Best Thrashes Poems
It crawls upon cold paws
To clutch with talons and claws
Nearing its prey, it hunts
With opening eyes and jaws
To shove with power and thrust
Upon insatiable desire and lust
It thrashes again and throws
Ardor so unjust
It bursts in colors of mist
In crimson hue and amethyst
Its forces like fireworks rise
Within emotion, organs, and amidst
In body it lies, in surreal disguise
Leaving no chance for mind to coexist
She prowls the night
with clenched jaw and pride,
nothing able to smite
her remorseless stride.
The ominous reflection of moon
shines forth from devouring eyes
of a nocturnal beauty spun on the loom
of the Creator's bid and sighs.
Grace moves her every limb
and she precedes an enraged scream
caused by ruins of a forest now grim
and held alive by all but one stream.
Her claws prophesy of vengeance
though her heart yearns for reconciliation.
Yet now there would be no leniency
for a soul's annihilation.
Now on journeys through lush valleys and ashes
she will embark
until all that remains after furious thrashes
will be the tigress' mark.
At the center of the hurricane blast, within the lightning
Flash lies the wicked eye of the calming storm, a weeping
Echoing of a widow maker’s somber moment, stilled by
Frozen remembrance lost beneath the traitorous waves
Of a broken heart!
Lantern lights cast an eerie shadow across the desolate
Sand dunes, in silences isolation this prisoner of passions
Tempest refuses to admit loves vanquished flame, yelling
Against the howling storms hellish rage, I’ll not give him up,
You’ll not taketh my beloved’s spirit away!
Rolling is the tides of forget-me-knots folly, a crushed
Rose crumpling beneath the harsh torrents lash!
Rushing at accelerations cyclone speed the clouds
Of destructions malice, charge at she, yet loves
Devotional stands strong, held by the anchor rooted
Within cherishes everlasting spiritual longing!
The grappling fingers of an angry aquatic under sea lord,
Thrashes unmerciful at the rocky edges of death’s
Blackened hand slamming, hammering against destiny’s
Grave stone of reality’s forsaken!
The lanterns light flickers for a seconds hushed pause,
Here in that momentary lull passion faces vengeance,
In a war of the faded roses, no one wins except the
Tears of the storm!
Bitter flowery petals cling onto the rocks of desires
Sheltering cove beyond, as two faded shades
Silhouettes meet amongst the waves of the vanquished!
But in loves torrential rain united, no power on earth
Or in hell’s feverish pitch, shall separate these spirits forever Bound within the human heart, for true love concurs
All!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
That child is like a washing machine
when tucked within her bed,
Arms and legs flail everywhere
No chance you’ll find a head.
I expect that's hiding somewhere down
where you’d expect to find the toes
Where a noggin normally rests
Well! No one really knows.
You lay her down to go to sleep
The first move is the “wash”
Linen, gets all pushed around
erratically till its squashed.
Here’s the move I call the rinse
This one’s rather tame.
Motion, and then rotations start
But not quite yet insane.
Ye Gods!!
Here’s the start of the spin cycle.
As bed begins to rumble
Thrashes mirrored by crashes
Artistic gymnastic tumbles.
Blankets, pillows, clothes
All flying through the air
One stuffed toy arcs past the light
Whoa!
Had to duck a teddy bear!
Of course she always sleeps
Through all this absurdity
Each morning I lament the fact
that she was tucked in carelessly.
Wind, your double essence is well-known.
Whispered summer breezes you exhale;
Then suddenly you turn. You surge and wail,
Expelling rage, you bluster or you moan.
Your brute relentless nature then is shown
For you become a cyclone, Hound of Hell,
Or show yourself a monsoon, squall, or gale.
Unquelled, a devil’s wrath with dust is sown.
As you intone, we’re stricken by your power.
Whipping wind, who thrashes us below,
You’re merciless until that final hour
Your vehemence ceases. Gust, I hate you so.
You scour Earth for those who next must cower.
