Best Wracks Poems


Le Mot Juste

...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot


Loose leaves rustle. 
The grey light of evening dips and sways. 
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo. 
Gone are the jays and the wagtails, 
the burnt-out end of smoky days.

No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a 'pecker
jonesin' for nutrition, finding squat.

Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin. 
A lonely candle sputters 
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.

Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping 
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.

One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Categories: wracks, inspirationallonely,
Form: Verse

Can'T Decide If I Should Slap Myself Silly Or Have Another Cuppa Decaf

There are days like these when life patently doesn't come easy
like peas and carrots, tea and biscuits, moonshine & sun's resign,
more so resembling ill-assorted poked chocolates' wrongdoing of
dissemblance discombobulating conceivability mid hokey designed
disorderliness, inasmuch mute poetry impatiently awaiting lavishly
gifted muse's breathlessness to transform convoluted unreasonable
fractals pon escaped tauntingly mundane madness, twixt brass-tacks
wracks daunting tribulations throughout intervals of immoderately
spun matter-of-taxing challenges and perplexing puzzle pieces,
sans instructions far-side nonexistent proportions affixed with sticky
hot glue gun drivel or coffee pathetically absent jolting caffeine...
© Paloma P   Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wracks, confusion, crazy, humor, hyperbole,
Form: Alliteration

Failed You

Mom lately cant help this
 uneasy feeling
Its with self doubt that 
I'm dealing
I idea of you in any pain
Making my mind go insane
Why didn't I  simply open my eyes
how could I have been so blind?
My heart is tore up
Its really HURTING
I envision you lying there
Not wanting to be a burden
It wracks me with grief 
guilt &  despair
What if u needed ME
And I wasn't there?
The idea that I could have 
Let you down in ANY way
Would haunt me until
My dying day
I gladly would have done
Anything to help you
You were to proud to 
Ask me to
It never once dawned on
Me to check you inch by inch
Was assuming capable hands You were in
They were right there
Why didn't I see the clues?
Maybe could have saved you 
from just one more bruise
Would you have been so  black & blue if someone would have
Just spoken up for you? 
God why did I back off instead of push through 
Of all people I know the signs 
I know what to DO
I wanted so badly to protect YOU
Perhaps your poor swollen 
body wouldn't have been
 in that horrible condition
If I would have took control 
and MADE  someone LISTEN
I had no idea to the extent 
Of what was lurking beneath
Needless  to say it knocked 
the wind out of ME
Mom In some way I feel I failed you 
when you didn't have 
The strength to speak
so drained of energy you 
were just to weak
My WHOLE life you have carried
 me over life's jagged cliffs
Now I am the one plagued
 with "what ifs?"
I was trying to  let u have
 just a shred of dignity
Looking  back now what
 has that gotten me?
Just a life without YOU
the definition of MISERY
YOU were as always so 
beautiful brave and strong
I am left wondering
where did I go wrong?
I tried my best with the l
little that was shared 
To Advocate for you 
to show you how much I cared
I deeply apologize If I let you 
down in anyway
I wanted for once
Be YOUR hero and save the day
Dear Mom I LOVE you 
Hope that you are ok
To live my life wondering
Is no way to be
You are by far my lifes
Fondest Memory
My Angel fly away now
and be pain FREE
Know that EVERYDAY 
Someone misses YOU
that someones ME
© Diana Vee  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wracks, emotions, family, paris,
Form: Rhyme

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Desensitization

There’s a young girl in my arms
Clutching me so tight that
I don’t think she’ll ever let go
Her tears stain my shoulder 
Her grief wracks my own body
I can smell her hair, the beautiful scent
Engulfs my face
But I feel nothing
Except the warmth of our embrace
My emptiness swells

Is it strange to want to share someone’s pain?
Categories: wracks, introspection
Form:

Ice Age Cometh Moot Point 1st Glacier

No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.

Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.

Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.

Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.

Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.

Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,

perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human

specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:

call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
Categories: wracks, adventure, analogy, anger, appreciation,
Form: Free verse

Sonnet 3 'How Limited the Page By Set of Sail'

How limited the page by set of sail…
I cannot come to you except, I tack,
I sail into the wind, the ropes all wail…
You’ve crossed the sea, now, and cannot come back.
Thus, Time blows in my face, bids me return,
And, there behind, a Fisherman hooks me…
The Sun, too bright, is sure my face to burn,
And all my grief is not enough to free
Me from the Veils that roundabout me swirl,
That hide you from my searching, test my mind,
To THINK!  I’m rapt, and wrecked, over a girl…
The One I Married, who left me behind
To fly into the Sun with wings of wax,
And Orioles greet…  I greet the ocean’s wracks…
Categories: wracks, loss, love, marriage, missing
Form: Sonnet


Trace of Sadness

Trace of sadness wracks your tear-stained eyes
and stream of sorrow creases your weary face.
You have been crying and you cannot hide it,
it is plain for all to see.

