Short Gouge Poems

Boiled until they float
A little Crystals and salt
Perfect spoon wont gouge

By Robb A. Kopp...

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Nobody likes my poems
I do not know why
Think I'll grab a knife to stab
Myself in the eye.

Nobody likes my poems
I only sniff and pout
Think I'll soon pick up a spoon
And gouge my eyeballs out....

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Gouge the eyes from its sockets
Grate at the flesh
Chip at the bone
Scrape at the marrow
Churn out the intestines
Carve out the remains
Snip at the veins
Drain out the blood
Hack at the crown
Hollow the skull
What are you hiding beneath all of this?...

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Love cannot be destroyed
She comes in all shapes and sizes
She comes in smiles and in tears

You can hurt her, maim her, gouge her
But you cannot destroy her
Her memory is forever 

And she precedes you into death,
and back into a new circle of life
Love...

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eating ourselves alive
gnawing on our own cold skin
ripping and tearing it away
throwing our arms in the air
pleading to take my life away
gouge out my eyes
no longer seeing myself
not seeing the lies
blood red stains crusted on my hands
hair clenched in each fist
bald spots on my bleeding skull...

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Don't steal diamonds
From underneath chest

In these stillness islands
They lie in absolute rest

We the ravens will gouge out
your eyes, keep off green peace sprout





September 29, 2019
Make IT Six Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Prompt: picture 2: Ravens in Graveyard...

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Some cut gently.
Barely making a line
Up the inside of their arm
Admiring the tiny red droplets 
That form along the line

They are pussies.
I want to cut off a finger 
Or gouge my face 
With a screw driver.
It’s a face I hate.
My father’s face.
He is a pussy.

Some say they hate themselves.
I hate them 
They do not even know
What hate is.
I sharpen my knife.
And go get my screw driver....

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I WOULD RATHER

I WOULD RATHER
GOUGE OUT MY EYES
THAN LOOK AT YOU AGAIN

I WOULD RATHER 
BUST MY EAR DRUMS
THAN HEAR YOUR VOICE

I WOULD RATHER
CUT OFF MY NOSE
THAN SMELL YOUR SWEET FLESH

I WOULD RATHER
RIP OUT MY TOUNGE
THAN TALK OF YOU

I WOULD RATHER
SLICE OFF MY LIPS
THAN KISS YOUR JUICY LIPS

I WOULD RATHER
TEAR OUT MY HEART
AND CRUSH IT IN PIECES
THAN FEEL ANYTHING 
FOR YOU AGAIN


(c) GDC 2014...

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Is friendship so shallow
that a word could dent
its body twice deeply, 

so not even a blemish 
could then show and release

imagining the dig far more
than a surface gouge, but a mortal wound, 
deep as the shallow heart is above all true depth of
loving mystery?

I think not! For the friendly
heart will never fester, what
the mind will not entertain – 

not a word, not a phrase
not a volume could true
friendship maim!...

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TIBET

My country is my heart.
The land is my body.

People came with sharp machines.
Maiming my limbs,
Dismembering my insides.

Without permession,
Without pay. 

My soul is forced out of my body.
My blood turns rancid, poisonous.

They gouge deep wounds over my body.
My tears are as rain.

I want to protect me.
I feel too weak.

I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.

I, so powerless under Chinese violation.
I am in excruciating pain.

Can you hear my cry?...

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They tenderly kissed
To seal the bond,
To mend their ties
They felt so fond.
I soundlessly loathed
And stood in my place.
I wanted one night.
I wanted her face.
My mind will drift
As they cut their cake,
I'll open his chest 
And drink in their fate.
I'd burn down the chapel
And hang from a beam.
I'd gouge out his heart
Just to hear her scream.
I'll fill up my cuts
With sugar and acid,
I'll die on the floor
And let the watchers pass us....

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Often a country will plough over its dead.
Flowers planted; parks landscaped
over the biographies of the brave.
To read the fallen, to honor the dead and the living
we must gouge out the forgetting,
shake the roots of heaven, name the roll call
of each damnable war one hero at a time,
one loss at a time -
for each survivor there is always some loss.
Bless the memory, write down the word 'freedom'
as if we who stay at home
had always fought for it....

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To drink from the chalice of loneliness
filled with my passion's pain
taken from the crooked hand of age
clenched by the years of love's soul
its wormwood draught is less bile that stains
to let spill and wash the earthen floor of time
where my heart now lives
in its dim-lit realm of shades
where shadows cloak the darkness
and tomorrows fade away
I'll gouge out the grieving globes
that is my eyes...so I may only hear
my rambling rumblings of rumination
of why you died 


3/2/18...

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