Best Rivets Poems
Here I rest, a rusting hulk
Alone, aloof, within my bulk
The hiss of steam within my veins
The pistons pulling at the reins
Mere memories now of a loyal life
Now round my rivets rust is rife
No clank of coal, no whistle shout
No churning wheels, no water spout
Now rust flakes fast to line my grave
Where only leaves and litter pave
This epitaph to a faithful slave
And don't deny I served you well
Yet now condemned within my cell
Of rusted rails that bind me fast
Those guiding hands of days long past
When smells of grease and hissing steam
Echoed gleams and children's screams
As stones and steel rushed past my head
Now tears of rain make up this bed
A burial cloak for a servant laid
To rest and rust in romance dead
She leaves Southampton
This Titanic ship
Her maiden voyage
New York trip
Channel crossings to Cherbourg, France
To Queenstown in Ireland
Where passengers dance
To some, a new life awaits
The future will seal their fate
Newfoundland waters
Temperature drop
Impending disaster
Without a thought
Lookouts, Fleet and Lee
Spot a large iceberg close to she
Sitting off her starboard bow
Sweat dripping from their brow
Telegraph indicator
In confusion state
This colossus of ice
Sits and waits
Inevitable meet
As natures diamond rips
Starboard side
Of this most wonderful ship
Rivets pop, buckled hull
Atlantic intrusion, in volumes now
Compartments fill, this White Star gem
Will we ever see her likes again
Distress signal sent
As the crew are readied
This ship of ships
Emotionally unsteady
Lifeboats launched
Woman and children first
On this terrible night
Many fear the worst
So many passengers
Few lifeboats
As all around
Bodies float
Stern raised, props showing
Metal talking, funnels choking
Lights flicker off and on
Blackout
I stood amidst the maddening crowds
drowned in cries of disarray....
Something about this gentle captive
Encouraged me to stay.
Through the crimson rivets flowing
his eyes they pulsed with love.
And through the swarming sea of fists
His gaze was cast above.
They kicked him down, with every lunge
a vicious spite fuelled taunt...
They marched their prey atop the hill
to torture kill and flaunt.
I braved the writhing mass of spite
as i was in his debt i felt.
I shuddered at his broken form
every open wound and welt.
His mouth grimaced in sheer torment
as nails were driven to his wrists.
Blood thickened on the sun scorched sand
trickling from his tight clenched fists.
They mounted him on the cross
As he was raised for all to see.
Anger toiled deep in my heart
as the high priests howled in glee.
All silenced by his final cry
his broken chords in lamentation.
He wailed unto the heavenly Father
The God of our creation....
Father God forgive them.. for they know not
what they do ...
Love was spilt from the beams that bore
The man so pure ... so true ..
And as he hung his deadening glare
which faded in affection..
Death had lost its mighty sting
as he awaited resurrection.
You, my love, you
Entrusted me into the burning arms of fervor,
Rested your knowing fingers upon skin ever glistened with tears
Graced the breath I dared to breathe when moments masterfully collided
We stand upon the edge like devils daring nature’s wrath
Your heels wrap around the very rim that border you and I from the air
The sky blue black vapors swirl into dark wonder vanishing, the stars like eyes flashing
As you whisper fiercely in my ear, daring me to push the limit
Begging me with pupils that reflect my own desires
Your entwining smile rivets in me nerve beyond present night
I squeeze the angels out of you in one melodious measure of movement
Encumbering you in all of me, rattling your frames
A lasting forest tall as terror thrilled upon a demon possessed storm
I push us off the sheer edge,
As we spiral in the depths of the ocean’s welcoming mouth
The weight of our past and present sufferings melting into complete passion
Cradling us in the bed of her deepest, darkest waters
My lips meeting the substance of your future words
Your tongue running along the traces of silence ever kept
Deep into the screams of inner woe, embellishing warmth from head to toe
Surrounded by the echoey, treasured lines of your heart,
Mastered from the very start
You lift me high into the love falls
Splashes of poetry dispersing my hair all around
Our eyes staring into each other’s
Locked into a world like no other
With revitalizing surety otherwise crippling,
With the deep dip of your sexy soul and perforating body,
I enter the realm of your rapturous reality
Captured willingly in your picturesque hungers
Through the very tunnel of your never-ending eyes…
The penetrating roars of your fulfillment take me by surprise
Yes, you, my love, you
Took me there tonight…
For down within those depths with you I would have eagerly allowed
The sorrows and agonies of my doubts to succumb
For inside the ancient oceans of your poetry do we love
We prevail as seraphs released from the prisons of poverty-stricken despair
Their descending smiles fermenting scents of eternal ecstasy
---
~For Justin Bordner's "Make Love To Me In That Ancient Place" Contest
~Thank you again for inspiring! Lots of love!
