Best Grapples Poems
i'm just getting started
unraveling the threads
of this tattered lonely soul
sewn so long ago
apparition's crooked hands
grapples the rusty needle
as she unsteadily threads the eye
...flashback to childhood years
where a mother ties the loop
of darkened threads
cleaved from her own spool
pierced by torment
of each aberrant stitch
i am sealed in the seams
bound, unable to break free
as i bleed through the confines
of my soul's weary cries
my blood spills crimson
through shadows cast
of harvest moon
as she rocks unsteady
upon the walls of mind
beneath the hum
of unsung lullabies
watching as i undo
each crooked thread
sewn by her hands
unable to baste
with death's bony hands
she pricks through my heart
with soulless glower
as i disenthrall
the last threads
i stitch her deep
within the weaves
of memories
and poetry
...i'm just getting started
September 18, 2019
Just getting started poetry contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
grapples, child, mother, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Night rewrites day, transforms the blues
with ink-wash, urges me to forget
grapples, tasks, drudgery,
hard surfaces and hardened people as all things
soften, lighten, blur— even gravity pulls less
as if the world’s core has pardoned the hefty afternoon.
Sheets pouch this body, pillows
accept every sigh. Sleep is a leave-taking,
a poetic restoration of sense and mindfulness.
Faultless, this need to submit, this appeal to let go. Just let it go.
Categories:
grapples, moving on, peace, sleep,
Form:
Free verse
Wretched Stakes
I find in your eyes a mysterious universe
fraught with the searing scent of betrayal
and warped reflections of my reality
swirling in shadows of welling, yet un-shed tears.
Rummaging the tortured abyss for a glint of familiarity,
grasping to anchor myself in the alien terrain,
I'm awestruck by the requisite strength; your strength...
to survive among the crosses in your eyes.
Over the horizon a faint glimmer defies the gloom.
A hopeful star, fading but stalwart,
screams for love as it grapples the swallowing deep.
At last, I fathom the wretched stakes.
07/26/15
Submission for Contest: The Crosses in Your Eyes
Hosted: Justin Bordner
Categories:
grapples, betrayal, depression, devotion, hope,
Form:
Free verse
A Letter to Myself
Should I give up writing
Seems all this bleating and wailing
Bemoaning this lot of love
I am allocated to feel
But never touch
Should I stop showing the world
Such a pitiful and pathetic face
As it twists and grapples
Dug in my heart
With its suffocating blade
Of aloneness
Where I am lost
When are the fluorescing lines
Of my gratitude
What are my words praises to love
With this eternal gift
Floating me in the fires
Of hot air balloons
But still gut wrenches out my soul
In this separation
“Come on,” I tell myself
What wrapped delight have I known more
I should be proud of my hunger
Feed it with all the imagined embraces
Just for her
More a rock I should
Than this wet dripping weak kneed flannel be
More colourful and joyous
In my need
In deliverance believes
Faith it should be
For the ever bonded
To such a fate
Allows my love to consume me
Her heart so tender
Must needs better of me
Than this whimpering sop
Who’s begging and pleading
Has no real foundation in my bones
More eloquent is she
More rapturous
Than the blazing anthologies of Isis
The hymn and rhythm of her
Calls to me
Shout of exultant
Piercing forever’s follicle
Permeable
She saturates
More a kin to glory I should be
More humbled
And less bent to paupers knee
To lift her ankle
And kiss her feet
Rather I should not
Die so
But
Live
Categories:
grapples, loveme,
Form:
Free verse
In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,
Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,
As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, that
Valor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls of
Valhalla.
Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chilling
Breezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.
But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for they
Are vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come for
Their last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,
And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,
In victorious battle.
In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,
The cracking and heaving, of these heavily
Laden vessels made of vapors thin mists,
Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.
As mountain icebergs float upon the wind
Chilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,
Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail of
Brilliance honor.
On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,
It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires white
Hot flames of those concurred, their souls scream
For penance mercy.
Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,
Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,
Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,
On the thatched roof of the golden hall.
A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at the
Garments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,
Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.
Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feasting
Table mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.
But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safe
Return, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at the
Ready.
Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power,
Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,
Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,
That these ghost ships ever existed.
Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and
Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,
Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
grapples, adventure, history, imagination, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
Categories:
grapples, community, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
A kind of cultural sensitivity,
that strengthens discovery; a space
for identity and history.
It’s a style of thought,
chosen to highlight its core;
A lengthy discourse that
acts and synthesizes.
Significant efforts that deal
with elements of change.
It’s a trend to implicitness
that evolves on the Asian heartland.
Discoveries and re-discoveries
about Asianness or Orientalism,
its nature and institutional sense
has its roots to share; a wealth of faith.
Features of the colonial past
reflect the emergence and growth
of that conventional wisdom;
At the same time, a reaction –
to sensitivty and understanding.
It’s an important element to draw
and carry out integration anew;
with other cultures or global forces
in developing nations; a relationship
a blend of strength, a sharing of gifts.
Asia seeks and grapples
with a great deal of systems;
In a world market swamped
with Eurocentric mindsets, a challenge-
a reinforcement that has its semantic shield,
that defends otherness and people with differences.
Categories:
grapples, life,
Form:
Narrative
The yuletide is here, with all its trappings,
And I'll count my blessings to finally see
My favorite package, in all her wrappings ...
You, My Love, 'neath our Christmas tree ...
I'm impatient as kids, goodness knows,
Swooning to savor those holiday sweets,
But Santa has managed with trims and bows
To hide all the best of your tastiest treats ...
I know our last tousle was fits and stalls,
So let's make amends by the fire with care ...
I'll do my darnedest to deck all your halls,
Weaving the garland to streak your hair ...
Oh, how divine, the grabs and grapples,
Our kindled pursuit of a Christmas truce,
Your thighs, firmly shaped for squeezing apples,
But devoted, as I, to that sparkling juice ...
And should we yet dare to imbibe that cider,
Attending our wassails long through the night,
I'm sure that your hearth will be warming wider,
So keeping our passions AND holidays ... bright!
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Cool Writes And Imagination" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
grapples, analogy, christmas, love, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
DEAR MOM, RUDE WOMAN
I WILL HATE YOU TILL HEAVEN
YOU RUDE WOMAN !...
YOU KILLED ME!
AS U WANTED TO BE
A MOTHER OF A SON
AND U MADE A RUN
TO THE ABORTION CAMP....
DEAR FATHER..
DO NOT HARBOUR
DREAMS OF HEAVEN
FOR THERE IS A PLACE IN HELL
YOU CAN LIVE REALLY WELL
TELL MY BROTHERS
ABOUT HIS UNBORN SISTER
DEAD IN THE HOSPITAL...
DEAR PARENTS
SATANS TENANTS !
HOLY CURSE
UGLY NURSE!
YOU HIRED HER
TO SHUT ME UP !
'TELL MY BROTHERS
IN CASE YOU HAVE ANOTHER
THAT HE HAD A SISTER
UNBORN SISTER !
;
;
;
WHY DOES INDIA GRAPPLES WITH HIGHEST FEMALE GENOCIDE?.....I AM NOT SORRY
IF I HAVE OFFENDED.............
Categories:
grapples, sad, satire, social,
Form:
Narrative
The Suffering That HE Bore
We will never fully understand
the depth of the suffering that Jesus bore on Calvary
nor the pain of separation from His Father
during the prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.
This Savior, the Son of God
what a tremendous love for man He has shown
yet we can only scratch the mere surface of that love
no matter how much in Him we have grown.
How can mortal man understand
fully the way that our God truly does think
His infinite wisdom and understanding exemplifies as He grapples
in the universe’s problems while we only have time to blink.
When the Lord Jesus left Heaven for us and came
down to the level of man
it was similar to an earthly King leaving his palace
to take up residence in a large garbage can.
Now what about His honor and authority
as HE had angels snap to attention at His command
while in contrast His earthly creation laughing and jeering at Him
and at times striking Him with the back of their hands.
He came and did His best for His created mankind
and for mere mortal man to see
our Creator God Who had come down to our level
conversing and teaching about a hard heart of which He would plead.
Oh I know at times my own ignorance of His ways
has made Him at times with me wroth
it was a lack of knowledge on my part yet He patiently
endured until I could see how much for Him it did cost.
My dear people this blessed Savior
was asked by His Father to suffer this way for you and for me
so we could receive Him and His precious Redemption plan
and thereby live with Him all through eternity.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings - 2015
Categories:
grapples, christian, faith,
Form:
Free verse
Proof plants pure poise
Charm creams clear choice
Books bears bright blooms
Glimpse good grace groom
Treat tasty thrill
Forge feisty feel
Meet mellow mimes
Treasure true times
Nurture new notes
Reach richer rotes
Pain pleasures prime
Ripe ripples rhyme
Gripe grapples greed
Nuisance names need
Use unfurls urge
Meet myriad merge
Taste touching tales
Bear brilliant bales
Seek sparkling sights
Linger last light
Stillness speaks sound
Gain glorious grounds
End echoes etch
Sense sensuous stretch
Love lives lost lines
Play peachy pint
Touch tints tasty
Zeal zooms zesty
Words work wit well
Dance dreamy dwell
Bright blessings boom
Rich rapture rooms
Next naughty night
See superb sights
Heed hazy hurls
See sensuous swirls
Toss troubling times
Ride roaring rhymes
Write words within
Soul stays sweet scenes
Leon Enriquez
08 April 2015
Singapore
Categories:
grapples, blessing,
Form:
Alliteration
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
Categories:
grapples, betrayal, confusion, depression, grief,
Form:
Free verse
When a man climbs a mountain
Or zooms into space,
When he meets a dilemma
Looks it straight in the face,
His head held high
He faces the sun
Meeting the challenge
Till victory is won.
When a man storms the walls
And fights for his right
When he takes to the task
With all of his might,
He grapples with courage
He conquers his fears
The sign of his splendor
Is reflected in tears.
Categories:
grapples, adventure, courage, motivation, visionary,
Form:
Rhyme
Be blooming boss
Greasy grime gloss
Make moments move
Grief grapples grooves
Ply petty poise
Niche nurtures noise
Dare dreamy daze
Catch crumbling craze
Sense stupid stay
Pick piquant pay
Symbols sign stains
Pronounce plain pain
Wise words work well
Dance drowsy dwell
Mind minions may
Doom dying day
List lonely loss
True trifles toss
Leon Enriquez
04 Aigust 2015
Singapore
Categories:
grapples, change,
Form:
Alliteration
This mahjong game
Swirls round the square;
Four winds by name
As shrewdness bares.
A session round
The square table;
On crafty grounds
As wit grapples.
Here at the East,
I sit and watch;
Cache of pure feast,
Cunning to dodge.
Watch card discards,
Study the way;
Each player guards
To build array.
Each players thinks
How to outwit;
To weave a link,
Chase winning bit.
The cards go round
As game proceeds;
Logic is found
As sure form feeds.
Wins here and there,
The four winds blow;
Dragons somewhere
To cast the flow.
Play and chit-chat
As each takes turn
To bolster bet
With grand returns.
In a fast dash,
Brisk hours pass quick;
In a swift flash,
Tiles change, thrown bricks.
Our family
Plays just for fun;
Time moves briskly,
Harmony puns.
Late hours remind
The end game count;
Some wins we find,
In small amounts.
For a short while,
We laugh and play;
We share fond smiles,
Make bonding pay.
Here at the East
All things begin;
Warm fancy feasts
From deep within.
So here we tend
Fond times we start;
Begin and end
With loving hearts.
Leon a Enriquez
27 December 2014
Singapore
Categories:
grapples, blessing,
Form:
Quatrain