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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword

He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.

So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.

In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,

This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.

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poem by Vera Sidhwa
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About the use of language: it is impossible to sharpen a pencil with a blunt axe. It is equally vain to try to do it with ten blunt axes instead.

quote by Edsger Dijkstra
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pain Is My Friend

tellng me,
the pain,
that is always with me,
tells me the truth,
blunt
oh so blunt,
never lies
not once

i refuse it,
i shut out the pain,
not wanting to listen to its whispers.
but then im alone
with my broken heart.
that has blocked the world out,
with its ice barracade.
im souless

that was then,
now,

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poem by Emogirlnadia Hathway
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Because There Is A Wall

Once we had been dear,
We could not stay apart.
You were then my shadow,
I was your special part.
Often in my glum mood,
You blew as fresh spring breeze.
Your smile could clear clouds,
My mind soared up the ridge.
But now you are so far,
I Can't touch you at all.
Your look seems queerly blunt,
Because there is a wall.
Is that wall so hard,
That can not be broken?
If your love is so hurt,
You can hurt mine even!
But your wordless blunt look,
Throws me to my life's end.
Do not break heart in piece,
Pure love always transcend.

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Waning Life (Terzenella)

When you opened your eyes you found you’re old!
Your dreams remained unfulfilled, thoughts still crude;
Wizened, your hands are quivering with cold! !

Not long before you were in sprightly mood.
You thought of wading through the oceans blue.
Your dreams remained unfulfilled, thoughts still crude.

Of life and death you thought of finding clues!
To end the wars and find the peace, you mused! !
You thought of wading through the oceans blue! ! !

Now mind is creased; imagery is bruised;
Your pen is blunt and papers turned brittle!
To end the wars and find the peace, you mused! !

You churned and creamed the life, but too little!
When you opened your eyes you found you’re old! !
Your pen is blunt and papers turned brittle;
Wizened, your hands are quivering with cold! ! !

poem by Sathya Narayana
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2: 58 A.m.

he has seen
blunt dreams and he
wishes that one may
finally opt for
a change,

he has seen insistent
dreamers
praying
for the realization of their
own deaths

slow deaths,
painful ones that they can
boast before
their suffering gods

somehow he thinks
that this masochism must be
stopped

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aubade

JANE, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;

Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,
Jane, Jane, come down the stair.

Each dull blunt wooden stalactite
Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,

Sounding like an overtone
From some lonely world unknown.

But the creaking empty light
Will never harden into sight,

Will never penetrate your brain
With overtones like the blunt rain.

The light would show (if it could harden)

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poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Ooddled Up

Total open bootle stroking.
Open toking...
To be broken,
Coping.
And ooddled up.
With the stuff.

Soaking near the ropes to toke.
And poking for some hope,
They cope and smoke...
Feeling dope!

To lube and idolize.
Too pooped to analyze,
The people.
Crunking with a blunt!
To lube and idolize.
Too pooped to analyze,
The people.
And peel we do,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Accepting Things Are They Are

when i was new in this place
i like seeing and staring at things
and think about how to make them more beautiful
on the way i want them changed
from my one
point-of-view and so if something is so short
i try stretching them
even if there is pain and i always think that
all things are flexible and that with a little
retouching
they then fit as i see it fit.

there were storms. There were instabilities
there were unnecessary silences
and there were times when i was forced
to keep my mouth shut
and hide myself in a dark room
and sleep and let time pass by
like some moments
that i do not like to remember

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blunt And Instructive

Words can be blunt and instructive,
but frequently they are destructive.
Far better perhaps to be Trappist
than savagely, hip-hoppy rappist,
but silence is no vow I’m able
to take, so I put up with Babel,
and hope you, also, dear reader,
accept like a Lebanon cedar
that destruction of forests cannot
be avoided when you have a lot
set aside for a temple. The same
applies to the words that we maim
when writing a poem, but silence
is, passive-aggressively, violence.
You have to destroy when instructive;
if not, you will be counterproductive.

Michael Kuczynski in Bryn Mawr Review reviews Sandy Bardsley’s “Venomous Tongues: Speech and Gender in Late Medieval England, “ Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press,2006:

Speech, Chaucer explains in the House of Fame is only broken air. The definition is intended (however scientifically accurate) as

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poem by Gershon Hepner
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