Best Rawness Poems
Where hills lay barren, and bedrock’s stripped bare
let me take you away to county Clare
Huge cliffs climb sheer, dwarfing waves underneath
atop the Burren my heart skips a beat
With nothing to see, apart from the view
all makes perfect sense, rain comes right on cue
And whatever I feel, it’s in the air
desolation yes, but without a care
Where fields seed pebbles, and pastures reap stones
through Clare’s vast rawness, I trek on my own
A whitewashed lighthouse, beckons away
scouring heavy seas, beneath clouds of grey
Gulls are crying, as they happily do
rising and falling, going nowhere too
Still makes me wonder, where I’d rather be
than here by Clare’s dolmens in reverie
Later I take in, what nature left out
my pipe, tobacco, and bottle of stout
Hms
Fear not the fierce wind, o gentle heart
Though it may rattle the eaves
And give no ear to its whispers with nothing to impart
But shallow promises that hang, like dried, parched leaves
Listen to its mournful wails on the way to some distant shore
Leaving in its trail, the harsh rawness of a chill
And envy not; give pity instead; be sure to keep no scores
For the warmth of a gentle heart is by far, richer still
For who can fathom the baleful howls invading valleys below;
Billowing across the fragile earth and her boundless seas?
Is it in anguish that she protests; who can really know?
Yet, judge not, o gentle heart, but like a blade of grass amidst a storm
Lay calmly into the wind; rely not upon your strength; stay strong
~*~
DEVOURING PRESENCE -- REPOST
' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '
gray as it may sound, i pluck
a morsel of star's daring light,
this is where i want to be... in a
stretch of spontaneous rhythm with
my wired body clamped from the noise
and haze of days' pages, pulling me into
puppet strings of gods who never
knew the magic of human sensibilities.
if trees can entwine with their
own lemon leaves so so sweetly,
and hummingbirds hug the breeze in
a stretch of flight luring a neutral
night, i must be at the center of
my constellation tiptoeing
upon grasses with a lick of wine
on the neck and a pirouette of some
whirl of a dance.. i go thirsty
for the fluid rawness of my need
to simply be.
all rights reserved
©
``` P.D's featured poem of the week contest
```
` ` `featured poem on soup : 20 march 2011 ` ` `
nette onclaud
Enticed by his faceted aspects
Political points show his honour
Policies opposed, David contests
Left wing woke folk admonished
Rawness of broad topics examined
Cowboy stories of recent history
Scenarios derived from within
Issues which play contemporary
David flavoured, his firm essence
Infuses my little with his lot
I honestly struggle to explain this
... never missed what I don't got
.. A man who won't take crap
Shallow hits roll off his jaw
My bull wouldn't just lapse -
He'd bleed it dry, peace restored
Faceless man tells me myriads
Written by unwavered conviction
Marathon stamina poem olympian
I, willing victim to his inflictions
Dreaming of David, strange concept
- exclusive, by myself for eight years
It's a choice to remain alone, heart kept
Relic packed away, oddly he endears
Hard nosed refusal to enter this century
Old school stance pings my deepest vibe
Unreasonable, how much it means to me
To absorb the jib of David 's scribe
Around three years his senior
In virus time, located overseas
I fixate on his strong demeanour
In lurid choc chip fantasies
12th September 2020
When the waves break and
the sky is being torn up
The foam splashed through the air
In the cracks of the rawness of reality
You respect it and think you understand it
forces that surpass every single master
The light from the lantern hit the neck of the rock
Tried to breathe with saline water in the lungs
Soaking in the chest sounds like a old coffee machine
The scream of pain, which crushes stone
in the heavy moment of death
Let Hydra and Kharybdis rest
and clutching at straws
Because the knife felt cold
against the skinny throat
* Hydra ("The Monster of Lerna"), a giant sea monster with nine heads
in Greek mythology
* Kharybdis, a sea monster in Greek mythology
that creates a life-threatening maelstrom
15.09.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
5th place in the contest
Secrets sail on the whirling winds,
along with the dark and driven clouds.
Carried aloft with litter and leaves
are invisible, partly submerged longings:
to hitch a ride on the primal rawness,
to abandon all things set and tethered,
to project oneself toward the unknown,
while thriving through the natural chaos.
Rising Rituals
ravishing rawness
ravenous raunchy relief
riveting repeats
Special Someone
sultry seductions
sinful sensations surface
seeking saucy stars
Taming Taboo
teasing temptations
tremendous titillations
tempting the tyrant
____________________________________
July.19.2020
Let the Pens Flow ~Alliteration Poetry
Sponsored by~ Jenish Somadas
The water tinkled down
My memory lane
Sweet was the sound of pain
As I gently remembered her face
Moving along the rim
The angel softly touched
My heart strings one by one
As emotions danced their
Rawness away, glowing
In the afterthought of achievement
Weak fountains sprung thru the sinews
Awakening the darkening desires
The flowers sighed and fell
Before her teary grave
As passion held in its arms
An empty mind, an empty body
19-11-12
By Tahera Mannan
For Nette’s SYNESTHESIA : INNER BODY MOVEMENT
He assembled in darkness the corroded horn
by familiarity and sense of touch.
Then cast as thunder into the empty night
long tones void of musical melody.
Sustained tones, fierce and woeful
in succession paraded the street.
Each note precisely chosen, unfurled
and carried aloft in chilly air.
