Best Agonized Poems
Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightening bugs mimic the starlight, atoms sneer.
Those who spout love and friendship abandon him sneering.
Their images dance beneath his half closed lids, when he blinks.
Though denied visual compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, palpable pain, he still links,
with the life which has both absorbed and excluded him not complaining.
Night passes without his mistress, Sien. His mind writhes, eternal concussion.
His torn visage trembles with the brass sounds the storm's ranting concussions.
The butcher, the baker the candlestick maker, derides and sneers.
How unmerciful is this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain?
And, if indeed, lack of mercy is just, may he not know “Why?” Time blinks.
Just the act of thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him to the link.
He must accept both the pain and the art as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.
Voices always the voices, the paint, the moon, the voices, reciprocate.
He chases the mice. The cheese, pewter plate and all, falls with concussion.
He rubs the backs of gnarled hands across his lids, maintaining the link.
“How? Why?" But, the mice eating his cheese grimace and sneer.
Inside the cottage sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in vases, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls in an attempt to sit, the insubstantial chair does not complain.
He had thought God clear, clear as sunlight, yet the damn paint Lord! complained.
He was Not God, and try as he would, the light escaped. He MUST reciprocate.
After all who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust, life blinks.
“Ah death…le grand mal…no minor concussion,”
He must escape this mortal coil, join the celestial spin without their sneers.
Sick, he was sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, no link.
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore
as in Gethsemane he knelt to pray.
Who can know the suffering He bore?
He struggled; to His Father he did implore.
With crimson drops He all our sins did pay.
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore.
Can any have endured this labor more?
He agonized, and on his face dew lay.
Who can know the suffering He bore?
He wept and pled for man both rich and poor
while friends slept on, and one would soon betray
the blood of Christ, which seeped from every pore.
Even when His flesh with nails they tore,
'twas night when schemes of Satan he would slay.
No one knows the suffering He bore.
And we must not his martyrdrom ignore,
nor be as Pharisees with feet of clay.
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore.
Who can ever know the suffering He bore.
July 10, 2020
for Brian Strand's Strand Completely New (8)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
Old wishes drift on tainted strands
gathering mist, out to the sky--
a balmy tree where our restful arms entwine
that soon... stars ebb and glimmer far
like kisses fierce, then gently tossed
into many decades of moonlight and gust.
On the last of winter's flakes,
pale shadows came for you unannounced---
I bled, agonized on piles of shattered ice
homeless within our cozy room...where are you?
And swallows reel across the tracks
my breathing low, engraved with sighs
upon dim tears and gentle rain ;
this need to grow old with you undone:
I dream no longer of new season's list
As aging years become—cold, languid
While birdsong’s hymn remind me...
How lovely your eyes are, asleep.
O' Man, Thou Art In Arrogance Oft Lost
Within earth's vast herds mysteries abound
as man walks in shadows that prance and play.
Life is an ocean that swirls and confounds
such odd, vain and weak creatures made of clay!
What of miracles, for fear we do not tell,
for shame that such will never be believed.
Nights when one just knows he has been in Hell
and was only, by dawn's bright lights relieved!
Silent prayers uttered in agonized mind,
with blessed answers that arrive to heal.
Of lost treasures we thought to never find
returned by way of, things that dreams reveal?
O' man, thou art in arrogance oft lost.
Blindly stabbing that darkness at great cost!
Robert Lindley,
sonnet-
1985
Anger is an alarm to the inner beast,
With clenched fists and teeth,
Slowly drawing hefty breaths,
Biting into words and stamping the floor beneath
He’s deformed and blind, thoughtless and irrational,
How do you tame him? Food, shower or electric shock?
How do you stop him from breaking knuckles and clocks ? Lock
Him in isolation, hug and whisper few kind words or joke
About how he is green and ugly and rabid like a Biting dog,
He struggles to drive off the buzz in his ears and
shake away the bugs throbbing his temporal veins,
Agonized , he looks for anything sharp and painful,
All he finds is a pencil with a broken lead.
He scribbles a note in disgust, spilling a few tears and bleeds
His heart out on paper .
Then he succumbs to the only drug that can cure,
No more beastly silhouettes can be seen,
Neither the satanic screams nor the blood shot eyes,
As harmless as can be written,
When he sleeps, he’s soft as a kitten.
Necessarily to Samora
On the stream, a cork was thrown
She sank in
She tripped on
She was picked up
A beach, a wave and a sailing ship don’t matter.
You will arrive at the time of coming back.
-Faceless towards passion-
When the dawn was agonized, morning came
I’d be dreaming my dream
The delusion of paddling the sea of love without safety
That passing by valley slits the front of my house
Brings and takes water -don’t you mind giving me a cup!-
This instant…
Domesticated with pain
Your loyalty is vital and you are well-worn
Imagine you
Laying nearby in others snaky arms
The arms that shot my heart
---it shaded lights on more beats
Instead of the distance
Gone astray is not at ease. With the wind and with the wind
This instant…
Time struggle against time
As you smoulder my mind's eye into a fantasy
Days are nights and the same line of attack, sub- stories
Why reddish rose in my hand as you are all roses
I obey the truth; I’m only irritating other’s plant
I gain the fragrant of my tiredness –walking on by-
This instant...
