"sufferer" poems
Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound
In the throat, burning and turning. All night afloat
On the silent sea we have heard the sound
That came from the wound wrapped in the salt sheet.
Under the mile off moon we trembled listening
To the sea sound flowing like blood from the loud wound
And when the salt sheet broke in a storm of singing
The voices of all the drowned swam on the wind.
Open a pathway through the slow sad sail,
Throw wide to the wind the gates of the wandering boat
For my voyage to begin to the end of my wound,
We heard the sea sound sing, we saw the salt sheet tell.
Lie still, sleep becalmed, hide the mouth in the throat,
Or we shall obey, and ride with you through the drowned.
4.2k
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
the vagrant, a pretense
letting light in tiniest cracks
on the pavement, again
wherever did i pass out
seizing the Ssseferoth sufferer syndrome
sinking in this suffragette
i am almost a cough away from zeitgeist
the world complained
the gods , sure they listened
but only with a nuisances negation
does the noose hang higher
nonsense st of patient anger
plagiarize my past lives
seal my fate with cement
pavement, how do i feel you
when my ashes scatter
how do i fill you with children,
cracks seeping sin and sensation
eradicated slowly by noiseless geraniums
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
She was crying.
So he approached
to lessen the anguish,
her life has notched
He exchanged her tears
with his cozy smile;
to calm down her nerves
at least for a while.
The language of tears
has always appealed him;
as to the insects,
the sundew's gleam.
Innate was this nature of his
to weep for the poor,
for the women, for the children
and for the downtrodden, to be sure.
But with hollow chauvinism
then, the men ruled the society.
And accounted weeping as a sin
resulting from inferiority.
They disliked the boy
and his uncommon ways
to heal the sufferer,
to their utter dismay.
They called the boy
and asked him to change
his beliefs and ideology
or to be ready to estrange.
The boy couldn't understand
how his actions have been
outrageous in their view
and thus sentenced as a sin.
He stood against them
and let the proposal decline.
He advocated his logic
to those ****** swine.
But their ears were concealed
to even the rumbling thunder.
Intoxicated by masculinity
they committed blunder.
The men enraged
and reached for their knives.
They shouted, they cursed
and skinned him alive.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
A ******** enthusiast
Whose pessimism is intrinsic
And not fashioned
A frequenter the doldrums
With a penchant for exaggeration
A confused Scorpio
Plagued by ghosts of former selves
Meandering along a thorny path
Under darkened infinite skies
Waiting for the severed backbone
I Possess trailing behind
To latch on
And offer restoration and purpose
An eternal student
A slave to academia
With an insatiable hunger for knowledge
In the field of economics
Governed by perfectionism
That will be my demise
A feminist
A riot grrrl
With an acute fascination with morbidity
A worshipper of rock music
And Professional headbanger
An enlightened inner-directed soul
An awakened dreamer
Gouging out
The remaining fragments of delusion
From the eyes
Embracing realism
A sufferer
Aspiring to be human.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
I demolished my own walls to let you in
They warned and admonished me from the danger of your existence
Yet somehow, I was still enthralled by the unprecedented phenomena you brought
I disregard their warnings and entered your danger zone
My soul found solace and felt mitigated in your arms
I am not terrified of your tremendous storms
I am willing to embrace your disastrous nature
My love, I am your victim and it's a privilege to submerge in you
I accept the severity of the damage that it might caused me
I am the sufferer and you are the love that caused
losses
terror
blood
And still those reasons will not restrain me from loving a catastrophe like you
My love,
It is my responsibility to insure my safety and well-being
You are the flood
And I promise to calm you.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 10:39 PM UTC
"Thou whom I love, for whom I died,
Lovest thou Me, My bride?"--
Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord,
Believed in and adored.
"That I love thee the proof is plain:
How dost thou love again?"--
In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss,
In a long-carried cross.
"Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept
Brings more for Me to accept."--
I mould my will to match with Thine,
My wishes I resign.