Now you know it is such an imperfect world,
yet, you just have to carry that heavy cross.
It is a rough road to the hill of Calvary –
Eden does not exist.

Sadly you wish for the past to return
to get away from your present trials.
But life isn't that way and you know it,
you just have to carry on.

So stand straight, bravely face the tempest,
with your pride intact and your head unbowed.
Wipe away the trace of sadness from your eyes
and find a different you.
Categories: wracks, sad, song-
Form: Free verse

The Mirror

This morning I looked into the mirror
The face I saw could not be clearer
Of a man with a chance
To face his way his final dance.

The time that I have left is fleeting
And yet somehow also appealing.
To the end of that which wracks me
Like the battle of the Bismarck Sea. 

The end comes not quick or painlessly
And yet for sure its stalking me
Hiding as if a child game
Jumping out to call my name

I will go when it's my time
To my reward sublime
Knowing that I have been blessed
I tried to give to all my best.

I hope that someday I am remembered.
Not like January more like December.
A joyous season a joyous time
My life was for me...just fine.

Do not grieve, do not be sad,
Do not cry, do be glad
I am now free from pain
Eternal happiness I've gained

To all I knew or had once met,
Live your life without regret.
When into that mirror you next stare.
Remember me and I'll be there.
Categories: wracks, inspirationallife,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Illuminate Shadows, Filter Light

My shadows are tender and easy to miss,
Like a smile seems innocuous, stealthy as kiss,
Still these shadows add weight, create drag in our life,
Though they rarely, if ever, cut deep like a knife!

Too, sunlight wracks havoc though most never feel
All its subtle intrusions till later we peel;
It brings low orbit satellite’s life to an end,
Just the pressure of sunlight can make craft descend. 

A shadow's like weed's buried seeds in the ground.
They can spring up in garden where Love should abound,
Weeds drain soil of the nutrients man’s harvest needs
If our vigilance fails us, then entropy (1) leads.

Pay heed to your shadows; they're baobab trees, (2)
That if left unattended, bring worlds to their knees,
Yes, ‘The Little Prince’ (3) warned us, and he’s just a child,
Let us pray that the future won't find man defiled!

Examine your light source if it comes from man,
Try to filter it often before choosing clan,
For all men are your brothers when push comes to shove,
Can a winner rest easy who owns bloody glove?

Long Tooth
November 10, 2017

Poet's Notes:
(1) Entropy is a concept related to the degree of “disorder” found in the universe. At the instant of the “Big Bang,” the disorder was “Zero” or perfect. As time goes on however and the stars all burn out and die, the disorder will presumably be “infinite.”
(2). A “Baobab Tree” is an African tree that can look like anything from a “Coke” bottle to a large “Elm Tree” that has been hit multiple times by lightning! In short, the Baobab is extremely primitive, twisted, and unique (but to me) ugly species! But it is a valuable source of vitamin C to native people.
(3) "The Little Prince" is a favorite book by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
Categories: wracks, integrity, judgement,
Form: Quatrain

Scared

I run the glass down my arm
But I'm afraid of the pain
as if it will be worse
then the pain that wracks my heart
I look to my gun
I check there's a bullet in the chamber
and I unload it
Remembering the patient
in the nursing home
I take care of
that tried to end his pain
that way.
I slam gifts from you to the ground, 
shattering them
Into tiny pieces
just like the broken pieces of my heart.
I wish I had the courage just to end it all
there is nothing left in this world for me
I'm done.
But I'm too scared to end it all
so I'm just stuck in this
 life, without love
and alone.
Shaking and scared,
hurting so bad it feels like my soul
is being ripped from me
God forsook me
and left me to face this alone
So it doesn't surprise me
that he would rip my soul from me.
All I can do is plod along and just hope
that I'll eventually die
and just dissipate into the wind.
Categories: wracks, angst, suicide,
Form: Free verse

Winter Misery

How much mucus can one head hold!
I hate this stupid winter cold.
Quite a bit, or so it seems,
cause head’s leaking more than dreams.
Every cough just wracks my body,
someone grab me a Nyquil toddy!
Throat is rawer than a country road,
voice is squeaky like smashed toad.
Good thing don’t keep a shotgun round,
cause I’d sure put me in the ground.
© Jim Tidd  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: wracks, sick, winter,
Form: Rhyme

Is the Pain Worth It

Is the Pain worth it

Cross Country brings pain as 
             One leg
                       After another 
                                    Slaps the path 
               Excitement
            Nerves     
     Anger 
Overflows your veins 
The scent of fresh-cut grass and spray paint Fills your nose
The wind rushing through your ears 
Flying down the hills like a bullet 
Your next victim is right ahead of you
Passing them 
Blood 
Pumping 
Heart 
Beating hard
Bum bum
Bum bum
The beads of sweat 
Maybe some tears 
Wash down your face like rain 
Sprinting as hard as you can go
And farther
The pain coursing through your body 
Then you hear the screaming 
They’re all screaming for you, 
You’re flying 
Barely touching the ground 
You are so close  
Someone is right on your tail
Pushing it so far 
No feeling in your legs
As you cross that finish line all the 
Pain 
      Sweat
               Tears
You put into this 
Is worth it 
You look at the timer as you pass the finish
Eyes bulging out as you see your time 
A new personal record 
Your joy is immense 
You want to jump up and touch the clouds 
But the pain is ubiquitous 
Pain wracks your body
You just ran
Two miles in
16:36 minutes
Categories: wracks, 8th grade, pain, teen,
Form: Free verse

Abhorrent Vehement Strife Hijacking *****Sapiens

Antiestablishmentarian inherent malevolent violence
wracks human species, a most brutish and nasty beast.

An embittered nihilistic teenager
grown haggard and old,
hence not surprisingly yours truly
crafts pseudo dystopian reasonable rhyme.

An evangelized atheistic adherent,
I aver evolutionary theory
posits prelapsarian Eden
of astonishing plentitude
gone to hell in a handbasket.

Ever since human species stood erect
exhibiting prehensile appendages did allow
cupped fingers upon brow,
whereat vista unveiled to succor chow.

Dawn of consciousness begat
superstitious vagaries daunting
present day Democrat
and/or Republican to issue fiat
denouncing extremist militant uprising
raging across Capitol Hill habitat.

2021 presidential inauguration
today January twentieth
(broadcast right now)
augurs horrific repeat January sixth,
when bedlam and mayhem
rocked Washington District of Columbia,
where hoodlums ran amuck lionizing violence.

Lawlessness bled constitution white
marauding bands of hooligans
bombarded, desecrated, fueled,
harmed, jackknifed, leveled, nailed,
pummeled, rioted, terrorized, vandalized...
with glee and spite
yielded windfall regarding

headline grabbing newsnight
motley film crews recorded
gangsters scaling storied height
(cue spiderman/woman)
think rescuers quick
as greased lightning they did alight.

If only real and/or
fictional life action heroes/heroines
came to the rescue
to avenge forces of evil,
where virtue dispensed,
and trumpeted courtesy better angels.

Meanwhile indefatigable defenders
of human rights
dole out just desserts
upon the heads
of self styled lawless brigands
militaristic thugs hell bent
to wreak havoc
upon cradle of liberty
including complex edifices
linkedin and embody

blood, sweat and tears
of freedom fighters
arrayed against merciless
demonic forces upending
foundation upholding enshrined
nearly divinely inspired principles
quantum leaps since
early man/woman trod
across terrestrial firmament.

I experienced exhilaration
upon witnessing confirmation
genuflection, liberation, restitution
espoused by Joseph Robinette Biden Jr.
forty sixth president of United States.
Categories: wracks, appreciation, black african american,
Form: Free verse

Le Mot Juste

...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot


Loose leaves rustle. 
The grey light of evening dips and sways. 
Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo. 
Gone are the jays and the wagtails, 
the burnt-out end of smoky days.

No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking nutrition, finding none.

Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin. 
A lonely candle sputters and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.

Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her clammed.

One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her, inspiration smacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Categories: wracks, tribute, writing,
Form: Verse

Here At the County Fair

Here we are at the county fair,
log-rolling show right over there,
and in the back, a trained brown bear,
there’s racing children everywhere.

Endless carts where the food is fried,
bizarre creations you can try,
funnel cakes always catch my eye,
and ribbon chips are so sublime.

Strange rides that rattle, clank, and shake,
kids seeing how much they can take,
good lord, I hope they have good brakes,
the sights makes adult stomachs quake.

Tents with shinny trinkets galore,
the stuff you rarely see in stores,
cheap weapons, tie-dyed beads and more,
glow-sticks and fake tattoos deplored.

A plethora of carny games,
the ring-toss and BB guns reign,
are they rigged? It wracks the brain,
and still we play them, all the same.

In the back is the livestock show,
how massive can a Holstein grow?
Draft horses pulling, on the go,
from countless farms I didn’t know.

On the stage is a country band,
cheered on by some fair-weather fans,
back in the nineties they were grand,
now they play fairs across the land.

At the grandstand: the tractor pull,
just in case things were getting dull,
how this started?  Some people mull,
others just cheer as tractors bull.

Some might look on, haughtily glare,
say they’d never be caught dead there,
for their nonsense I have no care
here at this epic country fair.
Categories: wracks, america, celebration, farm, fun,
Form: Rhyme
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