Best Trenched Poems
I will search for you
when stars seem to be mute
their sparkle shrouded by the cool soot of love's burning root,
I will reach for you
when my lips are lost, fever embossed,
as the night brings only frost, soul between two tears tossed,
I will pray for you
when lightening lashes the rock of my wisdom,
marking my mind with trails trenched in the temptation of Destiny's prism,
I will serande for you
as my most sensitive skin awakens to be awashed in heaven,
seeking your sacred surfaces with open pours pronouncing passwords of passion,
I will find you
where the crossroads of creation and divination release revelation,
divulging the rudiments of desire into senses romanced by body fire and love red vision -
J.A.B.
Categories:
trenched, desire, heart, i love
Form:
Ballad
While bulldozers, drunk with gasoline
Have once again scared and maimed
Where once grew trees and meadows free
Is now an earth, encased by concrete seas
Engines roar, to drown our ears in echoed glee
Where ghosts of children played their summer games
Forced to leave their childhood memories
In trenched out holes, and broken trees
The big top guns...ravage earth, then run
Dinosaurs that raise their iron heads
Jaws dripping with loads of earth and grass
As gophers rampaging through halls, bereft
are forcing nature's giants to their knees
Place by place destruction of the land
And while the green world grandfathers knew
Is gone in days, with every oak that falls
When this new invading presense is someday done
Has had his fill of dollar bills, then abandons one and all..
Who will mourn, who will recall?
__________________________________________________________
Categories:
trenched, business, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Memories of your soft skin haunt me
Tracing the dimples of your body
used to set my fairy tale so free
I now hemorrhage at my love core,
a rupture of your affair before
My life trenched in a living cold war
I bleed red waves of relentless pain,
throbbing tracks of a cold diesel train
My lost mind an abyss of black rain
light escapes my present closed sight
I am not able to see the right
I can only see a vengeful smite
My blood runs out as the lonely night
a Cut now brings forth the dying light
Categories:
trenched, suicide,
Form:
Rhyme
angst, body, cry, hurt, imagery, insect, war,
DODOITSU
(A MOSQUITO'S LAMENT)
THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB ©
This sacrificial lamb starts
An aggressive night ensues
Mosquito’s ‘ding’ clarifies
Dinner is almost served!
TAKE COVER! ©
I’m a prisoner trenched down
Under cover of ‘sheeted' white
Less the incoming wine made
Mosquitoes blood bath!
DON’T SCRATCH! ©
Never scratch mosquito bites
Her taste that got me to itch
Her siren call wined the night long
But her bite remains!
THE ‘VAMP’ COMES WOOING! ©
Her ‘vamp’s’ lick plagues me still
She has sucked me dry of blood
I was her menu this night
***** left me an itch!
I AM HER MARK! ©
The insanity of her wine
A war siren at best call
Warns me she is to strike again
She needs to feed to feed young
And I am her mark!
INVASION ‘BITES’ ©
Summers heat holds cries for ‘arms’
Mosquito’s invasion scores
Her sacrificial lambs are’ feed’
Blood she craves for youngsters
Gives them tastes for more!
OH THAT ITCHES! ©
Her mark is dotted on the spot
Her small wounds itch to be scratched
This ‘calling-card’ of her bites
Her return for blood is made
Her young will need feed!
TAKE COVER! ©
Midnight swarms with bloody fare
Sirens are set to wine and worn
Attacks are brutal and stun
No matter what order taken
Bug spray, slaps, or cover!
A SIREN’S WARNINGS!’ ©
Attacks overhead strikes a bite
Spent siren wines forewarning
That gains a mosquitoes’ win
Its advantage strike!
MOSQUITO ANGST ©
It takes the metal out of fight
When over taken by tiny mites
Commandeering from overhead
With intolerable sirens
Before the attack!
Categories:
trenched, angst, body, cry, hurt,
Form:
Dodoitsu
The old house stands still.
Rot has set in.
A flying termite caught in the webs of a dead spider, sway to the shrill of a ceiling fan.
All things sway.
Dreams rise and suffocate in the mouldering mortars
Falling on the adjacent tiled roof.
They scream, laugh, make love, declare the infiniteness
Of their finite existence through diatribes of reality and unreality.
They are passionate bunch,
Bound by their common desire to be. And blood.
