"maims" poems
Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howl
and cried again: 'Our damaged branches ache!
Your pillage maims me! Can't you feel at all?
We who were men are now this barren brake.
You'd grant us your respect and stay your hand
were we a thicket not of souls but snakes.'
As wood still green starts burning at one end
and from its unlit end the burning stick
drips sap, and hisses with escaping wind,
so from the broken stump there oozed a mix
of words and blood: a frothy babbling gore.
I dropped the branch. My fear had made me sick.
'Poor wounded soul, could he have grasped before,'
my sage replied, 'what now he sees is true,
and blindly trusted in poetic lore,
then he need not have so insulted you.
But as there was no other way to learn
I urged him to a test that grieved me too.
Tell us who you were, that he, in turn,
can set your honor freshly back in style
among those he will teach when he returns.'
The trunk: 'Your speech, by raising hope that I'll
regain repute, makes words arise in me.
I mean to talk, if you will stay a while:
I was the one entrusted with the keys
to Federigo's mind, and it was sweet
to share his thought and guard his strategy
for noble ventures secret in my keep —
so faithfully I filled this glorious post,
I gladly sacrificed my health and sleep...'
2.7k
It corrupts you
Losing control of soul
It hurts you
Slowing your growth
It maims you
Stealing your heart
One day people will see
Until then I fight
Because of one reason
It's not me
It's not psychiatry
It's that there is a way of seeing
A way of not seeing
And my mortal enemy is
The anti-fam
So I take war on
The war for eternity
Corruption or not
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
choices
embrace things
that sickens
enslaves
maims
kills
unbound
yourself
loose
your chains
turn away from
the dungeon
that has
become
your death
chamber
you
alone
crafted
with such
deft skill
you exiled
yourself
hid away
from the living
inhabiting a
convenient
confinement
relishing
the deceitful
pleasures of an
addled mind
a twisted
portrait
of a
shackled
self
living
inside
the
dark abode
of your head
bumping
about in
unmapped
caves
dwelling
in a place
that no one
could find
nor dare
explore
you heap
stones
at the door
providing
your only
means
of escape
safely
entombed
in your
vapid
delusions
a decrepit
graveyard
an abandoned
township
of lonely
sarcophagi
long forgotten
by the
moldering
bodies
of the city's
ghostly
citizens
you reek
with the
stench
of death
you
murdered
yourself
and
became
dead
to us
But
Jesus
wept
over
your
self
denigration
never
forsaking
your favored
condition
The
Good Friend
lifted
you
from
Edens
dust
and
showered
you
with
fine
things
yet
you
found
no joy
in
the gift
of solace
the might
of grace
the balm
of love
the rest
of peace
all
only
heaped
torments
upon
you
your
sisters
wailed
in grief
imploring
The
Resurrector
to make you
whole
he only
shrugs
and
extends
a palm
unloose
the rags
of your
swaddled
grief
unbound
yourself
Lazarus
come out
and walk
amongst
the living
again
put
down your
stones
the hand
is nigh
choose well
my friend
St. Alban's
Bible Study
7/09
jbm
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:45 AM UTC
I am a writer who hates whiskey.
I feel that I should love it like a writer's only friend,
Like I should sip it from a glass while I scribe with broken pens,
Like I should clink the ice against the sides and swirl it, deep in thought,
And take it neat and raw, in admiration of its steely course.
It should lubricate the mind and guide the flow of words to page,
And since a nervous age I've yearned to say I love the way it burns and maims,
And maybe on a certain day, I'll glug it without choking, breathless,
But for now it hurts my brain to even think about its... smokey wetness.
I've idolized an archetype, a writer with a harmful life,
Sit alone in bars at night, lament the fact that art is strife,
But recently I'm thinking more, and honestly, this can't be right,
I love the pen and paper, and I love the fact it's hard to write.
It's the way that I've romanticized it, fantasized and glamorized it,
Like I could just forget about a novel, let Jack Daniel's write it,
While I sat and focused on my magnum opus, penning parts of it in prose,
I viewed my present like it's hindsight, through glasses tinted rose.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
Vacivity feels abstract, yet maims nether ends
Burgeoning to habitual like repeated ******
Overcoming this notion of occurring widdiful
By consummation within myself
Nulling unfurling wounds
Garbed in a crimson lagoon
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
Checks his cards with certainty
Poker face that shows no sign
Of the best cards he has and holds
Structured so, flawless design
---------------------------
*He lays the King of Spades
The story goes he digs your grave
A brutal, merciless, powerful lord
On par with Satans' desire to destroy*
--------------------------
Spreads his hand, checks again
The end is nigh for you, my friend
He smiles a little, it fits the moment
When he lays the dreaded Joker
----------------------------
*Word has it, the Joker, a clown
Is the one who underneath his smile, a frown
He jests and contests with others simply for smiles
No currency has he, amusement his one bright fire*
--------------------
The final card, Uno, one claims
The one thing society brutally maims
For each is unique, a vital part
When he plays the Ace of Hearts
-------------------------
"Thank you for playing me
Not many accept my challenge, you see
They call me Silence, the Blank Card
And my skill with words vastly admired"
I just don't talk so much
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
They called out on the loud speaker
it's all out war
we are fighting for resources
funny that, I have been here before
The flight coordinator, calls by the numbers
I will be the 25th to fly
we are so loaded with weaponry
the poor ******** don't stand a chance
It's just another war
so get your butts to the hanger deck
for we are powerfully adequate
with our fleet that maims and wrecks
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
The thing about love
See
Is that it can be everything, and nothing
Everywhere, and nowhere
Too much, and not enough.
All at once.
And it's hard to remember the beauty of the fire
After it burns and maims your skin.
But oh, but oh.
The beauty was there. The fire was there.
And the burn will never truly heal.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
Such charm, such life
Such love, such passion
Swirling, twirling
Firing captions
Nuggets of sheer genius thought
Pulled from the ether
From the universe bought
But at what a price!
At what a cost!
The victims strewn
And all that’s lost
Thrown to the depths
From the highest heights
A life in freefall
From day to night
A shooting star
That briefly flares
Against velvet black
In brilliant glare
Its ashes fall
Upon the sea
In gloom, despair
And misery
The waves of rage
Rise up and break
And roil that monster
The ancient snake
That bites and maims
And kills at will
And robs life itself
Of all its thrills
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
"Your body, beats
Your name, maims
Your scent, suffocates
Your smile, slays
Your voice, violates
Your lips on mine are like a knife in my spine
Your skin, stings
Your eyes, paralyze
Your hair, hurts
Your mind's, unkind
Your cuteness, cuts
Your beauty's, brutal..
But even now, after stating all the attributes that I loath.. I truly can't think of one thing about you, that I don't love.."
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
The lace with intricate patterns
reveals the silk of pink
The feather lightly brushes the flesh
The cane dimples the skin
A touch caresses the mind
A word pierces the heart
Water cools the flesh
While tears sting with pain
soft material floats
a rip of fabric maims
The name like a whisper on the wind
while the time is like a scream
The eyes windows to deep inside
But also doors to keep closed
The lips part in bliss
The hurt escapes with a sigh
The truth seems known
Lies cloud the sky
The flowers have blossomed
but the flesh has died
The velvet softness of dew
The searing heat of the whip
A gentle hand
A firm hand
Which is preferred
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 4:25 AM UTC
if kisses are green and bodies verdantly exact in sameness
let my hands be two birds glorifying the waters in the slopes
of fingers,
if song is but undeath and the rise and fall the unalphabeted siren
of the morning,
such loose wind swaying over her silently as loincloths
over blackred roses, easily it breaks like a finger of a shadow
whirling gently through opened windows in candid moonlight
but if surely does your going signal the dawn but no birds
wreathing the trees and no gardens inherit garlands,
what shall then be two birds over waters but a single stride
of sorrow and whose temporal flights disdain centrifugal faces
of waiting; measured, coveted, photographed, love everywhere fading
where silence maims sound and music topples over the moon
the stars the sleepless nights and the stellified dust of the world
that must be opened again
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
*On one of city’s endless wires
Above spits venom guttural swears
When the sun tinges an orange red
The lone bird cries a dirge for dead!
The dead footsteps that left the shore
Walked million miles could walk no more
Their joys and pains on earth foothold
Silenced now deep buried in cold!
The bird it knows the stories untold
Hurtful sighs of hearts of gold
Silent fall of molten pain
Left for good here won’t be again!
The lone bird knows how hard it hits
The ones still here forlorn heartbeats
When death maims bonds breaks love’s pairs
Moonless eyes wake through nightmares!*
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
The mystic Mys-Match of Mew Manor mounts the moon at midnight. He flies freely, forgetting the faltering fallacies that fold this failing facade of figments of the imagination and inglorious nations into a crooked caricature of creeps, clowns, and carcinogens to our culture. From crack and **** to casual deaths, the population prays for post-pissing match days.
What's the reason of rhyme if you don't have a reason to see a new season of sweethearts and treason? The mystic Mys-Match of the planet Piblatch has snatched nary a glance of this reprehensible romance. He hums happily, hovering over the homes of the hurt and the helpless, unaware of the ugly and untrue souls of the suffering below.
Due in part, perhaps, to the planet Piblatch, whose population prowls playfully amongst the pipperplitz plants and the tinktertip trees. A civilization unaware of Gods and demons, Guido's and dip *****
At sunset, the Piblatchians partake of rackaday root and crushed up clibber clatch cuttings. They see the psychedelic sky ways that sing of sweet things and spacey swings.
As mankind manipulates, murders, and maims itself, the world which waivers with weakened wings is consumed by the carnivores that **** off the common crowd and leave only the corrupt and cantankerous crooks that fall to the depths of despair when the bomb goes off, blotting out humanity's light forever.
But the mystic Mys-Match and his planet Piblatch live on, past the end of time itself. The peaceful people continue to enjoy their lives and never know of the negative notions that drove the dimwitted denizens of Earth into a violent and gruesome grave.
Mankind could have learned something from the Piblatchians, if only they had opened their eyes and seen the light.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
**** life, I feel like death. I feel like dyin. Tired of sighin. Fed up with continuously fruitlessly tryin. Really high and im flyin. Cant stay up forever. Still though, ill never stop smokin, no never. Im too real to stay or be sober, thats how it feels. Burn my own flesh sometimes, just to feel. Into shadow shards I peel. On blistered and ****** knees I kneel. For this life is too heavy.
Words are wind and we are dirt. With disaster I flirt. ********* mother nature just to watch her squirt. Boiling tsunamis and enormous hurricanes. Breathing lava veins, losses but no gains. Im starving stains, water as it floods and drains. Im pain as it pours and maims.
Winter words and summer birds all call to me wonderfully. Woeful discontented rage never vented. Running in dry rivulets out of my gaping eye sockets. No skeletons in my closet, but there ARE dripping molding bones stuffed into my pockets. Lined with self loathing. My very favorite style of clothing.
Ill ramble and roll right on. Rollin and ramblin. Bettin and gamblin all of my hope away. If I were you I would bet against me. Trees and tears raised me. Look, see? Ive got bark for skin and my confidence is thin. I would write more. But I would not know how, when, or where to even begin.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
Hate is a darkness
A feeling, a sound, a phrase, a sight
It's a swirling atrocity
Surfacing from the deep depths of our souls
Breaking through
Poisoning and ravaging and tainting each perception
It blinds and maims
It's has no remorse
It drowns, seeping into every crevice of your being, leaving nothing untouched
Gradually, it consumes your soul
Torn, bruised yet bursting with spite, sin, jealousy, deceit, manipulation, lies
It never ends
Twists, turns and misleads
A game you could never possibly win,
And one you've inevitably already lost
In hate you find a rotten hope for violence and injustice
It'll devour everything and I hope it should not afflict the world thereafter
It plagues ideas and concepts
It is sown amongnst us
Harbouring a tendency to cast a perilous shadow
Laying a trap to the unwary
It befalls even the worthy and the gracious
Those in love with love
Those that love the light and the light of love
But mostly those who love
As with love there always lurks hate
And with hate you extinguish the love
KG
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
Love is the most painful thing of all,
Heaven forbid in love you should fall.
Love hurts like the fiery depths of hell,
So does loving something or someone as well.
Love tears your sole apart,
And rips away at your heart.
Love destroys, kills and maims,
If you love too much things will never be the same.
So take heed this warning its really up to you,
Don’t love too much or love will destroy you too.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
Fire, fire, countless fires
Fire of hate that nobody admires
Fire that hurts, maims and kills and innocent victims
Fire that burns, cremates and destroys many buildings
Fire that is misused
Fire that is diffused
Countries with more firepower rule
A gangster with a heavy fire is used as a fool
As a deadly instrument or tool to bully
To ****** and to eliminate potential enemies
Fires of hate, fires of hell that **** families
Fire, fires, uncontrollable fires on the sea
Fire, natural fires in California
Fire, deadly fires in Gaza
More fire, more power, more firepower
More power, more fire and more back-asswards power
Fire in the kitchen to cook gourmet food, delicious dinner
At the fancy cocktail hour
That’s my kind of fire, that’s good fire
Fire, fire, and ceasefire! Nobody wants war
Because war is hate, war is hell at the bar
War is nothing but an evil fire
War is not a game. War is not natural
War is a disaster. War is a man-made hell
War is a waste of human lives and resources
More water to **** all of fires and all sources
The world needs good fire to protect the environment
The world wants peace throughout the continent
God created One World, One People and One Race
And man invented division and many races in this space
Man created nepotism, money, hate, envy, discrimination
Terrorism, color, greed, betrayal, suffering and corruption
Fire, fires, ceasefire! We need rain, more water to quench the fire
We need Love to annihilate hate and more love to fire
The evil leaders that are destroying our World, our Universe
We want Peace and good fire for our World, for Our Universe.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 1:17 PM UTC
He used to walk with his head down,
Eyes on the ground sheltered by black lenses
Brick walls covering the window to his soul.
