Best Niggling Poems
Hello there, do please come inside- no need to wipe your feet
excuse the mess, I fear you'll find it isn't very neat.
This place is always untidy, victim of my disorder
from old hang-ups to memories, I'll admit I am a hoarder.
In here hanging like mobiles, noisy, at odds with my feelings
are life's little distractions, niggling, swinging from the ceiling.
Careful with your torch, don't shine it underneath the bed
beneath it there is lurking a dark sprouting creeping dread.
Most people couldn't live with it, a disturbing thing to some,
as it cowers in the corner from the things still yet to come.
Tread lightly in the corridor, just mind out where you walk
you'll trip on my anxiety that bobs up like a cork.
The fire is stoked, the hearth is swept and logs stacked in a heap
my warmth to all well tended (well, except when I'm asleep).
Cardboard tubes in disarray, and more you cannot see-
plans I drew up in the past, none ever meant to be.
Mannequin in veil of black, arms raised as if to dance
with all my past relationships that never stood a chance.
This rocking chair, my temper, that sometimes I must sit in
and you'll notice that the varnish of my patience has worn thin.
My sense of humour's in the loft, protected by my hats
seemed like the right place for it, since my friends all think I'm bats.
That one small window by the beam lets my faith's light shine in
I'm sorry it's not brighter, window dirty from past sin.
Still, I can climb and open it to aim my telescope
for somewhere in the darkness lies the faintest glimpse of hope
that keeps me living here in peace and shelters me from sad;
you wonder why I live in here? Well, out there-
its just mad!
September16th 2015
For contest 'Inside my head'- sponsor John Lawless
Mindful
Startled out of nonchalant light,
Wakefulness stands at attention
Ignited flame from the eternal candle,
Energized vigil of the watchman
At the soul’s dawning daybreak
Tingling in the presence
Of every dappled infinite breath.
Rotating eye of illumination
Watchful, like a lighthouse beacon hovering,
Charts rocks and shoals through clear oceans insight,
Every nerve exposed in circumspection
Sometimes cringing in wary expose
Often basking in the light touch of satisfaction
As niggling prophecy finds confirmation in revelation
Throwing off the blinded penury of antonyms,
Embracing flashing synonyms of wisdom,
Tears of the heedful heart touch drab puzzles poverty
To polish with refinement’s shine burnished enthusiasm
For the incandescent dancing mindful
Then banish chary strobes of destitute indifference
Reaching beyond self-centered parentheses.
A lantern of thoughtfulness in floodlights
Of full harvest shared – no scattered crumbs of bread
Baked to stone in scathing flashes of the false
Eloquent vigilant splendor - never morning extinguished –
Torch to awaken lambent radiance of clarity’s joy,
Identity of the pilgrim heart, ejects sightless shades
Mindfulness blends the conscious scattered fragments
For Mosaics in clear lit portraits of charity's open hands
Throwing off the numb stalker branded carelessness
Born of intentional ignorance
Seeker’s actuated incentive to the attentive –
To hear! To see! To feel! To move in birth!
Action invigorated by accentuated humility of grace.
Date Written 6-10-21
Best #1 Poem - September 2021
1st place Trophy Win Poetry Contest - Mindful
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology - It's Still Poetry
Are Flowers for Picking?
I question myself,
silently standing beside
the quaint wooden kiosk
in the centre of the square.
My eyes scan the freshly
picked assortment of roses,
carnations, lilies, and orchids.
The array of colours tempts,
softening niggling doubts
arising from tender pity.
I enter the hospice, briskly
making my way to her room.
Her haggard face lights up,
slightly masking her fragility.
A wan withering rose…
I swiftly hide my pain
behind a loving smile and
the fresh flowers in my hand.
-------------------------------
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick 1 Contest (April 2020)
“I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.”
Frida Kahlo“
In the absence of love,
a childhood is shaped by the stars,
but when black smoke is the only impression in the light,
sorrows peel in soundless motions - slow burning.
When fate is sealed with a goodbye,
in an 'all I never asked for' moment,
the weight of fear appears as a niggling nightmare
in our personal book of dreams,
so we drift into an abyss of discarded destinies -
untamed we roam into a wildfire of lost souls.
I'm a silent knight unable
to suppress this wandering muse,
so I portray my darkness through rosewater ink,
which flows like a scarlet oasis of waterfalls,
merging into sapphire oceans of poetic heartbeats.
I blame my past for this saviour complex,
but battling demons has become my beautiful undoing.
Ugliness of sugar coated words,
hidden behind metaphorical daggers,
has engraved scars with unhealed wounds,
leading me upon a path resenting sealed emotions.
When nostalgic rain sings in sea shell whispers,
I wish I could hold the sun in my arms,
to stop me from pouring
in melancholic bleeding moonlight,
but my beloved's eyes resemble dandelion reveries,
reminding me of a fragrant bouquet of memories,
pleading to personify her in
petrichor perfumed poems.
Her scent resurrects my muse to life..
She always says:
"Never mind the moon, it's only a reminder of forgotten midnight promises."
How her heart is an island where my waves will eternally kiss her shores.
A sanctuary for my inner child to forever build sandcastles."
My destiny leads to the end of a rainbow,
which rests upon the ivory sands of her treasure -
where internal flames become calm.
Line of inquiry:
"betwixt the pulse of our heartbeat
simply present, head-heart linking
dwelling in time stretched blissful peace
awareness became unblinking" Unseeking Seeker
He was a charming chameleon, saying all the right things
in that beguiling masculine timbre of his sultry voice.
Allure in his hazel eyes promised things my heart hadn't felt,
but it ignored my head's warning until I had no choice.
A niggling of worry continued to swirl through my mind
that something was wrong. Something I couldn't quite define.
He had shortcomings but to all of them my heart was blind.
I desperately tried but reasoning couldn't keep my heart in line.
Much is written about the rebellion of a treacherous heart,
and how it rhythmically pulses with the need for passion's fire.
It's been the cause of many sleepless nights when I'm fraught
knowing I cannot extinguish my heart of its burning desire.
It has always wanted what it wanted and wouldn't be denied.
It's always managed to overrule what my mind was thinking...
until it'd been crushed and broken, and only then did it confide
that it should've paid more heed to my head and heart linking.
Hearts can be guilty of transgressions. Mine was by betraying me.
Then it had to pay the steepest price that infatuation could ask.
From the grasp of lustfulness, my heart was able to break free.
Balancing the volition between mind and heart is not an easy task.
Lightheaded I ambled
towards the lonely pub.
Liquor helps sometimes you know.
It burns the mind,
empties it
of niggling thoughts,
of subtle yearnings,
of ambitious aspirations.
There she was
redhead and flushed.
A companion in distress.
We drank together,
confessed together,
envied together.
Time's up.
Outwards we lurched
hugging each other
towards the beach
where empty cabins
gave us respite.
Morning arrived.
She was not there.
Pity!
I knew not her name.
Might as well call her
whisky.
Much has been written about a treacherous heart,
and how it beats with the need for passion's fire.
I was content on my own, without a single thought
of falling in love, but soon I was filled with desire.
He was perfectly charming, saying all the right things
with that masculine timbre of a sultry voice.
His eyes of ocean blue, pulled at my heart strings
until I fell in love with him. I had no choice.
But there was a niggling worry floating in my mind
that something was off that I couldn't quite define.
He had flaws, but to all of them my heart was blind,
refusing to warn me with a dissuasive sign.
His true character showed when his temper flared
and his verbal abuse caught me by surprise.
He resembled a rabid creature, with teeth bared
and became a snarling stranger before my eyes.
"I shoulda seen it comin," the cliche is a phrase,
that tells the story of hindsight one should've taken.
But a treacherous heart refuses to see and then pays
the price of being wounded, bleeding and broken.
February 2, 2023
I Shoulda Seen It Comin' Contest
Sponsered by John Lawless
Plagued by incandescent ferments I grapple zealously,
with tower blocks of titan topsoil myriads,
and melange of eccentric foibles,
considered by some to be a minus,
but without this composite what is my real nature?
reflection on a manifest mettlesome being,
leaden skewed traffic jam’s tailback of relative prospect,
normalcy a supernatural synonym,
apperception fringed by lambent twinkling,
that tantalising twirl of clustered countless spirits,
quirk-some inklings seem a weakness,
whilst chasing galaxy of plus point,
self-ostracised by atypical apparently conflicting plethora,
grave as in shadow id, tombstone stark exit but salutary motto,
etched eerily by one staunch depiction,
on catalytic other form of self,
unresolved human traits in multiples,
indicative of lack, lack of bearing?
