Best Puncturing Poems
Your incandescence drew me to your flame
Moth-like, I gravitated to your light
Then feigning nonchalance, I asked your name
The music of your voice set me to flight
And added several inches to my height
When you inquired of my name I saw stars
Stellar arrays beyond Venus or Mars
Puncturing through the thick shroud of the mask
I use to hide my stories and memoirs
My lady! All you had to do was ask!
written 18 Aug 2020
Categories:
puncturing, light, love,
Form:
Dizain
Skyline Art to Home
Skylines
Puncturing clear blue blue skies,
Evidence of mankind’s rise,
Or fall.
Skylines
Winky, Twinkly, in dark black nights
Changing, changing ‘til dawn from twilight,
Low or tall.
Skylines
Wrapped in mystic fog of morn;
Vehicles forced to press on horns;
In a mood.
Skylines
Glued in cubist silhouette,
God’s glory colors in the west,
Weary workers brood.
Skylines
Never fail to instill a thrill
When first seen while driving still
Coming home.
Skylines
Familiar, welcoming with silent song,
You know you’re where you belong,
At home.
Categories:
puncturing, appreciation, art, imagery,
Form:
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
puncturing, analogy, introspection, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Collisions avalanche, beneath the icy
Waves, of the North Atlantic.
Birthed in the cradled of Belfast,
A maritime giant, became crimsoned,
By champions shattered tradition,
An ironic omen presence to come.
For she bares tragedy’s mark, the name
Given to this colossus, the titanic.
An aquatic diamond gem, of ocean
Liners, refined and polished for the
Privileged elite.
A jewel shinning, with a brilliance fire,
No vessel could rival, this grand ladies,
Opulence.
The unsinkable legend survives even,
From under the brimey fathoms depths.
In the whispering wind echoes, carried
Just above the foam and sprays watery
Crest, a haunting refrain is spoken,
Ice burg dead ahead.
A sheer ice blade, is driven into the
Hulls breast plate, puncturing the maid
On her maiden voyage.
Death's fiddler plays an eerie tune,
As the screaming chorus sings,
Dooms lullaby, of remorseful regrets,
Of the living dead.
Abandon ship, women and children
First, but life’s greed proceeds protocol,
And man take seats reserved while
Others are simply left empty.
A once shinning star, is broken now
In two, rivaling in pain, she the
Grand lady, shutters, grasping for
Some hold, but fates evil hand
Pulls her beneath the frozen
Angry sea.
To rest at the bottom of titan's
Kingdom, in a crept mausoleum of
Seaweed, and coral debris.
Yet the Titanic still remains the
Diamond jewel of the seven seas,
Her mystery's beauty, a mystic
Inspiring mankind to solve
The questions that remain,
Unanswered.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
HISTORICAL
Categories:
puncturing, adventure, imagination, inspirational, international,
Form:
Free verse
Right now I respect your needs
I respect your wishes
Even though they stab
Like shards of shattered glass
Shrapnel puncturing my heart
Uneven in my thoughts
Unable to think due to a lack
A lack of function in which
My mundane self became accustomed
Expecting your love
Which right now I realize was
Disrespecting your love
Your love
Which is my life
Regardless of decisions made
Your love
Which is my life
Because of decisions made
Right now
You will be my wife until my dying day
I will fight for my life
Your love
I will go round after round
Take beating and punishment
Just for my life
Which, right now and always has been
your love
Right now
I really need you to know
Your love Is my life
The only life I really care to know
And right now
I feel my life, your love,
Is dying slow
Categories:
puncturing, absence, dedication, feelings, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
Lately I've been on flats, between heaven and hell
Who but the Almighty buffers me from lack
My stance is firm, I move with care
Not to tear or deplete what's left of me
As parents persevere, praying renewal of psyche
Grown children are puncturing precious time
You'd wonder why wise women still ride so high
On horses that will topple them in wilderness
What simmer souls from stilts that do silent
Damage to free will's humbler spirit?
I have learned it takes time for the clearing of
Cobwebs clouding fair point of views
Who will wed serenity and naked troth of this:
Time and space and grace heals and inspires simplicity with humility.
*
Categories:
puncturing, abuse, anger, bullying,
Form:
Bio
A wet coin on the mall floor
of sanity's foolish hope
Lies next to others
thrown away by desperate measures
with limited dreams
As they sip on frappucinos;
non-fat coated sin.
Their broken backs
walking with stolen canes
off broke back mountains;
in God we doubt
Another exodus with no occupational hazards,
just dramatizations of puncturing joy on tongue
Torment cry the cries of soliloquy lunacy
Lunar eclipse of the heart;
crater meltdowns into stratospheric limitations
Libation,
poured into impurity perfection
Hollowed certainty,
sharp tongued cryptic verbiage
not claiming emotion
The crippled, run
their mouth
Silent conundrums
running towards field of dreams,
they never came
Faking it
to make it
Once again
© Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
puncturing, introspection, life, social,
Form:
Free verse
BEAUTIFULLY BOLD
The purple angel facing the sun, so fair to look upon
has a tenacious grip on the moors; it roots secured.
With its head held high, it sways at ease in the breeze;
yet for puncturing thorns, surely, it will be scorned.
Never trained for battles, its winter seed pods rattle
defying each foe, flowering even in spring's white snow.
Its sharp spines bring tears, pricks equals to a sharp spear
to Scotia a dauntless brave, for their land was saved!
Like a woman defending her virtue, to any, she is bold to face,
yet, the angel as a lion-heart. Her words full of art,
bloom despite the pain, a greater beauty she attains.
Where ever she may live, this heavenly thistle will thrive.
This humble weed will prosper in the rich faithful soil she seeds
before the sun she and Royal Scotland have plighted their troth
__________________________________________________________________
***Inspired by the painting Thistle in a Field, by Fidelia Bridges 1875
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
January 19, 2015
~~This a late post because I have no internet connection for almost 5 days...
Categories:
puncturing, beautiful, flower, strength, symbolism,
Form:
Personification
Love is something I have always
sort of accepted...just went with...
needing no manual, nor preacher
to entice me – I miss those days:
when a heart was free from hyper,
sonic bands, puncturing the eyes of
internal waves – those innate crests
I once surfed with mental impunity....
Categories:
puncturing, eulogy, image, introspection, longing,
Form:
Free verse
Count Dracula a haunting figure, through centuries alike
desending on Whitby,an eerly thought, also a shuddering fright
between my hometown Middlesbrough, and the seaside port
the 199 steps to the abbey dwells a frightening thought
Holidaying in Whitby, many times in our youth
the tails of the night stalker,petrifyingly uncoath
tucked up at night, a feeling of surreal
Dracula would hound the streets, lives for the steal
Preying on the vulnerable,gaining all their trust
attacking unexpectedly,for blood that is a must
his black cloak, gaunt profile,terrifying vitality
protruding teeth over over ruddy lips, so remarkably
The Transalvanian terroriser, 400 years ago
puncturing the necks of ladies,blood does slowly flow
evidently the Count,his resting place Whitby Abbey
1000`s do attend each year, a gothic ceremony.
1st in contest.
Paul beadnall for :
Sponsor Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Contest Name "CREATURES" of the Night!
27/8/11
Sponsor Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Contest Name "MAY MAGIC" (ALL 1ST PLACE WINS)
Categories:
puncturing, history,
Form:
Rhyme
Among your orchard grooves lemon green grew
At first the dream-like pear-shape eyes
Until i parted and stared closely
Into your cherries iris pupils
That aim the Cupid's arrow,
Piercing through my reddened apple
Puncturing a spring full of blood
That gushed to overwhelm my melon soul,
Until the supple roundness
Of a ripe pregnant papaya,
Caresingly whispers a soft rub,
And i was lustful in your tutti-frutti roundness,
Like a lonely sherry
Once bitten, she is smitten.
