"abrade" poems
This is my feud...
This is my fight.
Many are my thoughts,
I hide from sight.
I show myself steady
but much remains unseen.
Ungreased are the cogs in my head.
Their teeth sharpened keen.
They eat and abrade.
Always turning, always grinding.
Results always made,
detrimental and unforgiving.
So think of me...
Not negligence maintained
and notions bought.
Think of my feud.
Let it be food for thought.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
this morning I awoke
with gum abrasions
and let me tell you
it wasn't the happiest of occasions
the bottom set of false teeth
were ripped out
as they'd been wearing
the gum line about
some gum gel
was duly applied to gain relief
the bottom set of false teeth
had given me enough grief
at lunch time
I shall pop the teeth back in
so I can restore
my toothy grin
should the **** teeth
abrade my gums anymore
I shall have to get the dental mechanic
to realign the bottom draw
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
She cannot be any more for me.
Cannot touch, cannot see or know
What it would mean to lie beside her.
Below or above or inside her.
I cannot kiss her skin enough
To satisfy my tongue,
At root, amid tonsil and gum.
There is nothing between my legs
To satisfy the ache I’ve beshouldered.
Nor to give her what she wants.
And yet to be the bearer of such lofty arms,
I have not the strength
To hold her to me, tight enough
Nor strength to let her go.
Therefore pianist or organist,
No digits can so far reach
To abrade this itch within me.
To what worldly force there is to bray,
No hips move expeditiously
Enough to shake this wanting free
Not rhetoric, charm nor Rationale
Bestow words to dissuade my need.
I have no arms to pull her closely,
Nor shape to fit her skin.
Yet I cannot be any less for her.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 3:25 PM UTC
through the ring
and previous string
sewing together
these things i feel
a crestfallen sting
why repair what is
already rusted
why abrade soil
when it's already crusted
you found a home
for the words i entrusted
a corner in the ceiling
to one day be dusted
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
November days sees me pummelled,
bashed and clubbed to a pulp.
Buried then exhumed...
Skin and bones,
hair and scalp.
Dusks watch me stretch,
warp and break.
Bitten, chewed and spat out.
So that I could come together...
So I could nurse
the same old doubt.
Nights abrade,
as they span for hours.
They sap, they wear.
They mock and they jeer.
There is bittersweetness in the solitude
where coherence of mind
is scarce and rare.
Dawns greet with tiptoeing feet.
Cradle my body where it had lain.
They resuscitate me. Fill me up.
They ward off nightly deaths
so I am reborn,
again and again...
***Into
November.***
.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
Sea pulse asurge, your pores brace for influx:
the scrub of sixteen salts whose rigid karma
scrapes us down. So sound the signals
(likely sales) from shoehorned sleeper
towns. Their patron wasn't long for earth;
a grid (what genius!) takes a bow,
puts slideshow on, and all we hear is how.
When sunlight stirs again we'll chisel
feeble errors, chip a bullet
out of stone. We'll see which skulkers
have a six at home, and toast
the night in sheetery. When devils
drain the foosty runoff of
your prim report to primal center,
sweep up white-horse myths bleached out
of paved-gray lots. Submerge in steam
of favor, frenzied in unseen replies
(no sharper catching eyes as coffees,
tipped to spoon in drowse-A.M.s
from furtive nights) -- Behold (unsold to rights)
uncensored action, living truth!
Untempted nine-percenters,
go-betweens for stunning tens
ground out of poison pens.
Abrade with noise what was to clean our lens.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Excuse my drifting-
I didn't mean to kiss you like that,
I was just trying to swallow the space between us somehow
because I think tonight the moon was stillborn.
All the tides seem broken.
The space is dragging with plaintive collectibles=
complacency in yellow-teeth cliffsides, and all the empty shells
in which we'd listened for the corners of our ocean
and heard it ebbing, relenting, reaching.
It rippled on our skins and made us twinkle then.
Now I'm missing you, the grating bottle-glass shards
are what my headaches are made of
and are what fill up my shoes.
When our spines unravelled, I heard rain-
letter-writing weather, bathtub weather,
knitwear-perhaps-on-the-beach weather-
but the puddles were coming from the sun.
