Best Wreak Poems
Winter winds whisper in the weeping willow tree
Its naked branches shiver silently all around me
Bitter biting winds howl around stinging my face
I’m out on the moors; it’s such a desolate place
I yearn for spring where dainty daffodils dance
on zephyr breeze, it’s such a sweet romance
Sultry summer skies bring warm winds to enthrall
Beautiful blossoms pirouette perfectly as they fall
Autumn brings blustery gales swirling all around
Rich russet leaves tumble, carpeting the ground
Terrifying tornadoes wreak havoc across some lands
In wake of its destruction not a building still stands
Cooling summer breezes or a blustery gale is blowing
We can’t see wind but its effect in the trees is showing
2nd place in Elements Part 2 Wind. Sponsored by Brian Davey judged 3/29/16
Submitted to second place contest sponsored by Laura Loo
03~19~16
Where forests stretched for miles, and Spirit Lake
lay at its foot, there stood a rebel peak.
One day the earth beneath began to quake.
What havoc Mother Nature was to wreak!
The tremors kept occurring till the day
two craters which had formed began to merge,
erupting ash. Wise folks left right away,
for that volcano soon would surely surge!
Some met their death that eerie Sunday morn
of May eighteenth. The deer began to flee.
Then from the mount, a burst of cloud was born -
a mushroom cloud which bellowed boisterously.
It grumbled and it rumbled, rocketing
for fourteen miles to sky its ice and ash.
Land slid. An avalanche was covering
all things within the path of its mad dash!
By 10:15, a wall of water rushed
down to the river, tearing up the trees
along with boulders as the ash still gushed.
Destruction had been wrought with greatest ease.
The news said Mount St. Helen’s lost her head,
and trees, like matchsticks, lay upon the ground.
Amazingly, despite such loss and dread,
there is new growth of beauty all around!
Written Aug. 13, 2014 for Wordscapes Contest of John Hamilton
"I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." — Louisa May Alcott.
The rain and sleet mingle together.
Wayward winds weigh me down,
Wetting my poor old clothes thoroughly.
I walk alone through deep pools,
How can I not be shivering in the storm?
The wraithlike winds increase the wetness of my face,
Water seeps down my tattered clothes.
I curse the closed shops and unsheltered houses.
How can I survive this miserable downpour?
Dark Cimmerian clouds cover the whole city.
The forces of weather mingle thoroughly.
I find no respite in such a mingle of a cyclone.
Let thunder wreak havoc in the hurricane,
I’ll find my strength by hook or by crook.
I’ve learned there is a shelter I’ll find,
A change of clothes, a purge of soul:
A mingle of hope, survival, and resilience
That somehow will cleanse my heart and teach it love.
Placed 1
(THE GHOST)
In the naked eye,
Pure death approaches!
Incredibly hollow, kick the bucket long ago
No, whiff nor smell when “THE GHOST” is around
Abuses the whiteness, in which exists inside these sheets
It can be the cost and the intellect of your overdose in question
Go ahead and dig your own grave
I have already commissioned your headstone
You won’t be remembered,
The aftermath this GHOST creates
---will leave you babbling, even in your crate
This is that whiteness you do not want to feel or taste.
Once he or she was a nobody, is now “The Infamous Ghost!”
The one that lives inside your ‘Indian Hollow Walls.’
The Ghost’ leaves heat behind in your room.
It prowls around,
---leaving you within a near death experience every night.
This' ghost left behind will wreak mayhem on your soul,
Shh! Listen to your walls, they speak quite a routine.
Once you see yourself with broken wind, and watery eyes.
Do not believe this is your maker in the process.
‘The Ghost’ with eyes so potent compels a numbing stare!
If there really is such a thing as reincarnation,
Then you had better remember
--- that this ghost was a ghost in its own past life
‘The Ghost’ can have you breathing out tears so intense
Leveling your entire room with fear
Not even your frightened watery eyes will salvage your soul
Nothing will come in handy before you expire.
‘The Ghost’ will incinerate your obituary.
…READING…
“There is nothing to Fear but Fear itself! “By Franklin D. Roosevelt!”
That, and the fear is all this fearless 'Ghost will leave behind.
Everlasting rational fear.
-Happy Halloween-
If I were a fly, I would take my place
In the halls of Congress where haste makes waste
I’d buzz the House Speaker’s ear
Because it has become clear
The voice of the public has been misplaced
Perhaps a good buzz would open their ears
Before they explore new spending frontiers
Pork barrel projects still grow
Let’s Make a Deal’s a game show
This game must end now as we’re in arrears
I’d surely make a nuisance of myself
I make a heck of a pesky black elf
Sit on cups before they drink
Lay eggs on collars of mink
Then wreak havoc with Obama himself
*Entry for Michael Falotico’s “Fly on the Wall” contest
(not to take too seriously; I think I am immune
to my "enemies" by now!)
How near to us are foes we can’t resist
when cells, like terrorists that we can’t see
accumulate! What parasites exist
within our very homes! We can’t be free
of them, and even the perfectionist
can’t rid his castle of the enemy.
They have no need of camouflage. They breed,
for on those cells sloughed off our skin they feed!