Whet daga slid through desired pink strawberry,
Licked the naked sweetened and soured juice
Pineapple's bloom-lipped enveloped tongue-suckled till dripping,
A connoisseur sipping fine grape-wine from ancient casks,
Drunk to stupor,
And after, i offer the grace olive kiss of devotion,
Forever still dream-crossed, dragging the steely banana
From the depth of your throbbing tangerine heart,
And i was lustful in your tutti-frutti roundness ,
Through your crush wet eyes
You silently chew the plum of quietude
And i climbed to pluck the figs of a trusting heart.
Afolabi Taiwo
Sexy
Categories:
puncturing, happiness, love,
Form:
Blank verse
Shhh,
its ok
scream if you need to
I’m doing this
because I want to (need to),
do what you feel,
its just a release.
We all have…
things…
we have to run through,
if its not experienced
we can’t learn,
like if I cut this
you can’t voice yourself
and we can’t have that,
I need to hear
every chortling howl of yours,
my ears cry for it,
grabbing at every last tone.
I cut with my curved blade,
lightly,
just enough to pierce the skin
along the rib cage
and slide my steel under it
feeling your muscles contract
as if trying to run from the dagger
that’s peeling away the epidermis.
Nice slow, long strokes,
the piece need to be big,
I have a lot to write
on this leathery
section of parchment
and its best
when I can fit everything on one piece.
I leave the whimpering carcass behind,
if I don’t dry this right
it’ll wrinkle,
devastating its smooth surface.
Puncturing holes in its edge
I tie it to a drying frame,
tight and secure
like my grip on your throat
when I found you cowering,
hiding as if that would work.
Snatching up a smaller knife
I delicately
carve my verses within,
as it dries
they’ll open to reveal
what pours from my mind,
spreading my whims and ambitions.
I use the salty tears
of my victims
to tan and preserve
my epitaph for the world,
the irony is
I’m making useless prattle
into something priceless.
Categories:
puncturing, angst, imagination, on writing
Form:
Free verse
The light of Day and the darkness of night are like Metaphors
For the light in our lives, but also the darkness where upset occurs
Glimpses of light are like hope through life's struggle
Just like that little light at the end of the dark tunnel
When pain is dragging you down into the darkness
Those capsules of light awaken you from inertness
They warm our hearts reiginighting our inner spark
When the light conkers the night and drives out the dark,
Its those tenderhearted times that stop us from falling apart.
The glistening stars are balls of light that fight against the night,
Like knights of the light there armour shimmers, glimmers bright
Freckles puncturing the abyss despite the blanket of the darkest eclipse,
The light of the moon pushing through it cannot be missed or simply dismissed.
The moon is like a big bright balloon surrounded by stars of all shapes and sizes
soon on the horizon the sun will burn through the darkness
as it slowly rises,
Dispersing the darkness of the night, just like the darkness that plagues your life,
The sun will rise with the brightest light, and everything will eventually be all right
Light will always shine through even on the darkest night you'll see a star or two,
No matter the pain or suffering you're experiencing look for those glimmers of hope, that's the light shimmering,
That's what will pull you through the darkest times those little glimmers of light
Some are big bold and brass others mere twinkle shooting past in the dead of night,
Finding the light in life will bring hope that even in those darkest of times
You will see, It's going to be all right
Categories:
puncturing, courage, future, hope, journey,
Form:
Free verse
Great sensitivity only used
to find the next available space
hiding from or dodging the pressure,
embarking on a fearful race
Just to avoid the necessary,
clenching its fist to the face
But gradually, it’ll catch up the pace
And begin puncturing
like the perforation of a lace.
every obstacle avoided
germinates a mole
Starting like scratches,
the deficit will be a large hole
So much running is inevitably
creating an ulcerous sole
No growth or maturity,
only tossed by insecurity
from pole to pole
And allowing consequences
seat on the throne
to play a devastating role
Categories:
puncturing, dedication, desire, destiny, devotion,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Pain
pierces
so deeply
wounding the soul
Leaving scars inflected by deception
Hurling it’s arrows of deceitfulness
Puncturing peace
Impaling
The heart's
Bliss
Categories:
puncturing, lost love,
Form:
Tetractys