Best Riddling Poems
“Some of us are like ink and some like paper. And if it were not for the blackness of some of us, some of us would be dumb; And if it were not for the whiteness of some of us, some of us would be blind.”
Khalil Gibran
Am I lost in a secret world of uncharted distant shores,
riddling once more in the confusion of Morse code.
Separation resembles the mourn of a black rose
in perpetual pain perspectives of a shackled heart -
with repetitive echoes of empty sentiments.
Street lights are no guide in nights that never die,
where the painted sky is blacker than black.
As carved feathers from wings of hope keep falling,
floating in strong winds, drowning in crimson forever rain,
composing dehydrated water locked memories.
Tormentally trapped in melancholic moments,
not wanting to exist in a world where a glimpse could kill.
I am all that you cannot see, just a blank canvas.
An unfinished poem with suppressed thirsty ink.
My armour is my silent fury brewing with thunder.
Unapologetically naked, unafraid if lightning strikes.
In this wired life, I'm fighting with myself - but surviving.
There is nothing magical in the mental joy of living,
so I have no concern for who casts the sands first,
as my quill cries your name, I am poetically yours,
a misfit misunderstood metaphor, yearning for more.
We are all poets
In the same boat
The reason we write
Just to stay afloat
There's no other reason
Of that, I know
For us as poets
To stay afloat
So draw the anchor
Hoist the sail
We'll all rhyme our way
Clear outta here
Sailing the pantoum oceans
On sonnet seas
Casting our lot
In the poetic breeze
Steering riddling rudders
Across verses in waves
Until the very last day
We're made to walk the plank
As we are all poets
In the same boat
Trying our best
Just to stay afloat
The age of time bears acts forbidding...
wrongs, deceit and vice,
In its course worldly facts are riddling,
as poetry shares its eyes.....
In the age of time, such things of want...
be more so than things of need,
as realities warrant...
such heed being greed,
In the age of time, the wealthiest show,
such boastfulness beyond belief,
while human poverty continues to grow...
in worldwide tribulation to no relief,
In the age of time, destitution keeps rising...
in need of real want and care,
as worldly governments are aware and disguising,
hunger and pestilence toll be to bear,
In the age of time, many are doubting...
true fairness of human law,
and many are shouting,
for justice for one and all,
In the age of time, many are awaiting...
for God to stretch out His hand,
to end all wickedness, tyranny, sheer hating,
thus bring peace throughout the land.
This summer's winding leaves a pierce behind
Charred traces of her smouldering days,
A riddling puzzle blurs clouds in her mind
When fragile heart cracks glassy tears, assailed
Somehow, this thud of fall pretends to hold
A promise, tinged with sharp crushing of bones
Where forward bites and snaps the bitter cold,
That reels in hidden betrayals unknown
For with this most damn season's turn , alas
Trickery of love disowned in a rush,
When dusted time counters all autumns past
She flickers higher like emblazoned brush
And every triumph over cycles’ spin
Trades wheels of goodbye for fresh beginnings.
Goodbye Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Pre- Written 9/28/2016
Carrying Birds, Chirping in ears
The sound of Music, A vulture hears
Sing of despair, A storm brewing near
Death taking a toll, Rivers overflow
Earthquakes causing Shakes, Tsunamis in which they create
Time telling a story, Of a land washed away
Buildings of rubble, Body's they Shovel
A loss looking to the sky, Victims wondering why
The world having swallowed, Their love ones becoming hallow
Rising to a new day, Strength for which they pray
Gathering all, Lost memories in a fall
Seasons create change, Birds return for gain
Camouflaging to a time, The color in trees
Photosynthesis causing vibrance, Pollinating the bees
Despite pollutants, Riddling the air
Forever carried in the wind, Wings of an affair
Moving forward in a loss, despite being unfair
Remembering a time, Birds silenced with fear
^^^^^^^^Unexpected Storm^^^^^^^^^^
Education has never deluded me,
it is a rich mine from which my gemstones are extracted;
and all of them can adorn with its brilliance
a king's crown, but the glitter on my silver pendant...
with my natal sign, not with my image, outshines it
and displays it very elegantly.
