Best Tattered And Torn Poems
Jesus you are my saving grace
My coach preparing me for life’s race
My refuge through life’s raging storm
Mending all that is tattered and torn
You are my forever guiding light
When my way grows dark as the night
My anchor in truth, who keeps me grounded
Through trials and tribulations I am surrounded
You are contentment of all my days
Among a world that has lost its way
My joy where everlasting peace abides
In times of trouble, my shelter my fear abides
You are the constant and steady beat of my heart
My shield from the enemy’s fiery darts
You are the melody my spirit sings
Praise and worship to you I bring
You are my strength when I become weak
The answer to the question that I seek
The solid rock on which I stand
Protected from life’s sinking sands
You are the wisdom that prepares my mind
My eyes can see that once was blind
My redeemer who ransomed my soul
Freed from the chains of Satan’s control
You are my courage to face the battle
In victory you leave my enemies rattled
My constant hope in days of doubt
In distress, an escape, my way out
You are my comforter collecting my tears
Relieving my mind of constant fear
Living water to my dying soul
A friend forever while ages roll
You are my intercessor to God carrying my pleas
You are all that I will ever need
In your name, I do pray
Jesus you are more to me than words can say
You found me and loved me first
Even at my very worst
Your death, my salvation, I can never repay
Through my failures you choose to stay
On the cross my eternal home was gained
Because your love for me was greater than your pain
With all that is within me, I shout your praise
Jesus, you are and always will be, my Amazing Grace
The sun awakes each early morn
Bright sky glows its colors adorn
Nothing but jeans tattered and torn
Miracle of life a child is born
How come I wonder
Fly in formation at high noon
Birds band together sing a tune
Scent of lilac come early June
Summer breezes come none too soon
How come I wonder
Sun sets without saying goodbye
Sweet aroma of apple pie
A comet flies across the sky
A full moon hangs still way up high
How come I wonder
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.3~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on February 19, 2020 for contest STRAND SELECT V sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
A strange sight upon a lonely road.
A dream ripped in half.
Looking closer, I wonder what was the travail.
An old price tag attached, making me wonder at what price it was sold.
Along the edges, tattered and torn, it gave forth an evil laugh.
As if some sly devil concocted a way to turn someone pale.
Onward I traveled, with pack upon my back.
To the left and right of the road were littered with more broken dreams.
So many that one could not keep track.
Some having been blown into the parallel stream.
So, I checked the pack upon my back.
And, yep all my dreams were there in a stack.
Cold winds howl, trying to rip my back pack to shreds.
Freezing were the winds, but forward I march.
Never losing sight of my dreams in spite of many dreads.
They all hold up strong even though many times I'm in a lurch.
Suddenly I see people returning to the road.
Going back and picking up their dreams.
Dusting them off and restoring them to their pack.
Each and every one said to me, you are quite bold.
To go forth and not let the cold winds of fate not destroy your knack.
To face life as it comes and not give up even if offered gold.
Good, bad fortune, are likewise of no importance.
Put a failed dream back in your pack and maybe a new day will appear.
Where you can unpack that dream and give it another go.
But, for today, march forward, today's failure might tomorrow's dance.
You gave it your best, and win or lose, that game has ended with a spear.
Win or lose, that game is done so pack it's knowledge away in your pack and grow.
Suddenly down the road a new vista appears and a brand new game.
Left high and dry or victorious are the two possible ends of any venture.
But in truth, knowledge is all you will have, win or lose.
For tomorrows game is just around the bend, all the same.
Win or lose, the game of life only ends for the moment within sight of the new adventure.
So, to quit and call it the end, only makes you look like a goose.
An orange little ball,
Tattered and torn to bits,
No longer does it fly straight,
Its course lost, its path in fits,
An orange little ball,
Sad within its cracks and in its creases,
Faded bumps, its lost its grip,
It now falls to pieces,
Orange little ball,
Come to death smiling,
Never live just to die,
Happiness lives in and amidst the crying,
Orange little ball,
Wipe the tears away,
There is peace to be found,
In and amongst the fray.