"Thou givest much: then give the whole
For solace of My soul."--
More would I give, if I could get:
But, Lord, what lack I yet?
"In Me thou lovest Me: I call
Thee to love Me in all."--
Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so
My love may overflow.
"Love Me in sinners and in saints,
In each who needs or faints."--
Lord, I will love Thee as I can
In every brother man.
"All sore, all crippled, all who ache,
Tend all for My dear sake."--
All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see
In every sufferer, Thee.
"So I at last, upon My Throne
Of glory, Judge alone,
So I at last will say to thee:
Thou diddest it to Me."
2.5k
There is no such thing as adulting
There is no such thing as growing up
Biological age cannot be an indicator
A source of income cannot be a dictator
The drama that disguises you as a sufferer
is apt for twitter and synonymous with tumblr
You can look like 50 but still behave like a toddler
Age, intellect , experience and memory don’t matter
Clarity of thought , clarity in action
is what everyone wants, just pay attention
Stages of life are only byproducts of imagination
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC
I am the sufferer and you are my God.
I thirst for ******* and defy you not.
I take delight in your daily abuse.
I am the victim and you are my muse.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 5:54 PM UTC
When there's fire in your Hearts,
And fire in your Souls,
Raise your weapons Child and fight for your right,
not to be left in the cold.
Your past doesn't matter,
for that i am sure.
Fight for those you love,
and get them safe to shore!
Fight for your life,
Follow your gut and your soul!
To them i am a Pawn to be moved as they please.
So who better than I, To slay this villainous King,
For which you would die?
So with fire in my Heart and fire in my soul,
I will raise my mighty arrow,
and strike him down in the cold.
My once dear twin brother,
now a tyrant on the throne!
But as they try me for my crimes,
I ask that you not cry.
For I do this for you my love,
For our children do i die!
At the chopping block I stand,
Stand tall and do not cry.
When i look to our family,
I see our children fair.
I look to our youngest child,
Our daughter with her Auburn hair.
There were tears in her eyes
but she dared not to cry,
For the blood traitor to the Crown,
So she watched her mother die.
But before I faded here,
I saw the Fire in her eyes!
And i knew it in my Heart
what i had set in motion.
I knew it in my Soul,
I had started a revolution!
For i saw it in my soul my love,
I saw our child die!
Our child will fight for us, and one day die for us,
but not for a Long long Long long time!
For she has a land to save,
my fight is now hers!
My dearest little Kankri,
There is Fire in her Heart, and Fire in her Soul.
She will lead this revolution,
with her brothers by her side!
She will lead this revolution, and become a legend to be told.
I will die for my family, and her for this land.
We will fight for what we love, and do as the Gods command!
Martyrs for our love, to be remembered far and wide,
As myths to be told, till the sun begins to die!
With Fire in your Heart,
And Fire in your Soul,
Raise your weapons child,
and fight for what it is that you hold most dear!
Whether it be your friends or your children,
your home or your land,
Raise your weapons son,
and Protect all you can!
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
He who expends his days a wanderer,
Is not aware of his gift,
Though he may hunger,
and steal into the wicked alleys
where the spirits of evil men dwell,
He lives and sees the world in a view,
one that is unimaginable,
as he sings lowly as he walks through the end of night,
He has no possessions that are worth possessing,
Such that another wanderer may wish for his own,
None except his life,
One of seeing the world from the outside,
As he is starving from within.
I gave him some money, and offered him my seat.
And society's eye upon me
as if I am naive,
but I wish them to hold their assumptions,
for I believed this man, even his lies.
I could sense his sincerity,
as distinguished from the typical
**** beggars that would scold
anyone's failure of compliance.
And though he solicited me until the last moment,
I knew that my advice may settle in,
and for he to use his supreme vantage point
of a Sufferer of the City, one without another,
I asked this man, who convinced me of his
desire to be a writer, to document his days.
And to educate himself, this 30-year-old, black, amputee,
Torn between drugs and gangs, and a better life
that is unattainable.
