Best Fracas Poems
In the world of all comforts,
In the world of absolute care and affection,
In the world of motherhood.
Ten months I was basking, in my mother's womb.
Happiness running down my spine – I thanked God,
His blessing in disguise, rather he in disguise – My mother,
Who is she? How she will be? - I don't know,
Am I her replica? Am I her miniature?
I struggled day after day to open my eyes.
To look at her dazzling beauty and to admire her.
Her hands were made to carry me,
Her arms were made to hug me,
Her shoulders were made to bear me,
My mother, the only person on this whole earth to love me more than I do myself.
I longed to see her face,
Why this ten months vigil? Why not now? My heart bumped!
Days rolled and months passed.
I kicked my way.
A pat on my back,
I cried, it was tears of happiness.
Where is my mother?
Place me on her hands, let me sense her breath,
Let that be the first air I breathe.
With great joy oozing out I slowly opened my eyes.
To see her eyes which is longing to see my eyes.
Mom! With great excitement I gazed.
But it was the blue sky that welcomed me to this new world.
Where is my mother? Where is she? Is she not carrying me?
I searched for her.
Then where am I placed? I looked around.
The cradle squeaked.
Sudden fracas and turbulence hit my ears.
In a fraction of a second I was surrounded by people.
Nobody like me and nobody liked me.
I moved from one hand to another.
But I never smelt my mother.
My mom was missing.
Did she leave me?
I was in a fix.
Yes, she left me.
What made her to hate me even before I was born?
She left me alone in this callous world.
Abandoned me,
Branded me an orphan,
Made me languish in pain,
Agonize in vain,
My day turned dark and despondent,
My life turned bleak and impotent,
But still my heart longed to see my mother.
I can never in my life hate her.
Because I was in her.
My ire was directed only at God,
He wrote my fate,
He took my mom, what more can I ask,
Nothing can replace her in my life.
I said “My God my first and last wish,
Give every child the power to see even before they were born,
Children like me, who are so unfortunate
Can see their mother's face at least from their womb.
BY
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM
Written: November 10, 2024 For Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
__________________________
Homeric moonstone sparkles at night.
a glowing globe of gleam amid galaxies,
Its shimmering shafts as flowing fantasies,
gliding glimmering, giddy waves of a wild ocean.
Glowing gaze glances into the gorgeous,
glistening sapphire depths,
where wild winds whirl, a wondrous waltz awakens—
ruby glistens amid the thunderclap.
amethyst whispers in the misty screams.
Hearken: harmonious hymns hover in heavens
colorful loops of capturing emerald and turquoise
every hue is a harmony in a mariner’s melody
each ebbing essence echoes magical epics of yore.
The fracas outside fades
as nature’s narratives naturally navigate—
dense drapery, like drowsy dividers
drawbacks divulge a heart displayed delicately.
Moonbeams meander over majestic mountains
limestone and obsidian, luscious layers lost
while wordsmiths weave wondrous words,
In a cascade of captivating couplets,
that shimmer and crumble.
Do you hear the sirens sing?
a chorus of longing from the depths
they call to hearts heavy like stone
yet light as ashes caught in the smoke.
We walk where men have trodden,
tracing footsteps worn soft by time,
with wonder in every glance, every sigh,
painted worlds vibrate in the very air.
So, step into this symphony of starlit spells.
a captivating collection of contrasting senses—
where dazzling diamonds dance delightfully
and the fierce fight for fervent fantasies flows with the tide.
Out here beneath the blackened blanket of night,
Elysium eagerly awaits our embrace—
a splendid symphony, and you
the softest serenade nestled in its depths.
Turbulent moves the water mass
Thumping and roaring as it rolls,
Sheltering in her, myriad strange beings
From tiny planktons to giant killer whales
Constant remains she, yet changing ever
The puzzling paradox beyond the land
She had cradled the first mote of life
Earliest link in the incessant chain of life
Whipped by the wind, smashed by the storm
She lashes on the rock in angry venom
In tumult she pounds the strand
As though her fury is never assuaged
At times seen sedate in shades of blue
So compliant - without stir, without din
Tranquil she lies – an appeased child
With a calm unmatched in her prior demeanor
Beneath the lull and hum of waves
Brews an eternal clash that never dies
The ceaseless fracas oft swelling out
Into a bedlam of commotion, clatter and din
Curious shapes with needles, spikes and spines
Sticking out in clusters beneath the blue
The fantasy world of coral reefs
Chiseled and shaped - Nature’s unique masonry!
