Best Wrangles Poems
Little sweet Lucy..four years..so small.
Her pink teddy bear.. and her Barbie doll.
Pushed strollers of fun. ..in traipse of malls.
Then a Topsy turvy evil.. stifles her a thrall.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crawls a cruel connive...arrives a sudden sinister.
Wrangles her hard destiny. .lurks a doomed disaster.
Poor Child, ...Leukemia is now her master.
She collapses into the arms.. of a malevolent monster.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Wasn't Blood red. .that flowed in our veins?
Her's was a translucent black. ..
only strains..and those pains.
With her curly hair shaved. .the ugly doll sustains.
Syringe of thorns prick. .a rose.. to sick bed detains.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crummy " Chemo" of the 'Crab '. .
creeps on the little dummy.
There's yucky throw of food...
from her aching tummy.
Fear stricken Dad.. and a tear streaked Mummy. .
Her outstretched arms.. say..
"I know you both love me"
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
The helpless girl.. gets weaker and thinner.
She longs for the table...sit together for dinner.
Forlorn she quirks.. in the MRI shiver.
Fighting with Cancer. .her spleen and liver.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Painkillers help ..seeing windows and walls.
Doctors are elves... and Fairy nurses call.
To live without dying. .she daily sprawls. ..
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
A desolate girl..she dreams. .playing with dolls.
PLACED THIRD IN SCREWED POETRY CONTEST by Rob Carnack
7th October 2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
Categories:
wrangles, child, death, destiny, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
Among the flowers of beauty bright,
Upon leaves of green I sight
Graceful webs of intricate fashion
Of labor and of passion.
No architect so proud can craft this shroud;
Its sticky vines of ensnaring gloom
Tell little of an impending doom.
Hidden fangs await the unwary,
The thirsty, the greedy;
Entangled vivacity thrashes about
With a dreadful shout.
The spider’s banquet is short and rich
As it savors every twitch.
No prying eye will dare to spy
On death’s descending cry.
At dusk it drops from a canopy sky
To taste the spoils from its ravenous eyes.
Death wrangles a martyr, wraps it in twine
Then dangles it from a vine.
Flowering sprouts enjoy the morn,
Marveling at the horde of spiders born.
A cloud of spiders take to flight
On currents of air lassoed
Just right.
Categories:
wrangles, metaphor, nature,
Form:
Narrative
Have you ever heard the sound that silence stirs
it is a sound like no other…as if nothing could possibly ever own an echo
a pair of feet going the wrong way on life’s clearly marked paths
Have you ever heard the sound of someone trying not to breath
no air in…no air out…no air out…no air in…no risk…no gain…nothing ventured…or lost
almost as if life itself enjoys the mockery….no life in…no life out..no winner…no loser
Have you ever heard the sound of someone slipping through the cracks
for one brief second a desperate plea of some sort wrangles your audience
save me….grab me….if you save one person in your life…let it be me….let it be today
Have you ever heard the sound of a whysp wandering idly
a gentle swish surrounds a moment not quite ready to be more than a tic or a toc
more…more than what……what can a whysp possibly wish to be…
....listen closely
Irish
Categories:
wrangles, introspectionlife, sound, life, sound,
Form:
Free verse
Her poetry was conceived
'round fancy pants scraps,
inclined to reverberate wrangles
'tween an I reckon ma'am
and well versed jazzy visuals,
paid no mind to cowboy's
bumbling foolishness &
lumbered foreign gibberish
knowing full well it was
a lone star disposition,
merely a Texan head trip
See y'all next time...
Written in response to him calling out my words as 'fancy pants'...all in good fun.
"Well yessum we surely do. Y'all fancy type just lasso circles 'round us with yer fancy pants words."
Categories:
wrangles, humor, hyperbole, nonsense, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow
tawny glyphs
margin of witticism
& quagmire
extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails
summer ousted
& waves of wrangles
sundered the ocean
& swapped my spirit
in crimson burst
swirl to scatter
In demolishing ruins
& twilight crumble
slump of man
glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme.
bore a shallow rostrum
defective soothsayer
haunts dreams?
hilltops & both
oceans & skies
cyclone of emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.
5TH Place Contest winner
Written: July 19, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Categories:
wrangles, analogy, dedication, humanity, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Speaking of oppressive orange,
where do we find it?
Is it in the Orange Revolution
in Ukraine,
when there were political wrangles?
Is it in a sour orange juice that a two
year-old child is forced to take,
to get vitamin c?
Is it in a wall painted orange in a house,
while one of the couples wanted white?
Is it in the mid-day sun that burns
our backs and heads in summer?
Or, is it in the dictionary,
where words are coined every day?
Theme #Oppressive Orange
Categories:
wrangles, art, color, emotions, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
For this lovestruck lass, I concite my sentiments out
To open her eyes, and to let her grow out of bout
Because below is undetermined that she does not want to read
And for some, my dears, might give some veritable heed
That you are far too young and meek to know how
To say these prodigious thoughts and vaunting vows
Dauntless you act, yet you dissemble your gists
And away you cast your realism for these hallucinating wisps
To know much more than enough of a man is queasy
And your unending superbia feels quite deprecatory
Your agonistical reasoning keeps your life at bay
Never astatic, never receiving luck in your pent-up haze
To know less than anyone is stringently speaking
That you have more to acquire and perceive more in living
Lest you would tumble out of cloud nine or deliberate
What to conduct for yourself to revel in and emancipate
To act like a libeler gains so much gibberish in return
Reenacting jealousy from such and to offer and subvert
To try and woo anybody for your ego's diuturnity
And consider this man as your Love's virtuous magnality
My lass, for your sake, nimble your mind and strengthen your soul
For my provokes and prongy wrangles may dishearten your resolve
But reminisce this, my significant delivery amongst them all
Is that you are never too late to change before you ridicule yourself to fall
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reply to: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_ministers_son_585251
Categories:
wrangles, for her, judgement, life,
Form:
STOP THE RAIN.
Fiends of forest to stop rain
Tall trees tenanted by spirits
Preparations in the make
For the day to close within
The dusk burdens of stake.
Mysteries of death and life
In useful annals of time
Pertinent flesh gets entangled
Within the motions of stars
For some mournful wrangles.
Phases of moon, changes of season
Visible seen in some celestial places
Emblemed provisions earmarked
For the litanies timed for future.
Set in motions the pungent season
Spring times & the hoary winter
In deeds wilting of frozen tongues
Intricated by markers of universe
Underwritten by wardens of verse.
Categories:
wrangles, imagination, life, universe,
Form:
Verse
The wind leans in sideways to drink every word,
Just as sailors must tack sideways to go upwind.
It's only with angles we know the wind's wrangles.
Its riddles, scattered among willy-nilly answers,
Whispered as secrets, spilling to shake the leaves.
When gales blow hard; many tumble quaking in fear,
Others stand up to harness its power and steer,
Watching their vanes to predict omens ahead,
Hoping for kind winds to come their way soon,
In the wily wandering ways of the gusts and whims.
The wind is an oracle, chanting psalms on wing.
It carries the chorus of birds calling at dawn.
The rumble of thunder in an approaching storm.
The calls from a distance; bells whoops and cooee's
But it's no secret its gathers can ever stay still—
For all sounds are bent to the command of its will.
For sound needs winds in the air to transmit downhill.
Only falling silent; when wind's becalmed and still.
For with no wind, all is just silence, dressed to kill.
Categories:
wrangles, wind,
Form:
Lyric
My heart beating is alive hitherto
my lung breathing is hitherto
my eyes hitherto facing the queen
of myself thy love IS don . . .
— ( thank thou by blessing creator)
But, obviously in worth is degrees
of early befoul inquiry . . .
your wearing breasts in a practical nude
your truly wearing encounter-leg
— by 75% nude
away, sneaking by of stylish whole
Across el break surrounds one, the hole.
over reacting is you practically
by imitation from my death
Essaying a big selfsame, from it mouth;
sponging out thee any indication
of never having snake me-back in your mind,
then, you had ever caressed me . . .
Darling! — in my record,
blessing you did it — in mine shut up
blessing you did it . . .
In wrangles ignored your imagination.
~ Ciro C Toledo ~
Categories:
wrangles, caregiving, confusion, imagination,
Form:
Lyric
You walk into a cauldron, freeze to death,
You, as a corpse, fall quietly in earth,
Life grips your throat, as man grips darkness wet,
And swings you, to and fro, to blanch in dirt.
You are a pearl now, dry and parched like sand,
Rose-eyed, tar-mouthed, ruby-eared, dew-nosed,
You walk haggardly, shoes mud-cauled, socks bland,
Stop gazing at the tavern sweet, it's closed.
Your shirt torn wrangles you, like you did him,
Your jeans soaked clutches you, like you did pain;
Empty the glass, fill 'you' to the bare brim,
There is no place for water in your brain.
Water and blood are both yet lighter, love,
Wine's the wet darkness, men keep all-above.
-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)
Categories:
wrangles, allusion, dark, death, life,
Form:
Sonnet
The whitewashed sands are blowing across the meadow
The hill upon which she stands
Her legs spread apart
Feet turned out.
Her head wrangles side to side, like blades within her toes
That sprinkling from ground
Do grow up and up
The anchor.
Her face is white and whiter still, all the blood be gone
The sign of the aorta pumps bleat
Ventricles slam shut
Jolt of silence.
The whitewashed sands are blowing across the meadow
The hills upon which she stands
The body that leaps out.
Her limbs roll down.
Categories:
wrangles, absence, death, emotions, girl,
Form:
Free verse
It brought me to my senses,
The wild contempt of lavender
Tiptoeing safely to each nostril -
As the gangly zephyrs took heed,
In brief wrangles a moments peak,
Telling me, what month it was.
A place where thoughts may tell,
What traces blind could never hide
No hemlock sensed, but nostrils did!
Is shown as May, as the eyes can see.
Hold twists of fate O’er coastal cliffs,
Toast the view as a aperitif would do.
While mushrooms gloat in spores
The tastes of rustic, fathom cloisters,
To religious orders in heaven’s scent
Sprawl in clasp, an easy task you ask,
What is it that you see?-
Billowed, over a region in asters high
Prompts each tree t’wards the sky.
Where godly suave, the hone of purpose
Deliberates more in transient mood,
Producing concoctions, as ethics haste
The swollen glands my eyes would tell;
Interloping hand in hand on pixie trails
Relishing childhood with mile a minute,
Overtaking sessions to embalm the musk,
Where bark had fallen, crumpled -
Softly shod, as May, as the eyes can see.
Categories:
wrangles, adventure, nature, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Things of value and much importance
Can tend to separate friends in accordance
The family, the life and are one's happiness
The thought of wrangles with unexpected origins
And throwing minds so blown away as by storm
Finding peace in what is to perform
False wisdom from envy and selfish ambition
Wishing to have what your friend has which is bringing collision
This thinking otherwise, taming totally your lies
About which is impossible, made this being possible in truth so washable
What a quarrel of friends, to tell the truth that offends
Friendship is turning dark and perversely so black
And you cannot see them in front only at your back
Turning this friendlier, thought of whose are interior
Should we be this quarrelsome in an audience full of applause?
Categories:
wrangles, conflict, friendship, people, poems,
Form:
Lyric
Things of value and much importance
Can tend to separate friends in accordance
The family, the life and are one's happiness
The thought of wrangles with unexpected origins
And throwing minds so blown away as by storm
Finding peace in what is to perform
False wisdom from envy and selfish ambition
Wishing to have what your friend has which is bringing collision
This thinking otherwise, taming totally your lies
About which is impossible, made this being possible in truth so washable
What a quarrel of friends, to tell the truth that offends
Friendship is turning dark and perversely so black
And you cannot see them in front only at your back
Turning this friendlier, thought of whose are interior
Should we be this quarrelsome in an audience full of applause?
Categories:
wrangles, conflict, confusion,
Form:
Lyric