Best Wrestling Poems
A wrestler whose first name is Bill
Wears tights (but he’s over the hill)
He shoves down a sock
To enhance his cock
It sure gives the ladies a thrill!
Now Bill’s a really proud macho guy
And keeps grey hair at bay with black dye
Even though he’s a man
He wears lots of fake tan
And baby oil is in constant supply
For Phyl with love from FC xx
05/06/17
Wrestling Verses
Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,
fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,
remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.
Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,
scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.
My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,
your skin,
your bare back my canvas,
my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.
Wrestling verses,
lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,
still,
my fingers tickle your soft skin,
my ink would run dry,
were it not for your gentle touch
Movement up and down the ring
Story lines made for entertainment
Competing for golden belts to display with pride
Stunted choreography happens inside and outside the ring
Wrestler and divas favored by many fans
Fans cheering and booing for who they like or hate
Face or heel is what wrestlers are all about
Wrestling has been around for ages,
Remember the Romans with there cages.
Ever since then it has gotten more violent.
Seldom does the crowd grow silent.
They hit each other with steel chairs and tables,
Leaping off ladders and walking on cables.
Injuries come quite often.
Not to mention their bodies are softened.
Going to see them live is really cool, And its all to see them hard hitting fools.
A face in a crowd grows numb on the subway
which hides evening’s woe, then closes a day,
mirroring grief across late Autumn’s sky
to wrestle with angst she cannot deny
like one thorn circling down from a fogged lair
while hours pound this final ache quite unfair.
Her dream turns bleak through uncertainty’s flow,
it knows not which compass of life to go…
frightened to death , brushing sleets of mad rain
when a long gone illness comes back again;
like time’s flick winging a dark raven’s plume
as sallow hands collect flowers abloom.
But oh this wish to live stirs ever on,
for when litanies of prayer are done
each whisper tumbles as moonbeams abide…
while nights claim her dream, “ fate is in your side.”
5/4/2016
Silent One’s Contest: Lyrics Cliché Image
Inspiration from the lyrics ‘ Mad World’
Cliché ,’ Frightened To Death’ … Image # 5
Wrestling Match
I wrestled you again last night,
it seems you like and take delight
in messing up a good night’s sleep.
No one knew I wrestled there
laying as if without a care.
They’d have thought me counting sheep.
But sheep were least of my concern.
An empowered soul is where I turn;
a far and distant hope.
I cannot know the hours you stole
from sleep; is this your goal
to watch me fumble, fall, and grope?
When will you come and sit with me
and talk like friends like it used to be?
Is that forever gone?
I miss those times when I would run
and you would chase; we can’t be done;
O, God, I’m barely hanging on!
I find it hard to talk with you;
I just don’t know what I’m to do.
Give me direction, bless me with peace.
In nakedness I feel my shame
and wanting not to play the game
to find your gentle, sweet release.
I do not hear you call and say,
“Where are you, son? You’ve gone away.”
The room has fallen quiet.
So I, with voiceless courage do
call out instead, my God, to you:
“Where are you?” and wait in silent riot.
The door stands shut and locked up tight;
I pull it hard throughout the night
and stand there at your door with knocks.
I wait and listen for your stride
to open it; bring me inside;
unbolting doors and throwing locks.
I died that night on skull-faced hill
and wait in silence for your will,
laid out on rock hard stone.
Dare I await a resurrection
and taste the joy of your affection?
I fear I’m laying here alone.
And so we wrestled through the night.
I fought hard; you took delight
in grappling yet another round.
And to the mat we went once more.
You swiftly brought me to the floor,
with silent force without a sound.
my mind is all alone
darkness clouds my very thoughts
troubled i am troubled inside and on the outsides
falling apart piece by rotten piece
............. silent musings increase trepidation
why cant theworld sometimes end
and cut usallabreak or three
im just not into moaning but sometimes
it needs to be done
or we are done you are done i is done
yeah i am done
i think i think i am
but am i inverted upon swords of
misery
subverted by sounds of emptiness
submerged in fear and doubt
commotion is all about chaos................
.
Boulder shoulders, bursting biceps,
terrifying to see.
A menacing mountain of a man,
well, he used to be.
He would brutally barrel through each
frightened, fleeing foe.
Many feared him so, although that
was long, long ago.
Now, from beneath the bony, bushy
brows of his frayed face,
He casts a ghostly gaze at his veins,
I.V. needles in place.
His shrunken, skeletal frame sinks
stolid in the stretcher.
His skin, the tinge and touch of the
back of a peeled wallpaper.
Here he must wait and wilt away
the weeks till the end arrives.
Behind this nursing home's closed doors
hide closing and closed lives!
The day began in ordinary ways.
I said goodnight to the dawn-gagged morning,
tipped my hat to the lone cricket
who'd hung around to sing me to sleep;
and dragged my Gemini muse, kicking
and screaming, into bed for some
subliminal conversation.
My pen wants to write a song
and she's stomping around my head
in combat boots.
Azul
Mi corazon
Aches within a torch lit
No match better against the ropes
Longing familiar acrobat events
A dream team fantasy—I am
Luchadora of love
Sueño de ti
Azul
NEVER WRESTLE WITH A PIG
YOU BOTH GET DIRTY
AND THE PIG ENJOYS IT.*
*George Bernard Shaw
John G. Lawless
12/11/2021
Seems my age is finally starting to show
More shaky recently since wrestling that buffalo
Wifey reminded me
You're nearing eighty-three
As bones stuck out somewhere below
Years ago when I was a lad
I'll share with you a memory I've had
Every year at the end of July
The Iselin fair would always roll by
There were rides and raffles
And great foods to eat
Spare ribs on the grill
And Pizza that couldn't be beat
Bands playing music
And musical shows
Singing songs of the summer
In which everyone knows
Towards the end of the evenings
Each night at the fair
We would all gather round
Or pull up a chair
To watch a brave challenger
Or a drunkard, Oh Dear!
Trying to take down Victor
The wrestling black bear
His mouth was muzzled
And his claws were all cut
He weighed nearly five hundred pounds
From his nose to his butt
He's never been beat
Only once on his back
Taken down from behind
By a person named Jack
Close to fifteen years
He was kept in a cage
Except when he wrestled
And let loose on a stage
And now I think back
I'm feeling a bit sad
For Victor the bear
And this memory I've had
[please note: this poem is dedicated to those who take neither the Divine nor its absence for granted.]
For almost half a century
I have wrestled with God.
Our unseen match is daily,
in my bed before I sleep,
at the table after a meal,
sometimes while driving
along a lonely, desolate road
and always while watching
the evening news with its
graphic proof of humanity's
stupidity and wickedness,
over and over and over....
I try to pin Him,
to keep Him in one place,
to hold Him just long enough
to see, to know, to understand.
Sometimes I think
I almost have Him but no...
He always, always slips away....
Of course it is not a fair match--
my little brain that can hold
but one lonely thought at a time,
my hands, once powerful,
now arthritic, with crooked fingers
still trying to grasp at Divinity...
but even when young and strong
I could not hold Him--still,
we wrestle, God and me,
and sometimes I suspect He wants
me to win, but mostly no:
I know I'll never pin Him down--
not in this life, not in this world,
yet still He lets me try....
I think He likes it when I try.
I made a journey through the crowded corridor,
And saw the lions and other wild beast wrestling
The place was thickly, slicking with human most important tissues
The crowded corridor was roaring and scary
Wrestling, oh! Wrestling among the big and mighty beasts
I made a journey through another crowded corridor, I discovered the colony of fish and shark things were different
Then I inquire of self, why should my colony be dark and scary
I know wrestling among folks is important, but it shouldn’t be this devouring
There is wrestling, oh! Wrestling in the crowded filed
Dedicated to my country