Short Birthmark Poems

The infancy of evil,
infirmities youth
Children surrendered
—caught in its truth

(Dreamsleep: November, 2021)...

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Written By Gail DeBole on October 10, 2014

Grey birthmark shape -
Engraved on a cloud of white...
What would Roschach think?...

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Genetics,
our cruelest mistress
the herald’s phantom
In fated shadow
a birthmark staining
—our darkest pall

(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)...

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Although gently adored,
I leave you to be free
in your own madness
as this is your birthmark---
My love did not cut your umbilical chord.


Contest of PD, any poem under 5 lines #1...

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Kiss the midnight sky!
I remember who you are.
Sow the seeds of sorrow,
Of a written birthmark scar.
Why are you so wistful?
You asked, it can’t be said.
Eternal rotten romance,
Running through my head....

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Freckled hands
Prominent blue veins
Lucky wrist bracelets
Swollen finger.
Spider bite scar.
Stubby fingernails.
Birthmark.
Holding
Clapping
Plucking.
Wrapping.
Painting.
Cooking.
Lifting.
Shaking.
Perpetually busy.
Prominent blue veins
Freckled hands...

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The Fish and the Hook,

Birthmark of a man,

A Fisher of Men,

Return-eth again,

Expected to change,

the fate of the damned,

Thy Will  becomes Faith,

 Our  Lord's coming is planned!

Don Johnson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkXYvn41K2Y...

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Outside, the still 
of crickets.
Inside, petals
of a cold sore 
foliate,
a boutonniere 
for full lips.
Looking up, I tell her 
two eggs, basted, 
hash browns,
coffee now.
Later on, 
she says
the birthmark
I found 
south of her navel 
she’s had 
all her life.


Donal Mahoney...

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Meet a gender bender.
There was a precocious 
revolt.

A cryptogamic kinship.
Someone writhes 
ecstatically.

A god writes a hymn 
on the chest of
a new born baby.

Beyond the origins
lies a marbled tale.
You have reached nowhere.

Inflammable was
the blue birthmark.
There was an arrival.


Satish Verma...

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I hope your pen bleeds
And ruins your tweed
Stains your skin
Gets infected
Makes you ill
And you spill your jello
Get a scuff
On those new white shoes
I hope your birthmark
Turns out to be shaped like Kalamazoo
I hope I get kooky
When I get mad
And write silly stuff
Instead of firing 
A bazooka
At your Humvee...

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You are no longer black,
But I am white.
Your lips are no longer thick,
 But mine are thin.
Your language is no longer foreign.
Yet  I am.
***
What was mine has become Yours.
There is no longer a distinction.
Just as my skin no longer acts as a distinction between You and Me.
I wear You in the lining of my skin,
Like a birth mark....

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it is i
which
wish and

so do
ask to
see your

scenic
views and
gasp driving

my eyes
and tongue
down your sharp

curves
with no
gardrails

but
suddenly
i slam my

breaks
and drive
back backwards

for did
i pass a
birthmark

or a
mole
left turn

right
breast
best viewed

with the
setting
sun...

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The birthmark of Satan
a spherical star
Old curse in the distance
new devils at war  

His prophecy stolen
the markings of Cain
Madonna the virgin
rebirth unattained 

Melody of darkness 
blasphemies hymn
The garden left burning
original sin

Tomorrow in mourning
this moment on fire 
The lamb off the altar
—redemption expired

(Dreamsleep: May, 2023)...

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It was a dirty war 
of moat 
flaying the legs in emotional outburst.

No stings.
Only mandibles will do the job of chewing
on your dark fingers. 

Flat, the taste of milk: 
a synthetic formula to eat your entrails.
The plastic nose will smell the rose.

Unbuttoned,
message will bring the fishplates 
and birthmark of violence. 

Death has a cult of contusions. 
You bleed to bones
for illuminating the street. 



Satish Verma...

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I wear love like a birthmark, 
With pride on my breast, 
This dance until dawn, 
Bids it sweat and salsa, 
Silently sway, 
Then delirium scream. 

Dancing till dawn with 
All the people I love, 
Avalanches my heart, 
Carries me away 
On wings of snow-blind doves 
In perfectly framed abandon. 

Dancing till dawn with 
All the people I love; 
I would tender my soul 
For this timeless instant 
To chain the end 
at bay....

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Like me,
 my Poetry is far from perfect
  —a verbal oxen gored

Like me, 
 my words are often frail and broken
  —still crying to be heard

In me, 
 the message has found its student
  —to humbly expound

In me, 
 the truth can accept a birthmark
  —for a promise more profound

Unto me,
 the burden is left to finish
   —my life to pledge headlong

Unto me,
  the words now free, unsentenced
    —change imperfectly to song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)...

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Like me,
 my Poetry is far from perfect,
 —a verbal oxen gored

Like me, 
 my words are often frail and broken,
 —still crying to be heard

In me, 
 the message has found its student,
 —to very humbly expound

In me, 
 the truth can accept a birthmark,
 —for a promise more profound

Unto me,
 the burden is left to finish,
 —my life to pledge headlong

Unto me,
  the words now free—unsentenced,
  change imperfectly to song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)...

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