"disfiguring" poems
In all my paralyzing confusion, only one thing is needed; in all my anxiety over my much less than ideal circumstances, only one thing is needed; in all my this-is-so-unfair discouragement, only one thing is needed; in my pressing-down-like-a-boulder-on-my-chest grief, only one thing is needed; in my feels-like-my-insides-are-being-scraped-out sorrow, only one thing is needed; in my falling-apart-at-every-seam life, only one thing is needed; in my can’t-seem-to-muster-the-will-to-get-out-of-bed depression, only one thing is needed; in my sure-I’m-finally-going-crazy state of mind, only one thing is needed; in my so-mad-I’ve-got-to-throw-and-break-something anger, only one thing is needed. In the scorning and tormenting face of rejection or betrayal or failure or devastating news or disfiguring disease or the worst fears of my heart coming to pass, only one thing is needed—to come and sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what He is saying.
To entrust myself to Him, to acknowledge His presence with me, to submit myself to His perfect authority over me, to just look at Him and recognize His all-surpassing worth, to feast on Him, to wait for Him to speak and know that He longs to do so more than I long to hear it, to meditate on His Word and speak it back to Him both in praise and request and to ask Him exactly what it means for me right now, to be ready to respond to Him in obedience and follow him wherever or however He leads, to be willing to tune out every competing voice no matter how well-intentioned and to say “No!” to whatever He has not called me to, to believe that He cares deeply and passionately for me both in His emotion toward me and in His personal tending of me, to see that the details of my life matter even more to Him than they do to me and that He holds every one of them in His hands and is perfectly directing them for intimacy and glory, to refuse to be drawn away or worried or upset by the many preparations and distractions all around me by casting every burden down before Him and taking up His all-sufficient grace for every need, and above all to want Him more than anything and to let everything else fit into that all-pervasive desire—this is the ONE THING that is needed both now and throughout every season of my life, and if I will choose it, it will not be taken from me. It is the one thing worth fighting to the death for and will, no doubt, require just such a dying again and again and again...
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
the elephant is lovely endangered now is he
he cant roam around now no longer is he free
they are under threat from the poaching war
gone now has there freedom that they had before
all they know is danger there lives now in distress
getting killed for nothing leaving just a mess
cutting of there tusks disfiguring there face
leaving them to suffer is nothing but disgrace
such a lovely creature it is such a shame
all the poachers see is money for there game
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
With a single
glance
you make me sweat--
your sticky breath
dances
melodically with every swagger
of your step.
You chronically
dehydrate
my thoughts--
ironically inspiring me
to bathe in refreshing
conscience streams
that are not mine.
I want to taste
the salty Sahara sands
between your toes
to feel what it's like this close
to the sun--
concealed by the burning
Shisha smoke you breathe
with such control into your soul.
For one steamy night
I want to be the wind
igniting--brightening--heightening
those burning embers in your eyes
watching you slither,
as if an ice cube touched your spine.
I want white light smiles
to scar our faces
the next morning,
disfiguring our charred
hearts--
our ashes scattered
by the wind from the burning
building we've collapsed.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
Some things are sadly poetic
Like the cougar whose boyfriend
Won’t come back outside and she’s alone
At the only table in the cold
smoking a pall mall,
Having a beer.
Some things are refreshingly poetic
like leaving the office for a bit with the boss
and going somewhere
where there are domes made of pure gold
and priests who pour milk on them from
helicopters.
Some things are interestingly poetic;
like the poet, turned novelist, turned artist,
who does landscaping to cover the spread.
Some things are courageously and nostalgically
And hurtfully poetic,
Like not seeing your family for nine years
Because the money’s good where you're at,
And plane tickets and passports are outrageous.
Some things should not be
poetic, but they are, because they are truthful
And that is verse;
like the waitress who was *****
when she cashed her check at a grocery store
after the night shift
and she wasn’t the only one in her car
when she got back.
Some things are poetry because they come
Into this world quietly
And bleeding internally,
and yet they survive
Even though their lungs are full of fluid,
And they can barely breathe.
Some things are poetry because they happened
And nothing can change that.
And because
Poetry is
unchangeable, immovable, and
grotesque, beautiful, uncomfortable, calming,
disfiguring, life-giving, ****** up,
Possibly ****** possibly a nectar
That God
or whoever the ****
allowed to be put on paper,
Possibly a way to talk about pain,
Possibly roided up with someone else’s words,
Possibly a way to talk about
the pure dream of a girl’s body
Without being a ***** *****
Poetry is love in the worst
and most unimaginable ways.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
Lets Converse
You thrive on the light because
You know that you make the skies darker
You impale the world with your touch
Disfiguring a man with the slightest glance
I challenge your heart to discourage me because
I recognize your brilliance
I can see you can trample egos
By now you should know my persistence
You tell me who you are
This is more than the genders desire
I am buffoon by my own urges
But I must let you know what I see
I see you eyes as they stand out of a silhouette of passion,
A very piercing stare
Your footprints compare to that of your lips,
Much like the petals of a rose you might kiss
I watch you; to a man you might cause the world to spin
But I stand tall in the crowd with my arms raised,” you win”
Because you bring the quenching that would smother the sun,
You’re something of an obscured revelation.
-Alexis J Meighan-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
The whole thought of it makes me think,
That I’m falling down something.
Something worse than my leg aches.
Or the headaches I get from the aspirin I take.
A kind of sickness of the spirit,
A crack or the mind,
Or a disfiguring leprosy of the soul.
You tell me I should think and remember back.
But that is because you can't imagine.
The perfect agony of being seven.
The horrible complexity introduced by eight .
But I can sit here and remember every painful digit.
At nine I was the unwanted orphan,
I wished I could turn invisible.
When my head was dunked in a certain way.
At ten a prisoner, at eleven a wretch.
But now I am mostly at my cars window .
Watching the early mourning light.
Back then it never rose so beautifully.
Against the side of my car door.
back then it never seemed to illuminate the world so gloriously.
And my for head never leaned against the window.
As it does now.
As I play my harmonica all the dark blue sadness draining out through it.
The melodies giving me peace in a conflicted mind
The notes freeing me from the bonds of oppression that weighed me down.
This is the beginning of freedom I say to my self.
As I walk through the world in my small boots.
I try to be the man I was destined to be.
The man who I should be.
It seems only a short while ago I used to believe.
There was nothing worth while under my skin,
If you cut me no one would care as I would bleed
But now my worth is not determined by others but by me.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 12:09 PM UTC
No matter how much you deny,
A lot of people don't know,
What really does go,
On in your mysterious mind;
They say you're ordinary,
Sweet, simple and soft;
But I know you better,
You're enigmatic and a hopeless fool;
I see right through you,
I see right past your innocent smile,
I see right past your sweet voice,
I see that you're a lonesome being with no choice;
To you, trust is a treasure,
Which has no measure;
To you, trust is a luxury,
That you cannot afford to lose;
You have a biased view,
About this world;
You think everyone is waiting,
To hurt you real bad;
You think the world wants,
You to fall deep into a bottomless pit,
You think they'd love to see,
The light in your eyes unlit;
According to you,
Sharing your secret,
Is like giving away,
Your credit card;
You may be a strong person,
But right now,
You're cautious, fearful and downright scared,
You're scratched, bruised and disfiguring-ly scarred;
You'd rather ****** your own family,
Than share your deepest thoughts,
You'd rather become a detached, holy saint,
Than give anybody the access to your heart;
To you, trust is a treasure,
Which has no measure;
To you, trust is a luxury,
That you cannot afford to lose;
But my dear, don't you see,
That you're a trapped bird,
Locked in a golden cage
Totally not free;
But my dear, don't you know,
That we, your people, aren't your real foes;
Your real nemesis, my dear,
Is you;
At first, your thoughts may seem mild,
But after a while,
They'll start running wild,
Staining, tainting and darkening your pure, pure soul;
Your poisonous thoughts will,
Take away the goodness of your heart,
Take away the humanity within you,
And carefully replace it with -
Fiery, scalding, burning anger,
Cold, grudging bitterness,
And a deep, carnivorous hunger,
To annihilate the ones who love you;
So, stop being so mistrustful,
Open out your heart
Slowly at first,
Then all at once;
Do not fear being backstabbed,
Because no matter what,
There shall always be people,
Who will be there for you;
Do not fear getting heartbroken,
Because, my friend, you're so strong,
And there are thousands of others,
Who'd help you mend your heart;
Do not fear everybody,
There might be ten people,
Who might hurt you,
But a thousand more who love you;
Contrary to what you think,
Pushing away the world,
Will make you sadder,
Not safer;
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
On the fringes in space
lurk the watchers,
with a darkness like leprosy,
disfiguring in their wake.
Once exposed
to the evil
in their hearts,
there is no cure,
but abstinence.
And that kills the poet.
And when the poet dies,
the world loses
one more piece
of its soul.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
Catherine's Tango
Quiet moonless night lit only by the libido of a white cigarette
Do not
Do not be a poet
propose to a woman
and die with children on your
Denim Soul'd Lap
I am giving up
I am
disfiguring my Rifle
I am
unwashed clothes
tucked into the corner of the bed
where You and She and He and You
sleep
make love
speech
listen to the radio
when it
gives premarital birth
to Jazz C-section
when the radio
sticks its finger down its
electrical throat
attached to the wall
and
Digests Classical Master Pieces of Symphonies
I am 1:42am
an orange pill
2 pennies
3 quarters
a dime
a nickel
molding yogurt
a face sprouting weeds
a body
blooming old age
Tip Toe
unlock my
golden halted door to a chamber of
Lamps that bend and sigh
only to leave you
quite sad
quite misplaced in the sand
asking for water
but all we have
is cold coffee
it has been sitting out for
2 waltz
all of the ceiling's light bulbs
are awake
chattering quietly
like 5am suburbia birds
Pigeons
Crows
The one eyed red robin coasting south for a warm nest
watch out
Lovers are here to stay
they carry
knives and ****** bouquets
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
We have never really talked,
But I think I can,
Knowing I am the son of the same soil that anointed you,
And I come from the same city you started it all,
Before I say something I would like to touch your feet,
Pay my respects
I don't know where to start from,
Probably, in school they taught your lessons,
I didn't know back then it was a blessing,
Instead I made fun of you,
disfiguring your picture in the textbook,
Now I think, How could I?
I hope you can forgive me
And you said "hate the sin, not the sinner",
But it was 2nd October and didn't miss your movie,
It feels so nostalgic to me,
My grandfather once saw you,
He used to tell me stories about you,
How a nation was saved,
And the struggles you braved,
They say your thoughts are obsolete,
But not for me,
What you have instilled in me is priceless,
Beyond caste, color and race,
I wish I could tell you face to face,
From shaking the empire to your fasting,
Time in prison to the Salt March,
I wish I could take a part,
Shaking the foundations,
To making us a proud nation,
Bringing to us that moment of Salvation,
From Indigo to salt to cotton,
You fought them,
To millions under starvation,
Making us think from a common man's point of view,
It was you,
From self reliance,
To defiance,
You did it,
And all that without use of force,
I wished you could have stayed longer,
Bless some of the lost souls,
Left some of us on crossroads,
And they say Jesus told us what to do,
You taught us how to do it,
Forgive me, younger me was stupid,
You paved the way for King Jr. and Mandela to aspire,
And many others feel inspired,
But the sad part is that,
Against you they still conspire.
Living free,
Not knowing you did it for us,
How a thin barely clothed man could do wonders,
You taught us to stand for injustice,
You don't need a Nobel Prize, the only true ambassador of peace,
And the loyalists still follow,
Your word is never leaving,
Words are not enough,
But I feel your sorrow,
You made me believe,
Anything is possible
If you stay focused and work for it,
There's so much more to learn,
Nothing but gain knowledge,
And I try to pay homage,
Statues around the world,
Left us true word
The legacy lives on,
No matter how much I say
It will not be enough
Nobody can fill your shoes
Even if they try to,
The world calls you Mahatma, I call you Bapu*
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
I imagine my tiny body floating on the sea of bedding.
Your six foot plus frame looming over me.
The light from the bathroom casting you all in shadow, disfiguring your face.
I don’t remember a smell of alcohol or the scratching of an unshaven chin on my flesh.
I don’t remember words that were spoken or what I was wearing.
I don’t remember the length of your fingers or how cold they must have been.
I remember your hand tapping the couch and the moans coming from the TV.
I remember the window next to my mother’s bed and the shadows that didn’t see me.
I remember the shadows that never saw me.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 1:52 AM UTC
*Cat tails upon swamps daring the devil to thrive
A joyous symphony parade
Shells basking on black ice fearing the suns ray
Amongst lucid angels
Cults domain, a dreadful playground offering demise
Early risers oblige
Judgments come free, offering scorched missing graphs
Ultimate sacrifice, lie motionless staring through deaf ears
Wading anxiously among moss, disfiguring disguise
Red is a lovely colour, lathering whims you plant along dead sea's
Lovely with distance, diluted by view*
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
I woke this afternoon
with still a
cinereous sheet over me but
how strange
it was the light and
my head bobbing as in
water of timeless air and
my skin skimming
off touches of memory
inhaled with tingling
apprehension and scents
capable of warping and
disfiguring me to
mereness
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
There is but one inside each of us,
The magnificent irony that is you,
The gift of emotion and darkness,
Light and the solemn silence.
In each there is a word never spoken,
The lord of his or her pen stroke,
Like a library of dreams
Disclosed to the insensible mind.
In vain with each passing day
The infinite ache of the lifespan
Becomes an accessible garden
And fountains of immersive memory.
And to die is but to awaken,
We toil in the philosophy of words,
Without strength or direction
Writing sorrowful verse.
Haiku, sonnet, free verse,
Stars, skies, oceans, meadows,
All are symbolic to the perceptions
In the void of the eye's twilight views.
Painfully we probe the depth
And fathom the darkness,
Heaven becomes a metaphor,
Hell seems too real, the Power....
Long before me or you,
The dead poets took the dark
And shown them in the light
In his or her fading dusk.
The gallery of poems,
Impalpably dreaded like life,
And we are the dead whom write
Of life in the setting sun.
Power, which had written this poem,
Disfiguring the poet, perpetually dark,
The word speaks through us,
The curse is to observe as it all passes away.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
Spiked to pair of wooden, interlocking beams,
He hung bleeding, after being severely whipped.
There Christ experienced for the first time,
what it really meant to be like us -
bruised, ***** and covered by a legacy of sin
that clamors for our eventual death.
On that fateful day of His crucifixion,
our Lord felt the agony of separation,
as Jehovah turned His back towards earth,
being unable to gaze lovingly at The Son.
In Christ’s final hours of suffering,
God’s presence had departed from Him;
He was subjected to physical pain,
the shame from emotional wounds of rejection,
the ridicule concerning His destiny
and divine, heavenly authority.
Today He wears the disfiguring reminders,
permanently in His holy and glorified body,
while His eyes drip with tears of forgiveness;
it’s an unending testament of His Love for us,
having been… forever scarred.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 6:23; Isa 53:5; Matt 27:27-56; Mark 15:21-38;
Luke 23:26-49; John 19:16-37
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Screams piercing through the dead of night,
Obsessed and enjoying the sounds of death and fright.
Moonlight glimmering off of the surgical steel,
The pain and terror inflicted is real.
No awakening from this horrid dreamland,
It's real,
You're bleeding.
Destined to die by my hand.
The hurt you gave me is now yours to receive,
Disfiguring you so badly that no one could grieve.
Carving off the skin that shields your patheticness,
Splitting open your belly,
Confirming you really are gutless.
I toss the knife aside,
Toying with your mind.
Seeing your relief,
Are you thinking I'll be kind?
Reconsider your thought,
Say farewell to the source of all of your lies.
Selecting a new instrument for me to toy,
Cutting out your tongue will bring me such joy!
Lying is impossible without a tongue to speak..
Look at you!
Are you crying?
You are so ******* weak!
Choking on your own blood,
Soon you'll be dieing.
Do you regret you were the reason for all of my crying?
Dieing is your wish,
Your eyes are begging for it now...
