Best Galled Poems
As mist descended far and low,
dark storm clouds stirred the sea.
Upon the rocks a maiden lay,
weep by the tide did she.
Fair English rose, her skin so pure,
awash with salty dew.
Now tarnished, long cascading hair
once glowed a golden hue.
A sailor's charm did claim her heart
when first he stepped ashore.
He courted her, imbibed her love,
then told he'd stay no more.
His soul betrothed to ocean's breeze,
firm land was not for he.
Horizon-bound, his ship set sail
o'er black and verdigris.
As tempest ragings galled the waves
beneath the moonless skies,
a haunting sorrow chased the wind,
midst echoes from her sighs.
'cross briny depths she cried her vow
to wait eternally.
Forever on those rocks she lay,
weep by the tide did she.
Categories:
galled, lost love, love, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
A Poem About Nothing but Love
By: Tyner Twine
"I edited a few parts from my original poem.
As tribute to my first love's requiem.
Nevertheless, this simple soul song is the same,
Written all for love and not for fame.
A poem of love I wrote on hot summer day,
remembering the love that has, for so long, faded away."
Would someone care to explain
Why people write poems in a way
That adorns with jewels something so plain
That expresses emotions beyond the insane
I lift my quill and dwelt on the thought,
And realized the reflections I made and forgot...
There I lift my pen
THEN PAUSED and reflected:
How should I begin to write,
About lads and gals with love at first sight?
Though I have tried as hard as I might,
To close my eyes from love's delight,
He won me over without a fight,
Now all I see is love's pure light.
I wondered... Now I shall write:
Have I become some kind of fool
Who let Love ruin my poems and rules?
Who let Nostalgia come and play
With distant Beloved's memories on a working day?
Have I been foolish every night,
To think his arms are holding me tight,
To wish that he'll come home to stay,
That he'll make love to me every night and day
I think these thoughts and was appalled,
How | felt too warm and oh, so galled
In thinking that these thoughts might stay,
and be my ruin at the end of the day.
Love, oh love, is a cruel thing for fools if I might say,
Though it is delightful it has a price to pay.
Fool, fool, fool! With love as her tool... I am.
Beguiled and ruined.
Oh ~ why can't they just write about trees?
Or how honey flows and comes from bees?
Why can't they just write about the Sky?
See the clouds and the mist and the birds that fly?
Why can't they just write about life?
How calves are born and how they die?
How flowers bloom with the light of the moon,
How the sun rose up and set too soon?
Oh, a foolish poet's heart of clay,
Be molded with the warmth of fate's faint sway!
For life changed drastically above,
As the fool that I am
Writes a poem about nothing but love.
Categories:
galled, fear, first love, identity,
Form:
Ballad
I was adopted as a young child
Throughout my life I’ve been reviled
All my emotions ran so wild
My tragic sad childhood
I was breathless when mum called
but at her words I was appalled
and they left me sad and galled
My tragic sad childhood
Forsaken by my mother
who chose one over the other -
she preferred to keep my brother!
My tragic sad childhood
Separation broke my heart
I was given a fresh start
Destiny kept us far apart
My tragic sad childhood
FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST
Rhyme and Refrain Contest
Sponsored By Broken Wings
5/1/18
Categories:
galled, brother, childhood, heartbreak, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
We wear this earth
and bear the heft of stones,
glacier-galled, polished by
eons of slow crawl
toward far-too-distant views
which call us from
our blue thin-air shell,
this shallow soil where, weak,
the hold of roots restrain.
We struggle to break free
from such restricting strata --
and to expand, as bubbles rise and glisten --
to throw off
this world -- to emerge
new-born from natal egg
and -- freed -- to flee among the stars.
Categories:
galled, adventure, allegory, change, character,
Form:
Free verse
We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.
Categories:
galled, angst, anniversary, dedication, forgiveness,
Form:
Sonnet
Have you heard about fishing for turds …
It’s for children and maybe for nerds
For brown floaters you’ll fish
Or there's nets which you swish
For once I’m almost lost for words!
My granny was shocked and appalled
Suggesting this toy be blackballed
Cos small kids may copy
Real poo’s (firm or sloppy)
If this happened I think I’d be galled
Thanks to my super friend Sundae for telling me about this toy!
