Short Stigmata Poems

Wringing feelings
Like a sponge…
The words dripped down
My lips
Onto the page
  —staining my soul

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)...

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salutations
salivating
salvation
situation
i sit and
behave

and now that 
youre home 
i'll lick the 
salt from 
your palms 
and feet...

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Wringing feelings
Like a sponge…
The words dripped down
From my lips
Onto the page
  —staining my soul

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)...

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The 'N' Word

Some
people
of color,
diminutives
of a secular order adherent
superior echelon, stigmata
decoratives
in lieu of
a good
term.

2021 February 27
*2nd Place*
Double Tetractys 7
~~Eve Roper
Picture #1...

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puppeteer of the clouds
working a spray of gulls
one pecks away the strings
all the others do the same
stigmata daub their wings 
they plummet to the sea
souls draped in white lace
haunting the tips of waves
luna offers a slice of peace...

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            Burning, yearning for the song,
             sound is lifting, shifting down.
            All harmonics; poison strong,
             I, who wear a siren's crown.
            
            Hesitant; strained cantata,
             trapped in fragile stone.
            My blood; etched stigmata,
             sings for His, alone......

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Sitting at a bus shelter
hoodie baby, skinny, drab,
denim-discount,
elfin face,
 the nose ring an ugly stigmata.

She's been staring at empty walls lately,
I can tell, I’ve stared at those same walls.

I am guessing the weight of her solitude
will not decrease anytime soon.

I want to tell her that life
outgrows itself, blooms and becomes.
but I’m all out of bs. today....

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I try to think, 
not to think of you; 
cede hope to candor.

You will not contribute, 
to your own rape, of truth; 
rediscovering the shame.

The modesty will not sit 
on the stigmata. 
Moths were becoming defiant.

Copiously drenched, 
under the wet moon, 
a poem will seek a title.

It returns back, the 
kiss, you sent for the flame. 
It was very hot, the farewell.


Satish Verma...

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moonlight sonata plays sound waves
Reverberating
     the sordid tune of our last days.
Excruciating
     Pain enters into my mind frame.
Frustrating
     the birth of the universal flame.
Contemplating
     the solution to your pollution.
Educating
     monkeys about their evolution.
Genuflecting
     priests kiss Mary's bleeding stigmata.
Reflecting
     his holy name now and tomorrow.
Reiterating
     moonlight sonata plays sound waves....

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The Cross

Deaths solace, silence harsh words of fears unknown
dread not the reaper
unwelcome cross, mark not my threshold
belief shall grant no safe passage
condemned self righteous, what right to steal souls?

In whose name is derision doled?
contemptuous harbinger of tidings best left unspoken
thus spake Zarathustra, eternal recurrence
indoctrinating endless opportunity
offer up the gift to those who see and have seen
antiquity replaced by stigmata.

Stoic...

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these are my hands,
and you have seen them before.
you stare between my eyes,
much like how I imagined God
would stare at His
wayward worshipers.

these are my palms,
with lines that match the
novels of the planets,
and stars, and heavenly rocks.

my hands are small,
and are never broken.
my palms are wretched,
as I grip on this barbed-wire fence.

I see you across the border,
but I do not worship.

my hands will fit yours,
but my palms are already bleeding....

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