Best Roughness Poems
I want to ride a zebra
and race the rays of radiance
through heat-waves’ sailing gradients -
a folly wild - a mood untamed
elated hands in bristled mane
unbridled veins uncorked champagne...
yes! elevate sedate heart rate
I WANT to ride a zebra
stripes yin yang oasis sweet and
whimsy rules a drumroll beat as
gallop sways euphoric roughness
crossing plains of dreamy lushness -
steed’s exotic tender toughness
pacing thrills in state of luscious...
yes! animate to sate my wait
I want to RIDE a zebra
savanna grass a grand expanse
a lion’s roar - hyena's rant
amuse myself with peril’s speed
adventure sows romantic’s seed... so
gestate date with fancy’s fate
YES! I want to ride a Z E B R A !
Categories:
roughness, adventure, animal, dream, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
It was summertime
I'm not sure of the year
We sat on the front porch steps watching our children play
The sun had disappeared over the trees
The sky shone with hues of purple, pink, and orange
You pointed as a first star appeared
Then reached for my hand
And caressed it with the roughness of your thumb
We never thought to get a camera
Or to write about this moment in a journal..
Something perhaps we should have done...
So that we would never forget
...such a perfect twilight
Categories:
roughness, happiness, love
Form:
Free verse
Wood Carving
He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul. “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?” The buses
pass carrying workers, students, captains
of industry. They look at him but they do
not see him. The children see him.
Wonder in their dreams how he came
to be. Some want to be rid of him.
They have no reason, no justification
for alarm, nothing to warrant their
uneasiness. One daring young lady
sat beside him, whispered a secret to
him, both shook with laughter.
Passersby were startled to see the
interaction and summoned the
the childs mother. “What have you
taught her that makes her think that
she can do such things?” They asked.
The young lady tried to speak but was
hushed by the serious looks she was
getting from the adults. That evening at
bed time the young lady’s mother asked
her: “What did you say to him?”. “I said:
‘You look like grandpa.”. The mother sat
back, quieting a tear, and reminded the
young lady that her Grandpa was no
longer here. “I know, Mommy”. She said.
Well then, what did “he” say to you?”
The young lady sat up in bed and smiled
“He said that he was there every day,
and any time I wished to sit with him
and read to him it would be fine.”
“Mommy”, she said, “do you remember
grandpa”? “You know …how his face was
all rough, and his hands hard and
spidery, and how he would like it when
I sat with him and read?” The tear that
had been held “quiet” made a sound,
ran down the mother’s face as she
hugged her daughter and put her
to bed. The next day mother and daughter
walked to the old tree, felt the roughness
of his face, touched his spidery thin
branches, sat with him – and read.
Soon others came to visit, sitting and
whispering, laughing and reading.
for they know who he is, what his
origins are, why “he” waits so patiently.
John G. Lawless
9/27/2014
For PD's WHATEVER - Poetry Contest
Categories:
roughness, childhood, grandfather, nostalgia,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I tasted summer…
It sure tasted good
I was dying for a sip
Of my iced coffee CHINO
Only in Cyprus…
My drug of choice
Crushed ice with sweetened coffee
OH....YES!
In the evenings
succulent watermelon treats
Eating it all with relish
Even the seeds
what greed!
I tasted summer…
In that first dive into the pool
How cool!
Immersed in liquid delight
Open eyes
I touched the bottom of the pool
Two dolphins painted there
Let me have my way...
I did a handstand
Legs pointed straight up into the air
The water running down my legs
Straight up....I held on
Weightless
Weightless
In my element
My hair flowing around me
As I did my strokes
Diving in and out of the water
A fish…
That's how I got described
by the one who watched,
"Your so agile"
Such exuberance
I thought…OH…this is better...
Better that a sensual high
There was I
Gliding in and out
Water above, below, all around
Carrying me
Splashing around me
loving me
Playing...playing with my hair
Saturating my soul
With giddiness
Muted sound
Below the surface
I swim underwater
The width of the pool
I thrust up for air
Water slides off my body
The sun kisses me
Applauding the feat
I taste summer
It sure tastes good
Salty scent in my hair
My body slathered in sunscreen
Sand clinging to me
The beach
My sensing feasting
On every single thing...
My eyes delighted
A small September crowd
Enjoys the breeze
that creates the waves
I wade into the water
Intake of breath
I squeal
It's refreshingly cold
The water laps at my legs
crawling further and further up
Making me gasp
Finally....
I submerge
I laugh
I dive into the waves
One by one
I play...
I push myself high
My face to the shore
They pound on my back
I take a deep breath and let them roll over me
Enjoying the roughness
That "out of control" feeling
This is greater than me
And then
I lie back
I float
Blue above
White puffs: baby angel breath clouds
I let the sun ravish
The water carries me
I forget everything
My mind blank like the blue sky
There is nothing but the NOW
NOW
And there am I
Tasting summer
Salty and sweet
September treat
And happy
Oh, so, happy, am, I!
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
roughness, sea, september, summer, sun,
Form:
Narrative
Do we truly ever notice them?
Those rare and perfect moments?
Did we pay enough attention?
To keep them safely, guarded, and safely tucked away?
It was summertime, at the end of an ordinary day
We were sitting on our front porch steps
Our children were playing in the yard
The air was warm, the grass was green and fragrant
The sun had disappeared over the trees, and the nearest hill
The sky shone with hues of purple, pink and orange
You pointed as a first star appeared
Then reached for my hand,
caressing it with the roughness of your thumb
We never thought to get a camera
Or to write about this particular moment in a journal
We never mentioned it the next day....or the day after that....
Perhaps something we should have done
Just so that we would never forget
such a perfect twilight....
Categories:
roughness, family, happiness, introspection,
Form:
Narrative
The patterns of my life
Sifted through your heart.
The calling of the wind
Gives you a place to start.
The crashing of the tide,
The bubbles of the surf.
The roughness of my fingers
After time kissing with the earth.
The golden ray of eyesight,
And the shield black with pain.
The rumble of the thunder
Then its calming, soothing rain.
The time you kissed my eyelids
As night turned into day.
The way that Hamlet felt
When his Ophelia sank away.
You taught my heart to sing,
And my thoughts to find their place,
Then you sang yourself to sleep
Still creating time and space.
Categories:
roughness, life, lovetime, time,
Form:
Rhyme
A woman’s love is soft
Rounded…smooth
Soft like her body
A blanket of gentleness
Her softness covers
The edges of a man’s soul
Making him feel warm
Whole
Nurtured
Fed
A soft pillow for his head
Her breasts
Soft
So so s o f t…
Her arms
Dreamy clouds of comfort
Around his shoulders
His angular frame
Covered
His roughness softened
Gentle, soothing
The love of a woman
Reducing him
To the child in the man
In need of love....
The knowledge that she’s there
An added softness to his rugged world
Of madness
A woman’s love
Is a soft embedding
Of his hard strength
Lost in the warm depths
Of her soft
Soft
Love
A woman’s love...
A man’s soft salvation
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Inspired by the poem by Richard D Steal (WOMAN)
Categories:
roughness, love, woman,
Form:
Free verse
Let er rip. - Shoot from the hip. Write using the meaning of this expression.
They were strangers
Yet they felt completely
Au fait with one another
They strolled through the fields of corn
Quite relaxed and at ease
They smiled as they talked
Each giving the other a shy smile
He held out his hand, they touched
Bells rung in their ears
As though they were reborn
They ran like two children at play
Exhausted they fell to the ground
In a bundle of legs and arms
Their lips touched, was like lighting
A touch paper
Feeling of wantoness ran through their veins
She gathered his manhood in her hands
Gently massaging him to full arousal
This was a no return situation
They made love , no they completed the act of lust
Her clothes in shreds where they were ripped away
Her virginity given willingly
within the roughness of the occasion
No thoughts of consequences
She didn't know his name
She knew his body
They knew it was a here and now situation
They parted with a passionate kiss
They had let er rip, and definitely shot from the hip
Memories they will treasure always.
A new life will be, because of the now
Penned March 20 2015
Categories:
roughness, life,
Form:
Verse
James, your words are like echos of extacy
forclosing with your sweetness on the bargain of my heart
so scratched and bruised, wounded from betrayle
and yet...your words from so far away, bring happiness with every glimmer
so softly i wish to kiss thy tender lips, pressed like sweet poison against my skin
to look into your eyes full of dark shadows, opening doors of light with each breath
so sweetly i wish to bring your blood, rising to the surface
to paint my ivory lips with color, sweetness, like a vampires kiss
within dreams i fall aslumber, gaining with each star, another moment
to be closer to your warmth, pulsing beneath cold skin, a heart
pain eching itsself a mirror in our eyes, shared death, shared life
feel my fingertips lace your skin, roughness tinting the sweet tender passion
sweet, tender passion...will you join me in sweet tender passion
arising from our own warm, in the throws of blankets
we burry ourselves deeper, not to be disturbed by rising daylight
be mine, vampiric whispers, none else wilt hear mine all but thee
i stare into your eyes, with in my fragile dream
vampiric mesmarising, trapped within my spell, captivizing
to kiss your lips, and paint them in the color of my blood
so pale, we lay together at last, forget the scorching sun
for like Lestat we have gained the power to survive with it touching our skin
children of the night, prisoners of loves plight
will you be my lover? i beg in tears of hate
my hate burning down my face in tears of pain
my love like fire burning in my eyes
the only way ill survuve to love and hate...you
will you be my lover, my vampiric lover
my blood lover, to kiss apon the moon pale skin
a vampires sweet midnight kiss
before we fall into, our slumber
she calls to he, James, will you be my lover..
Categories:
roughness, words, sweet, kiss, love,
Form:
Walking in the wood brings such pleasure
feasting upon all your eyes can see
the magnificence of the trees splendour
fir spruce oak so many kinds of tree
Walking around in the spacious wood
breathing in all that you're able to smell
the fresh air with the green flavour
such succulent smells all you can tell
Walking in the midst among these trees
touching the roughness of all this wood
there's a strength and firmness to stand tall
years of age this timber have stood
Walking among all the woodland bare
the birds of many kinds sing aloud
there's a sweetness come to your ears
awaken in morning to this lovely sound
Walking in many a wood bears fruit
in many parts of the world, they ripe
apple pears oranges to name a few
tasting a pleasure really whatever type!
Categories:
roughness, green, nature, tree,
Form:
Rhyme
“Should we deny ourselves pain, we would deny ourselves entry through many doors in our heart leading to where our soul patiently waits.” Poet
Many cannot conceive truths the faithful believe,
such as jagged edges lead us to deep places
where tranquility waits to be reality.
If only brains could disengage that souls alone
decided what to leave behind or closely hold.
When I stumble from life's roughness and bruises swell,
I cannot help but deep dwell in my heart and soul
where my injured bits sit ripped in cramped, frozen fits.
If we do not hurt, we do not bleed a true need
to learn which medical aids best persuade healings.
Life often snags me in jagged edged episodes
until I repair all frailty-stretched through prayer
and place it in my Father's hands of perfect grace.
The more jagged edges adhere, tagged for repair,
the more need we build to yearn for and turn to God
which grows awareness of our true depth caresses.
Fear no roughness on your heart but recall toughness
in your faith that will divinely define what gift
the rift can bring forth, be it soul growth or knowledge.
Jagged edges can teach us more than a college.
Categories:
roughness, angst, conflict, deep, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
It is good to be a fool once in a while,
What an extraordinary feeling to be a fool!
To know nothing,
To know everything,
Yet not convincing your heart—The most brilliant buffoon,
Letting your heart float like a boat
Without an anchor
In the middle of a lake illuminated by the half moon that looks like a piece fallen from something ethereal,
Vision yourself in that boat, dear reader,
Doing nothing but just letting that moon’s love
Lurk on your lips
While you yearn earnestly
With your eyes closed like the petals of a timid lotus,
I encourage you to be a fool with me.
The river of reverie might reduce the roughness of abrasive reality of existence,
The vastness,
The long blank whiteness of life—
The 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s
Of age are indeed agitating,
Colorless at times,
There are rainbows too,
But mostly it's white, serene and quite like a pearl or a marble.
Some people ensnare their hearts,
They think heart is some petty prisoner,
But when the boon of life comes to an end
The truth hits them in the chest
And the chains ensnaring the heart
Come gushing down with a roar like a waterfall,
Sudden and loud.
Chained hearts often become hoarse hazards,
Chained and always chasing,
But chasing what
You never know.
Heart is a bird,
A brave one
Like all birds,
But let me remind you something, dear reader,
Do you ever notice the birds looking at the sky and singing soft melodies,
The melodies they don't sing when they are soaring high in the sky?
Birds need a bower too to rest and rejuvenate,
They don't have to adorn an armour on their chiselled chest all the time,
It's just not natural,
It doesn't seem right,
So take my hand and come be a fool with me
Or just be a bird and fly freely.
Your soul is nesting your heart,
Let down the gloomy guard,
Nurture the nest
And give it a rest.
Categories:
roughness, bird, freedom, life, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
Rhiannon gives birth.
Dark flees at point of roughness.
Light grows strong again.
Categories:
roughness, nature
Form:
Haiku
Through the mist
Upon this mountain
Home to a man so long ago
Living through seasons
Ranging warm to cold
Been here as many years
As he is old
The most experienced mountain man
He was once told
This place is beginning
To finally take hold
Yet where would he move
This is all he has ever known
All his life
He has been on his own
The city he
Has yet to be shown
Desire for change
Tired of the life on the range
His life is like songs
And picture shows made
Little does anyone know
The prices he has paid
Never been with a woman
Seen only one
Yet always he has wanted
To raise his own son
Now leaving this place
Change he shall chase
Glorified is the life
Of the mountain man
Few have ever known
The roughness of the land
To the south
To the north
Maybe west maybe east
Dreams made through the years
Shall finally be at peace
Leave and never
Ever look back
Finally he is done
Finally he is packed
Categories:
roughness, adventure, animals, happiness, life,
Form:
Epic
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
Categories:
roughness, basketball, beautiful, beauty, confusion,
Form:
Free verse