Best Grated Poems
I feel her wake, and I quake
Afraid...I'll make the same mistake
For goodness sake
My hands....
how they shake
I hear her low moan, and I groan
She'll rise from where she's been thrown
I'm not alone...never alone
I can't atone
for deeds she has sown
She is so real...her power...I feel
As I reel
she makes me kneel
No, mercy...she won't cut a deal
My breath of life...she'll steal
Sedated....
I try to keep her sedated
Her desires bated
Her wanton whims weighted
The prey she wants....crated
I need her to be....
dated
But...it is always the same fight in the night
Her insatiable delight
burns through her superwoman might
It’s not right...it's not right!!
I'm lost in this plight
And so....I give in
I let her win
She’s my weakness, my sin
She unbares my skin
Laughs above the din
My right and wrong in a spin
I smile...
I smile...HER sultry grin
Tonight, she would not be sedated
And her prey, she neatly bated
Her desire, swiftly sated
His heart, with her blood nails, grated
It was fated
Fated
So....complicated
She has the control
Of my body and soul…
Destruction, her goal
Buried...in this black hole
She keeps me....
Sedated
Eileen Manassian Ghali
This is a poem about a woman struggling to keep her inner longings at bay....It uses personification....the SHE....is a symbol of the sin that struggles in the woman for mastery. It is not a poem about a man and woman though when SIN has its way....men are the casualty.
She'd had her round in Life's blighting furnace,
Where stealthy wear and age blurred her face.
Dents shot where dreamy dimples had grown,
Lightning smiles usurped by involuntary frown.
In her livelier turns by Midas' glowing shores,
She galloped and gleamed like grated brass.
Time’s grim cankers fell on the rarefied feast
Of the cutest eye ever cast on envious glass.
If as a reincarnated phoenix's her gone grin
Could twirl and morph into its erstwhile arc,
She’d anon repulse her timing nemesis’ sin,
And give her faded glories an eternal spark.
Bereft of that fairy fowl's sheen-saving magic,
She’d to inevitably brave decay's stoic scythe.
Merry rhyme sung her sweet charms to mimic
Faded to ethers wherein dead beauties writhe.
No looker who her earth-blemished visage espies,
Can know she was the fairest star in kindlier skies.
PASTA: A FORK OF HEAVEN
In a pot of bubbling boiling water,
I drop hard nine inches long bundle of farfelles..
Minutes passed,between my fingertips,
I pressed one strand, al- dente!
In a platter glittering white,
I form a fist of fresh-cooked pasta noodles,
pouring a hot scoop of white
creamy silky sauce made from:
parmesan and pecorino
melted, blended in a saucepan,
flavored more with a savory stock,
tossed of shallots, saffron and lean meat.
The sauce must be rich enough
coating all the threads of farfelles...
Garnishing it with grated cheese,
teaspoonful crunchy diced bacon,
a pinch of chopped flat leaf parsley...
Voila! Who could refuse this tasty fork of heaven?
__________________________________________________
***farfelle - a type of pasta: thick and wide noodles
al -dente - a pasta noodle cooked all the way through except in the center being slightly undone
CONTEST name: DIDACTIC FOOD
~~3rd place~~
1:54pm, September 09, 2015
Negritude has been invaded,
by carefully instilled dread of better change
while misery endures a standing ovation
Power is methodically toned down
in phases,
to colonise freedom…
Don’t allow it
The future is now related,
servitude ingrained
by liberation’s inflated egos’ quest to quench,
Blind to constitutional elevation
of these masses, and an impending storm,
We are not surrounded by defeated fighters…
These lies are unfounded
This battle cannot be grated,
By weakly defined attempts to wrench
a revolution from our roasted patience,
History coloured in sweat may lie forlorn
but piously spawns patterns in melting snow
Don’t let it slip unseen into
a miserly pit…
Let them know
you know
As from his Book of Rules He read,
“Tsk-tsk tsk-tsk, St. Peter said.
So PICKED up I my bags and left
For that damnéd lower cleft.
I stomped away then turned and paused.
How much fuss had my fib caused?
A pardon'd come if I'd just wait.
Saint Pete just smiled then shut the gate.
God appeared with old St. Pete.
"We've a problem. We've got to meet."
St. Peter said, "It's quite unique.
It's your records. We took a peek
at our polls, all done by Gallup.
Found your number. It's not up.
It takes us two to set things right.
I brought God to use his might."
God said, "I've never sent souls back.
I did some research. Found a hack.
Turns out this problem's easily fixed.
Just stand still. My potion's mixed."
A wink a nod a look my way
and God undid the whole last day.
They shook my hand and bade farewell,
said I wouldn't Go to Hell.
They faded slowly from my sight
and dimmed their glow to black as night.
I reappeared, surprised my wife,
told her let's get on with life.
My death was just a clerical error.
They sent me back. It's only fairer.
We smooched and hugged, went out to eat.
Had pickled oysters fused with meat.
We ordered crêpes with grated pear
and lit 'em up to add some flair.
Then I pondered what to do.
I quick thought up a thing or two.
I'd profit from financial schemes
using cash inversion themes.
I'd buy a cat and teach it tricks
to wow the guests at trader Vic's.
I'd give them all tatami mats
and waterproof electric hats.
I paused a moment. I could see
My brand-new stuff was vintage me!
I mused a while: what to do?
I mused some more and then I knew.
I'm only happy being me.
My plan was simple as can be.
I'll carry on with selling stuff
like pitted prunes and candied snuff!
I turned the key,
pressed the gas pedal.
The motor belched
the starter grated.
“No. Not today!
I can’t be late.
I’m teaching the class.
I have to be there!”
Our three-year-old
piped up from the back seat,
“Try it again, Mom.”
The motor coughed, caught,
settled to a steady purr.
My little two-cylinder Fiat,
slow, but steady as she goes,
took me everywhere.
Again, from the back seat,
“I knew it would start, Mom.
I prayed.”
Walking on the moonlit path of the strand,
My footsteps found their way upon the sand
While contemplating the note you left for me
I heard the sea calling, "Come to me.
Come to me."
Tempting notion, the moon frowned from high
Waves washed over my feet, should I live or die?
Moon hid somber eyes behind a thick black cloud.
It donned a shadowed cloak, a mourning shroud.
What is left when the zest has been grated?
Sour remnants of memories, those now hated.
Bitter pith which no one would want to taste.
Decayed and adulterated love, gone to waste.
Forthcoming was my fate; a decision to befall.
Waves crashed in summoning call, "Come to me.
Come to me."
Tell us of folks with conscience clear on terror; of trusted neo
terrorists that oust teams, terrorizing thousands... near, far, and wide
May it marinate in their minds; peace and equality are as grated rind
with scent of pure zing... unlike vexed souls, bent on terrorism
Just last night, amid day light, before photographer's sky, right in
spring's warmth... such unforgiving moment of sudden fright
Thunderous wondrous sounds of bombs whirred, then cease, and
just like that came sight of flight 8430, blown to fallen pieces of debris
I saw red, white, and blue of American airlines's plane, meshed with chaos
just as those blown to smithereens during 9ll... Still I'll fly. Why shouldn't I?
In this land of plenty, we won't share cowardice with tyrants of immorality;
not on their watch! freedom bell has rung for everyone free of contentions
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (... they knew not...)
Flight 8430 felt Coup DE main... not of You, Great God of earth, sky, and dew
I shan't forget humongous, booming sounds of invisible bombs that flew and
flung sudden terror so near, i hastened with thoughts of Islam and coercion
Of intimidation, degradation, castration; of trepidation, and mutilation
that moved me to see martyrdom in terrorism as ignoble affiliations
I'm due like you to sit snug and breathe with ease here and now, without
quest; will I survive or will I have time to utter one final goodbye
Night's stream of consciousness was dream, dear God, but Your world need You...
only You; by power of Your might, turn terror to unadulterated thanksgiving; so
As we ponder canvas of sky with eyes beyond clouds; we'll grace life with
courage; for we shall over come with hope, with aims, and with our dreams.
*
Minced Words Contest
Sponsor: John lawless
Broken up in our oath your minced words remain,
We hashed it out this afternoon by the ol’ night stand,
For this lover’s fight has caused an extreme red stain,
I always thought you’d be the one to understand.
We hashed it out this afternoon by the ol’ night stand,
Mixed up conversation full of extreme confusion,
I always thought you’d be the one to understand,
A terrible reaction to this lover’s fight conclusion.
Mixed up conversation full of extreme confusion,
Words so grated my mind crashed to its core,
A terrible reaction to this lover’s fight conclusion,
Disarray dialogue where vows we once swore.
Words so grated my mind crashed to its core,
I crave your gentle talks under the dim moon,
Disarray dialogue where vows we once swore,
Remember the good days we fell in deep swoon?
I crave your gentle talks under the dim moon,
Now our discussions are angry and disrespectful,
Remember the good days we fell in deep swoon?
Sad lately our weeks have been severely resentful.
Now our discussions are angry and disrespectful,
For this lover’s fight has caused an extreme red stain,
Sad lately our weeks have been severely resentful,
Broken up in our oath your minced words remain.
Date Written: June 23, 2016
Clean cut crisp cabbage
Onion diced quite small.
Lets get the carrot grated
Engage the taste buds all.
Salad cream or mayonnaise
Lemon juice for zest.
All on top a baked potato
What a feast the best.
I still remember
when I was a little girl
mom and dad loving picnics
we liked this one place
with lots of old shady trees
and a wooden water pier
the little ducklings
swam right behind mother duck
and they were so sweet to watch
on the very end
of the pier I liked to sit
can I feed them, dad
dad said yes of course
but never feed bread my dear
he gave me some nice green grapes
some chopped old lettuce
even some grated carrots
oh, I ate some too
why dad, why not bread
he told me bread would kill them
water fowl cannot digest
bread- feed them good food
dad knew a lot about nature
and feeding wee ducklings too
I loved how they came
paddling fast to get a treat
mother duck drifted watching
then- watermelon
even I had some of that
I was just a small girl then
a memory now
of an afternoon feeding
precious ducklings from the pier
of my mom and dad
and that special place we loved
I still go- to feed ducklings
_________________________
May 5, 2016
Poetry/Choka/Feeding the Ducklings
Copyright Protected, ID 16-786-882-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Feeding the Ducklings,
sponsor, Eve Roper
Third Place
Zephyr,
echo of the eastern wind,
gentle and balmy is thy caress,
your kiss leaves the hardened heart due west;
breath of hope for steely-days,
winds of change whisper fortune,
do they raise the spirits of righteous device,
and speculate to riddance,
of tempests to come,
flee me forever ---
in thy pleasant climes
Spirit of the western wind sings,
thy floral in flowered Spring,
whistle in the wombs of weeping willow hangs,
the grated ground from stretching hands
(courtship of the tasseled frays)
so human is thy playful ways,
and child-like thy fickle display
(though so earnest is thy whistled word) ---
I leave thee my levity, and forget thee not,
keepsake to keepsake; when the hour is late
and the icy-ridges of doom do renounce and boom;
in the breath of my end days
sing in my ears once more
(the coda of drummer calls)
and play thy earnest tune,
in the vestige halls of evermore
(I do wait)
My hearts been chopped, sliced and grated
By everybody who has hated
The way my life has been going
True feelings never showing
Hiding all the pain down deep
A happy smile tryna keep
Up the illusion it don't hurt
How I get treated like dirt
I can't help the way I am
Why can't others understand
I'm not a geek, loser or nerd
But my whole life I have heard
Remarks so derogatory
Take the time to know my story
Why I don't drink or do drugs
Then you'd change your words to hugs
Opening your heart and eyes
Finally you would realize
This little girl who raised herself
Without any kind of help
Is gonna stay drug free and clean
Alcohol will not be seen
In her body, I refuse
To be put through the abuse
Like other people from my past
Respecting myself and this task
the paddy fields are ready to be harvested,
green crops sparkle freshened by clear early dew,
water lilts its way through channels time tested,
first of South Indian harvests, brings hopes new!
the time of the year that sees a weather shift,
Sun in its northern ride moves to Capricorn,
ushers an yield of plenty and nature’s gift,
cheer grows in the village as the year is born!
far further afield swinging in the warm breeze,
stand tall succulent crops of sweet sugar canes,
cultivated in rich soil they grow with ease,
watered by the monsoons of previous rains!
the farmers have a special joy in their walk,
God gives in plenty when one has worked so hard,
bags of different lentils they load and chalk,
time to celebrate! festivities on card!
14th January Pongal is celebrated,
where everything harvested makes a special meal,
rice, lentils boiled and with black pepper grated,
jaggery from sugar cane is tasty deal!
women wear bright coloured silk with gold jewels,
men are dressed in clean whites for the festive day,
children fly kites, anointed cattle wear new bells,
celebration of Pongal cheers all the way!!
10th Position
Written 14/January/2021
Completely your choice (40)
Brian Strand
11 syllables each line
to introduce others to this beautiful festival
that celebrates harvest and thanks God for the yeild!!
The seemingly tranquil sky
blooming with stars soon
pierced by a distant cry
that seems to swoon.
Beneath dense trees standing tall
to touch dark canvas painted
after dusk, prowls the epiphany of all
mother nature’s tainted.
The wise are often alone
and the dangerous hated,
but they express in moan
their solitude, once more grated.
Gradually their voices unite
in a song across the valley,
seeming to smite
all of innocence’s nest.
The moon in her splendour moves
to comfort the carnivores that commence,
and yet her beam soothes
not the beasts’ sense.
Torn between wrong and right
the moon spreads her swanlike wings amidst
the howls of her lovers, the kings of the night…
among the wolves in the mist.