Traumatizing Poems | Examples

trauma

Ex-President Trump had a near miss recently. That can be traumatizing.

We know how it is, our old republic survived a near insurrection recently.

At least Trump's assailant was killed, he can rest easy.

Thanks to faux-jurisprudence, our felon is still out there - on the loose.
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Songs for this:
Run On by Elvis Presley
Use Me (feat. Cynthia Greene) by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
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I love gospel music, maybe because I’m from Georgia, the home of MLK, civil rights and the Ebenezer Baptist Church. Lisa (who lives in Manhattan) and I’ve made two pilgrimages to the Brooklyn Tabernacle to hear the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. I admit that I’m a heathen and a pagan but when I hear a gospel choir - I'm easily reduced to tears, and I’m moved to at least wish that I believed.
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I would never wish Mr. Trump harm. I would like to see him loose fairly and resume his opulent, civilian life.

When the Innocent Cries

The world has become jaded by the news we observe
It’s not until we notice something morally monstrous
Neither peacemakers nor warmongers have the nerve
It’s the emotions of the weak that raise our awareness

Our heads turn around when it involves the innocent
The terror and tears on their face make us take notice
Traumatizing their faultless world are the malcontents
Disrupting their pure sanctity with death and sickness

Trying to make sense of what has harassed their reality
Children and the elderly suffer, contrary to popular belief
Too delicate to be collateral damage of the war’s tragedy
Hearing the innocent cry, are you listening to their grief

Shock and Awe

shock 
                       electric, astound 
           zapping, traumatizing, reacting 
 speechlessness, surprise, spellbound, thrill 
           bedazzling, gaping, impressing 
                     majestic, awestruck,
                                   awe


Date written: 06/06/2023

Traumatizing

Zafar Supari killer chemical Drink produces
numerous symptoms such as Pale urine,
Stomach swelling,headches,fainting,despair,
Palpitations,convulsive & psycho behaviour etc..
Note.1.Drink.2.Drugs.3.Injection..GAME..
Lesson.Zafar Khan Dan is dangerous...

Tales of The Poets

Authors and writers, poets of all; 
We are a group of scribers
You can see down our halls. 

On documents, on paper, 
In books that we read. 

Writing our words; 
As if no one is watching
Choosing our letters
Writing poems: Oh, so touching! 

Scribers we are; 
We bring it with style 
Sit down, relax 
Read for a while. 

Writing of words; 
Turning them into songs we do
The writers we are to be
Rings deep in our veins, blue. 

Seeking: searching; 
For the right words to be said 
For the writers to be writing
On fine paper, be them read. 

The lessons we'll read; 
Through the experiences of others
Giving this writing gift
All notions of worth that it covers. 

Writing in poetry: 
Of our demons, we must face
Or about traumatizing events
That unfolds, not to retrace. 

The writings of other poems; 
Of families and friends
Maybe it's about a past love
That we're writing, making amends! 

For the writers, we are: 
We bring it, too, with grace
But I'll end this poetry: 
Maybe you will find its bookcase?

Our Reality

A storm
Winds as strong as ox
Gray skies nearly blinding all birds
Fearfully trying to find their way home

An ocean
Pure blue waters
And the slightest waves
That kisses the shores

They meet

The scene is beautiful
Yet the damage...
It's traumatizing

The waves are angry
The birds are still lost
And they don't know what to do

And sometimes
Relationships work this way too

Monsoon

Like million waves of melancholic music,
Surpassing the consciousness,
Like a Traumatizing muse.
Consistent chaotic translucent perceptions,
An age of wandering afoot with deceptions.
They walk amidst a synchronized loop,
Creating deceptive,
Or surrealistic tunes.
A universe of sentiments, so nostalgic,
In the veracious, vicarious,
Vibrantly glowing moon.
They dance to the tunes of musical ocean,
Enhancing, so growing,
Like a colorful lagoon.
They crawl in to their fundamentality,
Immersed, submerged,
As the embraced sand dunes.
And the music melancholic, so alcoholic,
Unrelenting, recommencing,
Persistent, preservant, perpetual monsoon.

Said the Victim of Sexual Assault

SAID THE VICTIM OF SEXUAL ASSAULT

To me, 
my cries
deep and soul wrenching.
To you, 
shallow. and insignificant. 
My tongue forever
twisted with fear, 
slurs every word with emotion, 
as shame and society's curses invoke themselves
into MY soul. 
For though, 
I was the prey, 
this a crime that blames the victim, 
and who wants to hear a woman’s cries of sexual abuse? 

