Best Wiry Poems
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She reached for the ribbons of her gown
not knowing why, but she held them in her hand
as she floated through the ever changing mist,
whites and grays in a swirling pattern,
mesmerizing in blends and shifts,
blurred yet possessing a clarity she could not explain
or cared to think about right now
She looked down on herself in her bed sobbing,
clutching tightly a dampened pillow, lonely, a photo
in a silver frame on the bedside table, missing...
now very confused as a peaceful awareness wrapped about her warmly,
caressing her spirit, washing away the pain,
the sadness, the torment which she fought now to remember
as it drifted below, creating new shadows about her feet
but distant, never forgotten, she couldn’t, it was promised…
Once more the satin ribbons were pulled gently, guided
as if a feather laced kite on a silver string embracing blue skies,
dancing about in the slow rhythm, spun in clouded dreams,
breathless she soars higher, it seems towards the sun
or perhaps a light of a different source, it felt soft, cool
beckoning her and she yearned for it…
for some reason it felt right
Stars swept past her in wiry glistening designs
like a sparkler at a summer cookout waved through the air
in abstract cherry-lime glowings and apple pie tickles and she smiled,
for the first time in a long time as the moon disappeared on the horizon,
embracing this new experience she continued allowing the tender tugs on her ribbons
to move her freely, when she felt something, it was a hand on hers,
helping her hold the ribbons, it felt familiar, safe, comforting
When she saw his eyes, as clear as she had ever seen anything,
deep and friendly, soothing just as she had remembered…remembered?
He took her by the hands and he came even more into focus
“Hi there, I have missed you,” he sighed and she knew it was him
He was here, wherever here was, he held her in his arms now as he said,
“I promised you I would love you eternally, I have been waiting for you”
She cried again, happy tears as she whispered. “You did, you did, is this…”
“Shhh,” he placed a caring finger to her lips…
Perhaps I’m facing pogonophobes?
Apparently wore the wrong face.
Age-hardened wiry wisps forge
post-pubescent platemail -
protect strangers
from my truest fleshy pores, protect me
from the xenophobes of the Winter Conference.
It’s all pitching and coffee breaks
In a hall too grand for these meager mergers
Silent hecklers - likely clean-shaven -
likely Twitter-blasting about
an awkward pitch
and bitterness.
A beard grows opacity over my ebullient disinterest,
feigns sophistication amidst sophists,
and harbors microbes – an entire ecosystem –
Bored, I wonder;
Do they hold conferences as well?
Share stories around a follicle?
How uncomfortable
the itch of capitalism,
This profit pilgrimage
huddles us together
for that sickness to spread.
Free meals, networking with the estranged -
connect vacuously over downed drinks
and political action.
Shallow words spread thick
on the biological superhighway
bacterium feast freely.
The Winter Conference;
a microscopic windfall.
CONTEST ANNOTATION:
I’ve attempted to employ alliteration (‘post-pubescent platemale’), ambiguity (‘…for that sickness to spread’), double entendre (‘free meals’ and ‘bacterium feast freely’), imagery (‘my truest fleshy pores’, ‘Age-hardened wiry wisps’), paradox (‘ebullient disinterest’, ‘networking with the estranged’), and parallelism (‘likely clean-shaven – likely Twitter-blasting’). Not sure I’ve nailed every aspect of these devices - love the contest format as a way to force us in new directions!
Disheveled hair, wiry and gray
an old lady hovered past my house each day.
I ignored her when she passed by
wondering what possessed her as I sighed
then in my own focused diligence
I slinked fast away, uncaring in my ignorance.
Wasn't sure where she lived but wondered
why in the world she seemed so encumbered.
Then one day when a little cold set in
I stepped outside my homey bin
and there lay bird wings on my mat
and slipped away some stray gray tabby cat.
Then as I queried in my beleaguered mind
that old lady waved, not surprised as to what I was to find.
There along the shade of the door's edge
just below the fully defined hedge
lay the gathering of leaves and papers torn
five kittens hiding unseen and newly born.
The old lady grinned, scooped them up and smiled
their mine she said as if they were her own child.
The Long Drought
A raging drought is running, causing pain
Beneath the scorching sun, the barren plain
The river’s gone, she’s ceased her mighty flow
And bushland trees no longer thrive nor grow
The dams are low and dry, it pains my heart
Our town will slowly die and friends depart
No bales of straw or hay for starving stock
As more succumb each day, my dying flock
From hills of broom and land of dark”ning strife
He came to find a better way of life
The call of peaceful bush like magnet drew
In this sweet place my father’s dream came true
Beside a spread of bright and golden grain
A link was forged anew in our strong chain
Where ‘roos abound among the fields of corn
On this fair land, it’s here that I was born.
Work started for me at only fourteen
Became a sheep drover, still wiry lean
The days long an’ hard, the burden was light
The soil rich and dark, the future so bright
The farm became mine when my father died
Then came the dry clime, lost all of my pride
Long years of hard graft while still holding trust
Til lack of good rain turned soil into dust
The bank took our farm, I wished I were dead
Dark thoughts of self harm flood into my head
But senses prevail, I see them so clear
My darling wife, my young son very dear
I give you my hand, long time cobber mine
Take care of this land, it’s your dreaming time
Adieu my friends, for my time here is done
I'll pray for you all as the drought rages on.
Muscles locked in agony
Every ligament burning
Pain flooding nerve endings
Labor
Heavy panting of breath
Heart pumping trying to keep up
Behind the canopy of human perception
Life and Death dance
On her knees pushing
Two women holding her
A third with hands out
Down, down . . . blood, sweat
Water – tears
A tearing and a swoosh
A boy, cover in blood
Cries into the wind
Life laughs with delight
Rachel in a panting whisper
Ben-Oni – his n a m
e
Dies
Death – laughs defiantly
Echoes across this luscious valley
Livestock pause from eating
Shepherds watch
Jacob climbs Migal Eder
Grief cries fill the valley
*** 1000 years later ******
A small wiry man from Moresheth
Deeply troubled
Spoke about justice
The coming of doom
But also of hope
Micah climbs – Migal Eder
Watchtower of the flock
Cries -- “Daughter of Zion”
Listen . . .
“Daughter of Jerusalem”
Hear my words
“Bethlehem Ephrathah
Small among the mighty clans of Judah
From within you
A ruler over Israel – a shepherd
From the beginning of days
Of ancient time
The restorer of Peace”
***** 700 years later ******
Too many people
No rooms
Tired, frustrated, worried
The pain . . .
Life and death begin to dance
She yells
J-O-S--E---P---H !!!!!
In the distance
A tower
Fire
“Hang on Mary”
Almost there
Panting prayer- Y a h w e h!!!
Father of this great hurt!
P – L – E – A – S – E
Release your son – NOW!!
Down
Upon her knees
A depression of earth
A pair of hands
Pushing with all her might
Gritted teeth, white lips pressed wide
A tearing of maidenhood
A breaching of flesh – blood burst forth
Within the blood – an infant
Relief
Cool air – Life dances upon the breeze
Death shaken, slinks away
Breast, milk, a swaddling
A mother’s love
Under Migal Eder
Watchtower of the Flock
Resting in a manger
Across the valley
A bright light
Music – “Glory to God in the highest . . .”
A new shepherd
A paschal lamb
J E S U S
Live and Love Generously
David Meade
12/19/2016
He looks of far and in between
White hair with diamonds from the sky
A wood of wiry glow around
Expressive fingers, braiding braids
Forgotten strands of gold-spun hair
His feet swept pebbles in the surf
Small indentations filled with silt
With every look I hoped to see
His eyes on me with how I wished
To will his want to be for me
Be loved without a shred of doubt
To have his golden eyes on me
To magic shameful into proud
***
© Darren White
4 foot iambic blank verse
Old me, is that you?
Well I'll be damned.
If I could, you know I'd shake your hand.
Sit with you? No thanks, I'd rather stand,
Old me.