I asked him to be infallible in his refusal of
Those evils which will deteriorate his soul,
For its royalty will be paralleled not to material wealth,
but to any base behavior, or noble virtue.
and if he stutters in his gait, to channel such self destruction into
a productive means to write about his sufferings.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now;
Depart in peace, thy little life is safe,
For I have scanned thy form with curious eye,
Noted the silver line that streaks thy back,
The azure and the orange that divide
Thy velvet sides; thee, houseless wanderer,
My garment has enfolded, and my arm
Felt the light pressure of thy hairy feet;
Thou hast curled round my finger; from its tip,
Precipitous descent! with stretched out neck,
Bending thy head in airy vacancy,
This way and that, inquiring, thou hast seemed
To ask protection; now, I cannot **** thee.
Yet I have sworn perdition to thy race,
And recent from the slaughter am I come
Of tribes and embryo nations: I have sought
With sharpened eye and persecuting zeal,
Where, folded in their silken webs they lay
Thriving and happy; swept them from the tree
And crushed whole families beneath my foot;
Or, sudden, poured on their devoted heads
The vials of destruction.--This I've done
Nor felt the touch of pity: but when thou,--
A single wretch, escaped the general doom,
Making me feel and clearly recognise
Thine individual existence, life,
And fellowship of sense with all that breathes,--
Present'st thyself before me, I relent,
And cannot hurt thy weakness.--So the storm
Of horrid war, o'erwhelming cities, fields,
And peaceful villages, rolls dreadful on:
The victor shouts triumphant; he enjoys
The roar of cannon and the clang of arms,
And urges, by no soft relentings stopped,
The work of death and carnage. Yet should one,
A single sufferer from the field escaped,
Panting and pale, and bleeding at his feet,
Lift his imploring eyes,-- the hero weeps;
He is grown human, and capricious Pity,
Which would not stir for thousands, melts for one
With sympathy spontaneous:-- 'Tis not Virtue,
Yet 'tis the weakness of a virtuous mind.
2.3k
. people are always left curious about the stories of homeless people... within the regards of why they became homeless... you want to hear my story? i sat down with one homeless person... you know what he told me? you want to know? he said: MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO NEVER TELL A LIE... wow... wow... so it became my ambition to never tell a lie... i became homeless because my mother advised me to never tell a lie... guess telling lies pays off... whatever it pays with or for... i became homeless because my mother told me to never tell lie! wow! so much for poetry being written while sober... what is expected? unruly truths, falsifications, this that and the other... hell... i'm a drunk... chances of me involved in a relationship are the basic focus of: SLIM... but? HEDNINGARNA - VARGTIMMEN... Finnish folk music.
***** does my head in,
minus the thought-and-question:
do i have a head?
dunno....
whenever the moon rises...
i get a tease of the giggles...
ha ha...
and my face contorts into
a posit of one if those faces from
an apex twin video...
funny as any royal ****
turned into ****
flushed..
now i want you to remember:
never meddle with a madman...
he's been prescribed his
medication,
he's been diagnosed...
come near me and a cancer
sufferer...
dox me!
dox me!
dox me!
i, dare, you!
but i know the person,
or rather, the type...
i won't be doxed,
because what i'm proposing
will not be matched
in execution....
****** parodies
of testicular cancer!
that quote for Albert from
the dark knight:
i am....
some people just like to watch
the world, burn...
i am...
dies, ich bin:
this, i am!
at least i have more constancy to
make comparison of
the Hebrew gott...
ich bin das ich bin...
my alternative?
dies, ich bin!
now...
i am: now!
and when i drink and turn
into a *******
it's to salvage some fathom
or what remains to be
justified as:
resolve.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continue to fight.
One holds never-ending dominance
Relentlessly mocking and scolding.
The slanderous one, better known as the chief
The master, better known as my back bone.
The other wolf; the sufferer,
Facing the horror of the fire.
Like luscious, vibrant air filled with beauty and self-worth
With the intensity and beauty of a glowing golden sun,
Glittering as it beams among the surface of the waters.
The lustrous one, better known as my daydreams
The lovely one, better known as my pure naked self.
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
There was a fight between evil and good.
The winner; the one the operator chooses to feed,
The winner; a display of my blindness.
Blindness, lacking the sense of sight; sightless.
Blind to the naked beauty and worth of the lovely wolf,
The starving wolf.
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continued to fight inside of me.
The delightful became liquified into dark raw evil,
Leaving me drowning, gasping
Gasping the slightest bit of that air of self-worth.
(C) Emily Mckusker 2016
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
He travels the sphere
As he sail across
the ocean of fear
He has thirst for experience
Just like hunters eye for a deer
He carries his knapsack
Ready to set off for a journey
With 2 years before his comeback
He leaves the land of brasa
Playin' his Red Hot Chili soundtrack
Enamored by her glance
He met this gal
He offers her to dance
Singing their hearts out
As if he was stuck in a trance
Little did he know she's a faker--
Alluring travellers with one deep gaze
Her ability to paralyse the sufferer
And words as sharp as knife
Makes her one hell of a lucifer
From a heartbreaker
He thought he had a chance
He swore to never wander
And to not set foot
In another land ever
again
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler
takes us public school, heathens
to catechism on Saturday morn
Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina
Shifts three on the wheel
drives that clutch to the floor
with her thick leg
Makes the engine roar
a little
“to warm it up”
Turns with the grace of swan
Pavlova or belladonna
Something of beauty
just to watch her
three-finger the wheel through a turn around
all while taking a drag
exhales to ceiling
to music on the radio
Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline
circa 1959
Betty's hair is short, uncombed
but she's not without lipstick
lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills
Calm
like a woman who does it often
takes on wear
with I'm in love, and I don't give a care
She shifts and turns
cigarette balanced like gossip on lips
or between
those first two fingertips
Smoke swirling
amid kids squabbling and whining
in the back seat
No belts back then
till Dad got home
to keep them in line
But, I bet on Betty every time
to get us there
I want to drive like her, so badly!
I sit beside her-- ossified
watching
her smoke and handle
like a total expert
I am distracted
and will surely fumble
my catechism answers
for the nuns
cataclysmically
She drops us off by an icy foot slide
I swear to God to stop back later when we're done
...with prayer and penance
recitation... and resolvings
to sin no more
Once we're out the door--
back to that forbidden foot-slide
Always had a plan for fun
So did Betty's son
the hemophiliac
Bless myself like an Olympian
and pray for Johnny
before he joins me for a run
hemophilia:
a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 7:31 PM UTC
There is a passion that rends the skies
dark of pain, to thunder forth
in this suffering world;
Grace that rains and brings forth
an oasis of refuge in this
world weak of flesh;
The spirit rises weighed on the cross
by the suffering inflicted in place
of Barabbases, thousands.
In the dunes of the desert, a call echoes:
husbandsman, tinkerman, everyman,
Never mind the pharisees;
The spirit to the letter is moon
to the mirage.
Weighed down by the burden of life,
you who have been told you deserve
nothing more than the dirt of the earth
you sinner, you sufferer,
A passion calls forth to you. So difficult
indeed is to see the father, aye,
lawmongers, enough for us to see
this humble son of a carpenter here;
O you crushed
under the wagon wheels of time
taste that love by which you are
before Abraham was.
Come, be pillars
in the mansion of your father;
Tiller toiling away in the sweat of life,
you on whose shoulders walk
the sweet-talking liars
who yet enthroned say
you are worth
only more taxation,
You can part waters. You are a miracle.
You drive away ghosts. You can
call the dead to life. Yet you are
love and see no difference
in Mary from Mary,
a secret ocean at the shore of an oasis
to drink of, until we are here
as He is in heaven.
Heaven for us to see and live here
not some unknowable hereafter.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
The ******* sufferer beholds another necrologue for Christ
In the savage, barren, ugly, wretched wilderness of God
Forsaken wanderer, alone again forevermore
His crippled heart is a raging fire trapped in a cage of ice
Beyond these walls of darkness, waiting in the shadows
that obscure the night so well
The hiding place of Hell
The path of fire burns on, ever in the silence of the night as it shines
in the eternal void of light
And I will walk the dark path infernal
Left in the razor edge balance
Between the shadows of the night
And incendiary light
I will walk the dark path eternal
Pleasures of the mind and treasures of the flesh
Temptation. Reward. Validation. Disinterest.
A cycle of cannibalism - inhumane
Channel the rage to desire, and feed her the pain
She so needs, she so craves, she is begging you for
Feed her the pain and call her a *****
Deep inside, the fire in those eyes
Give her what she needs to remember she's alive
Tread lightly through the fire of the dark path infernal
Remember the cold. Remember the slumber.
Between the shadows of the night and incendiary light
We will walk the dark path eternal
Now walk with me forever
And I will never leave your side
Walk with me forever
Between the shadow and the light
Walk with me forever
On this dark path infernal
With me, eternally
Alive on the Black Path of Night!
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
*I find it hard to write of the light,
darkness has set its roots into me,
I want to write of the light,
but the stain, the shadow haunts me.*
*The problem is this: my words do not come at will,
only at the beckoning of fierce emotions,
my joy is forever diminished by pain,
all light is shadowed,
dulled, made useless.*
*I know I am not the only sufferer of this affliction...
yet that offers little consolidation
to one who loves the light, but belongs to the darkness.*
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
I am afraid
I am alone
I am unknown
I am labelled
Labelled 'Damaged'
Did I damage myself?
No, fate did that
Can I atone?
Atone? For what?
A disease that differs for one and all.
I know what I am, but choose not to
take the moniker, 'sufferer'.
Yes, I hurt, I tire, I cry, but
I cannot explain, and you,
you cannot empathise, you
don't have MS, the broken smile.
I look whole, but I'm a jigsaw
with a missing piece. That piece is
peace. Peace of mind, peace for my
loved ones, peace for me.
I know I'm a person, I know I have MS
I know I'm loved, I know I'm a *****
I know I'm part of a family, daughter, sister,
aunt, niece, cousin and most importantly Wife.
I will be whatever the fates decide.
I will not be a sufferer.
I will not give up.
I will be loved.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
388
Take your Heaven further on—
This—to Heaven divine Has gone—
Had You earlier blundered in
Possibly, e’en You had seen
An Eternity—put on—
Now—to ring a Door beyond
Is the utmost of Your Hand—
To the Skies—apologize—
Nearer to Your Courtesies
Than this Sufferer polite—
Dressed to meet You—
See—in White!
1.4k
Treasury Casino - 2:30 am
From my seat in the smokers section
I can see the Brisbane eye,
the river,
and the performing arts center.
Streetlights are mans answer to the cosmos
"Everything you can do,
I can make better."
Once it was said that we were made in God's image.
Now we can safely say that God was made in our image.
I am in a quiet place of the universe, the night stretches on
visible through the stately
wonderous
walls
carved of old wood and sandstone.
I am in a suede armchair, winged for pleasure.
The ceiling in this room is twice as high as an ordinary room.
Circular steel ***** hang down like a path of bubbles
left by a leviathan.
My water was poured with panache.
Let me set the scene for you:
I'm in the Treasury Casino, this building was once the QLD state treasury, it never changed really.
Sitting next to window that overlooks the river, a glass of water sits to my left. The room is the size of a double garage, maybe bigger. The floor and ceilings are made of old wood, the walls are decorated with a transparent gray fabric that remindsme of smoke. An old marble fireplace sits in a wall studded with tiny lights that resemble stars or candles. Above me is a series of hanging circular light fixtures that resemble a trail of bubbles left by a leviathan.
This room was designed for, and houses opulence.
The TV plays Eminem.
Peter Garrett dances like a Parkinson's sufferer.
And looks like Disco-Nosferatu.
We have killed the night
and neon power
and infomercials
**** the romance
once held
by late night solitude.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC