Best Wrenched Poems
Bloom not, cruel wolfsbane
In this forward spirit of mine
Let the moon dim and wane
For love has diseased my kind
The girl was luscious in the wake
Rising at break of dawn
If only she knew I was a mistake
Before we made the bond
I grew fond of her everyday
And night gave me loathe and dread
My heart was weak, I couldn’t send her away
But fed in her desires instead
I kissed her in the forest of green
I had forgotten what I am
I gazed into those eyes, so keen!
A smooth and gentle lamb
One day I stopped to think a bit
My stomach wrenched and twirled
Through love I had lost my sense and wit
To a pitiful village girl!
Avoiding her best I could
I hid from beauty’s caresses
But again she found me in the wood
And so grew the obsession
But so grew the moon
And the waning was abstaining
Good night, wonders of the noon
With memories remaining
Alone I wandered in the cold
Knowing it was coming
The sky grew dark, the sun was sold
Behind the madness blooming
Transforming! Changing!
My mind went all a blur
Rage deforming! Madness deranging!
I couldn’t think of her…
The time was gone!
The night had come!
I thought I was alone
But then I saw her standing there
Pale and stiff as stone
I woke up that dawn sitting there
On the forest floor
And there lay she all bloodied and bare
The lamb that I adore!
The wounds I found were like a gift
I know they were from my girl
I’m glad she fought her will to live
As I blindly devoured her
An honorable lamb with bloodied hooves
She’ll never leave my vision
Sacrificed for ravenous wolves
And no cry for jurisdiction
Bloom not cruel wolfsbane
In this forward spirit of mine
Let the moon dim and wane
For love has diseased my kind
-an oldie , hehe
For Pd's Contest : )
Categories:
wrenched, adventure, angst, depression, devotion,
Form:
Ballad
I can tell by your face
the clouds intimidate, when weeping,
one look into your soul
tells one how you are keeping.
Oppressive droops the raindrops
wrenched from the saddest sky,
tormented the grey mist swirls
yet my affection, oh so slow to die!
I still see the summer breeze dance
within your tolerant chaste,
till autumn’s manipulation long past,
and quaking trees stand bare.
Throughout my life I recall
blue skies, sunrise ablaze,
one day to recollect again
in this place, where we both were raised!
© Harry J Horsman 2023
Categories:
wrenched, environment, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Often wondering is it a steak upon Our Plates that is important...
Perhaps a Hot-dog instead and more Money for a healing deportment.
To feed a Child that is suffering or very ill and extremely sick.
We ask often comfortably what often makes the wealthy tick?
As We read on The Internet that there are Children out there just wanting Bread.
The Children eating grass is in an Article that was just as this is read...
My Heart torn open,wrenched,concerned and burning with anguish inside.
My Own Home stemless, poor, and uncomfortably We reside...
Wishing We could just reach threw a T.V. Set to give a helping hand...
Just to pass Our Dinner to a child in a taunted hemmed Land.
My passion so large, words so strong, and My Pocket very small.
Never standing in the right position in Life to answer as Children call.
There are Children in Our World that are just eating grass.
Under seemly so by My feelings of disrepair as I pass My Own grasp...
This stench of Many Self willed that preform as Our stanza has not surpassed.
To reach for You now is more then an unbearable weep to comprehend.
A World filling up with Starvation and Our Children in it left to descend.
To reach for You now is an unbearable decision not yet made.
The Children Eating Grass just wore Me thin and They paid.
Sometime wishing I could just rob and empty an entire vault.
That Decision would cost Me greatly so I resort to prayer that will never fault.
To Be trusted with just This Message where I sit and grieve.
When Encounters of Love yet to occur and never to beckon Evil that is deceived.
By Charlene L.Wilcox 09-29-2014
Categories:
wrenched, abuse, care, character, conflict,
Form:
Couplet
I remember you
cartoon smile and egg-shaped head.
Do you remember
how the rainbow formed on the water,
how the neon lights flickered,
or the scent of nectarines on your forehead?
They were happy to see for the first time
behind glass window,
between speaker box voices --
unopened package,
untouched collector’s item,
you shiny new contraption,
star of the play,
hero of the hour,
flavor of the season.
Seed of your father,
soil of your mother.
Fruit of love,
fruit of conflict.
Decision’s aftermath,
delusion’s consequence,
Are you accident,
intention,
problem,
solution?
Bough in the river,
wrenched in the current.
Hand reaching for hand,
hand holding your own.
Bedlam baby with the guilty smile
do you remember
how you would not fracture the mullioned frame,
how you could not shatter porcelain,
or how you hid in changing alleys?
I will save you
you will save me.
My hand in yours.
I am the boat
you are the journey.
Categories:
wrenched, childhood, life, nostalgia, time,
Form:
Free verse
That night, in a strange place
I was like a fly
Circling a street light
Reeling…Reeling!
I felt so alone
Fear wrenched my throat
Couldn’t predict
When I would be charred to death
I had heard,
In the cover of dark
Everyone was a robber
Or a masked assassin!
Without a roof over my head
I was like a mole
Smoked out of its hole
And exposed to blaring light
Had it been my own town
Where I knew
Every nook and cranny
Like the lines of my palm
I wouldn’t have minded
Being so helplessly stranded
Or left in the night
At a distance….
I saw the faint silhouette of hills
Like dreadful dinosaurs crouching
Also the outlines of buildings
Reminding one of the medieval haunted castles
Stray dogs, mangy
Were raiding the trash bins.
I don’t know why then
I enjoyed their company
I could hear the falling hooves
Of cattle, led to the slaughterhouse,
And the lash of whips falling on them,
Echoing the shrieking of a banshee!
Saw an auto lying upside down
Fallen unwary in a pothole
A line of tanker lorries
Seen halted by the roadside,
Like the bogies of a goods train
And their drivers went home,
To sleep with their mates
Behind the cover, I saw
Two figures leaning;
A man and a woman
Night owls at a mating serenade!
I closed my eyes,
Covering them with my palm
In that unearthly hour
An eerie fear gripped me.
Tension was building inside,
Like a balloon being bloated with air
And how my mind longed
To slither out of that hole
To curl up in the warmth of my home
Far… far away!
Categories:
wrenched, angst, fear, lost, night,
Form:
Free verse
“Here lieth baby Rachel
Born 10th Sept 1894 Died 30th Oct 1896”
Marble stone that lays above the head,
white chippings that blanket the body,
flowerless vase that sits naked
crying out for a fragrant moment
if only to perfume its stagnancy.
I see an odorous pool being replenished,
rain drops aiding hope and life,
a renewal to the neoclassical container
that one day must have been complemented
with loving hands of grief.
I find no track to this lonely corner,
forgotten in this living place of death!
No visitor to gaze upon its epitaph
no one to care “Whom here lieth”
Beneath this broken monument.
“Velvet skin that the cruel age turns to husks,
naked bones left to mature the grass above,
weeping willow guardian of shade and light,
Who! Knows what nourishment
its searching tentacles beget.”
“Corpus soul aimlessly floating in limbo,
looking at me here this very minute?
Feeling my sensitivity as I stand here, alone,
Is there no escape for anyone?
‘Unless life is indeed the enemy’”
Warped in thought I stare at her monument,
built by caring minds and dexterous hands,
tradesmen whom with spade and chisel
penetrated sculptured within nature
just to honour a child’s brief life on earth.
I walk away along the newly beaten track,
grass and nettle bow before my impending stride,
my mind is wrenched with reverence,
I climb aboard my mechanized shovel
“I wonder why! Why should it bother me so!”
© Harry J Horsman 1992
Categories:
wrenched, me,
Form:
Narrative
Black Diamond Night
Life is a cruel wench, a beckoning tramp, she is.
Sprawling wide open to draw us into her erotic nectar.
She whispers lurid words which promise to forestall
The imminent erosion, of illusionary perfection.
The promise of a tomorrow? Few have the inherent structure,
To challenge her guile, humming quiet, sweet victory.
Only the ancient one, who hides beneath our vision,
When wrenched from the rock, is still perfect in her imperfection.
Dawn loses its battle to dusk, and returns again to be defeated
In an endless, biblical battle. The waves wash up on the shore
Wrenching the sands from pounded beaches; only to spew up
Again and be dumped ashore by the evenings rushing tides.
I lie on my back, on a beach, gazing up at dark stars,
On this black diamond night, sadly, wiser.
Brenda Molmod Atry 8/14/2012
Categories:
wrenched, introspection, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
"Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!"
The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
Categories:
wrenched, mystery, drug,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
Categories:
wrenched, mystery,
Form:
Haibun
The Play Bill falls from my sweaty palm to the floor
September 8, 2001 and I'm still alive; it's a miracle.
Pushing my bifocals back up my nose, I frown.
I can't remember the play at all?
A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the closed doors.
Bending over, I'm approached from the wing and tackled.
My heel slip-rolls on a broken pencil; I'm down.
What did you do you bastard, he bawls.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
My arm's wrenched to my back the pain's hard to ignore.
Arms back, I feel cold metal, he puts on shackles
From the outside, there's a shout; a cop's siren sounds;
he lifts and shoves me to the wall.
Categories:
wrenched, betrayal,
Form:
Verse
you think it's easy
maybe your heart
doesn't bruise as quickly
maybe your mind
is a bastion of confidence
thick skinned indifference
maybe it's easier for you
could be true
As for me? Well…
I like to stay clear
"once bitten"....20 times as shy
the reason why?
it's not so easy for me
this survival thing, you see
takes a lot of hard work
and my heart is replete
with burdens and cares
my gut wrenched poetic wares
only incite unfeeling stares
the reader unaware
apathetic animosity
guised in hilarity
isn't for me...
No, it's not as easy for me
to pretend I don't care
when my soul I bare
so I don't dare
let anyone come back round
who has ground me into the ground
once before
well….not now
not anymore
it's not as easy for me
so just.....
just please….let it be.
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
wrenched, how i feel, truth,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Noonday Sun
Suffering, so much suffering astounds,
Suffering brings us to our very knees,
And cries out to us in sleepless nights,
In the morning, fatigued and wrenched,
Begging for a reprieve from the day,
The sun is blocked by the sound of our own doubt,
“Where is the end of all this?”
“To what end is this, Lord Buddha?”
And he points to the clouds,
And says, “Wait”
And in that moments waiting,
We think to our children,
And we look to their faces, smiling faces though still starving in tattered rags,
And we understand, that there is a brighter day for them,
For someone made the Sun I tell you,
For someone made the Sun,
And as the Son heats the clouds,
We feel the wind on our heat scorched faces,
And we say, “Allah, what is the meaning of this?”
And she says, “Wait!”
And in that moments waiting,
We think of Mother Jones pleading for her people as she speaks truth to power.
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We begin to grasp the nature of a Grace that suffers with us,
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We look to each other,
And feel the warmth of a Noonday sun.
Categories:
wrenched, faith, happiness, sadrain, rain,
Form:
Ballad
26th &27th January 2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Alone I sat on the wet sands,
Of the Sernabatim beach lands.
The sun reflected blue sky,
On the greenish grey waters it looked so dry.
A sweltering sunny afternoon,
With the heat I began to swoon.
Alone, I moved myself into the waters warm,
The breaking waves look to me like many a lifeless form.
Warm waters I sense splash unto my waist,
Cool salty breeze sting my moist lips and chest, sweat erased.
The frothy waters seem so white,
Feral imagination within me is beginning to run regressive and makes me feel all right.
Alone I am rooted on the sandy shore,
I have within me, coming to the fore,
Feelings… deep feelings inside ignite,
Need to hold on to them tight,
The feelings incite,
A poem in my mind’s eye I feel and now see, that I would have to write,
Without any spite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
The breaking waters lash against me and quickly change form,
To myself feelings that turn to spirity words I begin to recite,
As I cast my eyes on nature around me from within springs delight,
And in its own right,
The poem begins to rewrite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
My feelings have begun to rewrite,
In my mind without any spite,
I am now filling myself with delight,
As expression is flowing freely in its own right,
And will transcend on to paper in black and white.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
To the sands entrenched.
Melts the noon,
And evening falls attune,
The sun reflected blue sky,
Has now swooned away and I turn a blind eye.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
Content in myself and with no feelings wrenched.
Gratified….soothened…satisfied…pleased,
Relaxed…happy….at ease and contented……eased.
Categories:
wrenched, inspirational, nature, passion, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
Bernadette and Juliet
Alone, alone in her mind
as she sleeps comfortably
now alone permanently
as she drifts away un-noticed
Was it Bernadette or Juliet
that flew away
as the designer was given
a one thousand gun salute
As the glittering buttons
of a non-existent dress
grabs many headlines
allows many excuses to forget
So the role models fling their false tears
not speaking to, not noticing
the unplanned photographers,
Tv cameras that the PR people sent
As our models of hope
are wrenched apart
their love still untouched
by the ravages of the real? world
And all that is left is a world
that can't look smart, that will find
something else to pay ten grand for
in a world with one fewer true love's passion
Categories:
wrenched, political
Form:
Howling winds flung me into the sea
waves lashed kelp ropes around me
my belligerence grew when I was seized
anger brewed the tighter they squeezed
With fists raised and teeth clenched
I resisted the harder they wrenched
voice rang out in acrimonious scream
my face contorted, wild eyes agleam
spittle dribbled from cracked lips
I neared the verge of sanity's eclipse
Man is but an elfin grain of sand
a mortal never has the upper hand
when wrangling with a sea of thunder
I was punished and plowed asunder
beneath coral reefs to ocean's floor
I cursed until I could no more
My swearing wails echoed my destiny
retched was my body from an angry sea
briny foam spit me on the rocky shore
done with me like an oft beaten whore
My crime was that I'd chosen wrong
the one I loved became my swan song
Piercing needles of torrential rain
burning injections increased the pain
Such bitter tea the cruel sea can steep
and I, a crumpet, tossed in restless sleep
Categories:
wrenched, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme