Best Ironclad Poems
On the edge of silence
beyond the mossy-muffled stone wall
a wind chime chants — faint, like falling sparkles of stars—
honeyed musings of a wind spirit on the move
from west to east a bridge of broken chords.
Cosmic animation stirs my domestic pulsation
in a supple sweep from beyond the western dusk fallen,
soft notes jangle in sweet saunter — so like you,
an angel’s riff on an airy whiff —
O wind chanter, I hear you
and I linger in my undying love for him – for I hear you, singer!
Sing to me of his approach!
For alone, on the cold stone of a lifeless dusk,
I mourn the most.
Like powdered night wings looping the lantern’s glow,
I feel the brush of your touch amid the moments’ flutter
a flirtation with a long tress and frills of my nightdress —
O bittersweet enchantment!
O wild yet tender wind — O miraculous visitor!
But how do I hold you? How do I hold the wind, my love?
Always, always! You slip away on blank paper wings!
My human nature aspires to fly but my every heartbeat caged
ironclad in mortal armor obliged in the grasp of gravity’s greed.
Damn this bane of my spirit’s capture
and this coupling yoke of love that did not die with you!
Damn this bane of my lifeblood, bound to its streambed!
Though my wilted river rises with the throb of a tide robbed
not even a river’s rapture can compete with the thrills
of your unbound freedom — oh death’s freedom!
The ringing sleigh bell singing of spring peepers intrude —
O wind chanter – distant wind chime – your tinsel talk fades.
Alas! He is lost to me again—lost! lost! lost!
Categories:
ironclad, grief, longing, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
The day before a storm
belies calm and quiet,
wispy clouds bounce in skies
bright with boundless blueness,
Southern summer surprise.
The day before a storm
promotes a sweet fragrance
blown by light, gentle gusts,
softly scampering through
with breathy upward thrusts.
The day before a storm
imprints the Southern sky,
a taunting, teasing wind
caresses blank canvas
and moves colors to blend.
The day before a storm
rattles ironclad glaives
of battling stratus clouds,
a lull looms in the air
warning of what it shrouds.
Categories:
ironclad, environment, nature, sky, storm,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
There In Morning Sun, Hope Circled Enticing Dreams
From inside gaping jaws, golden honey slow drips
its taste as if bitter hell came with deadly judgment
life turned into a bevy of sunken ships
with the dried up bones below a sadden statement.
With solid granite illuminating moon 's glow
ironclad hills buried secrets sadder mysteries
impropriety ran in and melted wicked snow
starving for more people ate from empty granaries.
The wicked angels flew about on leaden wings
watching for the innocence of the golden truth
dawn's light erupted brought the small songbirds that sing
for hot romance and the vanities of our youth.
There in morning sun, hope circled enticing dreams.
Father time gave its fruit to fill the icy streams.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
Feb 25th, 1971
Categories:
ironclad, art, dark, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Sonnet
Denizen of abyssal labyrinth,
legendary ancient Wyrm seeks succour
within prodigious sepulchral cavern:
her domicile for an ageless lifetime.
Ethereal shafts cascade through ceiling's
stochastic rifts, piercing tenebrous tomb;
vicious viscous scarlet smears juxtapose
against shimmering iridescent scales.
Aeons past, Faustian pact formed with Man:
vow of harmonious co-existence
exchanged for fulgurant falchion forged in
the heart of dragonflame's conflagration.
Sacred covenant shattered this night by
myriad ironclad interlopers;
ruination's harbinger was strident
warrior wielding token of treaty.
Last vestiges of cacophonous roar
dissipate into the Stygian depths;
acrid stench of brimstone clogs the air as
remnants of vitriolic pyres linger.
Twin gargantuan fibrous wings contract
behind enormous muscular torso;
fulgurating talons sluggishly sheaved
as serpentine tail shudders and falls limp.
Priceless metals and prismatic gemstones
intersperse with charred and twisted corpses;
amongst detritus of mortal conflict,
majestic titan finally crumples.
Massive lurid yellow orbs exhibit
an unfathomable intelligence;
succumbing to the inevitable,
moribund colossus bows forlorn head.
Lifemate butchered by zealous paladin;
remains of final clutch just motes on breeze.
Burden borne by solitary relict:
regal behemoth was last of her kind...
----------------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 25th April 2017
Free verse, no meter, no rhymes - as per contest rules.
10 syllables on every line (howmanysyllables.com)
For the contest entitled "A Mythical Creature" sponsored by Julia Ward.
Categories:
ironclad, adventure, fantasy, fire, magic,
Form:
Free verse
Everyone desires a secure future,
an ironclad plan,
entrenched and unchangeable,
without flaws or loopholes.
