"splint" poems
I dont want my temporary happiness hanging from you, tugging at your lips
Felt beneath my hips, as I lie still under your kiss
Cause my happiness is like a vine
That no good **** clinging on to bricks, splint with twine
Pretty in it's own way but poison when you touch
Pieces of it living in the crevices and cracks
Determined to come back, always to come back, to try just one more time.
I'm afraid my happiness will entangle you,
And dare I fall, will strangle you
Leaving you helpless as I drop
See, this feeling it is temporary,
Sadness blooms inside of me
No matter how many chemicals or pills I pop
Like an axe to the vine, gone with one chop, one feathered tick of the clock
Never meant to grow again, but nonetheless,
will never stop.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
A daunting sky releases the moon's glow
on the shy lotus sprouting from
the cave's hollow splint.
The wind bullies her fragile frame
but she stands unbreakable.
She is unwavering and fearless.
The showering rain chills her spine,
but the lotus is numb to its touch.
It will not control her fore she has learned
to weather the storm.
So she smiled and danced in the rain
and the moon envied the lotus flower
of the night.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
A sneaking suspicion of pompous protrution
A glimmering splint of carnivorous contempt
We bleed here for the city that eats us alive
kids with lost souls and fashion beneath which they hide
A souless confusion
puppet masters beyond this illusion
The tables have turned and the kids turn back.
Relying on pineal secretions or atleast drug induced apartheid to set them back on track
A concrete master ruled by rubber slaves so much evidence and yet so little dismay
**** the clock before it clocks you out
Your empty shallow lives only reflecting the smell of sweat your bodies do not wish to confide
Alone in a plastic prison without a scent of discontent for the blood that stagnates inside
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
They would not defend it -
dangling over the gate, split nosed –
the fall I watched from inside,
so jealous.
They would not reason it;
splint in the accident
of the wasp pumped crimson
lip, nor my lopsided
forgiveness for smacking
the backs of their laughter
so. They would not look
away
from the wind that ripped
my threads of hair -oil
slick - the slate of
what became so readily
an excuse to cry. Their
eyes became the
grinds in my cheek;
a pummeled day
where fists would grace
and I mapped my desk
with what they wouldn’t
do; the lines of every taut
lesson I held thick,
the thumb pounced athletic
nib of my pen
crawling my arm
with schools of red fish;
itching arithmetic.
How could they know
which colours I use
to dot the I;
that spot
being so readily marked
with their X?
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 6:47 AM UTC
I awoke with a shudder
Was that the sound of thunder?
I listened, and heard a faint smash
Then it was followed by a loud crash
I knew, through the down stairs window it came
Was this a burgalar coming, all the same?
I got out of bed with a frown
And adorned my blue dressing gown
From under my bed, just near the mat
I reached, and found my cricket bat
I would have to go and brave this rogue instead
And then I would bash him on the head
Out of my bedroom I went, at a quiet pace
Then I tip toed slowly down my stair case
Praying I was not going to my doom
I reached for the door of my living room
Flung it open, and switched on the light
There was no way to prepare me for this sight
On my carpet there appeared to be a small little imp
He was swearing because he had a limp
The little thing had hurt himself, when he had fell
He hopped on one leg, and threatened me with Hell
Told me he was going to curse me with magic
But this injured little imp looked so tragic
He followed, hobbling, after me into the kitchen
Cursing that his leg was now itching
He shouted at me, ranting and raving
I asked if he wanted a cup of tea, so he started waving
He showed me his jaggered teeth in a funny smile
I handed him his cup of tea, he blew on it for a while
This poor little thing looked so very sad
As an evil imp, he really was bad
He had wanted to steal my teeth and then run away
Because that was one of those games that imps play
So I made him a splint, for his injured leg
I had made it out of a wooden peg
I picked him up and he started to glow
And all of a sudden, he fixed my broken window
I then made him some buttered toast
Because he said he liked eating that the most
He was not such a bad little imp in the end
He promised to visit again, I was his best friend
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
If only I had heard the words themselves
expelled unmistakably in blades from
a swirling voice, prismatic in black,
and simply inescapable permanence
through me, saying
you are condemned, I would have nodded, nodded
Unmistakable, too, though, is my thought
and it lashes simply through me
more than a burden on a via dolorosa
asking what sound the ground would make,
were my shoulder to dip, it to fall, were I, in bareness,
to run towards a break in the confluence
My shoulder throbs critically certain moments,
possibly, the way water when it mantles
under itself, when its skin just about
feels itself out
Though solitude, it could be made of wood
to splint or splinter and, further, throbbing is just
blood, in as would be out, so quickly do my
bones straighten, wait for swirls to slow,
silence to recede back towards
sussurating laodicean voices, again, speaking
only to me, too too clearly a calloused truth,
and for the confluence to nod, nod then close the break.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
Never have I been so sane to realize
I am so insane that I am the only one to see
That this insanity is what makes me sane
This person I have come to be.
I've unlocked the key to an x-ray machine
And I can see all these broken, cracked bones
I held this here picture to the blinding light
Society is what I was shown.
And I am insane because these powers I have
Are blessings and weights in disguise
Because I understand these broken up cracks
That people have hidden from our eyes.
And I am insane enough to think it will change
Some cement and maybe a crutch or two
That a cast can mend up such a sad little world
It can change because I have thought it through.
I am sane enough to come to terms
With this is a world that a splint cannot fix
We live in a place that is too far broken and gone
We're too far insane in this mix.
And I am sane enough to figure it out
That I am merely one singular soul
A singular, broken, and determined little girl
That's insane enough to make the world her goal.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
The explosion lasted for 27 seconds
The fallout, a few years more.
I could comprehend the what where and why’s
-How the ceilings became the floors.
What was left was rebuilt, by
Who was left and had the will
I know, I’ve seen, I felt
-Splint delivered a demise unheard
Shrapnel was what I was dealt.
In fiscal time, there needs no restart
No physical wound, but shrapnel at heart
Sure we fought, and some still survive
We will all live with debris for the rest of our lives.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
may i too see the exponential
splint ering of a tree
into branches with the foremost
awareness of the tetragrammaton
as keenly as i swore to recount
the stump made into duo
of alveoli made exampling
and thereby exponential to a gratifying
mystery of the unsolvable y (pin-point,
your self - and as many girls
in the green Ukraine as those absolving rites to
a marriage, beyond? then i too eager claimant
of a bachelor status! i too the stature of exampling
the bachelor status and hopes of polygamy
for the beggar women who can't be left
bereft of materialism of any kind
since the dog, since the dog, since the leash).
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
He was not beautiful.
Unlike the others, those spectacular animals
That grew exotic, wild
He was cultivated carefully
Handicaps tied to a splint
Hold him up and covered in burlap
--Milkfed--
Long ago, he had played his card for Unique
And got a handful of Subtle Wrongness
Poor thing, pitiful and susceptible to the hunt,
Described remotely in their ****** chant
A sign, a portent dropped
With ominous carelessness
It's inevitable--
Gross ineptitude, even without the physical weakness,
Is no match for Chaos
You know the end...
The Beast
Will feast
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
You can be
You can be the whim
The lucky guess I take that leads to the right path
You can be the drive
The force that pushes me to finish the task
You can be the will
The magnet in me that attracts to your needs
You can be the goodness
The flavor and taste of the sweets on which I feed
You can be the seed
The inception from which I sprout my dreams
You can bet he muse
The plume that moves and expresses my moods
You can be the splint
The brace that mends my concentrations break
You can be the shore
The wave of ****** that leaves me drowned in your wake
You can be the home
The Four walls and roof that shelter
You can be the fabric
The hemmed time that holds the space we share together
You can be the earth
The ground that is firms that steady my pace
You can be just you
The all of the above that took my breath away.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
I saw a falling star this morning.
It fell straight through the hole you're carving in my heart.
Right between Orion and Cariopea.
It looked just like you in the dawn.
It destroyed my face with a frown.
It killed a hope i had when i drowned in your bath water.
When my purpose gets lost in the bubbles.
Id help you all i could, could i help you at all.
Supporting your ribs like a diaphragm.
I can be the buttress to your breath.
Could, could i only help.
Bindings on a broken ankle to mend you to stand.
Splint a broken heart with a heat trail left by that meteor that is burning through.
The heats absence would take away my life.
The burn from pain would flatline me and i would not know life nor death.
Remain in an infinite torpor.
Stasis to mind and feeling.
I lay in a drunk stupor sober.
I writhe in a motionless pain.
I die in a spring of health.
And i Own in a body i don't claim.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
you broke your arm last week because you
fell out of a tree, because
you are a ten year old boy. when the bone
cracked you cried and were loud as a howler monkey
when he can't find any fruit to eat. but now
you have your cast on, and you are dangerous and
cool. there is a fire of adventure kindled
in your eye, right? you will tell the story about
how you had to use magazines and rubber bands
to hold your arm in place, before you could get
to the doctor (don't tell them your dad set the makeshift
splint for you. don't tell them how you sobbed
through the entire car ride). you can do anything now,
daredevil. weren't they jealous when Christine cooed over how brave
you are, when you pointed out the branch that you fell from? (they
don't need to know you fell off the lowest branch)
she's your girlfriend now, because you are so brave, but
she will only kiss you on the cheek, because you are a boy.
you are hot **** (you learned to curse when your father
exclaimed a new vocabulary when he saw you fall). don't tell them
you fell out of the tree because you slipped on
some rotten bark, and if they find out? the worms wriggling
inside the dead wood attacked you like a more potent
hydra than the one you learned about in class.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 3:03 PM UTC
A desire , a crave we look among it as if a dream and till this day I ask myself why?
What drives this desperation towards such an simple thing, what leads to the hunger and deficiency to what it may bring .
What is this prodigious desire that even the rich cannot even admire.
What is this delectable delight, that makes the eyes of those who seek it shine like stars in the night ?
What is this mending enchantment, that cannot even be attained by the most powerful commandment?
I ask you now do you possess this heavenly thing? If you say no I will tell you it’s nothing but a broken string?
You desire but it is there , you crave it as you pull on your hair.
It is a small fire, a burning splint getting smaller it becomes a hidden glint.
You have the ability to make it shine, all you need is a little wine.
You have the ability to seek it through, with the love and kindness that comes from you .
Beneath the confusion outside, there goes on a battle between two wolves inside a seclusion of your brain but the inclusion of your heart.
Wolf evil, he is Anger, jealousy ,greed, resentment, lies and ego he feeds on your weakening fire like a weevil he feeds on your desire.
Wolf good, he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility and kindness . he is weak at times but he has the ability to create inside you a beautiful thoughts that ring like chimes.
Do you wonder which will be defeated and how this battle will sunder?
Like happiness it is simple. The one you feed is the one that grows.
So wonder, think, which wolf inside you do you feed the most.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Crouching slick faced in the depths of the pines,
Drums are echoing in me like dead men.
The forest always knows how it will end,
The thick autumn painted crimson with blood.
The deer murmurs as I slowly take sight
And ran for miles after his mortal wound.
Through ravines and thorns I carefully wound:
His corpse was still beating among the pines.
Cone-needle bed is his funeral site.
Death has become the tooth-scarce grin of men.
My hands are on the shoulders of my blood:
A burden he must carry through the end.
Not long after this the deer filled the end
Of our truck and the ragged red-brown wound
Pained my eyes, hissing at me as the blood
Fled from it like a warrior who pines
For home. We cut him apart with old men
And the winter made our breath turn to sight.
Two months later my kin’s ribs are the sight
That tell me it is all about to end.
Where once stood muscle now lay paper men
Leaking memories, ready to be wound
In the splint’ring rigidity of pine
And finally make good their debt of blood
We are starving without the nature-blood
And the black smoke pollutes the holy site
Where killing became living in the pines.
Now there are machines living at the end
Of my fence, chewing on the trees, wounding
My mother with the oiled claws of un-men.
I meandered slowly towards the dead men
Now laid enshrouded deep within the blood
Of the forest. I am the living wound
Among the trees. Wooden markers show sights
Of a generation shortly ended.
There is no life among the wretched pines.
Now coming are the haunted men who pine
for the forest of their blood, but the end
has come and earth-wounds are their only sight.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
Bone mice and malice
Splint sores and callused
Morrow moths in chalice
O dear friend Miss Alice
In a cave my shadow is broadcast on wall
A recollection of forms and participation for all
Smoke rings and incense for an instance of alone
“A hermit” I said aloud, in the place I call home
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
As the glue grasps the shards
And the splint heals the bone
Your love mends my heart's pieces
Repairing what's broken by thrown stones
© JL Smith
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
the splint to mountains trollop
and ecstasy of luminous death
a sunging light is hurdy gurdy
and
to behind
their rocky stiffened pose
it's a plunging ***** of deeply laughing violet
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 12:55 AM UTC
An angel fell to the earth one day
And lay with a broken wing,
I saw her lying out on the path
And thought I was seeing things.
‘Are you really what I think you are?’
I said, but I saw she cried,
So picked her gently up in my arms,
‘I’d better get you inside.’
Her tears were staining her pale white cheeks,
And weeds were caught in her hair,
The wing was twisted and limp, I saw,
And I couldn’t help but stare.
‘I think I must look a fright,’ she said,
And dabbed away at her tears,
‘I flew straight into a plane, and still,
The engines ring in my ears.’
I laid her down on the couch inside
Stood back, was taking her in,
‘I thought you couldn’t be seen by men,
You’ve set me to wondering!’
Her dress was white, but was stained with mud
From the place she’d lain, by the gate,
And on the wing was a trace of blood
While feathers fell in the grate.
‘We’d best get that in a splint,’ I said,
And busied myself a while,
Tearing a sheet into long white strips
And setting the kettle to boil.
‘I’d take you down to the hospital
But the shock would be hard to gauge,
They’d probably call in the military,
And lock you up in a cage.’
‘I only came to escort you in,’
She said, ‘and now all this fuss.
You should have been walking the street by now,
And due to be hit by a bus!
They’re going to be mad when I get back home,
I’ve botched the eternal clock,
And you’ll live on past the danger zone,
While I’ll end up in the dock.’
An icy shiver ran down my spine
Like someone walked on my grave,
‘You say I was going to die today,
But you were late, so I’m saved!’
‘If you can see me you’re still not safe
Beware of all things on wheels,
They’ll have to revise your life spell now
If a few more years appeals.’
‘I’ll take whatever you’ve got,’ I said,
‘I’m not quite ready to go,
There’s too many books I haven’t read,
And women to, well, you know!’
