Smarting Poems

Summer Heat

Sun is seen a flaming ball in the sky,
Darting down pointed spears of smarting beams.
Horrid heat waves, from the smoked earth, rise high.
For drops of water, the thirsty earth screams. 

The waterlogged piece of land has gone dry.
The soil is arid and left cracked and parched.
Drying crops have made farmers sadly sigh.
The once lush green meadows are lying scorched.

Sun's heat, like a spiteful scorpion’s sting,
Burns,  damaging the flesh and the bared skin. 
The fiery tongues of humid summer fling,
Licking up the last residue of green. 

The dry leaves under the feet whine and moan
Etna seethes, birds and beasts, for water groan!

Seasons-Footle Haibuns

Autumn

Let us begin in the current season, Not the season of beginnings but of seasoning.

Leaves bold
Wise, old

Winter

Hither it comes, white or gray, falling, failing, smarting, incredibly enlightening.

Lets go
New show

Spring

New birds of millenials herded into facebook frames, those cribs engaged with each month’s age. I look on, remembering how this boomer’s recollection is in a box, more than one.

Face crib
Ad lib

Summer

Watch those new birdies fly. Life is fleeting. Parents hold onto their wings, sometimes clipping. Grandparents no longer open their wallets to show their pride, but with much more intensity and videos, besides, put the kids front and center for thumbs up, hearts, exclamations, tears, never anger.

Emotes
Devotes

The Old Rotary

*PV - Proverbial Verbiage

The Old Rotary

Dialing out…zzzzip…zzzzzzzip…zzzzzzzip
and
zip…zzip…zzzip…zzzzip
and brring…

long distance was not a thing
for children. they could only
ring those within their corridor

ching…ching
money didn’t grow on trees
the grown up made sure
we were wise

or they’d wise up
our behinds

but we didn’t even try
a bit smarter back then

smarting at smaller things
like
eating Mr. McGregor’s produce
throwing
stones at cars
but
we kept our hands
off the old man’s
cookie jar (PV)
rang Grandma
once a year (PV)

It was more fun to dial out
but by then a burglar
tied you up (PV)

The Tree In My Yard

in my yard stands a tree
lone like a hermit, regal like a monarch
its roots dug deep
its branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
sometimes its leaves rustle
overall it is silent and still
still.................... 
like waters without ripples

it stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
indeed a tryst with destiny!

under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
it remained uncomplaining
below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle pricks

it stayed nonchalant
when the wind swept across
bending its branches in all directions
it stood on firm feet unwavering

it tells a tale of struggle and survival
it had stood there before I was born
now it displays every scar and every stripe
on its knotted bark as a proud trophy

sometimes I feel its pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
yet it holds an umbrella over all
who come to it in sun and rain

Placed First 
A Brian Strand 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian strand

My Heart Regifted

Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked,
a secret kept like a pebble in my shoe, now smarting.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.

Make scars worth the fight, put back the pin from grenade you grasped,
moment of truth arrives, met with two lips bruised and parting.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.

I thought I walked the streets alone, wearing a grotesque mask.
You were inside me all along, sweet message imparting.,
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.

How I've missed your awaited touch, and hoping it would last,
our sun grant'd pardons galore, for love's kindled restarting. 
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.

I didn't say why I came back, you never took me to task.
tho' written in an inkling, the tear your eye was guarding..
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.

You never miss something until it goes and die is cast.
Your present regifted, from a long ago departing. 
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.

26 December 2020

Wedding Dress

"Wedding Dress"



Innocence 
betrayed a white page
divesting romantic notions
of a pristine life marked
by sibilant soft-tongued seduction 
green apple plucked
wrapping serpentine legs like vines 
rosy cheeked blushing 
a student smarting around
Garden of Arden's Puck
captured essence 
from a torn portrait 
of picket fences 
climbing soft caresses
towards the wild
bee's stinging under
the tightly stitched
waiting room of a
hemmed in 
wedding dress


(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)







"To drench your skin with lover's rosy stain.
A chance to find a phoenix for the flame,
A chance to die, but can we
Dance into the fire,
That fatal kiss is all we need.
Dance into the fire
To fatal sounds of broken dreams.
Dance into the fire;
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
When all we see is a view to a kill"

A Fiery Passion

I have had a great many loves in my lifetime,
Which is why I am the star of velvet nighttime;
But my fervor does not involve solely romance,
But also my glimmering, and my celestial dance!

My colors I send sparkling, to the faraway places,
And put happy smiles, upon those midnight faces.
I am born upon meeting, and die at the parting,
For the fire in my blood, often leaves me smarting!

