Best Gnawed Poems
The floor was carpeted with wonderful trees,
stomped and storm-clawed leaves
they arise again as specks of magic dust
fire starts from ash on the eyelashes
air-blazing amid the fall haze.
The flakes were light and shimmering
I delight on snow-covered roadways
leaf, branch, and body ripen in spring
now I can relax in the pristine snow
burying the wreckage after a fatal fall.
The snow was softly pelted by the rain
white crispy flakes gradually melted
below the softer, warmer raindrops
grass that had browned.
I spin heavenly songs in the universe
I am a classic song in the art
a tawny friend, lament for your sight
our blood's delight of rage
can you discern the flow?
Weaving our way through the mist,
we become gnawed trees
a smorgasbord of a busy spiritual realm
snowflakes are created when rolling
November's ice storm.
The breezes freeze in November
the cold seeps into the bones
as winter approached, the sky was dark
hollowed trees show the passage of time
the window shows a blank space
there is a man here, unnamed
when the window is shut, petals vanish
things will improve soon.
Written: November 05, 2022
1St Place Contest Winner
November Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Where have they gone?
Where have all the commuters gone?
Said an old Fox nuzzling my hand.
I usually hide and sleep during the day,
Not that I’m complaining you understand.
Where have all the motor cars gone?
Thought a Hedgehog crossing the road.
Usually I must run for my life,
To reach safety and family abode.
Where have all the children gone?
Cried the Ducklings down on the pond.
We haven’t been fed for weeks,
Of that stale bread, we are so fond.
Where have all the vapor trails gone?
Squawked Jackdaw high in his tree.
When I was bored, I could count the lines,
On a good day, fifty-two or fifty-three.
Where have all the Rat poisoners gone?
Gnawed a large rodent leaving his drain.
I am free to infest all your houses,
Causing havoc and crazed panic again.
Where have all the hunters gone?
Cooed Game-birds flying free and high.
No lunatics beating the bushes,
Compelling us to be blasted from the sky.
Where have all the people gone?
Cheered the animals reclaiming their land.
We normally stay out of your way,
The world is ours now, do you understand.
All the little pieces
Shards of broken flutes and ripped flowers
Of handcuffed hours
Of burning showers
That had gnawed at the soul
Hammering and thrashing the whole
Into pieces of pangs pathos and spasm
Chasm in psyche
Cactus spiky
Time teeming with tattered twigs
In battered towers and disheveled churches
Leaving the life in lurch
A meaningless mangled moon
But it is time that prevails
Time ultimately treats tempers and mitigates
Its hurts and traumas
Life lightens liberates loves and lures
Loosens the soul to listen to
The deep blue music of life
Swapping the sores for the humming beehive
And lo
Now there flows the river
Boats with their swollen sails
Holding the wind from those broken pieces
Wrinkles and creases
Releasing them in crimson emotions
Into the wind and ocean
Palm holding dew
I love you
________________________________________
22/9/2016
For All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest sponsored by Broken Wings
This morning I
Allowed God to open his hands
I wanted to see
My space in the universe
To find some meaning
For the the sixty years I traversed his grace
And never reached the edge of it
I wanted see again
The zig-zag path of my search
But the water gnawed the sand
Where my footprints were stored
In the world of God's hand
This morning I
May never know where the road bends
Or where it will go up a hill
I only know that I follow a calling
That following it before
Make all meanings strange to me
For faith determines nothing
More than an agreement to be pliable
No matter what
The sunrise comes to me
And the sunset leaves me here
In God's hand I
Have no where to go
Nothing more to know
Than there is no edge near my feet
The medicine man lifted up a baby girl
To the heavens like a cherished rare pearl
He called upon the gods to send a spirit
To posses the babe they named Little Irit
He enters a trance chanting in a voice that was throaty
Summoning up the cursed fiery eyed Coyote
Before the beast he lay Little Irit on a bed of leaves
A sacrifice to rekindle the gods favour, in which his tribe believes
He walks away with no remorse
As the child is left for the Coyote’s main course
It’s an hour later that the medicine man returns
The sacrifice is accepted by the evidence or earth that burns
Medicine man enlightens the chief by the light of crescent moon
That Cursed Coyote has lifted their gloom
The Chief calls the elders to make a great feast
In honour of the fiery eyed cursed beast
When the villagers were drunk and all well fed
They sat round the campfire telling stories before bed
Then suddenly out of the fire, cursed Coyote pounced causing fear and dread
As he slowly gnawed off the medicine man’s head
The chief ordered every man to kill the beast
After the battle, Coyote lay dying and around him lay 150 deceased
Coyote said to the chief, “Your son’s lives will I claim,”
“For the little life you sacrificed, you will all feel my pain.”
The chief cut the Coyote’s head and mounted it on high
For all those to see as they walked on by
If you go there you will see an inscription explaining the reason why
They thought, that was the end of the curse and Coyote had to die
But the head of Coyote would bring a curse that would make the village cry…
To be continued…. ( for P.D. My good friend )
I fell asleep it was day
icy and grey
bewildered on a ledge
protruding from the rock
no sign of mountain top
darkness round about
the abyss down below
deep and hot.
Leaning on the savage rock
menacing tongue and eyes
on the three by five
my wife
who had earlier died,
in the bottomless fiery pit
both careful not to slip.
Vapors slowly rising,
filling throat and eyes
dormant spite rising
smoke from hatred fire
torch devouring us dry
drunk for eternity on dripping
blood from gnawed flesh
on the ledge in the throat of hell.
But somehow they have done it and you can't help but admire,
the pluck of these boot scootin' folk ... they never seem to tire.
This year the faithful came again though couldn't help but doubt,
no matter how they wanted to their run of luck was out.
The M.C. kept on calling out, "All register now please.
If we don't keep the record folks it could go overseas."
The comment cut just like a knife. I thought, “you man or mouse?”
'Cause, what if they were just one short? You'd really feel a louse.
The more the M.C. made his plea the more it gnawed at me,
until I cracked and ran on up and paid the flamin' fee.
I stuck my ticket on my shirt and joined the middle row
and wished they'd kick the music off and get on with the show.
My biggest fear was if my mates were watching in the crowd.
They'd never let me live it down. The M.C. cried out loud.
"It's time folks," and the music played. I thought I'd take a punt
and pranced along by following the tall chick there in front.
Then when the music stopped at last I made a quick retreat,
relieved that I had not been seen boot scootin' in the street.
We broke the record once again and felt real good deep down,
but please don't tell me poet mates - they'd run me out of town!
Each year as I've sat in front of Grace Bros. Store at the Tamworth Country Music
Festival, performing our show and selling our product, I have observed the ritual of
bootscooters gathering in Peel Street to break the record for the largest number of
bootscooters gathered in one place. A record they have broken annually for some years now
in the Guinness Book of Records. Each year I have grappled with the thought - what if
they were short by one? - so I had to tell the story.
Under Soft Moonlit Skies, Lonely Howls Heard
Within wolfen heart, her hellish hunger arose,
ultimate power to destroy as yet unknown-
she lit her candle and caressed a red rose
crying in the light, far away her dreams had blown,
yet mercy and future shed a torrent of tears-
as streams formed, away melted life's darkest fears.
Watching as golden moon, its beauty displayed,
shadow winds sent mesmerizing whispers of love-
anticipation gnawed, love's kiss been delayed
for a jealous God, had cursed her from above,
looking skyward she in despair showed her fangs
as her sanity, by a single thread thus hangs.
Silence came, its music her racing heart then felt
as the new trees danced and sleeping rocks awoke-
he appeared to gift a kiss and her grave doubts melt
in that infinite ecstasy neither one spoke,
then she of wolfen heart and he of wolfen blood-
were washed away in Nature's romantic flood.
Robert J. Lindley, original Oct. 24 1982,
edited, and link -8-09-2020
Rhyme, ( In these veins flow Native American blood )
*****
In a dreary mood, bent and broken,
With an ailment that crippled my life
I lay bedridden for many a month
With every muscle weakened by arthritis
And every nerve radiating the pain
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats,
Mind devoid of any buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, day and night staring at the ceiling.
Never a smile lighted up my face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life.
With my life sap drained out like an empty well,
All I felt was the burn of scalding drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped my parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head wobbling and reeling,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
Felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around.
“Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?”
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke the binding chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
Unbroken, I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores.
Who would have thought, my life would change this way!
(Own Story)
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
The aide will aid you right away
Names of guests are guessed today
Wines not allowed, don't whine aloud
Drop your watch and watch the crowd
Don't nod your head you may be gnawed
And still be still and not applaud
The band is banned to play Do- Wop
Don't break the brake or you won't stop
The course is coarse so hold on tight
That last phase may faze you tonight
A scent is sent for you to smell
Remove your rings to ring the bell
You will go forth at fourth by heck
If a herd is heard then hit the deck!
The Journey Of Marriage
Grand party, grand clothes, grand decor and grand style!
Well-wishers and greetings cheering the dulled hearts
Silver jubilee's are celebrated by partners with affected smiles
Wars behind doors and eyes literally gnawed out by painted talons
The tongue's wrath suffices enough to dig the other's deepest grave
Hugging and kissing, hot breaths murmuring love,
Recanting nostalgic moments of forgotten years
Questionably doubtful are their publicly remembered memories
Hypocritical man enjoys the pleasures of his self spun yarns
The journey of marriage is of the queerest sort
For the first 25 years the credit goes to the woman
She is new in a family of cobwebbed informal strangers
With unexpected situations and strangeness all around
Dowry and many more expectations with her innocent entry
Barbs suffocating her and barbed wires demarcating her existence
A new family is fenced around greatly testing her tolerance
The frail kneel down and the frailer are knocked out in a wolf pack
The strongest of them bitterly battle through their horrendous lifetime
In the next 25 years milestone the man is crushed by his woman's strength
No more cowing, she now woof's and purrs, her journey has just begun
The new look, the new woman, the new beginning,
A bold woman takes birth, her fur flies, no more messing with her
New music they listen to while forced to to see their real satanic selves-
Tarnished images barren without their much wanted spoils
His wife now a stranger, the truth he faces as she demands justice
Balances are straight, her voice commands respect as her ship sails off
The sacrifices of an egalitarian woman demand numerous accolades
November 12, 2015
Contest: The Journey Begins
Sponsor:Matt Caliri
On fidelity
The heart, simplistic, gnawed if left exposed
Be covered, shuttered thus pinfold enclosed
Is certain that the fairer, man will draw
And ipso facto balance will restore
With ego’s filled to full capacity
That rip the very fabric; chastity
The howling of the lone gray wolf
His fingerprint sound waves
Reaches out to his alpha female
And to enemies like staves
His hunt unfruitful this night
No ungulates found alive
Few scavenged tidbit pieces
Barely enough to survive
His alpha mate heavy with pups
tucked into the warm den
Hunger gnawed away at her, weak~
dreams of a fat tough hen
Maybe fate would befriend her mate
At least a deer he'll kill
And bring home a lean hind quarter
An empty stomach fill
Sixty days or so the liter carried
Must be many large pups
Maybe four or even seven
Seven pups a deluxe
They'll be delivered just in time
For the deer, elk and moose
To give birth to their fawns~ easy prey
Food source hidden in the spruce
Hunger will recede through the summer
They'll be plenty of game
Maybe at least one pup will survive
To the future lay claim
Contest: Canis Lupus The Wolf
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Written: April 06, 2015
He gnawed on his resentment
In public and alone
Like a dog he kept on worrying
The marrow from the bone
Till he gave himself an ulcer
Till his teeth got small and stumpy
Till other dogs said, Hang on, Fang
You’re starting to look grumpy
He wouldn’t leave the thing alone
Just wouldn’t let it lie
Time to put the bone down, Fido
Go on, try
by Gail