm happy to turn the page
If there's something better for you
There's something better for me
Something better than this
Pain management poem.
That you will never read, but somehow
Makes me feel better
Adios, Felicia