This one has everything;
it cannot decrease in value,
the terms never vary,
it’s bonded against theft,
and the cost is zero.
Totally free, is that possible?
Someone already paid?
This is too good to be true.
Bring out the contract,
where do I sign?
It is the only rescue of its kind
in existence, designed
by the provider of all things,
who freely sacrificed
his most precious asset
to ransom the lost sheep.
Nothing on earth can offer
the inalterable benefits
of God's retirement plan!
Categories:
ironclad, faith, religious, retirement,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
In this story the leaves are digressing,
In another, perhaps I shall too
With warm feelings and autumn shades tinting my view
We go along the path at a crisp clip
High heels and rubber soles
Trench coats and scarves fluttering
Scandalously in our rush to understand
The literature hidden between the flesh and the spirit
Soul on soul, deciphering in motion
Picturesque and ugly
Please Smile for me when the camera blinks
When that moment is gone and this photograph is all I have
Along with dangerous conversations of how we shall eventually Fall
Life Kafka, like Vonnegut, Marquez,
Slaughtering ourselves 5 over 5 times,
Armageddon in Retrospect
Metamorphosing within
100 years of Solitude
Loving in times of Cholera,
And we plummet beyond the help of our seasoned knowledge of devotion
Past the neurotic winters of Kerouac
Beyond the springs of Plath
Over and gone the summers of Margaret Mitchell and ironclad romance
To Fall
To the Inferno of the ground below
Through nine different hells
To end up where they started from
Dust begets dust
Dante in Love
All Muted in translation
In death, empty words shattering like
The Crimson leaf
Silenced in the psyche of la fabrication d'amour
Skeletons of desire
Lynched in the closets
The bedrooms,
Dusty and leather-bound
Black on ébène
Starved and lonely
The sound of Autumn on Leaves
Categories:
ironclad, seasonsautumn, autumn, , literature,
Form:
Free verse
Think of us oft, when you travel afar,
On orders protecting, lives we enjoy;
You and your pals, family superstars,
We miss you every time, you must deploy.
And while you’re away, the kids will move on,
School, sports, church—and nightly prayers for their Dad;
Strong daily living; a life marathon,
Until your return, our love ironclad.
Many folks benefit from your good will,
They honor volunteer service no doubt;
And when you return, back to the sawmill,
Our own return to normal, comes about.
Thank you. We love you. You are our hero.
Our resistance to your service—zero!
August 17, 2018
Categories:
ironclad, america, appreciation, children, dad,
Form:
Sonnet
Tears rolled down.
Face wrinkled.
A little shout comes a frown.
I am weak and fickled,
Life is hard,
I am sad.
Life is for the ironclad,
But am a frail lad.
Controlled by emotions,
And also swayed by affection.
All hands on deck,
Does not fall under my purview,
I'd rather rest my neck,
Go on vacation for a nice view.
I guess its time to throw in the towel,
Then right back to my comfort zone.
Pick up my phone, browse and be alone,
Then to the kitchen for ready made food to fill my bowel.
Sleep, wake up and sleep again,
Your admonisions are in vain.
Give me an umbrella cos the sun is shinning,
I can't risk exposing my skin to drying.
Such is the life of the namby-pamby, then little by little failure creeps in.
Categories:
ironclad, absence, abuse, addiction, allegory,
Form:
Haiku
As Sol arises, greets the morn
the soon test taker wails,
"I'm doomed! If I had only read
The Canterbury Tales!
Or more of Samuel Collerige,
or Wordsworth, Yeats or Shelley,
More Medieval or Old English,
some Eliot or Browning!
Or how to spot a romantic
or how a Victorian,
or who saw Tutors on their shift
in this timeline Aenean?
I know not Byron from Whitman,
or Herrick from John Donne,
or Frost or Pound or Tennyson,
cannot read Piers Plowman.
There's just too much literature,
(I can't believe I spoke
this thought, it's blasphemy I'm sure)
like the Raven I quoth.
And though most know the Raven, I
do too, and that's not bad.
Though I think the extent of my
knowledge's not ironclad.
Though I can say with certainty,
amidst my sad lament,
the technique I used priorly
is known as enjambment.
And I know too that rhyme royal
is seven verses long,
where octavia rima's whole
is eight - one more verse strong.
And I've read Paradise Lost and
many Shakespeare works,
and much more Poe than The Raven,
and know Dickinson's quirks.
And I know Marvell and Camus
Gogol, Dostoyesky;
perhaps my portents were untrue,
my knowledge not so petty.
Perhaps I'm ready for this test,
though not well-versed as some.
Like caesuras, I'll take a rest
and stop acting so glum.
From a review book, I'll apply
this truth which first appalled:
If you know all this well, then why
attend grad school at all?"
