Best Enrages Poems
Rife with abstractions, and still just listening;
Leaning on pages, the night keeps glistening.
Ripping at seams, no intentions of fixing
As leaks spring up in the darkness of evening.
--
Hollowed-out souls fill the depths of this bet,
And mausoleums hold the ones straggling yet.
We're fighting ourselves over people we've met
Just to make up the ground in relieving the debt.
--
Knife with distractions, and I've stopped listening;
Meaning enrages; The light drips, glistening.
Slipping the reams, no ideas for fixing
The problems arisen on this summer evening.
"love is fleeting"
love is untrue
love is jealous
love is a liar
love killed trust
love is filth
love is arrogant
love laughs at honesty
love ruined my chance
love threw away my happiness
so love could keep me hostage
love is disgusting
love enrages me
love is unbearable
love is a joke
love is ignorant
love is not true
love loves no one
love loves itself
love hates you
love is fake
love broke me
love had me blindfolded
love will not win, not the long haul
love is an oxymoron.
"love is fleeting"
"Love" never was.
To 'my' "love"
Rain rushed in like a concert audience.
There’s nothing calm about Spring’s arrival.
The specter gusts regrets and survival,
Strip limbs for whips — a sore obedience.
A path cut through, a cold subservience.
The robin’s heavy breast with cheep revival.*
A rose depressed in past Spring’s archival.
Absence of warmth, enrages audience.
A sip of dandelion wine — desire
spurs wholesome cheat, complete with snowy seeds.
Remembrance of unwrinkled hands - youth’s lore,
A marshmallow on spit, and rosy fire.
Enhance the peace and love of daisy beads.
Unwind the twister’s coil, unleash Spring’s core.
3/21/2018
Greg Cornish’s Petrarchan Sonnet contest
cheep - to utter faint shrill sounds : peep, to utter a single word or sound
(from Merriam Webster dictionary) Also mimics the word “cheap”
The moon is my muse
and love is the fuse
that burns my fire
and enrages my soul.
The moon is high
and the moon is my heart.
Holding high
and the stars around
clouds not in sight,
I shall go now on a flight.
The moon is my muse
and love is the fuse
that burns the fire
and enrages my soul.
Till tomorrow,
I shall go onto those who love on another,
and we shall gaze upon the moon
together, and love will light my fuse
that entangles my soul
and I shall fall in love
and you shall fall in love
and we all shall fall in love with each other.
And... I shall take a deep breathe
and hold close to my heart
a beautiful and romantic poem
of the silver laced moon
high up in the sky.
The man who puts kids in cages
Laughs at the folks it enrages
Whilst taxpayers bleed
Republicans need
Bilingual pedophile Pages
Rain seeps into every crack and crevice
chilling to the bone
Winter has arrived with a vengeance
and summer is forever gone.
Ice slicks the asphalt, into a
glittering glistening death trap.
Here begins the slow invasion
of the unrelenting cold.
This grubby little mutt follows one day,
His hair matted, claws overgrown.
You take pity on the poor thing;
Starving and probably ill.
(A miserable pup with big sad eyes)
And leave blankets and scraps out the door
You wonder of his owners forgotten
He’s no street dog- well behaved and gentle
Perhaps abandoned, lost.
But maybe not. He’s ugly, scarred
Hairless in patches- He belongs in a kennel.
You don’t want him- and feel an inexplicable deep hatred
The wag of his tail infuriates and the curve of his snout enrages.
You slam the door.
A glass spills and everything is red.
Merlot on the carpet, scarlet on the bed.
You knock over the roses
Deep crimson of condolence
You want to draw blood, you want to destroy
You crave another’s red bloody torment
Schadenfreude, be damned
His whines pierce-
through the cold air of the night,
and the solid wooden door.
The royal blue E minor: the laments of the abandoned
You can’t help but join in song
As the wretched creature
howls expressivo at the starless sky
a symphony of loss.
Violins screech to his scratching
with trills, mordents and turns.
The descending melodic line fades and echos;
As the merciless tonic pedal of time ticking
crescendos.
The clarinets wails accompaniment;
subdominant, tonic, leading.
