Best Expel Poems
In the midst of great turmoil and strife,
There is a force manifestly to be heard…seen….touched
A voice—ever so soft… yet loud enough to break mountains at their base
It can make a grown man cry—can distort the finest face
Lead the mother eagle back to its nest…
Run its hands against a tumultuous sea to rest…
Shedding tears of empathy when the woman,
With child, is seen- alone…sore. . . distressed
With mind enduring beyond mortal endurance
With arms stretching across the universe of opportunities and darkness
With eyes blossoming like those crazy sunflowers reaching to the sky…
Suddenly… you will feel its yellow fires
It is the very storm that knocks us down
To the depths of humility...patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike,
It comes like an earthquake and tremors the very soul into action...
It is the war of mercy that will devour to create and rejuvenate!
It tells the geese to fly south, whispering them in the right direction...
It is the soft growl of the lion that wakes its babe to safety...
Like music, it can soothe, or agitate,
Its rhythms changeable…forgivable…
When you take a wrong turn, a dissonant chord harsh as lightning will expel
Suspended in the air—colors more mysterious than hell
And when you love—oh how sweet love carries cherished lips cosmically….
A smile of the most precious melodies ring
New colors—see it, new colors shall spring
What this light truly means is to be revealed
Only for the precious few who listen and truly feel
Wrapped in the soft ribbons of love beyond all mortality
Beyond space and reality
Beyond the very tip of the mountain,
That never had to be touched to be brought to its knees…..
Not once did this force ever have to take the woman by the hand
And say with conviction… “everything will be okay….”
Because phenomenally… she would simply hear it in melody,
Inspired by the blazing sun of a newly dawned day-
Freshly caught tears of joy priding the lonely spider’s web
For Justin Bordner’s Divine Intervention Contest
Thank you, with love,
Laura
Death to the mockingbird with one shot to the heart,
Crushing wings with desperation sings sorrow worlds apart.
Concrete tears from wasted eyes fall on a mossy burial ground,
Taste the regret as it is yet to expel a gasping sound.
And rise oh symphonic sun in my mourning put rest to the moon,
Dehydrate this skin from deep within that I may die at noon.
Searching for stars to blanket this despairs shroud of living,
Pinpricks of celestial poison judgmental eyes are giving.
Blood upon my hands stains jealousy in deep wrinkled crease,
Saliva soiled dirt leaves an after taste that will never cease.
Breaking the joints of folded frozen wings opening like a book,
Laid before the novel ends I search for the heart that I took.
Oh mockingbird you brought this battle a war I inhale victory,
Would the devil rise with golden stained eyes celebrating with me.
With weighted flesh, holding her heart, he examines my deed,
Silently I beg come with me, success demands fulfilling my greed.
The devil he does make his choice, strong cradled hands receive
Welcoming the mockingbird, even in death does she deceive.
Breathing to life from lips I longed to love, the mockingbird awakes,
Flapping wings, resentment it stings, the ground under me shakes.
The mockingbird laughs for she mocks me no longer,
She has taken everything from me, and now she is stronger.
Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.
So was a metaphor created from the rose,
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.
It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.
Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.
Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.
For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,
I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.
*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******
A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
Driving along, I’m hearing a song
as my radio I like to play.
I get to my job and hear all day long
that tune that just won’t go away.
The lyrics keep playing -staying and staying -
lines of lyrics I cannot expel!
Like a carnival horse on a pole, my brain’s swaying
round and round on this cursed carousel.
Enough with its brightness -this tune so appealing
with lyrics not even that rich!
Then even in bed, I lie there – mind reeling.
This earworm’s a Cognitive &$%ITCH.
All night without sleeping, just in bed lying.
It’s the insomniac’s woe.
To focus on sleep, I’m trying and trying.
Sticky music, I beg you to GO.
Jan. 7, 2019
for the Sing It contest of Nina Parmenter
Written: December 30, 2023
_________________________________________
Embrace the oxymoron, if you will.
Shall I fool you with monsoon wrath?
Despite tears of rain, life will prevail.
via shattered aspirations.
clouds flirt with slate-azure moon
sunlight kisses the sea at dawn.
wind sighs to trees in plains of lustrous dew.
and scoff at me and you.
as trilling robins show up.
A radiant core of nature's elixir
yet, sunlight will flicker.
cloudless white will appear.
as gold, zenith, and amethyst adorn the sky.
Flaming saffron is poised to streak.
Cureless by modern science.
bare ribs, limbs, and joints fried.
Whispering winds hindered dexterity.
My vertebrae melted, were bare, and broke.
senseless failure to stand or fully expel.
weakened and can't sleep or thrive.
Wairua Worth dark wrath wrecked while
tethered as terms tumble to thrill.
Quill Genesis grows with glorious grace.
while the vile sword is versatile.
Cast aside vanity; dangling merely fits.
Rhapsody hopes to work; ponder if sick.
in shape, rekindled with sunshine
Life waltz beyond light, its nodes drew.
Slightly erratic amid a black haze.
feeling weak, leaving me bewildered.
My soul is cunning and cynical.
earned seclusion as slight streams.
Only gloomy storms entice me.
I hope for sunshine and a light breeze.
Shimmer! Sheer light!
dimming shadows ensue.
My life is on a slippery slide.
spaciously clear passageways.
shimmer! shimmer! before I leave.
subtly allow the warm rays in.
dance around my fading bed.
across the faintly lit abyss.
I should set upward...
Dedicated to Kyle, My Darling Son
A kaleidoscope’s blossoms are not as awesome
as my child at every turn; watching his silences –
I burn, watching his movements – I yearn.
I learn love's wonderment watching him discern.
Toddler-boy loves me content with innocence and joy.
I shout for time to slow its capture of my boy.
Give me endless days and countless ways
to watch my miracle grow. Sunshine, moon glow,
build him a perfect rainbow so that he may know
the wonder of the love I try so hard to show.
Loyal, gentle pets
give love deep set
and when they die
I full pay grief's debt.
Friends are the prose
inspiring my rhymes.
Each would be missed
by this heart of mine.
When parents and siblings
expel their final breath,
I will mourn them
until my own day of death.
If my husband
should before me die,
my soul would cry
float adrift and dry.
But should my babe at any age
pass first in death’s grasp,
defeat would set a fatal stage
for my heart's final crash.
I’ve tasted betrayal before just like I have tasted lies
but each time it’s so bitter, the taste always a surprise.
I cannot expel this sickness you left to rot in my soul
the brittleness of your lies that made you lose control.
So I am left no resolution and more unanswered questions,
you told me it would be an hour when I’d only had seconds.
You came in as an infection and you’re leaving a disease
once proud I stood and yet you brought me to my knees
your taking me down and you’re dragging me low.
Why take my hand if you only plan to just let go?
60 Seconds
Gruelling nights with haunted dreams
Explosions tearing at my seams
The worst, last night; I couldn’t sleep
My expendability made me weep.
With dawn awoke a brand new day
A deathly mare in my mind lay
And there it lay until at last
60 seconds had oddly past.
60 seconds not thinking of you
Acidic eruptions did not spew
From the pit of my stomach to expel my heart
First waking moments not torn apart.
The realization made me smile
I pondered it for a while
The first 60 seconds that you weren’t there
The first 60 seconds I did not care.
No thoughts of kisses on my lips
Or intertwining fingertips
No mocking jokes to make me giggle
Or cheeky moves to make me wiggle
60 seconds without your eyes
60 seconds without your lies
For 60 seconds my heart was mine
For 60 seconds I did just fine.
Sadness, still it lurks within
But I shan’t touch a drop of gin
Those seconds showed me I shall win
Now the healing can begin…
9th April 2019
Ghosts
Enter
Quietly
Loneliness adds
Form to night visions
Curtains ruffled by wind
Take shapes of apparitions
Moonbeams casting eerie shadows
Oak branches shivering in the breeze
Turn away, lie on your chest, expel ghosts
At Once Into Blind Empty Space, At Once Into Her Arms
How can it be
Something so unwittingly described
Can break me
Remake me
Turn me to the sorriest of fates
And still fill my heart
With this happiness of late
How can she wound me so
Yet heal all the injuries I have ever known
With her existence
But alas, not her presence
Which sifts its way so tenuous
So tender through my thoughts
The merest pin prick and point of a feathers touch
Settles such a succinct telegraph of love
Nestled sleeping it was
Always in my heart
She wakes me but shakes me to wishing dreams
To disregard the alarms of early birds
And curl forever in the warmth of sleep
Where I lay always next to her
How do I survive without her
When everything I am
When everything I am is wrapped and entwined to her
Though I live and breathe
The indrawn falls upon my empty
And every expression, which defines me
Troubled and at peace inside me
Soars on every possibility of her
How can I fly so high
But still be dashed and dragged to these rocks
How do I fall so shattered
And yet still be constantly reborn
Struggling through a morass of unrequited kisses
Yet gliding free on the ripples she sends
With those same unfelt and untested lips
Parted so, yet her spirit prevails
I feel the wish of her lashes softly closing her eyes
The sliding soft comfort of her embrace
As she takes and holds my empty hand
And all the caution in the world
All the alarm of early morning birds
Cannot halt my rushing head long
At once into blind empty space, at once into her arms
How did I have a heart
Without you
What life was there
Where soul
My love
Who was I
Without you
And though I live and breathe
I expel each breath on the empty
But every expression which defines me
Is bursting with firework delivery
Colours in the night so laughing
With the unknown embrace of how you love me
And how I so desperately love you in return
( My friends
The soft and compliant daggers of love
I know you know so well
Sharp cuttings of tears
And the ever expectant solace of their smiles )
Have you ever given thought on how language impacts you,
good or bad it all depends on the words you ruminate & chew
be careful what you choose to expel when your mouth spews
for it can either bless someone or wound, bet you never knew
that one can learn to ponder words and usher without blurt
do not speak on angry terms for all it does is bring more hurt
when the sun go down, tuck away hostility and don't be curt
make sure you care enough not to pill, rampage, or blurt
words can be a sanctuary to go to when no one seems to care
they can be a respite from that cruel world, your Lancelot dare
don't let the light of the stars cease to shine because of a flare
be slow to roll that pearly tongue, even slower to make it blare
not everyone thinks like you, wrong and right is only a concept
so don't bully your opinions on others and make them feel inept
please don't yank words out, it would be best if they overslept
good bedside manners are essential, it cannot be windswept.
July 10, 2021
Less than twenty-four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the anus of this guy
which bout with rectal obstruction
found me doubled over with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil, which akin to Drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent to cease LivingSocial would try
humph enjoining this lvii year old married male
to cede victory to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this Uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered out five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction of former thought to cease existing
though a non-bull lever in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes his recurring pain in the ass jagged torture
and asks a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
I wonder, do daises tell?
Among us, who hasn't tried
More than once petals to expel?
Watch whispers of white-hearted hope
From within this circled chain;
Petaled path on which we grope.
Numbers hold this uncertain
Mystery until they're plucked
One by one. Life is taken
From each one because of lore,
To assuage the human heart.
They die to make your love soar!
I’ve left all of my thoughts
On your drowsy, cozy bed.
All those dreams that we’d
Put together then.
All those floating feathers
And your thrilled laughter
Still there lay.
There, on that bed,
I’ve forgotten all my smiles
And all that bliss
That you covered me with.
On your pillow I’d rest
My tears again
So you’d evenly pick them
Up with the tip
Of your lips.
I still remember you
As you were…
As now, you are not!
We will sometime
Return to our darling bed,
To expel this awful past…
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
Fabrics are sown
So eyes are drawn to quieter things
Softer
Scratching isn’t as unbearable as screaming
I wield control to my ears
Over the entry of theirs too
Better than taps
Pressure, expected,
Is not that intense
Leaning, relying, assisting
Mostly whispers cannot escape me
My ears with a constant ache
My head tries to convey my heart
Yet they say I cannot expel it to the outside
So the frog turns into a lion
And I cannot breathe
My intensity builds up
And it clots my heart
Eyes, eye
I don’t care, get it off me
The screams around me speak my name
Don’t they
Let me scratch more of my thoughts
The paper grows worn
And my feelings do too
Understand me
I do not want to attempt
to communicate
But your mocks make me overthink
My stomach churns the thought of my incompetence
I cannot talk,
So it’s my fault, really