I touch without burning, those that I do cherish,
For my ardent caress, could cause a soul to perish.
I am frequently leaving, vivid blossoms in my wake;
And my zealous artistry, is by no means a mistake!

Sailors Beware

Mermadic waves, her feminine tailspin kaleidoscopic.
Drastic and hypnotic, nautical miles in search of new blood.
Sea’s miffed with white caps drawing Neptune, smarting for epic brawl.

6/4/2020
Let the Pens Flow - Sijo Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas

Sewing Machine

Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
in Grandma's loft I found, the week after we
laid her to rest next to her slain husband.
He was only twenty four yet a squadron leader
when his spitfire was shot down over France.
Mother was only three at the time and my uncle
a babe in Grandma's arms. How awful yet how
familiar those sad stories were then.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when Grandma would tell us of Grandfather's
gallantry in the face of an evil oncoming foe.
Those stories now came flooding back as I
rummaged in the attic of her cottage with 
a candle to guide my way, tears smarting as I
imagined myself as Mother then, missing a father.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.

Life's Vase

Life
Life is often
Like a shattered vase
On the tile floor

Scattered fragments
With jagged edges
Clinging to the floor 
In a puddle of water

All it takes is one nudge
One careless bump
One poor choice
Sends it spiraling down

Scrambling to fix it 
Fingers brushing glass
Pain erupting along your hand
Glowing red-hot pain

You wish you could fix it
Hold it together 
Cover it in tape
You wish

With sore hands, you walk 
To the sink
Running hands under the tap
Pain smarting in your palms

Finally, with bandaged hands
And a sore heart
You sweep up the broken fragments
Into a little pan

Slowly 
you paste
The little shards back into place
Filling the cracks

It doesn’t happen overnight
But after a while
You no longer remember that it was broken
It looks almost the same

The cracks do show
But the vase holds
Standing proudly in the window
Holding firm to the sill

And the marks on your hands
They fade
And you almost forget the pain
And the vase remains

Pages Full of Love

eyes smarting with tiredness,
not registering on the words I see,
heart aching with heaviness,
looking at the last letter you wrote to me,
pages full of the love, that wasn't to be.

Penned 26/7/2017

Teetering Hope

I have seen people just about starting,
There’re others at the end of the rope
crisis ridden and with anguish smarting
and latched onto a diminishing hope
With sorrow no longer able to cope.


~Janice Canerdy contest.

The Letter

The dog’s bark alerts you to the mail
and you rush to the door heart in hand.
For you’re hoping you'll get a letter
nervously twirling your wedding band.

The envelope wafts a hint of musk
that transports you back to his parting.
And the fight you had... “Why reenlist?”
you had argued, acid tears smarting.

Your heart's pounding in trepidation
and fueling anxiety's climb.
Yet both the anger and flow of tears
have decreased with the passage of time.

Reading his letter a smile appears
joined by more as his words set them free.
For inked by a soldier in Iraq
a man in pain pens a heartfelt plea.

Sorrowful feelings flow from the page
weeping and beautifully expressed.
And yet in the depths of your being
you’re still hurting and feeling depressed.

You devour every sweet nuance penned 
each succulent slice of candied hope.
And though time's something you can’t turn back
borrowing his strength you try to cope.

Yesterday a letter trimmed in black
brought news you dreaded getting for years.
For it said he'd been “killed in action"
its typed message smeared...In pools of tears.

Robin Hood

Robin Hood,
Has clearly changed with the times
Giving in to the rich
As they steal the poor blind

Doesn't much care
How today's money is spent
With his dead end job
At the government

Robin Hood,
Works like a slave
With hours of overtime
On most holiday's

Spends after hours at the bar 
With his merry men
Telling tall tales
Tossing back Tonic and Gin

Robin Hood.
Then goes home to his wife
Dreaming of better days
Of a better life

When he stole all he saw
Out smarting the law
Instead of tied down
To the ball and chain of his job

Robin Hood,
Figures he'll never retire
Like all the rest of this world
He'll one day just expire

Tattoo: For Yom Hashoah

No one makes it through life whole without the
Branding: marks, scars, tattoos that testify
To sorrows endur’d, bitter pills swallow’d;
Some say the inner invisible ones
Wounds deepest.  My tattoo on the forearm
Pierces through to my soul like a sliver
Infected, pussy, smarting constantly—
I was sub-human, thought expendable.
“Schneller! Schneller!” Under blinding lights bark
Camp guards as we stumble blindly, free from
Cattle car stench upon arrival. My
Precious Gretel taken away at once.
Workers to the left, showers to the right
I’d die in your place, Love, one-thousand times!

© 2016 David W. Palmer

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