Best Rambling Poems
My box of sadness too.
A box full of sadness I store under my bed.
With thoughts so sad
Making me wish I was dead.
With one look underneath my bed.
Memories of you jump inside my head.
Like a Jack in the box, who is trapped inside.
I stuffed my feelings in this box.
I will not surrender to any sadden thoughts.
Shutting the box full of spider webs.
I do not want to feel the deepness of sad, I hide.
This sadness I store back under my bed.
My feelings are better trapped inside.
Staring at the box with my eyes open wide.
Tears start to fall the ones I buried inside
Following footsteps with no guide.
Why did I bother to remove the lid.
Sadness always makes it hard to decide
The pain my heart does not want to see.
Hiding the sadness, I yet have not cried.
I will not release my sadness, and set it free.
I have managed to put the sadness out side of me.
This sadness only belongs to me.
How could you leave with out telling me bye.
I pretend to live my life so cheerfully.
It takes a real person to bring me down.
My sadness trapped behind a fake bully.
Like a smile from a clown .
I put on a show and block any sad thought.
Not allowing my self to drown in self pitting ways.
You left me alone after bringing me into this world.
The one and only person who could be there for me.
In my troubles and need she left me.
Every one saying it might have been suicide.
How could you leave us behind with misery and blame.
The sadness of your shame is what I hide
A box of my sadness under my bed.
By:P.D.----I guess that is one of my sadness. A true one at that.
To:The Rambling Poet- This is a challenge called by you.
Trapped inside with a sadness. The other part of me
Rambling across the grassy flowering meadow,
She felt like walking on air, as she flipped off her shoes,
She ran across, feeling the dewy fresh morning grass,
All dotted with a kaleidoscope of colourful wildflowers.
She came down to the rivulet, her favourite place.
Instinctively she looked into the water just to see
Her face floating on the surface, a lovely smiling face
No wrinkles, no defects, not even a nevus to mar it all up.
Her lover sat down near her, showing her the food he brought.
She had not thought of eating and pulling him down
She kissed him full on his inviting lips, her Adonis.
Love was her food, her only food, as she felt the burn in her.
At last satiated, she laid down and put her head on his lap
Dreaming incredible scenes of luxurious, and joyful love.
8 0 8
Two doctors were discussing her case. They looked at the old badly wrinkled woman lying on the bed, immovable. “Only that machine is keeping her alive. Irreversible Coma. No next of kin, single and all alone. Look, do you detect a smile on her face? Even her ECG is barely showing signs of being alive.”
“It seems as if she’s dreaming.”
The other one shrugged. “It’s not for us to decide. The Hospital Lords will decide who will switch her off, rest assured.”
“Let’s go for a drink. We need one.” Rambling along the long corridors, they found a hospital canteen, ordered their drinks, and rested at a table on comfortable chairs,
Poetry is tangerine and other potent or poisonous colors.
It is the breath you feel at the nape of your neck and
the strong caress of flesh on flesh, defying death.
It is most certainly Spring with petal flutters and jays
flittering about. Melodies come alive…words almost too
ravishing to versify…like brilliant diamonds and crystal lines.
Poetry is rhyme and not…it is time well spent. The clock
doesn’t give a hoot. It’s cuckoo to stand on your head
to get just the right angle, the geometric high. Likewise,
the adjustment on a thin wire, with ink blots to examine.
But a poet does, again and again, pounding at raw meat,
to settle a matter…but we never settle…there is always
one thing more. Death, maturity, seasonals. Let’s dig
up that grave. First we jump in, holding onto leaves dyed
in various tinctures. Often we swing over, on our trapeze,
thinking we are invincible - we don’t see the six foot ravine.
Not feeling trapped at all, until the Ice Queen shows up.
We paint that buttercup white, as if it were virtuous.
She vividly holds up the scales to weigh our slights,
to slow us down…now,
we dribble upon the page…drivelling every nuance, as if
our kids (our words) were leaving home and we need to drill
just one more thing. Sadly our words will hang
and slowly scroll away…our scribbles fondly remembered
by a few for a while (and our smile)
Paint giraffes ouside the line, and gaffes - keep them in time.
Don’t be afraid to annunciate or not…to be literate or
alliterative…to be silly…oh do be silly…to be human…
to be common or uncommon…we all have our place.
We are the apostrophes, colons and periods. We stop
in mid-sentence a lot. We throw the hammer down
with an exclamation point or dot. We write run ons
or put out briefs. We admire awe. This is just a small
treatise of thought…a mud pie, but certainly not
a prize…but I say, the prize is in the beholder’s stall.
