Best Wildness Poems
I felt my thoughts run wild
Was I really a demon child
Thoughts tightened my head grew light
I hoped my expression was on my face right
I absorbed your statement surety taking flight
Your questions growing old
Your coming across as way to bold
So this is the child you stole
Standing here now I felt guilty as sin
My emotions had just let little old Peace walk right in
I was sure that without me the child's future was dim
So I filled her right up to the rim
Without me here she surely would be condemned
Who would look for me now I live in the brim
As I fought the fear
Of having you here
It hurt to the bone
Making her a home
So I opened the door
But her back to where she was before
Because I love her even more
I stay here to even the score
I hate and I love.
How much I hunger
for the days when I was younger,
for the days when I was really free,
for the days when I was a real me.
And what is happening now?
Has the world turned upside down?
I do not say any more “Wow!”
Nothing surprises me.
I can only realize
this horrible situation
with discomfort and even frustration.
Am I on another stage?
Is it connected with my age?
I don’t think so.
I can see today the youth
who can’t find the truth.
Isn’t it strange that
having two higher educations
I am on the edge of starvation?
Isn’t it strange that
having worked all my life
I have to think how to survive?
No one cares about my life,
no one worries if I should live or die.
I hate those unfair rules
which were proclaimed for the fools.
I love my motherland,
but the life here I can’t withstand.
I forgot the word “hurray”.
That was another day.
My future is unpredictable as weather.
I am like a feather,
don’t know where to fly.
It seems all is a lie.
I don’t know where this time the wind will blow.
Where is my spirits flow?
I don’t know how to live,
I don’t know whom to believe.
The world has greatly changed.
For someone it’s not strange.
It’s only strange that I am still alive
and have to think how to survive.
Who will tell me what to do?
Should I be true with those who cheat,
with those who treat
me and others as a toy?
They are very much annoyed
to listen to the truth,
but they are not confused
to rob, to demand,
to occupy my motherland.
They even use God’s name
as a cover for their crimes.
They do not hear the church bells chimes,
they only hear their own voice,
leaving the majority with no choice.
My voice is crying in the wildness.
Forgetting about gladness
I have to know sadness,
to learn the rules of a new dirty game.
Isn’t it the biggest shame?
I have no more strength to fight
but only to wait for the light
at the end of that tunnel,
in other words: for my funeral.
Where is the way out?
It looks as there is only one: to pray,
to calm my soul for another stay.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
Your words of wisdom have vanished.
Suddenly, my chest starts bleeding.
I'm not sure whether I'll be adequately handled.
Throw and forfeit with the void wind blowing.
The flesh is devoured but not healed of illness.
Like a fallen tree floating on the river, I'm swinging.
Chastity has the power to shape my weakness.
I'm weary with singing the hymn of a weakling.
I admit that I am liable for my life today.
Everyone has clay feet, regardless of their flaw.?
Recklessness will never again hold sway.
Rage is volatile, despite the voice and endow.
The landscape stayed unchanging forever.
Hummingbird entices a vine that yields pollination.
My vexation brings me even closer to wonder.
Above everything, one's own dignity is veneration.
I'm like an airplane plummeting to the ground.
The grains of sand will eventually come back.
Oh, reason, assist me in reversing backward.
The regrets are genuine, but the candor lack.
Written: JUNE 23, 2021
All Yours (July 3) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
autumn wildness
fall moon corona
rainbows glow through ice crystals ~
silver shadows dance
empty branches sway
hummingbirds search for blossoms ~
twirling gusts ballet
icy crystal winds
blizzards of rainbows take flight ~
sparrows surf whirlwinds
platinum windstorms
howl through evergreen forests ~
stars hide behind clouds
wild unchained torrents
chinooks blast from artic births ~
brittle gales of ice
11-28-22
syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
Your keen panther gaze
My hunger tense of lion
settled plot of beasts...
Those quiet moments when we have time to look inside of us.
Many times we don't like what we see, we want to improve.
Sometimes we don't see enough, but the most times we don't want to dig inside.
Lazy machines with no heart to look into.
No quiet members in the club, just noisy ones that believe the unbelievable and the truth to be hidden.
To be quiet is not easy at the present, but to be quiet is something to look deep inside of your heart.
Imagine a world where you have to be quiet. No such lines can be written.
Because far abobe of the quiet moments we are disturbed, even if we look for those quiet waters, it will be always a wild river where we have to put our life in nature's hands.
Difficult to search a way to be quiet when you have wildness inside.
Those quiet moments are in our mind, when we used to play games, with no concerns, thinking that tomorrow will be one more day to play around.
Those moments change every step we make, every breath that we take, and maybe we think that tomorrow those quiet moments will be a dream that belong to the past.
But I will still think about those quiet moments when I get up, until I will have the chance.
wildlife at stake!
wildness changing our hormone
men changing in beast
29.09.2020 Chattogram
***
Note:- it's written on recent gang-rape of Bangladesh
(Checked by Syllables Counter: howmanysyllables.com)
Juneberries
sweetish juneberries
grow where wildness softly weaves
awake summer scents,
hidden treasure amidst leaves
wholesome bounty of nature.
WONDERING IN THE WILDERNESS
I am no longer toss to and fro,
I am no longer coming and going,
I am no longer being held in captivity,
wondering in the wilderness,
I once had no no direction,
I once had no where to go,
I once never knew my purpose,
I once travled the same path constantly,
Wondering in the wilderness,
leaving my confusion behind,
leaving my insecurities behind,
leaving my isulation behind,
leaving my pain behind breaking the chains that hold me.
BY CHERYL GREEN
Daffodil Rag
Free, at last free
from the desk and that phone –
free to run down the stairs and outside!
All day I watched
spring stretch in the sunshine
from the business as usual office upstairs.
How easy, how simple,
to look at life walking,
coughing, running, holding it’s hat.
How peacefully sheltered
the plate glass tombs keep us
from sunshine, the wind – the rumpus of spring.
But, five o’clock comes
setting me free again
to run greet the wind, waiting for me.
Opening the door,
the wind grabs my hand
then laughingly pulls me down crowded streets.
We dance with the daffodils
nodding their approval –
smiling at the mischief of spring.
In virgin forest
there are...
Scary silence,
endless voids,
relentless density...
quiet beasts alone,
wild beasts on the prowl...
Visible impossibilities,
extreme absences... and me
no birds on the shoulders,
hunter of me...!
A turning restless child she is to me,
Wild nature rises feverish
In her bower; dark vines entwine
A whirling girl, a dervish.
She turns and turns, a breathless heart
That never takes a beat, until she falls
Exhausted from her savage dance
Her laughter loud and fierce.
Hair of leaves and claws of dirt
Teeth white, she fights with lupine grin,
Snarls, rising from deep shadowed earth
To spin her violent dance again.
Feral eyes peer unseen through mine
And madness glints in gold,
She refuses to be loved or held,
Her separation cruel and cold.
Un-named, unloved she lives here
She-wolf, untamed and free
Lonely, wild and wanting
She devours the world for me.
Awakened! I returned a stream in Spring
to flow and grow on nature’s snowmelt milk.
I came to be of earth and sky (...a fling;),
my sire a winter storm. Like liquid silk
emerging, I was born; a water-child.
Between two banks I nestled with my dreams
and bloomed a gAnGLy creek ‘til solstice. Wild
I played— not meek but sleek. I crested s-e-a-m-s,
a juvenile with ~snaky-curves~ and —==>speed.
Mid June rebellion, ripples bared, I’d run
as sweet as rum and swelled with rain, (a)greed;
the gasoline with which my wish was spun…
by August dusk, a river-woman reigned!
Oh, stars— those s.t.u.d.s— did r!se [as if ordained].