Best Cackles Poems
When Ravenous Wolf, Prowls At Our Home's Open Door
Of beauty, paintings, flowers and smothering Art
Dares not the innocent truth- ever the race start
Or prisoner, trapped lamb- shear its own white fleece
By all the vanished gods, Death's hands embrace Greece
And dawn's beauty loses its most radiant glow
Whilst blighted forests listens to cackles of crows!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Down in the dark valleys, poisoned rivers freeze
Beasts above, seek delicious prey with such ease
Alas! Dare we in futile wish cry tis no so
And in fanciful dreams -beg that peace and love show
Within hope of tomorrows, believe such will cease
For we recall, magnificent heroes of Greece!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Life and Love must walk through darkest days hand in hand
In this our thought to be enlightened world we stand
Not as sheep to be slaughtered at merest of whims
If we fear ravenous sharks in seas we'd not swim
Or during pitch black nights we would cower inside
And miss seeing the heavens and moon's golden ride!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Such temerity would joys of life thus abolish
Do we allow world its false mirrors to polish
Nay! We prove such hatefulness we will not abide
While in arms of love and truth, we with grace reside
Shall we pray that ever greater Light gift us more
On us all, God's sweet mercy Heaven softly pours!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-13-2021
Dark rhyme,
( We may only keep, that which we are brave enough to defend )
This poem was born from blessed inspiration found this morn
While I was commenting to a friend, a very fine fellow poet….
A sword of the heavens did glean
From railings and arbors
of dead thorn and bramble,
where ghostly reminders remain
Fall droplets of blood ‘pon
a crimson embroider
left carelessly out in the rain
Our story begins
in a deep mountain valley,
a village so peaceful and free
When one day the darkness
did unsheathe its horror
with metal and death you will see
The army of Satan,
a wicked battalion,
Hell’s fire their sabers were forged
Dark Skeletal visions
in leather and armor
the depths of the earth had been gorged
With razor sharp weapons,
they slashed and delivered
such pain which had never been found
Through echoes of pleading
and lives quickly ending
in puddles, thick red on the ground
While women and children
were herded like cattle
in mass to the edge of the square
With onyx eyes leering,
midst snickers and cackles,
their captors insanely did stare
When on the horizon
a light brightly shining,
engulfing this nightmarish scene
A porcelain stallion,
its rider a shadow,
a sword of the heavens did glean
From steel hard as granite,
angelic depictions,
a handle of pure solid gold
Once heard in a fable,
when wizards were roaming
such power, the stories foretold
As swift as an arrow
he entered the village,
his steed all at one with the game
With blade silver glistened,
like lightning bolts flashing,
igniting a righteous born flame
Spinning and thrusting
as if a tornado,
a blur now incensed of the glow
With whirlwind fury
and dust clouded thunder,
he dealt them a terrible blow
The evil fueled army,
beheaded and fallen,
the villagers shouted and cheered
When to their amazement,
this heroic savior
as quick as he’d come, disappeared
So there is the story,
a sword made in heaven
is now part of history’s reign
Along with the rider
who wielded its honor,
and hopes he will come back again
9/13/18
Written for the UNSHEATH YOUR SWORD Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
MY CRAZY CREATURES
This rhyme's about creatures of various sorts.
Creatures with fangs, hairy bellies and warts.
They cause lots of mischief all day long.
Mum always blames me but I’ve done nothing wrong.
These creatures are crazy. They’re not what you'd think.
Turn over the page. Find out more in a blink...
The first is Belcher. He really does stink.
He lives in the toilet and plays in the sink.
He likes to be naughty when nobody's in.
He cannot be found when you're searching for him.
Dad always moans when he sees all the stains.
I tell him it’s Belcher, “He’s done it again!”
Two thinks that she’s pretty, but really she’s not.
She has warts on her face and is covered in spots.
She has a big bottom and six hairy feet.
Her name is Ghastly. She’s really not sweet.
She steals mum’s lipstick and paints her mouth red.
She tries on her dresses, throwing clothes on the bed.
As soon as mum enters she’s so quick to flee.
I guess that’s why my mum always blames me.
Number three is so quiet but I know that he’s there.
He smudges my face and puts glue in my hair.
I call him Hush Monster as he follows me round,
Putting mud on my clothes without making a sound.
I aim for the paper but the pen marks my face.
Mum looks at me glumly, "You're such a disgrace."
I try to tell her that it just wasn't me.
"It was Hush monster, Mummy. Why can't you see?"
The worst of them all is a creature called Doom.
I'm always in trouble when he's in the room.
He often burps loudly when we're eating our food.
Mum frowns with disgust. "Now, don't be so rude!"
He cackles with laughter whilst spilling my drink.
"Be careful," shouts dad. "Don't you ever think?"
You may well wonder why he's never been caught.
Well…he's the size of a pea and he’s very well taught.
He rolls under the sofa after doing things bad,
And I look to my parents who seem really mad.
These crazy creatures I like the best.
I’m glad I could share them with you and the rest.
Belcher, Ghastly and a monster called Hush,
Then don't forget Doom. They all make me blush.
They live in my house and like to cause bother,
Driving everyone mad, especially my mother.
They’re experts in mischief. They get me in trouble.
Now I’ll tell you a secret that may burst your bubble.
Whilst these creatures are crazy it has to be said,
They don’t really exist, “They’re all in my head!”
I stared into the mirror today.
I saw you -
a needled zealot
hovering around my left shoulder;
Adolph Hitler dressed in
opium-perfumed swatches.
You smelled like her.
You acted like him.
You looked like me.
Swastika tall and evenly abhorrent.
Syringe-insured yet,
never sharp enough to
successfully stab
outside the 50-point cork.
You slithered like a quadroplegic,
into my stratum.
Pointing and probing
a crooked finger -
never healing
the martyr's wound.
A broken grimace leaves me
ugly flesh to ponder.
Your tentacles:
toothless cleavers eclipse
black-dilated pupils,
servicing our
boomeranged arms
with dingoed malice -
peppermint leaves and peroxide boil
as the living corpse cackles.
Mussolini removed
thirteen quieted quills
from his heart
shortly before the noose was tied.
Into square knots.
Into napkin pleats.
Into a poet's silence - where
our self-induced stupor
was dragged upon
spiked cobblestones -
and for that,
my dear Stalin beauty;
I sew my spit into
vile words -
dribbling purposely
upon this diseased
cotton-swabbed
canvas
for you
and I
to clean.
Orange tan conceals
the whiteness of the ghost
subtle cackles sound
You’ve got to be a spirit
cries mystical rastaman
He stumbles along
still offering redemption
to those fading ghosts
The song silhouettes the sky
Spirit can defeat the ghost
I am a man of simple taste
An island child
And talk to my neigbors face to face
Where lush trees beguile
Birds, not man.
I have seen trees smoking
In lime kiln fires
Just for crossing a man's desire.
I want more than ashes
Plumed
In the kaleidoscope of fire.
Here with dull keyboard
That cackles clicking strange
Sounds, I make sterile music
That communicate to living
Breaths of fresh air
In far away places I do not know
And wish there was a riverbank
Our flesh upon the soft grass
Come to pass
Like an island dream
Hidden things unwing the mind to fly
Comrades behind a distant screen
Of chips and fragmented light
Fall alone
Each divided hour
Do I truly yearn alone
To meet my friends
And make a paradise
Forever?
My only hope of immortality here
Is what you remember
Of my peasant songs.
POEM OF THE DAY : 20.10.25
[Poet’s Note : Form : This poem combines Haibun with
Specular Fugue, giving a straightforward descriptive journaling type Haibun more analytical depth, making for a more interesting & informative experience for reader, overlaying description with analytic style. ]
______________________
With intense curiosity five kinky haired
African women watched her. Her hair sleek, her skin caramel,
wearing lilac pyjamas. Nobody instructed her to change into
hospital gear. She did not understand Tswana. They understood
English. Her Cuban surgeon was gentle as a lamb.
Their surgeon was a tough Afrikaner.
Afrikaners were toughened by trekking,
lambs skipping across conquered land.
Tswana was not an easy language to learn.
They starched hospital gear to last longer.
Lilac her favourite colour, opp-arting her caramel skin,
mottled by disease. Her hair from Malaysian and Indian genes,
mixed stew genetics, like all from the human race.
Dark eyes observed her struggle onto high hospital bed,
hip broken, with cartilage in tatters. Noisy Tswana cackles,
like hens on heat, bombarded her smile. She kept it on, an emoji.
Slowly the chicken run morphine disco calmed.
She could not endure morphine chokes or
polite falsehood steady. Hens were her evening friends,
feeding them a favourite chore. Their eggshell membranes
she swallowed for cartilage, her eyes flickering gratitude.
Gratitude is an abc lesson.
It is broken eggshells today.
Teen friends were loyal comrades,
their feedback raw honest. Being polite
strengthens boundaries, sometimes.
Morphine is gold during war.
Cheerily she remarked : “I know you are gossiping about me.”
All five women burst into raucous laughter, forging new friendships.
Friendships forged through pain and laughter.
Some humans learn via gossip.
Be cheerful about others not knowing.
+++
hospital wards full
patients support one another ~
laughter kills the pain
__________———-________________———-
SQUIRREL’S SOIREE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam the squirrel, sprightly and spry,
sought a soirée under the sapphire sky.
With acorn appetizers and nutty delights,
he danced with delight through the dappled night.
Chirping chums and critters abound,
cackles and chuckles, a charming sound.
In a twirl of tails and a flurry of feet,
Sam spun in circles, a soiree sweet.
Sometimes it shrieks, hoots or creaks,
whistles, cries, trills or squeaks,
rattles, russles gurgles or moans,
babbles, crackles, grunts or groans.
Sometimes it chatters, chirps or howls,
baas, ribbits, hisses, roars or growls,
cackles, coos, squawks or crows,
chitters, bleats, clucks or bellows.
Sometimes it, barks, buzzes or caws,
clicks, gobbles, gurbles or heehaws,
moos, humms, oinks, meows or neighs,
peeps, purrs, quacks, snuffles or brays
the silence of nature is a never-ending song,
forget your troubles and come sings along.
The winds howled screaming with death's verdict,
His icy fingers grappled at the ships haul,
Pulling and twisting without any mercy's salvation.
Vengeance's arch angel, his black robes rippling in
The hostile breeze, heckles at the dying souls
As the last grasping for life is hushed,
Beneath the waves murky deep.
He gathers these unfortunate within his blackend nets,
Relishing in their pains agony,
Feasting upon regrets darkest harvest.
A darker kingdom welcomes their demonic honored father,
Ruling this land of fire and bone chilling ice,
Hatred's faithful bow low, unto this shunned by god.
In the shadows realm deviate malformations dance
A waltz in tune with dooms echoing to come.
Hush creatures of the night, for it shall come,
My children in kindred's spirits of thou’est most evil.
When the bowels of heaven are shut tight, and
Darkness consumes the world of man, so than
Harken well it tolls the bellows of doom.
Blowing their trumpets casting asunder by thunders
Earth shaking mighty hammer, will fall and
Crack the world in two,
Than shall we not feast upon the meek
And mislead.
No salivations prayers can save them,
For they belong to me.
For am I not the sinful father, embracing
These fallen children within my dark embrace,
Is this not what they've asked for,
To join me in this masquerade of death.
A wicked snare breaks across his dry
Blistered lips,
As a cackles laughter echoes from this no mans
Land of the living dead!
Here life evades capture, and only terrors
Shackles rattle at freedoms liberation,
Teasing its prisoners with a breath of fresh
Air from the world above.
A torturous paradise for those forsaken,
But it feeds the crimson lord and master
Quit well.
Hell's ebony doors slam shut behind him,
As he rests upon his bloody throne!
Soon my brethren echoes into the night,
As the moons illusion shines across the
Unsuspecting world at somber,
Dreaming left unaware, unsuspected
Just as he likes it.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
cackles hen to hen
feathery gossip about eggs
fiesty rooster crows
here comes the night,
a deep pitch black,
what's sharper than a ravens call?
I know not,
ruffled and bothered,
who hears the raven?
it's the witch who hears him,
when he squawks,
her actions are wicked,
as she cackles and cooks,
black ravens fly,
as she stirs the pot,
her fingers are knobby,
and disfigured,
in all of their joints,
but you needn't fraught,
it's the raven's claw,
she's seeking,
for her spell,
to call out black rot,
as bad as she,
the fungus will grow,
rotting the forest,
wherever she doth trot,
the ravens aware,
that she,
needs his claw,
he'll not be caught,
he hides among the trees,
the branches all twisted,
and disfigured like she,
her cackles within earshot,
the wise old raven,
positions himself,
directly above,
the boiling cauldron pot,
the witch blows in,
pointing her finger at him,
I've got you now!
she thought,
the raven squawked,
"look below old witch,
notice anything new?
I've moved your pot,"
with that he flew,
knocking the witch,
into her own brew,
where she boils and rots,
so listen without fear,
when the raven squawks,
he saved his forest,
and whatnot.
He sidles up next to you,
so stealthily
It’s like he appeared out of thin air
Then breathlessly,
he gives you a Jimmy Stewart howdy do,
and starts air guitaring in his chair
Just when you were on the verge of
hitting the right vibe
with a cute little honey thing
This joker Jack Nicholson clone
starts shining on and on
And in your dark Alfalfa heart,
you wish this Spanky bag of bones
would be poof ... Aladdin gone
But you don’t wanna waste
one of your three date wishes on him,
so you ignore this glib talking Jungle Jim
In the meanwhile,
that pretty little woman is beginning to idly yawn,
as the flirtations have come to a tepid halt
That seven digit rooster ain’t gon strut come dawn,
a cell phone dropped call won’t be at fault
As Annoyous Interruptus cackles in your ear,
your road rage accelerator hits the sixth gear
But you remain calm, keeping your wits intact ...
trying to give him a subtle hint with a nodded wink
You motion for him to skedaddle away,
but Pepe Le Pew seems intent to stay
You mutter to yourself: man, does his cologne stink
With dull, blank eyes giving you a Lost in Space stare,
you flee swiftly, leaving love empty ... but you don’t care
Annoyous Interruptus
causes premature evacuation
Pester Interfereus
is the bane of dating stimulation
Annoyous Interruptus
makes flaccid all of your romantic overtures
Pester Interfereus
has caused many a late-night social club wars
Her jack-o-lanterns flicker in the room
Bringing that eerie feel to those who look
The witch cackles as she stirs her cauldron
An evil brew which inside looks like gook
The smell is terrible, she laughs with glee
She knows what this potion can surely bring
A curse to an entire town that shunned her
She’ll make each and every one of them sing
She clips a few hairs off of her black cat
Puts them into the boiling concoction
She zaps a flying bat, takes out its eyes
She makes it complete, spits in the potion
With an evil laugh she gets up and pours
Takes the brew and places it into vials
Knowing that each person in the whole town
Will suffer with pains and lots of trials
Russell Sivey