Two-faced tempest, most indeed you BLOW!
For the NETTED by WORDS: HER SILVERED, TENDER WEBPoetry Contest
I used the theme found in "Wheeze of a Wind" which had been entered
by Nette in another of Cyndi MacMillan's contests:
Timeless Yet Contemporary, A Sonnet Thang
Note to Nette: My sonnet cannot hold a candle to yours. I think your contemporary one was better than my traditional one; however, I hope you can feel my anger about wind in it!! I just love how you did your modern sonnet for Cyndi!! BTW, I MISS you. Where ARE you anyway???
Tension crawls into the pores of crashing contemplation
Why has it become so hard to breathe?
If only it was known what this dejected heart is saying
As she sobs poetic lines of wordless woe
She is cradled in the tempo tempest of this reflection
Pulsing in the unfeeling land beyond her bodily home
The blood pumping sweet iron grief spurts
The soles of the feet throb at the impact
As the grass cools only to recall the coldness of the present
The impact…
Of a tear falling to the floor
The droplet so gentle… in clear-watered, grounded rapture
The energy of the sorrow befallen is perilous
One with many roads leading to frail fantasy
Aggravated tear…so atrocious, envious
There is something more whirling in this déjà vu cycle
Being crushed many times
By lackadaisical, ever-traveling minds
It is too easy to be tossed to and fro
Between conscious leisure and provocative pressure
Sub-dominated by sumptuous conviction
That word—love—a furtive dagger
Driving a gaping hole of shame and unknowing
Straight into her
Wracking around in this meddle
Of emotion and reason—shooting up falsehood full throttle
Drifting there again
In a solitude almost consoled by the earthy coldness
Of his fowl glare…
Every unsaid word frazzling to the mind
Tearing me and lifting me high
One must wonder if you watch as the fragments fly
As they float for only a few seconds
Of your precious time
And fall back down below
At your very feet
Where the grass is warm, and hopes are high
Please don’t leave them on the floor with the tear
The tear that never quite gets absorbed
The tear that chillingly consoles that bleeding heart
Destroying me
As she thrashes in the maze of bones and matter
Each hollow pathway of the marrow leading to a dead end
Or an ever-winding way downwards
They say each body of water leads straight to the sea
Where will the tear I abhor…lead me?
My pen finds pause
my body is broken,
a weighted horror
cleaves my breast
The strings of hope sliced
as I put dreams to the sword,
but hands now whisper to stars
across a fabric brushed heaven
Tomorrow is a lie of mysteries
today is in the now of knowing,
Like burning comets the pain
thrashes into my hearts core
A journeys end now nears
the roads all find dead ends,
revived from a morass of mourning
eyes are filled with oceans
A dirge plays and dances
in a procession free of flesh,
as shadows carry me home
infinitesimal tears find silence
I am weary of time
I've smashed the clocks
crushed every watch
tick tocks, now stopped
With the enemy defeated
I forge ahead untimed,
wild and finally free
uncaged from fear and doubt
In truth tomorrow has been
gone in thousands of minutes,
the sandman flies in golden dust
that's now sparkling my eyes
In sleep I shall find eternities gate
holding it open yet never entering,
until your hand slips into mine
time my love will stand in my mind
Until we meet again ...
transfixed
I stumble down
shifting halls of
my angst my
distress
a cold stale breath
stagnates and permeates
its doom
onto my essence.
beguiled
I entomb myself
in the moment
asphyxiating
flailing
clawing
grasping for
desperately
disintegrating walls.
abdicated
I capitulate to
the lair
that cold cavity
pit of dread
that
pool of tears
where my devotion
thrashes plangently.
interred
in the filth
of want
of need
of putrefying wonder
entombed within
every pore
every inch
of my desolation.
moribund
I turn to stone
my listless gaze
fixated ruefully
on the luminance
the far distant
light
where steadfast
dim hope resides.
“Mother Earth Speaks”
From the east she awakens
Her nightly slumber aroused
Splashing her face
With thundering waves
Her eyes open to
Snow covered peaks
Valleys rich with green
Forests filled with feathered melodies
And deserts for castaways
Pondering her motherly thoughts
Rivulets of tears
Flow down her cheeks
She speaks
I’ve given you life
I’ve given you bread
The wind to cool you
The sun to warm you
The rain so you may not thirst
You have taken my soil
Rubbed it over your naked body
Made love in my meadows
Bathed in my rain
Danced in my darkness
You no longer
Touch me as a lover
Tracing lines down my spine
You no longer
Lie beside me
Flesh to flesh
Lost in my perfume
Can you not see?
Cast your eyes around
My body is heating
My glaciers are calving
My oceans are rising
My forests are burning
The wind no longer sails
Through my valleys
It Hisses
It Screams
It Thrashes
It Scars
Must I tell you more?
You are sucking my breasts dry
There is little milk to give
You have thrown me against
The wall of time
You have kicked me in
My birthing place
My heart bleeds
You are no longer my lover
You who do not know me
Do not love me
Your denial reeks
Your children will
Never know me
Dear Father Time
Treat them kindly
Spare them your Wrath
“Nota Bene”
Lon 4/12/2016
"Nota Bene" A Latin phrase (or its abbreviation) used to indicate that special attention should be paid to something
Consciousness Correction – 11-20-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Consciousness Correction
Envy sneaks in unseen
A thief robbing light from my house of gratitude,
Sowing simmering anger, extinguishing thankfulness,
In blind yellowed views
Gratitude held captive,
Strangled,
Pennies of “I wish” tossed into stone cisterns
Where winter thrashes cyclconic -
Vortex of a gleeful witness to spring’s demise -
Dead-ends swell in jealous broken branches,
Wrapped in near sighted stigmatisms,
Lenses smeared in covet.
Stone citadels rise from my naked spite,
Blind to confessions of incense,
To curl into deep pools
Poisoned by tainted pools of jealousy,
Creeping to the heights of entitled grudges.
Yet nascent vines, fragrant with focal points,
Blooms of correction,
Slip between crumbling buttress mortars,
Sachets illuminate good will
In wreaths of newborn appreciation
That knows its need for candles of kindness
My thankful eyes, that walked in darkness, see
To embrace armloads of miracles come into focus
Reappearing from soot blown corners.
Scales fall in melting flakes
From my bloodshot eyes,
New sight nourished in a corrected wash -
Sweet nectar of reckoning
By a brilliant polestar of clarity magnified
Opaque about-face.
Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree
above the mermaid and jellyfish sea.
Scaly horse & teacup-octopus lads
near the sea-soaked teen; tail thrashes with glee
as her amethyst hair bobs and flows.
Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree;
leafless branches with fantasia-tendrils.
Speckled doe, circumspect and still,
keeps eye on darling-pink faerie and her eglantine esprit—
oft spied nudging toadstools & splish-splashing lily pads.
Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree—
eyes shut, oblivious of the gadabout show.
Steel-eyed doe believes fowl’s not asleep but lazy.
She’s diligent, but unlike the owl, her hearing’s hazy.
Still, champagne-wing’d sweetbriar faerie fancies
the nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree.
9/15/2021
“Pearl Diving” (Part 2)
Angel fish are pretty, but they’re boring that’s they’re lot
the Man O War is far too flashy, frivilous,
Octupi are too touchy feely always begging for the real thing way too early,
the Dolphins always laugh out loud, they’re overly boisterous show-offs
always trying to call the shots;
perhaps she’s best off lying in her Clamshell tight and small
for she is understanding now
the Clamshell has cast a spell o’er her
to stop all creatures in the deep from
hijacking her magic powers.
It’s comfortable and very warm, no need to leave her purse,
how could she leave what’s she’s only ever known behind;
better to sleep forever with the Clamshell as her nurse...
dream her dreams,
keep very still -
it couldn’t get much worse.
She’s shiny and she’s aged just right
the Clamshell protects her from the light,
she’s not a real jewel anymore
she’s a bottled up narcotic bright,
a little white pill zipped up in her hardened purse
to numb out all that sunken hurt.
He swims down to get a deeper look
the sunlight now dappling through the
hottest deepest lure of blue
thrashes his legs much harder now
to get the closest view.
He sees the sharks surrounding her
he checks his dorsal fin
he’s now become a predator
and she his treasure there within,
to somehow prize and shuck her
from her clammy milky mucous shell.
Such a beautiful sin he grinned and thought for a nano-second,
“Maybe I can win”.
Somewhere in the distance from the surface way up above,
he hears a mermaid call down to him, her silky voice enticing him,
her echolocation surrounding him,
through all those other fish making such a blasted bubbly din,
“It’s mine.” the voice whispers mysteriously in his ears, “ I’m playing this, it's mine, a life to win”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ December 2017)
"Aqualung", Morcheeba
https://youtu.be/xxHL5szgThQ
Among the flowers of beauty bright,
Upon leaves of green I sight
Graceful webs of intricate fashion
Of labor and of passion.
No architect so proud can craft this shroud;
Its sticky vines of ensnaring gloom
Tell little of an impending doom.
Hidden fangs await the unwary,
The thirsty, the greedy;
Entangled vivacity thrashes about
With a dreadful shout.
The spider’s banquet is short and rich
As it savors every twitch.
No prying eye will dare to spy
On death’s descending cry.
At dusk it drops from a canopy sky
To taste the spoils from its ravenous eyes.
Death wrangles a martyr, wraps it in twine
Then dangles it from a vine.
Flowering sprouts enjoy the morn,
Marveling at the horde of spiders born.
A cloud of spiders take to flight
On currents of air lassoed
Just right.
A Welsh New Year
The night's dark shadow
creeps softly over the sky.
Dark, soft fingers pull slowly at the light,
fully engulfing it into it's dark mass.
The wind whips off the sea.
Snatching and releasing,
pushing and pulling.
Rough and unforgiving.
Wild as our hearts,
beating quickly in the night.
The wooden walls groan in around us.
A ship,
forever docked,
deeply into the cliff.
A yearning spirit hides in anticipation
behind each eye,
quivering in excitement and childish glee.
When finally,
one scuttling figure jumps from the couch
and out the door.
We chase him,
fleeting feet and unruly rain jackets,
across the courtyard and towards the wild sea.
The wind's intensity grows with the seconds.
We stop,
finally,
when we reach the light.
It flashes,
giant and glowing.
The sea roars far below us
and the wind thrashes and screams in our ears.
I feel as if it could lift me off my feet
and carry it as far as it pleased.
Clinging tightly to whoever is closest,
we stand in silent awe.
But it only last one flickering moment,
before we're dashing back
to the warm safety of the indoors.
But when the morning comes,
and all putter around the kitchen,
little fragments of the night still remain.
A crumpled flag of the living room floor.
Muddy shoes scattered
on the cold entranceway.
The quick sprawled footprints in the sand.
And a lone wine-glass of water,
on a disheveled bedside table.
Gentle smiles pass through the house,
and the steady sea beats rhythmically on.
related link:
http://thearyan.com/category/poem/
Standing listening, listening, a brush of air passes by
The whaling, whaling, sound of the voice of the earth
Lisping, lisping, the words of the old and new
Hailing, hailing, you to stop and look and smell the air
The sigh, sigh, of hope that always given in time
Hush, hush, the noise has quieted down to a stop
The brushing, brushing, grass that is laid down by wind
Lashing, lashing, with quickness that cannot be seen
The high, high, notes that can be aching and soon heard
Snapping, snapping, ripping the air apart with its song
The loop, loop, which thrashes the leaves around
Standing, standing, letting the sounds brush around
The opening, opening, of lips pushing the air out
Whistling, whistling, that of which life has not gone out