3/13/2023
Rambling along the constant turns of that
path she was born to tread, a poet
sees nature’s beauty unfolding
before her. As she absorbs
its song, her soul becomes
a soft implement.
She is painting
the story
of her
life.
For a Constance ,Rambling Poet,
"Poems Have Wings" Contest
"Wild and windblown, that's how you've grown.
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?" Lyric written by Nat King Cole
Moving on, never still,
You have a restless will.
Always searching for something more.
Never sure what’s in store.
Is there nothing more ?
Always on the move.
Are you looking to improve?
You just cant settle.
You’re perfect now, each soft petal.
Is there something more?
Its true you have a wanderlust.
Travelling around for you is a must.
Never sure where you will go.
I want you to know.
You bring splendor wherever you grow.
Your scent wafts with the breeze.
Who do you travel to please?
All the colors in a rainbow.
Always your beauty on show.
Do you want more?
Climbing yonder tree, even after its death.
Soft as a baby’s breath.
Sweeping across the ground.
A place to remain, have you found ?
Is there any more ?
You have stretched out as far as I can see.
Don’t go too far, come back to me.
Ramble on, strike a pose.
I will always love you, my rambling rose.
There’s no more.
I write upon mountains from whence I view the sea
soothed by the rhythmic motion of the tide
my muse goes into overdrive
Soon my pretty notebook
is bursting with simple scribbles and rambling lines
as I watch a heron stalking its prey
I’ve a picnic to eat as I go on my way
and I’ll sketch vivid purple columbines,
then re read the scrawled notes I took
in my notebook archive
Initial thoughts are edited and modified
guess I’m striving for perfection you see
Nature’s beauty inspires me to pen poetry
and I love strolling in the countryside
I'll watch kingfishers as they dive
into a babbling brook,
cool water glistening as the golden sun shines;
outdoors in the fresh air I long to stay
12 10 8 6 12 10 0 12 10 8 6 12 10 0 12 10 8 6 12 10 checked with HMS
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
01/30/21
When time echoes the promise of a rambling soul, one who knows that the past never can be left, because it is there that solace leaves its caress, its breath ever rising in the presence of sorrow’s tangled web ~ quote by poet
She waits in silence, for the gentle winds,
Soft revelations of what might have been,
She remembers with feelings she rescinds.
She reflects on lost nights that did begin,
Soundless and still, like the sea of belief,
Soft revelations of what might have been,
Sometimes it feels she’s been left in her grief,
Sure to learn of what comes from night’s lonely,
Soundless and still, like the sea of belief,
Should she call friends or her one and only?
Soon, she recalls her beloved has passed,
Sure to learn of what comes from night’s lonely.
Swiftly, time reveals rambling that will last,
Sharing memoirs, she drifts from room to room,
Soon, she recalls her beloved has passed,
Sensitive, like dreams, her heart is all gloom,
She waits in silence, for the gentle winds,
Sharing memoirs, she drifts from room to room,
She remembers with feelings she rescinds.
Written: February 16, 2024
"Be not careless in deeds, nor confused in words, nor rambling in thought".
Quote by Marcus Aurelius
_______________________________________
We remain drawn to places we recognize well.
A mirage of lovely sights where dreams swell.
Rumbling rain clouds—odd swirls—rise at the pond.
Whirling thrill, an ecstatic genesis, swirling beyond.
Standing face to face, level with the moon.
Do poets and stargazers witness novel swoons?
In fierce verdict, the moon has closed its eyes.
If the sun stops beaming, how will moonlight arise?
The clouds cover the stars, and ideas sparkle.
Moon may decode terms by light dots in partial
You may be a flame or a mirror; both emit light.
Yet a flame must endure, rambling as glass blight.
Never shall the sun set, nor the moon rise.
Now it's time to detect without any prize.
Return the favor to those who wronged me.
Pursuing revenge, this tale is timeless history.
There is an outcome to every deed.
We are bound by Newton's laws of flow heed.
Entrails broken down resolve the algorithm.
Gaze upon your rambling in the same rhythm.
Sample my gilded projectile—hear the blast.
That inspires fear and mystery—peace is the cast.
Witness the radiant beams piercing overnight.
That stumbles in the blink—of an eyesight.
They draw to ramble in the void space.
With shades of deep, melancholic grace.
Antagonism elicits rambling to grow and thrill.
A mute bird flies and glides in their quill.
You live for empty pleasures
They fade through each new song,
I finally see the big picture
You were weak, not strong.
I was young looking for guidance
Impressionable and quite rare,
But wolves in sheep's clothing
Can't love, for their lives are barely there.
Weeds grow in anything
But rambling roses grow on vines,
Their thorns protect all that’s around
Guarding their gates from the intruding kind.
All you were was temporary
A stumbling block for the time,
But what’s a mountain in your way
After you decide to climb.
I was young looking for guidance,
Impressionable and quite rare,
But wolves in sheep's clothing
can't love, for their lives are barely there.
They can never destroy a rambling rose
For they are made strategically rare
They can never blossom or unfold
For their lives were never there.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written: 7-11-12
I met a guy from the ramblers today
I think his name was John
He was a harmless bloke I suppose
But he just went on and on
Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every
thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with
how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm
worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far
above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of
course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the
Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and
dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make
himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not
qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do
what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will
hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my
"rambling worries" to Him.
how did he become her consciousness?
and why am i speaking in third person?
and why did he catch every raindrop from hitting me before opening this umbrella?
and why am i speaking in third person?
why do I still have this broken umbrella?
and why did he let me ramble on and on..and on and on..?
i jumped on the next flight to L.A.X, looking for answers...
mind gone there's no more credibility
unable to accept any responsibility
trust is lost when will we find the closing
cost
have no fear push those away who want
to draw near
the temptation is great when there's
nothing but hate
mentally controlled by forces unknown
just want to be left alone
continually being drug back like a train
coming off track
an example must be set but it's so hard
living with so much regret
knowing the future seems so bleak gotta
find one more winning streak
only worry is letting others down the
burden of holding the crown
identity has been misplaced along with all
natural taste
thoughts are screaming into the ears
mistakes made throughout the years
when will this storm end like a message
that won't send
rains bring in floods of unrest and all the
doubt fueled by this unwanted guest
never ending thoughts of heaven and hell
wanting so bad to just hear the bell
physically asleep but sub consciously
awake trying to find the right combination
of pills to take
bury all the feelings within like writing a
letter but don't know where to begin
just so tired of this rambling and all this
mindless gambling
I’ve come a long way
With the help of a sheen ray
I see no vehicle to take me there
Seems I’ll have to walk 20 miles more
Sauntering through the soggy jungle
My shoes get wet & my bag rather heavy that I crumble
I lay down seeing the floating clouds hanging low
Haze enfolding the valley with its shadow
The huge cloud approaching the brink of a cliff
These majestic clouds carry a bizarre whiff
I try to shut my eyes & soak up the nature for awhile
The whole vale is encased in visible vapor
It has started drizzling, cold droplets falling on my face & frequently wetting my skin
It's getting darker I see through the mist
I run to an adjoining lodge to grab the only vacant room
I hit the sack to wake up at the dawn
To see the sun rise above the horizon & run down the road one more time.
Shifting Sands, ( A Collaboration Constance ~Rambling Poet )
by~ CONSTANCE
And in this dream . . . I am lost in endless sand . . .
Where clouds rise and disappear
A land of shifting and sultry heat
Where the ground ripples like waves at sea . . .
Magical, mysterious and mirage filled
It stretches to the horizon and beyond
The wind blows my white gown like wings
My veil falls to reveal long black hair, billowing . . .
I watch him coming over the yellow sand
His Arabian horse galloping . . .
I am breathless with my love for him
No sound can be heard but that wind thundering
And the sand shifting . . .
Part 2
And in this dream .. . I am, still lost, in endless sand . . .
Falling, endlessly
Into his Arabian eyes, I float
My feet interlocking with the shifting sand
This dream, I managed to catch
From the dream catcher's arms . . .
I wrap myself, in a blanket of yellow sand
Refusing, to open my eyelids
To the Universal Consciousness of morning light . . .
I swim the river, I sink in the quick sand
I hold on tight to this mirage
A place where, I create
Whatever future and destiny, I desire . . .
In this dream, I walk across the sands
In the dead of night
I am here, my mind, so far, lost .
Counting every breath, I reach out to touch his hand . . .
We gallop across the shifting sands
Nestled beside him, my head pressed against his chest
In this dream, my eyes are closed tight
I only see the shifting horizon, over and over
A million times and a million times, again
A Collaboration with *Constance A Rambling Poet
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~