Best Reddened Poems
"If I could have put you in my heart,
if but I could have wrapped you in myself,
how glad I should have been.
And now the chart
of memory unroils again to me.
The course of our journey here,
here where we part." D.H. Lawrence
Sunset descended behind the willow trees
Into the sea, it seemed to sink and drown
Alone and grieving, hair tousling in the breeze
for one there is no comfort to be found
as he sits staring at the gathering clouds
Lost in memories, overwhelmed with despair
Tears rain from weary reddened eyes
He's an abstract painting of desolation
brush strokes in shades of somber blue
No sunlight appears to brighten today's skies
Only darkness that comes from sad au Revoirs
No words of bereavement can he speak to express
the doleful depth of wistful loneliness
nor the solemn fathoms of elegiac emptiness
Melancholy looms half past midnight's darkest hour
There's a bitterness he swallows, acerbically sour
"This too shall come to pass," I remember to say ~
"In these days of forlorn sorrow
the world must seem hauntingly grim
each time you close your eyes and think of him"
I feel his angst from such an emotional loss
Against it his mind must be raging
Death has no compassion for the young of age
the kind ones who never hurt anyone
the bright ones whose light should never fade away
Weeping for Hazza, he lamentably grieves
watching storm tossed waves roll over angry seas
I hope there's truth in believing broken hearts mend
for the one who's been wounded and bleeding
as another sunset descends behind the willow trees
Categories:
reddened, bereavement, death,
Form:
Elegy
That tiny pause to skirt the truth, half-reals you'd paraphrase,
The subtle softly spinning gyre of cunning in your gaze,
Vague reflections from your skin - a shedding, sheltering plaque,
All concerned syllables sent swiftly bouncing off your back.
Ever adrift on fiction's lost sea, never blown to shore,
Too late I saw your hidden thirst - too easy to ignore
Evasion and avoidance - thus was piloted your ship,
You'd dance around, not run aground - you gave us both the slip.
I failed your buried, rooted pain, I missed the reddened tracks,
All facts would step aside your rime of displaced parallax,
I slighted each secluded wound, the false-trod thoroughfare,
So ends a life of wary silence, cloaked mutely in despair.
No one knew you as I did, my reward there sadly sure,
I'd like to think away now, yet the hard truths are too pure,
Blinded, perhaps, by my own fear, I let out line for years,
And all my stock of forward time now fills with bloody tears.
Upon my closing sight of you, muzzled words within your eyes,
Your final hour released you not - you'd walked too long on lies.
Categories:
reddened, addiction, life, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
Place parsed pennies, purposely upon pretty porcelain palms.
The wanderer, restrained her raised ranting wrists!
She fell to her Humpty Dumpty position,
unable to ever be put back together again...
Each of us witnessed her fall,
yet we failed to gather those colourful leaves.
I believe we could have laid them at the base of her wall.
She sees the trees as he increases her diseases.
Deepening predatory penetrations as he pleases!
Cracking, fracking, hating, taking, and breaking.
Bringing about disappearing, as pain stains, her shamed awakening!
If we could have, would we have, mournfully watched?
Or instead, would we have held her wrists,
pulled at reddened panties, excruciated her sufferings?
Instead, we placated horrific tugged observations,
waited, pretended to see nothing,
drank our mocha-chino from starry cups!
we sat and licked our lips to the calming sound of muzak,
preferring voyeuristic aristocracy.
Oh how she cursed his kissing and biting,
the sucking of her Texan black gold!
All the while he praised her caged loins,
filling a billion barrels with her oil...
Until the time her flame set fire to his cursed wanting!
Until she summoned the winds from the east.
It was time to birth the spawn of his treachery.
Lava poured forth from mountainous risings!
He must suckle upon her displeasure,
until like creosol, his noxious presence,
combines with his own wasted wood.
Thus preserving his monumental failures,
encasing them within layers of his strangled death!
A voice called out from the West, "Where is the foolish man?
Who is left to sing about his great accomplishments?
His peculiar monuments have been laid to waste,
not a single brick remains in it's place."
