Under Scorned and Surprised Prying Eyes
For years what was done,
Was done in their faces.
All of it done that way.
Like branches extended from a tree...
With each leaf examined.
Each look was allowed a closeup.
Every annoying touch was endured.
Some even snatched twigs off to use...
To mock and abuse the growth.
In hopes the wounds would scar!
And so they did,
Scar!
With bitter pain felt,
And buried underneath thick skin!
The cries were kept within!
And at the end of sacrifices known...
A greatness reaped from sorrows sewn,
Was revealed to show a brilliant luster!
Glowing from a light,
Illuminating bright from inside.
Sharing a radiance denied yet sparkling.
But still,
Unbelieved!
And what was done...
Had occurred under,
Scorned and surprised prying eyes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Scars of the ego.
The fall of the leaf is the scar of the tree.
The scar indicates the tree’s seasoned strength.
The loss of the love is the scar of the ego.
The scar reminds the ego of its worth
23.09.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Old scar, new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
Old scar on the hand
New scar on the head
Same pain, different trouble
First came shock
Then hurt became blue
Blue’s gone leaving scar
Old scar, white scar
New scar, hidden well
When morning’s gone, nights always come
Craving old scar, leaving new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Thick skins
A scar for the scar is bravery.
To ignore a scar is chivalry.
To forgive it is exemplary.
Then, you must have a thick skin
To be branded a coward.
30.06.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Scar
There is a scar that marks me now
that will not go away
It will be my constant reminder
of how I let you play
upon my heartstrings that were taut
tightly stretched upon my breast
plucked by fingers that I loved
that now are put to rest
But I will endure this marking
and I will endure the pain
For dreams can dwindle slowly
though the scar will ere remain
The slackened strings will not vibrate
They will become quite still
The even breathing will return
but the scar's the bitter pill
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Skin
Underneath my skin, is another skin
Underneath my bones some other bones
In which you have walked
And still walk
Underneath this tree grows another tree
In which you have grown
In which your roots have sewn
These shoots that rise up
Carry me nearer to you
I walk into your past
Breathe inside of your days
And your heart holds mine
Each beat
A sign that you are still living
Underneath these stones
Are your living stones
That will not die
I walk into your past
And live always in your presence
I carry you under my skin
Shaped by the dust of your bone
Born from the seed of your love
Carried on the wind
I carry you under my skin
Into the skin of another
Into the flesh and the blood of a lover
And you will live on
In the root of the tree
In the fruit of the flower
On and on
Held in the heart on another
I carry you under my skin
And always you are here, with me
poem by Yvette Smith
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Carrying The Pains
before anything else
is pain
it is born
before everything else
it is the beginning
of
personal wisdom
it is a teacher
without pay
it hammers the nails
throughout the
body
one gets familiar
with the
touch of pain
it becomes pain no more
but an everyday
carpentry
in that wooden
system
a house appears
and there are windows
your eyes begin to
see
your hands
learn feelings
then you leave it
just like any house
you are a vagabond
on ceaseless pathways
you still carry that pain
built inside your skin
like a tattoo
the art of the scar
anywhere,
everywhere
for it is a sea without a shore
space without edge
you simply move on
there is no falling
or rising
whatsoever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heaven's Own Light
She's so dark and mysterious
it keeps me dazed and curious
she has a soul that you can see shine
as bright as heaven's own light
But theirs a feeling buried deep inside
her world frayed and torn
yesterday, she can't hide
beatened in the sun
thinks her body is scorn
as her world came undone
But I only want to make her mine
if only I could make her turn around
I know I would never let her down
something about her stole my heart
she whispers to me in my sleep
and now I'm in too deep
I felt what was inside you
tasted the hurt on your lips
as you kept from falling apart
I'm stuck here in a delusion
my head so full of confusion
longing for one single kiss
trapped in my own bliss
I felt all of your pain
seen just who you are
lost in some deep, dark space
you carry a lonely scar
in some forgotten place
where angels only sing at night
and the days only rain
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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A Touch Away
Mother natures been good to me
Thats why Im sittin in this cherry tree
But its alright, its alright
Its not so bad
Im just a touch away
The shady lady
From shady lane
Is lying in my bed again
And its alright
It feels good
Its not so bad
When shes just a touch away
Nothing much
Is all I ask
And its alright, ok yes
Light as a feather, oh yes
Like a rosebud
When the sun is high
She opens up
Before my eyes
And the light falls
On her wet skin
Its alright
Im just a touch away
Nothing much
Is all I know
And its alright, oh yes
Light as a feather,
And just a touch away
Put a finger to her lips again
She cries with pleasure
Cries wih pain
And its alright
It feels good
Its not so bad
Were just a touch away
Nothing much
Is all I know
Not too fast
Not too slow
And its alright
Soft as a feather
And just a touch away
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pixy and the Grocer
How bright the room seemed! It was as if a ray of light came from the book, a luminous tree whose branches spread out across the ceiling. The leaves were fresh and green and on each branch flowers bloomed and fruit hung. The flowers were faces of young maidens, some with radiant dark eyes and other(s) with clear blue ones. The fruits were sparkling stars. All the while the most beautiful music could be heard.
