Best Wretchedly Poems
You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling
You left me like Alice, lost in Wonderland,
running in circles with my heart in my hand.
I thought our love was so beautiful and strong.
Tell me, please tell me, where did I go wrong?
Have I lost my luster, and I’m no longer thrilling;
or have you simply lost that loving feeling?
Wretchedly, I’ve watched you slowly slipping away;
with no pride left, I’m down on my knees to pray.
I’m begging, baby, sweet baby, please come back;
even though you left my heart mummified in black.
Ignoring my pleas, you walked out the door,
slashing my heart to pieces, hurting me to the core.
Yet, I can’t fathom why it’s you I still adore.
It’s killing me ‘cause my heart can’t stand the pain…
the kind that pierces like silver bullets of rain.
But only God knows why I still want you so badly;
my love, give me another chance and I’ll do anything gladly.
Yeah, you may have found someone new,
but every beat of my heart beats only for you…
so please, please just love me like you used to do.
06-12-2018
Contest: Grens Evergreens #4 Cilla Black
Sponsor: Teppo Gren
Song: You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling
Placement: 1st
Categories:
wretchedly, i love you, i
Form:
Rhyme
A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown throne to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of imposter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!
This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.
Categories:
wretchedly, i love you,
Form:
Epic
Dismal tale of men and women in the dirty rail compartment
No conception of the charm being knitted by the movement
Of the necklace of gentle light in the pants shirts and blouses
All is too occupied in their struggle to notice the kind crescent
As they are returning home from their respective workplaces
Piteous story of apathy and woe all of them are absorbed in
An old lady chewing parched rice taking it from a rusted tin
In a dark corner is seated a youth with shirt all bloodstained
Suffering from tuberculosis and looking very fragile and thin
A worthless life of empty existence still wretchedly retained
Though no threshold he will come across leading him to a
Plate of rice and curry as at least one square meal a day
A hawker of playthings approaches them in a smiling face
A second vendor selling some human figures made of clay
A gloomy motion picture of life running in an unfair race
10/07/2017
Rhyme Time with 5 Poetry Contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Using the five words viz Piteous Bloodstained Threshold
Conception and Dismal
Categories:
wretchedly, discrimination, loneliness, sorrow, stress,
Form:
Rhyme
POTD
How I wish I could have clutched
vignettes of remembrance
on this bench in a park;
the same wooden one
which cradled our afternoons,
feeding little birds
as slices of pang gripped my marrow--
The sharp sting of her farewell,
right on this spot
drowned time's kohl of fate---
that now, I hold the seat's arms limply,
if only to recall
how we kissed in the dark
exploring east, west of mouths--
my fingers messing her hair
nipping quick hours of rendezvous.
I forget not the windswept look
of her distant eyes... hours I have
delayed with my misgivings,
my absence wretchedly crossed ---
and upon my woman's leaving
I on this park every sordid night
kiss her only in my thoughts ---forgive.
Categories:
wretchedly, kiss, lost love,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The winter wind cuts through my bones
I pull my coat tighter 'round me
Snow pelts hard against me like stones
I'm lost in the snow around me
The winter wind howls wretchedly
Oh, how do I endure this storm?
Oh, I need someone to save me!
I'm lost in the snow of this storm
The winter wind pierces my heart
I scream in pain and clutched my chest
Snow hit hard against me like darts
I'm lost in the snow of unrest
Am I all alone in this storm?
Is there no one to rescue me?
But hope is starting to take form
I'm lost in the snow of mercy
Why should I fear the howling wind?
My Saviour tells them to be still
I know I'm wretched; I have sinned!
But my heart, with mercy, He fills
My Saviour's blood washes my sin
Until they are as white as snow
Through Christ, I'm glorious from within
His mercy like a river flows
The winter wind still cuts me deep
But Christ is my Shelter and Shield
Though darkness, around my head, creeps
In His hands, my faint heart, I yield
Categories:
wretchedly, angst, christian, god, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
My old bones swayed to the old tune
bringing back memories long forgotten.
My spirit rejoiced in exultation
of a ne'er forgotten loving excitation.
For you’re my Dancing Queen.....
There you stood like a wallflower,
indifferent, lukewarm, nonchalant;
seemingly thinking about other things.
You drove me mad, my dancing queen,
you taunted me perilously, wretchedly.
How could I ever bear the teasing looks
you guardedly gave me, my lovely nymph?
I was dancing with some insipid teen,
definitely not having the time of my life;
my loving eyes piercing your sensuous curves
like Eros arrows hitting at random and at will.
Yet you looked on as if I was not there.
The music grew to a raw crescendo....
For you were my dancing queen
and suddenly I was madly in love with you.
I twirled, spun and tripped over you.
The music stopped, dancers gazed at me
with a heartfelt pang as I lay sprawled at your feet.
A racking malaise stabbed my whole being
until I felt your strong hands help me up
steadying me, and leading me to a chair.
And you were only nineteen!!!
The music began again, the old familiar strains
How nimble you could dance,
Oh how I yearn for that sweet moment
For you were my dancing queen......
You danced away while I stayed put
as my foot swelled with excruciating pain.
The euphoric dance came to a halt.
The lights went low.
You helped me to your waiting car.
I leant back, tired and abject
Until I felt your lips on mine;
the heavenly music began again...
yes, yes you’re my dancing queen,
you will always be my dancing queen.
Categories:
wretchedly, dance, love,
Form:
Free verse
My pumpkin shaded fur-boy.
Such a magical, silken toy.
Sneezing so very wretchedly.
Oh, do remain with me in these
cold, rainy years!
In this lovely cottage together,
please, don't be afraid!
I will hold you close and comfort
your feline fears.
The curtains new, alive and fresh
with love.
The smell of jasmine seeps through
them with God's love.
The azure rug, soft as a peach.
I found heaven on earth with you.
Please, always, be in my soul's reach!
*In memory of Kelley, who went
to Rainbow Bridge.*
August 6, 2019
10:45am PST
Categories:
wretchedly, cat, loss, love,
Form:
Free verse
Out in a rainfall;
Hopeful but woeful waters,
Pitifully falls...
Lightning wretchedly dances,
Thunders echoed and resound...
Categories:
wretchedly, imagery, nature, rain, sound,
Form:
Tanka
A Change Is A Com'n
Though this baby boomer,
(who didst roam man
upon this Earth
since the year
mcmLix) does not
coon sitter himself
a political activist his wear
re: some ness, particularly
with chronic setbacks
inaugurated by President
Donald Trump, an in volunteer
re: response, (asper just
the faintest hint
of a smile) veer
really played itself across
my countenance un bear
ably impossible to depress, repress,
and/or suppress, upon
gleaning America Online
cover headline indicating
Representative Beto O’Rourke,
a (Texas Democrat) care
fully, sir up tush hiss lee,
reportedly, and quietly
considering a 2020 grab
for White House
commander in Chief chair
met with Barack Obama dare
ring political polls
to hedge intimation,
though true motives unclear
that said progressive
former named person
(from Lone Star State)
might be seriously sincere
conjoining what promises
to be a dynamically
hearty, lucky, and plucky
solution to uptear,
the present woebegone crisis
of dreadlock, gridlock, and
padlock stasis, the political
ship of state (Leviathan
countenanced by Thomas Hobbes
circa 1651) pitching
United States government
upon reprehensible threshold
inching the Doomsday Clock
closer than ever to thermonuclear
global mortal kombat triggering
unset of unstoppable subnuclear
barrage in record time (mere
minutes transforming the
world wide web into
many a schmear
compromising most all life
into a bajillion bits
of pulverized powder,
guaranteeing the demise,
sans *****sapiens,
and thus no
Santa Claus to steer
the motley crue
of feisty reindeer,
this above mentioned dissolution,
would sadly, unfortunately,
wretchedly remove *****
as well the straight
sexually oriented persons matter,
would become reconstituted
into surprise show stopping premiere
of some alternate lifeform,
no doubt signalled
with at least one outlier
or maybe even a noncareer mutineer!
Categories:
wretchedly, anxiety, class, environment, grief,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I have been a sieve bucket
Of shiny plastic parts,
Containing reasonable sands of logic, time and place-
Drastically mixed with the fluidity of natural human race,
And oddly and inconveniently, a subspace
For an awkwardly large heart.
Why has its energy, connective and warm,
Imploded my zone of comfort?
Its vibrations teemed my walls, exploited my woes
Which till now have composed me quite conveniently
In perfect shell form?
I have molded realities into peaks and castles,
Beautiful for a brief moment as life’s own art,
Yet crumbling too soon into shackles-
The sand’s plans (though well intentioned)
Never seem to properly span across
This aforementioned large heart?
I have ignored its pulsing cries of recognition,
Smashed its value to the depths of nothingness
To breach partitions of Universal fate’s recipe
For flow and season in forced perfection;
Yet muddied and worn, wretched and torn,
It still giggles and glows-
Defying all logical reason.
In anguish I have begged, dear heart, for disintegration!
Why do you lay idle in seeming nonchalance?
Why have you not flooded these holes of my soul
And flowed out to which creation compels me?
Will Love and light ever overflow my muddy plastic half?
I smugly wait and listen in demand of a response!
A few beats, a laugh.
You shine upon me for a quiet moment, wretchedly glistening.
Have I dared to set aside my fear and gain the courage to finally listen?
The message you have needed to convey
Resonates to me quietly,
In recognition of my soul’s ambition:
“Why don’t you merely give me away?”
A simple response, I answer in action (in giving to you, my true):
For I begin building my fate only from today;
Creating with purpose and satisfaction,
Eternally anew.
Categories:
wretchedly, devotion, faith, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
We never think our lives,
are in vain.
We always believe we have purpose –
even amidst the pain.
Wish you knew.
It’s hard to watch a loved one stumble,
and drift away.
Yet, it’s more difficult to watch the misery –
while you try and make them stay.
Wish you cared.
I imagine the good years, was it reality
or some sick dream?
I consider the happy times,
were they what they seemed?
Wish you had stayed.
We weren’t enough to mask the misery –
or hide your resentful eyes .
In the end we weren’t your happiness –
weren’t important, life-long ties.
Wish you were happy.
We’re a vacant shell of memories,
darkened with a cold, distant emptiness.
We’re wretchedly dying inside daily –
our broken hearts you will forever possess.
Wish you were here.
Categories:
wretchedly, daughter, family, life, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Woodland wildlife were weather wary, withdrawn.
Wily wolves watched winter's warning... woebegone.
Wildflowers withered while worrisome willows would
whisper, "Winter witchery weaves within Wildwood."
Watching with wonder, were winged whippoorwills.
Windstorms were whirling, wrecking wooden windmills.
Wrathfully whipping while wretchedly whistling, which
wakened wry Wanda... Wildwood's wickedest witch!
July 1, 2022
Begin with a letter contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
Categories:
wretchedly, animal, storm,
Form:
Rhyme
“THEM”
the dirty piss shame on their
name. the clean, untouched
versions of the female become
less and less.
we’re wired to search for the
good and we hope to find one.
we hope one finds us.
we look to the stars as if a
map to these good women
exists. as if it’ll fall
from the sky.
as the whores find cock
inside this world, the purest
of women stay broken hearted
and wretchedly buoyant.
pure women are rare, they are
the reason the word woman
itself exists. there is
no confusion.
when you know a whore, you
know a whore. when you know a
woman, you know a woman. this
itself, will never change.
finding a pure woman is the
difference. loving a whore
only keeps their dour
existence current.
to the men: love a woman and
not a whore. love a whore and
you love the dross she’s
brought to you.
distinguish.
to those pure women out there
waiting to be loved, we know
you’re there. we wait until
the day we find you, ready to
love you the way a woman
should be loved.
By: Chicano Eddie
8-10-2016
Categories:
wretchedly, evil, heartbroken, horror, sad
Form:
Free verse
OTHER THAN THAT MRS. LINCOLN,HOW WAS THE SHOW?
Gettysburg has long since grown cold by too many graves
Because a tall man yearned to free the slaves
Those who white thought darkness a curse
As John Wilkes Booth stood ready to rehearse
How dare this man with a top hat and hopes so high
dare dream that freedom was more than simply a lie?
This man who was more than a myth and more than a man
While freedom was something he would not allow the betrayal of freedom to ban
The widowhood of war was something he could stand no more
As he wished opened a well-locked door
His enemies desired his death
While his compatriots wished him unending breath
For this was a man who added up the parts
And the sum was all the hopeful hearts
Those who as refugees proffer a prayer
While freedom’s tunnel was the hopeful’s lair
I can still hear his bell loudly ring
And still suffer Mr. Booth’s sting
The tall man was a dove offering flight to the grounded
And the heartlessness which wretchedly abounded
Democracy was his credo known and spoken in a most sympathetic way
From the staggering bodies that bled and died for the U.S.A.
He saw all men as equal in body, spirit and mind
Ah, but there are none so blind
He did not determine who would starve and those who would eat
All he wanted was a country united by the discreet
So his ship sailed on until it was sunken in a bloody river of red
And Gettysburg became a fundamentally sorrowful bed
A place where sleep the souls who heard Mr. Lincoln’s voice
And believed that every man should be offered an equal choice
A well placed bullet put an end to a presidential dream’s relief
Past a reef of grief
This tall bearded man’s legacy is Mr. Obama who defeated the odds
And prayed to a multitude of Gods
Abe’s was an undeniably accurate truth
One that died because of a bastard named Booth
And my top hats off to Mr. Lincoln and his kind
Yet as I said previously, there are none so blind
© 2012….copyright...PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~
Categories:
wretchedly, angst, betrayal, freedom,
Form:
Monorhyme
Great and weak men have existed
Sometimes their memories are bleak
Other times their memories live on
After the passing away of mortals
We only have memories left
Memories of their deeds
And the life they lived
Houses even cry when great men die
Inanimate objects often wear the toga of sadness when great men pass
There houses and places of abode weep too
The place of great men in the afterlife is great
Taking a glance at the wicked
They live wretchedly
And pass away like animals
People rejoice when they have gone
No one misses them
The places where they once lived as homes
Become desolate
Sometimes it becomes the abode of demented people
Their descendants wear long drawn faces
For they immediately start reaping
What their fathers sowed
It is sad
Very sad
Indeed sad
Weeping and wailing is so loud and great in their homes when they pass
For we know there is no peace for the wicked
Saith the Lord
Categories:
wretchedly, life, mystery, men, men,
Form:
Ballad