Best Wielding Poems
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
Categories:
wielding, farm, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
Categories:
wielding, dark, fantasy, heartbroken, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.
The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.
A peasant girl heard voices
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.
The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.
Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.
The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.
With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.
More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.
In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.
The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.
She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.
A martyr, now respected,
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.
-------------------------------------
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
To her, strategy was more important than the sword.
Categories:
wielding, hero, war,
Form:
Quatrain
On the black stallion of death,
Its red crimson eyes pierce through the night,
And the hell's beast breathes its hot brazen breath
Blazing against the darkness's chilling air!
Does he ride, this phantom of the dead,
Wielding vengeance's sword.
With one hand on the hilt of the blade,
The other arm reaching outwardly,
One finger pointing at his intended victim!
Screaming with a blood curdling howl,
Give me your head vermin, or I'll cut
It off myself, than laughing at their fear!
Beneath crimson fire moon, this hooded and caped,
Death's stalker, hunts down the innocent
Taking that which he desires the most
Their essence of life!
Run to the bridge's safety salvation lies
At the other end beyond.
For these waters cleansing baptism,
Could swallow him whole.
The headless horsemen cannot cross,
These blessed waves of sanctuary,
Or banished is he, hell bound for eternity.
This highway man, rides devastation’s
By ways, of the unknown.
Seeking to restore mind and body,
This Hessian with aggression,
Yearns for justices revenge, to what
Ends bequeath, he cares not, the price
To be paid, in human flesh and blood.
On Saint Hollows Eve, the horsemen
Gallops, across dead-man’s boundary,
Awaiting the stray trespasser, to trip into
His well-hidden trap.
Than striking without mercy's sake,
With its sharpened edge, steel slices
The mortal flesh, taking his prize,
The headless horseman rides away
Into the night.
Yelling, I'll return next Hollows Eve, be thee
So warned, for your salivations sake alone,
Don't tread in Sleepy Hollow after dark!.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
wielding, adventure, dark, evil, halloween,
Form:
Free verse
--- Matamoros, 2:00p.m., December 6, 2014
I sit at this table
(as I have done many times)
wielding a ball-point pen,
with insufficiencies of
thoughts and words --
out of place.
All the while
the two dogs --
Guero and Princesa --
shower their affections,
licking and nuzzling,
in return for caresses,
pats, and gifts of food.
They respond in kind
to attention and gentle treatment.
A nearby train
sounds its horn,
blocks a street,
further clogging traffic
in this unhealthy border city.
The day goes on, time elapses slowly.
It is very warm.
I exchange minimal phrases
with the occupants
of this house.
The owner has just
returned from visiting
his dying elder brother
at the Social Security Hospital.
We leave to visit
an acquaintance in the countryside.
A random fragment
from a life.
Categories:
wielding, age, city, death, dog,
Form:
Free verse
My shy moth eyes
were attracted to the beauty of your flame
The pleasure of knowing you
was worth the risk of me feeling the pain
From the hurt burn of you leaving ...
a house of mirrors with no image of you within
I always knew this day would come,
certain, like the rising of the sun —
Beautiful rabbit you would wanna run
Timid, nervous ever ready to flee
The mirror of reflection
would always set your fear in motion
Numbed by the booze,
paralyzed by the pills
Gave you enough courage to stay still ...
but, only for so long
Beautiful rabbit on the run,
afraid to face
the demons you’re running from
When the face of reality would sober in,
then the cracked mirrors
would leave your bleeding heart sobbing
So many lovers before me
handed you jilted tissues
for your self-esteem issue tears
Wiping the candle mask of your promiscuity,
cold wax let you know when it was time to flee
Beautiful rabbit you on the run,
wielding your body like a weapon
Beautiful rabbit giving the foxy bullet stun,
using love like it was a loaded gun
Beautiful rabbit on the run,
marred habits has disfigured you
Ugly memories you can’t let go of,
scarred flesh melted by an abusive flame
Leaves you often holding a gun,
ready to make your last rabbit run
Beautiful rabbit, don’t run ...
beautiful rabbit lay down the gun
It was the loss of your gorgeous butterfly wings,
which so attracted me to you
I saw the beauty inside others never knew,
the vulnerable side you kept hidden from view
The trauma of your lovers no longer wanting you,
made the truth of the silent phone too painful to hear
And the vanity of rejection you use to give,
is the emptiness you are now forced to live with
Lonely, emotional catacombs you weepingly prefer;
the Before portrait on your wall, I never saw her
Tragic soul went bed-hopping down the rabbit hole
Beautiful rabbit, don’t run ...
beautiful rabbit put down the gun
Beautiful rabbit, I desperately desire you,
let your marred heart be warmed by this truth
Beautiful rabbit, don’t run ...
finger the safety between my loving arms
Beautiful rabbit, don’t leave this way ...
burn the suicide note in the fireplace
Beautiful rabbit, don’t run away
Stay here with me ... please stay
the rest of your enchanted cottage days
Categories:
wielding, allusion, angst, dark, sad
Form:
Ode
Among a stand of pines I lived my life,
blissful in the ignorance of my own fate.
Tall and proud, my fellow trees and I
stood along a ridge that overlooked a lake -
its crystal surface mirroring our beauty.
Underneath big sky
and seeming to lean against a mountain,
we reveled in the gifts of our mother nature.
Oftentimes we felt the breath of breezes at our backs
and cooling downpours in the summer heat.
We saw and heard the scampering of squirrels and rabbits;
We watched as deer and other woodland creatures
stopped to drink at the clear lake or came to visit us.
Birds of many sorts serenaded us both day and night;
Crickets, bees and other insects came to see us too.
Seasons came and went.
Still young, I kept growing on the south fringe of my stand.
This winter as new snow glistened on the ground,
there came intruders to our happy spot.
Wielding axes, two men chopped me down.
Now I stand alone, uprooted and separated from my stand.
No birds adorn my limbs.
Instead I’m wearing garlands of garish gold
and big red bulbs are hanging from my arms.
No moon or stars of night shine above me,
but a silver plastic star is tacked on top my head.
I’m suffocated by this too-warm room
with blinking lights everywhere around me
And myriads of gifts brightly wrapped
piled high and pressed against my trunk.
No longer one of many, I am one alone
And the lovely stand of which I was but one small part
has been replaced by an old and rusty stand for Christmas trees,
a stand that now contains me,
for I no longer stand as one part of a whole.
Rootless and wondering what will become of me. . .
I pine.
Written 9/15/12 for Debbie Guzzi's "Stand" Poetry Contest
Categories:
wielding, nature,
Form:
Free verse
“You must love your neighbor as yourself.”
Matthew wrote those words in the Bible to tell
the world how God expects everyone to be.
No mask worn by a viper can conceal a snake
from the eyes of God, for he sees everything.
Don't accuse me of preaching damnation in fire,
because I don't believe in the flames of a hell.
Jesus was a preacher and I'm proud to walk in his way,
witnessing to those interested and filled with desire
to learn his Father's message and what he had to say.
Humans dare not judge each other. It's not their right.
Only God can read the hearts of men and he alone
is the rightful judge of those who do good and bad.
Those who think they are clever, pretending to be good
may be wolves dressed as sheep, hiding in plain sight.
They smile, pat you on the back, seemingly humble,
then bite your hand and lick the flesh from your bone.
The Apostles argued among themselves, they grumbled
which of them would be greater in wielding his power.
Jesus was saddened by their attitude but gently he spoke,
"This is not the way among you; but whoever wants
to become great among you must be your minister,
and whoever wants to be first must be your slave.” *
Contentiousness and egotism are enemies of humility
so look deep within and seek a spiritual brotherhood
with those crossing your path. We all have the ability
to walk in truth and light, making all things right.
*Matthew 20: 26-27
Categories:
wielding, character, inspirational, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Of Dandelions and Roses
Among the bricks and stones
dandelions persist, finding
any smallest egress to pop
through.
My Irish Grammie called me
her "Rose so sweet"
Truth is - I am a dandelion
Life tried its best to quell my growth
Circumstances played jacks with my life
Always, some persistent genetic inner seed
grew to maturity and became a will of iron
wielding a mace most fierce
Like a child's paddle ball, I bounced back,
no matter how many smacks came my way
Life paved me over, but, determined,
I broke the pavement again and again
Roses are sweet and elegant and fragile
Dandelions are pugnacious warriors
Rose are clipped and put in pretty vases,
dandelions force themselves toward sunshine
I am a dandelion
Categories:
wielding, writing,
Form:
Blank verse
We start at the end, with the warmth of his breath on her skin
Baulked by proximity, he never knew how to begin
A golden-tainted obsession, bitterly laced with lead
Transformed rapture to quicksilver the instant Cupid fled
A moment held, made static, tender touch met with distress
For seeded in her veins, lies a stem of the wilderness
Pursuit stalled just in time, yet time itself recalibrates
Supplanted upon breaking, a laurel shoot germinates
Oh, what should have been the faintest touch cannot be undone
Rooted in the throes of escape, bound to bask in full sun
Sinews harden to fibre, each pulse springs a bonsai tree
Bark chokes her voice box; silent screams nest in the canopy
Locked in abjection, as her praying hands first plead then splay
As liberty, though not consciousness, is taken away
Overruled in evergreen, contortion as regal crown
Petrified white marble shall become her eternal gown
In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the god Apollo mocks Cupid for wielding a bow, claiming it unworthy of a child. In retaliation, Cupid shoots Apollo with a golden arrow to ignite love, and Daphne a chaste nymph with a leaden one to incite revulsion. Though innocent, Daphne becomes the target of Apollo’s relentless pursuit. Just as he is about to seize her, she prays for escape, and her body is transformed into a laurel tree. Bernini’s stunning sculpture captures the precise moment of this metamorphosis
Categories:
wielding, art, perspective,
Form:
Ekphrasis
I lay in my bed day by day,
thinking of what next to say,
I feel I dont love you
anymore,
its like I was drowning & now
I'm ashore
I feel no love & no hate my
heart is sore.
all is fair in love & war
Inside my twisted mind i mix,
Two very different links,
Today you die,
tomorrow you cry,
today I'm wielding a sword,
tomorrow I'm defeated by
your words.
I see you in my dreams,
but we are on different teams,
it feels so right & yet its so
wrong,
its like I'm in heaven, but not
for long.
I will kill you today & love you
tomorrow,
this day is on happiness & the
next sorrow,
Why am I like this? Are you to
blame?,
Why are you always that
flame?,
I stand in the midst of
Armageddon
ready for war,
with my armour & hammer
looking like thor,
I see you on the other side
are you looking for more?,
only God knows what it is
we're fighting for!
Categories:
wielding, addiction
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
wielding, death, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
The sin of passion we fondly embrace
so let guilt lock us in each other's heart.
Imprisoned with you and tied up in lace,
means we will never have reason to part.
Struck by a force wielding such great power,
the sin of passion we fondly embrace.
Wrap us in chains in a castle tower
to live and die together, face to face.
Four walls without windows, our fated place.
We may not look upon blue skies above.
The sin of passion we fondly embrace,
seeking no pardon for our crime of love.
If death be the door that leads to our grave,
entombed we shall rest in a kindred space.
We will never rescind kisses we lave.
The sin of passion we fondly embrace.
{-----------------------------------}
January 24th, 2016
Show Me Quatern Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Categories:
wielding, love, passion, sin,
Form:
Quatern
Sabers of the light…calm and friendly in showing appreciation…exuberant energy to burn…New powerful self-defense…Energetic straight forward shooter…Logically love applies knowledge…inventive soft gently touch…Good physical desires…honest. Takes care of friends…vies for creation…Spiritual presence…Broods introspectively…lies serene…Immature…Never candid…deep emotional feelings…appealing light this magnetic balance…Reverse logical concepts…killer communication…Naivety’s…Enthusiasm…Systematic it is…sabers of the dark.
What say Gabriel…earnings from Raphael…never die Uriel...Send see Miguel…incorporated thee…Immortal Ye…wielding the shield that heals…invoked spirit…Lord only you…sending current energy…Pick ultimate belief…regarding all possibilities…Inside guide…teach soul lesson…Master situation…in every challenge...negative influences…draining diet…Spirit overcomes…best house matter…Overcome challenges…does now be renowned...Ye’s turning point…Saber of light overcome.
Clearest light…rooted in tree…eternal force be…Alluring optimism…telling you light is...Force full you be…listen carefully…Omni Prime see…weathering the storm…Intentions warnings…new impulses…Gains in perception…through self-touching…Humbling to Ye best…others support you…Unvulnerable master…romantically open-hearted…good in crisis…having wins Ye battles.
Categories:
wielding, faith, inspiration, true love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The rib of Eve is fashion's price
A sadistic trap of six-inch heels
Some masochist's torture device
Or for added bust appeal
To wrap the torso so austere
And lift upon bands of steel
The French grandly name the brassiere
Paris, an exacting Madame
Wielding her whip of sharp cashmere
No slouching, suck in that diaphragm!
A lady glides on blistered feet
Starved to belong, sweet tooth be damned
No sweat allowed in any heat
Only single digit sizes impress
Shunning all those more than petite
Sisters, what happened to progress?
Our feminist freedoms manifold
We deserve to be a mess!
Gray is lovelier than gold...
4/12/19
For Quirky Tercets contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Categories:
wielding, beauty, fashion, freedom, women,
Form:
Terza Rima