Best Chafe Poems
in silence, we connect through gazes
knitted by starlit eyes ablaze
like dusk's luster wafting by the sill ...
and we need not ramble in paraphrases
of night’s canticle, while folded hands
caress the rhythm of twilight's melody.
how deftly breaths and fireglow understand
our same tunes, our same wafting waves,
gentle as entwined roots jutting out
from your palms, my bosom… together,
we feel the stillness of love from the same face,
and if our flesh doesn’t chafe in the peeling
of autumn’s chill , it’s because…
we have been soul mates
before time was ever born.
Your Best Poem EverContest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Written 9/24/2014 Resubmitted 6/19/2020
As Mayor Tom often says when he's off on one of his escapades...
"Greetings" this time from Milton Creek! It seems like decades
since we've shared the latest news about what's been goin' on.
The law is still being abided here. For that, we thank Judge Horne.
Sheriff Mark is still away on a secretive meeting about a commission.
Guess, it's not so secretive since I just mentioned it in my admission.
The town is safe in the capable hands of Daniel Rodgers for a while,
and deputies Terry, Duke and Mike are always lookin' out for the vile.
It's been mighty tranquil here in Milton Creek and surrounding towns
since the hombres and rustlers are gone, there are no worried frowns.
The law here never lets down its guard against the evil doers of crime,
so, we're enjoying the pleasant atmosphere; a long-awaited peacetime.
Telegraph agent, Jerry sent word that soon we'll be hosting a rodeo.
It promises to be an exciting event for everyone... a big western show.
There's a list of events, and I hope each category will fill with names...
Calf ropin' and barrel racin' will take place with lots of other games.
I've noticed Jan and Tania have both signed up for a few of the events,
Ranger David will ride broncs and bulls, so will several other residents.
Deb said she would, too, although it's a decision she might regret.
Constance will be checking out the animals since she's our new vet.
There's still two months before the first rodeo opens in the Creek.
I'm adding a new wing of rooms to Aces Hotel; a few will be a bit chic.
We're hopin' to draw in nice folk who might settle down from afar
and bring in revenue for the Manx when they belly up to the bar!
Anne-Lise will perform trick riding to begin the rodeo celebration.
It'll be a week-long event, so we're extending this as an invitation...
Come to Milton Creek for drinks and eats... steaks and whoopie pies!
and bring your competitive spirit if you're aimin' to win a rodeo prize.
Preacher Paul Nederlof will be here to pray that everyone stays safe.
Cowboys and cowgirls, strap on your chaps so your legs don't chafe.
Guns will be collected by deputies when newbies ride into Milton Creek
cuz we don't take kindly to black hat gangs. It's peace here that we seek.
Governments have been intent on
eradicating our rights one by one
Backing us in a corner with countless
threats with nowhere to run
Under the disguise of an experimental vaccine
that has not been proven to be safe
Mandating it, thus taking away our choice
leaves us all feeling the chafe
Canadian truckers decided to take a stand for freedom and created a freedom convoy
Which the government, Big Pharma
and the mainstream media are trying to destroy
At stake is our freedom of choice, our livelihoods
and the spirit of mankind
Totalitarian society will become a reality
if the masses remain blind
To Ottawa the truckers made their long trek
asking all mandates to be dropped
Reuniting humanity worldwide by the millions
with unity that can not be stopped
Peaceful demonstrations fueled by hope,
awareness and an outpouring of love
That our freedoms will be rightly restored
with the grace of God above
Feb 3rd, 2022
Formal forms feel nice and safe
But meter makes me sweat
Sometimes rhymes will grind and chafe
And stresses makes me fret
Perhaps there is another way?
I need to be diverse
Panzer stanzas made of clay?
Or flirt with loose free verse
...
To write without rules? Freedom!
The shackles of rhyme snap open
And clatter to the floor
The ball and chain of meter and rhythm
Slip off and roll away
Through the septic puddle of conformity
Clunks against the cell wall
The solid steel door unbolts - one - two - three
And squeals open
Rust flakes bursting then falling
Metallic leaves onto a metallic forest floor
A breeze washes in - washes away the stale air
A poster of Dr Seuss lifts, then flaps, then rips
Then blows away
Daylight streams in - bright - white - blinding - searing
As fragile eyes adjust, the outside free-i-verse reveals itself
Freedom? Yes. But what chaos!
Repetition, imagery, metaphors and repetition - still there
And rhyme and meter!
Where should they go?
What if I get it wrong?
How will I know?
I can't take it in!
...
The door swings and closes - safe and secure
The chill draft now whispers - certain and sure
The shackles await me - to hold and embrace
The ball and chain staring - a well meaning face
Perhaps structure and form aren't really so bad
Free verse is trendy, or maybe a fad
From now on I'll stick to what I surely know
Rhythm and meter and rhyme true to flow
Or maybe I'll try again tomorrow...
(Entry for the "flirt" contest)
When everything seems peaceful
and all is going well
you'll find out that Murphy's rules
will grab you like a spell
When you build your money up
a bundle in the bank
and trouble strikes at every turn
then you'll know who to thank
The car you just had serviced
is spewing smoke and oil
the fridge just out of warranty
now watch that good food spoil
Just when you least expect it
Old Murphy will appear
He's cruel enough to make you spill
your last mouthful of beer
At every turn he's waiting
until you think you're safe
the shoes that fit well yesterday
today will make you chafe
Your wallet's in your pocket
at least that's what you think
until its time to pay the bill
then feel your light heart sink
You glide along life's easy way
it's such an easy dance
Until old Murphy comes along
and kicks you in the pants
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
I button up my cardigan
The weather's closing in.
I'm follically challenged,
not my hairline, but my skin..
As the clouds begin to gather
and wind whips up to boot..
I twist my collar skyward..
deploy my bumbershoot.
And so.. I hurry past you,
we nod but hardly share
the time of day and just pretend
there's no time left to care.
"Is there fear of being open?"
as enclosure keeps me safe,
Suddenly I'm conscious:
all
these
layers
start to chafe.
Old wounds that pierced my skin
don't need to hide away.
The strangest gift;
these scars;
require the light of day.
But what if..
Summer's sun is early?
A transformation starts..
We feel the authenticity
warming up our Wintery hearts?
For what we crave is
Love.
Acceptance, sister. Brother.
But first we have to open up..
be honest with another.
Feel the raindrops on our skin.
Unbutton the protection.
Release us to the elements of
humanity's affection.
For deep within us all
there's stuff we hide away..
Exposure to the open air
and brightness of the day..
..it might be when the healing starts.
Wind, sun, or snow or rain.
Outside it may be different.
But inside..
we're all the same.
All is quiet, my corner still safe.
Ten more pounds, I’m beginning to chafe.
I’ve chewed the couch and the lazy boy chair.
I look like a hippy with all of this hair.
Civilization does need to return.
The dogs want me gone as my stomach swells and churns.
A fresh box of ding dongs and twinkies galore.
My britches don’t fit I can’t take much more.
I never thought that I would see the day.
A line outside Walmart, no freaking way.
How long will this last, I don’t have a clue.
I’m stuck indoors with the quarantine blues.
// Apologies to all who do not follow the sport of baseball. My team is in the playoffs for the first time since 2006 and I wanted to celebrate the occasion //
fans came
big game
they scream
cheer team
the boys
love noise
gloves wield
on field
defense
makes sense
line drive
great dive!
ground ball
close call
third strike
we like!
three outs
coach pouts
down one
need run
fast guy
hits fly
drops in
legs spin
he'll race…
third base
big slide
throw's wide
"He's safe!"
they chafe
sac fly
to tie!
fans roar
at score
game tied
nerves fried
next up:
the pup
young Matt
swings bat
big one…
home run?
don't scoff -
walk off!
team wins
huge grins
our score
was more
our scamps
are champs!
// big thanks to Panagiota who inspired me to do this, also to Brian Strand who invented this form and Jan and Tom who are fun and brilliant advocates of it //
written 1 Oct 2020
How can I fetch what's inside me?
It's a mental scream I can see,
They had poured fear through my mind's crease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
There has been a real stage play,
Rumbling in the chasm and airway,
This caused the effect of the cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Screaming voices drove me insane,
Shooters, killers, and guns again,
Frail life blights me on endless lease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We yield what we hear, but we hear,
In our blood, others' scars are clear,
We wipe tears but also decrease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My wounds are still bright in my mind,
Anguish since the long-term rewind,
Out of sight, cracked into pieces,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We're together despite the waves,
Thrilled as tides rush us to the caves,
Earth seems to cast us a release,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We plant hope as a human seed,
Love grows in the other being's deed,
These keen emotions can't surcease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
What if rain wipes tears of sadness?
We'll free ourselves from the brashness,
Teases to shed tears of caprice?
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Whether you cry from pain or bliss,
It's not rain that makes that abyss,
Crying is nature, human peeps,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My sorrow is couched in downpour,
Sobbing has not yet come down more,
I chafe drenched while I wait for cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Behind my face, that beams a smile,
Long, twisty, and pitch-black road style,
Secret cries have been rife with geese,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Checked by HMS.COM/ 8 syllables.com
1St place contest winner
Written: November 14, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
In the evening of my anger,
My blood has boiled to scorch,
The Ravens voice is rhetorical unto my answers
The clock will chime until it has ticked me off
The Shadows continue to play wild games;
Of dark and trickery,
Wrathful, like a widowed soul,
Lost to all bewitching madness,
Scraping at the walls, for their true identity,
Yes I believe they can talk,
They have told the many secrets,
I'm forced to speak of now,
In this house,
Chandeliers are hung like the victims of loneliness,
Shining bright at a flickers chance,
Royal paintings adorned throughout halls,
Showing solemn ancestors, burning my heart
With their wicked eyes,
Into my bedroom, where the sheets
Cut squarely against my skin;
Causing yet another irritating chafe,
Rubbing until my flesh falls off with a toss
Of the covers
Trapped by my house of anger!
God is my sanctuary, the One to whom I run,
He is my hiding tower, my only Rising Sun,
He is the Rock on whom I stand in a deep deluge,
He is my shining Lighthouse, He is my true Refuge,
God is my sanctuary, the One to whom I call,
He is the One who catches me when stumbling I fall,
He is my comforting Father when I need Him so,
He is my only Friend when I feel lonely and low,
God is my sanctuary, the One in whom I'm safe,
He is my fortress and strength when troubles 'round me chafe,
When there are perilous trials, I lean on His breast,
Under the shadow of His powerful wings I rest.
08.17.2020
Contest: Sanctuary
Sponsor: Silent One
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
just as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a pulse, a blood surge,
a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling morning stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
on high-tension wires. An electricity
flaring her into a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an on-going motif,
one that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred shop window.
If I had to choose a path,
Which way would I go, what choice would I make?
Would I follow my heart, or listen to my head?
Would I choose my dreams, or stick with what I dread?
If I had to choose between love and fear,
Would I let love guide me, or let fear steer?
Would I take a risk, or play it safe?
Would I let love win, or let fear’s grip chafe?
If i had to choose between joy and pain,
Would I dance in the sunshine, or hide in the rain?
Would I let happiness in, or keep it at bay?
Would I let pain consume me, or find a brighter way?
If I had to choose between staying and leaving,
Would I hold on tight, or let go without grieving?
Would I stay in my comfort, or venture into the unknown?
Would I stay in my bubble, or let my wings be shown?
If I had to choose between giving up and fighting,
Would I surrender, or keep on striving?
Would I let my dreams die, or hold on tight?
Would I give up the fight, or keep reaching for the light?
If I had to choose between being true to myself,
Or fitting in with the crowd on the shelf,
Would I embrace my uniqueness, or conform the norm?
Would I stay true to my values, or hide behind a mask so warm?
If I had to choose between living and just existing,
Would I take risks, or play it safe and resisting?
Would I make each day count, or let them slip away?
Would I live with purpose, or just let life sway?
If I had to choose, I’d choose to be brave,
To embrace every moment, to take what I crave.
I’d choose to follow my heart, no matter the cost,
For in the end, it’s the choices we make that are never lost.
WHEN STATURE IS A FORM OF GRACE
Red hair,
skin sweet apple,
Her face like a geisha
quiet yet armed with falcon eyes
You'll see.
His nose:
sharp like a knife.
Alone, she has no friend,
was this the way she's meant to be
shadowed?
Lonely
with hurt anew
she sighs deep like furnace
with only a dolesome ballad
to sing.
For she
was different,
demure in every way,
stature becomes a form of grace
within.
She chafe
folks that bore her,
their slanderous tongues.
Have they no grace nor some respect
to care?
Actions
where life pulsates
demands each to play roles
yet still, when silence roars, hear
echoes.
Truth ~ lies
all mixed in one,
baffling the people,
leading the narrow minds astray,
wonky!
__________________________________________________
Inspired by: Theater by Mary Cassatte 1879
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
4:26 pm, January 19, 2015
Fi is my name
Short for a title I can't rename
Fi is not a note
Two letters shorter than a mote
A fiddler from Finland
First son of a worker in hinterland
I travel near and far
With or without money in my jar
I am not broke
Just a funny bloke
I once sailed like a sailor bee
Zipping on a summer sea
I landed with my feet
One bended and one splinted with slit
I walked a million steps
From the shore spoke and loved a thousand veps
I trekked a flat icy nest
And climbed the trees of ivory crest
One day I found a coconut tree
A sacred palm from Thee
One name given to me
A connection of wireless canopy
Fi you can call me
Can't tell more about me
Read my name in reverse
Many things I say in verse
Ask me what my dream is?
Simple life I wish and kiss
I'll never drive you like a nut
Just stay true without a but
I'll keep you warm and safe
Stripping you out of troubles that chafe.
I am walking again...
This time on waters that drain
Temperature's so high that ire
Dipping on a basin of fire
Soaking up to knee-level
Skimping, not revel
Then I dropped in a hole
Bigger than a man hole
I was flushed in a long tunnel
Sliding through a funnel
At the end of the hole I cram
I dropped myself in a dam
I was like a rolling stone
Tumbling and landing on a cone...
The story continues
An epic of giggling ensues
Next time I'll write a story about swan
When you acknowledge my greeting, not ban
Fi is my name with continuity
Fi of fidelity and infinity
See you next time
Be merry and smile all the time!