The pleasure is all mine,
But with what and how?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 2:55 AM UTC
I gave the voice a name
It came alive
I had to try and convince myself
It wasn't Me
I wanted the solidification
I needed it to keep from going insane
Following myself, I needed a rock
I know better now
It came to life and expected me to believe
I slayed that confused god
Took a Rock and put it through his head
Worthless deity
Without flesh or blood
I made it all possible
I know it wasn't yours as your veins
Motivate acid
Blue and disfiguring
Burns through metal
He still hides in a corner
Looking on, thinking
"Behold, a fool. A prodigal idiot, expecting
A celebration
Hide the fatted calf
Call his brother out of hiding
We're gonna wreck this party"
But the animal at my side snickered and said,
"Worry not, human
Your true heart beats again
Your breast is ready
To receive instruction and wisdom"
The animal to my side confused me
All the same he comforted me
"Human being
Accept
This voice as if it were the muttering of God
For it is"
How deep my being
How deep
How stubborn and obstinate
Refusing to hear
Another voice
Another voice to join the others
To chide, scorn and mock
Blowing through arid places
Melting into the all in one
A spirit I created and named
Legion
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
He awoke on frozen concrete,
The broken glass.
Locked door, let the house run down around us,
At least we’re safe, right?
We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace,
said our youth was a tragedy.
We’re our own worst enemies, silent screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, glass limbs.
Your hands fumbling over the catch of the lock, unmending the hinges.
The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table,
Throwing itself, disembodied and disfiguring
onto the floor.
We were empty in that last glass,
Cold eyes at means to an end.
Staring at the broken glass, wishing
To his sleeping form
It would glue itself back
Together
Together,
It would glue itself back
To his sleeping form.
Staring at the broken glass, wishing,
Cold eyes at means to an end.
We were empty in that last glass,
onto the floor,
Throwing itself- disembodied and disfiguring-
The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table,
Your hands fumbling over the lock, unmending the hinges.
Glass limbs.
We’re our own worst enemies, silent... screaming, kicking ourselves out the door,
Said our youth was a tragedy,
We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace,
At least we’re safe... right?
Locked door, let the house run down around us...
The broken glass.
He awoke on frozen concrete.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
At night I see you in my dreams sometimes,
Alive again like when I last saw you,
Your body wrapped in celestial rhymes,
More ethereal than when I knew
You. Despite the beauty you betray,
You're just not real to me anymore,
Like a memory you're slipping away,
I can't see your face anymore. I pour
My heart out on a page trying to scrape
Away the quiet emptiness, the lonely
Despairing tears disfiguring the shape
Of what my eyes can see, but it only
gets worse. At this point I'll have to make do,
I'm still drowning in the memory of you.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Tonight, I felt like
peeling my skin
from the top of my head.
take it really slow
making sure it's
all forming a ******
mess
within my tight
grip.
Tonight, I feel like
hindering my conscience
going out senseless -
driving this tractor
down & further
down on my knees - picking
these scabs. disfiguring
all of your perfect portraits.
If my soul
is unharmed
untold
unfelt
unbent
unchaste
and unruly
surely, a bunch of flesh
and fine lines
beneath my sunken eyes
won't define the edges
of why what how and where
i begin and cease
to exist.
Don't you think
when you are in a corner
fending for the life of your
stale & weary reflection.
Crying out for help
perhaps, a dash of perception?
Didn't you think that
I would smell it on you?
Your fear is fantastic -
but then - you have always been
so full of it.
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
I scratch at my rib cage
Nails clawing at my skin
As if I could scrape away
The extra weight I feel I've gained
It's like the devil's inside of me
He's disfiguring my bones
I fall to my aching knees
God make him leave me alone
Trapped inside my eyes I'm screaming
The numbers on my scale are screeching
Their maniacal laughter devours my dreams
Someone save me I'm afraid to sleep
-ARI
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
unfamiliar fingertips
plague my sleepless dreams
silenced by sweaty palms
stinking of rubber and cigarettes
hands mashed into my profile
disfiguring my features like clay
if I look close enough
I swear my face hardened that way
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC