Tag Archives: pain

Gardening with Ghosts

raking_leaves
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Autumn slips
through crumbling trees,
clinging to lichened limbs.
 

I watch you
from the kitchen window,
quietly raking leaves;
 

your pain
a red brick tick
in blazing bonfire eyes.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Abattoir

foetal 2
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

foetal position by underdos on deviant art
 
 

Slaughterhouse days,
when the rawbone ache
saws through the haze,
 

splinted limbs
lacerating sinew,­­­­
tearing
at metronomic muscle.
 

Sickly marrow
and soft warm blood
flood
the butcher’s block,
 

as we,
curled foetal
in familiarity,
wait quietly
for the hook.
 
 

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Eggs Benediction


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In the absence of slotted spoons,
my hands grift you from the roiling
pan, cradle you in china.
 

Soldiers muster to guard you
while blistered, untended fingers
seek salve in itinerant silence.
 

Dermis destroyed; third degree
nerve death, while you, coddled
in your sibling sentinel, grow cold.
 
 

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Blunt


We woke early the day spoons fell from the sky,
rubbed gritty eyes, sleepily unaware of incoming metal,
left home to muddle through the mundane.

Early March, dark by six when we returned,
seconds through the door when the shower started,
startling the air with ring and rasp.

I barely recognised her voice

The first hit me blunt, brought me to my knees,
freeze-framed millisecond before the second hit
bit into my scalp, pinned me to the ground

while silver rained around. You dragged me
from the deluge, covered my head.
I fled, bled, remember running the stairs,

aware of the screams, dead dead dead
beneath the clatter, hammered-mettle matter
that left me bludgeoned and bleeding,

surrounded by steel that scooped me hollow,
left me to wallow in double-dense days,
weighed down by the hebetate chemical daze.

Narcosis that left me scrabbling for sharps,
searching in drawers for whetted knives,
anything to feel the edge of the blade.

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Salve

We pick the grit from knees life gravel-grazed,
blunt-tweeze with poorly practised pincer grip
and swab the wounds of those that we have raised.
 

As bullies leave our babies dumped and dazed
and scoop cold marrow from the playground skip
we pick the grit from knees life gravel-grazed.
 

Sanguineous crust is used, replaced, erased,
with trembling hands we pull the plaster, rip,
and swab the wounds of those that we have raised.
 

As suitors come and go and hopes are razed
and kisses barb the mouth, fish-hook, cleft lip,
we pick the grit from knees life gravel-grazed.
 

The total sum of care is not appraised,
all debts are crushed as we defer the scrip
and swab the wounds of those that we have raised.
 

When finally our harrowed core has blazed
and youth has sailed on creaking sallow ship
we’ll pick the grit from knees life gravel-grazed
and swab our wounds with those that we have raised.
 
 

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Filed under Villanelle

Glass Eye

Though painful,
insertion unavoidable,
after all, who wants to look
at a gaping pink pit
where brown beauty once lay.

 

Evisceration so visible –
a patch perhaps?

 

Would draw too much attention,
never welcomed, certainly unwanted now.

 

No, better this way;
barely discernible at a distance,
a double take followed by
an embarrassed look away.

 

The biggest tragedy
not the loss of asymmetrical loveliness
but the vision that once lay behind it.

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Filed under Free Verse