And with a plagal cadence, the mutt droops his tail
Morning arrives- painfully slow
The rising sun thaws anguished aubergine
And leave only tender lapis of fingers frostbitten.
They struggle; falls a familiar key
As you reach and bend
Moist; a warmth unexpected and wet
As the mutt licks your hand
tongue curling around a corpse’s digits
nuzzling his cold snout into the back of your knee.
Tongue lolling, tail wagging
The mutt never leaves.
The frost on the tree branches promise
Of how you’ve lived and grown
They shimmer like precious silver
and accent the beauty of home.
The fresh biting air,
with great gasping breaths you shiver.
Here begins a new journey
With your most loyal friend.
Metropolis…
a cackling cacophony of confusion
energizing some and enrages others.
Concrete and steel giants,
loom forebodingly over the masses;
blocking out gifts of the sun.
The maze that tires me from constant searching;
why am I here in this overcrowded and hopeless abyss?
The bang-clang trucks and trolleys,
beat out their metronomic, one…two...beat
and the drone of engines,
sings a tired ballad of the modern world.
Cities are the lairs of bad-tempered dragons;
harboring too many precious trinkets.
Vulnerable souls are the noonday snacks,
devoured by cold-blooded sharks.
The dark truth;
There is nothing good in falling, nothing good in fainting
Just getting hurt, and blacking out.
Blacking out is missing in action and bleeding is bleeding.
There is nothing interesting in dreaming, nothing helpful in admiring
Just the misconception about sound sleep and the annoying urge
Craving is not attaining; variance in quality discerns means of acquisition.
There is no good in saying sorry, pay back enrages less.
Humanity seeks vengeance. Forgiveness is getting even
Humanity seeks vengeance, forgiving tastes bitter.
Bitter is bitter, sadness is sadness, the feeling is what it is.
There is no cure for being blue; there is no tonic for melancholy.
To heal is accepting to live with the sad memories. Like there is an option.
There is never going back, there is never going beyond your existence.
Ghosts are real and hallucination is not insanity. Time travel is fiction.
Madness is living in the two worlds; of apparitions and scientists. Science is
real.
There is nothing like water. Substitutes are either too saccharine or too nasty
Water is like living within your means, metaphorical lemons are the suffering
selfless
The sweet are the most vulnerable, the lost in their lost courses.
Pursuit has an end and not certainly at an arrest, fatigue saves the guilty.
Failure doesn’t show the image of success. Success is just success.
Failing again and again is a fair warning. Success will always be illusive.
Shrinks are not for inspiration, money is their inspiration
The work of the poor is not to make examples out off as humility.
Anger is the best example of self-control. Fighting is the worst part of it.
Being poor as being rich comes in different forms,
Being rich can be luck but not certainly hard work, stealing takes you there.
Working for something gives you exactly that thing, extra is comforting.
Bliss; bliss, bliss, ignorance is not bliss. Perhaps death
The silence, the silence and the silent residence…
Then death is not the only scary thing. Solitude is too.
Poetry; this is one of them, buried in voices of scaring truth.
Poetry is not words either, poetry is life and life is everything, poetry is
anything.
Something sad, something glad, and anything you may add. Try the bad.
Alliances of color
Moods profound -all around us surround
With a convoluted nature, I take moods in
terms of color-
To simplify and identify.
Black as in absence
Absence of color, no true cast in nature
Yet in our psyche- it ends tranquility
Makes us feel death, mystery and sexuality.
On the other end of the scope-
White is the mood of purity and hope
The power of white brings around
The dove of our Heavenly Crowned.
Green grounds us, brings us back to Earth
Natural merriment and mirth
The darkest- brings strength and courage-
the Priestess binds the hands in Marriage.
Red angers us, enrages - adding a plus
to the fire and might of our mood for fight.
Aggression and desire are guilty in the pyre
Of this energetic glow of fire.
Tranquility and tears are the mood of this hue
The color of sky, water, and security- blue.
Vastness of oceans and expressions in music and art
Brings out the fluid depths of our peaceful heart.
Some roll in the seas of mood
Some are stable within the caves of crude
Some may try to alter- and still falter
Whatever is a mood? Part of us-
Given by God to embark thus…
Of pale melancholy
And the infinite fall
Of broken machinery
Cast upon vast shores
Decimation reservation
The prodigal son returns
Jagged reigns of jaded egos
Amber suns stretching upon seas of sanctuary
Blue oysters cast a cult of personality
Here is where the mechanicals recoiled
Gears turned deep inside the obelisk
Onyx realms reaching to monolithic cities
Blacken the sky is on fire of desolations dawn
Volumes fills my fancies with arcane dreams
Milky white universe’s immaculate ejaculate dynastic
Covers pale melancholy machinery of it…
Drips and drains into serenity
Tides borne cryptic things from ancient depths
Fathoms different shores
Odd engines images forges, engages, enrages
Facades of the Deities
Castings from altered shores
Drudged up in desolate depths
Dark quagmires in nightmares explore
The Melancholy and pale machines implore
Something fetal feral twisted engorged
An abomination spills upon the floor
A pale machine of marrow and blood
In spines broken bones
Hooked finger Nails Nine Inches long
Pitch black eyes watch a haloed star
Of holocaustic blooms
In infernal flowers, flames, flurries
Something seeps, creeps, down deep, furies
Lurches on to heavens door
Breeds, seeds, forsaken monstrosities
Of pale machinery and mythic beings,
The melancholy of humanity,
A pale something expires
Eternal winter of
Broken Machinery
cast upon vast moonlit shores
Where am I
I can hear beyond the human ears,
Long before danger has a chance to come near,
Waiting and watching over all I care for,
I am able to observe and see so much more,
I seem fairly simple and yearn for affection,
Yet, I don’t let this get in the way of ensuring my family’s protection,
Give me a bone and some extensive space,
I’ll be occupied for hours and let none of it go to waste,
Put me in a predicament where I must hunt or retreat,
And watch as my paws move to an undomesticated beat,
My ancestors are warriors and their blood runs through me,
I will be your best friend and defender until we reach eternity,
I will comfort you when you’re sad and the world has been unkind,
For a man’s soul mate at times is hard to find,
Please refrain from putting me in degrading dog shows,
For I was born to be part of the family not feed barbaric egos,
When man uses me to fight for their own personal gain,
It enrages my feelings and makes me insane,
I long for a mate and would like my own pups
So please don’t waste your money stitching me up
When summer is scorching and my coat is too thick
Water me down so I don’t get sick
And please do not dress me in tight silly clothes
It makes me feel violated, restricted and exposed.
By: Sabina Nicole
To all My Dogz
11:49 PM
and I am lost,
tired,
and I want love to knock on my door,
but sadly I am too poor.
Low and high,
high and love,
scared of heights
and it scares when it bites.
As Paganini plays away in my ears,
enrages my brain in beauty,
I think of her,
as the night slips away with her
and I slowly close my eyes
and dream away.
My husband's like to water, I to oil.
We're masters of the knock-down, drag-out brawl.
We just don't mix. I cause his blood to boil
and he enrages me. The dude has gall!
From "Water and Oil," a parody of Edmund Spenser's Sonnet 30 "My Love Is Like to Ice and I to Fire" from Amoretti
Date: January 16, 2020
Contest Title: Arbitrium Divisa 6
Sponsor: Gregory Barden
The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone as no more
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
Their lightweight Scritta’ pages waver from the windows breeze
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
Their lightweight Scritta pages, waver from the windows breeze
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
Whilst yonder angels; weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Whilst yonder angels, weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone, as no more
Do you love me
Do you think I am smart
Do you appreciate me
Do you look at me, what do you see
When you hit me does it hurt you
When you call me stupid does it emasculate you
When I comfort you Am I beneath you
When you look at me what do you see
It hurts when you hit me
It enrages me when you call me stupid
It empowers me to know I comfort you
Look at me now what do you see
I don't love you
I am above you intellectually
I am calculating, cunning
Look at me, my back is the last you'll see.
The Love of your life
The small contributions you made
The small man that you are
The minutiae of nothing
I walk tall, with a soulful stride
You walk fast trying to catch me
I am the winner
You're a survivor
I am no longer broken
I am no longer weak
I am a woman
Then I drop a coin in your cup