Best Ruin Poems
Etched in my soul
is the peace of a lonely ruin,
an old chapel on the skull
of a hill surrounded by pastureland
and wind-swept trees.
Below a lake stretches into the distance,
its waves lapping the mottled shores,
its waters harboring a variety of fishes,
its surface mutating according to nature's whims.
I lie on my bed in my urban hovel,
a small window opened ajar,
I smell the effluvial stink of the dirty alley,
I hear the hellish hustle and bustle
of the mad world outside,
the world that rejected me, leaving me jobless
on the verge of homelessness
on the brink of famine.
Like a somnambulist, I walk away
like a drugged addicted old man,
and limp towards my haven far away.
The way is long, and torturous, and steep.
I fall, get up, knees bleeding, but keep on
until at last I reach the top where silence reigns.
What did I expect to find here?
I look down as the earth stretches before me.
And wonder what must He had felt
with a panorama such as this
as He hang on a tree,
blood dripping from a thousand wounds.
There was no silence then but only jeers.
Here on the skull of my haven is silence and peace
and I wonder: would there have been
silence and peace, had He
not died so many years ago?
Drawn by subtle intuition
I follow a winding path
into the heart of the woods,
emerging in an open glade
where feeble sunlight falls
upon a moss covered wall.
Isomorphic intimacy holds
me in a trance; latching
the present to the past, as
nostalgia flirts with mixed
emotions. Resting my hand
on the stone slabs I caress
the rough texture with affinity
sensing the agony of collapsed
aspirations, decayed dreams,
and the utter helplessness
of the irreversible.
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This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Reflections on the Important Things” Nov 2023 (print)
"Wall in the Woods" contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Placed 3rd
© 11th October 2020
Rising from the desert sand
was a shimmering mirage
of a thousand shouts
Heated winds of fanaticism,
intense and blowing violently loud
Shrill calls to blood prayer seethe,
breathing fiery invocations
of a perverted philosophy
Screaming death to the infidels —
a scarlet smeared mirror reflecting
black cloth covered savagery
Crimson prayers are the daubed untempered mortar
which cements the foundation of this shakily rising kingdom
Whet the glittering scimitar swung grisly:
Beheadings are the blade’s
propaganda recruitment shock TV
Desert crisis ... dreaded carrion claws of ISIS,
oasis mirage bathe the sociopaths in bloody bliss
Mutilated bodies floating upon the desert sea,
a raised dark flag boasts of a fleeting victory
Prideful utterances of unspeakable barbarity
Contemned caliphate mercurial rising ...
now descending quickly below the horizon
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
The sand castle rise to power was ever so brief,
a pirated religion kingdom soon to end suddenly
Taking hostage your own faith,
now the proselyte guards are
fleeing from the palace carnage
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
Innocent blood spilled in the sand
will be your caliphate’s undoing
Crumbling desert kingdom,
blood reap the harvest of your ruin
Let your prophets of terror and rage
shout a false sanctum call to prayer
Intoning not this one truth: God will surely repay!
Standing alone in a field of green
Near the cliffs edge by the sea
Nothing in view for miles around
Just ocean and greenery
A ruin so simply beautiful
That has withstood the test of time
Determined and steadfast
Though no longer in its prime
It’s roof once shiny tin
Comprised now of one rusty sheet
The stone so lovingly hand laid
Now crumbled and incomplete
All that’s left of this home that was
Some rusty metal, wood and stone
Who lived here through the decades
Were they happy in this home?
What stories could this old ruin tell?
What secrets does it hold?
Did it house happiness and love
Or dark mysteries to be told
This ruin and where it stands
Is a compelling work of art
So intriguing and so proud
Captivates my heart!