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
Restless restoration
Return
Remove all the rubble remaining from the rampant rift you released and retracted
Remember?
I recognized and revealed your ravishing rituals and repugnant relations
Rippling into your relentless rampage
A recycled retaliation, resonating with regret and self-revolt
A response reused rather than repenting the wrong
Ravaging our rare relics of reverie without remorse in your ruthless rage
You have rendered a realm of ruin; relinquished of reason and rightful retribution
Reliving the reoccurring rumbles of this relationship as I rummage through the wreckage and reassemble the rivets and fallen rafters
You have run out of radius, only to reappear in my retrograding reflections
Recollecting till I rupture and regress
Reminiscing, recalling the rapture and revelry repeatedly
The rain that remains is relevantly rational
A requiem to rot for the rest of this reality?
Reevaluate righteous relief
Rust over, rise up or seek revenge
At crushing depths
Titanic rests
Rusticles- like red ice
hang from her corpse
[the excrement of
fathoms deep bacteria]
And now technology
[ undreamed of when it was needed]
peers at her
[long submerged wreckage]
from slick sub-like vessels
taking computer generated
photo mosaics
[for investigators to pore over.]
Once, mystifying questions
are un-layered one by one
from evidence locked
within her tortured skeleton,
revealing
[ not the simple impact of an iceberg]
sealed her fate]
but rather, a 'series of happenings',
[without remedy.]
Rivets with 'too much slag'
gave way
letting in Atlantic's weight
Her belly full,
she hugged her center keel
[in futile efforts]
to keep bow and stern connected.
As she sank, into eternity,
chambered cells,
[once meant to prevent
the onslaught of the sea,]
were swiftly breached
Sea weight tore her
great- ship's-soul asunder,
and sinking to the sea's dark floor,
she took with her,
poor forsaken passengers
[crying in disbelief ]
at the cruel and lying 'myth.'
See sawing down,
the broken stern end
speared, into fathoms deep mud,
the bow rails stayed intact
[for all the ghosts
to lean on ]
And with the solving of
her final hours,
it is unthinkable,
that this rusticled specter
[once so full of mystery]
had been declared to be
'unsinkable.'
ALL YOURS (Jun 10)
Contest Judged: 6/9/2021 11:40:00 PM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
First Place
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
The Dragonfly
I saw this monstrosity of a dragonfly
Swiftly take flight from a grassy field
By its wings, the wind was quite high
Trees and tall grasses bowed in yield
Strangely it flew with such a loud roar
Even the lions, if nearby would scurry
It could hover and in some winds soar
Leaving loose dirt and leaves in a flurry
Of sheets, plates, tubulars and struts
Coupled into a sturdy, rigid frame
By welds, rivets and bolts and nuts
Into the unusual insect it became
The skin, well beaten and burnished
At times painted in hues dull or bright
With flapping wings, it wasn’t furnished
But with opaque, rotary wings for flight
Curiously, not some insect you can swat
With a newspaper, and of it make a smear
Its creation, a leap in conveyance brought
Easing our crossing of every frontier
May 27, 2017
(Just for fun, folks - and a nod to Old English)
Wat?!?
No jovial banter? No easy give-and-take of rivalry? Naught there be a good-natur'd ribbing between courteous competitors? Nay a rusty-edg'd petulance on propriety's behalf? No acrimonious innuendo f'r the sake of the game? Nay there a parry and thrusteth of verbal interaction, given eagrly in the hon'r of athletic engagement? Not yea a poison-ting'd barb-or-two f'r a corky adversary?
Ah well, I s'pose 'tis f'r the best, lest naught gallant Prince Brady springeth from the ramparts and striketh said foes to the quick . . . dark h'rse ye sayeth? Aye, I grant ye such, but such darkness yea the fires of Hades himself shant cleave in their most earnest reakoning, n'r shall thither be any who abscond the ire of it's somb'r intent.
Hearken ye anon to the soundeth of the armorer's accomplishments . . . the busy hammereth closing cold the rivets, as valiant Sir Thomas shall likewise closeth the lighteth from his foes' furth'r days. Seekest thou mercy? Dost thy heart thump with the rhythm of a calleth f'r clemency? Dost thy eyes endeavor to findeth the spark of benevolence in Prince Brady's gaze?
