"rankled" poems
She had the eyes of a goddess
And the voice of an angel
But I could not save her
In fact I think I gave her
More pain than she had
When she first came to me
Crooked and scarred
Out of touch with reality
I made her scars thicker
She purged with intensity
You see I thought I was the savior
Of her self destructive behavior
Yet I was but the arrow
That pierced through her ankle
She sliced at her thighs
Oh how the wounds rankled
I've learned not to dwell
On days that have passed
Those who focus on the past
Will not for long last
But I can still see
The hurt in her eyes
When I tossed her away
When she saw through my lies
I had the eyes of a demon
And the voice of a monster
She could not save me
In fact I think she gave me
More pain than I had
When I first came to her
When she seduced my heart
With a tender whisper
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
I've never met Andy Rooney. So I can't truthfully say I know Mr. Rooney. But you can't help forming an opinion after watching him on 60 Minutes for more years than I care to admit.
First, Andy's opinionated. Well, who wouldn't be if they were paid, presumably well, given an entire week to collect and share their thoughts with millions of viewers, and on any matter that rankled you that week!
Second, Andy has Svengali eye brows that you just can't take your eyes off. I'm sure CBS provides Andy free barbering, as sure as I am that he tells the barber, "Nothing off the brows."
Third, how many times has Andy told his audience not to send him things. After which he dips into a cardboard box and pulls out a cheese grater, a bible printed on playing cards, or a logo baseball cap?
Andy, don't worry; I got the message.
Is my minute up yet?
Fourth, Andy's hand shakes. Not unusual for a man his age. It's not likely to happen, but I wouldn't mind shaking that hand just once.
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
here i stand, in this bleak and forsaken place
the crackle of fire resounding ceaselessly in my ears
a hot desert sun beats down on my head
making the valley burn like a furnace
the slow burn of my anger
it consumed me like a ravenous beast
i fed it more and more
the memories that rankled and burned like acid
my tongue, it cleaves to the roof of my mouth
and my eyes have ceased to tear from the grit of dust
the harsh cries of crows are mocking me
raca! raca! their never ending mantra
i called you an immense fool
my gross assessment of your character
kept me blind and deaf
unaware of the fate that awaited me in the valley
my body, desperately crying out for some relief
in this vale that mourns the blood of innocent children
nearly falls to the ground in its feebleness
who can wash me clean from my sin?
i had the chance to be clean
but i kept my pet, my utter resentment
cuddled up to my chest
where it gorged itself on my soul, piece by piece
i beg mercy of Him now in my despair
my heart leaden in my chest
it’s then that i feel the first drop of rain
as the doors of heavens open on me
a holy and purifying deluge sweeps in
it washes away the guilt and shame
and there in the midst of it all
i find myself in the hollow of His hand.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
I have a shaggy mess
of brown hair that
stays tangled & rankled
to fall over my glasses
like a flag. Smoke from my
cigarette trails behind
me when I walk,
in the direction of the
breeze. I have short legs
and long fingernails that
break often. I wear an old
sandalwood Buddhist
mala rosary on my thin
and bony right wrist.
I've never made a necklace
of flowers--
maybe I'll start
making those tomorrow.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
a scowling wind blows
through the tall timber masts
their boughs left rankled
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
Mpayinfo) Akwaaba,
The melodies streaming and vibrating,
Are lyrics inked
By the rankled lightenings,
On the dark clouds,
And blown by the gods
From their retributive flutes,
Prompting the thunders to chorus,
The terrors,
Mpayinfo)
The legs of time is stout,
And will stride wearing not,
For the coals and brimstones creeps,
And will be pernicious,
Even to your progenies,
Mpayinfo)
For the language of the gods,
I speak not,
But their deep seated pique
And bruises,
I tell and forewarn,
Mpayinfo),
Where is Okyeame and the Omanhene,
Where are they?
Why come without them?
I guess they know;their clandestines
Have fallen before the sights of the gods,
Vultures that eats from the pots of the eagele;In his absence,
And smear faeces on the tips,
Traitors of traditions,
For the alien groceries
Have tucked their intelligence,
And left them groggy
Famished Dogs
Mpayinfo),
Why sit-tight and watch;
As aliens contrive a throne
Over our goods?
And defile our land
With their iniquituos schemes
Ubiquitously,
Mpayinfo)
The gods sing the blues,
And grieve day and night,
Their tadpoles have lorn them,
And clung to an alien deity,
For this I say and forewarn,
Like I told your fathers before,
If the witchweed is not uprooted with vehemence,
The creeping coals and brimstones,
Shall surely surmount entirely,
"A word to a wise";They say"it enough"
Now go,
Oracle
©Historian E.Lexano,
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
I wake up whenever the big bright thing comes back, you call it a sun but I don’t know that fact. I don’t have a specific schedule, my mud hut is pretty basic but arguably influential. I don’t start my mornings with green eggs and ham, a freshly caught rabbit shall be breakfast for the fam.
Most of my day consists of finding food, whatever’s around, no particular mood. Everything I’ve learned I teach to my child, this uncivilized world can get pretty wild. After playing with junior I look for more food, I see a fellow ‘magnon “What’s up, my dude?” We forage for nuts and we forage for berries, leaves will do, but, you know, it varies.
When the cold goes away we’ll begin to farm, we’ll change the land what’s the harm? It’s almost dinner what could I make? There’s a lot of fish down in that lake. I crouch near the water and aim my harpoon, I sense a tasty supper sometime soon. Compared to the average human my senses are keen, lucky for you It’s 2016.
I’m stuck in the food chain, you shouldn’t complain. I had to outrun a bear today, I ran uphill and shouted, “HOORAY!” The hill had a spider, it couldn’t be wider. It bites my ankle, making me rankled. I’m growing pretty tired, possibly due to the bite I acquired.
My head gets heavy and my thoughts start to fade, I try to focus on the idea I last made. I look at the tiny dots in the night, contemplating my place and where I fit right. My species so young, our world so mysterious, what you have yet to learn should make you delirious.
I curl up on the floor and close my eyes, the story of my life forever fossilized. My tribe members bury me but I’m not the first, an underground sea of dead bodies is all that remains in the land we traversed.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC