Best Nettle Poems
Drained of opaque innocence
Perfected by your toxicity,
I was laid bare beneath the narcissistic sun,
Searing deep within dehydrated pupils,
Stripping my soul of all humanity,
until your sinister tongue was all I could hear.
Your empty promises clothed these bones;
running was no longer an option,
as hiding became nearly impossible within your shadows.
Voices, eating through my cerebral cortex,
tainted even the demons that resided within my mind.
Minuscule reminders of my life before became particles of dust,
floating through suffocating air,
choking the little oxygen you let me breathe,
until the poison became too much to take.
Falling to my knees, vomiting your vile lies,
my life flashed like motion pictures before my eyes.
A choice was given:
either purge—rip the cursed, stinging nettle from my veins,
or die under your cruelty.
I will not rot for an insignificant monster;
a cleansing is long overdue.
Categories:
nettle, dark, gothic, imagery, night,
Form:
Free verse
“Here lieth baby Rachel
Born 10th Sept 1894 Died 30th Oct 1896”
Marble stone that lays above the head,
white chippings that blanket the body,
flowerless vase that sits naked
crying out for a fragrant moment
if only to perfume its stagnancy.
I see an odorous pool being replenished,
rain drops aiding hope and life,
a renewal to the neoclassical container
that one day must have been complemented
with loving hands of grief.
I find no track to this lonely corner,
forgotten in this living place of death!
No visitor to gaze upon its epitaph
no one to care “Whom here lieth”
Beneath this broken monument.
“Velvet skin that the cruel age turns to husks,
naked bones left to mature the grass above,
weeping willow guardian of shade and light,
Who! Knows what nourishment
its searching tentacles beget.”
“Corpus soul aimlessly floating in limbo,
looking at me here this very minute?
Feeling my sensitivity as I stand here, alone,
Is there no escape for anyone?
‘Unless life is indeed the enemy’”
Warped in thought I stare at her monument,
built by caring minds and dexterous hands,
tradesmen whom with spade and chisel
penetrated sculptured within nature
just to honour a child’s brief life on earth.
I walk away along the newly beaten track,
grass and nettle bow before my impending stride,
my mind is wrenched with reverence,
I climb aboard my mechanized shovel
“I wonder why! Why should it bother me so!”
© Harry J Horsman 1992
Categories:
nettle, me,
Form:
Narrative
As heavy frost settles 'pon the brown hill
And floats down to the level, thoughts are stilled
Words rise up to nettle but spirits thrill
Winter's north breeze meddles_ spring's buds to kill
Japanese Magnolia's buds wait until
spring's warm rains flood the earth; then sap buds fill.
Winter's pause, earth lauds rebirth, and birds' shrill
Vexing cold squads stay away and be still
At spring's rebirth be awed, winter's cold distill
Death where is resurrection's applaud, still
Waiting for spring's hallowed birth, rapture's real
Transformation follows, one's fate sealed
Not part of the poem:
There is a powerful difference in having to say something
and having something to say!!
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest: Interlocking Rhyme
Written: January 19,2015
Finis'
Categories:
nettle, life,
Form:
Rhyme
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
Categories:
nettle, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
It’s autumn time in America,
the colors are changing ...
(it’s alt right to gasp in whited disbelief)
as poplar majority, quaking Aspen leaves
slowly fall off
the John Birch branches
Minority bad weather report
says with autumnal census certainty,
that the colors are changing
irrevocably
And as such,
the changing of the times
has weed hateful nettle disgust
rooted permanently
Forest green consequences are seen
ever spreading
with solyent rapidity ...
(it’s alt right to paint a Snow White
enchanted cottage fantasy)
As the waxen ruling majority,
manifestly, cope with
becoming the newest minority
These be the autumnal days —
the kaleidoscope, tabernacle feast harvest
befalling America
Changing of the color landscape
is being coldly received,
winter frostily ...
(it’s alt right to fiery bemoan in ash-white grief)
The reaping season of Autumn
has duly arrived in America,
with equinox clarity
Equal time for daydreams and nightmares
demand sober vigilance,
as the latter-day fermented rain
begins to foment fall —
An end gathering of
rainbow intolerance disparaging,
mightily ...
(really, it’s alt right to cry with pale hope rantings)
Winter teardrop flakes of uncertainty
are alabaster doubtful falling
America now ghostly faces
the haunting reality of changing colors,
changing what was to what will be
Autumnal days of whine and wilted white roses:
a nostalgic weep binge of dead leaves ...