And the house just is. It still is.
Once there were sparrows in the ventilators.
And envious swallows on the palm trees.
The ripples in the pond sing their dark, merry tunes
Licking away its edges,
And they shove and trample for the whiff of north wind.
Life persists in slow, lonely decadence.
The cactus on the roof thrives in monsoon and in summer.
Basil live and die, live and die trenched in the never ending circle
Of micro-civilisation.
The house harvests its own sustenance in the whispers among its bricks
That become a collective
And a roar is heard.
They pray to Earth.
The old house is defiant,
The old house is tired.
Its melting skin sizzles and stinks of industry of old,
A glorious past always in the distant like the horizon,
The promise of bright future exposed to the misery
That is naturalness of time.
The hammer rusted, weed has grown over,
They clinch onto the sickle, like oxygen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Form: Free Verse
Date: 02 / 11 / 2016
Growing up in a state of the country where all the magnificence is limited to either history books or fictional literature, one hopes for something more. This is definitely a political reflection than anything else, but 'the house' is not just a metaphor, it does exist, and so do the people living in it.
Categories:
trenched, allegory, corruption, culture, home,
Form:
Free verse
As light plays upon the dark, that moon through stained glass windows
cutting a swarth across cobbled floors.
It seeps into the cracks like it's found home at last
How a distant piano to a curious ear attracts
a de'javu moment and yet it is unwritten.
You follow the fleeting seeking some origin
reaching out for inspiration as if it were original sin
All recitations from what remains unwritten
Those words hidden under the tongue just below the surface of a heart.
Contour of an image meant to be lived, yet remains unchanged, namelessly forgotten.
Its a melancholy of indecision climbing the walls of narrow passages like wisteria
you adhere to the impulse to cover all that once lay bare.
I drag tired fingers around the next bend, the next barrier
is more impressive than the last.
There’s an attempt to grasp something in the lapse between thoughts
to trade abstract beliefs for the tangible, it is enough to inspire devotion.
a shadow climbs the wall only to stall in its climax
abiding but a remnant of the unwritten.
Something is always left in these corners where candles aid their illumination
and thoughts drift elsewhere in the dancing theatre of undefined movements.
The unknowing becomes vagabond to the warmest of comforts.
You find yourself in these blankets of cloud cover observing holes in the disguise.
The veil suddenly lifted, experience immediate, no longer a stranger
so you can gaze upon these mirrors and hasten that journey toward home
Home, your feeling is kept fleeting, A temporal haven so you can continue repeating
these steps that lead you towards the perfect escape.
Always almost there... In this world of smoke and mirrors
Trapped in illusion that holds time obscurely
"The Unwritten"
So we bend beneath the wing of watching eyes.
Trenched in the words of silver tongues, frozen by the voice of awkward edges
For if the unwritten were to be before its time, If it were to flee,
to break free and roam; Become the breeze through these hallowed halls
of desperate belief.
To write the unwritten...
Then though they'd cry and shout and leap, No wall could stretch from sea to sky
Nor any kingdom stop it.
It is etched on the soul more deeply than stone
And we have given it a name...
Our Destiny
Categories:
trenched, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Old Soldiers
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Old soldiers not born for war at all.
Father's brave and cold
Send into battle
And defend..
Home made men with chili courage
Gallant audacious and courageous
Very valuabe to their children
Never had a chance
To be good cuddle daddy's
They were alone and in fear
And no one near
The enemy bullet pierced them
And they bled and bled
And trembled tremble
Who sent them out there ?
Tremble tremble
Did they care ?
Quiver and shudder
They left the home
Leaving wife 'n child
Waiting their blank return
Their famliy field's are green
And their home is painted within.
Old Soldiers
Camaraderie in the war
Trenched , trampled , bruised in battle
Wounded father soldiers bravely fought
Returned in batches of boxes instead
Their courage..
Their hard fight.
Rewarded only
In memory of medals.
" the last thing Billy
done for me ...
was to paint the wall ..
and hang our portrait
above the dinner wall
before he left for war "
Only a cleft is left
In the lonely heart
Of the soldier's wife ..
And his name coldly
Embossed in marble
6 feet under in a cemetry.
Old soldier's did not
Want a war.
Categories:
trenched, absence, destiny, eulogy, heartbreak,
Form:
ABC
I want to be in love with you again.
He searches for purpose, he begs for reason. He does so in a hectic manner, with no ease to the tension in his search. The answer sits clearly above. While he furiously pokes and prods amongst grains and chunks of rock and dirt. Allowing the weight of himself to dig his knees in deeper, creating impressions of each distinctive pebble.
I want to see you smile again.
He has become intolerant at this point in time. With lungs fully depressed, he pushes deeper down into the soot. The hysteria and claustrophobia sends the man into a panic. He no longer recognizes himself, or those who define him.
I want you to feel beautiful again.
Exasperated, the man finds the tips of each finger to be numb. The blood is slow to reach the surface; much like his level of comprehension. The man can no longer acclimate; the inability to adapt to the rush around him spirals his good intentions into a void. Ignorance has exhumed the entirety of his perception.
I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
An absence of light; his consciousness is bleak, a figment of a once good man. The hand-dug hole set upon the cadaver of the man; whom tirelessly trenched until fingers split, served as a bed to the broken figure. With what dirt lay around, had been pushed in by whom had stood over the man in his final failure.
I don't ever want to see you cry for me.
A mound is all that's left. A woman dressed in tears; stood by, long before the man had died. Suffice to say, gave reason for him to dig. If ever she had stopped him, would only incite the man to dig deeper. Harrowing, his tale of being unable to love in return.
I don't want you to be alone.
The man's existence seemed futile. Nevertheless, he carries on a legacy unknown to himself. Much more to her than a child. Through his incessant pain, she realizes her own strength. And from the death of such colossal pain, grows life. A flower perched upon the mound. A metamorphosis from an inkling of negative, to a plethora of beauty.
I want you to be happy for yourself.
Like the child never to be had, she is unable to conceive the remnants of his past. The overwhelming nature of freedom is personified through his death.
Categories:
trenched, anger, appreciation, conflict, cry,
Form:
Free verse
Moving towards high
In a transit period of time
Moved up in the troposphere, mesosphere.
Like a pinnacle of earth
In the layers per layers
Like a feel good factor
But one thing you forget
You have a heart
Which is surrounded by social animal’s
You listen to your heart
Like a finger cross
You close your eyes
and you jumped down
You thought you will reach
The surface of earth
But you fall down
Further n reached the marina trenched.
and there were plants that binds your legs
You started shaking your whole body
To get away with that .
as you have lungs
You cannot survive In deep ocean
Luckily you streched your legs hard
And started swimming without knowing swimming
and you reach above n reach surface
Wow what a wonderful experience
Covered such a huge length
Categories:
trenched, adventure, courage, depression, emotions,
Form:
Imagism
Rainbow
It’s raining in my soul
hailing a hurricane of
desiccated tears drenched
to the bones and trenched
in my mindless mind
Constant pitter patter cracker
crocker like a desert under
water silence noise demise
Flooding iron cages of reason
leaks in abundance cascades
of unfelt emotion trickling
feeling what cannot be felt
Storm water defences over-spun
in endless loops of hidden sun
in torrents of nothingness
Leaks are the cracks where the
light gets into the solar stellar
moon moist musky meandering
at the cliff face of healing
Vents and releases are to limit
drowning drowsy suffocation
asphyxiation storm cloud’s haze
Walls will be crumbling
soul-muck can subside in
light of nothing but the rainbow
so far unleashed under cover
of grime and mind-soap deluxe
If it was that easy I would not be
writing this poem would be the
rainbow instead of the shadow
but I can attempt to pitter patter
to a different tune and tremor
2012/2016
Categories:
trenched, depression, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Bulldozers, drunk with gasoline
once again have scarred and maimed
a place, once green with grass and trees
Where we once heard the sound of breeze
and ghosts of children played their games
and were forced to leave their childhood memories
There trembles now an engine's roar,
that drowns the sounds of echoed glee
In trenched out holes, in broken trees
The big top guns....pour the concrete, build the towers
Ravage earth, take the power, then run- run- run
The dinosaurs raise their iron heads
Jaws dripping with loads of earth and grass
Like a gopher rampages through his halls
Forcing the small guys to their knees
One by one the disappearance of the land
And while the green world our grandfathers knew
Is gone in days, with every oak that falls
When this new invading presence someday is done
Has had his fill of dollar bills,
Then soon abandons one and all..