Though microscopic, they are numberless.
For those with allergies, the “mighty” mite
can wreak some damage. Nasty, they possess
the air we breathe, the beds we use at night!
And they will never simply evanesce. . .
To kill them off requires a constant fight,
but no one, sadly, perfectly defeats
them, even vacuuming and changing sheets!
Inside the fridge, on counters, in the sink
lurk others. Do not be too much at ease.
The very sponge you’re using, which you think
is helping, could be spreading a disease!
Who knows what swarms in water that we drink,
on spinach leaves or just a piece of cheese?
How fleet is time; how bleak to have to spend
it on a war we know will never end!
* Many years now since this very talented, very HUMAN guy left us … those holes never fill, and he is sorely missed. (This is a form I invented called “Tredicum Plus”. *
~
my brother ...
you caught me off guard -
of all those who struggle like we do
in darkness, with the
hideous demons that lurk
I was sure the victory was yours -
that the knight was astride
his steed, steadied -
armor shining bright in the sun
sword and shield, sharp and enduring ...
but alas, it seems the
devil wants the final
fiendish word …
long did I look to you
for strength ...
a flicker of light to guide
me through the murk -
the fog of pain and error and
fallibility that so often
gathers for those of us who
feel too deeply -
who see sensitivity as
more of a curse than a gift …
you understood that path quite well -
walked it many times
as I have …
you knew the beasts
that scratch at our ankles -
those shadowy minions that seek
to rake us into hell with every
step we take in redemption's course
but your light shined so bright!
you held it high and
proud for so long that I took
it for granted - depended on it …
and now that light is snuffed
the black is all the
more oppressive - all the
more glaringly heavy and deep ...
… and empty …
now the path
is twisted, obscured ...
and without the welcome of
your glowing spirit
it will henceforth be cluttered with
ambiguity and question -
each further step, taken in
hesitation and doubt …
tragedy, pain, sorrow, regret
their names matter not -
they wreak the same horrid havoc
and those ragged, merciless monsters
have claimed you …
aye, the sun will rise a wee bit
colder on the morrow, and life’s flavor
is now tinged with bitterness …
still, you left behind a torch of humble exuberance and vitality
and those of us who know the
treacherous paths of life -
those darkened 'parts unknown' -
will hold it high in your memory
and give the devil all he can handle ...
of your mischievous smile
your twinkling eye
and your fierce, fiery heart …
Rest In Peace, Tony.
I no longer love country music
Or Afton, Wyoming just to be the girl
In someone's non-existent dreams
Indulging in a glass of wine
Isn't a thinking session of
Second guesses to philoso-fry myself
Conflicted as a child, repressed from lies
Found under stacks of girly magazines and
Booze, hidden in the basement by
Role models as they lectured
About the importance of virtue and Scriptures
In control, on a journey of my own
Where I'll end up, no idea, but it must be
Better than being strung along to
To the wrong song, sung off key
I built a bonfire and burned the inclinations of
Fitting into skinny jeans, quitting bad habits
Well most of them, I've re-invented myself
Through the unkindness of cold winters that
No longer plague in phantomed shadows
I gave myself permission to wreak havoc, when necessary
And sneak outside to play in my best Sunday shoes
Not playin' by their rules
It's 'Wild About Pink' lipstick, clad in shiny kick a** boots
Attending a Mad Hatter's tea party, yes
Riding my whims as they change, just like the seasons
Poetry on trial?
I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block
No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.
Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.
Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.
Send shivers down ones spine, Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.
Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.
Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt,
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath,
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.
So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control.
By
David Kavanagh
Oh let's do something crazy
Let's go moonbathing at night
and we can knock on doorbells
and then have a rainball fight
Or let's go on a rampage
of destruction of all fear
We'll wreak some anti-havoc
spreading harmony and cheer
People need to drop their worries
go outside and play
a good old game of hide and seek
and we can lead the way
It's time for some tomfoolery
and high jinks to abound
Too many people lose themselves
in troubles so profound
So let's try something crazy
Oh I know what we can do
We'll skip some pebbles 'cross a pond
and climb a tree or two
We'll take your heavy burdens
and just toss them in the air
and then we'll dash through flowery fields
without a single care
Life is getting very short
it's time for boisterous fun
And many will not understand
until their time is done
Tomfoolery and high jinks
are the order of the day
We'll throw in some shenanigans
while laughing all the way
2/26/19
"We have more ability than willpower, and it is often an excuse to ourselves that we imagine that things are impossible". Francois de La Rochefoucauld
A fresh year is upon us, and the counter is ticking,
I carry out my recent resolutions for year-picking.
Self-discipline or staying in touch with family.
The family lives in the eternal heart, happily.
I will strain harder to retain my resolution,
to improve our planet for peace and evolution.
Faint waves of grace may clump a long way,
Conjure us a stable place and restrain evil at bay.
I wish to improve my family bonds this year,
They bestow concord, spirit, and a loving ear.
This year, I ought to transmute what I say,
Misunderstood words often ruin my day.
I'd aped to yield up even minor desires this year,
for they rarely come true and only wreak fear.
I wish to savor each moment with awareness.
