Short Pick At Poems

Medics once diagnosed girls
  who'd pick at their food as anemic

Advances in medicine conclusively show
  that all along they were anorexic-bulimic...

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Life moves on 
but I dont think I do. 
You can seal the bandage
but I pick at the wounds. 
Life moves on 
but I dont think I do.
You can walk away
but Im still burried in you....

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In a zone
as I pick at my flesh
raw and bleeding
in a zone
as I claw at my heart
soul receding
in a zone
as I tear at my mind
still Im needing
in a zone
as I fall to my knees
hear me pleading
in a zone
as I go in for the kill
begin the feeding...

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Woody Wood-Pecker


Does anybody remember the cartoon Wood Wood-Pecker?
Always used to laugh, do, play and sing to say so what the hecker
The show sure did last
He surely did fast
And did you know he’d really never and pick at your pecker.

Written: 1/30/15
Theresa Marie...

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roadside leaves
are tired of  torture
every vehicle passing
slaps its face hard
a child fond of leaves
brutally plucks some
herd of  goats on transit
pick at some as they run
a dog that passes by
raises leg and makes it wet
roadside leaves suffer
but the world cares not...

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A hungry cat
    might pick at a rat
  But she'd prefer to
    feast on a fish

  Whereas a dog
    refuses 'puppy chow'
  If he espies
    some meat on a bone

  As for me, I'm not picky
    I'll eat what's put on my plate
  As long as it's still edible ~
    to Heaven I don't want to be late...

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Seen through the illusion 
I took hold of your hand
Many did not understand
Why  as a girl so smart and innocent
Stood as your gal of providence
Many laugh and pick at her
My Lord said enough she is a believer
Gave her her pen
And off she went 
To see how far her ink would go
She sent it up to show...

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Parting is such sweet sorrow,

When love's air is still there,

But when the flame flickers out,

And the wax dries,

Love is sealed;

 

 

There is no air.

Until the stamp,

Is peeled.

 

 

Love's lepers are we,

Who pick at the wound,

And bleed out life's blood,

Until, we too,

Are Entombed....

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Under a pensive, winter sun
              beneath a bare boned canopy of trees
            the black ravens pick at scattered leaves
           and I cry inside…because you had to leave
            to fight for our freedom…in a war torn land
       I pray we can walk this path once again, in peace. 











     
3/7/2022...

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What a cold January day,
The frost lays on the ground like a blanket
Not even the determined woodpecker
Has come out to tap on the side of the house.
All is quiet in this small town
The blackbirds pick at the unturned dirt
Hoping to find some kind of food
The sun pokes its head through the clouds
And cast light on the frost bitten earth....

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Rub it
   Itch it
Pick at it
   Scratch it

Doesn't help
   does it?

Ignore it
   Suppress it
Disguise it
   Conceal it

It's still there
   isn't t?

Reshape it
   Disable it
Return it
   Remove it
   
Shred it
   Bury it
Drown it
   Burn it 

It still haunts you
   doesn't it? --

Let it go
   Float away
Come the dawn of
   A new day...

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deceit in the shadows
of a failing mind
listen to your silence
pick up the heart pieces

deceit in the shadows
illusion's discomfort
black bird balderdash
picking at your mind

deceit in the shadows
the wind walker's laugh
magic of the shrode
pick at your cell zones

deceit of the shadows
of one who is seeing
them for the first time
as they are not as mere illusions...

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I don’t come very often anymore
to the edge of this rancid waste dump
     to pick at the scars
     and bleed anew . . .

To stand and welcome it all
in its abscessed pustule
     as plump as summer milkweed
     ready to be lanced.

I hold the images in my heart
and await the rolling thunder
     to bring blessed relief
     with loosed blood and infection.

My penance....

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I scratch symbols out of a matted beard.
Fingertips as smooth as wave-worn pebbles
rattle on an invisible shoreline,
the sound is a kind of speech
a language that only spume and spray understand.
Seven days a week I listen;
rarely does the water translate
any intelligible meaning.
Nevertheless images rise
like dead half-eaten fish.
I pick at the bones and wish
for more impossible things....

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I have gargled on a rainbow
Played hide and seek
with light
Used a day in one night
I have laughed at all the wrong times
cried when it is write
the way that i have choose
to pick at every loose stand
if you are made to crawl
Scaring fear into the wall
Do my words speak my voice
or do you
make that choice
Never leave me by big button red
or the sound of ping
last thing Herd
may follow
but i step off the ledge...

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There's the mirror we look at
    to pick at spots,
The mirror we dress by,
    to see the lot, 
The one to cream and
    shade the eyes,
The one to try out
    feigned surprise,
The one that travels
    and shows fatigue,
(Your eyes have circles,
    your teeth are green.)
But the truest vision
    of ups and downs,
Of sideways bulges
    and hairdo clowns
Is the one that hits you 
    with dismay,
The shop front window
    on a sunny day!...

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I pick at my sore until it bleeds...
The cattle drones behind me, I do not heed... 
I'm going somewhere cool, but not Tennessee...
Maybe Florida, nestled next to the sea... 
Wanna be someone else, but who will I be? 
Someone confident and clean, as long as it's not me... 
Need to make some cash, yeah that's the key... 
Maybe prayer would help, on sincere knees... 
Don't get involved is my philosophy...
And don't release a bird unless you want it free......

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Everything I've lost shows up in my dreams
Like some sort of resurrection 
Lingering, hanging over me 

Or it ever exist at all?
Did you exist at all.

I try to wash your blood from my hands,
But somehow, still, I remain stained
I try to erase your tiny, broken body from my head
But you've etched yourself into my memory.

Lucidly, I pick at thoughts of who you.....
Could have been,
Or who you tried to be,
Human. A human being. 
Dead and gone.....
         A secret it seems....

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