Best Wet Blanket Poems
The power I yearn to catch
A surplus beauty overflowing hearts
Dew settles, sprinkled gently a wet blanket
Star leather leads me into unknown territory
My senses are imprisoned and takes my breath
Through a crack in the window I can see this magnificent
In a moment, soft breeze of the evening an amazing view
Hypnotised by the nature and it's miraculous glow
The image of happiness, on the menu this evening
Cobwebs of dream seekers hidden magic
In four chambers one corner dusty twilight appears
Under silk covers rising and falling oceans mist over
Back breathing from the salted well drawing a bridge of sighs
Under a cradle of moonshine drunken beams starlight
Rivers of jewels running down the mountain
Inside droplets our soul is set free
Dew drowning under the fountains
Of eternal beauty enveloped
A Collaborated Poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
27.01.2017
(01 - 17)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
sigh ...
there is no shortage
of gloom and doom these days
we are in the midst of something unseen in our time
and the fear and hysteria is palpable
that said, I'm not taking the blue pill ... no way
reality is important, as are fear and caution
those darker things keep us safe
they temper our decisions and guide our courses
still, choice comes down to line-of-site ...
every time I say or do or affect anything
remotely encouraging or positive or optimistic ...
a thick, cold, wet blanket is thrown
the "reality", I am told ...
here's the thing -
I've been in pharmacy and
medicine and science my whole life
and from the beginning of this viral monster
I've been extraordinarily aware of the "reality" of this rabbit hole
odds, numbers, percentages, statistics
trials, results, vaccines, treatments
sobering, to say the least
but HOPE is a reality as well, just as sobering
and while these aged-but-wise
lungs of mine can still push gases
I'll choose to take the hopeful, encouraging, OPTIMISTIC tack
bring on the darkness and gloom
I have been to hell and back a number of times
I know the darkness well
and therein shine the most glorious of suns
oh, I absorb and process and consider all the dark
and cold and discouraging elements of this horrible pandemic
(anyone would be foolish NOT to know the weight of this disease
or understand the deadly seriousness
of all that comes with it)
but sunlight can peep through a wee hole
and it is THOSE rays that will always draw my gaze
life IS hope, from where I sit
and as long as I can type -
as long as I embrace this gift of mine for crafting words
I'll consider it my duty to use that tool
at least in some part
for the promotion of all things shiny
bright, optimistic, encouraging
happy, joyous, hopeful, halcyon, uplifting
heartening, upbeat, inspiring
and absurdly sunny
call me delusional - I've been called MUCH worse
it won't bother me ... much, lol
but ...
this is no fantasy land or careless dream I'm living in
it's simply the brighter reality
that I CHOOSE to see ...
the more hopeful future
I choose to anticipate.
As the last thread of darkness bids
farewell, it took a swipe at their
peaks,
A thick coat of mist casts a wet blanket
over their faces and swiftly leaves,
Then, out comes the glow of Dawn’s
first golden rays cascading warmth all
over them,
Giant guardians of the earth, through
it all, the mountains stood in silence,
Dawn by the Mountainside, both beautiful
and harsh, taught me a lesson in patience
and endurance.
As the world awakes, songbirds herald
in the break of a new day,
A gentle wind begins to stir, caressing
everything in its way,
Leaves from the valley's tall trees made
a soft musical sound,
And the sunlight glistened as it danced
across the winding river,
Oh, dawn by the mountainside is full of
treasures I’m blessed to have found.
In nature’s open space of solitude and
serenity, worries melt away,
And hearts can find peace in the
graceful beauty of its view,
So, walk by where the mountains stand
in the early morn,
For dawn by the Mountainside,
refreshes the soul and ignites the fire
in the heart, making you feel alive and
spankingly anew.
by Zyrool
The clouds shook
A thick, black, very wet blanket out
In the Southeastern quadrant
Of the New Mexico firmament,
Complete with lightning
And growling, crackling,
Massive basso-profundo sound effects,
Inviting the sun to rest,
Take a load off,
Reeellaaaxxx!
Abrasively radiant,
Helios glared a brilliant, heated, passionate,
Steamy smile
Into the arid monsoon skies
And refused Storm’s invitation
To lie down and go to bed
It's not without reason that it rained that day.
Those winter clouds were paler than my dead
grandmother's face. The wet blanket, which
the morning air wrapped around my sleepless
back, bore no pearls. The ever cribbing qualm
that sings the separation of leaving me to love me
wrote those broken words in those striped stones,
Sutlej gave them to me.
"Start again, let go of the bygones -
The simple is not meant to be complicated.
If you're walking your grave through, walk alone."
The body craves as the soul does and only more.
Yet the constructs of love keep me waiting
for the impossibility of being felt the way I want.
