Best Wring Poems
Liquid Heaven
A feast for my womanly inner beast!
I tease, I please, you have me on my knees
I wring my hands, you oint my head
With your fingers locked in my hair of red
You -I call Master!
Begging for forgiveness, in a position of love
My words are bashing with one stuttering sound
Moaning & Moaning,
As you make my head spin like a merry-go-round
Craving for you to unleash a liquid heaven sound
My body speaks and mumbles a language meant for you
A touch of intimacy, that lathers up like liquid glue
Sticky but, yet so compelling
My tongue slips silent beloved words of joy into the air
You play the master of this dark solid room
This dungeon's all I consume
You engage me, to provoke you with everything I got
Yelling, please master don't ever stop!
At this moment, I yearn for excitement
To feel the arousing sensation of your presence
That melts me and chill me with a flow that does not kill
I'm your thinker
Your muse and poet
You are my composer creating liquid tunes
Come here and expresses the hardness of your boldness
I confess to you my love
You are all I'm dreaming of
You drive your hands all over
Reaching every steamy spot
Encourage me to stimulate your mental needs
You are the master withholding a liquid element
In me, you release fluids that hit like a silent tide
A desire that comes with a full force of the fire inside
I crave for the taste of your lips
Your hands on my hips
Your fingers with a tight sensual grip
I dedicate my heart and my lust
To get lost within every push of your trust
Like a treasure deep underneath the sand
I'm addicted to the feelings of your command
Your hazel eyes are the sunrise
You bring out the obsession,
And my sweet tooth temptation
Like the moon above a misty night
Seducing me in every way in a poetic write
YOU, MY LOVE!!!
Your liquid heaven is the beginning-
-Of my delicious delight!
by: PD
**A sweet Dedication To My Babe**
Categories:
wring, body, happiness, heaven, lust,
Form:
Free verse
Had I known love, flowers would have bloomed in Spring
I would have danced when hearing whippoorwills sing
But in my heart no seeds of love were sown
No one brought bouquets or called me his own
I wear no wedding ring
I could not soar above clouds on love's wing
There were no strong arms to which I could cling
Into my breast, Cupid's arrow would have flown
Trails of my tears would not have been windblown
My lonely heart would not be aching and ailing
Had I known love
I was never a Queen, seated beside her King
No seductive words pulled at my heart string
It beats like all others; not made of stone
My laments would not be heard in pitiable drone
My eyes not glisten and my hands not wring
Had I known love
5/22/17
Categories:
wring, love,
Form:
Rhyme
I sigh …
pushing warm, wordless weight
onto the twilight mist
where its folly hangs like old sackcloth
the silver-doubloon moon dripping
it’s wan wonder to daub
breath and bones alike with
rusted romance -
a languid lie that loves to tease -
that lives to clutch my
heart in its chill digits and wring
each memory from my gut
cackling all the while
at the dreamy stain left behind -
the trail of crumbs and lost loves that
fools as I devour in the
ignorance of age …
the barren bones that lesser creatures
pass by in apathy
and greater creatures choke on …
I am boundless in my longing
this breeze of brine boils my marrow
beads of moonlight spatter
wave-tops as if alive -
as if each silver burst was a
note of child laughter
skipping away to find a tympan, sweet
or a moony firefly of singular purpose
now there - now gone …
each, lives the life of an instant
yet is a glorious bloom
of magic and timeless grace
that reaches its
tendrils deep into my essence …
that, with this salty air and
cool sand and rhythmic washing
of the shore
speaks to me in a
voice as clear as the gods themselves
a voice that calls to the
most visceral reaches of my spirit
a tender voice of hope and life
and dreams and AWE …
a voice of dazzling wonderment
and tragic sorrow
a voice that trembles my bones
and stirs my heart with a
yearning and thirst, unquenchable
a voice … of deceit …
It sings to me yet -
beyond all sense and caring and
prudence and time proven
that you were the ONE …
it’s a voice that I
wish beyond all imaginings
I would never hear again
but that nonetheless continues on
and finds me inexorably
bound to this place
to that devil moon
to this limitless sea
and …
to YOU.
