Best Strain Poems
“Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Bruised in shades lavender and forest green
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain”
While dreary dawn, dazed, awakens in pain
Trapping blushed morning in languid ravine
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Darkened is design sketched on golden plane
Shadowed is rosy grin of once pristine scene
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
While crystal skyline drenches in cloudy reign
Blurring scarlet arc decaying in fading sheen
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Stellar stage is roiled in motifs of graying stain
Splintered are dim-beams upon ashen sateen
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
Though hope gleams as winds start to wane
Lifting purpled amethyst zeal, as yet unseen,
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
May 6, 2021
Placed 1st: Choose your form poetry contest
Stanza chosen : option 1
Sponsor: Joseph May
We of the Convict strain
A hundred and twenty years ago
Australia had it's several classes
There were we of the convict strain
Mates would stick, just like molasses
The Deported Irish and us Con's
We sort of fit together
We kept our mouths shut
When Traps came about
We knew which nest to feather
Pommy overlords made a quid
And kept us second class
All the Master ever did
Poor worker he'd harass
So stand up give back some sass!
Of course you can crawl to the master
Yes he loves it, yes that's right
He's only there till a dollar begot
From the sweat of your brows, delight
Don Johnson 4-may-11
When I was born, who would have thought
I’d grow up to be ruled by a clock.
Clocks mock dreams while hours gawk -
clicking off our minutes, letting seconds go - -
Did I turn the coffee and iron off,
remember drops for my cough ...
oh, I don’t know, darn traffic is slow.
Kindly push your pedal and go – go,
come on now! We need to roll.
If I am late, I’ll get penalized so.
Got to chew fast and ignore my dog's wag.
If I dawdle, someone will get mad.
So much to deal with, rules, rules and more,
so much crap I cannot ignore.
Are there more points for being on time
than for completing work that is prime?
I want to shout for upper brass
to remove their clock from my a*s.
There’s a complete person who I am,
yet my wants get the work week cram.
Job clocks are feeling-lame, greedy-aimed
and make my life a punctual strain ...
Mountains sew the sky beneath clouds
In a blue dress, uncommon bride —
Those peaks a pressure seems to shroud;
Mountains sew the sky beneath clouds
With no consciousness of ~her crown~ —
The heat of rain cleancut as white,
Mountains sew the sky beneath clouds
In a blue dress, uncommon bride.
Written: November 28, 2023
_________________________________________
In my last prayer, words and dreams merge,
My concepts have changed as a brittle verge.
Such a rainbow of hues in this growing vision,
My head swirls in whispered tasks and decisions.
Strong in my beliefs, I now question all things,
As if a veil is lifted, I sweated even the little things,
My soul is seeking knowledge and rearrange,
Now awkward by set ideals, I relish the strange.
No beyond blindness or rigidity to act as a slave,
Having altered, I am now freed from any cave,
In my recent musings, I have explored curiosity,
Getting raw insight and seeing awe in diversity.
My comprehension grows as I explore my mind,
Laying buried muse that shines akin to orbs aligned,
Placing the ideas in words is an ideal symphony,
Written words depict my impending destiny.
My route is wider, and I explore the universe,
Seeking wisdom all over, valuing what's diverse,
We ought to value this superb mental shift,
In our recent beliefs, raw prospects are adrift.
Happiness reigns but not when it rains
Strange language, this english, it's hard to explain
A doctor can save your life
Doctoring the truth leads to strife
So if you don't know english, it's a strain on the brain
Brain strain – A kitchen adventure
Broken ladles scattered about the new granite countertops
Veins of years gone by, prehistoric earth tremblings, spotted composites
in a vast array of colors, wickedly smooth and hard as rock (go figure)
Silverware sings like wind chimes on the tile floor,
cast aside in frantic search…long drawers, endlessly hiding that utensil,
somewhere behind the egg slicer, yellow plastic (what would I do without it?)
Meat thermometer (that sounds nasty) Tupperware tops for what?
Plastic reminders of meals past, no longer fitting their
spaghetti sauce discolored partners, in assorted sizes (used now as makeshift cat food bowls)
Pots and pans, why is it always pots and pans, never pans and pots,
hell in alphabetical order it would be, who thinks up this stuff?
And then those damn lids that never stack (handles, who needs them?)
A blender, a mixer, a dicer, a juicer, a toaster and an apple peeler. An apple peeler?