The flickering street lamp understood
as long shadows on a cobbled walk
slow danced in the warming glow.
But the music was not for them tonight.
The musician’s voice transformed
and angry staccato flares broke.
Chop, chop and chop on the mighty tree!
He watched it fall dead against unfeeling brick.
Snapping of limbs and morality
but the tree was just a thug anyway.
Indignant “Quiet downs!”
rained from high-rise windows
mingling in the blood of the fallen;
and tears…so few tears.
Still, the music wasn’t for them tonight.
Yet they could not escape the song,
that guileless voice in the darkness,
which once again transformed.
Weeping heaves bellowed through aged-brass
amplifying every tremble of the lip.
Pitiful notes, harsh on either end
and broken by uneven vibrato,
yet piercing in their rawness,
turned away the wrathful storm.
Tremulous begging it seemed,
accompanied a hopeful plea for dawn,
which lulled to sleep the very stars above.
The moon halted to listen as well,
before tucking itself in, cathartic,
as the pitiful busker concluded his song
of remorse for un-lived dreams
and unspoken things
The music wasn't for them tonight.
10/18/15
You were old and new all at once
A deadly temptation
A glitch in my solid nature
And so I dove head first
And as I did I watched the pieces
Of me break away
To reveal an alien
A rawness, a vulnerability
I had never thought I possessed
Yet there I was
And there you were unchanged
And unaware that I was scrambling
For my better peices
While the city rests under the velvet of skyline ,
I lie awake to trace a highway of clouds
trailing against a lunar pageant,
as evening shadows alter different time zones
throughout the universe's frame--
while ambrosial rawness enters my pores
from the fondle of this waxing red-ball.
Oh Clair de Lune...there is something mysterious
about your portrait of near midnight: amiable...
dangerous, and carnal ; just ripe for my heart
to listen as nocturnal larks trill a serenade--
each note ready to multiply into hundreds
of minutes; that such orb's mystery remains
unanswered by all creatures anticipating
a new moon's rhapsody gradually simmering
like your allured chant which flames
upon lovers' clandestine rendezvous.
For Craig Cornish: Claire De Lune
Revised, new poem 8/7/2018
To butterflies, bats, and midnight creatures,
To the brilliant, the dark, and things unseen.
To roses, wine, and satin dresses,
To a lucid child-like dream.
To the musty scent of ancient places,
To thoughts distilled on a fragile page,
To open-ended expectations, and
Eccentricities of a secret sage.
To the promise that lies in what is unfinished,
To the charm in the rawness of the fray,
To quests that lead to curious changes,
And rest that unbinds peace and play.
many fearless nights, I prowled
on rooms of grimy paper dimmed then
lit by this lone wayfarer searching
a gush of passion to feed the words
with some fire, rawness, and hunger...
perhaps my barren soul tarried on to pay
for dues upon a bleeding ink's return;
and now that this antique pen wants
to let you relish my verses, chew them
and swallow fluid visions like a dash of wine,
I feel they are mute: my own instinct
likes phrasings that haunt the senses...
but as twilight whisks, these hands fake
a churning from the bile...I have everything
to lose, except the rush of images
splashing my face with inspiration.
Kai Michael Neumann's Splash Contest
6/4/2020
Emerging in the dark,
A pale ghost cast by the moon—
Authenticity—
With the glow of rawness and power
The song of truth so precious
On a tongue that is pressed for
Change—submissive change—
Cradled in the prospects of devotion
The clouds covering the perfect circles
Penetrating through a lens
That magnifies true, imminent light
Of gleaming giants in velveteen skies
Fearless revelations
That accomplish alluring awe
The conundrums of life
Beyond us—beyond words—in us
2.12.20
Note: Those alluring mysteries...in us...if only we knew how to reveal them like the thin clouds reveal the soft circular shape of that glowing moon, as it floats so carefree... yet so purposefully in the sky. I like to compare our vulnerabilities and our abilities to the universe. They are vast, and can reveal such beautiful things about us.
Written: October 05, 2023
___________________________________________________________
Where the paradisiacal angels reside.
A myriad of creatures, ebony and betide
A dinkum dissolute and a discreet divine,
A degree of dexterity, a denizen decline
Amidst the mahatmas and zeitgeist calls,
An indweller quests for lyricism thrall.
A martyrdom route, an incubus chase,
Eristic battles in the realm of grace
A proponent of verity, a wraith of anile,
Sought to indwell the hearts of enamel.
A sip of soma, a savor of seraglio supine,
Agnostic beyond, for the geist did shine.
Destructive metempsychosis, a mortal plight,
Internal battles, seeking inspirational light.
In the realm of the departed, desolate cries
A crybaby tears, but awe-inspiring skies
Departed souls, once heartsick and heartsore,
Find solace in the trust they restore.
For in the internal depths, a spark ignites.
And as the decedents rise, their souls bear flight.
Absolve afreets, the anxiousness abides,
Embrace the beatitude; sublimity resides.
Rawness of a sentimentalist, troubadour song,
The immanence of duende is pantywaist wrong.
In the realm of the spiritual, the snarl of sin,
Is replaced by beatitude, the soul's win.
Spotless and unsullied, cleansed of all pain,
The spiritual journey is the ultimate gain.
They sully the cosmic force with opulence.
Yet, the sunny glow of bliss starts radiance.
A troll in the netherworld, forlornness abounds,
In the cognition of theosophy, the soul rebounds.