Best Unsparing Poems
Innocent, juvenile, moppet
I am a child
Courageous, gallant, dauntless
I am a free spirit
Hearing, heeding, harking
I am a listener
Open, direct, frank
I am honest
Liberal, understanding, unsparing
I am generous
Trite, worn out, bathetic
I am tired
Divided, severed, separated
I am divorced
Forebearer, ascendant, parent
I am a mother
Contributor, benefactor, supporter
I am a friend
Devine, heavenly, spiritual
I believe in God
Feminine, passionate, strong
I am a woman
Sunrise, daybreak, morning
I am Dawn
I grew up on a farm
that was often boring, despite its charm.
As a form of detox
I loved to go on walks,
ignoring my mom's talks
for I knew she was scared, I'd come to harm.
It's scary by yourself,
I felt I might meet the Devil himself.
But, that never stopped me
I wanted to roam free
where no one else would be
and in winter, I'd sneak out by myself.
On my way home, I'd go
past a cemetery shrouded in snow.
Rumored to hold a curse
some say, involves a hearse
and locals fear the worse
for strange sounds get heard when winter winds blow.
Once, I felt unsteady
and couldn't pass; I just wasn't ready.
There's nothing I could prove
but I was scared to move,
and things didn't improve
though I should've been back home already.
And then I saw mom's light,
never has there been a more welcome sight.
Though her eyes were glaring
and her tongue unsparing,
her scolding showed caring
and her heart whispered everything's alright.
(Rhyme)
1/7/2018
The Wedding.
The Pastor stood there waiting,all clothed in his atire
The Organist played the Wedding tune,so sweet,to be admired.
The Groomsman and his Best man,were waiting patiently
As the congregation,sat in seats,adorned so beautifully.
Then came the children,in the lead,with rings and petals baring
They were dressed so pretty ,and so cute,their beauty was unsparing.
Next the Bridesmaids,and the Matron of Honour,as pretty as can be
Then,last but least,as was expected,my Daddy escorting me.
The music stopped,all took their places,as quickly as they could
To see the start of a celebration,as perfect as it should.
Words were spoken,prayers were said,then came the Wedding vows
As this couple stood before God and man,as perfect as precious flowers.
A budding young couple ,full of life and great love
Sent from heaven,and the good Lord above.
The crowd cheered,as the couple kissed,to seal the vows they made
A kiss of love,a kiss of lasting,which never was to fade.
The rice was thrown,the car was ready,to wisk the couple away
To go and celebrate,the promise they made,on this,their Wedding Day.
by Sharon.L.Leonard. 23rd,October,2007.
True add verse situation,
whereat me mission
trans send dint state didst ache
after yours truly nearly
did nearly break
chassis 'pon took drastic
over corrective measure,
not quite August,
nor jejune piece of cake,
while rounding raised
curbed contra corner
suddenly felt wrath of wife quake,
viz passenger rear tire
gone flat as a pancake
impresario found myself
hearing Thus Spake,
Zarathustra, when in truth...
twas ma constricted trach.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Some weeks back
acting so cool and chic - bank
king all bravado, machismo
self importance, and frank
lee babbling like a cripple creek
off by a black key with Hank
Williams tune imagining
myself swaggering like a lank
key trump petting Don
(feigning faw being "Beefy") plank
walking lampoon able
laughingstock Freaky, thank
less as a lapsed worn eraser head
pencil necked Geek yank
key doodle dandy hood be
forced to do penance as cap
pit dull leotarded asinine
arthouse flop, where nary any words
(worth their weight in gold)
described my benign
behavior, NOT even
smattering of unflattering deign
nig grating hammock colorful expletives,
that would find an ensign
sailor to blush at my inept
shameless travesty over the line
utter in apropos totally tubularly
moronic juvenile mine
ness zero car raze zee antics,
didst drive my doppelganger nine
tee bajillion miles away in search
of another auto body – pine
ning for newer model
then a 2009 Hyundai Sonata sign
ning off contract with this
stunt driver wannabe
unimpressively try'n
to act the blithe dare devil,
while thee spouse didst wine
and scream more'n bloody Mary
as the gunned axle nearly broke
trying my damn nest to
"FAKE" dagger a type cloak
his husband resembled a fool,
where angels fear to tread didst evoke
unsuccessful, unstinting, and unsparing
unstrung epithets of colorful expletives
unsuitable for poetic folk
boot urgent prayer went out
to incredible Hulk
Hogan, and/or even the ghost
of Andre The Giant, this haint no joke!
Like a mystical wight,
Ain't in a trance,
Nor experiencing delusions and phantasmagoria.