Cigarette? No thanks, I quit
seven long years since filter tip
lay there quivering on my lip
can't say that I'm missing it,
Old me.
Still nursing that cold can of beer?
I sank a few of them when I sat here
watched a world go by that held no sense of fear
and laughter was the only source of tears
Old me.
You're looking lean, wiry and fairly fit,
hair just starting to thin a little bit.
Yeah, I know my waist from where you sit
is more Frank Cannon than Brad Pitt
Old me.
Say, who right now's your latest fling?
Oh, her? Nice girl. Yes, I've got a ring.
Hindsight's such a wonderful thing,
no, not what I was imagining,
Old me.
Those plans you made, soon to begin?
Life's challenges you'd take on and always win?
See, by your bench, that litter bin?
Well, screw them up and chuck the whole lot in,
Old me.
Off you go and happily skate along
until the ice of youth melts and is gone
for I'll tell you now, where I've come from
you don't know what you're taking on,
Old me.
Though my future lies in wait for only you,
and all that I know you will surely do,
sometimes with all that I've been through
I desperately wish that I was you.
Hold me.
Paltry poetic presidential prattlings on poultry playing
cockalorums chasing chickens, censured to castigate the cockerals,
tricky tray turbo turkey tidbits tentanize the titillations;
wild wispy winds whisper worldly wasted wiry winsome wiles
dancing delights deluding delicate demigod domiciles,
twittering tweets teasing tenacious tantalizing tongue twisters
residing riddled rattled ransom rasping revolving roars,
minority middle men meltdown midst macrocosmic mayhem
Washington's wonderland weeps wreckage within waiting walls.
Sam is a novice gardener who stamps on all ants
He doesn't like them near or crawling on his plants
Their Queen was angry and wanted revenge
For the ones that had fallen she wanted to avenge.
They planned to get inside and under Sam's clothes
Cover his whole body from his head to his toes
The queen gave her order for her ants to attack
Every inch of his body, every orifice and crack.
There were flying ant squadrons in groups of twelve
Soldiers in lines and a lone scout out by himself.
The others were preparing for a mass swamping
While Sam continued with his clomping and stomping.
They entered inside both trouser leg realms
These little feisty red insects, these hardcore rebels
From somewhere inside it was smelly and breezy
And their night vision eyes made navigation more easy.
Sam's legs were hairy and wiry, like a hot tangled jungle
With volcano like spots and some weird looking fungal.
They battled there way through, this united strong army
While Sam was going mad and looked rather barmy.
They bit, they chewed, they spat and tickled
Sam smacking himself as he wriggled and wiggled
At all times they were all on high red alert.
To avoid being splattered by this mad dancing berk.
These tiny ninja assassins crawled under his shirt
His four limbs wildly failing; he went completely berserk
Flying ants swooping and diving to created a distraction
Sam's reaction to their actions gave them great satisfaction.
He jumped, he hopped, he twice did the splits
They bit here and there, including his small naughty bits
His limbs in and out; the ants hokey pokey
Limbs moving so fast they felt hot and smelt smokey.
Sam screamed "I am sorry please leave me alone
My garden is yours and every ants home
I didn't know aphids left you a sugary sweet treat"
I surrender, I give up, I admit my defeat."
Harmony and peace, balance restored
Nothing is mightier than a little ants sword
Sam's body now healed, no more ants in his pants
But beware if you ever harm a red or black ant.
04.06.24
Written: November 24, 2024, For Contest, Sponsored by: Janis Medders Tobechi
_________________________
When darkness creeps on this erratic land,
The weeping of souls trapped in wiry chains.
Tyranny reigns, and hope slips from our hands,
While quiet dulls the echoes of their pains.
The streets are filled with whispers of despair,
As dreams are crushed beneath the weight of fear.
Yet bold hearts rise, determined to declare,
The truth that must be heard, though none may hear.
Shadows drift in every crevice, so wide,
Yet light yields, like a flicker in the night.
For those who resist the increasing tide,
Will fight for fairness supported by right.
So let us join our voices, fierce and strong,
And weave a world where all of us belong.
I would rather cling to the edge of a cliff as an ugly, wiry,
weed
than be a beautiful rose confined to a pot.
They try to unfold your velvet petals with their clumsy, feeble
hands,
whereas I remain unscathed by any but my own.
You will be severed for your beauty, because that’s what they
think of
love.
No greedy hands will find my own. I will stand
alone;
strong and free.
I will see more than brick walls from glass cages;
I will see a world of color beneath my roots.
Let them sulk in beauty, harnessed by a pot of dirt;
for I would sooner wilt on a cliff’s edge
gazing out towards an unfathomable beauty, rather than by
confined by
my own.
I will let them be as flowers, going no further, seeing no more.
A bud
hanging low, amidst buds.
No twilight concerto to sway not yet
as zigzag street lights pound upon
heavy fog clutching iced flakes on rooftops
like hushed matte from night's gale
pouring bitter ovules to a past in need of relief.
While in her vein is a constant downpour
of Bach's untenable requiem
as hands pound on ivory keys,
immersing in the fever of the moment
until fingers carve a solemn journey
into wiry trails of insolent rain.
How she summons the goddess of morn
to cure thistles of wait and pang,
sifting each beat, each note without interludes
until this child- woman shifts her face against breezes,
tasting madness rawness on lapping winds…
In disheveled lingering she cuddles
unspoken words, her own song
on panels of cut-glass-------with acceptance
the world could still breathe despite a torment:
just then...in a twirl of air's cadence
the night shuts off.
.............
1/18/2016
Jamie Pan's How Long Can A Poetry Go
This poetic attempt is a cross between existential expression
and stream of consciousness technique. The former highlights
contemporary man's response to anguish, isolation,uncertainty
of life in the midst of change.Thus, this poet explores
the outpouring born from inner annihilation-- being
absent from the self- YET allowing space to exhale for a new
awareness to surface.
Dovetailing this language of despair to the stream-of consciousness
technique allows the spontaneous, raw float of thoughts without
the pleasure of edit, like journaling and ' writing down the bones.'
I feel that literary devices ( from metaphors, enjambment to alliteration)
come into play , well, quite instinctively.
In my creative writing class as a college professor, I ask my students
to write with their less dominant hand to discover the 'heart of the matter.'
Then again, that's beside the point. This author will leave this piece to assault your senses, and then, softly break all defenses. Thanks!
You entered my life when yours seemed grim,
affected lonesome heart on a chancy whim.
Weak and sick, you fought to justly live,
knowing indeed, you had loads of loyalty to give.
Wiry - thick- gray mane crowned your debonair grace,
accenting strength and slenderness to your youthful face.
Fourteen years you honored our humble abode,
strutting whole backyard, showing off what you owned.
Age griped your lean physique, riddled your body and soul,
deep down inside, I knew it was your moment to go.
One night you slipped away in the moon-less dark,
took my love - my first feline - but left your mark.
My sweet Simon - my Sam Bo, appeared by either name,
when you adorned my home, my life has not been the same…
Copyright © 2016 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "I Love My Pets” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Feb. 18, 2016
1/20/16
A competition was held in Bulgaria
to find out which girl's legs were hairier.
The winning lassie
beat a huge chimpanzee
and a wiry old Irish Fox Terrier.
The Unusual Ballad of Lily and Pierre
Feline Lily strolled one day
and behold who did she see,
Pierre, the Tom cat of her dreams
under a cherry tree.
She gazed at him, he winked at her
from that day it was their plight,
they were destined for each other
it was true love at first sight
.
She admired his wiry long black hair
on his back a white stripe too,
but she had one little problem
she didn't know what to do.
In certain situations
at any time or given day,
he sprayed a putrid odor
that seemed to never go away.
She didn't know how to tell him
that he really stunk,
and he didn't know to tell her
that he actually was a skunk.
Lily couldn't bear to leave him
and so the story goes,
she chose to wear a clothespin
daily on her nose.
I guess the lesson learned here,
whatever flaws you think you've got,
true love can rise and overcome
WHETHER
you're a skunk or not.