The poet sang for the wingless bird which longs
to fly and fly away. Images from a half shut door
of the unvanquished spirit keep my dreams alive even
when the winter clouds turned paler than my dead
grandmother's face.
Der Nebel haengt in der Luft
It hangs in the air
like a wet blanket
muting the mystery
as if you could
clouding the reality
with vague images
your eyes strain to
make sense of the terrain
as you navigate your way
to fetch this mornings
mail.
The power I yearn to catch
A surplus beauty overflowing hearts
Dew settles, sprinkled gently a wet blanket
Star leather leads me into unknown territory
My senses are imprisoned and takes my breath
Through a crack in the window I can see this magnificent
In a moment, soft breeze of the evening an amazing view
Hypnotised by the nature and it's miraculous glow
The image of happiness, on the menu this evening
Cobwebs of dream seekers hidden magic
In four chambers one corner dusty twilight appears
Under silk covers rising and falling oceans mist over
Back breathing from the salted well drawing a bridge of sighs
Under a cradle of moonshine drunken beams starlight
Rivers of jewels running down the mountain
Inside droplets our soul is set free
Dew drowning under the fountains
Of eternal beauty enveloped
A Collaborated Poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
27.01.2017
(01 - 17)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
It was a warm January 1st,
but now as evening falls,
it is raining and so cold.
We walk along silently,
I am lost in my thoughts,
we have not talked in blocks.
The city traffic, a loud hush,
lights of shops blazing bright,
and people rushing past us.
The cold wraps around us,
like a dark wet blanket,
and I tremble from the chill.
He removes his leather jacket,
placing it on my shoulders,
he smiles and kisses my lips.
It is a small gesture,
but it speaks of great love,
more that any words could.
We continue quietly along,
hands touching as we stroll,
no words are needed at times.
'When souls are connected'
_______________________
June 10, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/'When souls are connected'
Copyright Protected, ID 06-484-645-10
All Rights Reserved,2013, Constance La France
Written for the contest,
Leather jacket on shoulders, Judged 06/2013
First Place
Kisses good-bye; waved out the door.
Sitting at the shore. The water is still rolling.
You want to know how much longer I'll be here for.
We'll all be here till death is at the door. Methadone,
morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day
when it won't work anymore.
All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead.
There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store.
People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to
put myself anymore.
Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay. I am warm
and cozy under this hood. My body is clean. That is
understood. My cuticles are disgusting. Is this the purply glut
they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying?
They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you
know, manicures to die for.
My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore. I can't
remember one breakthrough from another. Holidays forever around
each corner; it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket.
Dead broad walking down the dining room hall.
If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away
for GOOD; I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood
that this would be the bloody end.
Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash. Not everything is as someone else says.
From now on
I will dance as if on fire -
And when I say on fire – I mean sporadic dancing is the only form I know.
I am told I dance like a white girl
I look them in the face, eyes blazing.
Do I look like anything else?
From now on,
I will write as if I am Emily Dickinson, Virginia Woolf and Silvia Plath
And what I mean by that is - they suffered from the same debilitating illness I do, so maybe I can learn to weave what feels like a death sentence into something beautiful and life preserving.
I force feed myself drugs, this is the only way that I can make this wet blanket of hopelessness peel itself off of me. The residue of wet melancholy will never leave, but hey, when did I start believing in miracles?
I pray to a God I don’t even believe in, hoping that I will not end up with my head in the oven, confined to my home or water filled lungs.
From now on,
I will be a lioness,
I will not fall for the handsome price in the Disney movies I gulped down as a child, thirsty for the "idea" of love. I will not be the innocent, sweet, pure princess –
I will no longer be a wall flower, with innocent eyes, waiting in her high tower for a righteous prince to come to her rescue. No my dears,
I will be the dragon
Lungs full of fire,
Eyes full of desire
Fangs, waiting to pierce the flesh of any man who thinks I cannot save myself,
I will make the ground rock with my presence!
From now on!
I will be a ferocious shark within the sea of mass production
My soul, older than the fossilized bones of yesteryear
The trappings of regret and hope intertwine - causing a fuse so strong, so bright – that even I am blinded by its vehemence confusion.
From now on, I will scream -
I am no new soul,
I am no naive, fragile adolescent -
No, I’ve walked these roads filled with vile and contempt before
People and their viscous words fill my head – But they do not know
Their hateful words are no match for the distain and disgust I have for myself!
This soul has walked down a road of self-made abhorrence -
I can cross fire -
I can swim the deepest of waters -
I can climb the highest mountain –
Without batting an eye!
From now on –
From now on
From now on!
An annual muster
Of black and yellow honey-eaters
Chattering and tweeting
Brought in the dawn this morning
Against the backdrop
Of a grey wet blanket sky lightly sun lit
Heavy with the promise of rain
It was a wonderful atmospheric morning
As I woke to the serenade of myriad sounds
It was like an orchestra at rehearsal time trying out
All its musical instruments
A clanging cymbal in the distance was industrial banging cutting the air
And the ever-rushing cars on the wet highway
Sounded like the constant brushing sounds of a drummer scraping His drums
And like woodwind instruments piping was wood pigeons cooeeing
And the chirpy sounds of other birds were like flutes interjecting
And magpies chortling a Soprano song between an occasional dog bark
That sounded Like Maestro banging His baton to get the orchestra’s attention
© Brenda V Northeast 28th March 2012
Free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with notes
[*like presidents and prime ministers of declining (falling or fallen) nations]
K381: padaikudi kuulamaiccu nadpuaran aarum
yudaiyaan arasarul eeru
An army, people, wealth, a minister, friends, fort:
Who owns them all, a lion lives amid the kings. (Transl. G.U.Pope)
[army= the most formidable air, sea and land forces; wealth= minus the eighteen (?) trillion debt and not counting his own well-earned piddling billions; a minister=read as Prime Minister (V.P. or Sec. of State?); people=less by three million-odd democratic votes; friends=dwindling, save for staunch Israel by marriage; fort=impenetrable nuclear shield. ]
K448: idippaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan
keduppaar ilaanum kedum
The king, who is without the guard of men who can rebuke him, will perish, even though there be no one to destroy him. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
K444: thammit periyaar thamaraa olukuthal
vanmaiyul ellaam thalai
So to act as to make those men, his own, who are greater than himself, is of all power the highest. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
K447: idikkum thunaiyarai aalvaarai yaaree
kedukkum thakaimai yavar
Which king who (encourages and) heeds the criticisms* of his henchmen fears conspirators? (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[*not-heeding the advice of Ivanka and son-in-law on climate change commitment in Paris, even if the polls show a majority in favour of polluting the planet.]
K448: iduppaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan
keduppaar ilaanum kedum
The king who insulates himself from his helpers'* critiques will perish even if his enemies left him alone. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[*the role of the media in keeping the WH incumbents in check, for without the journalists working over-time to whet and wet-blanket the language and blunders, the King would have perished by now.]
K450: pallaar pakaikollin paththaduttha thiimaiththee
nallaar thodarkai vidal
Having to put up with the enmity of legions* is ten times less harmful than forsaking the support of good (impartial) people*.
[*legions= Hillary Clinton and the NDP; *good (impartial) people= like FBI Dir. Comey for one, even if he has an eye (twenty-twenty vision) on the presidency in 2020]
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Well SALLY'S corpse is in the graveyard
But her ghost clings to me like an old wet
Blanket...maybe it's because I treated her
Like dirt when she was alive and shot her
When I caught her cheating on me then
Threw her body in the in the dark, choppy
Waters of the Chesapeake Bay but it wasn't
Long until they found her body and now
The rest of my life is to be spent in this
High facility prison but the real but the
Real torture is that she haunts me everyday
And every night and I don't mean from
Memory, I mean she really haunts me in
All her stink and creepy crawlies...
I guess I deserve her wrath, hell have no
Fury like a woman scorned, she says I
Will make you regret the day you were
Ever born...
I used to think dead is dead but now I
Know I was wrong 'cuz she might be
Dead but she is long from gone, she clings
To me like an old wet blanket and I'm
Going outta my head 'cuz I know she's
Gonna haunt me now and long after I am
Dead, even tho SALLY'S corpse is in the
Graveyard she clings to me like an old wet
Blanket, she says I'll never let you forget
What you did to me on this you can bet...
Oh and SALLY'S GHOST clings to me like
An old cold, cold wet blanket, just like an old
Cold, cold wet blanket!
Why compare thee to a summer day?
What mean they with such a dull word?
Days of summer are usually gray
And hazy and overcast and blurred.
Do they mean to say you’re a kill joy,
A wet blanket, a downer, a pout…
That your feminine manners annoy,
Is that what this figure’s about?
They refer to August as “dog days.”
Are they hinting that you are like that?
And they talk about heat stroke and craze,
Do they mean you’re a nutty ol’ bat?
All of these things you clearly are not.
What they mean to say is, Wow! You are hot!
It fills my heart all day long
Sometimes I ask what have done wrong
What it is, I can’t deliver with my tongue
Most times I get them in my bed
They never sieze coming true my head
At times they act dead
When I behave like a nerd
Too much to think of
Before you wake up it already takes off
My greatest desire is to turn it off
How long would I fight with you
You work on the past and nothing new
Received enough wet blanket your time is dew