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Best At Wits End Poems | Poetry

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The Best At Wits End Poems

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Rattle the Chain

was a most stubborn slave
He loved to rattle the chain
It was a sound of pure defiance
that echoed across the lush plantation terrain

Son of Antuk
had a pygmy burning bush spirit
He seethed silently
as the lashes dug deep into his back
The masters hoped the other slaves
would see this bloody spectacle and fear it,
thwarting any thoughts of a rebellious attack

He was beloved by the other slaves,
he had a will of burnished steel
He had a big heart, noble and brave,
his presence strengthened the weak and the ill

The European rulers had a troublesome dilemma:
If they killed Ta'likra, they would make him a martyr;
causing him to live still past his death, 
stirring up angry African chants of unrest
And if they let him live,
he would continue to challenge their authority
Thus making it harder to rule over
the other slaves with complete fear and impunity

They struck a balance as to what they would do,
they would whip him daily, give him meager rations
Eventually break his spirit down to ashes
But that didn't work against this
four-foot-two mountain of a man

He was Pygmy,
he was a dark bush man
He was pure African,
borne upon the hot desert sand
He didn't fear death,
he didn't fear pain
Thrice bitten by the deadly viper,
he loved to rattle the chain

The masters, unable to break his spirit,
were perplexed and at wits end
When a wizened one with gnarled raised hand,
offered up a most enlightened plan
This old, white medicine man
appealed to Ta'likra in a peach grove
He said, where would the souls of the ancestors go,
if the tree of life isn't allowed to flourish and grow
The tender buds of the future will wither away,
and the great roots of your ancestors will die here today
Let us gather up the ancient leaves, my warrior friend,
and build a fire of peace
Let us pay homage to the holy ancient ones
with gifts of love and largesse
For as the stars will not always remain in the sky to stay,
the chains of slavery will be removed from your people one day

Ta'likra, the Pygmy prince,
peered into the blue eyes of the old man,
and thought deep on his sage sayings
Then he arose in dignified grace
and silently walked away
He never once rattled his chain again,
he kept his untamed rage locked in the cage within

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Snoring Disaster

When Cyris snored it shook the house piers,
Reducing his wife to constant tears,
At wits end she put a peg on his nose
To stop where the emanating air noise grows,
But unfortunately it blew off both of his ears.

Copyright © john williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Yoo Hoo! Type A or B Personality
Beauteous - the brain-  Imagine that
Reflections of your intelligence
Per se - or indeed is it lack of
In my eyes - I see the ID
Hey - beauty in the eyes of the beholder
Hence - I perceive - I believe
Your wit - Ingenuity - I sit
I still ponder - at wits end
You challenge the funny bone! That you intend
Curiosity they say! Killed the cat
You are curious - I am intrigued
Yes Personality Plus
You charm - with IQ
Yes charming - I question it - Yoo Hoo!

Copyright © stacey law | Year Posted 2013

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Copyright © Bambi Graf-Burnham | Year Posted 2013

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Merry Christmas

The church bells tolled
In the steeple,
Loud and shrill,
'Midst the avalanche of people;
The choir on the corner
Sang of angels, babes, and sugar plums
While shoppers, at wits end,
Swore that they should never have come.

Someone said, "Merry Christmas,"
The answer, "Yeah, right";
Brother, you've got to be a maniac
To combat the crowds tonight;
The bells keep ringing,
Will someone turn them off?
I'd rather be lazing by the  fire
In my comfy, toasty loft.

Merry Christmas?
I'll scream if I hear that again!
The toy store line is a mile long
And I am froze to the skin;
Carolers, be quiet!
I can't hear myself think:
Let's see: if I work overtime all year,
I can afford the new kitchen sink.

Merry Christmas?
What's "merry" about it?
If I don't get that hefty bonus,
I'll have a debilitating fit!
Here I stand,
Frozen and bruised,
I could use something "merry"
Before I explode a fuse.

I admit, the shining lights
Are appealing to me,
And that dancing snowman
Is really funny;
There is a star
Atop the bank Christmas tree,
It blends with the dark, winter sky,
It's a sight to see!

As I behold the Christmas wonder,
I smile;
I feel warm, secure, and blessed,
With a new vigor, a new style;
I wish I could stay this way
All year long;
When I am perturbed,
I'll sing a holiday song.

"Merry" is what we need
After the trees are gone;
When the frigid winds howl,
We will carry on;
"Merry" is more
Than holiday cheer;
It'll make every day Christmas
Throughout the year.

Copyright © Joel Bjorling | Year Posted 2014

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Spider's Web

So here I am again
in redundancy I'll say hello
living life behind this screen
dreaming of a world most obscene

I wait, eager for response
Clicking refresh once more
My world inside a spider's web
in this fantasy I'm still no celeb

I can hear the sound of keystrokes
breaking the silence of a lost voice
Speaking only in the form of text
This part of me the world rejects

I'm at wits end words falling loose
and landing upon so bright a screen
breaking away the ever growing darkness
as my existence fades into evanescence

I'll take only this brief moment here
and wish those of you I remember farewell
For as this night descends to black
It is time that my real life is taken back


Copyright © Blake Hannah | Year Posted 2012

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Lonely, empty, void and feeling blue,
Like I just don't know what to do.
I have a large family, I've got many friends,
Yet it seems just like I am at wits end.

I am seeking and searching for true happiness,
That joy on the inside that makes you feel blessed.
I have tried drugs, I've tried alcohol,
Even tried sex....just don't want to recall.

These things did not work, they could not fill the void.
I continued to feel empty, lonely, sad and annoyed.
I even went on a shopping spree,
There seemed to be nothing to satisfy me.

Then someone asked me if I had tried Jesus,
They told me He died, rose and that freed us.
I said that I never knew that there was such a Man,
Please explain a little more that I might understand.

They told me He loved and cared for me,
And in all of my troubles, there He would be.
He would never leave me or bring me to shame,
All I had to do was believe in His name.

This included trusting Him and obeying what He said,
Following His example and letting Him be the head.
I listened intensely it sounded simple and plain,
To follow this Man and believe in His name.

Then I tried Jesus, now I am able to see;
Gone are the feelings of emptiness and lonely.
I feel happy and bless as I rest in His name.
And those things that I did...I am not ashamed.

Copyright © Daisy Marie Yant | Year Posted 2015

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I'm really feeling sad for folks
they're almost at wits end
Don't seem to care if Cops get shot
(that's those you won't defend)

Notice you aren't yelling loud
for christians, (just the rest)
Let someone say an unkind thing
about muslims? You'll protest

Just remember all lives matter
you never pick and choose
For if you single someone out
eventually you'll lose

Won't hurt to do some research
and learn why you're still here
Yes many lives were sacrificed
so you don't live in fear

Pretty soon they'll over-run
you'll just be in the way
Churches? Nothing left of them
you will have to hide to pray

Those coming here they have a goal 
pledge allegiance not on list
The clans are growing every day
they protest with raised fist.....
                         Pete Yuhas

Copyright © Pete Yuhas | Year Posted 2017

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With a Blink of an Eye

I was once six  months old and full of fun, with a blink of an eye, I was suddenly one.  
I know I was a handful, and at times you wondered what to do, but by the time you had the
answers, I went and turned two.  
When I was two, I was still so helpless and dependent on you.  
So many things, I myself could not manage to do.  
Independence took over when I turned three.  
It's frustrating at times when you're yelling at me.  
Soon I'll be four, your little boy, only a while more.  
Father time will soon come and close that childhood door.  
Then will come school and I know we'll both cry.  
But with tears will come growth as we say our good byes.  
You might be at wits end, when I'm rambunctious and ten.  
But when I turn thirteen you'll wish me that age once again.  
Then there will be bruises and there will be tears.  
There will girls in just a few more years.  
There will be fights and there will be hugs.  
There will mistakes, but none will be with drugs.  
Times will be tough but I know you'll always understand.  
Mom, you blinked again, and now I am a MAN!

Copyright © Eric Szimanski | Year Posted 2006

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Midnight Tauntings.

That beast that prowls and lurks
Always on the doors opposite side
Primeval and fetid scents rising
For it is here evil resides
Locked within these crumbling walls
Or so I have come to believe
In these halls distant and aloof
Ill-omened phantoms hang in warning
Stillness splinters from a shrill impact
A morbid acidic shriek trills from darkness
Perturbing the window panes peace
Shattering the walls content barriers
Terror stifles my throat closed
A repetitive blast goes off in my chest 
Over and over against my consciousness
At wits end I fight the urge to run
To find safe haven from reaching talons
With irregular breath whipping me
I hold steadfast to feigned courage 
Readying to look it in the eye and battle
Only to find the rampant torturing fiend
Are the pre-dawn winds playful wisps
Wreaking havoc on my half-awake mind

Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2007

Details | At Wits End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Onerous Ordeal

(strike while the iron's hot, else...
up prize cold hard steel Goldfinger
rewind: the following case in point).

Believe me you (stranger out there
along the information super highway),
perhaps feeling comfortably numb,
which I (personally experiencing futility)

vainly searching for Nirvana) attest
to be more appealing than flounder
(like a Phish out of roe jeers waters),
this Pink Floyd wannabe (actually live

ving an absurd existence as an A1 Deep 
Purple People eater among a Band of es)
oft times doth Abandon All Bob bing Hope, 
when this close (a hare's breath - imagined

by thumb and index finger nearly touching)
pinching that elusive Golden Silence),
when in the throes (up raised hands
signifying Abhorrent success) hopelessly

striving to summon forth a measly poetic
creation only to Rage Against The Machine
(Ablaze In Hatred) horridly glomming fruit
less endeavor, (a far cry approximating A

Blue Ocean Dream) extremely at wits end tide
feeling the painful impact re: classic mind
paralysis vis a vis Abnormyndeffect (whereat
most diagnoses an Abomination at best,

(strongly resembling, and easily mistaken
for gingerly feigning good knight two step
A BoogieWit da Hoodie), thus mental health
specialists advocate best ditch writer's block

as an Aborted effort gone south (by About a Mile),
yea...Just Above The Golden State (The Ruins),
when...with a whoosh A Canticle for Leibowitz
manifests and Jethro Tull appears waving a

magic wand while issuing Abracadabra birthing
from out The Breach of Silence inspiration met
with immediate backlogged literary juices, and
sudden Abrogation viz A Broken Silence, where

what appeared as a budding damn fantastically
heralded breakout New York Times best seller
collapses into a Uriah Heap of absentmindedness
twisting within psychic wind Abysmal Grief pain

full Acceptance of Absolute Zero literary talent
with strong considerations for an Accidental
Suicide Usher red via shocking the body Electric
with maximum AC/DC self selected Act of Violence

Light Orchestra deadening this once Acute Mind eve 
vent chilly Beck conning Adam and the Ants, the 
Addiction Crew, andmost Petty full Heartbreaker i.e. 
A Death in the Family unexpectedly engendering 

A Different Breed of Killers who (Like the House 
of The Rising Sun nemesis), essentially a Phoenix 
villa fied Gorgon Twisted Sister faintly resembling 
a cross between Golgotha, Adolescents, and Adonis, 

when...Who should appear A Dozen Furies hence 
fomenting A Dream Too Late, Adultery admonished
by an Adult Mom with a doctorate in Advanced Chemistry,
and physiology of A Few Good Men inexplicably trans

forming into A Flock of Seagulls After Dusk matter of
fact After Forever leaving an Afterglow Against Time,
a veritable Air Supply ample enough to solve every
Algebra problem posed by Alice Cooper easy enough

to solve by average Alleycats, Stray Cats and Also Eden.
I hope you enjoyed Altered Images (ideally while in an
Altered State) Among the Oak and Ash during A Month
of Somedays assigning Amorphous Androgynous (A Pale
Horse Named Death) naysaying A Positive Life!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018