The Withered Rose
The withered rose
May be tattered and torn
Scorned by past trauma
Still, she is beautiful…
She keeps thorns to protect
That which is left
She has been eaten alive
Stepped on near death
Therefore, it is the withered rose
That I adore
For there is beauty in her struggle…
All the Anzacs have faded back into the past
And the old men now rest with their mates
We can hope they play 2 up and still have a beer
Now they’ve entered the heavenly gates
We have cause to remember the men who died young
How they fought to ensure we live free
How they looked back at home for the very last time
As their ships pulled away from the quay
They went for adventure, for country and King
Their country still mourns for their loss
They died in the trenches and on the barbed wire
So far from the great Southern Cross
They couldn’t have known as they sailed far from home
Just how cruel would be some of their fates
But they lived for Australia, a land of their own
And they died for the sake of their mates
And each life extinguished still burned like a flame
In the hearts of their loved ones at home
And their memory lives on in the pride of the nation
In respect for the flag that they’d flown
Their young eyes look out from the passage of years
From the old pictures, tattered and torn
And their nation looks back to the past and remembers
How the legend of ANZAC was born
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
Have you ever stood still in silence, to watch her cadence and graceful glide,
there is an undeniable beauty, she’s exquisite from side to side.
Like a mother watching over her children, unfurled high or at half mast,
she stands tall protecting our freedom, this old girl was built to last.
She has weathered many a storm, standing watch both day and night,
a shining beacon of hope and she will never back down from a fight.
She’s been bled on, stepped on and burned by some children who just won’t behave,
but she will surely protect us all, especially the fallen, who lie in their grave.
The next time you drive by that pole, at a business or a highway rest stop,
it might be a little tattered and torn but be grateful for what you see there on top.
That flag represents our country, there are two reasons why it always will fly,
We are protected by our almighty God, and the brave who are willing to die.
For those who want war with our country and attack the red, white and blue,
someone else will raise your children, that’s a promise and a fact that is true!
Memories flutter like Post-It notes,
with scribbles faint and worn.
Reminders fade in the winds they’ve made,
my pages are tattered and torn.
Notes twist and swirl, then dip and curl,
in a wild and frantic breeze.
A cyclone spins where thoughts have been,
scattering all my memories.
Papers alight and suddenly take flight,
spinning frantically far and near.
But the harder I try, the stronger they fly,
increasingly more unclear.
I feel bold and reach to hold—
but my notes slip further away.
And piece by piece, I lose my peace,
as my library fades to gray.
The scattered scraps come fluttering back,
then flicker, furl, and flee.
A swift retreat, my memories fleet,
I’m not who I used to be.
An unraveling mind, fading line by line,
my life in vanishing ink.
Clinging to time and what’s left of my mind,
my sanity is on the brink.
But the yellow storm still rages on,
the cruel winds blow with might,
And time will steal all that was real,
‘til there’s nothing left but night.
-Edward
Brown and worn
She slowly trundled,
Carrying the tattered and torn
Clutching their bundle.
She leans to the right
And then the left,
In that pitiful night
Laying sleepers bereft.
All her metal and carriage
Held a thousand souls
Between their marriage
Of her red hot coals.
And the wooden doors weep
The iron locks, hold their breath
While she screeches on
In her role of death.
Our lifetime is a living fabric that we all adorn
Experiences and interactions vary with all seasons
The threads filled with promises we've all sworn
Outfitted with various triumphs and treasons
Full of knowledge, it becomes tattered and torn
Yet filled with strength for unimaginable reasons
In the end, it will be there when all that's left is to mourn
I'm begging you with every inch of my sanity,
The sky is painted by the lights in your eyes tonight,
I tremble in frustration, as I will myself not to kiss you,
And for the first time I donêt want to win this fight,
Let me surrender, captured by your love,
Let me fall into sweet solace as I pretend I'm all right,
Off-guard and out of hand, you caught me where I stand,
Eye-opening, soul-wrenching passion I thought Iêd never know,
I was battered and broken, tattered and torn,
Damaged beyond repair and yet there you were,
Willing to be the one to pick me up, healing more than skin will show,
But fear fills my heart as I feel myself falling deeper,
Into a situation where vulnerable is all I could be,
I see myself losing strength, lost in your arms reality disappears,
I can't help but imagine I'm dreaming,
Such happiness has never found me before,
Through the haze of heat and kisses this feeling distorts my logic,
I know I should be guarded, protecting that which matters most,
But I hunger for you to figure me out and unravel my secrets,
And I thirst for you to throw your feelings on me, never holding back,
Despite my better judgment I can't help but be beaten,
Lost in a whirlwind of lust and love it's hard to tell what's real,
You stop me spinning and point the way and lead me to salvation,
You fill my lungs with breath so sweet and leave me feeling healed,
And so I'm begging you with every inch of my sanity,
Hold me close and tight;
I've tripped on that kiss,
And stumbled into Love tonight.
November Twinkle fairy was feeling very low,
to the Giggle Night Ball she had wanted to go
But her gold fairy wings were all tattered and torn -
she’d landed in a thicket, they’d caught on a thorn
And she got into a tizzy to escape from the bush,
when she cried out for help fairies came in a rush
Twinkle was so upset, she’d had her wings for years
no amount of tissues could stem her flow of tears
Her mother said Twinkle ‘please listen to me,
you’ll grow some new wings, just wait patiently’
‘Use this special lotion and rub in some fairy dust,
for the magic to work, you must stand still - you must!
Twinkle looked in the mirror, her back was quite bare -
her old wings had vanished, she was all too aware
All of a sudden her back got a terrible itch,
as her body contorted she began to twitch
Magic dust filled the air, new wings started to sprout,
it took nine nano seconds for her wings to spread out
Twinkle stood motionless until her new wings had dried,
they glistened like dew drops, she beamed with such pride
With her dazzling new wings she was the belle of the ball
and she spread rainbow dust as she flew round the hall
November Twinkle Fairy Contest
Sponsored By Caren Krutsinger
10/30/19
My soul was on fire, as I entered the wood
By the old rusty gate, which silently stood
Absorbing history, making no choice
Passing no judgement, adding no voice
The rough ancient path, veined with roots
To test my step, or scuff my boots
Unhurriedly followed the line of the brook
But this was not the path I took
I turned to the right, climbed up through the trees
Where bracken and brambles tugged at my knees
‘til I reached the edge of the open moor
And strode on up to the lonely tor
Where first we kissed on that moonlit night
Where you held me close, as I held you tight
That was the moment I was truly born
My life before you had been tattered and torn
You gave me the courage to truly be me
You gave me your love unconditionally
Yes, my soul was on fire, as you came into view
On the edge of the rock, by the magical yew
And I knew, as then, you were only her ghost
The spirit of the one I have loved the most
Let's take these pins and needles
That we're always sitting on
And sew up this relationship
Before it goes completely wrong
Piecing it all together
These used lives, tattered and torn
We'll make a quilt from wanting hearts
Into something beautiful
I read the burn to hand-feed
the dark with pills of pleasure ~
twilight entombed
within troubled walls,
swollen and sore,
throbbing with ache,
an insatiable appetite
to relish the realism
of your silhouette of sapience,
a breathing poem
with metaphors in motion,
meticulously merged
with the musk of euphoric musings…
O bronco wild, white force,
the bona fide heat
heaving in bedazzled breeze
around the fragile fingers
of my unclothed heart.
Walk me out of the devious
doors of demented dreams;
free-flow me to a realm
of quenching quiescence,
where condemnatory pupils
do not imprison
the tongue that savors
the flavor of foreverness,
with everlasting vapors
of pulsing peridots
staining these panopticon lips,
sealed with softly sewn secrets.
Serve me your sanguine silk…
They do not sympathize
with the bleeding thorns
painfully wanting ~
sleeplessly yearning
to trace the honest waves,
catalyzing the spark
awaiting escape,
away from the cross-eyed fables
fabricating the fragrance
of my zealous love ~
your rose lady,
restless to bloom as one,
rooted to the runes written
across your ambidextrous armor.
I am tattered and torn,
stuck in a scrutinized cycle,
yet still I refuse
to let these petals wilt.
I let my thoughts wander
to the waking wilderness,
where gypsy blossoms
caress and nurture
the penetrating luster
of pearl-light sepals,
resembling my damask spirit,
unstained by the sepulchral ashes ~
dust-laden, kohl-corpse chains
of faithless society,
of blood serpents
masking malevolence,
pretending to be well-wishers…
I care not for their callous clamors,
cruelty caved
in charismatic lies,
deciphering my virtuous dawn
as dangerous delirium;
so take me away ~
to flawless fields
bathed in orange topaz skies…
~ I am yours to worship,
your masterpiece of paradise ~
***Inspired by the artwork; The Lady Rose, by Paul Delvaux