"contused" poems
In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face
When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!
When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune
At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly
Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite
Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove
Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament
Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
If Happiness is a contagious drug
then I’m sure I’m hooked and high,
where'd the sad flee off to,
when did the falling sky stop crushing my lungs.
I’m for sure that the air's flooded and barraged in fantasy drugs.
If God's got happiness in a needle then I’m in the bathroom,
plunging my thumping veins of cyanide in my happy suicide.
The air's thinning down,
lungs collapsing
rooms running round and round.
I've got the trigger twitching up to heaven and space,
I’ve got the barrel lodged against this perspiring face,
guts to glory life to lord
I’ll blow the universe sky high,
never to see,
never to hear,
never to know fear.
The roulette's spinning a Russian game of life or death,
I’m lost in conscience,
high on **** and happiness.
Give the word my hands a twitch set to snap,
scoured to tense,
there's nothing left, but these dreams of bliss.
A heresy of contused and flowing light,
day dreams illusion sugared sweet in an infedimine delight.
Pull the switch assign my soul to lasting high,
take my crackling mind for one last ride.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:07 AM UTC
The hardest part of letting go is knowing nothing will ever change
no matter how far my body wanders, my heart refuses to pull away.
It’s been warped and contused by the beauty of this black hole love,
the further I fell in, the slower I seemed to come apart.
I buried myself inside your false comfort, your arms became my tomb.
You were a fitting final resting place, my bones, yours to exhume.
But I’ve died so many times in the absence of your touch,
that I’ve resigned myself to a life alone, abandoned in the dust.
And I can’t convince myself, that I wouldn’t do it all with you again
just promise me that we’ll forget each other before the end, my friend.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Born in a bevy of robust, good joy
Raised by irascible those who employed
Dubious methods to coax and convince
A conniving compliance from this little Prince.
He stole what he could as he played a sharp game
And accrued a doubtful reputation of shame,
He cheated at cards and stole from the rich
And called all the tarts on the corner… a *****
And in taking the **** in a fat, farty way
He went on to run a fast gauntlet…and say
“I’ve now passed the buck to an honourable sod
Whose specialty lies in allegiance to God”
In thus doing he wagered a bet both ways
To the Devil he sang and to Jesus he prayed.
To his mistress he lied as he bedded her well
Tho his wife hit the road with the milkman from Hell,
His kids all cavorted with *** and with sin….
Then the whole mess contused like a shroud over him.
Morose and confused, whilst simpering in bed
Moans now, quite deservedly,…” Better off dead!”
M.
8 November 2017
In a wet Waikato Spring
NEW ZEALAND
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
Apple core, Baltimore
Some people know the score
They know very well what
This little verse is for.
I don’t have a clue, you see.
It is totally a cypher to me.
It’s a snappy verse, obviously,
But is nothing more than poesy.
Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.
It’s a kind of little kid rhyme
That lost its meaning over time.
Parsley sage rosemary and thyme
Kept up with the chronological climb.
But the other is one of those things
Like popsicles and onion rings
That living in the USA brings
But leave me standing in the wings.
Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.
Olly olly oxen free is another
The invention of someone or other
To help kids call in their brothers
When the game is curtailed by mother,
Or someone decides it’s done,
Or maybe just no longer fun,
And those hiding one by one
Can come in home on the run.
Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.
Pinch you owe me a coke
Is another sadly unfunny joke
Created by some sadistic bloke
That should have got his nose broke
But turned into a game that’s used
Whenever people become amused
By saying the same word the other used.
I don’t like games that leave me contused.
Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.
Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Chapped lips
Remind me of
Cracked concrete
And how you’d say
*Step on a crack and
I’ll never come back!*
Except a tree branch
Uprooted the sidewalk
And I fell forward and heart first
Hoping you’d catch me by the shoulder
But you stood true to your word
Because by the time I looked up
I saw your shadow slink away
I sat with scraped knees and
Contused love.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
The bitter pills and the ruins of cotton mills where dreams where played out on looms and woven in the semi gloom of a half lit room by children so old,who were told to do as was told or don't do at all.
Some escaped to the drudgery of the great hall where Lord Diddlywhat would squat and pass praises like water to some lacklustre daughter of a man in the town,
half a crown a month and eighteen hours a day,threepence in the offertory on a Sunday to pray for deliverance.
Though none would come for the sun didn't shine on me and mine,only on them,
lardy arsed gentlemen,willowy ladies with squawking fat babies and nannies,grannies in every nook and cranny who fed on the fat of the land,
took the bread from our hands
took the love out of life and the life of our loves,
iron fists in silken gloves.
Now finished,
the thoughts of those times diminish with age but the rage still holds true against the blue stockinged brigade
who would raid on us,put the shade on us,despise and degrade us,use and then beat us,contused and confused we would still go and labour,
wrap ourselves in the looms and in half lit bits of the day,we thought it was the only way,
'til the war came
changed the rules of the game
it was never the same after that little spat
and we spat at the gentry
who stayed behind to do sentry duty as their duty demanded.
We branded them
the landed men
wouldn't work for them no more.
Let them go hang and sing for their supper
we'll scupper them yet,
but I forget
the fat don't get wet
they float.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
A boy holding a blade to his wrist
Pondering on whether he should lacerate his skin..........
who wants me here?
who cares about me?
who accepts me for who i am?
Nobody
so why sit around to pretend i'm ecstatic about life
when i am being contused?
Contused about having rainbows in my brain
getting beat by my dad
he says hes going to beat me until all i know is straight
straight mind
until i stand straight
until i am straight
i thought he loved me
i thought he accepted me for who i am
i have been abandoned by the ones i thought was friends
unaccepted by churches
treated differently by teachers
i have been referred to as "it" numerous of times
at times i feel unusual , like i'm not human....
Society dosen't care
Friends
Family
Teachers
they don't care
When i am lying on the floor
blood leaking from my cut s
my body has discontinued the flow of oxygen and blood
when i am cadaverous , deceased, vanished
that's when people will start felling attritional
that's when people will understand
But its to late for that.
i am dead
because you couldn't open your eyes and realize what i was going through
I wanted to know you understood me before my life was non-extant
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
Memories, few I have now.
Which is better, if you think how?
I do not think it was planned.
I pray it was never intended,
I hope it was destined.
I would love to believe,
that it was a bad timing.
A result of mixed up,
wrongly fused confusion.
I knew from the beginning,
or should I say from the ending.
This love of mine won’t work out.
And so you left.
I burned out.
And you couldn't even see the damage.
My hot tears scaling down and leaving scars on my skin.
The noise that your absence left behind.
The clutter, the mess, the chaos and the scrapes
and the caramel taste
of the days gone by.
You rejected me.
I rejected me.
Until, I was a claustrophobe
I couldn't breathe.
But, then I cracked open.
And light seared through my aching, contused soul.
I stitched my unbolted ends.
But the flowing thread faltered.
I erupted.
I detonated.
Leaving myself weak and disrupted.
So, I laid in the sun and I allowed.
The wind, the storm, the rain came,
and I weathered whatever they gave.
I stayed open and empty.
And finally opened my eyes.
I discovered, you ruined us
but you hadn't ruined me.
I was glistening, glittering, shimmering and glowing.
My aching soul that was burnt and pressurized
had now, crystallized.
Dear, you whisked away the love.
But, you left behind a diamond.
So, thank you.
© TanyaC. 2015.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Are you innocent?
Confused and abused,
Contused and blue bruised,
But wrongly accused,
Are you innocent?
Are you guilty?
Shame masks disdain,
Maybe pain is your game,
The shuffle and blame,
Are you guilty?
Are you happy?
A smile mixed with guile,
Juvenile and free style,
Everything so worthwhile,
Are you happy?
Are you free, now?
Sweet tweets bleep your sleep,
Keep all that you reap,
Desire anchored so deep,
Are you free,now?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
A Forged smile,
Half-dried eyes,
Covering Slitted wrists,
Ignoring contused thighs,
Those oh-so-innocent pills,
Just a loose rope tied,
Keep the gun loaded
Suicide.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
contused
bruised
the sky looks
used up
the clouds are stacked like bricks
black against the horizon
I smack my eyes on the nearest one
and watch it break apart
they don't always
break
I've noticed that
not that it matters
the wind scatters me
across the sea of
the sky
and I die, not one
but a thousand times
and a thousand more.
confused?
well you'd think so
I know it's not so.
Every second second counts
third place is no place
and first place is a slam dunk
for the man in the drunk tank
but for the man who comes nowhere,
there's nowhere to go and
I know that is so,
Frank is a dear that would give a ram
for a sheep in wolf's clothing, that's
really a man
(had to put that in, don't ask me why)
there's a bit of Rhett in all men
who'd like to see Atlanta on fire,
but the cloud
allowed me through
to do what it is that a
sunbeam can do
one sunbeam
one dream
acorns and oaks
and a man who
smokes
filter tips.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Much music is like magick
Stampeding cross the mind
Drumming up a rhythm rare
Which purest passion lies behind
Musicality’s parade
Is everlasting, dear
Each note is a joy, delight
Sensuous and sheer
I yearn to bond with melody
That medicine of muse
Which heals the tender malady
My spirit sore, contused
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
Fallen rock touched the waves
Breaking the faith of salinity
Avoiding the strive of abalone
Above the billowed underneath
Running drops comprising lives
Exerting the leftover to fate
Undertaken the curling of breath
Removing the hope of splash
Masking the skin of trawls
It's fate for the faultless slosh
To start from happiness &
Ended up in smiling contused form
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC