Best Fretful Poems
(Inveniam viam)
Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails
Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago
As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore
After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)
Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace
As life spirals forward, in a world out of control
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul
So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat
As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?
First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw
By David Kavanagh
Hms
This sacred soil that once resounded with the musket's rattle,
Imbued with mingled blood of Blue and Gray spilt in brutal battle,
Now stands serene with only whisperings of the restless ghosts,
Of gallant men who sacrificed their all among the frenzied hosts.
Are those the sighs of vagabond souls heard with each subtle breeze,
As zephyrs rustle the dancing leaves of stalwart, guardian trees?
Is that the winter's wind that shrieks about Round Top Hill,
Or the screams of dying troopers, their fatal destiny to fulfill?
Are those the moans of men left to die, their laurels won,
Or the boles of ancient pines groaning 'neath the searing sun?
The wind wafts tall grasses that on The Wheatfield grow;
Could this be waves of spectral infantry, advancing row by row?
Lightning flashes and thunder echoes across the rolling sectors,
Reminiscent of once roaring cannon, now long-silent specters.
The battle was o'er with the repulse of daring General Pickett;
Thousands of souls lay dead on bloody field and tangled thicket.
Lincoln's powerful address yet echoes o'er that hallowed clay,
To honor heroes, no matter the color of cloth they wore that day.
Do their fretful spirits yet roam, wondering if they died in vain?
Rest in peace dear souls - because of you this nation rose again!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 the Fraser/Devonshire "Dazzle Us With History" Contest - Jan 2011
This too,
Shall pass
Nothing here
On Earth
Will ever last
This too;
An infants
Fretful,
colicky
tears,
This too;
The confusing
Frightful
teenage
years.
This too;
broken health
Life's
ebbing
breath
This too;
tears,
and sorrow
chains
of death
Shall Pass
Whisper
Soft lullabies
A mother's melody
Soothingly shushes fretful cries
Precious.
Kim Merryman
For nette onclaud's Melody of Cinquain contest 2nd place win
9/8/11
For PD's 2nd place winners contest
A cloudless day, should have been warm but the frigid southern roaring 40’s cut like flailing daggers into the skin, leaving bones and joints to succumb to the maddening icy grip of winter’s callous fists. Even the Curlew, who, usually undaunted by such torrid tempest, seek shelter among the rocks and crevices that dot the sea, battered coastal fringe.
The boy was lost….
Melaleuca trees stand century, like gnarled soldiers gathered around the fallen, giving full acquiescence to the polar blasts that bend and twist them further still. Their wispy fingers reaching down to engulf the child with grasping hands, beckoning further into their forest lair. The only sounds that can be heard is the deafening roar of tree and wind as they battle in the canopies above.
Panic fueled anxiety long ago gave way to terror, since replaced by resignation as night enclosed the restless child, who battles the lure of sleep against fear. For in his mind he believes that in this foreboding place, creatures beyond the realm of humanity will visit unspeakable harm upon his being. Their prying eyes ever present awaiting the moment he slips into unconscious sleep to exact their egregious deeds.
When dawn arrives the child awakes to the gentle touch of sunshine’s warmth. Like God himself has stroked his face and chased the demons from his thoughts. His weary eyelids flick open like snow pea slits as he adjusts his sunken, fretful eyes. A smiling face before him bends and before realisation takes hold in his mind the words escape his cracked and tortured lips. “Daddy”.
A great unease has come, quite slow to flee.
To some it brings woe twofold. Constantly,
I feel its breath upon me though I pray
to see it gone. Instead, it’s wont to stay -
infecting me with insecurity.
And if it were a thing that we could see,
an albatross I’d guess that it would be -
with feathers changed from white to dingy grey. . .
a great unease.
This fretful thing that smells of misery
has spread its wings and grows relentlessly.
I sensed it in my land the fateful day
twin towers fell and blue sky turned to grey.
Events since spiraled, leaving not just me. . .
a great unease.
Sleepwalker
And in the darkest sweeping wings is held all probable
The night of dreamings; wished embraces of gossamer senses ponder miracles
And leave their mark; ever in hope....
She is waiting
Pale in naked moon lit sexual stretches
Fanning shadows curve on satins anguished blue
To subtle bronzed drips rusted rivers
Lay about her in ever flowing delta’s of hair
These the coy covers of shoulders demure beneath their lifting expectation
Quintessence supplicant to floating hands; risen
Her slow beat thumps on a sudden heart
The fleur-de-lis arched beseeching the avid prayer of lips
The floorboards creek
And though through empty rooms the sighs may roam
Though forever it seems she has lain alone
There are eyes, by bat wing devised; by the caverns urgent aphrodisia
He has been gathered by the corpuscle of desire, to come to her
And by each and every silent unspent moan of longing
He inscribed this hours, fretful, reflections of her mantle parted
An eternal caress folded; ingress to her concupiscent heart
Mere Luna beams of dreams of loves physique, his love, made love to her
Dawns dissipation breaths
Remembering the warmth before forgotten days; where separated so
Bathes her awash in amber fire; and traces his finger along her spine
To leave her sleeping in those somnambulist foot prints
Looses in the languid illusive of arms, wrapped in suns breaking
Turning to the light he asks for its edifice, hold fast on waking
Struggle to define by wanting the irrevocable kiss; pressed to her
A taste recited by those gossamer senses ponder miracles
And leave their mark; forever in hope
(Intro)
Psyche watched from behind blue eyes
as Flesh stared at the mirror,
the look upon the face was grim,
the heart was filled with fear.
(Psyche)
Please tell me what is wrong my friend
and why that bitter smile,
let's see if we can cheer you up,
converse with me awhile.
(Flesh)
Psyche dear, what can I say,
I'm not the man I was.
Life is catching up with me,
you know the way it does.
My hair is gray as you can see,
my teeth are falling out,
it's getting harder every day
for me to move about.
These eyes are growing dimmer,
I fear I have no hope.
The earth is calling me to rest,
I'm not sure if I can cope.
(Psyche)
I know your woes are many
from the cradle to the grave,
you've put your faith in science
that your body it may save
(Flesh)
Psyche dear, my sophic friend,
on you I can rely,
please impart to me some speech
to save me lest I die.
(Psyche)
What can I say, companion dear,
that will stem the rising tide,
I've always thought of you a friend
and to you I've never lied.
You're at the point where life's downhill,
the ride will be quite fast,
but I'll be with you till the end
when they come for you at last.
On that day I'll mourn for you
and I will feel much sorrow.
You'll return to mother earth
but I will live to see tomorrow.
It was for me that you were born
to carry me on my way,
you are for me a vehicle,
one molded from the clay.
I will not say that life is fair,
it is ordained of God.
Yes, I shall see the glory,
but you shall press the sod.
Let's end this talk my fretful friend
and chase away these blues.
Look, the sun is shining bright,
the day breaks fresh and new.
We both know the day will come,
I'll hold your hand till then.
So do not fear, but persevere,
my very special friend.
The hour’s late, and I can’t sleep.
My mind rebels at counting sheep.
Sweet dreams are very far away,
and worries surface from the deep.
I lie awake and wait for day.
I close my eyes and try to pray.
If all my faith is spent and lost,
how will I keep my fears at bay?
I wish that I had known the cost
of squandered youth and friendships tossed.
Though wisdom oft is error’s gain,
regret may soon my soul exhaust.
But now against my windowpane
the tap, tap, tap of gentle rain,
a gift to calm my fretful brain.
I’ll soon drift off to sleep again.
1/4/2022
In Mama's arms you're safe and warm,
As she rocks you gently, there's no fear of harm,
So close your sleepy little eyes,
Hush your crying and fretful sighs.
Drift away to a special place,
Where sweet dreams wrap you in warm embrace.
Let them carry you along,
As Mama sings a soothing song.
Floating on a pillow cloud,
Only happy thoughts allowed.
Reach up to grab a star or two,
While the man in the moon winks at you.
You'll see angels flying near,
Keeping watch 'cause you're so dear.
They'll even play peek-a-boo,
Hiding in the clouds with you.
And when you awaken from your nap,
Mama will place you in her lap.
She'll feed you a bottle made just for you,
And when you've finished, you'll play and coo.
History has often shown, that with acumen,
the sword pales in comparison to a Poet’s pen!
It cuts, not as does the sword forged from steel,
but with a piercing words, a conscience can feel!
With subterfuge and sweetness, it can hide
the acrimonious jealousy that may reside
within the soul of a scurrilous deviant poet.
Chances are, being well disguised, few know it!
A poet’s words can lull a fretful babe to sleep,
or move a Nation to mourn and weep.
Whilst those who seek ill deeds to conceal,
will discover his words will oft reveal
the bribery and corruption they’d committed.
Poetic licence, with words carefully submitted,
awards a poet the freedom, no sword is allowed,
as he subtlety sets out to sway an angry crowd.
The pen, oft proves a deadly weapon indeed.
Expertly wielded, a tender heart can bleed,
but used with reckless abandon? Of it beware,
for this deadly weapon, is beyond compare!
Rhymer. November 12th, 2016.
When holidays have come to call, and someone needs a friend,
to adorn a tree, to hang a wreath, it can help the heart to heal
To hold a hand, to stay awhile, or to share a million tears
To be an ear.........and be a friend, ... might be all you need to do
The gift of friendship, can come to call,
in the coldest darkest hour
It can come to lift a fretful brow,
and can lighten the darkest cloud
If someone has lost the joy they knew
and cannot see beyond
When plans they made were swept away
and it seems their hope is gone
A friend to bring a smile again, a laugh, a meal to share
A warm embrace, a day to rest, are the best of gifts to share
The greatest gift, in the worst of times, does not come wrapped in bows
________________________________________
For The Contest Sponsored By Brian Johnson
" Small Gifts - Contributing to Other's Happiness"
12/5/14
Tonight the shore is pounded by the fretful, roiling surf,
dark clouds tempestuously race across a yellow moon;
the ocean's breast heaves a heaviness of bitter tears
flinging gray shadowed sobs against silent, white-faced dunes
Far across deep seated waters, another golden strand--
do you pace there the churning surf line as here I do;
are these waves that beat against my blistered, sand burnt feet
a desperate, longing message dispatched tonight from you?
Somewhere harbor lights safely chart the well worn channel
for anxious, weary sailors longing for the arms of home;
but you and I, marooned, remain in lonely shadows
forgotten memories between us, darkened pools of foam.
Copyright, October 22, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
So shocking was that news from France,
we stared at TVs in a trance;
no way to understand.
Those young and old without a chance
were taken down in wide expanse.
Such horror had been planned.
Who could have then foreseen the fate
upon them cast by those who hate?
Just gathered there for fun,
not knowing that their deaths await
while music played and people ate,
their lives were over, done.
Who could have thought ahead that they -
that enemy that wants its way
to change our form of life,
would sacrifice their own to say
that their belief we must obey?
Misguided thoughts run rife.
That Paris scene that fretful night
prepares us now to face the fight.
Define this threat once more
that could erupt within our sight.
Entire world must join the fight
to face this crusade war.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Rime Couee - Tail-Rhymed Verse - For France
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 01/03/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Best Sad Poem EVER
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 08/29/2016
=============================================
Rime Couee
I went with this pattern for Rime Couee as shown on "The Poet's Garret" website
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x b
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The November 2015 Paris attacks (sometimes referred to as 11/13) were a series of coordinated terrorist attacks that occurred on Friday 13 November 2015 in Paris, France, and the city's northern suburb, Saint-Denis. Beginning at 21:16 CET, three suicide bombers struck outside the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, during a football match. This was followed by several mass shootings, and a suicide bombing, at cafés and restaurants. Gunmen carried out another mass shooting and took hostages at a concert in the Bataclan theatre, leading to a stand-off with police. The attackers were shot or blew themselves up when police raided the theatre.
The attackers killed 130 people, including 89 at the Bataclan theatre. Another 368 people were injured, 80–99 seriously. Seven of the attackers also died, while the authorities continued to search for accomplices. The attacks were the deadliest on France since World War II." Wikipedia
If you were to confide in me one black, obscure night
With your unusually soft eyes on the brink of tears,
Your heart and soul compacted in the fretful thoughts of woe,
I would gladly listen, with a perceptive, distinctive, and tranquil glow
If you would but spill upon me the swelling pangs of your core,
To forget how to utter the right words to express your hurt,
To launch all fears in floods of sorrow, icing spectral fractals fly
I would hold you in my arms and free you—I would try
I would try
I would try,
To banish all ghouls that threaten your might,
To fight away the fools that envy your light
To penetrate the inner snake that in darkness does bite
In earnest blow I will let him know he is toothless in our sight
I must be strong—for you, my precious commitment
To let you down would tear my purpose away
For if it was I trapped in your enigmatic place,
You would soon hold me with determination and grace
You have freed me in your efforts, of a pain I cannot word,
You have tied your soul upon me with the strings of need and must
And in your strength I have cast out wicked shadows that do sprout
Of your love, never once will I ever again doubt
Because you always try,
And when we try together, we rectify