No one - nay, not yea I - can knoweth of such things . . . but ye can, as all creatures of similar acumen art apt, prayeth. Thou shalt findeth eventual attainment on thy boney knubs anyway, best prepareth f'r such ends willfully, hands clasp'd and eyes to the heavens . . . thy doom is thy salvation, as is the glint of Sir Thomas Patrick Edward Brady's salient blade!
Consid'rest thou admonish'd.
Discern deep deeds
Sense sparkle seed
Live lovely light
Spread sublime sight
Bright blessings bloom
Rich rapture rooms
Glimpse glowing grace
Feel fate find face
Treasure true treats
Glowing gifts greet
Paint picture poise
Verse vibrant voice
Laughs living loud
Prize peeking proud
Love lines loiter
Soul spores scatter
Bring brilliant book
Live loving looks
Touch thrills temper
Wise words whisper
Seek sweet surprise
Reap rich reprise
Toss trouble times
Reach rivets rhymes
Bear bold blessings
Feel fond feelings
Time tackles time
Rhyme rousing rhyme
Death's dying day
Life's living lay
Go gather grace
Fancy feeds face
Treasure true takes
Mindset moves make
Leon Enriquez
25 Aapril 2015
Singapore
rivets of grandeur
telecommunications
static blur
triple digits
percentage proof liquor
liquid licking her all over
much
lower
much
slower
coming closer to being solar
being filled with sexual energy
record this image
in the banks of your memory
every second, minute, hour even the centuries
sexy versions corrupting my circuitry
welcome to my written version of a sexy me
Limerick: No Cossacks charge down Arc de Triomphe
No Cossacks charge down Arc de Triomphe
Champs Elysée hourra! in triumph
For World Ruler no less
Come to check French prowess
World rivets eyes according to Gumph
Here the Seine rises not to greet Trump
Nor the Eiffel Tower lean in slump
Loose tract of Arctic ice
Bound for US in vice
Great Leader returns to rule vast swamp
At last the World will groan all alone
At Djibouti PRC horns blown
Will Marines take over
From Great Landless Leader
Thus ends Climate Change Treaty in clone !
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Diseased incubator of mutated humanity
A festering cesspool of rotten ideals,
And ancient plots of religious restraint
Or the liberation from.
Acidic with greed and selfishness.
Base and seductive, the nature of societal allure
Indulgence, self-satisfaction and gross misconduct
Or just inaction is even worse.
At least those atrocious individuals have a spine.
They have picked a side.
Bought into all we are suppose to.
Grow up believing and hoping to become a productive member of.
The death machine they are rivets on a gear.
They may not be hero's or martyrs but they know their place.
You on the other hand remain complacently paralyzed in fear.
Can not recognize bondage for what it is , what it makes you.
A spineless disgrace. A causeless activist with no identity.
A blank slate, a featureless face.
Wat?!?
No jovial banter? No easy give-and-take of rivalry? Naught there be a good-natur'd ribbing between courteous competitors? Nay a rusty-edg'd petulance on propriety's behalf? No acrimonious innuendo f'r the sake of the game? Nay there a parry and thrusteth of verbal interaction, given eagrly in the hon'r of athletic engagement? Not yea a poison-ting'd barb-or-two f'r a corky adversary?
Ah well, I s'pose 'tis f'r the best, lest naught gallant Prince Brady springeth from the ramparts and striketh said foes to the quick . . . dark h'rse ye sayeth? Aye, I grant ye such, but such darkness yea the fires of Hades himself shant cleave in their most earnest reakoning, n'r shall thither be any who abscond the ire of it's somb'r intent.
Hearken ye anon to the soundeth of the armorer's accomplishments . . . the busy hammereth closing cold the rivets, as valiant Sir Thomas shall likewise closeth the lighteth from his foes' furth'r days. Seekest thou mercy? Dost thy heart thump with the rhythm of a calleth f'r clemency? Dost thy eyes endeavor to findeth the spark of benevolence in Prince Brady's gaze?
No one - nay, not yea I - can knoweth of such things . . . but ye can, as all creatures of similar acumen art apt, prayeth. Thou shalt findeth eventual attainment on thy boney knubs anyway, best prepareth f'r such ends willfully, hands clasp'd and eyes to the heavens . . . thy doom is thy salvation, as is the glint of Sir Thomas Patrick Edward Brady's salient blade!
Consid'rest thou admonish'd.