Categories:
ironclad, education
Form:
Rhyme
Zero Tolerance at Schools
By Elton Camp
It began with a federal law about bringing guns to school
That offenders must be expelled was the ironclad rule
Then, unwisely, local officials the policy vastly expanded
For drugs, aggression, and other things, expulsion demanded
The intention behind these regulations may have been good
School officials couldn’t be trusted to enforce as they should
Because the regulations by modern Dracos had been written,
Students, for childish behavior, with expulsion were smitten
A six-year-old, happy at joining the cub scouts, ruined his life
Because he brought to school camping stuff: spoon, fork, knife
Because of his heinous crime, zero tolerance enforced the rule
He got a suspension and spent forty-five days in reform school
A retarded child for “strong-armed robbery” was arrested
He stole two dollars and in adult jail for six weeks rested
Only when a CBS “60 Minutes” crew came to report the case
Were the ridiculous charges then dismissed with greatest haste
What very desperately needs to be done, it seems to me,
Is a zero tolerance policy for school officials’ stupidity
Categories:
ironclad, angst, school, school, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
"Happy Dads Day"
Most men can be a father, not requiring any skill
Beyond an encounter that will give them a thrill.
But here's where comes in to play the dividing line,
Since a Dad is someone special, planned by God Divine.
To be a Dad takes more than a roll in the hay;
Is more than what biology can ever hope to say.
A Dad loves his children, cares for them for life,
Sees being a Dad a joy and not burden laden strife.
Fathers are a dime a dozen, with plenty of them around,
But among the fathers, the Dads, fewer of are found.
Then there are the Dads where biology plays no roll at all,
Yet, step up to plate as Dad, to fill another man's call.
To be fair this holds true with women and also does apply,
Since most can be mothers, but many, as Moms, come up shy.
Being a father or a mother is a biological roll,
But without them as Dads and Moms, the children pay the toll.
Most any man can be a father, have this title given them,
But the role of Dad is reserved for a man who is a gem.
A man who fathers a child and turns his back is a cad,
While a real man sees fatherhood as a privilege to be Dad.
Being a Dad is much more than a financial liability;
Requires guidance of a man with principles and integrity.
A Dad encourages his children with Love and support,
Disciplines as needed but abuse NEVER to will resort.
Instead of Happy Fathers Day, let's make it more correct
To honour those deserving and may the day's name reflect
The true heroes to their children, through actions ironclad,
And so, I wish a Happy Dads Day to each and every Dad!
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-06-14 11:52:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
Categories:
ironclad, dad, fathers day, hero,
Form:
Rhyme
When I enrolled in magical school
Ma said good luck
Dad called me a fool
He always thought with my IQ
I’d fix people up,
Not saw them in two.
But I had a vision
And my self esteem
Hung on the balance
Of this simple dream
So I packed my bag
Gave Ma a hug
Reached out to pop
Who said with a shrug
Watch each one of your steps
Cause each one of them matters
When you walk without looking
You’re sure to splatter
So take my advice
It may save your life
You can’t step twice
On thin ice.
I’ll show that man who I can be
With a B.A.
In alchemy
I have no doubt that he’ll be glad
Because my plan
Was ironclad
I bought all my books
Most second hand
I was so ready
To beat the band
But where was my room
Did it disappear?
I’m such a buffoon
Then dad’s words appeared.
If you can’t find your way
Don’t lose your nerve
It’s all a small part
Of the learning curve
So take my advice
It may save your life
Rolling the dice
Is a vice
I tried running down the empty halls
But all the doors
Turned into walls
I shouted a chant, before weeping
‘Allah-Kazow-ee’
To get me sleeping
I dreamed about A’s
The prodigal son
The star of my class
Magic 101
But soon my visions
Became nightmares
I woke and screamed
And if pop was there
He’d say, when in a jam
Take an afternoon nap
Cause a grumpy head
Ain’t worth a crap
So take my advice
It may save your life
To make nice
Sleep twice
At last, I made it to classes
But that first day
I lost my glasses
Teacher assumed I was a jerk
Rewarding me
A week of homework
Then my trick cards turned red
The hare’s sick in bed
The bouquet looked dead
So I called home, and said,
“I’m failing Hocus Pocus
Gotta D in smoke in mirrors
It’s so hard to focus
When all I make is errors
Then dad said with much calm
First give yourself a hand
Before counting on others
And soon you’ll understand
So take my advice
It may save your life
Give yourself a high-five
To survive
So I practiced day and night
‘Till each ‘Abra’
Came out right
And my Presto-Digi-ture
Was more than
Amateur
Then all those D’s
Turned into A’s
Without tricks
I was amazed
Hard work after all
Was a giant step for me
But with dad’s advice
I learned the mystery
Each day is irreplaceable
And comes with a caveat
If you waste its offerings
You deserve just what you get
So take my advice
It may save your life
Being wise
Is the prize
Categories:
ironclad, education, father, school, son,
Form:
Ballad
Hark! These four stone walls of Mamertine quell
My caged heart's protest; its sullen lament,
That one should take another's life in hand;
Raise their one dream before their very eyes
And crush it in an ironclad, clenched fist.
And for what cause? Unmerited Justice?
Gratuitous equity from envy?
Hark! Though I have not dealt you those blows
You assert; I make wounds, to you obscure.
For I could write a thousand times, bitter;
One's ineffectual stance on knowledge;
One's impotence in the skill of the tongue
To lash one's mind those thirty-nine lashes.
With each tap of that gavel I spite you;
Insolent, Dishonest, and treacherous.
I stand you before the world, unbeknownst,
Guilty of vile sins; a friendship defiled.
I strike your ego and your character;
Assault your visage with an honest word;
Cause scars you cannot see but cannot hide.
And when that day of judgement dawns for you;
The world will laugh at your deficient stride.
Categories:
ironclad, abuse, anger, angst, art,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
“Get lost, I don’t care,” snarled the young wolf disingenuously
The naïve stripling wanted little more than acclaim
With no knowledge of why it continued--
The
slow
pulsing
of his
ruby
vitality
into the
wounds of others
Which he mistook for his own
One day kind fate bestowed a gift like none else:
A life full to overflowing
With loving family and meaningful work
There was not one single extra quantum of energy
Work all day, family all evening, sometimes work all night
It all suffered from itself in a lovely, mediocre sort of way
But mostly it clarified
An argument, a stressful day, a worry had a price:
Family time, sleep, energy always the losers
Zero sum, one in, one out, unavoidable
The luxury of care was
dead.
So when rumors flew pell-mell, as they do
Like the Wicked Witch’s monkeys
I let them, not pyrrhically hunting them
To their nattering source
And out went the sheep in sheepdogs’ clothing,
Tissue paper acquaintances by the dozens,
Card house construct of popularity
and most of all, irrelevant obligations
If you care so little as to be swayed by the winds of rumor
Then that’s how much investment I have in you.
Bye.
I’m ironclad when impeccably intact in my integrity
Vulnerable only when I drop below my own equator
To the muck-slinging hyenas that beset us all
For when I am true to me, any harsh judgment of me
Reflects only on the one doing the judging,
as I am FREE
This is not to say that I own no bathroom freshener
--To keep the boat afloat, one must diligently look for leaks--
But the double-edged steel of the naked truth
Is the
only defense
And the best nutrient for the garden within
For then and only then am I right with myself and God,
And free as can be expected
from the cares of this world
6/9/16
© By Author
For Contest: Rise above it
Sponsor: Becca Teagan
Categories:
ironclad, angst, character, freedom, social,
Form:
Free verse
Inferiority Complex As A Kid And Adult!
I recall father, (now behold
at near ninety years old - maintains stronghold
on life, cuz born of sturdy mettle -
rumor claims bullion – ne'er did buckle nar fold
meaning bull + lion rolled
together and processed
April 9th, nineteen twenty nine),
fortune teller foretold
envious longevity, perhaps
just shy of eternity
older than anyone polled
occasionally got a bit
short tempered as patriarch
( ~6'2” ~ 200 lbs at prime)
over any five members of Harris household
with me, and timid, meek,
and fawning did scold,
and mother, (who passed away
after completing seventy plus orbits, all told,
sans November 13th, nineteen thirty five),
no matter both parents (more mom)
did abhor applying stronghold
tactics vis a vis corporal punishment,
though the late Harriet Harris, not so gold
din as totally carefree disciplinarian
confessed many moons ex post facto lost hold
of her appreciable tolerance,
than quickly crumbled like broken scaffold
after she spanked this monkey upon bony posterior
(an endearment, but NOT spanking
ever since mama did withhold
though kept pet name, which
ideally suited me as a little boy),
both her hands went limp and cold
apology immediately iterated,
cuz she felt mortified, and sold
reparation with self restraint
against further instances tubby brazenly bold
possibly contributed,
fostered, and inculcated mold
ding mine shy characteristic.
Me, this twangy nasal kid
(courtesy of split uvula we did
discover rather a speech pathologist
six grade minor congenital defect
i.e., submucous cleft palate), aforesaid
I experienced interminable
relentlessly psyche burning acrid
tormenting, teasing, and talking funny
this vulnerability compounded amid
my undersized and socially withdrawn demeanor
whereby every day akin getting scorched
by some "NON FAKE" ironclad grid!
Categories:
ironclad, 1st grade, 6th grade,
Form:
Bio