I don't know quite when summer blew in.
We would have found canvas chairs in the park.
You would be taking pictures of yellow daffodils
in black and white with your big heavy camera,
and laughing at each sneeze because I'm allergic.
There's really no need now to listen in shells
for the clutter leftover in elegy-
platitudinous phrases, photographs, plenty more fish in the sea.
Words couldn't ever weigh the depths of it.
Only abrade and erode it.
Yours is a world that, for immeasurable gaps
and for whirlpools and whale sounds,
I am not a part of anymore.
But please excuse my drifting.
I will always love the echoes
and walk along the beach in search of shells.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
Her eyes were smolder,
Black thick charcoal,
Coating her fire burning
A thousand days of sun.
It seems a wonder
Her skin was milk,
Not tanned hide
From the scorch
She held.
Always a lover
But never in love.
The idea she longed for,
But to have - ended longing
Therefore she never took.
In dreams with pining
Was her fun.
The very tongue of lust,
She was the taste,
The desired delicacy.
Stolen away
Were the many hearts
Of men from youth to elder.
She held them in
Her swollen grin
As if to say
I own you.
The affairs were best,
No better test
Than to abrade the strings of love.
And when she won,
(She always won)
She claimed sweet scandal,
I own you
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC
I dream of sand.
I found it years after the war
in my socks or pants or boots and
it remained with me.
My washer is no longer filled
with it and my clothes no longer
abrade my skin but yet I still
dream of sand.
I have ceased to dream of bullets
and blood. I dream now of the
glimmer of hope on a weather-
beaten face. I dream of strength
and courage.
These are not dreams of brave
"American" soldiers doing their
duty, but rather dreams of brave
Arabs making the best of a life
which has seen oppression from
tyrants both foreign and domestic.
I dream foolishly.
I dream that our differences can
be overcome but in life I am
repeatedly shown that they cannot.
I dream.
I dream and hope that tomorrow
I do not wake
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
callous
bruised
I held you
beheld you
with cruelty
with abandon
you
could have been cinders
cellophane
the patina of my absent mind
you
could have been a yesterday
forgotten
one of many
one, yet uncounted
one, lost in a crowd
me,
uncaring, and unbowed
heartless - ignorant
not today
today I saw you
through the window of my heart
vignetted
alone
as I always knew you
alone
without me
then
it occurred to me,
for the first time,
you were without me
and I
was without you
alone
we were alone
and I
yearned to solve your loneliness
your solitude
abrade the fixtures of mutual isolation with warmth
wear down the gloom of silence
with laughter
praise of you
hold you
close,
as if holding myself
loving myself
through you
by you,
loving me
I love you deeper
softer
sweeter
into the cradle
of our love
where we are born
in bliss
fighting the cold
of our darkening world
while the light dies
our hearts burn ablaze
seeking the truth
the higher power that united us
God, who would wed us,
love,
that can save us,
if only we tried,
if only
yet,
for tonight,
I watch you
through the window
of my heart
I shed tears
wishing I were with you
but I will settle
for our dream...