As skilled hands relied on mental deftness,
I depended on mom's provincial practicality,
not on chances, but on her canonical guidance;
her words told no canards, only truthfulness:
an illunination of beatitude to encourage and fortify...
and that voice taught me acts of benevolence.
Guessing what was the mysterious name it bore,
would have been quite easy to identify with sharp eyes:
examining the deeds I did and the actions I still compromise,
to conclude with certainty
that it fitted me so perfectly...
I learned that art by listening to clever people with more ardor.
This is not a gift which is instilled
in the infant's brain at birth,
it is acquired by growing somewhat old...
who could have such a prodigious knowledge?
The Old Testament prophets for instance, or possibly
every learned man who studied philosophy.
Spend time with me, and observe how I peruse:
listen to the clear and incisive words spoken aloud,
riddling no mystery, or being derogatory...
proverbs might be included to give some clues;
and they were written in an inimitable way
to stimulate the minds of the unlearned.
Is intelligence inborn or learned by chance,
or even isometric to astuteness?
Many admit it stems from accruing knowledge,
to increase the capacity of the thinker or genius...
accumulating their ideas and earning praises,
while the uneducated struggle with rage.
Logical astutness is efficacious when it invigorates ability,
and exhorts a great deal of mental energy;
and will the proper words be used to that effect?
Happy New Year to all the wonderful Poetry Soup members!
Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci
A single woman, in her early thirties,
Wanting not to settle, wanting not to date
Wanting not to mingle, for the sole reason
That, she finds not between the rest and herself
Many similarities!
Pray, being made of hyper sensibility
She prefers her own company
Delving in her inner world,
A world made of poetry,
She seems always so serene and happy!
Pray, it is not in to be an extreme loner
It is not in to want not to blossom sexually
Yet, she holds on to her own convictions
Stoically, stubbornly
Easily, effortlessly, even!
Why, it is not common these days
To hear a woman say she wants to be a maiden forever
Yes, for her heart belongs to the powers higher
Of thus, she had made a pledge, once
Once, when her tantrums for the mundane had broken her!
So much that now, she has faith flowing in her veins
Beating in her heart
Filling in the essence of her soul
Making up her very breath
And of course, centering her vision of life!
Now, she cares not for the mundane
Earth's pleasures please her not
Earth's miseries bother her not
Earth interests her not
Even if she has sworn to serve it, as long as she shall be!
Pray, she knows she is totally out of the box
She knows and she acknowledges it
She knows and she assumes it
For life revolves around diversity, around mystery
Around riddling enigmatic folly!
She prefers to close her eyes to the harsh gaze of the society
She prefers to hear not of their rants
She prefers to sit alone, to breathe in the freedom of purity
And to write, lines and lines of poetry
Till shall come the time for the gates of Truth to open up to her!
Being in has never been her thing
Always has she yearned to be unique
Pray, the skies have made her as such
Of this grace, she remains grateful
Hopes she, though, to be somehow useful!
And protected, always
Claims she, to have no faith
For she loves all the paths leading to the worlds other
Yes, a being she is, totally out of the box
Yet, a box it is, which is itself a nomad of Time!
Mumbo gumbo's
blind faith
deepening cynicism
in metaphorical
meaninglessness
of judicious social
twaddle's protocol,
they ask, “have you
found Jesus yet??”