Drunken ivory desires
porcelain pining
for past skin demographic superiority
Categories:
nettle, allusion, autumn, perspective, truth,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Tender tear drops drip
like dreams from pain ted petals, as slowly, I
pick my path through the st inging nettles of every pain
filled word you say. You pus h me away with idle chattel,
as in my heart I fight this loosing battle. Can't you see I'm
so lonely without you. I would gladly be there to hold
your hand through life's insipid sorrow if you would
but let me. I would fill you with joy and make
you smile each day with fragrant lavender
roses. But I know you don't feel the
same. Your indifference hurts.
Am I so difficult to love?
I would joyfully give
you my world
if you let
me.
01/29/17
Categories:
nettle, angst,
Form:
Shape
The bees buzzed as they always did
and storms receded.
Silence hushed itself inside a shell.
Jackrabbits hopped away from hell
still intoxicated.
The village swarmed with threats.
Honest men could no longer
make their way. Poets payed
their debts for being who they were;
blessed, and afraid.
Wives bled, chasing phantoms in the
snow. "Art's no consolation."
Husbands crept along their spikes
of faithlessness. Rabbits left.
High in space their conscience burrows.
He drags along his skinny guest;
terrific, bleeding & uncouth.
Mercy equates with Obesity -
"Let me bulge and burst my longing!
Make me fatter than the fattest Truth."
A woman yelps, "I like a good romantic"
and so she laughs and feigns forget.
"Be like the constant nights of snow."
But when the orchards raze themselves to bone -
he pays attention to her neglect.
Ponies stall. Apollo's thief was
phony. Hope is tall and all his
hollow follies, "Entertain the queen!"
somehow like a burning house afloat
with sediment & gasoline.
_"Is all my life in vain? The puppets
with their masquerading calls -
do they see me, twisting nettle,
knucklecutted at midnight, precious,
unseen like a fete with no stall?"_
"Ah, but you've met in Life's divining mirror
the very ladder of your beauty's fall.
Yet still in abstinence, still in nothingness
along the ridge of this exquisite loneliness -
crawl."
Categories:
nettle, love, sadme,
Form:
THE FAIRY TREE
Somewhere on the black mountain
Overlooking Belfast town
There’s a fairy tree with umbilical roots
Which go far beneath the ground
The local people fear its power
They pay it full respect
For they know that deep beneath the earth
There’s a powerful fairy sect
They live between the neverworld
And the world which we all know
Some folk have claimed to see them fly
With a fairy magic glow
Make sure you don’t get too close
Or you’ll feel the fairies wraith
And they’ll send the elves to put you
In a mucky nettle bath
The fairies have a job to do
In fact, it’s vital, you might say
They protect us from the evil trolls
And they keep the imps at bay
They look after all the honey bees
And they paint the butterflies
They keep our rivers running
And make rainbows in the skies
So when you’re outside walking
And you see a fairy tree
Just wave, smile and remember
They look after you and me
Categories:
nettle, beauty, dream, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
Let me write poems for all our souls
With a pen in my hand …
Let me communicate all our words
With a pen in my hand …
Let me take all emotions and confuse them with my own.
Let me have all notions to tend until they have grown.
Let me cry for all our sakes
With a pen in my hand …
Let me pray for all tomorrows
With a pen in my hand …
Let me dare as I know best to distinguish all life's nettle.
Give me all of your unrest so each heart in turn may settle.
Categories:
nettle, emotions, poetry,
Form:
Lyric
Her innocence in daisy plaits ,displayed
Such naievty was so soon betrayed,
Touching romance' nettle brought much pain
When discarded,by his disdain,
Tears welled upon her pillow,
Forsaken love long wears the willow-
A broken heart,no words could save,
Death's red poppy,petals her grave.
Inspired by Ophelia by John Everett Millais
http://www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ViewWork?workid=9506
Categories:
nettle, art, lost love
Form:
Ekphrasis
EARTH CHANTS
I dream and stare out my window,
windblown leaves, scars and troubles
blow like fluff from dandelions, settling
inside my shadow....hung upon my
memory-wall, reflecting moon dust
far from Heaven, out upon this shapeless
poem, buried deep within my soul...
Songs, the minstrels trusted from before,
can only be heard at low tide, as crabs
scurry atop their barren bones.... sea shells
speak of my future, If I listen quietly, but,
there is no sound, only echoes from the earth....
Cloisters of Monks chant to processions of ants
as centuries dim, captured in sorrows, even as
the tall grasses sway in song, remembering the
journey through the endless mist, of the river
that never ends...
Sightless snakes snap their warnings to heaping
piles of gold the minions of mayhem mock in
worship, ignoring the chasm greed creates...
Soon, the stinging nettle will understand the
painless path, and I will boil their roots, and
feed them to the venomous snakes, then
burn the bridge that leads to torment...
I can still hear the chants of the Elders,
calmly nurturing the coming season of change,
content once more, as stars smile upon
our future, and seeds, sown before our time,
bear fruit as told by our chosen ones....
Chants forever heard....
chants
forever
heard
Categories:
nettle, nature
Form:
Lyric
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner
Categories:
nettle, analogy, appreciation, celebrity, music,
Form:
Free verse
groundsel
forget-me not
my pretty spurge
mere fools parsley
sowing thistles
a
dead nettle
leaving such
bitter cress
a scentless mayweed
in a field of pansy
O scarlet pimpernel
a dan-de-iion
black
as nightshade
a common poppy
speedwell
my wild radish my fat hen
penny crest
in a sheperd's
purse
Categories:
nettle, fantasy, word play,
Form:
List
We cannot tame a raging storm, so with patience,
we must wait for the calm. ~ by poet
The balmy afternoon had been fulgent and warm
Until darkness foreshadowed an approaching storm
Wailing winds of the nor'easter would soon cause grief
damaging fragile coral growth upon the reef
Leaden clouds encroached and shrouded the gloomy day
The aura changed from gold to hue of graphite gray
It seemed as if an eclipse turned day into night
as feathered wings rose in unison to take flight
Thunder's billowed breath blew across the ocean's waves
as if the tempest was demanding what it craves
Atmosphere grew heavy with each powerful roar
White caps rushed with clangor against the sandy shore
With vengeance, the storm hurled jagged lightening strikes
Split second flashes that resembled silver spikes
* * *
Then, the deluge rained like arrows, sharp as metal
That would've wounded men like a stinging nettle
The monsoon swept overland, clear across the dunes
on zephyr winds that howled diabolical tunes
The storm seethed with a furor that was unsuppressed
leaving the seaside landscape despoiled and distressed
Battered by ferocious weather that was to blame
Nature's forces can be impossible to tame
Finally, squalls dwindled and waves no longer surged
Glowing rays of sunlight defiantly emerged
And so the storm came with raging temper to vent,
pillaged treasures from the sea. Yes, it came and went
It was quite a balmy evening, fulgent and warm
Upon the beach seashells lie, displaced by the storm
Categories:
nettle, storm,
Form:
Sonnet
At the sound of the gong you appear
to seek some welcome refreshment,
dear guests to be greeted right here
with a cuppa is our sincere intent.
There's a flask of filter coffee
and a pot of tea, a fresh brew,
there are also other infusions.
Now what shall I pour out for you?
You may choose decaf coffee or tea,
perhaps camomile or peppermint,
maybe some barley cup – gluten free,
green tea with lemon, mango or mint,
or green tea with jasmine accents,
'revitalising lemon with ginger',
'pure fennel – all natural ingredients',
or 'wild apple cinnamon with ginger'.
Earl Grey comes in various styles,
vanilla chai or rose lemonade
and assorted red bush bags in piles.
It depends on how you'd like it made.
Then I should mention liquorice too.
You could sample 'blackberry and nettle',
or into the garden just for you
I could fetch lemon balm plus the kettle.
We've 'red berries infusion caffeine free',
hot chocolate, horlicks or ovaltine –
but these need more preparation than tea.
Oh, there's a lonesome bag lost in this tin.
To whatever I've brewed for you
I could add sugar or saccharin,
maybe milk (or soya in lieu),
then lift out the bag or leave it in.
Next time you come over to stay
your preference I'll try to remember
but I suspect there'll be some dismay
with yet more choice than November.
Now I have come to the washing up,
that Yorkshire tea is still in the pot;
filter coffee I've poured not a cup,
so into the sink I'll empty the lot.
Categories:
nettle, chocolate, drink, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain