Best Anguishing Poems
r andomly I stare into
e ach reflective surface
f orever pondering the
l ines of age, pain and joy
e ach one a splendid testament
c ulled from a full life
t eased endlessly, eternally
i nto distorted images
o f the soul of me
n ever quite
s eeing..I
s urely, I am
n ot this shallow
o nly time can plane my cheek
i nsight my eyes to fade
t urn the plumpness of lip to
c rinkles of mirth
e nlivening the gray
l anguishing in silver
f orever seeing but parts of the
e cstasy I
r eflect
L anguishing in this sad torturing state
O nly my mind to rip me into shreds.
V acant of hope, she warned it was too late
E very day since my thoughts are in deep reds.
I nflicting the misery my heart needs,
S he left me with only this one sad choice.
T o cut my torn heart until out it bleeds,
O ver the sound of my lost wailing voice.
O pen your merciful heart my sweet friend,
B e my angel, return life back to me!
L augh and dance, do it all over again
I n that new paradise, we have that key.
N othing to lose and everything to gain,
D eliver my relief from this great pain.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-08-2016
Sonnet acrostic (tail-rhyme)- LOVE IS TOO BLIND.
Debbie's 6/6/6 challenge
Number three
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 14 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 109
*** RATE THE BATTLE ***
Rate your pain, they always want to know,
On a scale of one (least) to ten (worst — “like hell,” they say),
Although, I think, that should be reversed, because at
One, first, this pain is anguishing; wanting to be foremost;
Rooted under everything.
I see a numbered One level pain as insipid, blocking out life —
Like an iceberg
Able to sink a ship; with there being
One, only one way eyes feel when popping out from such pain;
One level of invasive emotional or physical pain that
Makes the soul groan and
The lips try to repeatedly keep their shortened breaths
Whispering, “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord…”
At One, or Ten (by their scale again now), I refuse
To imagine even a peek into hell.
I refuse to walk on a bed of flaming embers. Blut, at
Nine, I might lay bare on a bed of unpolished, sharply-cut lapis,
Trying to picture some promise of miraculous beauty
Underlying the monstrous pain.
A Nine would keep me in a self-induced trance of complete
Stillness,
Holding my breath, before I’d let it consume all my humor; and
I’d try, yet again, to find praises in the suffering;
Wherein, too, Faith in God can bring the strength and hope
To survive the scales of pain
In favor of the whole spirit’s long on-going,
Felt rise in gratitude.
(Deut. 9: 1-3)
————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022
Thanks be to God…
Damaging winds whip and slash, whirling wild, drenching rain,
Roads decimated come to standstill, as gushing floods reign,
Inundating swollen terrains, roiling deluge of a tenebrous day,
As trees bowing to gusting storms; erratically waltz and sway.
Houses naked with roofs blown, now ache, mangled and worn,
Where loss of life, in makeshift shelter, neighbors sadly mourn;
Sharing stories of a sudden event, rushing through the town,
Disheartened life, since torn-down, anguishing in wistful frown.
Danger lurks, where flood waters submerge fallen power lines,
As rivers and tributaries of muddy-flows, float uprooted vines,
What once was a harmonic rhythm, now perturbs pulse of life,
Dawn that rose on a lambent arc, now shudders in sullen strife.
People stranded, anxious for rescue, assess the damage done,
Cars are destroyed, fires are burning, recovery has just begun;
Sirens blaring of dire emergencies, are chasing to plug gas-leaks,
Searching for victims of drowning, scouting the rivers and creeks.
Swindlers are hovering, ripping-off elderly, exacting heavy price,
Hit by the tragedy first, then by the cruelty of defrauding vice;
Some now blame callous humanity, some name it~ an act of fate,
Mired in untold challenges, as remnants-torrent start to abate.
As the sun smiled and fadeth behind the clouds
The yawning earth uncloak her beauty to the moon
Halfway through the night, a clock strikes ‘12’ too soon
Virgins carried a lamp and a vessel of oil
Eagerly waiting for the groom’s appearance
Abounding in devotion, patience and perseverance
Virgins grew weary and fell asleep, at midnight a cry was made
“Behold the Bridegroom cometh”
Here He comes and there the band of virgins goeth
Virgins begin to trim their lamp
But five neglected to watch and to pray
They never anticipated so long a delay
“Oh no! Our wasting lamps is dying out by day
Please give us of thy oil!
Please spare us a little of thy toil!”
“No! We have no oil to spare
Lest our lamps burn with dim flame
The groom is come already, lest He vent blame”
The unwise virgins were shut outside the banquet hall
They were left anguishing in gross darkness
In a night of eternal and unredeemed blackness
Both parties were taken unaware
But one was prepared for emergency
As their lamps continually glow with fervency
We have come to the last time
Let your lamps burn and not quenched
And be not a passive warmer on thy church-bench
The Poet Preacher © 2013
Command the Israelites to bring pure, pressed olive oil to you for the lamp, to keep a light burning constantly.-Leviticus 24:2
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
Beneath the waters rippling edge deaths drowned
Children reach for them, these dangling dollies of dread,
With hallowed out hearts of evil intentions, enticing these
Fallen angels of innocence, and laughing at their anguishing
Screams muffled by their watery graves.
Cold eyes shine above, hanging amongst the trees,
Soulless spirits dancing on the evening breeze,
Calling unto the muted hushed.
Come play with us, they so tease, but the children
Are locked beneath this black lake placid of deaths
Nightmares, unable to grasp freedoms spiritual release,
As these plastic, porcelain jackals laugh down wards at them.
In the sizzling heat of the jungle thick, vaporous phantoms
Walk alongside the murky shore, tickling at the feet
Of the dollies, tormenting the tormentors, begging them
To seize, but are they not a child's toy, just that and nothing
More, a haunting reference to say the least, nay they
Shall not stop at their child’s play!
A suspended mobile of dirty cupie dolls,
Hangs on the limbs above the cradle of humanity,
In this island playpen for the spiritually deceased,
What a harsh lullabies song do these spiritually
Disembodied sing, unto suffrage’s children!
Tidal currents rush against the island shore,
Splashing, crashing with agonies pain, but
In this isle of the forgotten Neverland,
These spiritual lost will obtain the livings
Fondest wish to never grow up, but remain
The banished forever under the waves,
Of the island of the dolls.
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
E ach pebbled path awaits the fall mum without momentum
L anguishing until the fall of foot brings them a pace.
A ll static objects seek the joy, the soulful strum
T hat gives to some and uncommon sense of face
I dling not within the static shell, the unnoticed place.
O nly movement brings the eye, the heart to hold, the rise
N o stone unrolled can bring an accolade to such as I.
* End rhyme pattern of rhyme royal
She cried her heart out in the shower this morning
Desperate, anguishing tears
Uncontrollable, convulsing sobs
Anxiety within was strangling her
Clenching and crippling
Incarcerating her into a frozen-like state
All the while
No one heard her cries
No one shared her suffering
No one knew how defeated she felt
How crumpled her courage was
How convoluted her coping skills had become
How much it was consuming her
Porcelain contours cradled her body as she wailed
Powerlessly...
Fearfully...
and...
Alone
July 25, 2021
Goodbye my never lover
Wasn't meant to be
Both on different journeys
You'll never be with me
I wish I got to touch you
That inviting, tawny skin
Discover every inch of you
Every crevice, every limb
I wish I got to kiss you
Feel your mouth on mine
Know how it is to taste you
Oh the pleasure I would find
I wish I felt your hands on me
Wish I knew your touch
Is it gentle or demanding.
Would you need me just as much?
You don't know how bad I want you
The desire is so strong
Overwhelming and consuming
Anguishing and wrong
I cannot take the torture
Just cant stand the pain
Everytime I look at you
It all comes back again
So I have to leave now
I need to say goodbye
I'll make up some silly reason
I could never tell you why
So farewell my never lover
Time to go away
I will deeply miss you
But it's better off this way
She Gazes Back At Her Path Of Destruction
Stir-fried, blackened hand that stole many hearts
well-done, the fleshy flesh that tastes so good.
Like a fleeing animal that jumps and darts
love and live forever if only she could.
In fright, scared of stiff, boring boredom
a queen fluffing up for the next throne.
Her smile could win any kingdom
Her cuts gash so deep--down into bone.
She gazes back at her path of destruction
another heart in her black crushing hand.
Misery, depression, pain- her sweet elation
clawed feet in the pit of hell, there she stands.
Let the dead now hear, her anguishing cries
as bolted justice now descends from clear skies.
R.J. Lindley,
1974
Memories are all I have,
Intense and suffocating.
Churned out emotions needing salves
Healed, yet unrelenting
Abject surrender to your wiles
Embittered by time
Looming reminiscence of your smiles
Sealed in my mind
Anguishing on a future lost
Grieving over what once was,
Agonizing at what it has cost
Remembering mem'ries of a distant past
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with you.
The Lord is with me too.
He whispers in loud soothing words
that resonate like
liquid softly fluent.
His watchfulness always lingering
in the pushing of
this steel plated city
where I am trapped.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with you.
The Virgin Queen of Heaven
intercedes for all of us.
She intercedes for me too.
She prays in splendid atmosphere
anguishing over every
sin I am thinking.
Her once-flesh hands twinned in
ever steady prayer.
Shapes populate in my always troubled
daily life.
They upset and tangle the soothing
urgings I feel God placing
in my contemplations.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with you.
The pleasing phasing of spiritual halo's
surrounds me in constant
reassurances.
I'm praying mental rosaries, intoning
words familiar, yet, so loved.
So firm in comfortable places where
I come to God.
This straggling pretence of reality
that we call human-kind;
is not as clear as the affable prayers
of Blessed Mary, my holy Mother.
Standing or sitting does not matter.
Nothing of flesh
ever does.
What is critical are the prayers of
faithful gathered
in presence in Christ's Sacred Mass.
I shall be there too, joining my voice
in time honoured assistance,
"Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with you."
Oh! That anguishing moment! When I craved to cry,
And pour my tears, like monsoon rains, on some grass dry;
A bit away, hence, from the madding crowd, I went,
To soothe my grieving heart; give benevolent vent...
A hard hand hit my shoulder and commanding, said:
You're a man! Should not cry! Calm! Courage! Go ahead!
We, in our culture taunt, tease, torture girls, torment,
No shame? Showing off before strangers? You pretend!
Go! Wipe tears Apply talcum on your plastic face!
Lest those around judge you an empty broken vase!
Our girls, hence, tie pains like ghosts in their sari-knot,
Paint their faces with multi-color smiles, a lot.
Children! Gems! Never cry! If cry... Bad boys! Bad girls!
Satan is making home in you! His freedom whirls!
Why do angels crave things, like beggars full of greed?
Why, like dramatic artists - fussy tantrums breed?
God's watching like a hawk! Behave! Be virtuous!
Your movement should be angelic! Care! Courteous!
Yet, deaths, dangers, droughts, floods earthquakes for many years,
Have made us shed, like rain torrents, abundant tears;
All who gently hushed up feelings like shut memos,
Have melt into tears as though from lavas or snows;
Seeing harsh callous actions if we do not cry,
God's creating such rich tears has no purpose high.
Dogs cry. Horses cry. Birds, flies, and reptiles cry too,
Feelings, like dew-drops, fill and fall when we're in woe;
Sentiments secrete like wild streams within our hearts,
Full-fledged; flow like fluent falls; finely flits and flirts;
Stopping these, is, like building dams over rivers,
Wherein - water waves; caves; crashes; ripple-triggers...
Holding tears may be raw romantic! Dramatic!
Yet, its nature is to flow and fall full frantic.
Brain stressed; heartbeat skipped! Breath blocked! Body traumatized!
Muscles, nerves, and blood vessels stiff antagonized;
Nature has ways of venting pain and suffering,
Thwarting this is, just like her freedom plundering.
18 August 2021
This or That, Vol 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
B eautiful balmy afternoons beneath a breezy sky
E namored enchantment of exquisite extravagance
A cross abstract patterns of audacious affinity
U nique and unfathomable ultramarine highlights
T antalizing the temperamental ticklish temptress
I ntimidating intrepid and intoxicating
F inespun fiery potpourri of flamboyant foliage
U nveiling ulterior unfamiliarities
L anguishing a luxuriously lavish love affair
F emme Fatale forever fickle frivolous facetious
A utumn's audaciously awestruck amorous arousal
L amenting the loss of loveliest luminous layers
L iberating legendary lethargic lullabies
AP: 1st place 2022, 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on September 8, 2018 for contest BEAUTIFUL FALL sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 5TH
Cold air whistles acquainting
me with Arctic Blast, when
roundly forcing acquiescing
into half foursquare corner, activating
most recent spate of
ideal linkedin warm weather
ah...,my favorite sweet
spot for read ding
partially secluded from
gossip mongers addicting
fellow nosy residents,
who rarely brave elements
of style lush nature addressing
natural environment, sans leaving
comfort of their hermetically
sealed apartment adhering
to zero risk exposure
even during pitch
perfect weather adjusting
cessation to renouncing
"cabin fever" administering
most potent panacea
for heavenly solar fling
nay, most every tenant
here at Highland Manor
prefers vicariously admiring
terrestrial flora and
fauna, even when nature
bursts forth with adoring
"The Rite of Spring" adorning
the snapchat buzz zee
flight of the Bumble Bee
the still frozen, yet slowly aerating
rib rock solid state terra
firmae slowly alleviating
thick slabs of iced over terrain
indiscriminately allocating
patch of landscape
legion limitless almsgiving
then as instagram dusk
preempts afternoon alternating
cathartic, fantastic,
and iambic anesthetizing
magic, opportunistic, and therapeutic
reverie blitzed, viz banshee screaming
mother nature's wound
dead spirit expressing
agony dost vent wrath
heartfelt lament vacillates, manifests,
and explodes analogous
qua red bull who readily
didst get smitten angling
to expunge anguishing
cumulative racking torment
hell bent on annihilating
primate responsible species
akin to a silent spring announcing
slow but inexorable annulling
guardian (nee abuser) role usurped
by *****sapiens,
who need answer
for relentlessly antagonizing
writhing, lowing, and bristling
Planet Earth!