Marvel of marvels, this mystic mass
With tiny droplets grown into scores
Billions multiplied into trillion fold
This infinite expanse that wobbles and churns
What ingenious brain did frame
Such a wonder as this mighty ocean?
What furtive hands did hide
Such baffling mysteries in this briny deep?
______________________________
March .26.2023
~ Placed Fourth~
Brian Strand Premiere Contest
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘O’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Constance La France
Topic chosen- Ocean
Tumult was I ready for the fight.
My mother use to tell me that I was too shy -
that I would avoid chaos and lose out.
However, those girls would not give up.
She says you are a peacekeeper until they f*ck*p!
How true is the truth?
Fracas was heard throughout this section of the city.
People from other parts would drive their cars to witness the mêlée.
I was never involved until one day those girls tested my faith.
I was sitting in the yard enjoying the sunshine…
When they came in front of the house talking loud.
– Nagging- [Those Girls]
Why does she think she is too much?
-Bragging-[-]
Is this a rumor you heard?
-Dragging-[Those Girls]
Not a word of response was given.
These girls knew to go on with their business.
A MARKSMAN
This futuristic society is all about the status quo.
The soul of humanity is therefore exposed to terrorists attacks and war.
Where I am from cries out to unknown God to no be the prophesy of Armageddon.
An eternal doomsday is perceived.
So much is happening for no reason at all other than man not seeing himself as his own dilemma.
The site or time of a final and conclusive battle between the forces of good and evil defines the State of the Union now.
Pseudonymity, symbolic imagery, and the expectations of a nice-styled terrorist attack is an imminent cosmic cataclysm in which God destroys.
The ruling power of evil is no more because the raising of righteous lives has superseded all others.
Messianic kingdoms are part of a historic form relating to a messiah being our savior.
In that we must be our own guardian angel and establish defense by being aware of the impending danger, knowing our territory is of great importance.
With the bordering of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic oceans, immigration is our focus.
However, what is happening today is our own melee.
Native born lives are being negated by those that are for the United States (of America) as a white man’s persuasion.
Fracas has therefore formed in which snipers are born.
_____________________________________________________________|
Written July 16, 2016!
Once there were clowns in a circus,
Whose clown's knew not of their purpose.
None, laughed at their tricks.
Nor their slaps and kicks;
Because Nuns hate fracas,n ruckus.
FRACAS MISCELLANY
(Let's Slam):
This futuristic society is all about the status quo.
The soul of humanity is therefore exposed to terrorists’ attacks and war.
Where I am from cries out to unknown God to no be the prophesy of Armageddon.
An eternal doomsday is perceived.
So much is happening for no reason at all other than man not seeing himself as his own dilemma.
(Now Rap):
A sniper
A peace fight
Police officers lost their lives.
From the highest tower,
Shots are fired.
Over what is stated to be the white man crimes.
Of oppression and a racist society
A peace fight transpired.
Five officers died.
We mourn and we cried,
(We Slam):
The site or time of a final and conclusive battle between the forces of good and evil defines the State of the Union now.
Pseudonymity, symbolic imagery, and the expectations of a nice-styled terrorist attack is an imminent cosmic cataclysm in which God destroys.
The ruling power of evil is no more because the raising of righteous lives has superseded all others.
(Now we Rap):
Shouting the face of America has been scrutinized from
Transgression of another hate crime.
Six were wounded and five died
Over Black lives matter.
(Slamming):
Messianic kingdoms are part of a historic form relating to a messiah being our savior.
In that we must be our own guardian angel and establish defense by being aware of the impending danger, knowing our territory is of great importance.
With the bordering of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic oceans; immigration is our focus.
However, what is happening today is our own melee.
Native born lives are being negated by those that are for the United States of NA as a white man’s persuasion.
Fracas has therefore formed in which snipers are born.
(Ends with it's a Rap):
Upsetting the balance of society
A sniper - a suicide boomer manifest.
Upset with white people - a state of madness
He stated he wanted to kill a multitude of them,
White police officers especially.
Today is troubled.
Tragedy is an ongoing melee.
Now an uproar throughout the United States (of NA).
____________________________________________________________|
Written July - August 2016!
Eclipse Of The Soul
By: Noel N. Villarosa
Plants harmonize to the sun to bring life aglow
And to rest at the night’s luminary
The sea is waiting for the wind to blow
And serve as a cradle for fish hatchery
And mankind, on the hustle and bustle of each day
Gyrate on a merry-go-round, so tedious
Withal, a wishy-washy self
And a thrall of his own fear
Thither that place called ‘hades’
And in his dream the edelweiss and wisteria
Go down to ecocide
The fierce billow has taken many billets-doux
Into a forlorn land
Pensive for a homing pigeon to carry his thought to God
That once awaken, a harmonica is playing
And a new paradise for dwelling
Many at threescore are not contented
And praying for a longer life
But many committed blasphemy so umpteen
And now yelling for the forgiveness of sin
And the fracas he brought to nature
Now mankind is waiting for the great covenant
For the realization of life, truth, and love as above all
And the destruction of sin, sickness, and death
Before he sees the complete eclipse of his soul
Written and posted in voicesnet.com poetry site: 28 October 2009
there was a proud resident
who gave her neighbours
a torrid time because she
was well-connected and big
an apologist and a menace
she was a law unto herself
none could tell her to reduce
the noise her hi-fi produced
from her children to her pets
--all did as they pleased –
her licentious dogs caused havoc
even her chicks were untouchable
when the empire of those who had been
fortifying and sugarcoating her nonsense
imploded--she also crushed on her chest
all the sense of immunity just fizzled out
it was a bitter harvest as her own dogs ran riot
--did the unthinkable: biting her like a stranger
while her own children stood aloof as if gloating
the stunned neighbours watched the fracas from afar
(Asia may not know, this LIX city split baby boomer now ranks himself as an in denture charred sir vent reflecting on that painful instant when enamel collided with frozen water versus the recent removal of all teeth - courtesy of periodontal disease, and reckons how quaint that facial fracas).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
inxs of cold playing air
froze natural pond, where
over head Canadian geese did blare
honking the latest goose sip loud and clear
when from behind a bush
(color antler protected doe against fear
of smashed pumpkin) did peek a deer
alert to any danger by parking
upright either one or both ear
lest predator doth lurk and induce fear
while Harris Family and friends
oblivious attired in wintry gear
which protection from cold caused difficulty to hear
necessitating cupped gloved hands
to punctuate every muffled word
to be but barely heard
akin to talking with mouth full of custard
above the quiet riotous mirth
from this then gawky child nerd
precariously maintaining balance
on his skates and glide like a bird
such attempts made
this then boy appear quite absurd
ah, if only this mind of mine
did two step quick think
but woe misfortune awaited
across the bumpy natural rink
blithely jettisoning myself hither and yon
like a rolling stone going plink
unaware while in camouflage pose
disguised as one sneaky slippery fink
that snuck up in a blink
that found me squarely face down
shattering left front tooth
immediately discovered
via tongue as private sleuth
finding me in extreme agitated state forsooth
as if on fire from red hot chili peppers
wrought from jagged booth
winning sympathy from parents
who did level best to tend distraught son
who ushered playback of events
with less disastrous rerun
praying for an angel
to grant reverse outcome brought none
gut wrenching grief
immediately terminated former fun
damage irreversible and
perfect white smile forever broke con!
MY CAR MY BUCOLIC.
The speed of my automobile exclusively,
Depends on the wheelman which earth born,
Crave where the passengers await it's destination,
Seeing an endless road ahead.
Every four years is it's renewal with the,
Hope of getting to the promise terra-firma,
Where the Israelites peregrinates to,
With despondency from it's adversaries.
Only the strong survive to drive the car twice.
Oh! My wrecked car needs help;
Oh! My foolhardy driver needs help
The despoiled car got it's wound from exterior
Forces; where there is no necessity for protect
Asthenic tyre dawdle the speed;
The engines that fabricates the car now hassle,
Each other with hopeless range in anger
In this car, life live by the way car live life.
My enfeebled heart deems of the,
Mechanic who can revamp my sick car
My position calls for change which we need;
Marooning us inside the darkest tunnel to fracas,
The predators which we see not.
Let's have a heroic search,
Seeing not the vices of the past motorist.
Wheel the car oh driver!
Wheel the car to the right path
That the passenger serene
Wheel pass the motor park where other,
Cars swift with competition among them
My car my bucolic with countless myriad resources.
By: ADEBOYE JESUTOFUNMI?
my heart withers within me
swamped by my fancies for thee
longing to hold thee as mine in a caressing embrace,
long awaiting from thee a telling smile.
maybe from it i shall gather courage to give free reign
to my tongue to sing the urges of the heart.
each day a part of me fall and withers
and light from mine eyes fade,
at night rest eludes me,
though my eyes fall heavy with sleep
in my mind dwells a constant strife,
the fracas i meet at the fading of the light
thoughts of you caressed by another.....
lives to haunt my dreams and i shan't find a peace of mind.
my love for thee blosoms,
mushrooming in my mind,
my heart and soul 'till all i think of is ye
with neither little hopes of telling thee my urgies
nor do i seek redemption by purging my fancies
Lest what i hoped will ensnare thy heart,
only frightens thee and grant me only heartache
and yet another day passes and my heart withers from the pain in desolation
nobody knows what gnaws me within
nor shall any ever learn the source of my agony
i hope to learn to curb my urges and cloak them with friendliness
but shall i trust myself to one day watch you walk way from me,
embracing another whispering to another, caressed and loved before my famished soul
your fading scent lingering still, to cut through my heart and remind me of my fading sanity
that alas ye! was surely not a dream my mind forged,
but a beauty i beheld and let slip through the cowering heart
that strained to curb what was a gift of the heart with hopes to ensnare a free spirit
this consuming passion shan't deminish, it enspires within me soul abandonment
how can i hope to walk away, when you weave for me this sensual leash
my heart is ensnared, my passion curbed, my tongue tied
all wrapped in together as a gift to my heart mate.....
A closer look at a fantastic word
And no, I’m not talking in bafflegab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
To absquatulate like a fracas herd
Throw a foofaraw over a little jab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A uni-brow is a glabella furred
And whirligigs hung too slapdash to grab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Scuttlebutt schlepped to sassafras by bird
Skedaddle from a skirmish of stone crab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A quibble over razzmatazz occurred
Doohickey from a lummox, easy nab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
So scrumdiddlyumptious I may have slurred
Like tintinnabulation, it’s not drab
A closer look at a fantastic word
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Herd-mongers, schoolmarms and glorious twats
Piloting leased arks through drenched parking lots
Cadillacs cleansed of a fine week’s debris
Just in time for the polish of sanctimony
A river of swine, like the Jordan, it crosses
Over deserts of disheartened workers and bosses
The fracas of worshippers, beanied and veiled –
In the Third World, could pass for a fish market sale
There are loaves, there are nets – there’s nothing to eat
There’s so little legroom; there are beads on my seat!
There’s a mountain of missals, there’s a tower of babblers
And a nice hidden room for perpetual hagglers
There’s prime VIP seating, a great view of a tomb
Completely adjacent to the activities room
There’s most anything anyone could need or want,
So long as it comes from a baptismal font
When in walks a figure, so stiff and ordained,
You know in a moment he must be a saint
He’ll heal a few cripples, a Lazarus or two
And distribute those wafers that keep us renewed
Then we offer up thanks to some white-beard in the ether
With all of the joy of a rheumatic fever
And spill from the pews, lemmings on marble tile
And back onto the ark for brunches-du-style
‘cause the deluge has cornered-down many a mile
And sacrificed many a kind word and smile
Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled –
Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child
Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled –
Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child.
Memories of Monkey Bridge
on summer days
when heat rippled over
the lawn and jewel-like gardens
momma would emerge
from the front door, our only door,
with a huge white wicker basket.
papa carried the blanket
and cushions. we would all climb
into the old black ford,
with the shades, which to my
young mind were quite elegant;
and go to Monkey Bridge.
deep in the country side, the span
crossed a shallow river clear, cool
rippling gently over a stone bottom.
this is where we would while away
the hottest hours. Adventuring,
rolling in the grass, wading in the river
and frog hunting.
There was a community
of leopard frogs living in the shallows
away from the swirls of faster water
spending their days sitting on lush
grassy banks hunting for bugs.
Lunch came in mid afternoon
so we had time to stalk and catch our prey.
Michele and I would wander down stream
eyes ever searching for a movement
of a green striped creature. we would spy it out,
then creep up on it slowly, well, as slowly as a
two year old and a five year old could muster.
with one bound we would scoop it up,
hold it tight and dance about screeching,
”we caught it” at the top of our lungs.
I held out my had staring at the poor frog
it being in petrified shock.
Michele jumped around, “give it me, give it me”.
momma looked over at the fracas
and said, “let your sister hold it for a while Patti”
begrudgingly I put the frog into her hand,
luckily it was still stunned. Michele closed
her grubby little mitt around it speaking
to it softly “nice fwog, good fwog, slowly