Categories:
wring, lost love, moon, ocean,
Form:
Free verse
Today I will be happy,
Happy all day long.
I won't think about my problems.
I'll fill this day with song.
I won't worry about world affairs,
Or ask the reason why,
Some folks do the things they do,
And wring my hands and sigh.
I won't worry over hurtful things,
That people sometimes say.
I'll ask The Lord to bless them,
When I bow my head to pray.
Petty things that just annoy,
Of these things I won't speak.
I'll be happy as a little bird,
With a french fry in my beak.
Categories:
wring, courage, encouraging, endurance, happiness,
Form:
Quatrain
I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer,
yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear.
Me mind's wanderin twixt big **** and riches,
bein able to scratch at what itches,
without scratchin the bum out your britches.
If they think you got what,
they'd rather they'd got,
mate, hang onto your hat,
they'll bloody take that.
That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights,
nights full of delights in them slow movin tights.
She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore.
Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor.
Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor.
And you can't pay what's due
so your creditors sue?
Funny old world, not half.
But good for a laugh.
I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears,
all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here,
through the stem of me glass on the wall.
Pray to God he don't hit her at all.
I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl.
But I stand in the queue,
for a place in the zoo.
Heard you shouldn't have pride.
They wouldn't have lied.
A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs.
I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs.
So I fill the bathroom with me smoke.
All those girls shaggin some other bloke.
I just lie here and soak and suck in me toke.
What's it like not to do
what your needs need you to,
to beg borrow or steal,
to make stuff come real?
I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl.
That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul,
as I wring out the bladder of red.
All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said,
have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled.
There aint nothin so nice
as those whitest of whites
on rich girls
with sweet arses
in slow movin tights.
Categories:
wring, me, red, women,
Form:
Ballad
Buildin’ Birds…
Your hands dart and weave
In, out, up.. then hover
Swoop right… then left
As simply as sight
Of a birds dreamy flight
Floating to perch proud on rocky cleft
Subtle magic’s paint
Concept, thought to Action
Life wrought from death
As eloquently as the Master
Reaches out from the hereafter
And grants the unborn gift of breath
Chaos now cornered
Seeks out surge, hands direct
And collar by will
And just as Angels acting
So precise, measured, and exacting
Leave scarce a ripple on waters still
Trumpet Grande Crescendo
Labors love ushered in
A diamond from primal smolder
A new winged gift to grace us
Snatched still in pristine stasis
To soar in the eye of the beholder
(Narrative)
I wrote this poem after peeping through the doorway of my wife Nancy’s workspace as she
crafted her beautiful bird sculptures. I was utterly amazed at the delicate movements she so
gracefully employed to wring creations that seemed to capture a split second of nature so
completely as to cause the beholder the illusion that she had somehow stopped time.
Literally, a hummingbird caught between the beats of its wing for one to marvel at. Of all
Nancy’s creative endeavors I still rank her “Buildin’ Birds” as her paramount artistic
endeavor.
Categories:
wring, animals, art, devotion, family,
Form:
Narrative
Beneath the gaze
of watchful eyes
she sits and cries.
The fairies pry
and wring their hands.
The wind goes by
with anguished sigh
he strokes her face.
-------------------------------
This form is a "pathya vat".
-------------------------------
Categories:
wring, sad, wind,
Form:
Verse
I think I'll open a tragedy club
where people can come to weep
I'll tell the saddest stories around
admission will be cheap
I'll call the venue Tragic Relief
where heartache is the norm
and "open mike night" amateurs
can mournfully perform
To be a standup tragedian
has been a lifelong dream
No longer caring to cry alone
I might even form a team
We'll bill ourselves as "Wailing & Tears"
and tour throughout the land
We'll have them bawling in the aisles
til they can hardly stand
They'll cry a mighty river
at our films from year to year
We'll throw in fresh cut onions
just to wring out every tear
Appearing at my club some time
to do a special show
the hottest new tragedians
will tell their tales of woe
No matter if your background is
from denim or fine silk
we'll gather round and cry all over
puddles of spilled milk
So take a break and come on down
and turn your joy to grief
Just keep your eyes peeled for the sign
that says Tragic Relief
Categories:
wring, dark, humor, irony, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
People say my anxiety is cute.
The way I wring my hands, stutter over my words, jump at loud noises, and blush easily.
The way I wring my hands, because if they weren't holding each other they'd be shaking, or even sub-consciously digging into my skin on a bad day.
The way I stutter over my words, and stutter myself into a panic attack because I have no idea what the person on the opposite end thinks of me.
The way I jump at loud noises, instantaneously filling with anxiety and the unshakable need to hide, survive.
The way I blush easily, the redness of my cheeks signifying the onslaught of tears that wish to come, but never are allowed.
How anxiety has overcome me to the point that even my own shame at my weakness can not coerce me into coming out.
The way I'm so afraid of living.
...Adorable.
Categories:
wring, anxiety, emotions, hurt, lost,
Form:
Parallelismus Membrorum
Take my Heart
Wring it until it bleeds
Send it to the "How To Live With People School"
And bring it back to me
Here is my Ego
I'll give it to you for repair
Stroke it and make it well
I'll take it back when you are done
I'm giving to you my Misplaced Smile
Teach it how to spread good cheer and laugh again
To be a jolly good fellow
Back on my face it goes with glee
Here, right here is my Rogue Persona
Clean it up, comb its hair
Work miracles with the scoundrel in me
Replace it and I thank you
Please try to do something with Cynical Self
Give it a good talking to
Make it understand the good in man
Of course I'll reclaim it when you're done
I gladly give to you my Paranoia
If only until you can talk some sense into it
He may be incorrigible
After you've done your best return him to me
I know I ask of you a lot
Just try to give it your best shot
The parts you take from me are mine,
Please separate pearls from the swine
Categories:
wring, identity, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Let me wade
deep into the water
with all my clothes still on.
Let my body
ripple in the space I occupy.
Let me swim
in the murky water
and dip my skin
in the unrefined.
They seem much too eager
to have me sit very still
for long
long periods of time
as they talk.
I am the grass that grows
between the weathered
cracked cement.
You are delirium
that takes over
when my spirit is spent.
I am the dagwood painted trees
I blossom in the night.
I own the obstacles
that stand between
me and life.
Let me float.
Let me walk
barefoot through the vineyards
where the soil can cling
to the soles of my feet.
Let the weight
of my body
impress upon the ground
some sign of life.
Let me steep
in the adrenaline
the sun seems to wring from my skin.
They seem much too eager
to have me sit very still
for long
long periods of time
as they talk.
I am the grass that grows
between the weathered
cracked cement.
You are delirium
that takes over
when my spirit is spent
I am the dagwood painted trees
I blossom in the night
I own the obstacles
that stand between
me and life.
Let me float.
Categories:
wring, introspection, me, body, me,
Form:
Free verse
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Shall glass behold your countenance, my prince?
Appears your smile whilst shining shoes on feet.
My honesty and faithfulness convince - - - - - -
Your heart to trust…our hearts concede to beat.
One day does not a week make, dear. Let’s tell!
A Friday makes a lifetime wife! Oh yes!
This lonely man, like diamonds in the well,
becomes a shooting star to shine, to bless.
Get well within a hospital ~ not bliss.
Each argument, we bleed, we cry and die.
After so many years – we bond, we kiss.
No closer pair on line - our eyes drip-dry.
My Prince and his gal Friday calm, at rest.
We wring out tears, renew our vows ~ we’re blest.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Categories:
wring, angst, love, marriage,
Form:
Sonnet
The following was based on an iconic picture of Mandy Rice-Davies by David Steen. Rice was infamous for being part of the 1963 Profumo political scandal.
The sun sets and so do inhibitions.
Rising even as darkness falls,
Vices murmur in cajoling tone;
Whispering of delights to behold;
Slinking and sliding like satin
Off a debutante's back,
Seemingly innocent,
As she gazes with baby blue wonder
Amidst fine white linen.
Wholly carnal expectations of the night
Play across lips that won't melt butter,
but can steam a man's thoughts,
and wring him dry with a breath.
Softest pink, slightly curved
They draw laser sharp focus
Of fantasies not fully formed.
The pose of an ingenue
Awaiting the brush strokes of Goya
to capture her pearlescence,
Or, perhaps, the lenses of Nemoy and Steen
(Or is it the lips of a lover?)
For a touch of immortality--
An angel from heaven
With a touch of the devil.
She is Temptation
Teasing with her bountiful fruits;
Coveting your visions.
She's every male fancy;
My passion's dark reality--
Captured.
There's a reason the fall of
Darkness is called Eve
-
Here is a link to the picture:
http://fp.famousfix.com/p32233192/mandy-rice-davies/p275266
Categories:
wring, celebrity, dark, desire, passion,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
There is nothing left of life
that death cannot resolve,
times velocity spins on stolen lips
and minute pieces of adamantine
pierce the edge of soles
worn with pain
----
Right here,
Where night and dawn merge
the membrane strains
cleaving, as shade blackens blue
for mere milli seconds
Standing in the hollows of night
still, watching forever shimmering
in the shadowed corner of my eye,
I, me, always a curious creature
swallow bricks and mortar
tasting truth
In my head an orchestra plays
the symphonies composed of my life
strings wring my heart with melodies
wrought in pain and self-loathing
shame and eventual surrender
to the beat
But,
in the beauty of renewal
in the peace of your reflections
I've wondered at the universe
memorizing the mysteries unsolved
ever tantalized neurons smashed
awakening ever and over again
Sleep has been a foreign land
settled by the fortunate
longed for by the tortured
spirits of my mind
Yet in these dark magnificent galaxies
when snores softly sigh in peace
or monsters haunt your dreams,
I have watched millennia of mourning
shatter the promise of darkness evermore,
I wondered as sunshine held a drop of dew
and as light of hope captured the ghosts of night
banishing them forevermore, or until nights edge
I am a watcher and a teller of tales
Singer of forbidden songs and tragedy,
downtrodden, I rose to fight again and again
with a schizophrenic mind harnessed
within the beauty of a single star
and the promise of humanity
in the kindness of a strangers touch
Now at the end of all journeys
my final battle lays in that
which I know not, shackled
that foreign land whisks me away
again and again, dreams cease
as moisture rolls from my brow
---
Slowly, slowly, slowly
winding down into nothingness
Gently, gently, gently
I will lay down your cries of grief
My words aren’t never-ending
my breath will someday cease
Yet true beauty and wonder lies
in the wondrous infinity of peace
just look into these eyes overflowing with pain
know !! there will be an end, even that shall ease ...
Categories:
wring, death, grief, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
Sit and watch the thin, blank dawn
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wrestle with memories that don't want to be suppressed,
and repress the urge to canon-ball into the ocean.
(sinking: sinking slowly, because you never learned how to swim.)
Listen to rainbows churning in oil-spill puddles,
and wait for the beautiful oblivion to take its toll.
Somewhere inside you know things will never be the same again,
but that's okay with you, sickening as it seems.
(you want to float away into seaweed forests and play fetch with the big, bad wolf.)
Dream of living a full, happy life
while you tear your world apart.
Sell your body to those dark, dank demons in your cerebrum,
whimpering and wondering deep into the night.
(praying for a chance to show your worth while you still exist.)
Sink low beneath the foaming sea,
wring out your hands and paint your thighs with scarlet letters.
Let the wolves lap the salmonella from your fingertips
and wrap yourself in red - lay face down in the snow, don't breathe too deeply:
(someone dances in snowflakes nearby.)
Watch the thin, blank dusk
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wish for brazen arms and a warm crook of the neck to rest in.
Hug yourself beneath the covers and silently cry; you know now...
(no one wants to comfort a girl who craves suffering.)
You will never be what anyone wants.
Categories:
wring, allegory, depression, hope, imagination,
Form:
Free verse