I chewed my fingernails to the nubs
and then worked on all my fingers
until my hand had only stubs.
I'm nervous, and the feeling lingers.
I'm hiding in the shrubs.
I've got heebie-jeebies so severe,
I bit off both my hands and each arm.
What is causing all this fear,
that I would engage in this self-harm?
I'm so afraid I'll disappear.
I looked out the window, and I saw a cloud,
as I sat at my desk, and wondered aloud,
"What will I do for this fellow named Bartley?"
My brain is all used up - well, at least partly.
My thinker was once quite good at thinking,
but lately, I notice, it's started to stinking.
I got so nervous, I started to bite
all of my fingernails, both left and right.
I bit them all down to small tiny nubs.
Now how can I write with ten little stubs?
Next, I decided to pull out all my hair,
but on top of my head, I found nothing there.
In order to write, I got an strange inkling,
I needed an electrocardial zinkling,
but zinklings, I found, cost quite a lot,
twenty five cents more than my pockets have got.
I'm sorry my thinker thunked out. I sure am.
It has all the sense of green potatoes and ham.
If only I could have written more smartly.
Well, here is my poem, Benjamin Bartley.
Black lashes
blown off of a fingerpad that throbs
in tandem with an overharvested eyelid
flit to the floor—
wasted wishes
manufacted in mockery of dandelion's dance.
Keratin cracks
beneath the pressure of enamel,
exposing weak, watery skin
on trembling fingertips—
nervous nibbles
evolved into voracious, cannibalistic cravings.
Though hope
fractures under the weight of repugnant gazes
and my unsightly nubs grasp blindly for pigments to suppress
these habitual shames—
flesh forgives
more than the self, and, like a forest after a fire, it grows back.
It always grows back.
Rosa the gem of flowers
the queen of every plant,
in spring she wears her fineries,
her beauty the eyes enchant.
Her colours are so attractive blushing with every hues,
her aroma is so romantic
to every love a muse.
Her greenish dress is gorgeous covering her prickly stem,
her glossy leaves are oval,
matching her precious gem.
As summer slowly approaches
and spring will disappear,
her rose buds,
as greenish nubs
will start to reappear.
With time her trunk will nourish
and her buds will have matured,
her tender petals shall slowly reveal beauty of great allure.
She’s found in every garden
and sits in every vase,
the site of Rosa in all events does leave a happy trace.
Saleh Ben Saleh
Crazy rabbits chomping on my lettuce
Deer eating the flowers right down to their nubs
Woodpeckers drilling right through the siding
Armadillos rooting in search of grubs
Squirrels trying to climb down the chimney
Possums and racoon dumping out the trash
Coyotes yip yapping all through the evening
Groundhogs under the shed hoarding their stash
Most times the back yard smells just like a skunk
The cat keeps bringing dead birds to my door
The neighborhood dogs bark when the wind blows
That’s country life in all of its splendor.
Slick it down with wax
It fits a crook
Tho' it could also be
a circus-master's look
Let it grow long, wooly and wild
It's an over-age, curly-haired child's
Squish it together into three teen males' little nubs
Presto! -- a psychotic 'student rifle club'
Eliminate its last faint trace
A dapper gent your life has just graced
A moustache is versatile, you will agree
be it 'barbershop-quartet-ish' or a deep mystery
I have less fingers,
my thumbs are hump-backed turtles.
We are a peculiar odor of skin flakes.
We are a smoking club,
cigarettes are tucked between nubs.
Blue smoke bleeds from our gums.
Nothing here is as it was or should be.
A young white man visits us, his Thai is poor,
we laugh at his accent.
He looks at my feet,
He pokes his long nose
into my sores
I resent him. …if he heals one ulcer
I know another will come.
I listen as he struggles for the right words,
smile and nod. He does not know yet -
there are no right words.
Nubs and dents and chips and strings
Imperfect world that burns and stings
Dings and scratches, holes and bends
Those flawed existence dividends
Cuts and bruises, broken bones
People that the world disowns
Paupers, cowards, plagues and kings
Imperfect world of many things
I have been officially transmogrified into an obsession queen.
I cannot stop singing this song, which is stuck in my dendrite highway.
Not a problem if I had a singing voice, or if I could sing quietly.
Here is the deal. I sing it loudly, proudly at an unbelievable decibel level.
The neighbors have called the police three times.
They have threatened to arrest me.
The last time I had an obsession like this, I masticated my teeth to nubs.
Would a cell help? Matters not. I cannot stop myself.
Dead inside
Growing up in a home with little love and a mother who distanced herself and always felt she had to push me away.
No hugs or kisses or tucked in at night...….just shut up or go outside and play.
Then the awkwardness of getting nubs for breast and being watched by step dad number three.
Wondering what in the world I could be doing wrong?
Thinking there has got to be something wrong with me!
I wanted attention and love but not in this way but also knowing that mother will never believe me over him.
So I continue to let him and keep my mouth shut-
Constantly feeling as if I'm living in sin.
So as the days turn into weeks and the weeks soon turn into years.
My beautiful heart gets colder with time...…
And my eyes have begun to shed their last tears.
What its like to be dead inside...…
I hope and pray that you never do see.
For I wouldn't wish anyone the hell that I endured as a child.
I would never wish on you what happened to ME!!!!!!
Work, work, work ... write, write, write
Pour your dark, deep, love-scarred being out
Put all the imagery, phrasing and thought you know into each line
Craft each word and phrase and stanza with careful creativity
Go the extra mile with each element required
And then go even further - format, title, attending image
Stand back, finally, and be proud of the result
For it is your heart and soul there on paper
Though others may not see it ...
Learn to recognize the excellence and insight
And all that you've invested in that piece of your spirit
Because it's guaranteed in this wonderfully wide and jaded world
That it will be marginalized and snubbed
So take that bitter pill and swallow hard, thus
And let it be the drug to motivate and enrich you
Even more ...
Let disregard be the whetstone ... that sharpens your pen!
Baby buds sprang up last night
All over my verdant yard
Lilac buds, lambs ear, red bud tree buds too
Little nibs and nubs of green in every hue
The wind chimes are going crazy
And some of my spinners are twinkling clear
Seventy-five degrees today,
Maybe spring is finally here?
cacophony ceased as the children licked their candy canes down to nubs
12/13/2018
PROCRASTINATION
Whence studying takes you where you don’t want to go...kicking and screaming in tantrum, lackadaisical, with need for cleansing and refreshment. Mind takes mini trails to anywhere. The task must be accomplished at some point and with fervor but not today. Not tomorrow...not before Thanksgiving vacation. But after that will look for those needles or nettles in a haystack, pick my teeth and continue the grind, probably wearing them down to the nubs. An A student shoots for a B or C because this class has not been my thing.
procrastination —
unpleasantries that destroy
one’s spirited smile
11/11/2018
HUMANITY
Humanity, do we believe in you? Can we find the divine
Underneath the newborn flesh? The coat of many colors -
Mankind manifested by God’s breath, begins so sweet.
Ailing from the sin of disobedience, an array of nails - rusted
Nubs on hands and feet. Christ transposed it all. The
Innocent lamb - his humanity pleading, teardrops bleeding,
Tethered to His love for all - helpless & hopeless humanity.
Yes, i believe! In humanity’s salvation - the rainbow’s haloed grace.
11/14/2017
Contest: Humanity Acrostic/John Hamilton
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