Thoughtfully, I wish to increase my happiness.
The nonce ticking down to 2023 and midnight,
The preceding year viewed so much plight.
If I pick one resolution, it will be to be positive.
My cup half full stars glitter brighter, evocative.
No more premature sleepless nights are due,
Worry over the obnoxious, resentful few.
Learning to be grateful a million times over,
sharing prosperity with loads of delight sower.
My New Year's resolution was revealed in the past,
I hope that the year twenty-two will be our last.
I hope that the huge ball will achieve something,
It crushes the epidemic and the anguish it brings.
Written: November 26, 2022
Resolutions for 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I live in North East Florida
That's just a hop, skip, and a jump
From the land known as Georgia
Where "Honey Boo Boo" once held court with her mom
If'n you never knew "Honey Boo Boo"
You're in for a treat or more than one
She was a multi car train wreak
That you couldn't turn your bugged eyes away from
First let me explain the state of Georgia
So this family ya'll will understand
Not long ago they re-dirted both paved roads
Said progress was getting way out of hand
So with that said and done son
With formalities out of the way
Lets turn our attention back to our star attraction
And see what all she had to say
Her fame started out on Toddlers & Tiaras
Reality shows we all seem to love
From The Crazed Housewives to The Kardashion's
America can not get enough
And since it's on T.V. it's gotta be true
Did you ever try her drink sensation
Of Red Bull and Mountain Dew, she liked to call "Go Go Juice"
It'll put hair on your derriere for extra pad in relaxation
And who wouldn't want to see a six year old
With that kind of Hellacious Buzz
What went through my mind when I looked at it was
Ahhh, Redneck Motherly Love
So now do you redneckonize her
Where all I just said is quite true
A dolla used to make her holla!
I sure miss "Honey Boo Boo" on the Boob Tube
As I'm sure all of you do too...
I shall go weary with a fight,
Into that strange and ever night,
Across the bounds of thistle-thorns,
To dance a jig neath golden horns;
Perchance, I breathe a sulfured air,
For earning less than heaven’s fair,
I’ll take my place within the blaze,
To gladly boil away my days;
Or if I’m sat upon a shelf,
Betwixt to ponder soul and self,
Account my earthly deeds, to sum,
Those Righteous, those righteous none;
I’ll build myself an abacus,
With bones and teeth, I’ll never miss;
Who really knows the consequence,
Of living life upon the fence,
None dead I know have come to me,
And said with any certainty,
To nail myself upon a cross,
Be born again, or join a Mosque;
Religion seems just gobbledygook,
I’m right, you’re wrong, in countless books,
Demons, devils, angels singing,
The pit, with pendulum swinging;
If I were God, I’d give a peek,
Let children see what life can wreak,
Pull the wool over sneaky Nick;
The devil has his share of tricks;
But who am I to say these things;
I’ve spent my life in selfish dreams,
Just because my bell has tolled,
And each breath I take is soured old,
Doesn’t lend me a hedge to bet,
What lies beyond my mortal death;
Too late, I haven’t seemed to grasp,
What formula to ever last;
Worst, I’ll be but seeping silage,
Left for bugs and worms to pillage,
Or, perhaps a greater power,
Will intervene at my last hour;
In either case, upon that night,
I shall go weary with a fight.
The time of growth and change is done and past.
From thaw to frost activity prevailed,
And change came often, often coming fast,
Till finalizing Fall all toil curtailed.
With wintertime’s quiescence, come at last,
The old year’s final breath has been exhaled.
And now all nature’s quiet, all now still,
All bedding down, preparing for the chill.
The other seasons garner all the praise:
From sprouting Spring, through Summer’s fruiting fields,
To Autumn’s vibrant hues and bracing days,
Each one its own unique enchantment wields.
But Winter’s coming oftentimes dismays,
So cryptic are the blessings that it yields--
Yet unexpected beauty will abound
In many forms both subtle and profound.
Then gales gust frore as frigid flakes bespeak
The wintry depths which grip both heath and grange:
The rime-bound land is frozen hard, and bleak—
Yet bleakness has its beauty, harsh and strange.
And what seems dead or dormant soon will wreak
What surely counts as nature’s deepest change:
The imminence of warmth’s returning breath…
The immanence of life in seeming death.
For springtime’s semelparity is fate,
As sure as tide or twilight, and as strict.
It burgeons and it blooms, but soon or late
It goes to seed and dies. The clock has ticked
And knelled the midnight hour — but don’t berate
The seed for its mortality -- predict
Instead the miracle which will ensue:
That out of silence, life is born anew.
Inelegant, the silence wakes and yawns,
pretending not to notice or to care;
while symphonies of chaos greet the dawn
and ashes of our Banner fill the air.
The few, with vacant visage cry the creeds
~march on with signs remastered from the old
in broths of propaganda where it breeds,
the willingly disposed in boredom's fold.
Onlookers pause and gasp in rapt surprise;
unruly hordes deface the hallowed halls,
like "Kristallnacht" they scare what they despise,
too late for recompense when conscience calls
or quell fallacious lectures as they wreak...
dumbfounded when the fruits of silence speak.