09/15/20
Categories:
galled, children, fishing, games,
Form:
Limerick
I may not be that man you so much wanted;
That man you carved in your deepest imagination,
One who is too good to be human and whose air graces the eye.
I must have threaded a path,
A path I so much dreaded
But fate only laid me bare
Just like an iron lay bare in the hands of a blacksmith.
I may not be your best option
Among thousands of your would be suitors
Each with his resume of dainty degrees,
Heaps of galled grammars, Stools of Sacredness,
Crew of Cars, and nobleness in names.
And if asked where I lie,
There among the sun burnt lawn I lay in anticipation.
Like an Hunter in the forest,
I woke to the mockery of the grasscutters,
And to the soliloquy of the afternoon bee,
While the thorns inscribed words on my flesh
In my quest to bring home a prey.
I can boast over a shot,
A shot I am still to make
From this angle that I lay
While in my mind I do pray.
I may not be your best option
One who could bring you all the happiness you do crave,
But if you believe in a better me,
From our imperfections, we can be brave-
While sailing along this matrimonial sea.
Categories:
galled, deep, desire, feelings,
Form:
Verse
Whose idea it was,
An early morning picnic by the beach!
The air is cold and the sea is loud
With the sea gulls all clattering
my husband fancies taking a dip
with the children all clamoring.
as the dog runs chasing rabbits
the wind’s thick as soup.
While I lay here in the picnic mat alone
Brushing sand off my dress,
There is a click and I look up
And see my daughter with the camera.
I frown and send her away
Wondering could it get any worse,
Before I could finish the thought
I look down , see the tiny ants,
Good, good ; the ants are here ,I say
I didn’t even know there were ants in beaches
I shake them off while I constantly wonder
Whose idea it was; whose indeed.
Twenty years later in the basement,
Going through some stuff,
I find the old photograph
Of the Sunday morning
In the photo ,
I see my husband in his shorts
Ready for a swim,
My three children , the dog
Everything I remember clearly,
It was the one my
daughter took;
of our early morning picnic by the sea.
My husband’s been gone four years now,
My kids are busy
making houses and memories
with wonderful families and happy lives,
all in their own new worlds
they all looked so happy
while I was galled
all of it a lifetime ago,
in that Sunday morning
of my life
as I close my eyes
and go back there and reminisce,
of that morning by the picnic mat,
with heavy baskets in my guard,
I feel the breeze and look ahead
In the fresh sun
I see my husband, young and happy
I look at the kids
and see time flying away
With the sand
Blowing in the wind
I look at them playing
And say,
‘never grow up’
In the moment,
twenty years of late,
by the Sunday morning
I look at the sea and smile
on the beach,
And I am happy for a while.
Categories:
galled, absence, age, life, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Imprisoned in the four walls of Rejection’s cell
The world stone deaf to the screams coming from this hell
I throw myself at the padded walls, frenzied…appalled
Self-loathing spews into my mouth leaving me galled
You see the face, read the words, but don’t understand
Rejection is pounding me down with iron hand
He shouts obscenities, strips the robe of esteem
Hand connects with my face, knocking clear every dream
He forces me down, and I lay splayed on the floor
Kicked by the memories of all he’s done before
Blooded and bruised, I pray for the end to be swift
In and out of consciousness…my deranged thoughts drift
The straight jacket of pain, he tightens every day
Oxygen deprived, each lucid thought goes astray
Too despicably weak to break free, try to fight
Done with gruesome work, Rejection turns out the light
Tortured about the motive for his perverse glee
My need for affection makes a prey out of me
Rejection has raped me and left blood on the floor
Nearing death, I pray, he’ll lose the key to my door
Eileen Manassian Ghai
Categories:
galled, psychological,
Form:
Couplet
As this fevered vision comes to pass
these saviors with their plagued feet
grinning lips bereft of truth and teeth
sorely hunger for our wealthy carcass
Armed with a legion of noisy mosquitoes
billboards, loudspeakers are screaming out
glossy party programs from north and south
hide in shiny boots ulcers of a leprous toe
Heaven on earth, Utopia upon this earth
fills this polluted air with a fog of expectations
empty bellies, potholes and dry taps yawn in frustration
to these aired slogans trampled in to their death
Beggars in suits trail along with their plates
marching in crescendo to galled pipers tones
crumbs will buy souls truly branded ill fortune
whose chalked fingers met no lettered slate
To the royal banquet of a nations carcass
strewn by violence, greed and poverty in plates
chokes off earnest prayers that arrives so late
as our rotten saviors gasp, sigh and pass
Awed we stare at their remains in animated shock
choking upon their loot they run out of sheer luck.
Categories:
galled, africa, anger, corruption, grief,
Form:
Quatrain
We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.
Categories:
galled, historyautumn,
Form:
Sonnet
A Limp and Aspirins
I sit at the edge of the bed,
my hip hurts,
my back aches,
and my legs are on fire.
Not for the first time,
not for the last.
If one more person asks,
have I prayed about this,
or that...
I am going to scream,
softly and then cry.
Healing is a funny thing,
as I already feel healed.
My insides were burned and galled,
tore at and stripped clean,
and there were places,
I never thought I would "feel" again.
No feeling being better at times,
then the numb ache that comes,
with repeated abuse,
on the outside...
corresponding,
to the same spot,
on the inside.
Not a pretty thing,
at all.
Let me focus and consider.
My days are happy,
and angels walk in the garden,
near the door at the front.
I have seen them,
on more than one occasion.
They like to gather and watch,
the small fish in the tiny pond.
It is safe here.
Some may fear the hounds of hell,
but heavens four-legged soldiers...
are all mine.
They call in the night to each other,
and speak in secrets,
to the heroes,
that stand at the front.
Giant trees,
keep you on your knees,
"here" in the presence of the King.
A gift I bring, I wish to sing,
"I am healed",
way beyond reckoning.
Categories:
galled, blessing, dedication, depression, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
I was pulled out of the school; doomed into hard labor,
To my home, at budding age, I became a life-saver...!
When kids of my age, with stylish satchels, proceed to school,
I, in cracker-workshops noxious, chemicals heat and cool...!
With my tender hands, I shape cute beautiful fire-works,
When I see, you crack them, my wish to do so, within sparks...!
The fumes and toxins I breath, I know, are deadly harmful,
I cannot just shun them, as life toward me is scornful...!
I am squeezed in often, into damp, cramped throttling spaces,
Where, doctors say, children catch incurable diseases...!
My fingers and hands get blisters; they often itch and bleed,
I cry loud within often, who could, my soundless noise, heed...?
When I, owing extreme aches, from mounting duties relax,
Manhandling me, my master, like a galled gory goose, quacks...!
Rules and laws, they say, made for our benefits, are, many,
They remain in books, and for us, never earn a penny...!
I have just one request, to you, dear friend, who's of my age,
When you meet one shabby like me, do not flare-up in rage...!
18 March 2022
Categories:
galled, child, child abuse, childhood,
Form:
Couplet
Greetings to you in Jesus name, who gave me love to love
Offering himself for my sins to save me by grace above
Delightsome is the joy of friends, take peace from forgiveness
So your soul may heal. I pray for you always happiness.
Frankly told my heart burns gold where yours burn cold
Omissions and silence were better than fumes of words
Rotten and relentless that distressed me for promise sold
Greedily. It was the disrespect that was like galled swords
Infected with disease. The rest I did not even internalize
Vectors like flies will pitch where you let them, self value
Exist because we want it: no trivia delays me of the prize
Never lost any sleep by it, I know to whom I must be true
Enemies exist only for those who the world for grace hate
Sweet the assurance to bear these battle scars of faith
Sweeter yet that I bear no vengeance, neither bitterness.
Infer then that I forgave you and also shared your shame
Suffering when I think of borne down by the burden of blame
Freely accept my pardon, love must still suffer long here
Regrets are not for the humble, my choice remains changeless
Emmanuel is God with us and I in him shall not despair
Even if everybody tomorrow abandon the chains of righteousness.
Categories:
galled, faith, me, love, me,
Form:
Acrostic
For every stone I lay I bleed
Bone batterers the pile at my feet
Are foundations so I succeed
Making my triumph out of defeat
Brick by battering brick I laid
Each flesh fanged stone rising up
Against being sore and afraid
Grimacing but gulping from the cup
Of spite, of jealousy, of hate
Offered me; their secret hemlock
By which I am galled by fate
Poisoned since the auction block
With al my feathers littered there
These stones are my babel of despair.
Categories:
galled, hope,
Form:
Rhyme