Best Exhausts Poems
White marble stones
Stand proud in the sun
To remember my colleagues
The heroic fallen ones
Many a battle
Many a campaign
Some did return
For some never the same
On the green grass I stand
Blue sky above
The souls of my comrade's
Like peaceful sitting doves
The name on this stone
Reminds me of the day
My best friend and brother
Was taken away
An offensive was launched
Brothers at war
Bunker to take
At the top of a tor
Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill
As we wind our way through
Zipping bullets, blood spill
Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh
As we hit the barbed wire
Now a scarlet stained mesh
Objective in sight as we approach our aim
As I hear the groan of the injured
Many dead, maimed
Grenade pin pulled
Bunker window we lob
Hands sweating
How many lives will we rob
Explosion flash, shouts of pain
As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain
We enter the Bunker
To witness our task
The enemy lie distorted
Faces grimace, death mask
I turn to my brother to signal it's safe
As a shot rings out in this theatre place
He stands still for a moment
Eyes glazing and cold
The death of my sibling
At 19 years old
As I open my eyes and turn to my son
I see what I have as he holds my grandson
Family values, love and a bond
As I remember my brother
Of whom I was so fond
I proudly walk past, salute as I go
The white stones standing proud
Peaceful doves in a row
I find myself fortunate to stand here and tell
To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well
.
Categories:
exhausts, angst, brother, history, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Flames of desire mesmerize
Instantly provocative to tantalize
Recklessly smoldering embers stirred
Enticing arousal... seduction occurs
Stoking the fire again and again
No strings attached is only plan
Both have reasons to turn away
Smoke exhausts all reasons one day
Forbidden sex arouses all senses
Ghost voyeurs char pretenses
Once guilt and shame are activated
Hardcore explosions... incinerated
No strings attached cannot persevere
Fire leaves ashes of all we hold dear
Written 5-3-2016
Categories:
exhausts, betrayal, fantasy, fire, longing,
Form:
Sonnet
White marble stones
Stand proud in the sun
To remember my colleagues
The heroic fallen ones
Many a battle
Many a campaign
Some did return
For some never the same
On the green grass i stand
Blue sky above
The souls of my comrade's
Like peaceful sitting doves
The name on this stone
Reminds me of the day
My best friend and brother
Was taken away
An offensive was launched
Brothers at war
Bunker to take
At the top of a tor
Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill
As we wind our way through
Zipping bullets, blood spill
Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh
As we hit the barbed wire
Now a scarlet stained mesh
Objective in sight as we approach our aim
As i hear the groan of the injured
Many dead and maimed
Grenade pin pulled
Bunker window we lob
Hands sweating
How many lives will we rob
Explosion flash with shouts of pain
As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain
We enter the Bunker
To witness our task
The enemy lie distorted
Faces grimace, death mask
I turn to my brother, to signal its safe
As a shot rings out, in this theatre place
He stands still for a moment
Eyes glazing and cold
The death of my sibling
At 19 years old
As i open my eyes, and turn to my son
I see what i had, as he holds my grandson
Family values, love and a bond
As i remember my brother
Of whom, i was so fond
I proudly walk past, salute as i go
The white stones standing proud
Peaceful doves in a row
I find my self fortunate to stand here and tell
To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
Categories:
exhausts, brother, death, life, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
The snow was as light as dust in the wind
The air a steady thirty-three, my breath slightly visible
My nose, ears and cheeks reddened and wet
Whilst staring into the bliss with watery eyes, they dripped
Thoughts of my father
Thoughts of my mother
Thoughts of my brother, Joseph
I cried so nice... remembering them
Four and Twenty blackbirds...
Not yet baked, sailed onto my lawn
I heard my mom singing me that song again
A hidden from the clouds jet- roared
I saw my dad in the window- waving
When a somehow not-frozen worm wiggled in the grass
I saw my brother Joe- fishing
With the snow now thickened and the air dropping
A steady stream of mist exhausts from my mouth
But... I felt warmth
I felt comfort
I felt my loved ones presence all around
I felt like... Like it was a good day to cry
Categories:
exhausts, feelings,
Form:
Verse
Nothing can destroy you—
Unless you give it permission to.
The love you deserve will fight,
Will always be your side,
No matter how difficulties reside.
In your dark, when you're low or high,
Doubts will sink into your skin—
they'll love you, for no reason—
You won’t need to win.
Even when your luminosity exhausts in wide,
They'll reflect warmth and make you shine.
The love you deserve will love you,
Even when you believe you don’t deserve it.
Categories:
exhausts, 1st grade,
Form:
Free verse
I need to work more magic
You’re not as easy as I thought
It’s going to take a little more
Than a rabbit out of a hat
I’ve already done the slight of hand
And all the card tricks I know
You just don’t seem to get it
Or you’ve seen it all before
Maybe I need to do the cuffs
And put you in the box
Drop you in the water
To see if you can get out
This relationship exhausts me
Not going as I planned
The smoke and mirrors always worked
But not this time my friend
If I make a dove appear
Where there wasn’t one before
Can I do the same with affection?
It’s the only trick untried!
Categories:
exhausts, love
Form:
Free verse
The part-Persian kitty weaves through the puzzle debris
checking out ornate cups
of Grogg. Curious of
these human companions sitting at her table,
daring to move the “chess” pieces
in various shapes. She could use them for better
than time-waste, could nibble
like a tea biscuit.
She’ll not let down her defenses. They must think
she is an ordinary house cat.
She won’t even “meow,” lest they
reach out to attack her fur with long stroke rubs.
But that kid! She can’t escape
the one who puts her to chase
as if she is the mouse, fallen into his trap.
Still, she gets her exercise
hopping over “hot coals,”
again that mystic maze puzzle,
through the legs
of the giant chairs,
“leaping-lizards” downstairs,
on the run, not
on the prowl
til she exhausts the kid.
The kid is her undoing.
Now he is two-fisting a ball,
in the air. She dare
not stare. He will
begin his bull-run again.
Kitty hides in the shadows, but darn,
she hears the pitter-patter of food into her bowl
and she’s thirsty, too.
Categories:
exhausts, cat,
Form:
Free verse
There is no single thing to say
Mom can't do anything at home.
For she is just far more incredible
than any woman we know.
She wakes up early morning.
But no one told her so.
For she loves to prepare breakfast
and do the house chores.
She likes to wash plates,
Does laundry at the backyard.
But she expects nothing in return,
Not a money nor an award.
She exhausts herself from day to night.
But she keeps her body pain,
Just to see her kids sleeping so tight.
Anxiety kills her mind
Whenever her child gets sick.
She'll do everything in her power
Even it has to make her body weak.
But who tells her to do all these?
Those tiring chores at home
She does everything not to please.
One thing we know about mom
She does everything not because
it's her role and responsibility.
It's because of love that connects
Since the day that you were born.
Categories:
exhausts, inspiration, love, mom, mother,
Form:
Narrative
As we have all come to know and accept
That within certain parameters we find ourselves trapped
It’s either you’re stuck with wearing pants to rule and impress
Or socially considered inferior and wearing a dress
Well, I for one, fortunately belong to the latter
However, at the excruciating sensation of being perpetually overlooked, I shudder
For I know my worth exceeds that of just another fine lady
A woman who ignores harsh Reality and hides behind a smile, looking dandy
A conformist, being looked down on by what is called a man
So from this awkward position of helplessness, to remove myself without delay is my plan
This feeling of constantly being emotionally and socially dormant
Exhausts me – utterly drains my energy, to be used as a dusty doormat
Then carelessly, I am cast into a sea of vulnerability
Viewed by society as a mere object of instability
I, being of greater value, will remove myself from behind Male’s shadow
For I refuse, the social norm of this world, to follow
Even though seen as nothing, for myself I have respect
And to the world, my greatest strengths I shall reflect
Because I possess rare beauty that goes deeper than the skin
So onto my strengths, I shall trustingly lean
Where man exhibits his pompous ways I humbly outshine
For I am a woman of worth and that, the beauty in me shall always define
As a woman, I am made perfect in my weakness
For I thrive, where man tries his best to impress
Categories:
exhausts, gender, mom, mother, mother
Form:
Classicism
Blood of the brave
More you grow, the more you seem to stay the same
See the time mows you and your aims feel the same.
Folks come and go; they don't seem to give a damn
You would sell your soul to not be the kid of shame.
Time passes and exhausts you, your soul is dying
You feel the burn of misery and your heart weeps
Your dreams are fading, yet you try
Somehow, to overcome pain and its whip…
And you live day to day
Search in vain a way
Between an unchanging past, a present of damages
And the hope of a better future, my Homage
Here comes the day.
Be my hero, the man who started from zero
To showing the way of not being a social zero
From the huts and the wood that forge you brain
None of your suffering will be in vain
Weave your dream nest and wait
Categories:
exhausts, strength,
Form:
Rhyme
HARLEY DAVIDSON
The roar of the victorious twins that spark,
Enigma of the spotless glint in the dark,
The riders, symbolic of rare brood,
Tattooed with insignia and bandana as hood.
Third year of the twentieth century, there starts a stride,
Relentlessly over a century, stands stout in pride,
The post First War years, gave birth to the twins,
Sidecars mated, to the 18 horses’ wings.
“Milwaukee” heaven, created the stars,
In a big bang scatter, they traversed the universe,
The years of the big wars, saw seventeen-inch twins,
Immaculate with epaulettes and battle olive greens.
At the end of the war, God lent a hand,
To evolve a shiny steel armour for the generation, next clan,
The Knuckleheads, the Glides set the road on fire,
Protectors of human dignity, induce fear on felons’ desire,
The low riders of the seventies, launched with a zing,
The world of its class termed it “A mean machine”,
The XL’s the K’s, roll out with a whack,
Its looks and tyres, burnt all tracks.
Then there were the softails, those flew like a dove,
Elevated the pillion rider, for the embrace of Love,
The zing of the V2 and the double chrome exhausts,
Reflects the personality of a star, that rocks.
Out arrived the fat boy who could cruise an endless mile,
Traverse across the continent in elegant style,
The Dyna and the Low Riders with their fiery spokes,
Came in with accessories that included tattooed blokes.
The King of the road with flashers and sirens run,
Vigilant officer in uniform with a holstered gun,
The Buells, The Cyclones, The Lightning and Thunderbolts
Menacing street fighters, up on the roll.
Exotic long forked choppers, on a smooth ply,
The rattle sound merges, with a helicopter in the sky,
It is the character, that reflects, the heart alone,
The charisma, of falling in love with, ‘Harley Davidson’.
By Pradipta Roy Choudhury
From The Transient Soliloquy
published by Notionpress
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
Categories:
exhausts, beautiful, car, character, dedication,
Form:
Narrative
“For you, My Love”
I watch you sleep
Dark limbs entwined in sheets
The strength you show even while asleep
Makes my heart skip a beat
You are the one I’ve come to love
The one who exhausts me in fiery passion
The one who knows how to make me purr
Bless the day we met
At the carnival two years prior
Avoiding the crowd
I walked right into your arms
Spilling my chocolate milkshake
Over the front of your white coat
As I looked up into your hazel eyes
Saw the sadness replaced with light
Time stood still
You said something
But I could only hear the sound
Of your heart beating
Getting hold of my senses
I jumped back fumbling in my purse for tissues
With a “your coat is soiled, sir”
You replied velvet voice “you owe me for damages, miss”
My mouth still hanging open
We exchanged business cards
Anyway, long story short
We found each other
Love found us
Our exchange of rings at the altar
Promise of a lifetime of love and understanding
Holding each other in the palm of our hands
Kissing me awake with your loving touch
It thrills me thinking about it
You are my shelter
My home
Categories:
exhausts, love, relationship, romantic,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A baby that screams on a plane,
Whether tired, unfed or in pain,
Must be calmed at all costs
For when patience exhausts
All the passengers will go insane.
Categories:
exhausts, baby, travel,
Form:
Limerick
On life's easyrider days and nights
love plays a romping game.
On those more oppositionally challenging days,
and long anxious nights,
love is a hunt,
sometimes a passionate hunt,
special occasionally a compassionate hunt,
a mutual hunt
for truth about who is hunter
and who is hunted
and why
and when
and how do these co-arising functions transcend "or"
to gracefully meet in "and."
This primal function of love's synergetic force
hunts
like gravity.
Both parties,
all living entities,
hunt,
gravitate,
even those feeling hunted
haunted
stalked
fearful and anxious
competitively and unilaterally,
often in silos threatening despair.
We all search frantically for safe havens,
hidden from those hunting for our very self-identity,
our life,
or at least so it feels during those dissonant times.
What is a redemptive optimization strategy
for those hunting safe havens from death,
pursued by tyrannical lovers,
ego-identified life-sucking hunters?
When is it not an appropriate moment
to love the hunter,
the hunted,
and the hunt?
Is there a significant difference
between the romping love of fluid smooth days and nights
and the more strategic
logistical
personal
intimately co-prehensile
hunt for love transcending Ego-incarnate death?
Too seldom haunted hunted entities,
primally assuming cooperative investment
in our challenging rampant race
and pace of EarthTribal systems,
when a passionate challenge exhausts our smooth-skinned body,
and/or brain,
the hunted redemptively turn toward other hunters,
gratefully and mindfully inviting a wrestling-with match,
setting aside a wrestling-against death and fear match,
comprehending that compassioning our hunting love
always optimizes EarthTribe's regenerational future.
In love,
sometimes,
at least once,
it is my time to love loss,
to forgive away space and or time,
to redeem future spacetime
equivalently invested in me
birthing my original praxis of conception
as mutual reception--
eco-harmonic redemption.
Categories:
exhausts, death, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
Sanity Slipping
by Odin Roark
For today,
There is but a subliminal haze.
Soon…
They’ll realize spring as summer,
An impatient today
Rapidly becoming tomorrow’s scorched yesterday.
They’ll remind themselves
Of gardens once blooming,
Now dust bowls of wind-driven regret,
Shrouding what’s left
Behind nature’s pawn shop windows.
Then…
They’ll send afloat their final thoughts
As ghostwriters waiting,
Strike their polished keyboards,
Creating another tome,
Perpetuating another unswerving pattern of failure.
They’ll ponder the dark collecting quickly,
As their rising flotsam of denial
Hitches up with commerce trade winds aplenty,
Eager to satisfy more covetous progress
Waiting amongst the many heads-in-clouds.
They’ll spend their final hours
Watching their neighboring countries
Bloviate established ritual chameleon-greed
As power’s gluttony exhausts
The remaining rations for survival.
Finally
Beneath ashen density,
Remaining embers will radiate
What’s left of fate’s losing battle,
Revealing demonic faces parading angelic wings,
Readying their blind eyes
For the final act of
Sanity slipping.
Categories:
exhausts, environment,
Form:
Free verse