'I hadn't a figgy scooby doo
he was lost...'
nothing happens
for a reason
aside from the seasons - -
children starving,
wars in the name
of ungodly religions,
poverty
exponentially rising,
mother earth is crying
middle class is dying,
whilst dogmatism
& the nefarious
masses thrive
there are virtually &
literally nor otherwise,
zero, zippo, nada, concrete
reasons why_
'hear no evil',
mere riddling
rhymes make naught
a minuscule bit
of sense
“Truth isn’t truth,”
that’s what some Cap’n Obvious toady recently said
He was pissy mad, when his angry tears wet the bed
Lieutenant Rudy Brown-Nose
a has-been sniffing the swine caboose breeze:
Loco breath wafting
between sulfuric methane, prune puckered lips —
sphincter pie holes half-closed
Politrician power tools pocket plugged into their patsy roles,
says with dark chaos authority: Everything is under control
Public trust pirates,
dressed in
populist parrot disguise,
love $inging tavern song$
Foaming out the frothy, dark-amber lager lies
Iscariot getaway chariots
be karaoke squealing yellow snow —
highway robbery melodies
Money green
dollar rain
golden showers
On silver cloud vapor piles,
sticky six-finger flies
be spitting out
buzz-kill dung beetle cries
Butt of the jokes be the wench reward
for the stumbling,
power-drunk whores
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sky
for a few rubles more
$ee the neon $ign $potlight in the $ky,
it’s showing some Two-Face, penny-wise liar
(Riddling?)
Ritalin up the final justice score
Bat-crazy, Commish slum lord
got the Lewd tenant
boot-licking
filthy lucre crumbs on the floor
Dog whistles got the railroad cage bent ...
Wall Street woofers on a barf paid, carny bark yell
Every foul commodity bowel movement
do slug leave a regurgitated profit stench vomit trail
While the vote suckers are on the slow buy,
their Good Ship Lollipop is on a quick sell
“Truth isn’t truth,”
is what some Cap’n Crunch croaker just said
That’s a mouth full of self-serving, apron purse ties
Sweet Georgia boo pecan pie is tasty cow pucky lies
Go on ... take another covetous slice,
and a couple more burglar bites
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sea below
for a few dollars mo’
Spitballing Prince of Tides
love muddying the waters so
Sold old truths as new lies
“Truth is truth,”
ain’t what some Cap’n Ahab toady just white lie wail said
It crocodile aqua lava seems
the Cap’n Nemo Lying King
is gonna sleep well tonight, on your hot Pompeii water bed
How would it be to ride a bike into the new year?
Awesome in the name of the environment,
Play-like with energy, the man-child seeks no
Pity or placement, planetary alignment is his
Yuletide, his sun spray, his angel's glance,
Nothing would breech the 2010 man's soul with
Everyone carrying the flame of the good like
Willows over glade, tendrils rounding trees,
Your breathe being as good as mine in 2010,
Everyone pedaling at once, every man
Air-raiding pleas for what we need and not want,
Riddling the sins of our past into prosperity.
Beneath dotted stars with soft campfire
as ally, lone cowboy’s pondering meanders
through the sand dunes and night-saloons
thumb marked by his blazed rides for
pistol quests and fist thugs, as rowdy duels
and women’s sighs so adored climb
unto a red of greeting sunset.
Recalling those dusty trails--pungent and bold--
he descends like a magic bat from nowhere
riddling his foes way down the desert floor.
Many at times, the sawdust boots
reeked from the heat of bandits’ glare
as if to pierce his chest one hell of a shot
with tassels flowing high unto smoky air.
Edifying as he seems, beneath dotted stars,
a lone cowboy is simply this: a tender wind
mild as his strumming guitar
calling for prairies’ honeyed life while a tough
leather vest hides his simple, warm nobleness.
Howdy Pard Contest of Shadow Hamilton
5/5/2014
Medals on frames stood upright and straight,
Like guns marching on bloody road to Death March
At eighteen, he bore the pellets of war’s cause
Fingers wounded by splinters from a grenade
Spawned by raw courage for freedom’s glory
He counted black hours guarding his troops;
Piloting aircraft and landing on muddy swamp
Worse was the order to kick his dead friend, Paul.
Black nights fed thinner ribs with brisk attacks
Riddling air with roulette of mortar sounds,
Yet country’s honor soared higher than gray winds
A testament for a man of lofty ideals.
Tales of grit, battle scars wrapped in dignity
A body resting on heroes’ graveyard, our flag rising;
Until the end, code of gallantry filled life’s moments
Of one general, dear Dad, your spirit walks with me.
2nd place
we all have our lists
the people we wish we could kiss
but the truth is the realest ones
are the ones we never get
because we always dismiss
what could have been epic
behind the facade were all big skeptics
Too many people think love doesn't exist
so we avoid the feeling
we settle for riddling
wasn't there a time
when everything lasted?
Simplicity in this day in age are you mad?
everyone takes a glass of complicated
right before they re masked themselves
people simply can't get pass themselves
so they play with faith and twist and twirl
the after math just makes you want to hurl
you see the prettiest girls searching for
fairy tales that they may never reach
I hate to sound like a downer but
why is it that we never catch what we
set out to seek?
We fall in love with
things that are so out of reach
so when you ask me what I want to find
I say someone just as complicated
and screwed up as me
because than they would understand
regardless of the here say
they would never reprimand me
for being me.
They'd know that
there's more to me than what I
appear to be. That's what I want to find.
I must be outta my mind to write this list
but I know it'd be better than any other
Christmas gift Santa could deliver.
Just the thought of waking to everything
I've ever wanted makes my whole body shiver.
VACANCY
My life is like a puzzle,
Riddling my thoughts perpetually,
Overdosing my mind with conundrums,
No solution for this enigma!
Is there someone to...
Reveal my compassion,
To dedicate love to with obsession,
Commitment genuinely in passion,
Jury of executive love in commission.
Seized and confiscated hearts in my possession,
Quilt of soul espionage is my confession.
This, potential lovers out there is an appeal…
My kraal is fully cowed,
But no piece of meat on my table… Who will join and fill my heart with happiness?
Cause this, be a table for two!
By Willem Pietersen
A cupola shin, prickly dick creed, hoary
testes tossed, master baiting ova all eel trades
crossed the fecund Rubicon and ejaculated
olly olly oxen yawping, in utero seminal raids
with phallic coup d’etat that buck came vasocongested spades
lit torch, where hello kitty Ernst lee screeched
amidst Grafenberg tit parades
bumping uglies during four nuke key eight ting game
where pinkish puckered two lips viz biological
Russian roulette played – birth control relegated as desuetude
hotly contested fee conned, caved heat seminal blitzkrieg overlaid
bilging swamped,
whence olds eye goat ruff fused exiting nightshade
shy ham mull in, and gave way to blast ta cyst
vis a visa viz biological fertilization qua two plump milkmaids
from inchoate seeds juiced beginning
to compress bladder re: lemonades
per diem mother via umbilical cord fueling gestation,
where sonogram shows faint genetic threnody skein
perchance manifold jades
nope – no fallacy when peppy thrust with sucks esse full feint
after thwarting objection against skin flute charmed thence invades
which begot conception from chromosomal traits stitched
via jean S, and her faction of trumpeting handmaids
whose fecund ditty began to feel swell as biological reproduction
showed no uterine back grades
as Tabula rasa In utero endured fusillades per what mother tubby ingested
sustenance promulgated noticeable womb dar full expansion fusillades
of nutriments ordaining future health of progeny
riddling endless questions within the gallimaufry
discombobulated mental, physical fatigue enfilades
and spiritual state of momma me ya in tha family way, whereby baby blueprint an outcome as nano sized atomic bombshells scoured decades
to determine the ontological makeup from when the fluid dynamics
spelling impregnation since time immemorial and into the future cascades
artfully concatenating eminent grise immaculate kindred laminated with waxy substance i.e. vernix, though smooth
doth serve analogous to microscopic switch-blades.