No one is left to excavate the woeful forgotten.
She "Mother" seeps into the soil to reclaim his blood,
her womb is once again fertile.
She asks "Do we wish to begin again?"
The start of a great pause stings her ears!
She looks and understands,
"It is no longer good.”
Categories:
reddened, abuse, anxiety,
Form:
Narrative
Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander, head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out sneakers,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints of blistered dust
“My sanity for some cool water”
When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground taking it
where it would suit another, for this is my luck
"Take my shade I beg not, for it is merely a branch”
Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
Nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies featuring a glow,
pristine shades of which I’ve never seen, heavenly
“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”
When before me stands, my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus on beauty, winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder, is this my end?
“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly”
A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality,
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime
“I have come to you as a verse, for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,” lyrical this voice sings
melodic and harmonious, a rhythm to the beat of my heart,
the race of my pulse, the love of my life, my muse, my all
“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen”
*I feel this poem speaks of poetry, the reason we are all here. To find and share our muse, to be inspired and grow together in poetry. It also was a step out of my comfort zone for me as this was an early write of mine where I tried a few new ideas.
Categories:
reddened, love,
Form:
Epic
i lay stilled atop this muddied cold ground
a castaway like autumn's leaves deadened
unable, unwilling to move around
i sit bloodied, like skies of dawn, reddened
i am bathed in november's cold, harsh rain
pummeled by the fate of past's sniffling cries
slowly succumbing beneath weighted pain
i reach out attempting to dry my eyes
perhaps it is the will of fate to die
to wither and crumble atop this ground
to gather where the helpless others lie
to succumb here, unseen, wrinkled and browned
is life's pain something to be remembered
or cast off in the winds of december?
11/21/2020
Categories:
reddened, autumn, december, november, pain,
Form:
Sonnet
A female tongue pushes me down from the swing of sleep.
Rain kids rouse the stink of railway track in the dawn.
A long chain of complaints tinkles on her lips.
Worries about her female children at home
rise up like the black smoke from the train.
His liquor reddened half opened eyes gaze
at the life-like-fan – its rotation makes him dizzy.
His sweet brown lady drags him into his duties.
She arranges attractively jasmine garlands
in her basket on the floor of the compartment.
Basket never enjoys the fragrance, but only carries.
First printed in my book, Kanoli Kaleidoscope, by Punkswritepoemspress, US.
Categories:
reddened, inspirational, life,
Form:
Free verse
My heart was pumping hard that day I faced the maddening crowd,
Despite the spinning in my head I stood there mighty proud.
Though racked with pain my reddened hand acknowledged them a wave
And to this day I've ne'er forgot, the accolades they gave.
It was a dream come true you see to stand there in that ring,
For rodeo was in my blood and one day I'd be king.
The beast I drew was mean and lean ... no Chainsaw I admit,
But still if I could just ride time I'd show them I had grit.
I'd limbered up behind the chute preparing for the ride,
Well knowing what was just ahead, but took it in my stride.
The chute boss called, "You've drawn chute five, get down and make it quick."
Then as I eyed the beast below ... I suddenly felt sick.
That brute it tried to climb the gate and bellowed cries of fear,
While chute hands fought to organise the necessary gear.
I felt the violent quiver of the hide between my chaps,
The smell of sweat, the cry of men ... a change of mind perhaps?
Too late I felt the rope pulled taut and shoved within my glove,
I thought it's now or never mate and sent a prayer above.
Then as I pulled my Colly down I yelled out, "Let him go!"
The gate flew open ... it was on ... 'twas time to rodeo.
With whites of eyes all full of hate that beast did twist and turn,
'Twas obvious my frame aboard was something he did spurn.
Eight seconds on this beast from hell seemed like eternity,
For ev'ry muscle which I owned screamed out in agony.
Between the jars and twists and turns I heard the crowd all cheer,
Then at long last that blessed sound of hooter in my ear.
The pick up man then pulled me clear and was I proud ... not half!
I'll ne'er forget that day old mate I rode that poddy calf.
Categories:
reddened, funny, day, prayer, day,
Form:
Rhyme
I was dancing and prancing
And singing whooped Dee Dee
Not realizing I was not alone
Until he opened his shirt to me
He threw out the mayo, some jam and some jelly, a real hoot.
I caught the chocolate milk in midair, he was dancing up a toot.
He laughed and winked and some ice fell down his crushed ice shoot
He was a rascal, a scoundrel and a womanizer to boot.
I have never seen a dishwasher who can move like you
he said holding out his hands.
The oven, his furious ex, reddened her burners and threw out some pots and pans.
We laughed and we swirled and we boogied and we dipped.
She threw out ovenware but The frig and I ducked every one.
I shut his door, so we could dance up a storm.
Refrigerator boogie was so exciting and fun!
Dishwashers are reputed to be the best dancers around,
And I was confident as we twirled, we were breaking brand new ground
The ovens burners were blood red now, the kitchen was like a Sauna.
I blew him a kiss and whirled away giving him back to his ex, so sound.
As they trotted through the the kitchen, laughing, their sensors lit,
I danced around them with a loud dishwasher's whoop Dee Dee
Now whenever the three of us decide to liven the kitchen a bit,
We dance cheek to cheek, and throw sauce pans, the wild three!
Categories:
reddened, 4th grade, 5th grade,
Form:
Personification
Walk does he not the specter of death,
His saith raised high, even he himself has had
Enough killing, on the battlefield of Gettysburg,
Satan screams, stop sons of men, truly war
Is hell on earth.
Time's spiritual voices cry out, as the wind
Blows through the tall over grow grasses,
Of this Pennsylvanian State park.
Injured spirits, roam as phantom soldiers,
Seeking salvation's reprieves preservation,
From their damnation.
On the Devil's Den reddened rock, centuries
Still stand guard, knelling sharp shooters,
Fire at will, as the drummers beat, at rhythm’s
Death march.
Gun powers burnt smell fills the air,
As the loud canons echo in the distance,
Mayhem's discord has left destruction's
Bloodshed, these numbers estimation
Of flesh and bone, are guessed yet it's
Resolution unknown.
Blown are the horns of Calvary’s call,
Reinforcement’s sacred hesitating for aid,
But none come to it's deadening's sounding.
Mourn do the orphan's of war, in their fathers
Name, so they do weep in sorrow remembrance.
A war-ravaged companion, lead by freedom
Seekers, the end to release bondage’s salves,
Stain our great country with it's own blood.
Brother against brother, two flags of belief
Striking each other, north vs the south,
Behold it was the American Civil War.
A revolutionary uprising of idealism,
That all man have the right to be free,
And live without the chains of oppression.
It is in this haunted place, at cemetery ridge,
That the final battle lines are marked in
Bloods deadliest charge ahead.
Many souls still serve here, never shall
They know the light of peace.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
reddened, america, history, imagery, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
And line-up;
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
I smiled—hum…
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
Categories:
reddened, allegory, allusion, father, history,
Form:
Free verse
Hate Is Not A Crime
I have hated
still bear the scars
that caused the hate
and the scars of hating
those who caused the hate.
I know the darkness
of my hate, its futile
longing to be freed
from it’s sordid legacy.
I fear the demons
it holds at bay
in a molten ball
of raging regret.
I have honed the edges
of my hate, cast the sword
heavenward into
an empty sky
Yet the forge still
smolders, new blades glow
reddened-hot
in the flush of feeling’s
lingering lunacy.
My hate gave power
to too small hands,
purpose to an
uncomprehending mind,
fever to a dying spirit.
The healing power of hate -
the purified
cauterization of
un-healing wounds.
For hate was all I had
and hate is not a crime.
5/19/2017
submitted to – Catharsis – Poetry Contest
Categories:
reddened, anger, childhood, dark, hate,
Form:
Free verse
Another night of loneliness
She sits waiting for his call
In silence she grows restless
Emotional rain begins to fall
Tonight her phone will not be ringing
His calming voice she will not hear
In reddened eyes there is a stinging
The threat of squalls is drawing near
Roses he'd given, withered and dried
Fragile petals crushed, lying in her hand
"What have you done to us?" she cried,
as she slipped off her wedding band
In breathy whispers she called his name,
remembering his touch; sweet embrace
Then the haunting memories came
and the look of anguish lined her face
Days, weeks, then months rolled by
a semblance of peace she'd finally found
Until the night he called and said, "Hi."
In emotional rain she almost drowned
No shelter from this impassioned storm
No tincture is there to cure such pain
Upon her cheeks were rivulets warm;
another downpour of emotional rain
~ Upon request, this is being reposted
from several years ago.
Categories:
reddened, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
The snow was as light as dust in the wind
The air a steady thirty-three, my breath slightly visible
My nose, ears and cheeks reddened and wet
Whilst staring into the bliss with watery eyes, they dripped
Thoughts of my father
Thoughts of my mother
Thoughts of my brother, Joseph
I cried so nice... remembering them
Four and Twenty blackbirds...
Not yet baked, sailed onto my lawn
I heard my mom singing me that song again
A hidden from the clouds jet- roared
I saw my dad in the window- waving
When a somehow not-frozen worm wiggled in the grass
I saw my brother Joe- fishing
With the snow now thickened and the air dropping
A steady stream of mist exhausts from my mouth
But... I felt warmth
I felt comfort
I felt my loved ones presence all around
I felt like... Like it was a good day to cry
Categories:
reddened, feelings,
Form:
Verse
The day Democracy died,
I was a little lad, yea, knee high
Papa turned on the telly
to watch the White House news
Curious to hear if the
whether forecast rumor was true
Did the First Amendment reporters
get carried away
by a baton wavy sea of blue
Horrified streaming video voices said,
it was a shot live bulletin event
Terrified eye witnesses stammer bled
in the Death Valley of Dissent
This is what I saw
the fateful day Democracy died,
I was a mere lad, yea, only knee high
Me remember Mama sobbing,
wiping her reddened eyes
Broken-hearted pulse skipping,
repeating: “Why, oh why?”
As freedom of speech believers
were wrongfully
read last rites in the streets
OMG! were the blog bleats
Palace guards were told to forge ahead,
by orders of authoritarian consent
Replacing the non-lethal bullets instead,
in the dire Death Valley of Dissent
The tragic day Democracy died,
I was a small lad, yea, barely knee high
But, I’ll always remember
that sorrowful Constitution mourn
When freedom was abortion borne
Foul eerie, dark crimson reign
was a-falling from abysmal, grey skies
A tsunami tide of muzzle pain,
cursed flood of voter suppression sighs
Watching pacifist protesters drop dead,
their peace signs
consumed by tyrannical flames of dread
I heard swastika shouts (guillotine hatred
coming down razor sharp, unedited)
from the Ivory Tower of Power,
saying, “Lady Liberty, off with her head!”
And the ballot tears got trampled dried
by the scattering lead
I saw the Bill of Rights defenders on their knees bent,
as their sacred write fell by the wayside
Dictatorial forces said,
“Only funeral marches in the Death Valley of Dissent”
To this day, tortured Democracy never got revived
Now, I'm a grown man
with a lion mane
And a firmament roar that can't be mute crucified
Categories:
reddened, dark, freedom, political, visionary,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Holding head down he simmers in anguish
Scribbling restless shapes in red crayon
Concealing bitterness of a child forlorn.
At a tender young age he knows of divorce
Custody battles, and the pointed fingers
Of angry gestures condemning each other.
Any moment now they'll open the door
Pretending like there is love in the air.
He dashes towards her, gripping angst
Hearing Dad's words: "Say goodbye to Mom"
Hugging her tightly, tears rolling down,
Reddened eyes now piercing her sight
Wanting to ask if she understands why
He doesn't color anymore inside the lines,
As a smile uplifts from the depth of her eyes.
October 14, 2018
Categories:
reddened, angst, child, divorce, parents,
Form:
Free verse