I live. I fight,
Fighting
Because the decision to be free
Is that which I took freely,
Yet, criticized with unsparing vigor,
Cruel and baseless calumnies.
The past is gone,
The future is a dream,
All I got is now and only now,
Enormities of crime and anomalies of law
I care not,
The quest to be real engulfed my thoughts,
But still afraid of reincarnation,
Then I skipped religion and politics,
Ready to die for my passion,
Because in the final analysis of my life,
The only true bulwark against penury is to hustle,
Become self actualized or die trying.
Free from all controversial pettifogging,
I still pen with sledgehammer directness,
Heavily freighted with erudition,
For you to fain believe,
In language terse yet familiar.
I'm not far from the street,
Words!
Justifiable in certain exigencies.
In a world full of trends,
I remained trendy,
Devoid of mulishness.
I glitter,
You wish to wear my shoes.
Pain is inevitable,
Suffering is optional,
Snitches who treated me wrong,
Have made me strong,
Yesterday, I wasn't in a rush to figure out everything,
Embraced the unknown,
And today my life has surprised me
With that which would have scared you.
A Stewart Annie Everestus's poem © 2019
Trenches
By Nathan Hannen
I look at the moon, Unaffected by superiority of height
With another bang a mortar explodes nearby, Loss of sight
Now the rain begins drenching our fragile souls, Never right
The silence only separated by human cries and terrific pain
The machine guns volley their assaults, Again more slain
On this pointless stage of war enemies hit hard and we are insane
As this terrible era of death continues, Our souls flood
The soldiers faces look blank and scared, Covered in mud
The scars of war cut deep inside me, Another dud
The attacks continue in their unrelentlessness, Our bodies are scattered
With downward spiraling thoughts and morale, The collective heart is shattered
Rain and mud combine to seep our energy, Blown apart, Sinews splattered
I pray this oblivion will cease, My hand touches my heart
This single thought racing in my mind, Of green silent fields and a fresh start
Bodies flung to the side with nowhere to hide, I have played my part
Amid confusion and chaos the noise stops, An all too familiar sign
Onward the enemy thrusts, Forcing us, Cries of pain, Resign
Many thoughts extinguished and expired, Except mine
Bayonets of unsparing mercy pierce us, The men I knew, Cut in half
The mind witnessing the the body laying still, An escape path
Then up with true strength we rise, With built up anger and wrath
Soldiers forgotten like the falling rain, Their souls, A battle long gone
I march forward, One track mind, It won't be long
The End.
She loved
broken things
like she loved
the petals
of withered roses,
that scattered
for their own funeral
like strewed confetti-
which a lover
may have dropped
unintentionally
or intentionally-
crushed
under branded shoes
and under the wheels
of the cars
driven
by unsparing drivers
who aren’t troubled
by squeezing life
out of humans,
let alone a flower;
and she called it
‘modern art’.
Mind is racing
Limbs are aching
I feel the end is nigh
All alone in night unending
Time a torturous lie.
Brain fermenting
Thoughts fragmenting
Shatter in glass shards
Fingers soon to dust returning
Hold fast my deck of cards
Fear is mounting
Heart is pounding
I know the end is nigh
My sight long gone, still I see
Those shards light up the sky
Children laughing
Old friends calling
From a distant shore
Mem’ries of a life unsparing
And a time that is no more
The time it passes,
through the darkness
With teeth so sharp pain bites
Missive from cassandra spinning
Prophecy I cannot fight.
Life and loving
True belonging
No more need I pretend
Gave life a go, decried its blows,
My hand I played to the very end.
Life Abandoned
David J Walker
What of the abandoned baby
Tears hidden
Seismic cries choaked and cloaked
In an unsparing future
Whose voice speaks for you when
You are months away from birth
And moments away from death
Beneath the cold glare of the desolate night,
And from a thousand miles away,
I heard her cries and felt the fathomless depths of suffering
Tearing her wounded soul and bruised emotions apart.
I collapsed into a dreary and hysterical depression,
'Cause the blood that runs in me,
Is the same that I ejaculated for her procreation.
She is my daughter!
And I love her more than life itself.
Her mother took her away and couldn’t stay with me any longer,
Because unemployment and hardship
Had dwarfed my dreams and aspirations,
Like a fiery exclamation of wrath and disdain,
Leaving me with a harassing anxiety of sorrow,
Destroying my propitious sky, marbled with pearly white.
Many letters were penned and sent to her enatic home.
As arbitrary as a cyclone and as killing as a pestilence,
Their replies were fatal,
Just as the fang of the most venomous snake.
Today again, I heard her cries at the wake of dawn,
Calling and asking “Dear father, when will you come for me?”
But I couldn’t answer in any way.
But deep down in me,
I know she wants a life in the hands of a real man,
And can no longer bear my ominous lull and silence,
As well as the inscription labeled on her by the society ‘Bastard,’
But the cruelty of my circumstance couldn’t let me offer to her,
That fatherly parenting and protection,
Indeed, I’m into a painful and disconcerting deformity.
I can’t find my daughter anymore,
But can hear her cries and feel all the pains she got to bear.
She is my snatched blood,
Even at that, I’m criticized with unsparing vigor,
In conditions of unspeakable humiliation.
Along with their desolate fortune,
Old parents waiting for their unsparing children,
Who leaved them in the barren garden,
For the sake of their ambitions,
They omit them between the world,
When they needed love and care,
They gifted them with despair,
Inspite their aloofness,
Blear eyes still searches for them,
In the cortile of old house,
Every evening they sit together,
Share their griefs with each other,
Collect their broken dreams,
with lots of tears and scream,
hold each other hands,
As they are the passenger of the same land,
In the cortile of old house,
I know that one day they will sleep,
In the lap of grave,
But their sorrows will remain,
Gloom words left,
Inconvenient plaints shout ever and ever,
In the cortile of old house,
Whole night and the entire day,
They worry about them and pray,
Old memories tease them,
Tear their hearts with a sharp condemn,
With the passage of time,
Their wounds heal,
Time will not come back,
But must repeats itself,
It may be possible that,
After a stumble of time,
Those who rejects heaven in the earth,
Will be the next passenger,
In the cortile of old house,
The air shimmered, a wavering mirage,
Heatwaves rippling through the afternoon,
A furnace blast, relentless and fierce.
Shadows retreating, thin as whispers,
Concrete burning underfoot,
Even the cicadas silenced, stunned by the blaze.
Mirrors of light, cruel and blinding,
Sky a bleached canvas, stark and hollow,
Leaves curling, thirsting, brittle to touch.
Breath searing, every inhalation a shock,
Sweat beads forming, reluctant to cool,
The sun an unyielding overlord, unsparing in its gaze.
Silent streets, deserted, still,
Nature hiding, subdued by the glare,
This unexpected inferno, a summer’s merciless grip.
“I am alone: the world is dead
And all its vigor has been bled.
May trees fill once again the plains
Where not a single soul remains!”
“The cities have been emptied out
Of all the men who roamed about
And whose unsparing, gruesome fight
Had pitted darkness against light.”
“They deemed their earthen realm to be
Bold proof of their eternity
And fancied that they still could thrive
When nothing else was left alive.”
“Well here I am: the world’s last bird!
I’ve seen the fall of their absurd
Dominion over all the sky
By their own hands and lurid lie.”
“Not long ago I flew above
The lovely mountains with my love,
But she is gone. She died in vain
And nothing fills the air but pain.”
“All I have left to do is wait
Until I suffer the same fate
Which killed my kind by sword and flame
And left me longing, lone and lame.”
“I have been sentenced to live on,
Though all I treasured is now gone.
I pour my sorrow out in song
And pray that death won’t tarry long!”
With a deliberated ruse; she washed its tiny face with a soft washcloth.
With no resistance, she enfolded the wee infant into a swaddling cloth.
In the Autumn equinox, she placed the tiny form in the simple wooden box.
She watched them perform their antiquated burial tradition, and then she returned to the loose gray dirt.
She then headed home with a secret beneath her skirt.
Earlier during the dim of the day, while they were seeking each other for comfort.
And while superficial prayers were offered up with great effort.
She blew breath into the tiny mouth and massaged its tiny smooth chest.
And by the grace of God, the tiny infant was blessed.
Madame Blackwell by virtuous askew created a makeshift bundle and made a switch.
Her deed made unnoticed without a glitch.
No regret manifested in her heart.
No transient sorrow, in place was a spiritual upstart.
For retribution was pacified and made whole.
There was a righteous mood in her soul.
Justice was done.
For her, the sun's unsparing glory shone radiantly on her and her son.
beyond earnest vows
and doting promises
our love will last
forever and a day
yet all avid promises
are one day shattered
in spite of best intentions
sometimes I hear its thunder
it’s in the quiver of his voice
the shiver of his nightmares
the shudder in his fearful eyes
the feeling of helplessness
over his body convulsing
inevitable visits to the oncologist
vital treatments and aftershock
unsparing reminders we are not immortal
it’s the pain of growing wings
the price to pay for crossing over
till then…
the promises feel real
every day a gift and blessing
a promise is a promise
in this realm or the next
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on May 31, 2020 for contest THE PROMISE sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND