"bloodied" poems
#*O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own
O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand
O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss
O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross
O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast
O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”
O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”*#
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
Every day we pass thousands of people on the street, and barely even a hello is exchanged, maybe a smile if your lucky.
It might be a little funny to think that each of these people are going wherever they are going, they are living their lives and you have the opportunity to be apart of it even if it's just five seconds.
You can do a lot with five seconds, for all you know a quick smile to someone passing by might change their life.
Despite someone's appearance, they could be a completely different person that you might expect, breaking the stereotype.
The sweet old women sitting next to you on the train, smiling and talking as if the world was heaven, is counting her numbered days. The coloured man across from you with the bloodied knuckles and bruised face saved a teenage girl from being ***** last night.
The 18-year-old girl on the other side of the train, showing more skin than clothing in a ******
And the boy in the corner covered in tattoos and piercings and is wearing only black is on his way to the hospital to read to the children in the cancer wing like he does every afternoon ever since he lost his little sister.
My point is simple, nothing is rarely as it seems. Each stranger you pass has there own story. Don't judge based off what you see because your vision is a misconception.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
**** me like the ocean would the moon, Dear Amaranthine.
Teach me as you would any abecedarian, slow with pace.
My pallid arms are spread, and feet are crossed.
Crucify me, like one of your French girls.
Your endless frame arched over mine
a vaulting testament to the heat
of your front against my back.
This scene should have been a chapel.
Through hazed musk I can taste the saline
as it tumbles from your dripping brunette tendrils
forming brooks and lagoons the color of flesh
in the glens and about the islands of my spine.
I wish I could write about you in me
while you dance a contemporary beat
ceaseless, indeterminate, untold are
your feats within and upon my person.
For a split moment, seconds shattered in two,
I am completely and totally permeated by you.
I whine for you to vacillate me, I am ******* begging
to be occupied, satiated, by a rhythm akin to the sway of trees.
Love me fast and kiss me slow, Dear Amaranthine.
My palms are red, and feet bloodied, too. I moan.
Call me your poetaster but don't come on my chest;
There's far too much weight there already, my dear.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colorless. Colorless.
15.5k
there are roses growing
from my hands
My doubt the seeds
Begging them to grow
There are roses climbing
up my arms
digging in my skin
but i am numb
to their thorns and beauty
There are roses growing
in my lungs
bloodied petals
filling my throat
and falling from my lips
Tears are sliding
down my cheeks
I've had enough
I am to weak
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
There’s I place I go to
When you cross my mind
It’s almost as if your still there
By my side
Whispering in my ear
Caressing my palm
We called it the bridge to nowhere
I remember meeting you there
Sitting near the end
Staring out towards the water
You approaching me
I remember looking up
At your perfect tanned face
Your messy dark hair
Your mesmerizing gold eyes
Casually wearing your football jersey.
I remember your simple hello
Your nervous chuckle
Your silly smile.
I remember smiling back
And inviting you to sit.
Our first meeting on the bridge to nowhere
I remember sneaking out after dark
To meet you there
Just to lay on the bare wooden boards
Staring at the moon
I remember the smell of flowers that spring
branches blooming nearby
The smell of smoke and spices
Forever embedded in your clothes.
I remember your singing
Sweet nothings
in Spanish
Softly in my ear
Entwined together on the bridge to nowhere
I remember your high school graduation
Your mother so proud
Your sister excited
Your father crying
I remember your first game in college
Your running onto the field
Pride and joy in your eyes
Though you didn’t play
Because of that sprained wrist
I remember your sweaty embrace
And your ramblings
of the game
Reviewing every play
Your eyes shimmering with excitement
Racing to the bridge to nowhere
I remember that call
Which changed my life
My heart stopped
I couldn’t think
I remember rushing
to the hospital
Crying with your little sister
Collapsed on the floor
I remember your bloodied face
Wrapped in linen
Tubes bursting from your chest
I wanted to race to the bridge to nowhere
I remember spending my nights
Curled by your side
Willing you to stay
Strong
I remember that endless tone
That said you were gone
I cried at the bridge to nowhere
I remember curling up in your hoodie
Smelling you
Pretending it was you
Your arms surrounding me
I remember lying by the stone
That recalled your name
Talking to you
Burning letters by the small candle
I remember cleaning out your room
With your mother and sister
Finding that little box by your bed
Your final gift to me
I opened it at the bridge to nowhere
I still go there sometimes
With a letter filled
With promises to you
And a flame by which to send it.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 2:55 PM UTC
Kiss my bloodied lips before you go.