What will be our fate
Who will mourn, who will recall?
Will we stand up, change the course
Can we stop invading forces
Before it’s too late? Before we have lost it all?
________________________________________________________________
Categories:
trenched, social,
Form:
Free verse
There's more than just twelve feet of twain
between total happiness and emotional pain
It's unfathomable, for they shall never meet
The distance is similarly much the very same
as is substantial derision 'tween cold and heat
There is much disparity amidst goat and sheep,
although they both have four legs and bleat
Assonant as the depth of a trenched abyss
the golden rays of sun; beams of silver moon
while one is wide awake, the other is asleep
Half a world away is midnight from high noon
The chasm is a wormhole, millenniums deep
It's a contrast amid abundance and emptiness
Never the twain to coincide. There's no egress
Woes of sorrow to the one who tries to compensate
for the lack of love that causes him to drown in hate
Categories:
trenched, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
savoured the roses in the garden
especially the climbing variety
because they had no bounds
and therefore represented
the wild passion of change
the juice of fresh blackberries
ran down as he picked and imbibed them
consumed by their nature
he never minded the prickly thorns
scratching at his skin and his soul
yet calluses on his hands and mind
sometimes took him to a darker place
and the undergrowth would not shelter
a numb kind of restlessness
from a peace not to be had
but he had always been able
to salve the wounds
sometimes picked at the scars
as if to remind himself
that he was frightfully alive
calendula gave him respite
chamomile reminded him
of the healing power of
patching up sores that
appeared out of nowhere
and out of somewhere
only to be seen through that lens
of refraction reflection
and parallel consciousness
as he trenched through the soil
his hands a trowel
and fingers and rake
he minded the earthworms
which sooner or later
would decompose what was left
16th May 2023
Categories:
trenched, anxiety,
Form:
Free verse
Entangled by the web we weave,
thoughts provoked, but, yet deceive.
Passing blame with slight, of hand,
a golden calf that shines so grand.
An altar set, his words are praised,
a barren field his flock is grazed.
Thirst and hunger are seldom quenched,
until at last, they all are trenched.
Be careful of the book you read,
a soured quill will slay your seed.
Praising ink wrote down by man,
is not the way and not the plan.
A fleeting moment comes every hour,
self-righteous deeds will soon devour.
Open your eyes and see the catch,
He throws the ball while you play fetch.
Categories:
trenched, pride,
Form:
Rhyme
Walking along a maze of muddy walls stepping over rotting young men their boots gone,
Taking the scenes for granted as this is all I know and cannot even remember my home,
The trenched walkways are like the streets I dream about when my eyes close so tight,
Not long ago I dreamed about a house it was warm and there such lovely rich smells.
My new garden is muddy, wet the earth turned is fresh and mellow but has many dug outs,
Look closely at my garden and there is beauty in it's blackness but not in the smell,
In tiny enclosed spaces my flowers spring up so very delicate and shimmer in sunlight,
I am looking at a snowdrop it has lifted it's graceful head it is scared and lonely on its own.
In my new world my home is mud, my chair and my bed is made of mud and it's very noisy,
People cry in the dead of night such gut wrenching long bitter sobs I wonder where they are,
Do they think of their mums and dads, or could it be a sweetheart going out having a great time,
Maybe it's an older man who is married with children if he ever returns will they know him.
Back in a small corner of my confused mind I see Almond-tree blossom on leafless trees,
There catkins from plants and trees I don't know their names one might have been willow,
In that same corner there are woods with warm banks and green things starting a new life,
One name I remember is the star of Bethlehem in moist meadows but the rest are forgotten.
I am lucky I have always been here my mind knows no home no loved ones nobody nothing,
This is my home these people I live with are family and friends they do not last very long'
They disappear for ever then new people move in every day most stay away from me at first,
Once they have been here for a few months they talk to me then they are my new friends.
Every day we have to run across the thick muddy fields and we get shot at I just walk across,
Men around me fall down all that is left, all that remains are bones, uniforms and tin hats,
Hands reach out for help and plead to their god to help them in this their last few minutes,
Another whistle blows and it is time to walk back and sadly leave my sleeping friends forever.
Categories:
trenched, adventure,
Form:
Bio