No friends 
and sometimes no family, 
life places you in seclusion. 
HE, 
the predator, 
baroque with prudent calculated words, 
tearing down my character, 
gratifying himself, 
like one who has never done a wrong.
Episodically traumatizing searing jolts in my chest, 
as the congested lies continue to spew,
casting a veil of derision 
reviving the shameful and revolting touches
all over again.
A new ghostly shadow 
creeping out into the light
that will forever follow me, 
pre-empt MY days and steal MY nights. 
How are yours?
© Al Juman  The "said" Poet  9/25/2018

Whining, Grousing, and Garbage

She whines because her food needs salt.
A 2-year-old-child dies of leukemia while she is glaring at the waiter.
He grouses because the neighbor’s garbage is out two hours ahead of time.
He calls 911 to report this infraction, not caring that another person had an emergency.
A young mother is murdered in her home because she could not get through.
An elderly woman is yelling at her neighbor, because she thinks the woman looked at her flowers.
She is so mad, she walks in front of a bus when she leaves, traumatizing twenty-three children and a bus driver.
A mommy’s boyfriend gets upset because a baby will not quit crying. He tries to pawn it off on a neighbor.
She knows he is violent, but she has done more than her share, so she ignores his pleas.
The baby ends up shaken to death.
A sixty-two-year-old man begins pounding on a door to complain about the neighbor’s loud rap music.
The neighbor comes to the door, laughs, and slams the door in his face.
The sixty-two-year-old goes home and gets his loaded gun.
It is everyone’s problem.
Yours 
Mine.
Everyone’s.
Let us fix this!

Handmade From the Genes of Boyce and Harriet Harris 2nd Warning

HANDMADE FROM (the genes of) BOYCE AND HARRIET HARRIS 
(poetry my atypical mode at introducing myself).

How apropos and divine to stumble (merely by happenstance) across a chance to claim my (virtual) fifteen minute fragments of fame just in the click and nick of time.   

Although gainfully unemployed (do to a series of unfortunate events that now finds me receiving social security disability), I can still vividly visualize utter despair and vouchsafe to acquire the requisite trappings emblematic of psychic misfortune.

Indelible, permanent and unfading abysmal damaging domestic dynamics got etched deep upon the memory of this erstwhile individual! The general gist in the form of quick brush strokes (namely written) of psychologically traumatizing recollection now follows.

I can attest to malevolent mean-spirited objections by my father (and late mother) in regard to my grossly unacceptable attire, deportment and work ethic.

The Heart

The heart is....

an organ which feels love,
but also damaged by
it's traumatizing effects

Smooth Strong

Your velvet voice
Fires up my day,
I am learning to smile,
You're a teacher, aren't you!

From now on I declare
I will be where a smile
Is made worth, if not
I will make it with you.

Your love is smooth and strong
It will be traumatizing
To live without it.

Feelings

sad
anguish  imprisoned
numbing  devastating  traumatizing  

heartache annihilates   enthrallment celebrates

fulfilling  titillating  delighting
wonderment  gratitude 
joy

Said Man Lost To Hate

Said Thomas
I a hustling peddler, 
hungry mouths to feed.
Do you know what's it's like
to stare upon hunger!
especially that of a child!

Tackled and hurdled to the ground like an animal.
Silent eyes stare,
Jaws stretch down,
Lips hanging,
Air stalls, 
Hairs raised,
No cry,
No words,
just traumatizing disgust.
This a moment needs no oxygen.
The world stands still.
Anguish is silent,
- who will question a lunatic cop with a gun.
You! 
You!
You!
Then who?

I Thomas!
was 
Someone's Son, 
Someone's husband, 
Someone's father,
Yes, 
Now I have
hungry fatherless children.
Who will stand for them,
Replace my love,
Cuddle them with nice things,
Send them to college,
the killer COP?
Who intentionally shot 
and took the life out of me.
© Al. Juman  The "said" Poet  7/7/2016

It Shouldn'T Hurt To Be a Child

We are petals of marigold
In our innermost soul
Whether young or old
If the petals still in fold
in the buds are singed
or shouted at violating
the integrity in making
Maladaptation is obvious
Flowers are obnoxious


Parents and teachers
Priests and preachers
Be kind nurturers
Of the saplings and plants
No traumatizing no rants


Love of beauty and life
Husband and wife in step
Pep drive with love
For the tender buds above

Let us be poems
In the social page
Healthy gems
Birds uncaged

“The world is a stage”
You directors will decide
If the spectators would hurl
Brickbats or 
Throw bouquets

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
April 7, 2016
It shouldn't hurt to be a child- Poetry Contest
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