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 1:52 AM UTC
Lattice
At first glance there was such
sorrow entombed in the sun,
honey hued in mahogany
red velvet Terra eyes
the sun rose with them
a soft whisper in my mind,
my heart and soul flies
shimmering of surprise
in waves of sweetness,
it ebbs and flows ever still,
rise and fall,
ever gloaming,
moving like the gentle earth,
restless and milling
it's throngs and streams
a tender abrade
a gentle lapping
the world becomes a wonder
becomes leaf and petal
climbing,
lattice sunshine blooms
dripping in happy tears,
after the summer rain
disappears humming
drumming it's distant
rooftop tattoo.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
there's no sense in the judgment that we make
concerning all the tricks of the old trade
nor in belief that turns out to be fake
in all those things that are fated to fade
the world is as it is and what must come
is less not more than what we'd thought the sum
of what we earn in simple steady pay
but given to us with little delay
we're far too eager and give in to haste
the infant mind attains its highest sway
so what is human ends up most abased
our duty never got an honest shake
but found its honour hidden in the shade
while we were learning good things by mistake
and wondering why none came by to aid
for our relief we did not earn a crumb
while happy others made off with the plum
meanwhile the foolish urged us just to pray
as if that answer were more than cliché
while our best efforts had to be replaced
and matters finished in another way
so what is human ends up most abased
the truth is clear we could not get a break
from anybody here the whole charade
was guaranteed to maximise their take
and in the process our spirits abrade
dumping us all down in the meanest slum
because we were so obviously dumb
we were served up upon a silver tray
trapped and devoured to our immense dismay
our skills dismissed and all of us disgraced
moulded and shaped just like the softest clay
so what is human ends up most abased
prince you observe as we suffer this day
ordering whips our tender backs to flay
you think this moment easily erased
yours is the power and the word today
so what is human ends up most abased
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
On this path obstructed by red rose bushes
Lies the era of our golden dreams
Whose thorns pierce every limb of our body
But whose pulchritude emphasizes on its radiant gleam
And when those thorns disseminate pain
Our eyes are reassured by the blindening red
The kind of red that rejuvinates hope
And enlightens those who simply sit and mope
But for some it may breed new selfish desires
Desires that are capable of arousing compulsion
And desires that gradually exteriorize to lust's
But when such lust's lie with in reach
They simply abrade ,
Just like the iron rusts
Despite knowing the pain it entails
We transition on this path from threshold to terminus.
Combatting incessantly in this unremitting struggle
We allow the gust to bear us along.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
yesterday's snow is ***** now and dark
we look for ice and worry about shade
as the sun rises and the long parade
of normal time resumes along the stark
roads and each newly-woken seems to mark
a world made gritty when light must abrade
both faith and fear the horror we have made
there's nothing but the chance of a new spark
from a great distance in another zone
there's news more bitter than the fleeting cold
and nothing that can make it feel more light
since each plain word will cut right to the bone
yet do no more than let us know what's told
which is that all will come to end in night
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
And now I distance people,
Because: My back is lacerated,
And my memories are fading,
To provide me the antidote;
But honed enough,
To abrade my lacerated wounds,
Squeeze me out,
And make me moan,
To flog pain in my skin;
As the tattoo,
That fills me
With excruciating ecstasy;
Holding every stabs
Designed over me;
And too much of myself,
To be forgotten!
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 4:31 AM UTC
we do not get the choice to grow or fade
since each of us is placed just where we ought
to find the truth of all the things we're taught
which is much more that what life must abrade
with its rough edges we are ever frayed
broken and blinded knowing that we fought
both hard and well but losing were caught
in the old trap and sent back to the shade
so much to tell about where we were cast
the clawing upwards that's another fight
though none will listen to the loser's tale
nor should they we recall the faded past
while today's children look towards the light
and have no patience with the ones who fail
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
must our words
cause so much pain
must our words
cause so much shame
must our words
so much abrade
must our words
so much degrade
watch our words
our words we must
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
briny tears
emotions sear
scars may fade
but wounds abrade
my present in unholy alliance
with its teary past
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
There may come a day when the wind will abrade me, when it'll cease in feeling like breath on the nape of my neck.
The sun will seem crueler and callous, I'll feel that I've lost it as a friend and instead it'll only begrudge me.
But it is not today.
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 6:48 AM UTC
Up on the deck
the pink cascade
of evening stumbled
against a blue stop.
Stars seemed fine
as powder.
The moon was golden,
a Brasher doubloon
nailed to the felted smear
of milky way.
Night knelt
into the red bowl
of Autumn;
Summer died slowly,
cloaked all in yellow,
behind your shoulder.
Fights on the street
scattered under the
water head. Brains
hissed with poetry
as rain dwindled.
We heaped stones
on the truth.
We knew it wouldn't
last like that.
Night knelt
into the red bowl
of Autumn;
Summer died slowly,
cloaked all in yellow,
behind your shoulder.
The world without you
keeps breaking down:
the morning motorcycle
won't stop idling, I can't
cut books from their shelf,
food is an accusation.
Stars abrade, the moon
is sold for scrap.
Where are you?
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 8:14 AM UTC