Up above where air outdoes
The reverie is stubbornly standing
I still jump onto the floor preparing a glider for love
Uncut ropes and a silky seat for two birds
Poetess is my bird on shoulder, in veins and between bones
This instant…
Underneath the last sparkling star thinking and gazing
Into things that have been my own
That will never be my own.
Getting back to the memories
Swimming in an endless pool of images and words
Quenching the desire of missing, just somehow
This instant...
My senses flounce your absence
Your silent acquires me the language battles
---God! A German flight pierced the atmosphere
Shelled many wild birds there as I was only watching the scenes
This instant...
The valley’s slit leaves a border line
Face on the pane; I steal glimpses
Wiping away tears by sunny bar entity
Hanging on someone to bring me gathered drops
Steadfast-
“No more than one” I say to heaven-
Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon;
the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,
wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen
knowing breath is gone;
if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint christening
new eyes on dawn’s call.
-----------
*Sadly,research estimates that approximately 1 in 4
pregnancies end in miscarriage; and most women
experience a grief period during such occurrences.
For Susan's If These Walls Could Talk Contest
-continued from "Sabbath Morning Rap".
..and so brethren,
We're lost in the lust of loving lies
Conceived and retrieved as alibies.
to woo what we would instead of should,
To deify deeds ordained to deny
that Jesus Christ was crucified,
For you and me and he and she,
He lived and loved and agonized,
to dis the devil and tear his ties
to the role of the soul in his hellish hole.
Cause the devil is real and that's the deal
So if hate is your food and your crude and lewd,
you're flirtin' with hurtin', you're comin' unglued.
The devil is there so ya better beware
You're struttin his stuff and doin' your share.
Take a look around before ya drown
in the fire of his fate and the heat of his hate.
But Christ is saying :
My Peace I leave, My Peace I give
to those that ask Me to help them live.
And if you don't believe I can show you the way'
open your heart so you can pray.
Ill give you a sign for you to define.
What do you say gotta do it today.
Now it's up to you, whatever you do.
Don't wait too long cause the chance'll be gone.
Amen, I say, Throw your pride away,
I want you Here ...with ME ...to Stay.
Share, discover.
With lips and fingers and skin
Tasting, touching and feeling
With tongue rolling in the wet longing
Silent cry, pleading
Agonized shiver seeking release
Of holding back to get to higher heights,
Reaching firm the nape
Closely arching
Wrapping legs around the hips
Reaching for each other's soul
Searching. Seeking. Wanting
Feeding the echoes of glory
Til ultimate unity entangled in rhymes
Squeeze me tight
Faster now, urging on and on.
Dancing in pleasure's rhythm
Lips locked and sealed, embracing.
Entwined, lurking in bliss of screaming wants!
Wanting More. More..Please. More.
To stop this ragged breathing
Hands holding, entwining
To stop this trembling body
Gasping breaths so warm and teasing
She says, never stop
Joined bodies in unison moving.
Screaming like no one cares to listen
Perspiring. Slipping. Sliding. Slurping
Spurting spirits release the final dance
Pounding hearts now the only sound
That join heavy blissful breathing
Holding on in embrace so tight
Hoping the next one comes
When morrow's warmed by the sun.
Inner Whispers
in an
angst- saturated
moment i find you there in
my travel bag, injured by the neglect of
a poorly screwed-on sparkling water bottle cap:
my beloved poetry notebook of fifteen years. You are
now one-third soaked and stained at the top. I shudder to
think of throwing you away or burying you in the cemetery of
old college diaries and love letters. You were my faithful collector of
anxiety and pleasure, cleverness and drought, loneliness and victory;
oftentimes tucked away for months at a time as creative energies were
diverted to other outlets. Like a loyal dog whose master travels away, you
never gave up on me. How many times the tears stained your inky pages
long before I even knew that sparkling water was a thing! When friends
moved away, or betrayed me (how i wished THEY would move away), when loved ones died too young, or old ones lived too long (how they wished THEY could die instead), when my son was slaying dragons and my daughter was breaking up with an inattentive boyfriend; when my wife struggled with her sisters, or when I agonized through physical therapy or cancer surgery, you were patiently there for me. Even as my joints and stitches eventually healed, you continue to be my invaluable companion, both for my history you contain to the left, and for the blank, hope-filled pages to the right. Like me, you are aging, stained, lumpy, scarred, but two-thirds useful as i write under the stain.
///NOTE: the shape above roughly mirrors the unstained portion of my notebook, which I will continue to use in its deformed and lumpy new state!
Also, no poems were harmed in the making of this poem. I write in pencil, so the water didn't render any previous pages unreadable, thankfully!///
amid the bleats of lambs
and the moo of cows
in a far away manger
a baby, swaddled in rags was born
though despicable in some eyes,
He was the clone of Clones
the one, though Heaven sent,
was the humblest of the humble,
who halved history!
He walked the hills of Judea
with disciples many
healed the sick
met people
lived one among them
until three decades
and three years
the cloud laden sky
suddenly turned dark
the spirit of evil
invaded inside
and outside
premonitions
of portentous occurrence!!
at Gethsemane
the fatal rendezvous,
He sweated blood
as coins tinkled,
Judas through a kiss
betrayed his master
was sentenced
by the marshals of power
and was convicted
Pontius Pilate, washing hands,
absolved himself of his guilt
He tottered to Calvary,
lay on the cross, not by nails
but pinned by love
He poured down love
on those never deserved
to his love, there is no end...
among the hisses of revulsion
and the screams of a vengeful crowd
the tremulous cadence
of an agonized cry
“why hast Thou forsaken me?”
died down…..
did Golgotha’s cliffs echo that cry?
The Father kept ‘an aggressive silence’
The Sun (Son) set at noon
darkness shrouded the Earth
the curtain fell
but on the 3rd day
walked out of the grave
defeating Death and Sin!
Our Lord has Risen….!
to this day
the world
hails this victory!!
______________________
Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
Banished into the hall for the art of magic
Cracked and crackled he practices with despair
As loneliness consumed and his life purged in doubt
This magician whose life was cut to pieces
Feeling crushed and defeated, practices his art.
This banished magician soul once thrived
In the realm of worldly magic
Now, banished and tarnished to the core
the loneliness ever consumed his distraught mind
His thoughts became agonized by pain and sorrow
His determination to succeed consumed his soul
The blistered broken heart that once was scattered
Now became the breath smoldered with hate
Imprisonment brought determination and strength
His magical spells became stronger
His hands and rod became a lethal weapon
He flung balls of fire wanting to burn the souls,
that sent him to this eternal dungeon
His magic became powerful making him feel invincible
No one would dare challenge his power
He felt he was invincible to the world
But, he was banished for a reason and that
reason would have to come to the surface.
As he met with the magical magicians he learned
that he had to learn to channel the magic
channel the power within himself for the power of good
and evil rested in his very own hands.
A lesson that needed to be learned if he was to
survive in the magical world..
She flushes and drops bright eyes
to hide my image...
I cup her face and drown it.
[me]
She breathes hesitantly, mouth
Pressed and obstinate...
I gather her corners up.
[drawing that smile again]
She welts tearlines onto the
Pale perfection: skin...
I wet my thumbs, agonized.
[her sorrow breaks]
She sleeps, curls framing movement
And serenity...
I weave myself into both.
[touching the ends of eternity]
at times the soul gets clenched
in an unspeakable grief
in a demoniac grip, it chokes and wriggles
the pain of being stung by a dozen scorpions
or hacked piece by piece by an axe
tremulous grows the heart, over love that is spent
seeks in vain to revive the joy that is gone
strains to lift the veil that shrouds the soul
wrestles to come out from the desolate cave of black solitude
the more it struggles to wade through the mess
the deeper it plunges into the morass of despair
clung on talons of excruciating pain,
wailing a long wail of never being understood
the mind goes berserk
whirling and churning.
anytime the volcano might erupt,
emitting pyroclastic cloud
with the asphalt lava spilling out,
blowing life with its violent breath.
yet, have succeeded in putting on
a merry visage during day
laughs with the laughing crowd
but retires at night to the solitary cell
to release, in agonized sighs, the stifling anguish
and soak the pillow in a flood of tears
how long can one seek to hide oneself
in the cover of vapid cheerfulness…..?
why try to save the face when there is no face to lose?
sure the fig leaf will one day fall off
to stand in stark nakedness before the world aghast
April.2.2022
This or That, Vol.11.Poetry Contest
Topic-Fig Leaf
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
In clutch of loneliness she wasn’t alone
For grief always readily came along
When her happy path destined for love
Detoured sadly to lovelorn mirage.
He was an affluent handsome man
Yet, wealth of life he didn’t have
Being fueled by an unworthy heart
Poverty of thoughts reigned inside.
She found love when love was elusive
But elusive was the love she found,
Though she chose a budding ruby rose
Alas, its splendor had prickly thorns.
Summers of bloom she longed for
Agonized in gloom of monsoon storms,
When colors of love autumn invoked
Trees of joy shuddered in wintry throe
And leaves of affinity began to fall
Spreading glumness on pristine lands.
Silence she endured spoke volumes
When solitude starved for dialogue
And harmony of voice echoed discord
As overtures to reconcile faced a wall
While everything right, yet so wrong,
Left her feeling she doesn’t belong.
Passions her own, warned of trespass
When unrequited lure yearned romance
Attempting to litigate a case long lost
As hope of despair mocked her heart.
November 22, 2020
Placed 2nd: Juxtaposition Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One