Best Maul Poems
I'm a polar bear, just that.
Don't ever call me bi-polar
or I'll angrily maul you to death!
Take a good look at me;
I'm a hulking menace.
Don't let my elephantine size
fool you. I'm surprisingly agile;
fast enough to chase down
an Arctic fox!
I'm a formidable apex predator
and wanderer of the North Pole.
When you don't see me,
I'm probably in hibernation.
My hunger is unslakable.
I can eat up to 10%...
of my bodyweight in 30 minutes!
My dense coat and body fat
insulate me so warmly that I...
sometimes overheat in summer.
When I do, I cool down by
plunging into the ice-cold sea.
Did I mention I can stand and
fight on my hind legs? I'm like the
energizer-bunny; incessantly mobile,
roaming hundreds of miles across
the barren Arctic tundra
in search of seals and fish.
I'm all dressed in white;
the snowbank, the perfect camouflage
for me to suddenly sneak up on a prey.
Invade my frozen kingdom at your peril.
I rule the arctic wastes like the king lion
rules the Serengeti!
Submitted for...
Strand Select A ,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 02/01/2020
Date written: 01/24/2020
As answers deceive
The questions stand
And dancers leave
To track the sand
Round robin conspiracy
Threatening us all
The letters all lower case
Their finality tall
Butting my head
Inside of the line
“When does it end Father,
Maybe this time”
The black and the white of it
The tall and the short
The poisons the same
One knife for a fork
New action will free
What inaction restrains
To once again, once again
Once again drain
So back to the future
Back to the past
Choose not your weapon
You’ve had your last laugh
The wind’s in the vestibule
New breath in the hymn
Your darkness reveals
What the light needs to win
With seven unsavory
And eight left to roast
The turkey unstuffed
Leaving room for the ghost
So ride away, ride away
Ride away all
The damage inflicted
This hammer a maul
The blood’s in the alleyway
Life beckons on
Death has been slaughtered
—as begins the new song
(Rosemont Pennsylvania: August, 2014)
the stands are full, one man kicks the ball
fifteen men pursue, it becomes a maul
referee blow his whistle
concluding the tussle
a try is scored over goal line he crawl
Contest: My Favorite Sport
9th Place
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
When wracked with suff'ring even more,
I all alone bemoan my fate,
as one who drowns in sorrows sore
which harm, harass, and maul his state.
Aggrieved for what feels like forever,
I trouble God with bootless cries
as I endure my manic fever
with tearful, red, psychotic eyes.
The minute hand lands on midnight!
I can't find clear words to express
feelings of falling a headlong height
b'neath heaven's reach 'yond grief's excess.
Inside, I feel the Reaper’s scythe
as I think out my mordant plan:
razor, pills, or a kitchen knife,
a way to end it by my hand!?
Like Sylvia Plath, if I can
plant my head in a GE gas oven,
then it’d be painless!? (But why plan
a death so cliche, and unproven?)
I think, too, of Virginia Woolf,
how she drowned her life in a lake;
I, too, feel swallowed in a gulf
of swirling misery that'd take
me to my death! Why do I feel
forsak'n, and heavy as lead now? Am
I so hopeless? Why do I feel
so worthless, and so so dead? How am
I to end my life (to kill myself)—
if all loved ones were then to miss me?
“Help yourself!” I then heard. "Heal thyself!"
I hear aloud. As angels kiss me,
I thus then found comfort in this:
that family and friends all care,
and if I'd died I would be missed;
so, I war 'gainst profound despair.
And then, Hope dawns! And soon comes peace…
And in the morn, I wake arising—
Joy breaks in, and I have new lease.
And then my state I cease despising!
The working navvy did dig deep
He followed Brindly’s new laid plan
A transport system to complete
A salvation for the labouring man
As the furrow cut with sweat and maul
With breaking backs and torn sinew
Each man in turn to heave and haul
Sustenance for starving kin renew
Tracts of land transform through spade and pick
Veins enriching the countryside
Bringing new life, each shovel, each brick
Levelling earth, raising national pride
A true revelation this arterial plan
Almost lost through modernisation
Abandoned, grown dense, dispirit man
As steam and diesel grew within the nation
Each lock assiduously built
Before first steam engine’s whistle blew
Weeds strangle, progressive man’s new guilt
The canals ebb, debris as seeds strew
More beauteous now than ever been
Our arterial chart of the waterway
Each torn muscle, victuals did glean
Bed and nourishment for one more day
The navvy’s ghosts look down, heads held high
Their gnarled hands rest in heavenly peace
Majestic waterways dug in sweat with sigh
A once industrial, now beautiful masterpiece.
© 16/11/2013 GG Inspired by Harry J Horsmans'
free verse 'The Cut' which is a colloquial name for a canal
Dressed in green, plants and trees grow
Roads of red clay, joining paved highways
Dry and dusty, wet and muddy
Walking shops, sleeping vendors
Basket of fruits, bin of vegetables
Mother of foods, server of nations
Flocked Churches, packed Mosques
Taxis race, bodas rally
Welcoming hearts, amazing people
Smiling faces, begging hands
Noisy towns, silent villages
Crying children, sweating mothers
Drunken men, joyful youth
Packed cities, Street kids home
Rich on the hills, poor in the valleys
Traffic jams maul, load shedding haul
Africa’s frontier, Pearl of Africa
Floods of milk, hives of honey
Racing beasts, crawling reptiles
Home of gorillas, nest of each specie
Jungle for monsters, castle for prey
bed of mammals, host of nature
Path way of the sun, Mixture of weather
Source of the Nile, mother of great lakes
Host of rift valleys, pride of huge Mountains
Pool of hot springs, pack of great rocks
Mother of investors, lover of strangers
Home of kingdoms, shrine of martyrs
Cocktail of languages, blend of tribes and races
Prize of education, oven of destiny
Center of minerals, mogul of nature
Preserver of creation, Lover of God
Many parties, one leader
Mother Uganda
NB:Uganda is a landlocked country in East Africa whose diverse landscape encompasses the snow-capped Rwenzori Mountains and immense Lake Victoria. Its abundant wildlife includes endangered gorillas and chimpanzees as well as rare birds
Thought of writing about this great nation of mine..
I once lay dormant in my carnivorous cave
As the insidious smoke slowly sealed my grave
A spiralling spirit that had become
A dreamer of dreams second to none
***
I am the black hole in your abyss
Devouring with demons in a state of bliss
I am the one who fell from grace
I am the conqueror who has no face
The heart is the place where I roam
Seeking refuge I have no home
The mind is the place where I swell
Creating desires for you’re wishing well
I am the sword that strikes with intent
With weeping wounds in your lavish lament
I am the darkness that covers all
I am the beast who’s rage does maul
***
Now my heart awakens in the morning blue
With dancing raindrops against the misty dew
My eyes now cherish the loving light
As I walk away from the darkest night
Visions of angels in the summer breeze
As their love pours down from the maple trees
The rainbows appear as they paint the sky
With diving doves that give chase to the butterfly
Mountains soar as they stretch their peaks
While the meadows lie still as heaven speaks
Now my soul can fully rejoice
For I feel A breath of angels within their voice.
Feb.06.2016
Ignite your heart and let there be light
When darkness of lust ushers love and peace take flight
The claws of wars and strife maul the face of mankind
Termite of time swallows the soul and mind
Souls are blackened with pretence and lies
The colorful rainbow vanishing from skies, ugliness thrives
The demon of greed let loose, multiplies
The ravaging of earth being witnessed by skies
Let us harness the wild horse of desires
Life is short build no empires
Listen O you! Mubaraks, Gaddafis, Saddams and likes
Repent before the mighty hand of Providence strikes
Cyrus, Caesar and Alexander’s might
All vanished and nowhere in sight
Their pomp, grandeur, diamonds and gold
Perished, robbed, squandered and sold
Why then rob, steal and store
Insatiable lust wanting more and more
The glamour of wealth you so much adore
Vanishes through the other door
The edifice of your political power, your strength
Your greed and lust going to any length
Have sealed the destiny of all oppressed
Frail, embittered, forlorn, depressed
You caterers of misery, anguish and sorrow
Known tyrants of history tomorrow
Those that rely on shrewdness and cunning
Those that natures calls keep shunning
The wealth of the nation, a trust treat
Listen to what sense and sanity entreat
Ignite your heart with the flame of love and care
Spare the nation from anguish and despair
---
Sintra, Portugal July 22, 2012
World, beware of the turmoil to come, don't be caught in your hiding
succumbing to erratic fear, oppress all shivers and face the vile assailant
with a defying glance, then bite him...be that hornet with a venomous sting
to end his brutality: he came to destabilize your land to achieve conquest!
Never comply, disregard a concept that spreads chaos and ignores justice,
come forward warriors and defeat with valor the blood-thirsty and the mad;
your fight is for an honorable cause: you're the hornets that are eager to bite,
and poison the enemy with your venom that's very painful when injected!
Don't wait until the threat becomes real, use your instincts and do prevail,
these godless and lawless men ferociously attack whoever despises them;
when we stir up their anger, they can be more vicious than hungry lions that maul:
they come forward and speak evil, their intent is to spread global mayhem!
I rather make peace than fight, revel in my freedom and shake hands with others:
If I must fight to preserve my liberties, I will indeed: I'll be a hornet fearless of bees!
I suppose struggling bards (such as I) are wont to muse
Upon profound or inane topics to propound our views.
