these winds that howl so viciously at me
won’t rest until they’ve gashed ripping me apart
then scattered pieces of my shattered heart
across the vastness of both land and sea
AP: 2nd place 2025
1.
Raucous winds sweep pristine waves
against gods' sepulchral canvas as
stagnant, sharp wings' frames rose from malnourished hearts;
ends of elongated crosses marked beginnings
of rotten, venomous roots plugged into dead matter.
2.
Hollowed caverns invaded by calloused fingers
coaxed bitter nectar and pellucid beads:
thus, gashed, aqueous sacs polluted by darkening crimson
rolled down the silken passage.
With each bite, a story is devoured as
monotonous beats of the gnawed linger in the air,
a saccharine image of carnage and raven barbs.
3.
Rough trunks and polished branches - that reached for the fleating dark
blended into mirrored snowy and sickening magenta -
tell stories of woven arrows of bleakness and despair,
a myriad of similar, blurring threads plunging:
upon the lost and benevolent,
upon the putrid and vice,
nonchalantly.
4.
Yearning, bony grip interrupted hasty steps;
despite their current state,
these wane pits easily found mine
(like never before)
their intimate, lost vigor fueling my disdain as
superficial longing clashed with a guarded soul
finally certain of similarities and your self-induced downfall.
Big fight
Last night
Clyde's Bar
Bizzare
Tough guys
Streetwise
Much brew
Fists flew
Thrown chairs
Pulled hairs
Black eyes
Loud cries
One bloke
Nose broke
Heads bashed
Teeth trashed
Knives slashed
Pecs gashed
Cops came
To tame
Powwow
Peace now
All's well
That's swell
Great fight
Last night
Your pale face seen through a glass
of Rosea, lips painted,
gashed scarlet by the dumbstruck songs
of your blood.
Your eyes are a cosmic darkness
yet as bright as Samurai swords,
blades that piece both my mind
and yours.
We were discussing erotica,
how freeing it was to be bound,
how the flimsy drapes of black on white
or white on black can make the skin glow
like the soul of a virgin.
Such choreographed passions
should be a dance upon a slow fuse,
for the flash of the fire itself
is but a brief sun-flare,
and quickly
leads to meaningless words of love,
or the gagged silence of separation.
He arrived on the back of a wild ferocious beast
He came with a fury that originated way back in the east
The tormenter is on the way, he is leveling every town!
We began to pack up our bags, without much of a sound.
He’s in it for vengeance, they say our kin killed his kin.
We ran as fast as we could, to the tavern next to the inn.
We are not fighters, we argued, wondering what next to do.
We were out of time; the doors opened and in the beast flew.
The rider was ruthless, brought hell with him in the form of an axe.
He slashed and he gashed, and we fell down; these were the facts.
A one man army, hell bent on revenge to make us all pay.
I knew I was a goner as he advanced on us, that very day.
You, he said, pointing to me, you have one second to leave.
He was holding an axe that could have been a meat cleave.
I ran like I had never run before, a chicken’s way out dance.
He left as suddenly as he came, the others had not one chance.
News splash
Cars crashed
Both smashed
Heads gashed
Arms mashed
Legs slashed
Whiplashed
Lives trashed
Hopes dashed
Sitting in the audience
behind my eyes
content with my popcorn
i watch myself and
my all fellow actors
perform our epic drama
I’m not sure what to call it
tragicomedy perhaps
here on the world stage
Our script is sparkling
trenchant and deep
the characters so real,
and we have the most convincing
props and scenery -
mountains of joy
rivers of seduction
flamingos of silly hopes
kangaroos of impulse
heroes of grim determination
clouds of possibility
chasms of loss
I am especially charmed
that not only all the other people
but all the things - cars,
houses, trees, baseballs,
thunderclouds, etc. -
everything in fact -
is every bit as alive
as I am myself
with my bit part
no longer the tragic heroine
in her gashed black silk
just the cat
purring
in a puddle of sunlight
Freedom.
How can I be free without her?
I can’t see a future of freedom beyond these walls.
Whips. Hits. Gashed lips.
Another play of the script.
Wounds stretching beyond flesh.
Bloody hands, hand in hand.
Fingers meshed.
Holding on so tight.
Before that night.
Whips. Hits. Gashed lips. Broken hip.
He told me to zip, as she cried.
Zip bag. He smoked a ***. As she was dragged and then-
I’m left alone in these Four. Faceless. Walls.
They mock the once joyous voice that
echoed through these walls,
And now she is gone - left in her own funeral palls.
The ancient anguish of a hurting heart
Bequeaths no beauteous scene to me today.
It’s just a jagged chasm gashed apart,
A stream with boulders strewn in disarray.
Like rusted leaves that bleakly canvas fall
Or barren trees that bear the winter snow,
Its listlessness conceals a stonework wall
That bars the beggar from his bungalow.
A long-abandoned barn where pigeons flock
Beside three worn-out crosses marking graves,
It’s lonely as a lighthouse on a rock
Forever battered by the crashing waves.
Their ceaseless song may soothe a sleepless soul,
But how, I sigh, can sad be beautiful?
---
Date Written: January 3, 2019
Contest: Beautiful Sadness, sponsored by John Hamilton
I dreamt with bears and crocodiles prowling cacophonous wetland impassibly gashed by deep black riveries. Without breath I dug my nails up a cleaved embankment.
Atop, my eyes pocketed against the back of a sulfurously yellow corpse.
"A'deau,.. a'deau,.. a'deau,.. a'deau..."
rung like a sonnetus flem from it's charcoaled esophagus.
Air rushed past my clenched teeth my lungs expanding only to snap back into spasm when the dead took in a wretched gurgling inhale.
It turned towards me,
and in the light of the swamp bees
a vortexical radiation
where it should have 'faced'
I watched; my eyes melted.
I curled into a small ball growing in density till I sunk like a bullet
through a boiled egg into prehistoric earth.
I did not wake up.
I write to you now a seed,
germinating.
Oh my divinity, shalt thou absolve me?
For I bruised and gashed she
For I deceived and deposed she
For I breached and abondoned she
For I let she go and escaped .
Oh my almighty,canst thou be venial?
Copyright © Dawa Zangpo |24/07/2018.
Fate's Wicked Black Hand And Its Long Sharp Sword
As withdrawn sword shows its reds and gashed side aches so
horror's hand is shown in colors that are vibrant,
within swirling shadows and their flesh flaying blows
echo black curses and cuts that are redundant.
As this rampaging world, crashes upon the weak
innocent souls walk into nights of wanton sins,
oft embracing evil with relish, stench that reeks
with no thought to stop or ever make true amends.
When it seems Fate's granite mountains tumble on down
falling to crush blind masses and drink flowing blood,
safely away have flown those with their golden crowns
into havens far from the poor they see as crude.
Yet even mighty Kings can not flee Fate's true wrath
as dark deeds insure miseries lay in their path.
Robert J. Lindley, Sept, 26th, 1979, as was written -no new edits
Sonnet, (Fate Insures That Even Mighty Kings Fall)
They saw you naked,
And yet, fully clothed,
They saw your skin glisten,
Despite the bruises and scars,
That you intended to shroud,
They saw you naked,
And they loved it.
A touch of a hand,
A raspy Mississippi muttered,
And despite your abashed flinch,
His chest swells with pride,
Tonight, as he sleeps,
The stroke of your finger restored his hope,
And he loved it.
And yet I hear the cracking of a whip,
See the scar it left as it touched your skin,
The sharpened blade glued to your sleeve,
You gashed your back and slept of ice,
But your broken heart mended two,
And despite your denials every night,
I know you looked pretty today.
In a desperate unknown inaugurate of a life.
beyond the interesting heaves of a new grief.
a story begin unheard of and untold of,
the secluded results of which were uphold of,
as the dawn of the new life declared,
a new melody of joy was layered,
that echoed through every corner of life path,
without any notion of harmony tears and wrath,
the unforeseen future of a new couple started to erupt,
as the wedding well dressed deuce abrupt,
dancing and gallivanting around with a tackle,
the twosome hymn the song with a cackle,
they gazed there twinkling eyes to one another with a sparkle,
as they gashed the wedding cake with a triumph of carpal.
it hurts to flail you
on a hill
stood her foot
eyes of chill
hairs of soot
my wicked witch
befalls all
with her *****
and booty call
i was one
to face her gall
and dungeon
of nightly enthrall
she bound me
to ropes
and ecstasy
pills to cope
two whites
does tricks
cure of night
pokes and pricks
my back
whip lashed
attacked
and gashed
the blood
spurted out
every thud
i re-shouted
i cried
candle wax
that fried
wounds max
i cried
she kissed
i defied
her bliss
smitten
more whips
and bitten
with clips
i re-cried
more candle wax
that fried
more wounds max
she eyes
her prize
between thighs
as it rise
i cringe
her rough
fringe
of slough
as she rode
the train
so bold
without refrain
on top
she sang
no stop
from bang
that night
wore on
crying sight
eyes are gone
mindless
of pain
and her bliss
and gain
duet again
she shouted
in vain
as i pouted
when done
hurt and defiled
i was stunned
at how wild
she became
under surface
flailing her game
with purpose
connie pachecho
2/9/17
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