...................
He [the pixy] experienced greatness. He saw what we see when God, disguised as the storm, walks across the turbulent ocean. He cried without knowing why he cried, but found that in those tears happiness was hidden. "How wonderful it must be," he thought, "to sit under the magic tree together with the student." But that was not possible; he had to be satisfied with looking through the keyhole.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Killing Trees
Ev'rytime I write, my pen chops a tree,
Hacking it down with an ink-blotted blade.
I see it bleed in black as my thoughts seize
My hand and slice into the bark and shade.
I split the tree of its epidermis,
Shaving the skin off to maybe reveal
All the growth rings and perhaps their purpose—
Though I scar its stem where it cannot heal.
I take the flayed peelings and uncover
The tree's inner feelings the more I press.
Further I go, further I discover
I can cut through all deep-rooted distress
Because I am the tree, tall and sturdy,
And I will fall by my saw when ready.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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That Long Scar
The scar on my leg
Was once very painful
It runs the length of my leg
I never shed a tear
It was so hard to hold it all back
But now that its a scar
I don't look at it
Now that I notice it again
The memory is just a memory
I don't even remember the pain
I don't remember how I felt
I know it hurt but that's all
But I do remember how it happened.
That Ill never forget...
poem by Lizzy Henry
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The First Time You Denied My Touch
The first time you denied my touch...
I knew it was getting closer to over,
For us.
The first time you denied my touch...
Our relationship had ran out of 'fizz'.
What did it?
Did you know I was just expecting sex without love?
Then when I'm done,
I'm gone?
You knew that!
You had to.
I was taking you for granted,
And this you knew!
The first time you denied my touch...
It was me.
Not you.
And I knew it too well!
The first time you denied my touch.
I felt an ache slowly creeping up inside,
Of me.
I tried to breathe soft and slow,
So you wouldn't know it.
The first time you denied my touch.
My tears came to fall.
And that was not easy....
Faking a rest,
After a grueling crawl.
'Thank you.
But no...
I am not preparing for the Olympics.
I'm just laying here to meditate on the ground,
For a moment.'
The first time you denied my touch.
Love was not there to respond.
The first time you denied my touch,
I knew you felt it too inside...
I was gone!
And I knew it then,
I had been gone too long!
Too long for you to deny me,
Of what's mine!
'EXCUSE ME?
Repeat that! '
The first time you denied my touch...
I knew it was getting closer to over,
For us.
The first time you denied my touch...
Our relationship had ran out of 'fizz'.
What did it?
Did you know I was just expecting sex without love?
Then when I'm done,
I'm gone?
'That's not what you said.
But you're getting to the point.
I'm in the bed and going to sleep.
What you do with your needs,
That's up to you.'
We just need time to get our booty better!
'EXCUSE ME?
Repeat that! '
The first time you denied my touch,
I knew you felt it too inside...
I was gone!
And I knew it then,
I had been gone too long!
Too long for you to deny me,
Of what's mine!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sign It!
Interesting....but can you empathize do you know
what that means to show
your scar
to not have a star
its quite hard to understand its ok
its ok for just one more day
maybe maybe but how fey?
fey this world has become to show a scar at all
could mean the inability to ever stand tall
and may lead to death so we should?
not to right?
i dont think so time to hold up blades and keep armor tight!
let no one in......or do we?
poem by David Knox
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Blunt brumal thorn
Make of your pain
a musical hymn
And become
a nightingale
become
a tangerine
and a yellow rose
misty years will flash
your pain
will be a dance
your tear
a thorny rose
and I, a pomegranate
and a missed
pentagram note!
Let all your wounds
uncovered
I 'll send
branches of sage
My words
will be on stage
for soothing,
or routes of bliss
Do not cover
those wounds
or your internal red.
Bestow to gods
a red wine
libation
of only contempt
I extol this
bitter attempt
I extort
my days' peace
to be a blunt
brumal thorn
in a bouquet
of yellow roses
So we will dance
or be
sacrifices
to a lesser god.
Make of your pain
a harmony;
offer a dew
of morning mist
upon your wounds'
marginal brim
maintain of your face
a smile thin
as if pomegranates
tasted sweet
maybe this pain
in me became sharp!
and Sirens' call's
my smile's feast.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Hurting inside me! !
Help me please
Underneath it hurts
Really badly
Taking my breath away
Instant pain
Never easing
Growing every minute
Instant pain
Never stops
Stop before you scar me deep
Inside I'm screaming
Dying helplessly
Every heartbeat causes pain
My very last breath
Easing the pain as I drift
! !
This is one of those acrostic poems!
poem by Becky Ginn
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A Gentle Touch of a Doting Mother
Not a figment of one's imagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.
Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.
Not a figment of one's immagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.
Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
Some dismiss the hugs given with kisses.
The ones not missing,
The nourishment a providing of this gives.
Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.
And a healing of a pain eventually goes,
Away.
Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
And those who are,
Fortunate...
To know and/or remember,
Know memories of 'mama' within them linger.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fate's Fool Day
Life brought you back to me
Seems like so long ago
When we were together
And when you had to go
Never thought that pain
Would sting so badly and scar
But seeing you with her
Was the worst pain by far
A vision that should've been
Me inside of your arm
But her shining smile and finger
Only did more harm
Fate has a cruel sense of humor
To mock me right to my face
To bring your happiness and
Success right to this place
Yet here you are
And if you only knew
How at one time I lived for us
But now dying because of you.
poem by Airda Jones
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Love's Light: The Philosopher at the Window
The eyes, it's said, are windows of the soul;
and when I see your eyes so sparkling bright,
I see there beauty, truth and goodness; all
as one; the radiance of an inner light.
But I who, standing, gaze though windows here:
what does my own soul see by its own light?
Is what is seen, seen through dark glass, or clear?
Is others' radiance that of my own sight?
Strange fact: the outward play's less bright, less clear
than what I see to shine in others' eyes;
there seems less love in me, from me; less dear
the loving, than the love I see and prize!
These windows teach clear lessons to my soul:
first see my own self's light, to see the whole.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Oscar's Drawing
oscar draws a woman
with a long black hair
and light brown skin
holding a big Grey cat
her red lips are tight
as a bud
her cheeks do not
have a dimple
her eyes are blank
without a blink of an eyelid
very much like the cat that stares at you
when you steal a glance at it
i ask him if he can compromise a falling leaf
at the back of the woman
or a little red sparrow flying away from a branch
of a tree to a blue cloud nearby
at least there is a movement to feel the wind
or something to hear like the fluttering of a wing
as a matter of compromising
the smirk of mellowing sorrow
but he does not say any word
and without batting an eyelash
he puts in there
some old letters which he kept for quite a time
inside an old family trunk
a little bit blurred and
distant so i may never have
the chance of reading them again
something so sad maybe, but i think Oscar
knows what he is doing with the scar
he knows the ways of the
deep, the mysterious and the beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A scar not healing!
Blank horizon, swashing waves,
A tear dropp mixes
With ash, heavy heart bleeds
Mound on earth, beneath lies
One whose struggles
One whose sacrifices
Fed me,
Gave me,
Light and bread
Hollow is my heart, mound on earth
A scar not healing, dad, buried on earth!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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