Remember darling, you reap what you sow.
I gave you that warning a few years ago.
So what's coming to you, you already know.
Now close your eyes and hold on tight.
I'll make it quick when I put out your light.
When you are gone, I might shed some tears.
Remembering back, we had some good years.
You chose a new ally, you made a mistake.
It won't take you long to realise he's fake.
Poetry by Kaydee
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
I knew
From the moment we met
That you were going to ruin my life
And I was going to let you
I knew
When you picked me up
Your arms wrapped around my body
With the intention of holding
That you were going to drop me
More than once
And I was going to let it happen
See the thing is
You could break both of my legs
Shatter my bones
Into a million pieces
And I would still find a way
To come crawling back to you
Knees bloodied,
Hands torn from the pulling
I’ve never been one
For giving up easily
You could effortlessly
Take my heart and crack it open
Drink its contents
Throw the rest away
And I would still somehow attempt
To give you the remains
Call me selfless
But I am used to giving parts of myself
And receiving nothing in return
You could tie my tongue
My lips, my teeth
Split them into surrender
Into a foreign language
And I would still manage
To cough up your name
I have never learned release
Or let go
I only know stay
You could leave
One hundred times
And I would still wait for your return
With patience
Because kissing without permanence
Is like loving without memory
There is no purpose
If there is nothing to come back to
No reason in attempt
If it is bound to be forsaken
You had no intention
Of staying
This was something I knew
From the moment we met
That you were going to leave
And I was going to let you.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
I offer myself to you.
Bare and naked.
I rip my heart out for you.
Cold but still beating.
I work my fingers to the bone for you.
Nothing but scraps of what they used to be.
But you can't see what you don't want.
And you don't want what you can't see.
So you throw me away, bare and naked.
You step on my heart, cold - no longer beating.
You push my bloodied hands away from you in disgust.
You don't see how hard I've tried.
You ignore the tears I've cried.
I guess this is all I'll ever be.
I love you anyway mommy.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
*O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own
O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand
O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss
O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross
O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast
O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”
O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”*
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
I've built these four walls
Palms bloodied in a titanium sentiment
Teeth broken under bottle necked business
The scars draw pictures of the stars
Plastered tears on the wall and called it paint
Leave your scewed values at the door
We can wipe our feet on the hipocrisy and call it a welcome mat
Welcome home darling
These four walls can hold more than your last sip
Structure built from our bridges off of last years ledge
No chance for broken peices to carve our faces on in the night
Welcome home darling
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
There is this place
It’s called Palestine
It used to be pretty
And peaceful and lively
The people lived as they do
Everywhere else.
Then there came to be this place
It’s called Israel
Which is basically Palestine
But mercilessly occupied
It attacked Palestine
And took over most of its land.
So now in Palestine
Or what’s left of it
Where there used to be quaint houses
There’s just a lot of rubble
With broken and burnt doors, utensils and limbs
Jutting out from underneath.
Where there used to be bright smiles
That could light up the world
There now are tears,
burn marks and bloodied cuts
That can rend any human heart
Except those that are not human.
It is a war, not between states
Not between races, nor between fates
Nay, this is a bigger war, one of faith
At least, that is how it started
But now, it is between
human and non-human.
Tell me, please
Is it human to **** innocent people
For the sake of self, and the sake of hate?
Is it human then also, to remain quiet
And watch such tyranny be?
It must also be human, to point guns at 4 year olds.
And by this definition,
Humans of this world, humans that feel
Are not humans at all, because they care
And those that don’t, well
They’re humans at their prime
The most evolved of them all.
Israel, I salute you, a salute full of mock
At your utter humanity, and benevolence
Your bombs when they land
With the cheers of your people,
And your guns when they point
At 4-year old terrorists; surely they can ****
Palestine, I stand with you, sincerely
Your children, your people, your land and your peace
Are my children, my people, my land and my peace
Their bombs when they land, make my prayers fiercer
Their guns when they shoot, make my eyes water
But know this, Palestinians, we are one.
So when they shoot you, I bleed
And when they bomb you, I ache
When they hurt you, I feel the pain
And when you cry for help, I pray
We are blood, we are one body
We are the Ummah, we will rise.
Until then we pray, we pray and we try
Dear Palestine, stay strong, stay firm…
Help shall come, in ways unimaginable
*Do not weaken, and do not grieve
You will overcome them, if you are true believers*
Allah has promised, and His promise he upholds.
~Moniba.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Before his teen age
turns the pages he dies
a life through years
of neglect for the frail
bony frame drowsy feet
dark sunken eyes
wandering the street
craving white pure
pleasures and dreams
sores moon crater arms
tributaries of ****
star marks parched skin
dry bloodied screams
of glorious pills injecting
intoxicated stuffs
forbidden fruits
trappings of worldly heaven
addictive octane ecstasy
tiger terminator of
a young man flourishing
now depleted sad
youth corrupted by a love
pursued but lost
eyes vacant trailed tears
pleading please forgive
me mom and dad
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
I commit myself to the homicide
of my thought-flowers.
I indulge in the **** -
Killing my darlings
for the sake of art and sanity.
What a paradox.
I have bloodied my hands
with it even so.
No more love-lite poetry!
No more adolescent chinks of the
pseudo-heart!
No more infantile fork-stabs
at the plate of kid-intellectualism!
No more Wikipedia pages
on thoughts
that can swallow computers
whole!
I'm killing my darlings
for the sake of art,
for the sake of sanity -
what a paradox.
Blood is flowing.
I'm a murderer of ideas tonight -
today I will write
about many of life's very few truths.
Like trees.
Like soil.
These are the only constants in mathematics.
These are the identities.
In my garden, I reach out
to crush an
almost-crimson hibiscus.
Petals squelching with skin and nectar -
no perfume.
The hibiscus roils, unliving.
Red pulpy mess;
heart out of chest.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Ride up to me
On your tired old horse
With your bent armor
And bloodied sword
Cracked shield
Dry lips
Let me offer you water
And a place in my bed
I'll hide you from your sins
Those ghosts of battles passed
You are my knight
With old battle scars
And I'll love you
Despite your lack of shine
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
Still running, never ceasing, she screams silently.
the breath escapes as a wisp.
Remembering the past command:
Take the demon carefully,
his sting is heavily laden with sweet
addiction.
*** soaks through the front of her gown
and the bloodied fabrics drain rusty shades
into the tepid moon water
she spilled before.
Break her chains
she will not thank you
she will despise her freedom and lay waste to paradise
with her filthy torn wings.
Let her know of her once-natural beauty
she will hiss in derision
that she is not still stunning as the rose.
BLEED, child.
You of all creatures were fantastic in visage
You have put to waste the precious fragility of your frame
Your yellowing teeth speak volumes
your mouth should stay sealed.
We have no use for ingrate angels
that roll in the muck
cheaply selling ******* and chemical highs.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
pretty girl with her head in a book,
trapped inside a silver tower,
dreaming of places that don’t exist.
handsome man with his heart on his sleeve,
trapped inside his mind,
dreaming of his daughter that doesn't exist.
gorgeous city filled with gorgeous people,
happy smiles and happy laughs.
it’s a lie and they know it.
handsome man tries to save pretty girl
but she’s already saved herself,
with the help of her dreams of places that don’t exist.
songbird comes along and they don’t know what to do.
handsome man wants to **** him. destroy him. end him.
pretty girl feels songbird’s sadness and cries for him.
handsome man can’t bear to see pretty girl cry,
so he lets songbird go.
pretty girl smiles and handsome man can’t breathe.
pretty girl and handsome man discover the city together.
from the seedy underground fight clubs
to the high society tea parties.
handsome man doesn't fit in at tea parties.
pretty girl seems to blend right in.
handsome man’s eyes never leave her.
pretty girl feels his eyes on her and
she turns away to hide her cheeks turning a dusty pink.
pretty girl doesn't look him in the eye anymore.
songbird comes back and tries to take pretty girl.
handsome man sees red and kills him.
pretty girl’s heart mourns for songbird.
pretty girl spits words at him like knives,
he flinches as they cut him.
handsome man doesn't look her in the eye anymore.
pretty girl wants him to leave.
handsome man walks away and doesn't look back.
pretty girl lied.
handsome man finds himself
back in the seedy undercity.
bloodied knuckles, broken nose and a black eye.
pretty girl finds herself
wandering the city’s streets,
wishing handsome man was there.
pretty girl finds him in the gutter
with blood running down his face.
he still looks handsome.
handsome man struggles to speak.
blood seeping from between his lips
and his broken teeth.
handsome man tells pretty girl he can’t bear to see her cry.
pretty girl cries even more.
handsome man isn’t handsome anymore.
handsome man dies in pretty girl’s arms.
this isn’t how the stories go.
she was supposed to save him.
pretty girl is on a warpath.
handsome man would hate to see her now.
dark red lips and an unforgiving gaze.
pretty girl is tired.
she hates what she’s become.
she wants to see handsome man.
pretty girl dies in a back alley
with a gun in her hand, pressed to her head.
pretty girl isn’t pretty anymore.
pretty girl, pretty girl, with your head in the clouds,
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the handsome man always dies.
handsome man, handsome man, with your love in your eyes.
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the pretty girl never survives.
pretty girl, handsome man,
don’t you know?
the heroes fall and the city falls with them.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Wake up at noon and back to bed by five.
Knuckles bloodied and sore to remind me I'm alive.
Hop in the car and start the long drive.
Destination irrelevant just need a clear mind.
Windows down, music loud, cherry burning bright.
Take a deep breath,
and watch the sun set,
as another day goes by.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
The bloodied wound
Of patriarchy
Swings majestically
Round my neck,
Wavering my thoughts
Of what to be
And what not to be.
I look around
Viewing people fight
Misogyny and sexism.
For I try to do that too,
Until I fall once again into a muck,
Watching **** crimes
On a daily basis
Watching acid attack victims
On a daily basis.
For, some
Are too illiterate to know the meaning
Of the word, no.
For their egos are so small,
That they can’t handle rejection.
The bloodied wound
Of patriarchy
Hangs majestically
Round my whole body,
Begging me to tame it,
Oh dear lord,
There is ****** of womanhood
happening all around,
With people pointing to the length of our clothes,
To the pitch of our voices.
-
@enchantingnachokitten
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
Snarling, fangs shining, moonlight illuminating ferocious beasts,
limbs tangling, separating, lunging, caught within deadly battle.
Scarlet streams trickle from trees gouged like the bellies of their prey,
canine fiends bare their teeth, their growls like black thunder,
facing these soulless demons smeared with the blood of many.
Bodies drop with screams still rattling inside their rib cages,
demons devouring with rage that can never be quenched,
their hearts ripped from their chests, veins slit,
arteries torn mercilessly out of still warm flesh.
Creatures created from pure insanity that breed nothing but anger,
fear and despair, children's corpses torn apart, their skulls shattered.
Snapping of jaws still slimed with internal juices,
bits of raw flesh clinging to hair that shimmers under the blood red moon.
Hissing from the shadows, knotted into frenzied war,
animated corpses beside twisted bodies of wolves,
wounds gushing ruby tears, still pulsing organs shredded.
Flames rush from overturned fires,
shrieking forms, torches wavering through darkness.
Pale beings gather for the finale,
blood spatters across ground, staining everything within it's reach.
Only two are left, facing each other in the coming dawn.
Heaps of creatures litter this burned, bloodied ground, none alive.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
Scars, time to relive the past
It just happened to be,
Within in my grasp
Scars, a reminder of will
Remembering a loss,
A void to be filled
Scars, I’ll never forget
A map of the journey
No pain filled regrets
Scars, a feeling contrived
A time in my past
Grateful; alive
Our creator, a leader of men
Scars are a reminder
That symbolizes the dead
Scars, one last debate
How am I supposed to feel
When we can’t relate?
I don’t want to hear it
I don’t want to know
Don’t keep me waiting
With no dial tone
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
It’s a badge of honor
I survived death!
A merit of completion
Having been put to the test
Got me in a fight for land
Where men now lay dead
Bloodied and red
These scars on my body
The voice in my head
Telling me you are the enemy
No longer my friend
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled now you can never discard
Scars, yours, mine, and ours
Scars on your leg, on your chest, on your head
Scars, when you decided on ink
Instead of lead
Taking a bullet, they pronounced you as dead.
Scars
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 7:43 AM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883
She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales
She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening
She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men
Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed
She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings
Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen
Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship
But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below
She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel
And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
i called you at 4 am with mascara
tears and bloodied knuckles grasping
a quivering cell phone in the
rain; you drove three hours
in the middle of a storm to hold
me close and claimed you'd never
let me be alone again.
you
lied.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC