Best Wraps Poems
GOD has made us with the same soil.
Some born as poor some enrich with gold foil.
No big house No luxury was on my cards of life.
You the rich decorate your doorsteps with
Black money lights.
You wake up and touch the smooth carpet threads.
Am the poor struggles for every day butter and breads.
I earn money for the pieces of food as my soul says.
You sold your self and put your honesty on stake everyday.
You the rich burns my house and count the bunch of
Lakhs.
I just wait for the clock of bad times to swap.
You lived the life of king and will not die with a single
Rupee.
I left empty handed whole life but my priceless honesty wraps me.
STRONG ME
Kimo, haiku, couplet
Expectations Under Wraps on Christmas Eve
wild hammering and disciplined screwing
of elves in Santa’s workshop -
will toys be fiddled with…
an exotic sleigh
and a ho ho ho drives hard
through the dark of night
unlike the North Pole the blinking lights sleep
as Santa rides down in chimney sweep
Darkness Wraps My Pain
I was born to this flesh
A slayer in pain
No regret, no remorse
Gold and pleasure my gain
I never wanted love
Nor did I want joy
I found death a trip
Where I once was open
Now I hide in darkness
A slayer of souls
Seeker of agony on all
Ageless shadows grace
My tomb within hell's
Ripping dungeons that
Eat the screams of
Torn bodies and cut
Out hearts scattered on
The blood soaked floors
I was born a slayer
A slayer that delights
In agony wrapped in anguish
his, hers , yours
give me a choice I
chose all.....
Robert Lindley
05, 23 1980
note: This is from long ago.
A very dark time in my life.
Must have been wasted because
no ryhme.. lol
The adorn summer sky emanated a luminous of gold
as she works unyielding at the edge of the chasm,
till the middle of the night under the opulence
of the moon's brilliant dance as it glances
at her alone in the quiet silence; beauty to behold.
Small swath of field, calm sea; exult in its grace.
Her silken auburn hair in a simple knot
just a few strands wind-blown around her angelic face.
Her irresistible impetus to make vicarious suffering
as she fears of a thunderstorm may roll in.
Her strength carries her through,
she wasn't going to allow the weather's mockery to break her.
8/26/2018
Poetry Contest: Eight word challenge-8
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
1. Silken 2. Chasm 3. Exult 4. Adorn 5. Impetus 6. Mockery 7. Opulence 8. Vicarious
A fat grassland is neither a wasteland nor a heather mountain. It is wise to twirl a large ink dotted feather flock to the sky uniformed but not adhering to dress codes of societal norm. When norms are very nautical nowadays and can disappear and disparate under a cotton candy dream boat on a cruise to the sands. It is nevertheless an unforgettable view constructed by fashioning cheese on one slice of bread. This will surely ensure that bean is comfortable. But bringing banging blackness is not wise in front of a large herd of officialdom as curriculum based language leaving is a learning leaning laugh. And now it is time mr lobster face to vacate these premises. For there are no vacancies for tide is not moving and there is now no waves. Due to incorrect malnutrition placed by curtailing cartwheeling faces that drawl out words akin to a squeaky rifle that is being polished to a tune. No ha ha no x and no z either. That was the p y q reporting from an earwig tantrum zone with lots of earwigs dressed in attire more suited to a war. Bmnbmnbmn. |
Form:
Lost in the wraps of time, I'm alone, walking
waiting for the bliss,to myself, I'm talking
words fade off ,as they come
uncertainties make me stun
To think about a better tomorrow
and leave behind all sorrow
but past haunts me again
hurting ,making me lame
With no ray of hope in vision
lies my future in confusion
Aloof from the world I move on
sticking to my love and hold on
For I believe I'm destined, to shine
though I'm lost in the wraps of time.
Crutches, walkers, knee wraps, ankle wraps, wheelchairs, hot and icy.
Yes, I do have all of these things, ice bags too, and I am not afraid to use them.
I have arthritis in my feet. It is crazy how awful it can be to take a step sometimes and know
You cannot take another one. You have to have an assist to go one more stupid step.
I am always alert, aware, ready, as it happens more and more often lately, especially in stores.
With their hard concrete coming up to meet the bottom of your shoe.
I actually have two walkers, because I did not see the one with the seat
Until I had already bought the one without one.
And I never take anything back.
Our first baby had three buggies,
But that is another story
For another poem.
Out on the porch as fall's coolness
Wraps its cloak around me
The sun's angular rising light
Reveals dust floating free
The potted Hibiscus' one blossom
Enjoys sun's soft light rays
Unbeknown that frosty air
Will soon come into play
As the sun climbs higher adding
Warmth to these old stiff joints
And the roosters begin crowing
Offering their encouraging point
There is a stillness and peace
That only God can give
A crow caws his warning to other
Crows cawing up the hill
Big dog came down to visit now
Lying in the sun's soft light
She scratches fleas? and licks with ease
Not disturbed with might or right
Thank You, God for one more morning
To visit nature and
Enjoy the creation made by Jesus'
Loving and gentle hands
In the shade, I shrivel
in flowering cactus
crafting sloppy verse
below the scraggly
exhausted moon
warm reverberations of love
originating in the Jade Garden
nerves jangling in my true being
the magnificent encounter
of how to melt
this iron reluctance
dreams can feel
most real than actual life
every day as I unseal my eyes.
Written: May 12, 2023
The waiter: short, surly and brusque;
in the air, hung a slight scent of musk.
Natasha’s Cantina:
with Masa Harina,
crime’s perfection, wrapped in a cornhusk.
----------
I promise I won't do another tamale
In the silence that wraps around me like a mantle of silver mist, I step lightly,
Without the need to prove anything to anyone, without the desire to seek validation,
In that sacred space of the soul where the echoes of the world dissolve into silence,
A place where my story no longer needs to be told, nor heard,
Even when rumors like the winds carry untrue versions across the waters.
My heart, once a fortress, is now a sanctuary of unwavering peace,
I know that inner peace is worth more than any measure of praise,
A peace that flows like a river under the moonlight, shimmering among the stones of time,
Far from the tumult of desires and the struggle to prove something to the watching world,
I have learned to guard my peace, to protect it with the wings of unseen angels.
Here, in this oasis of silence, I see how thoughts transform into white clouds,
Every conviction, every word spoken with fervor dissolves into the air,
And I am left with just myself, the simple and true being, without masks, without chains,
At peace with myself and the world, finding my place among the stars that watch over,
For now, I know that my peace is a gift more precious than any recognition.
In this quiet, I find the answers to unspoken questions,
I find a refuge above the tumult, where the soul can rest,
And I understand that true power lies in being at peace with oneself,
In letting light penetrate the dark corners of the heart,
Without seeking the approval of a world that cannot fully understand.
So, I sit under the vast sky, letting silence be my song and prayer,
And in this peace, I rediscover the essence of who I am, whole and calm,
Floating among dreams and memories, in an uninterrupted flow of light.
You can get used to a feeling as if it were an invisible cloak that gently wraps around you,
So much so that you forget when it dresses you or when it disappears in the morning silence,
You sink so deeply into the habit of feeling bad that you no longer recognize the light,
You don't realize that the good has become a shadow of a recurring evil,
And everything becomes an illusion, a mask woven from your own hidden thoughts,
But the remedy, the balm for your soul, is right there, under your weary gaze,
You just need to rise, take your soul by the hand, and step into the light of day,
Onto the street where the sun draws stories and shadows dance silently on the warm asphalt,
You just need to run for a few moments through time and watch the swans floating on the river,
To sip from the water of life and speak to a stranger, even with a silent smile,
And you will feel how the weight gradually fades, how restlessness disappears like smoke,
You will smile brightly inside, like a star lighting up in the middle of the night,
You will pass by the homeless man and see in him a story, a world,
You will look at the angry man in traffic and hear his laughter lost among the horns,
And you will understand that everything can be simple, that feeling good is a gift from the universe,
Please, stop hurting yourself, for the world needs your light, your magic.
When love wraps around you like a rain of falling stars,
The world melts into a story of liquid amber,
That gaze, a window to unseen infinities,
Where I become the shadow dancing on the edge of time.
The thorns, crystal spiders, weave the silk of an embrace,
The fire transforms into a rainbow of embers, living warmth,
A sanctuary in the chill of the night born from darkness,
There, I lose and recreate myself with every moment.
Passersby, waves of wind, call him mad, the one who smiles,
But he, a dreamer of the world, listens to a single whispered name,
Words floating like an echo of stellar longing,
A music of spheres entwined in eternal mystery.
Love, a golden butterfly, frees the soul from its cocoon,
Binds it in the beats of a heart, a blood-red moon,
Life becomes a symphony of pulsing comets,
In the rhythm of a sky dancing in spirals of dreams.
Standing at the world’s edge, asking the deep silence,
Is this madness or the beginning of a new galaxy of understanding?
In love’s tumult, I rediscover the shape of my destiny,
And the story flows like a river of light, without end.
Sometime
before I was not mature enough to notice,
she began to dissolve.
Husband dead, son revolving
around one woman after another,
moving away from her fading presence.
Aware only of the ebb, and flow of her care
or interest, Distance surfacing in her eyes.
How her housecoat insulated her from
what she once loved.
When she looked at me it was through a tunnel
she had dug into her mind,
her presence muffled
as if it were now
always too cold to surface.
I should have seen the signs,
but by then I only visited
during narrow gaps in my life.
I told her to join something,
do what other old people did.
Only now do I understand
what old people do, -
they think of their parents
in threads and patchwork pieces.
I cannot recall the exact period
when the seam of strong bonds
began to unravel,
for of course,
that specific time was buried with her.
I blame it for the pain
As i try and understand its secrets
As it’s forms and folds wraps itself around me
Its supposed to protect the me from the world
But I cannot make sense of the curved markings painted across it
im supposed to take care of it
keep it smooth
perfect for the picture
but i am ashamed
of what its become
loud
and hidden
this side
of my skin