He barely even walked,
trudged really.
Like he was making his way through a swamp of ***** things
Things he wanted nothing to do with.
He deafened himself with his music
So he couldn't even hear the filthy creatures that taunted him.
Tennis shoes or moccasins, didn't really matter,
He moved them one at a time, step-by-step,
Carefully choosing the route that would leave him most alone,
So he could wonder to himself why no one loved him.
I've never seen his eyes, but I've looked into his soul
And though he's never spoken a word to me
I understand his heart.
He's let it be so, that people can see,
That he maims himself out of love
And though he is still blinded by walls,
And deafened by music
He now walks with his arms open, his head up,
His heart vulnerable.
He is a book you have to take from the shelf and open for yourself.
No cover art, no summary on the back,
But the greatest book you will ever read
Nonetheless
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
in the realm of man, beauty is a weapon that maims everyone within its reach… and ends up killing the one who wields it…
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
God needs no defending
God is love
God is good
What is good is evident
It feels good
God needs no defending
God loves in spite of evil
God chooses us even if we don't choose God
To light The Christ in all of us
To destroy in God's name is defiling
God can love even through this misguided attempt
God needs no defending
All is done through love
For every emotion stems from it
or the lack of it
We are not separate from God
We are collectively God
We can only turn away from ourselves
Placing our faith and trust in man
and the here and now
and you zombies don't know what it means
and you keep on keeping on
believing a fake reality
As if nothing else exists
while discounting the truth in your soul
In the aether, in your heart,
God needs no defending
To do so is to believe that we are greater than the collective
That God is weak
God is enlightened consciousness
Only the blind Christ maims in its own honor
God needs no defending
God only requires choice
The choice to love inspite of evil
To choose us even if we don't choose God
To reveal the Christdom in all of us
God requires no defending
Only choice.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
Heart:
I have a book of songs,
a collection of antique emotions,
carefully crafted for someone
Like how seedlings germinate
inside the womb of the good green Earth
feeling the warmth of a watchful Sun
Yet I pick up another,
a chronicle sans embellishments,
A tale every bit pure, every bit unspun
A familiar fear grips me -
clouds me, maims me, ****** me
as I open it with glum expectations
But I feel myself break,
to know of my absence from this tome,
with each page I anxiously turn
Did I not deserve
a chapter, a line, atleast a word?
Maybe I will find a footnote - none!
Mind:
Oh my dear heart,
Do not expect in return something better
because you've surrendered to her memories
Equivalence is just, but justice is not a quality
How do you plan to **** the one
whom you've already granted immortality?
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 4:21 PM UTC
The world can't see her, she hides behind me
I take the lead but she is always around me.
The world can't see her, the science can't detect
Every second her in me, more-n-more reflect.
The world still can't see her, religion calls her names
She engulfs; leaving me to wail as she slowly maims.
The world can't see her, my family too
She still hangs by my neck, my sadness-her stew.
The world can't see her, nor can I
She lives through me while I barely stay alive
The world can't see her, only she can see
She has my life, my smiles, my fears and my tears.
They have pledged their allegiance to her
While I remain to be the shell, for the world to see.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 6:11 AM UTC
Oh Persephone you frighten me
Dark hair falling
Arms flailing
Hailing nothing
But the darkness you claim
The pain that maims
Your reason
Pushing the razor
Harder and deeper
Sliding it in and out of your skin
Like a credit card purchasing
Temporary relief
From your grief
You say that you are poisonous
But I say you have been poisoned
The virus is in the air
On the tv
On the streets
In some of the books
In strangers looks
In the aftermath
Heart break
Takes its’ place
Followed by apathy
Till there is nothing left
And though you never cut your chest
Your heart is still leaking
Leaving
A subtle arrhythmia
Hade’s fingers
Crushing each ventricle
Squeezing just enough
To keep you alive
In agony
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Some days she looks at me
And bears a smile that shines like light
Other days she looks away
Forgets I loved her at first sight.
I promised her I'd never leave
Unless she told me twice
And now she's told me three times
With that distant look in her eyes.
Beauty hurts and beauty maims
And memories never fade
I look out the window, watch the sky
Fill up and pour with rain
But I can't leave
She's stuck in mind
Some days she stays
And life passes by
And nothing stings worse
Than crawling back.
She told me that she'd never love
Someone as good as me
'Cause good men tore her heart apart
In these cold, dark city streets.
But pain can't last forever
And neither can father time
So take a chance or two or more
And life won't pass us by.
Beauty hurts and beauty maims
And memories never fade
I look out the window, watch the sky
Fill up and pour with rain
But I can't leave
She's stuck in mind
Some days she stays
And life passes by
And nothing stings worse
Than crawling back.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC