Best Grueling Poems
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
Categories:
grueling, animal, identity,
Form:
Imagism
The Haunted House
Driving with my date at midnight, looking at the August moonlight,
lonely road, no one in eyesight, searching for a place to park.
Off the road a mansion ‘pearing, in the woods, back in a clearing,
all alone this mansion fearing, stands deserted in the dark…
the mansion stands there in the dark.
Vacant now for many ages, rotting as her time turns pages,
legend of her haunting rages, haunting ghosts that oversee.
Eerie winds around are blowing, in the window soft light glowing,
curiosity is growing, soft light beckons us to see…
the soft light calls for us to see.
Feel like we are strangers poaching, on this haunted house encroaching,
front porch creaks as we’re approaching, and the front door open wide.
Through the door now we are heading, on the inside odor shedding,
musty air with dust is spreading, leaving us red blurry eyed…
the dust makes us red blurry eyed.
In our ears there is a droning, down the hall we hear a moaning,
sounding like an old man groaning, leaving us to wonder why.
Down the hallway we go searching, knowing not what evil lurching,
through the door we see there perching, skeleton from days gone by…
bones sitting there from days gone by.
On the floor there is blood pooling, ‘neath the ashen bones so grueling,
such an eerie sight befooling, tell my date to turn and run.
Chasing close behind I follow, for this fear I cannot swallow,
felling like my life is hollow, thinking that my time is done…
I’m feeling like my days are done.
Wake up in a forest clearing, in the sky, sunlight appearing,
from the night my mind is veering, how I got here I don’t know.
Leaving now my gut is churning, don’t think I will be returning,
evil place my mind discerning, wrought with spirits from below…
the evil spirits from below…..
this haunted house has got to go.
August 18, 2018
Categories:
grueling, horror, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
I thought we were friends; maybe something more
She could quell a blaze or make the flames roar
Between every trial I watched her strength grow
Always at my side through each turbulent row
But then so many came so fast; storms so severe
One after another, til there were no more tears
No sorrow no hate no love; only echoes
I stood alone. Her voice lost in the throes
I searched inward and saw every bruise
With each break and rip I stood accused
So much blood, too much damage to truly know
Which was the cause; which gave the grueling blow
It was then that I saw; a fate she did not choose
She wasn't on holiday ...life had killed my muse
Categories:
grueling, life, poetry, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Father’s are wonderful people
Too little understood
And we do not sing their praises
As often as we should…
For, somehow, Father seems to be
The man who pays the bills
While mother binds up little hurts
And nurses all our ills…
And father struggles daily
To live up to his image
As protector and provider
And “hero of the scrimmage”
And perhaps that is the reason
We sometimes get the notion
That fathers are not subject
To the thing we call “emotion”
But if you look inside Dad’s heart
Where no one else can see
You’ll find he’s sentimental
And as “soft” as he can be
But he’s so busy every day
In the grueling race of life
He leaves the sentimental stuff
To his partner and his wife
But fathers are just wonderful
In a million different ways
And merit loving compliments
And accolades of praise
For the only reason Dad aspires
To fortune and success
Is to make the family proud of him
And to bring them happiness
And like our heavenly father
He’s a guardian and a guide
Someone we can count on
To be always on our side.
Categories:
grueling, fatherfather, father,
Form:
Verse
Miles of roads while blowing horns
tiresome bodies their eyes are sore,
Trying to reach a rest stop to avoid
a jackknifed load.
Hauling the necessities to survive in this world,
whether it's Gas, Food or Motor oil.
Driving a semi the juggernaut of the road
maneuvering in all conditions even the blistering cold.
Away from Friends and Families away from their homes
Holidays and private events are void they're all alone.
A hard grip of the wheel avoiding reckless drivers
swerving in to unforseen debris blowing out tires.
A grueling shift comes to an end locking up the Trailer,
Arriving to the sanity of their homes ready to retire.™©
By: Shawn Munoz
Categories:
grueling, adventure, business, jobs, work,
Form:
Narrative
Early one morning a group of rookie's and veteran's ballplayers emerge onto the prac-
tice field destine to began an grueling season of hardwork and a dedication to an common-
goal of Superiority. They come out of the locker room after the coach has given assign-
ment's and now everyone minds are on one accord, one agenda and together they all say to
themselve's. "The road to a Championship began when the priority to be the best", "is know
from one and all roads to success is gear towards teamwork and passionate loyalty to suc-
ceed at any means there is". Loyalty to push on through the inclimate weather, hardwork off
the field as well on the field is approachable only when a championship atmosphere surrounds
itself with ballplayer's and not attitude's disrespectful to the cause of the challenge's to be-
come the best at what you do, and do the best at what not to do. Teamwork is a do-able part
of the puzzle, but there's more to it then that. There is hunger, and then all the pieces falls
together when that hunger is fed an astronomical desire that fill-up the body and your minds
with offensive and defensive individual's that love's victory and enjoy's a desire to not finish
the race in last place. So out emerge's a champion in his relationship to his fellow ballplayers
and to his family as that of maturity and that of unlimited resources of the uncoachable en-
tangable fortitude that seperate the advantage's over the disadvantages that make his or her
teammate's reach the level of sportsmenship unseen and redeem as the fans come to see a
player that value's himself and value the diffucult task of Sunday to Sunday ability to be not
only a scholar athelete but also The road of a Champion is what make's him love to compete:
Categories:
grueling, adventure, art, devotion, inspirational,
Form:
Narrative
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Categories:
grueling, angst, humor, humorous, self,
Form:
Rhyme
Forlorn tinged faces reminiscing old times
Where smiles did not enshroud an ache,
And the grueling effort it had to take,
Cries of help in their throat they were caught
Feeling a shimmer of serenity not a bit distraught,
But that's the thing about pain,
It might leave for brief moments,
But comes back like an unavowed promise from grey clouds to carry the rain.
Categories:
grueling, anxiety, dark, grief, heartbreak,
Form:
Couplet
Falling in Love with a Writer is a Faulty Design
We see things that other females
don’t pay a tuppence to.
Like a half-burned cigarette tail,
Your osculation of deep, dense rouge—
A secret trusted only by two.
With our own hands, we mimic time
And manipulate the world you once knew.
Falling in love with a writer is a faulty design.
To your heart, we assail
With words plunked to a tune;
In your soul, with great force, we impale.
From a love-front angle of view
You might feel a tad misconstrued,
like a poorly mixed cocktail.
Ricochet from baseline to fault line,
But every time you pull through ‘cause you knew,
That falling in love with a writer is a broken design.
When we close our eyes and slowly inhale;
We hear the laughter of a family in an empty room
And unveil the retold, recycled tales.
Picturing why the dust rests less heavily on one broom,
And can smell the meal Ma cooked when they came home from school.
From the underworld and past the skyline,
We scour everything down to its last detail.
Falling in love with a writer is a grueling design.
To us, your eyes flourish like flowers in June
With lips– silky like cabernet wine.
And although sometimes we forget to say we love you,
Remember that falling in love with a writer can be a beautiful design.
Categories:
grueling, beautiful, beauty, love, love
Form:
Ballade
Staring into the abyss of crises’ appearance
I’m stricken with panic, disclosing my unbelief and ignorance…
Yet with God’s radiance, I can behold His gracious sustenance
Indeed assuring His provisions of bountiful abundance
Midst wellness of healthy satisfaction-extravagance;
Thus, I thank Him for His timely deliverance.
Staring into the abyss of insecurity’s disillusionment
I’m gripped with anxiety’s tormenting predicament…
Yet with God’s vision, I can perceive thru His enlightenment
Indeed opening my sight to His sufficing contentment
Midst His blessings for spiritual fulfillment;
Thus, I praise Him for His compassionate engagement.
Staring into the abyss of uncertain future
I’m attacked by doubt’s torture…
Yet with God’s illumination, I can see His grace-gesture
Indeed expressed by His Scripture
Midst His promises for triumphant faith’s venture;
Thus, I worship Him along holiness virtues’ posture.
Staring into the abyss of life’s grueling difficulties
I’m paralyzed, confronted along terrorism’s realities…
Yet with God’s lens, I can see His miraculous verities
Indeed highlighting His mighty goodness-certainties
Midst His power* controlling universe entities;
Thus, I trust Him with my yielded faculties.
*1Corinthians 2:5 That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.
March 11, 2019
3rd place, "Pick A Title, Vol. 2 - Rhyme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward; judged on 3/23/2019.
Categories:
grueling, appreciation, blessing, christian, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm not usually the type
to stray from structure
and just write down
all my thoughts and feelings
word for word
with no fancy frills or clever metaphors
but every time i put my pen to paper
i realize that no strained rhyme
no set number of syllables
can begin to hold all that I'm feeling right now
so I've decided to write it like I'd say it
I need you to know,
I love you
and i wish that we lived in a perfect world
so that just saying it would be enough
and we'd ride off into the sunset
to live happily ever after
but I know life doesn't work like that anymore
love's become less of a fairytale
and more of an adventure novel
the slipper never fits
none of the princesses ever come down from their towers
without battles and grueling journeys
and even after you get the girl,
you have to fight for everyday of your 'happily ever after'
I know that
but I'm still here
with my sword drawn to start the battle
and I'll never stop fighting
I just needed you to know that
I know that in the stories
the prince is always strong
and he's courageous and valiant
but sometimes I'm afraid I can't be that strong warrior
because right now,
I miss you
so much it makes me tired and weak
and each day it gets harder and harder to fight
I've not your voice to reassure me
that you're right here fighting beside me
so sometimes I just feel so alone
fighting this battle by myself
I wake up in the morning and they tell me
that I was talking to you in my sleep
and I check my phone 100 times a day
even though I know that you can't call
But I'll never stop fighting
I love you
and I miss you
and I'll never drop my sword
even when all I can do is lay here in the dark
and try to picture your face in the cracks of light dancing on the walls
just to keep from going crazy
I'll never stop fighting
I guess I just needed you to know that
Categories:
grueling, devotion, love, passion, write,
Form:
Free verse
You feel that painting exists
Still upon the canvas
But it has lost its luster
When it keeps it growing
Inside yourself
Your heart beats faster
As the painting develops
Into a masterpiece
Of dimensions evolved
Into pieces of life
Shown by the colors upon
The white canvas
Showing where dips an sways
Revolve around the world’s
Only repertoire of truth
Thrust upon life’s grace
Where I see the painting
In my mind’s eye still
Such a grueling chore
Where the paint sends beauty
And laying upon the canvas
A picture of abstract
Proportions to random
Acts of nothingness
Still plays its tune upon
My desires to blend the colors
And bleed the picture
Into what art
Surely means to me
Russell Sivey
Categories:
grueling, fun,
Form:
Free verse
The candles are extinguished today and the crucifix covered in black
for the One whos life was once bludgeoned with ignorance and greed
As He readied for heaven, he took each heavy Pontus whack
for sake of a world that could not accept nor believe, His Holy Creed
Some repented while others shouted profanities and ignored His tears
as He carried the Cross towards His final resting place, He slowly wept
the sky, grueling dark unbending, did not shed the rain nor smear
while His laced up sandals walked the sand without God's intercept
"But If I, With The Finger Of God," He once implied before he died
but this was not to be, for the Son of God belonged to man's transfix
He walked through throngs and herds as he closed the great divide
they watched, as clustered Halos grew around His bloodied Crucifix
But If I, With The Finger Of God could wipe away His pain
be more then just a writer recalling His death with ink and quill
The world would be changed as I know it, and He would Reign
Yes He is the One who died but also, the One they could not kill.
Categories:
grueling, analogy, christian, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
Somewhere in a rugged sunny terrain
a bushy-maned pony kicks up his heels
amid biting flies in a grueling summer heat.
An elegant cattle egret hitches a ride.
Devouring grassland insects, his daily diet,
the egret helps his buddy in his plight
keeping the flies at bay while loping along
together through brush and grass and sage.
Categories:
grueling, animal, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze
Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves
The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd
From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud.
With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason
To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season.
The kicker announces starting ball high and long
And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song.
Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting
Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating.
To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession
Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession!
Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement
Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement
By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all
With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul.
Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low
Elation, deception such do rugby games go.
So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed
The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast;
Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop
A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop.
(Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent
but with westerly drift over black dot she went!)
…
And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun
where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun
White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green
Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen
A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots
To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots.
-------------------
Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line
Categories:
grueling, friendship, games, sports, spring,
Form:
Alexandrine