Best Walling Poems
Fingers of light pierced the clouds caressing the moors
with life giving warmth, purples, browns and greens of
heathers mingled, blended, in a union of beauty. Yellow
of gorse splashed in the sultry, hazy spectre of natures
superb canvas. The dry stone walling lay sporadic, lost,
decaying in time and memory, the hardy moorland sheep
stumbled from blade to blade, in the breeze they used the
walls as shade. Golden plovers dipped and dived the call
of pee weet pee weet echoed in the stillness, the Peregrine
hovered with silent wings and sunlit eye. Those fingers of
light walked the hillside highlighting the chalk outcrops
on craggy reaches as if new laden snow. Black pools of
peaty water dot themselves borne of winters starkness,
it is a beauty that holds both eye and heart, a picture
painted for the soul. A place where all blends and the
crofter wears no watch only the sun and moon to follow
and the footsteps of the rambler sleeps in the fragrance
of the heather.
Categories:
walling, inspirational
Form:
Prose Poetry
When rejection eludes understanding,
anxiety places love on trial.
And you start scheming for just one more chance;
extrapolating hope from denial.
A heart haunted by unrequited love;
begins drifting between hope and disgust.
And pursuing fleeting shadows of joy;
it loses its ability to trust.
Accepting truth is a prerequisite
if love is to have any chance at all.
For shackled to an inflated ego;
lies will only intensify your fall.
Reality can seem to disappear,
isolated in your fanciful dreams.
And depression becomes your nemesis;
fueling frustration and silent screams.
Unfulfilled dreams morph into delusion;
resulting in an inward migration.
And walling off your heart, you fantasize;
amidst illusions of your creation.
As trickling tears threaten to drown your heart,
happiness starts slipping away once more.
And you try to turn back the hands of time;
so that everything could be as before.
Categories:
walling, angst, break up, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
NORTHERN ENGLAND
Steep hills and sudden
Gouged by ice, and water-formed -
This is no civilized landscape gentle
With demesne and orchard
And sun-kissed downland copses;
It is the terrain of warfare,
Of Northumbrian tearing at Scot,
Of Hadrian walling off the terrifying Pict,
Where the sea is held by Marsden’s cliffed face
And Cullercoats huddles in fear of a storm.
.................................................................
Other poems of mine, similar to this, are available at
https://www.fictionmagazines.com/magazines/five/
Categories:
walling, home,
Form:
Free verse
ATTENTION READERS:
In the interests of full disclosure, our recent sightings of Humpty-Dumpty were reported on social media. In addition, the most reliable eyewitness happened to be an illegal alien, somewhere in the South. We cannot divulge that alien's exact location, for obvious reasons, and for professional ethics. So here:
When Britannia ruled the waves
And the Americans in league trumped the Braves
Agent Humpty-Dumpty was schooled
In Divide-and-Conquer rules
Then came 1776 and 1789
Humpty-Dumpty was falling behind
Fast forward to a more recent time
Think of the year 1989
Humpty had a tremendous, spudendous fall
Do you recall the Berlin Wall came falling down?
Just like that, Humpty-Dumpty was almost done
Reporters visited China’s Great Wall
Where the Chinese had trumped the Great Mongol
Humpty-Dumpty was not investing there
Not his hand, or finger, or trademark absent hair
It seemed our world would keep just China's historic wall!
Then Hilary was thumped in recent days, in the glorious year 2017
Humpty was spied, by an illegal alien
Near Mexico, but on this side of the Rio Grande
Raising capital under an undisclosed "Humpety-Trumpety" brand:
For a wall to keep out the hordes yet again!
We have nothing against capital, profit and gain
(No more LOSS just PROFIT at labor's cost! Unless you want a Great Depression again?)
But our Humpty has never read Robert Frost's poem, "Mending Wall,"
When Nature itself sends fence and wall tumbling down
Each springtime: dovetailing the work of hunters, spring, and Fall
He asked: "What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense," wrote the Poet
Some living poets may join in the fray,
To boldly declare, nay, to write in a polite way -
"Something there is that doesn't love a wall."
Edited for Contest on April 24, 2017.
Categories:
walling, allegory, bullying, change, christian,
Form:
Burlesque
4/22/17
No intentions of being misleading
Could go by bleeding
Is one way of leaving
As the heart stops beating
And the lungs stop breathing
Also could be caused from exsanguination
Across a pagan nation
Could go by strangulation
Which'll cause and make abrasions
With no intentions of making a statement
Pulse rapid then slowing
Could go by overdosing
Knowing
It comes with the risk of choking
Could go
While on the road
Or in your own home
You just never know
The voices calling
On any side of the walling
Could go by falling
The outcome would be appalling
Yet enthralling
Like something never before seen, or only in a drawing
Above the Earth's layers
Could go by the might of Mother Nature
Whether your on land or in a ship as a sailor
The odds just may not go in your favor
Sooner than later
The sight of even greater danger
Among objects that are inanimate
Could go by accident
Tragic and just about as bad as it gets
Near and far from any waters with halibut
Only an earthling
Could go by burning
With zero chance of returning
Might be considered disturbing
But there are technically worse things
No guarantees
Could go by disease
Anywhere, not just by the seas
Or any trees and leaves
Whether your a kid, teen
Or ninety three
Regardless of if it involves being annointed
It's been one heck of a voyage
Could go by poison
Which could be quick or miserable and far from joysome
I'll tell you what it wouldn't taste anything like Hoisin
And like usual fingers would probably get pointed
Due to one too many mistakes
Could go up in space
On a ship or base
At a slow or rapid pace
Whether or not the pulse began to race
All of us are fallible
Could go by getting eaten by a cannibal
Or some kind of animal
Whether or not their claws are retractable
Nobodies laughing
Could go by crashing
Whether or not it's your fault, still come the sirens and lights flashing
Like they say nothing is truly everlasting
Before during or after nine
Could go due to it being my time
Which would be fine
And rather benign
Except that I need to finish this rhyme
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
walling, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
On A Relaxed Recline On A Spring’s Soft-Sunny Day
=====================================
This cool country and this calm forenoon,
Singing birds and murmuring stream—
Far from that noise and dust of the concrete city.
This recline in half sun and half shade,
By the blooming willows, in the grassy yard of my lonely wooden cottage,
Is princely and priceless...
'As I recall the scene-- those weak, naked,
Indian laborers on a blazing summer’s day
In the heat of brick kiln.'
Reading an American poet, and imagining his horse ride
By some dark woods on a snowy day.
With a bowl of plane water,
And a view of a very high elevated, pillar less, blue-like roof,
And heavy woods’ walling all around the town.
And adding spice into the fantasies-fun
With the musical memories of my love-days.
Categories:
walling, nature, romantic,
Form:
Free verse
Southgate and Sterling discourse on the disturbing. Alarming' The focus of classes through
Which much chattering passes, in meme graph and drama a gasp'orama of division's incision draconian Intrusion, reality never meeting; insanity tries our reason, as all seasons grow evil.'
Three meters apart, we survey the heart to heart, Sterling is speaking of racisms seeping
In establishments 'a steeping.' Against the grade he'd kept keeping moving in reason
Playing believing, although at times seething he'd still kept on keeping, right in his sights'
Southgate spoke fairly of efforts and aims, of soul searching to gain, for the betterment
Waiting not to get lost in the making, in the race to a summit not to jeopardise something
A reaching of reason, he expounded his thesis I believe he is open from what he has spoken
He and many knee taking, their sign to humanity with its fractures and vanity's in the making
Yet apartheid was there breathing it's death stench, I felt my inside almost up-retch invisible
Walling from floor up to ceiling 3 meters from reason; from the spirit of Christ's season
The farce of pandemic with dystopian rhetoric, was adhered to in action complying with
Coercion while denying its perversion, living out an in-version blind were the sighted
Yet puppet masters so delighted, set the scene and invited this righteous pair; so united
The validation of division apartheid in Britain! an acceptable evil; is this truly liveable?
Imagination un-holy in the scenes now bestowed me I saw the spectre of evil
Strutting in between them, breathing their words in, and spitting out silent signs'
Pseudo derived 'lateral inanity' our salvation? And To embrace such insanity?
© Joe Maverick 2021
Categories:
walling, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Tonight theres a fortress around my heart,
walling off the hurt that's on the outside,
my heart is once again avoiding the darts,
and wants to gallop off for a solitary ride,
knowing desperately my heart wants to forgive you,
as I slowly swallow my hurtful pride,
hesitantly letting my drawbridge back down,
letting you once again come gallop back inside,
knowing deep down inside you are a danger,
hearing only my own sobbing echoes in my hearts chambers.
11-13-16
Categories:
walling, forgiveness, love hurts, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
Tender is the night the moon does gently sway,
reflections from your eyes, gives one a taste of
your ways.
Dancing leaves, the headlights ensnare
a rufous finale, as yet another generation gives
way to the new.
Approaching fog gives one the
urge to slow down, while shapely trees play
havoc with one’s imagination.
Sight and sound
blend in harmony, when “Black Foss Cascade” we go
by, rampage rushing water just a complexity in the
rain.
Withered old man staggering, rustic features
caught in a reflective mode, when pushing his
home wayward in a supermarket trolley, aided by
moonlit cat’s eyes.
New bypass smooth and variably,
manageable liken to a new exercise book till
fingerprinted saturation takes hold.
Local men,
local stone, one conceives when witness to the
resurging art of dry stone walling, taking place
along the highways, pastures and garth.
A sad
reminder, when “St Peter’s” comes into view, mixed
with happy memories flooding back of a grandmother,
laid within its walled sanctuary.
Cruising upon
the “Beacon” westward sights create incredible mental
images, fuel for past wanderings, the mind a compiled
haven.
96FM, belts out yet another blast from the
fifties, giving one’s ego a shivering reminder of a
reflected past. “Moor Lane” allowing reality to surge
back, the view as beauteous as ever!
“This whole
nurtured birthplace of mine that lays embedded
in one’s conscious, gives up nothing of its secrets,
only imparts them occasionally, to a select enchanted few!”
© Harry J Horsman 1991
Categories:
walling, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
There is a hidden story here,
wordings in the lines of a book that openly appear
well-worn images cleared
along paths and byways out of stagnation,
birth life experiences out of the shadows of creation
marked by words and phrases, filled within blank spaces
holding time in all its places,
imaginings real and vague,
too easily erased by respite, consternation, aged oasis.
The word streams up and down the page gathered together
in paragraphs and sentences, uneasily phrased
chapters to be told but never quite heard,
lives lived sad and happy within the written word,
addressing all the hows and whys
the wherefores brave and bold
life once delicate, innocent, foolish with intent, pure and pristine
held silent by images of unimaginable aging in the unforeseen.
A mistake taken and made quickened faulty steps
out of shadows, dark consuming, mesmerizing desires inept,
companions, friends, partners , dreamers, schemers, and lovers
searching for the futures waiting to be discovered,
paying tokens, worship of ancestral icons,
love's fool hearty titans, sublime and divine
to the body electric, solemn, serious, serene,
pleasurable by design.
Solemn prayers vocalized by the heart
beating in unison panicked when distant or apart
relaying the story of where love ends and where it starts,
blended, bonded, separated by passion, the moment on display played
unawares and barely assured of how long the magic alures.
or could have stayed lingering thought in the want and need
of where it once was made, all finely focused on life's grand parade.
The story is often sad but true
lovers, unfortunate in youth, emotional fools without a clue
knowing that all hope and dreams are learned better out of school
that truth, deception, and lie form both pleasure and sin
walling up the mind and soul from down deep within,
the story rolls out in a plot of twists and turns
and all, in the end, get burned.
Here the story, silently it may lay
placed hidden on a dusty shelf well-worn and frayed
unopened, unheard, and yet retold
so like the stories generations old,
over and over again by companions, family, relatives,
the lovers and the friends.
Categories:
walling, endurance, innocence, life,
Form:
Narrative
Walling off the bad
You've self-imprisoned your heart
From reaching the good;
Hope you understand life now,
It's imperfect just like us
Categories:
walling, anxiety, fear, heart, life,
Form:
Tanka
Spooked !
Unknown alleyways
Where slanting darkness
Camouflages corners and discovers threat
Lost in a maze
Of dead end shadows from fickle moon
Dissembles direction
Turning left
Straight ahead
Turning right
The tourist map of instinct
Points north
But thinks the exit
Lays south
To edged near a wall
Hangs a screeching gate
Pensive listening for its winded clue
Leaves dumb devices of panic
Marching on raised pulses
Time walks around
The implacable bricks
Menacing the insecurity of its passing
By footsteps echoing
As they repeat their searching
Way
Out
Way
Out
Find
The
Way
OUT
Eyes survey for some recognisable shade
Desperate to reconstruct
Confidence
As it trickles away on every stride
The eerie dog fox call barks
On hairy standing chills
Down a shivered neck
Shuddered spine
Stay calm
Way
Out
Way
Out
Way
Out
Find
The
Way
OUT
With outstretched hands
Stumbling blind on creeping fingers
They begin to stir
Clammy cold sweat
The soup of fear
In its wet snarling teeth and demon eyes
With bristled fur comes sneaking
Hunger
Primordial animal
Wants to get out of here
Touches cold metal
Creeks the gate
Iron bars hang awkward
But wait
Take your time
Breath the spooky
Calmly push past the rustling walling thing
When the moon breaks
Out
Outside
Way
Out.
Categories:
walling, mystery
Form:
Free verse
Six feet apart, our hands cannot meet.
Behind prison walls, it seems, we greet.
Faces are veiled in surgeon masks, afraid,
within one's own stale breath stayed.
Walling off every suspect unknown,
we're isolated, and yet not alone.
In breaking news... another onset.
Another's breath, an open threat.
Await the countdown to lockdown...
Inhale the last fresh breaths of your town.
With outlook of terror, perception ill-fated,
although not alone, we become isolated.
3-16-2020
Categories:
walling, lonely, loss, people, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
Master piece
A masterpiece
A work of Art
Created from our fathers heart
Unique and wonderfully made
He mastered and completed
Yet some defeated
They left you out
Mastering a piece
Don't come easy
It comes with revision
Different decisions
Different outcomes
Different phases
Also different stages
Have you ever tried to perfect?
A craft ?
And all some did was laugh
Like it was funny
Have you ever tried to fit in?
And they left you out
Let me tell you children of God
Are always made to stand out
Drop dead different
Amazing
Speaking to a world
That need saving
I took a pen
Rewrote my story again
This time including sin
Because I'm not perfect
But in the end I was worth it
Yes me
I was 100%gurantee
Labeled
By a world that was unstable
I pressed play I fast forward and rewind
They say things get easier with time
I agreed
I just wanted to succeed
I was like a canvas
With no drawing
An apartment with no walling
A footstep with no falling
A manifestation with no calling
Whew I was created to be
More than a settled opportunity at the door
I was a key with the right lock
I was a go getter couldn't be stopped
I was a blessing that couldn't be blocked
I was a voice behind the pen
You see I was in it to win
Some people said win what
I said win back me
You see we are in a world
That has lost the value of living
We need to start giving
Without expecting to get anything back
We need to get back on track
And realize we were made in God's eye he mastered
Yet this world is a disaster
But we can turn it around
Be kings and queens
Wear our crowns
Keep your head up
Never put it down
You were not traced
No not a stencil
God made you from scratch
Like using paper and a pencil
Creating something perfect
Hug yourself we are all worth it
Just because we take a picture
Don't mean you captured the perfect shot
Look through the lense
What would be if we were not cleansed
We would be a wreck
But luckily God not through with us yet
I hope that this put your mind at ease
That you are the perfect masterpiece
Written by : Concetta Hardnett
01/24/2021
Categories:
walling, age, art, blessing,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I wake up in the morning
and everyone around me is dreaming
of good old times and future smiles.
I move around, almost floating like a Phantom
and I stand in the middle of the hallway,
and the carpet tickles my feet
and I can't help but giggle inside.
The lights are off
and the windows all open,
a gust of wind blows through
knocking things over and turning the atmosphere upside down,
and I start to shiver and my teeth start to chatter.
It's cold! I say, it is cold,
I feel all alone, in the cold
no one around to warm me up,
no hot chocolate, no warm milk,
no jacket or a hat- not even a scarf to keep my neck warm,
nothing...
It's cold and I have a headache now,
dancing to beating drums inside my head,
and I can't make the party stop up there,
in that vase place of darkness and imagination;
but I try to sing along to the whispering winds
that sound like the ghosts of dead coming back for one last kiss,
I sing along with the walling winds,
and suddenly the cold goes away and I start to warm up
to the situation at hand.
Pictures in the sitting room are on the ground, glass shattered everywhere,
and the fireplace with a dying fire still going-
till the gust of wind comes back to end its last flame.
I sit on a ran-sacked sofa,
ripped and the cushions bleeding out,
the springs jump up and poke me in the butt,
and I can hear the silent footsteps of boots clamping here and there
over in the foyer footprints of ghosts' boots that trailed along in snow
appear to me and I stop and wonder what has come of me.
The Cold comes back and straightens me in and pushes me down
and cools me off- thinking too much- stop it!
The Cold Blues gets you sometimes,
and it's unbearable to live with them.
.1.25.2014.
Categories:
walling, blue, deep, depression, how
Form:
Free verse