So, it occured to me how baffling the English language could be,
To new arrivals to our shores from international potpourri.
Will he ever master the usage of to, two, tutu and too?
Should he order "coal" or "cole" slaw at his favorite rendevous?
Plane could be a woodworking tool or is it that thing in the sky,
Or something plain and simple or a plain of undulating rye?
He tries to sort out the subtleties of yawl and ya'll,
And the nuances of aunt, ant and if that ain't all,
How can he figure out the use of maul, moll and mall?
Is it a golf ball or a formal ball? 'Tis enough to make him bawl!
He must ever ponder if a yard is three feat or three feet,
And is addled about the use of peek, peak and pique.
Is a pupil a kid in class or something to do with the eye?
Buy, bi, by and bye, now what does each of those imply?
His fear is that he'll never get it write or is it rite or right?
He preys (or prays?) for deliverance from his fearful plight.
Momma mia! He's bewildered and just wants to return home,
To that Eternal City in Italy called Rome (or is it Roam?)!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A dog can bite me.
A cat can scratch me.
A grizzly bear could maul me critically
and maybe even kill me possibly,
but I would never ever take it personally.
I love all animals unconditionally,
and if any animal were to be put down tragically
due to any injury that they may have inflicted upon me,
it would truly upset me absolutely
because I'd be the one at fault, the true guilty party.
I communicated my intentions to them wrong obviously
and they reacted not with malice but instinctively only.
We tend to forget that they are a complete separate specie
and cannot think or reason like you and me.
They simply don't have that capability.
Coexistence through understanding them is the key
and falls not upon them, but is our responsibility only.
Like a bud on a bough
Wakes up with the kiss of breeze
Blows like a rose attracting bees and butterflies
With enchanting beauty under the canopy of skies
Entices, charms, dances, smiles and laughs
Allures, attracts, loves, sings and sighs
Conquers, demolishes, builds and wins
Climbs on the peak of glory and spirits
The cruel claws of autumn lay in ambush to maul it
It droops, fades and withers like a flower
Ravaged by the hot winds of change
Ends up in the abyss and dust of non-entity
Abandoned by love and betrayed by friends
It languishes, grieves, broods and cries
With the inner flame of self it fries
Imprisoned in a tattered body it suffers in agony and perishes.
Sintra, Portugal. Dec. 10, 2014
The honesty of kin, childhood, the win
to have it all, the prize, the goal,
a Mother's prayer, the senseless maul,
somewhere within my reach, still small!
The hot wheel, faded, paintless steel
within my hand ~ my heart did feel
my Son, but three or four reveal
his coping, his new life, my teel.
The years, fond scheme, and yet within
this child still reckon with esteem
his choices, hurts, constants begin
my focused art, would still find glean!
Within the sewing basket tucked
amidst the buttons, colors mixed,
this small child's toy, not run amuck
scavenged quixotic Mother's fix!
His heyday, now at fifty-two
amidst the bulging corporate trade,
once tiny, sweet, His eyes of blue
but focused on toy cars parade!
Now oil and gas, a larger trek
all busy, but with time so pressed,
a family home, the still recess
of waiting for their coverage blessed!
From small to big, a child's ingress
resumes from trusting through duress
the simple moments of caress
are chosen monument's suggest!
God keep my courage to arrest
those seaming giant's fouling sport,
that from some innocence' impress
ambition's honesty to test!
Contention's wander, thereby less
the larger goal retreat, reveal
the cost of money brings duress
a childhood's faith, much quieter . . . . real!
Wales 980 BC, Sierra Leone, Congo,Niger, Peru, India, Pakistan, Russia, China & Philippines
Chapped scabbed skin, dirt encrusted, blue-pallid in the moonlight;
stars glow radiant light, wolf howl midnight.
Insects stir, skin scratch, tangled hair amass
naked ,as born, rise; the bore hole calls, days task.
Cracked like a seagulls eggs, the cave’s opening calls.
The gold-red-green copper metal's worth all,
child moles, mother moles, dwarfs small, crawl;
between the crevasse in the knocker's wall.
Three hand spans wide, a mere two foot tall;
oil burns in claywells, soot coats on dirty faces,
through rankness they squirm, hands on bone awls;
naked children, and women mine in these places
for raw metal to make the weapons of man.
In before dawn, baskets full, haul, out at dusk, no sun at all....
melt the metal, make, maul,
for the warriors, our defense, hunger gnaws, this makes no sense….
Grease fills the air beyond despair, stench fills each venous vein;
contorted forms, of those small, helpless, born, fills the shunt with continual pain.
From the dawn of time, this drama's had play,
one hundred and fifty eight million children; slaves today.
Women and children sacrificed so men can get paid.
*sorry topic deserves more than 16 lines