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
I feel the devil calling me,
a voice I choose not to hear
He's called before
when I was young
But even then I refused to listen
Growing up with an innate sense of right
and wrong
The path to righteousness was easy to find
but laden with snares and pitfalls
I've been caught in my share (more than) --
In the woods behind my house
about a mile hike
stands an old wooden church,
abandoned and fallen to ruin
I've stood on the weathered floor
and stared up at the vaulted ceiling
The only sound I heard
was the sound the wind makes
when it blows through an empty tunnel
When I was a child
I heard the Voice of God
Now I search for it
in the decaying wood
and broken altar
they're having a happy chat
they would not dream to own
some scarecrow with a stone
beneath its frightening hat
scheming fancy and laughter
cheering and chanting aloud
they'd not venture to alter
one frail reassurance found
their stories all have flair
if thoughts are loud or bare
those children sleep lightly
they'll whisper thoughtfully
shun a straightforward stare
through squabbles skillfully
Ruin (Renku) ©
The barn, sad and old
forgotten still standing strong
cob webs in sun beams
recycled boards raped
floor torn away, back bone gone
dust haze dance in light
the barn sad, noble
survives the last season proud
the roof falls, barn death
Do not allow a volatile relationship ruin your life
Written By Dean Masciarelli
October 24, 2010 (4:33pm)
Do not allow a volatile relationship ruin your life
Get out while you can; and listen to what I am saying
Before it causes you to go through way to much strife;
And a whole hell of a lot of heart break and pain;
Just by living with someone who has an evil twin;
And even though that part of them; only comes out every now and then;
It’s far better for you to walk away right now; while you still can;
And I know that it is a difficult lesson; to have to learn on your own;
But if you do not listen to me right now; some where down
the line;
you could be the one; who could end up losing your life.
Limerick : Once a Lion of a Man in ruin
Once a Lion of a Man in ruin
Tried to salvage his pawns and ***** Queen
Far too late t’was end-game
Even his Knight was lame
So he reset rules and horsed his Queen !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
The child allowed to have their way,
And do whatsoever they may,
Who is not taught to have restraint,
Develops traits that their life taint.
The rule of appetite destroys,
And undermines life’s lasting joys.
It makes the human being a slave,
To whatever his passions crave.
Instead of reason taming urge,
Unruly urges reason scourge.
The man becomes a boorish brute,
Unanchored from his soulish root.
The home should be a training ground,
Where order reigns and love abounds.
Here children learn how they should live,
As parents sound instructions give.
When parents fail their job to do,
Society pays a high price too,
with citizens who lack the traits
That makes a nation truly great.
So many lives are ruined wastes,
Destroyed by drugs that make minds race.
Because of lack of self-control,
Men wreck their lives and lose their souls.
The quest for power, wealth, and fame,
Becomes for some a raging flame.
They live their life to make a name,
But often their life ends in shame.
Don’t let your body rule your brain,
let brain over your passions reign.
Make it your goal to become good,
To be the best a human could.
The howling wind causes the unlatched shutter
to bang incessantly against the faded gray wood
The upstairs window, that the shutter shields,
has spider legs of cracked glass
A black widow house, if ever there was such a thing
All the other windows of this untended house are shuttered tight,
the ghostly occupants within have no incoming light
The years have been unkind to this old, stately Tudor house,
the once opulent flower garden is overgrown
with nettle vines and weed shrubs
It is in the sabbath year of its abandonment,
fallow is the ground upon which it stand in sullen emptiness
It was dubbed the "House of Ruin" by the local gentry,
not so much because of its baleful outward appearance,
but primarily because of its former residents
They were a disgraced political family,
thrust from the public trough, and forced to forfeit
most of their ill-gotten wealth
Corruption and scandal were the dubious garments
that cloaked this amoral family
The house was auctioned off to pay legal fees;
some family members went to prison,
some went on to work in various seedy enterprises:
Escort services, sham real estate ventures,
cyber gambling and other shady businesses
The house was put into a public trust,
but there was never any municipal funds available
to restore it to its former glory
Thus it now stands,
a blight to the surrounding landscape
Paint peeling off the rotted, intricately carved oak wood,
granite stone abutments crumbling, ornate fence and balconies rusted
A house of ruin with a haunting visage
silence chirping out
the sky brings shade to eden
close your eyes to see
cold desolate abandon uninhabited snowing
rain slippery icicles spike frostbite
first month of year pillars of ice blind black
black ice bad month first of the year
january gray shade screen canopy
frolicking jamming January boy birthdate omen of ruin
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Penned on May 06, 2014!
For Two Haiku (Describing The Month of January) Contest!
The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.