Brownie tins shaped like a labyrinth, but look at all of those corners…chewy
Not good for the diet but make the perfect Christmas gift. (much more than an apple peeler)
There it is, finally, behind a 5 lb. bag of potatoes and the old Mr. Coffee machine,
tarnished silver, at least a hundred star patterned holes, three little worthless feet…my colander
The one I use to strain my brain, removing all of the bad stuff (so the only thought left is you)
4/6/17
Written for the Go Ahead…I Dare Ya!!! poetry contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
I strain my legs in a struggle for seat
Each time on the stairs that weaken;
I strain my ears to catch the words
In the large room as they speak un-amplified;
I strain my hands in the awkward posture
the wordy words to keep in white:
I strain my eyes, even with the tiny
Gleam of the candle, my fill to have;
I strain my mind in the dark of the night,
The jargon, the parole, the stuff to stock;
I strain my Cerebral Faculty, ouch!
to get the memory back, at the hot seat;
I strain my neck at the dreadful benign board,
To see the scores masqueraded in paper.
Must I yet strain the rest,
seeking solace seething in silence?
Black coffee, hot baths and champagne,
With pleasure and without any strain,
Do you more good
Than exercise would
And save you all that running and pain.
(Says so here, so must be true : https://fee.org/articles/the-lazy-millennial-guide-to-avoid-exercise/ )
Here's a question you guys might answer
When considering a quatrain or a narrative
The response to a narrative wins hands down
Could someone explain the reason why
Forever I've thought poetry always meant rhyme
Since grade school way back when
Apparently I seem to be living in the past
Coz narratives get much more notice
Obviously narratives are easier to write
Less of a strain on the brain
But the numbers are there and numbers don't lie
Is there anyone out there that can tell me why
See... this one was a snap to write
I await your replies with bated breath!
© Jack Ellison 2014
I believe that writing is like spilling blood out of the carotid
Onto a canvas of sponge
This sponge can never be satiated
It takes generations and trillions of miles of neurons
Just to make a stain
My marrow is strained in such a glorious fashion
In attempt to produce even more lovely RBC's
So that I may contribute but just a mere speck
On this ethereal construct
Today I saw a man with hollow eyes buying homes with the skulls of rats
These homes onced belonged to living souls
The money machine came rolling in with the disinterest of a cow chewing cud
Masticating the precious juice from the canvas that once served
As a font of energy, an expulsion of electrons, something sacrosanct
To those who felt alive in a world consumed by dead, ridiculous intentions
Now
All of the canvas-blood-sponges have dried out in these places, and
As a result
The universe seems to recoil back in on itself as if in fear of
The disasterous implications
The dust seems to layer the meninges ever so slightly
Until I realize the fact that by doing so, I allow the miscreants running
This synthetic freak show of media pogrom and unheralded greed,
To stand in Pyrrhic victory
Somehow this is all
Compounded with an unaccountable need to accumulate as much
Material nonsense as possible because it helps fill
The inexplicable void
I just want to keep pumping blood out onto this convoluted stage, and
Scream in the ignorant face of the man arrogantly cutting others off
During rush hour as though where he needed to get to was so much more
Important than everyone else's destination
The disconnect is here
Look into the countenances of those around you
Thankfully there are those rare souls you see periodically
With some light left behind those orbs
They haven't been made grotesque by the modern world
They have been spending time with their canvas
more stress, more pain
its hot sunny, it never rain
I have loss, hardly a gain
for sure i am soon running in sane
In many of ways–so too–in many of features
when your former look reached my soul
by first-rate time up a park sit out;
very clear my mind might reminding
then, of the way that dressed rain day gonna!
In the spaces was allowing befogs concrete
touring from the western upon eastern
the breeze litter hotter by the wind gone
in please entertain were butterflied
also seagull gonna flying around us,
thy unlike direction by where stare our self!
I remember found on your tender eyes
the kindness that you felt toward at mine
and glory that my heart dreamed has
always, overloads me found “always so purer”
whatever I’d try, from my lady beau having!
Days pass
Wrinkles grow
Skin ages
Eyes dull
Heart hardens
Memory fades
Spirits wane
Broken bodies remain
October bade to tune me for its heartache song.
Thirty-one days pelleted stressed pummeled rain.
How rude the tenth one to taunt with feuds weeks long.
No frisky wind wishes gentled October’s strain.
Thirty-one days pelleted stressed pummeled rain.
October offered no hued tones to subdue wrong.
No frisky wind wishes gentled October’s strain.
Fall’s leading month numb-stunned my confronted strong.
October offered no hued tones to subdue wrong.
How rude the tenth one to taunt with feuds weeks long.
Fall’s leading month numb-stunned my confronted strong.
October bade to tune me for its heartache song.