Best Mordacious Poems
tap of nails, slide wood, pull drapes
stains loiter in round mug shapes
water sipped, books stack, words leap
hush wizened pages, neighbors sleep
journals, confessionals, down or up
old cartridge spills, pens horde in cup
shackled hands, lungs breathe, heart drums
an empty tissue box, lamp hums
Try, stay busy, must forget
One more read, she might regret
mordacious night, she wakes from sleep
her bursting thoughts alone must keep
pack nightstand, smooth trifle snags
slip his book in its carry-on bag
His words elicit songs in ear
from his masterpiece, held dear
open drawer, last book in pile
bottom of the heap, exiled
giving in, she dares to rest
his hard cover on her chest
remove jacket, ne’er oppress
dust off passion and caress
thumb his chapters, breathe him in
recite his name and notes again
too much cologne, too much sweat
open pages, fan her breast
She knows he does not write for her
emotions shatter, dreams endure
she scribbles margins in duress
between his lines, her discontent
the nightstand drawer hides her distress
she’s indexed under “o”, obsessed
Written 4/4/17 for Eight Word Challenge Contest
Categories:
mordacious, books, crush, longing, night,
Form:
Rhyme
The wizened hunter had but one cartridge
remaining this was no trifle matter.
For he’d been attacked by a hungry horde
of rats when he took shelter in this cave.
And now a mordacious wind was morphing
into a severe storm and he was scared.
Yet he had to layover until dawn
for the blizzard’s wrath had imprisoned him.
The mere thought of his starving family
elicited nightmares and pangs of guilt.
For he felt shackled to this loathsome cave
unable to hunt and provide them food.
Setting the horizon afire Sol rose
as dawn's first light pierced the black of night.
And with one shot starvation was diverted
for a buck stood dead center in his sights.
Categories:
mordacious, angst, emotions, fear, feelings,
Form:
Blank verse
He is wizened, shackled to the horde,
Trifle deaf, he would loiter use mordacious words,
Owned cartridge of film that would elicit laughter.
06/04/2017
Contest: eight word contest.
Categories:
mordacious, anger, identity,
Form:
Verse
In her resting place — she’d toy
with shadows, matchsticks
and glow in the dark paint.
Out and about — she’d fly
through the night, wax her teeth
and loudly sip her straw.
A mordacious-red stain upon her tongue.
1/29/2018
Brian Strand’s Premiere Contest 125
Sevenling Poem
Categories:
mordacious, horror,
Form:
Verse
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me, until she elicits them out,
Wizened by time, she knows that otherwise I might turn mordacious...
God guides my pen and has assigned her my way,
~ She is the vociferous voice of my heart ~
She knows my malleable moods and masterfully makes magic
By weaving whispers into wistful words,
~ She is the byzantine boon of my being ~
With cogent candor she cajoles me to compose poesy,
She and I share a companionable camaraderie...
In the mystical moondust of Maker's majestic mercy,
I acquiesce to her ingenious genius,
~ She is an efficacious eclectic enigma ~
For sometimes, she plays truant tricks,
Her surreptitious evanescence is a conspicuous conspiracy,
Abandoned, I have to await her august appearance...
The soft stardust of her sartorial splendor,
Renders me a mere puppet of her puissant prowess,
~ She is a phenomenal Phoenix ~
For she encourages me to endeavor towards excellence,
Her alacrity aggrandizes my acumen,
Having faith in her fortuitous favour, I flourish...
~ She is my God-given "gift of grace" ~
Her multifarious munificence is a monumental mystery,
She has transformed me from a fruitless flibbertigibbet
To a fulfilled female fount with her unfailing finesse...
~ She is my mysterious, magnanimous Muse ~
Feeling forever grateful to God for her grandiloquence.
5th January 2023
Categories:
mordacious, appreciation, muse,
Form:
Free verse
An Empty Page- Free Verse
Empty thoughts loiter in his mind
As new words he tries to find
But shackled by an absent muse
No words come forth for him to choose
His wizened face now wears a frown
And the cartridge of his ink has dried
He searches the silence for a clue
But it fails to elicit a response
His mordacious muse now prefers
To leave him without a horde of words
To trifle with him at this stage
And leave him with an empty page
-----------------------------------------------
An Empty Page- Triolet
An empty page, a poet's woe
In panic mode as muse departs
The moon and stars have lost their glow
An empty page, a poet's woe
Thoughts come and go, no words to show
Just a line and a verse jumpstarts
An empty page, a poet's woe
In panic mode as muse departs
Not For Contest
..
Categories:
mordacious, muse, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me... until you elicit them out,
Wizened by time, you know that otherwise I might turn mordacious;
Thank God I found you, my dear Muse.
04/03/17
Categories:
mordacious, muse, poetry, thanksgiving,
Form:
Free verse
The beggar
Wizened by lack, more than by age
The old blind beggar, who does loiter our streets
Unknown to most, is the legend
Behind the tales of Joe the bandit
With his great horde, he'd ridden into our town
The mordacious look, on his heavily bearded face
Did elicit fear, from the bravest.
Our good old town; always his to pillage
The lives of the town's folks; nothing but a trifle
He'd kill to instill terror, at the slightest provocation
But his next ride, into our little town
Had been his last ride, into any town.
A spent cartridge a meter, had lined our streets
The drains and sewers, had also run red
As a weak town's folks, had risen to war
Killing the bandits, all but Joe.
Shackled and marched round the old town
His life was spared, with his eyes gouged out
His new image; a message to others
That Old James Town, was out of bounds.
03/04/17
Categories:
mordacious, courage, imagination, violence,
Form:
Narrative
Written: January 10, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wenches of Whimsy and Woe
In the world of the fiddled gruntingly,
where micturitions dance,
and arty yawning plurdled gabbleblotchits,
lurgid bees buzz with mordacious glee.
Eardges justle and grumble,
festering infectious organ squealers,
gnawing at the edges excruciatingly,
Intergalactic highways scream,
echoing in their lavish friars.
Gandersalps gleam in the grim groggy gloom
graceful gliding gallant swarupincrafts majestically soar
whoop, wail, wassail wondrous rowan wood
cormulent chitchat flickers like flames
Elevate the mundane,
let foolishness dissolve into the ether,
In the charm of nostalgia, we find the replevy abyss,
Paraprosdokian twists lift us higher.
Triskaidekaphobia slumbers wrapped in jest.
Schadenfreude influences us as
katabatic whispers from the abyss fade away
callipygian figures emerge,
bringing moments of unexpected joy.
Vessels overflowing with dreams,
countehsee the orbs and clusters
while Guinevere gazes, sly and wise,
clipshank the past, whitebootz to come
Here as we meander in whimsical unfolding
Categories:
mordacious, adventure, appreciation, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
hidden not to elicit
a trifle response
spiteful mordacious
shackled on a horde race
cartridge loiter about the ground
wizened with years
4/3/2017
Categories:
mordacious, abuse, holocaust, war,
Form:
Free verse
The equanimity of the day reached beyond my solitary realm,
As if the tune of demise fathomed the doleful heart of mine;
Escaped from the autistic aftermath blamed by mordacious charm,
Healed beyond charade of some credulous bonds -
As if the tune of avow choired with the tune of demise,
Crowning an arena slewed by the tune of ravine;
Vehement boo outstayed by the tune of shush,
I composed the time with the music of lenience -
Odes so lined are tuned with feigned mash.
A ho-hum of hilarity hemmed in beyond my soulful eyes,
As if the malign sang by the oneirisms couched yearses;
Once paroled from the time, that seemed so dour, by the unforeseen lies,
Parroted beyond acme of agape love –
As if the song of idiom sinned by the song sung by malign,
Ceased a chronicle defied by the song of revival,
Eyeses esteemed bequeathed by the song of rash,
I composed the journey with the song of lenience –
Odes so lined are sung with bereft gush.
Topic: Tolerance
Categories:
mordacious, depression, lost love, sadsong,
Form:
Free verse
Cruel time had wizened her
and horde of memories were shackled,
She lost her way, she felt so numb,
and continued to loiter in snow,
With mordacious look,
she tried to elicit response from strangers,
But her trifle tears allowed
cartridge of her patience shrink and slow.
'Sad Free Verse in 2017 only '
Sponsor:Laura Loo
April 4, 2017.
Eight word challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
MUST USE THE FOLLOWING WORDS 1. CARTRIDGE 2. ELICIT 3. MORDACIOUS 4. HORDE 5. SHACKLED 6. TRIFLE 7. WIZENED 8. LOITER
Categories:
mordacious, deep, lost, old,
Form:
Free verse
Value Of Life, A Question
Were I wizened, not shackled to mordacious horde,
I'd not loiter to elicit trifle rewards,
With my one cartridge, could I, end life sadly bored?
April 5th, 2017
Categories:
mordacious, dark, death, deep, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme
Sarcastic words spewed forth. Such vile mordacious sayings,
Always arguing and scoffing in the square where she'd loiter
Ridiculing the gathered horde for their time spent in praying
Casting her leers and jeers to elicit their contempt in return
Anger had shackled her mind and body, wizened with age.
She sneered but no one heeded the horrid curses and the
Trifle mutterings from this sputtering unbeliever in a rage.
I heard the venom she fired, exploding like an overloaded
Cartridge shell. Deluded woman... on and on she goaded.
March 24, 2017
Eight word challenge
of John Hamilton
Words: mordacious-loiter-horde
elicit-shackled-wizened-trifle-cartridge
Categories:
mordacious, conflict, humanity,
Form:
Acrostic
At first it appeared nothing was wrong,
But then one cartridge could be seen on the floor
Then more bullets were found scattered nearby
A horde of bullets in a wooden box shacked to the floor.
Through the door you could see a wizened foot,
A body beneath a dirty bloody bullet riddled blanket in the other room.
It was easy to elicit that this was a murder scene, brutal and stark!
Undeniably mordacious was the sign on the wall:
Welcome to 'Home Sweet Home'.
To loiter any longer at the scene was dangerous for me.
Perhaps the killer was hiding nearby?
Perhaps someone would see me there at the scene of the crime?
Perhaps I would be accused of the crime, if I reported it?
So I quickly looked to see if I had left any trace of me at the scene.
I looked around to see if any one was watching.
The 'coast was clear' and so I quietly and hastily got the hell out of there.
A trifle risky to flee the crime scene,
But it's done and dusted, my fate is sealed, I hope that my flight begets no regrets.
Categories:
mordacious, murder,
Form:
Narrative