They must have made a decision then
For the wind blew through in a gust,
Instead of an angel, sitting, there
Was a cloud of Angel Dust.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
When i looked in your eyes you said you saw mine staring back at you. But that was a lie. You held me when I cried and I believed the sincerity in your sweet innocence and honesty. But that was also a lie. When you held me at night and told me everything was going to be fine and made my heart beat to sounds of your drum for once I believed you. And in future thoughts hoped to be with you. You have a charismatic aura that radiated kindness and I know you never meant to hurt this damaged heart and wanted to splint it up with your kind gestures and take me under your also broken wing but those eyes you
Claimed to see weren't mine. They were hers and that should have been fine. But this heartbreak seems to be a different kind. The kind that hits hard. because hurt was never the intention but your heart beats for her and always will and that's something you failed to mention. I wanted to stay in those unfamiliar arms and believe that if I tried hard enough I could have you. But I guess when you wanted me to give everything up that was just a fantasy of getting your heart out of a limbonic routine. And when you said you might be able to love me that was a lie. But there was real truth when I said that you are a mental magician. Someone who's heart is really full of love just not for this person. So I am forced to forgive you for your heart that's too big for two. And I want you to know that I fully forgive you. I'm only cynical because I want someone to feel for me the way that you do. She's a beautiful lucky girl and she deserves what you give. And I want you to know your a person who helped me remain wanting to live. I have a love hate relationship now that our escapades have quit. But im also sorry your heart had to bear all this **** Because all I needed was someone to understand me and you did. I thank you for teaching me many new things. But most importantly you made me believe I could be happy again.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
She has beauty; for she is told. Her dark brown eyes shadow the unknown because her bangs conceal apart of her sight. Her long, dark hair hangs down by her waist with some splint ends. Her dark skin reveals her nationality of being an Italian. She is short and petite, and she smiles at almost anything. Her body expresses art. With a tattoo on the back of her neck of her zodiac sign and then one on her hip with her God child's name, connecting to a butterfly. The diamond on her left hand shows that she will soon be married; to a man who became her best friend.
She is a Capricorn who is ambitious, mentally strong, but is not easily understood by others. Her wisdom makes her successful in her achievements. Leadership is a demand for her and she is often stubborn. She withholds her independence, along with pride and does not like to show weakness. She likes to learn and understand about other individual's emotions and needs. Her kind heart makes it hard to leave a person suffering. She always tries to lend a helping hand, but often involves herself too much with other's personal life. But, even though she is kind she is often underestimated. Her fights sometimes come without a warning and when her anger shows she seems to be a different individual. So, she tries hard not to reveal the side of her that shows hatred.
She is artistic. She enjoys drawing and writing by expressing her feelings. Her writing is her life story that she likes to look back and reflect on. Her poems are one of the most prized processions that she keeps. It helps her to realize and understand the person that she manifested to be. She has a strong love for animals. Always wanting to save and adopt every unwanted creature. She enjoys interacting with wild nature.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
i'd like to say i'm sorry
to everyone i've inconvenienced with my identity.
i'm sorry that it's such a struggle for you to say "he"
i'm sorry i'm not a dog so you can actually feel guilty
about misgendering me.
i didn't know that who i am is such a problem
that i cause you so much trouble
and i should take responsibility.
it's okay to pause and correct yourself
and maybe talk to me afterwards
but when you blow it up and complain
you make me want to scream.
for some reason you treat pets better
and i understand, i know
but i deserve a little more respect than something owned.
i'm sorry i inconvenience you with the way i dress
that i don't look enough like a boy for you to even try
i'm sorry that i don't wear basketball shorts and nike shirts
to convince you i have a *****
but guess what?
i dont.
i'm a boy who wears pink with
"female parts"
because you are too scared to say ******
do you ask random people to pull down their pants so you can validate them?
if we stick to gender norms
would you tell a girl to take her pants off
because they're not "ladylike"?
meanwhile you tell boys that it's okay to take girls' clothes off without asking.
you say you acknowledge my identity
yet you still tell me to take off my clothing because it's too "girly".
and when i say
"what's wrong with that?"
you spit back
"nothing, then why aren't you a girl?"
I don't need to be a girl to respect a human being
but that's how it generally is.
i'm 15 and i know more than most 60-year-olds
we should know better by now to at least treat people like people
because i am not a pet
i do not have a leash
you cannot dress me or neuter me
i can have whatever genitals i want
because you don't own me.
i am not a slave you had centuries ago and still make jokes about
i shouldn't have to apologize for that.
i'm not a wound you can heal
you can't just apply burn cream and a band-aid and forget about me.
don't treat me like a broken bone
like i need a splint
though i'm not okay on my own,
i don't need you to tell me who i should be.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC