Best Constricting Poems

I walk o u t...

I am lost in unapproachable light—a spectral broth
I am tasting the screaming silence—the archetypal observer
dissects my essence-fossil Passion
a seismic rupture between life/death/rebirth
gnaws at my marrow This dilemma-kudzu
coils tight, constricting tomorrow's breath

Death stalks me, a shadow with obsidian fangs
Sin's fruit—a parasitic putrefaction—
erupts...

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Death

Words rip through the night sky
They conspire to tear a hole through reality
A reality created in your eyes

Taped tightly to your mouth is a bill of lies
That you have yet to unroll
And it's constricting your ability to breathe

Like a dying bumble bee, your stinger is...

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Anti-anxiety Poem
Author:  Shawn Wilkinson 2022

Are you feeling lonely and shattered?
Have you lost the key to your heart?

Trapped by the Darkness
Suffering feeling of Isolation

Imagine feeling locked inside a locker of hell.
Torment without end

Help me Lord!
Help me break Free!
Because I can’t even find my own key!

I’ve...

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The powerful palpitations pounding in my chest,
Will my heart with stand this test,
Another attack has just begun,
Abracadabra out it sprung. 

Piercing pain constricting my chest,
My ribs collapsing, the attack conquering its quest,
Each breath harder, sharper, shallower than the next,
My fingers hastily clawing at my chests...

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“Auld Lang Syne” - the most-sung New Year's Eve song

Courtesy Robert Burns
circa  (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796)
the National Bard,
Bard of Ayrshire
and the Ploughman Poet.

Two hundred sixty one orbitz elapsed
since brief existence of aforementioned
Scottish poet and lyricist graced Earth,
yet his legacy unwittingly still
enshrined,...

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anxiety showing through;
bated breath and tired sighs
all the same
today and tomorrow...
just crude forgeries of yesterday
nothing changes
every exhalation breathing out
another piece of our monotony ridden souls

pressure
strife
choking me, constricting my lungs
as if even the air is now my enemy
blowing and pushing me in directions
that I'd sworn never...

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When the dusk bleeds 
                     epitaph roses,
and the blackbird sings
               ...

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T i me
I’m a mistress to your fleeting cycles,
constantly constricting,
russet-deep pupils
that see the maroon rain~
veiled in honey and turmeric flames…
Today I lift my hands
in s i l e n c e
to spin pearls of prayers
from
strings of patience...
for I am my Sun’s~
your maternal daffodil
singing songs of...

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Enchantment

Love is not the opposite of hate
that fiery passion
which turns against our heart
like a python through the blood
constricting life

love is what we yearn for
to create delicious selves
the flavouring in our lives
it is a thief that creeps upon us
or steals us from the start

of all the...

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A holy man, a profit of God, but of what God?
Rasputin the black snake of Eden, endowed with
Silvery fork tongue of the viper.
It slithered into the golden palace of paradise,
Coiling and oiling around the royal cradle of
Innocence, constricting it within the folds of lies
And deceit...

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The sky has dug a hole in the cloud
it's fuc**** triangle's fault  I can't see the pigs
stratified societies 
revitalized on schizophrenic base of
finger pointing minority
staring at fragmented people 
seeing them as dispensed particles 
that parasitize above their respiratory system and
disrupting  implemented cohesion

in order...

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A cacophony of cheers
Sand sprays like fireworks
From feet, hands, ball, hair.
Four women, two-a-side,
In a battle for the ages.

A motion of fluidity and a
Knowledge brought forth
From years in the fray.
Sun, rain, the elements,
Just more adversaries

In a long procession of
Combatants put asunder
By their clear dominance
Of a gritty...

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State of the Art (III)

These are my "ars poetica" poems: the ones about the art and craft of writing poetry in a modern world that doesn't always recognize the artists or their work. 



Come Down
by Michael R. Burch

for Harold Bloom

Come down, O, come down
from your...

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.



                                      chlorophyll cancer
     ...

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He stands on trembling legs, staring blankly out the east window; the anvil in his chest, pounding echo's of war.
Clad in military blues, an array of brass well dones and hero's ribbons crowd his now ill fitted jacket.
Amber lamplight casts the silhouette of a brave...

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