me that nutrient rich plot that has,
this wondrous green blade potential compass,
me as sumptuous summer gust freshener,
of inner coastal home philosopher’s dwelling,
me an endless random version,
of charcoal midnight gleeful ghost,
blithely skimming chimney tops on deep quest,
yet nascent dawn usher lurks within,
augurs well for that sound ultimate coexistence,
despite an underbelly of niggling doubt
Hopefully I’m kind
at heart but rare traits might just
scupper thoughtful aim
Written: December 09, 2023
______________________________________
Honeyed gold pearled shades
brown ferns and aspens
into shadowed paths
lit embers and oaks
As darkness draws near,
with bowed tears of stark
runic streaks of light
dapple my sky
showing only maze
of black enigmas
crimson, lucid blaze.
leading to plum sky.
Swift shades drape my thirst
like dim-lit daydreams
that persist through time
niggling at my nerves
in sparkling strings of
stern frame blush skyline!
whilst glum chorus swells
in ghostly darkness.
Gloom morphs darned mayhem
veiled cinereal shroud
as she touches me
gazing with sleek sight
hushed tones, wan relics
of laid skyline bleeds
lost in shades of rouge
Onyx oboe chords.
The blaze has withered
oblivion crave.
The colour of her Kohl uncertain,
She flips the pages of the magazines.
No hints, no clues, no advice.
Disgused as the voice of reason:
Common sense.
She paints her eyes to burnt orange
To match her dark complexion,
She wears a flowery gown still in fashion
She arrives at the party
Surveying the naked eyes staring
At the starry night.
She wrecks her brains
About an ill-advice
Of staring at the stars with
Naked eyes.
Her mind is blank.
Why is no one wearing Kohl anymore?
All the females are in strippy gowns.
The invitation said flowery gowns.
Is this a postmodern take
To flowery fashion?
She takes off her glasses
And wipes them clean
The stripes are still hurting her vision
Where is she?
Why are all the familiar faces
In stripes and not flowers?
The loud music plays
Familiar tunes
Bob Marley, the Doors
She floats to the music
Ripples of her hem.
Though this enigma;
Still unresolved;
Is niggling her.
She strikes up a conversation
With a handsome
Blond youth.
He admires her Kohl
Burnt orange and all.
Pays a complement about
Her rose tinted complexion
She blushes even more.
Though the conundrum
Is still there
Unresolved.
She puts on her brave face
And asks
"The flowers are hidden
Behind the stripes."
He answers casually
No touch of irony.
How she demands to know?
"Simple," he answers,
"Dresses are multi layered"
She feels like a fool.
She reproaches to the question
Of lack Kohl.
"No one cares to hide
Their eyes no more."
The youth
Says
"I like a woman in Kohl."
Yasemin Balandi
*no outsiders allowed inside
a lone rule breaking in
a no rule zone
nowhere to go in an open sea,
lost with somewhere to go
a sleepless dream
or was it a dreamless sleep?
getting confused with the steadiness
of finally feeling a constant heartbeat
slowing down in the fast lane...
unpredictable in the land of inevitability
the silence of the heart
thunders
in the mind
niggling...refusing to accept
what it all means, what it implies
denial or is it blindness?
putting up a **deep facade
but really
just floating--
feet on the clouds
with head in the ground
solid stone crumbles to dust
as ice melts the fire
of resistance--now sputtering,
sparkling shyly
as diamonds would
upside down
right side up
downside up
up side left
head tucked in
with neck sticking out
heart in throat, swallowing it
getting thirsty in the rain
fools made out of geniuses
or is it
geniuses made out of fools?
love~
so many are lost in it,
puzzling the mystified
and the rational
yet many understand it
when things fall into place
but
once a missing piece does fit,
it only finds other mysteries
stumbling on answers
in organized chaos
no wonder
people go crazy over it
Jan. 25, 2010
ok writing this sort of confused me lol
* found this posted on door somewhere here
** snatched this from Chris Aechtner (sorry Chris you're
like a mushroom here, so used it without permission, hope that's ok ^_~)
haha wrote this before a parent's meeting so have to rush out of here--
heehee trying to squeeze in an entry in Kristen's Oxymoronica contest :)
will try to catch up on comments soon, promise :) thanks!!
ok Wilma sticking with this title, thanks Missy :)
Finally got around to
writing on paper
Actually writing—
seems like forever
My pen flies,
runs away with my chicken scratch
much like a chicken
running away with its head cut off
Better write this…
feeling’s bearing down on me—
just niggling
Ever felt that way?
Like there are 999 fire ants
biting you
They crawl…bite…
just everywhere
and you wish
that you can just die
You wait for that
final fatal bite
--but it never comes
simply because it
needs that 1000th ant
It’s the magic ant
with the final deadly bite
So you are tortured
forever
You keep scratching,
itching, hurting
Never really knowing
where to scratch since
the itch is everywhere
and nowhere at all
Pretty frustrating
and so I just sigh.
Fire ants biting my heart.
*** Wrote this one because of the Ants in my towel plus I was feel angsty O_o
Gosh, that was crazzzzyy! Good thing I felt some of those ants biting me
on my shoulders and arm--then I stared at my towel and aaack,
it made my skin crawl--yeeek!!
Haha had to take a shower again-- *shudder* just thinking about it--
so nope, not for any contest ;)
Kind words are so very soft
We want to hear them so oft
They erase niggling old scars
So very soft, kind words are
Soul loves a healing touch
Grateful forever it's as such
Inner poisons it so removes
A healing touch, soul loves
You must pass a loving smile
Show bright canvas on an aisle
It reflects your grace and class
A loving smile you must pass
Soft skills we all must learn
Let no ashes remain in urn
Though muscle power thrills
We all must learn soft skills
21.6.2020
Enter the ' Swap Quatrain' Poetry Contest of Emile Pinet
cravings, like niggling whispers,
flit on covered tables
skitter on the floorboards
shiver nerves like humming cables
racing up my backbone
trembling spinal pathways
as I dive for pantry's knob
in a glucose fired craze
tearing through the shelving
jumping for the flour
cracking eggs like gunshots
batter stacked like sugar'd towers
but wait! oh, no! there's something wrong
a final crucial piece!
recipe's cruel words laugh off the page
will this torture never cease?!
"...paraffin for stable rounds
synthesize the compound well
melted into pyrex mixing bowls..."
I swear I fell another level in Hell
slashing through the shelving,
(broke the icebox's fragile handle)
finally, with fevered eye,
spot her stash of scented candles
by now I'd reached a fever'd pitch
impatient I just tossed the batter in
staring at the brutish countdown
nervous capered guilty sin
at last my tortured moments
over with these steaming treats
cackling like a madman
at this half-baked pastry feat
but flaccidly they fell off
spatula and spoon
crumbled burnt and formless
I swear I cried out like a loon!
but no set back could stop me
as I snatched up those candle stacks
biting crumbled chocolate pieces
while gnawing chunky scented wax
sated, I sit gluttonous
sprawled out on the floor
burbled aromatic belches
gob of wax sat at my core!
when she came down looking
for a fruity sconce to put next to bed
I shrug and counsel guiltily
we could just touch a match right to my head...
Form:
I've been single now for quite some time.
Home alone, just me and mine.
It's nice to hear the clock tick,
whenever peace is what I seek.
Play my music to suit my mood.
Cook my own favoutite food.
But something's missing from the mix.
Something niggling to be fixed.
I can't decide what it is I crave.
A prince, a knight, a rogue, a knave?
Why would I want to spoil my fun
Try to accomodate someone?
I can't help it, I am a flirt.
I need a hand beneath my skirt.
The push and pull of minds that meet.
The tender act that is so sweet.
But how to meet that special one?
Crux of my problem, 'tis troublesome.
Those dating sites have dulled my brain.
Revolving faces drive me insane.
Like The Paul Jones from years ago.
Where circles whizz then slow.
Until face to face with God knows what.
When one was put on the spot.
Now, they just keep whizzing by.
Reluctant to stop, just want to spy.
Too old, too young, too fat ,too slim.
They make decisions on a whim.
It's all kiss me quick, next one please.
I refuse to get down on my knees.
I'm sure in time my urge will pass.
Not want that hand upon my ass.
Nor want to tease or be held tight.
Or even end up in a fight.
In the meantime I'll keep looking.
To try and get something cooking.