Best Wringing Poems
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Categories:
wringing, anger, grief, heartbreak, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Opened like a morning leaf
exposed beneath the moon,
Resting in the tentacles
of a clouded ink coccoon.
Wringing hands now rest at peace-
the solitude of night,
a lantern in the wilderness
the miracle of flight.
Dancing on the tabletops
or falling from a swing,
is noticing the networking
of every living thing.
Observation is the art
that shows a single frame,
experience will turn to stone
the given and the gained.
Categories:
wringing, inspirational, introspection, peace, sympathy,
Form:
Blank verse
The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light
From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps
He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition,
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound
Beauty of the wind....beauty of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace
For Constance's Contest: The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards
Categories:
wringing, fantasy, imagination, natureme, morning,
Form:
Narrative
A cacophony of cats in my life.
Not one or two, but fifteen!
Each,who along with joy,
brought sadness and strife!
All shapes and sizes with grand
and most loving personalities.
The Maine Koone was the smallest
of all.
Maxine was pedigreed and came
home as a present for my daughter
as a surprise, one fall.
My oldest cat,Luvey,lived to be
a sprightly twenty years old!
A tortoiseshell petite cat,fun and
a loving, furry,cloud to hold.
Kelly came next, a handsome red tabby.
A happy, mellow fellow who pranced
with such grace!
He really was happy and snazzy.
Lucey came later, a Ragdoll prize of a cat,
about to be put down!
I fought and won to stop her date with an
imminent death showdown!
I have 15 wooden boxes that have their
cremains..
Each box carved, beloved,and my
housecoat with lost cat tear stains.
I fed them fluids by IV,medications food,
on a special stand.
And countless nights in emergency vet
rooms, wringing my hopeless hands.
My last cat, Luvey lost her ability to see
and walk.
I placed her in a wheelchair and moved
her about.
For I am not one when faced with a challenge,
to balk!
I can't list all their names of how
fun and charming they were.
Just know, that I think of myself as a cat..
Minus the fur!
.........................................
* I do know how to spell the correct name of the
word after breed. It comes out as Maine ****.
Sorry I was unable to use the correct spelling.
She was a regal cat, deserving of her correct
breed name and feline heritage.
October 7,2019
9:30am PST
Animal: cat
A Rhyme About Your Favorite Pet
Regina Riddle
Categories:
wringing, cat, love, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
I've been watching you for hours now,
wringing your hands
pacing the floor
watching the monitors
holding his hand
never leaving his side
Your spirit is strong,
he feels you by his side
knows you are there,
hears your whispered prayers
yet you are oh, so tired,
I see it in your weary face,
your bloodshot eyes
I'm here for you,
when you are ready-
pull me close to his bed,
lean back and take his hand,
close your eyes for a few minutes.
I'll stand watch with you,
I'm here for you, and
I'm not aganist catching a tear or two
I see you looking at me-longing for relief
He won't think you weak if you
sit down for a while--so,
Go ahead--
Pull me close to the bed,
take his hand,
lean back,
close your eyes,
rest.
I am here for you.
Categories:
wringing, caregiving, devotion, husband, sympathyme,
Form:
Free verse
SYRIAN REFUGEES
I'm watching a programme on telly
About the Syrian refugees
Men and women and children
Humanity brought to its knees
I'm watching the desperate faces
The terror and hunger and fear
They're facing their ultimate nightmare
And me? Well I'm just sitting here
And saying 'Isn't it awful'
'Something needs to be done'
Whilst searching the TV listings
And planning my evening of fun
Then I happen upon the BBC news
Cameron wringing his hands on my screen
Saying Syria is a priority
Then slips into a black limousine
Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel
Echo the prime minister's views
And tell us how hard they are working
Another soundbite for the news
Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner
Which will go on well into the night
While in the camps the tears will continue
No dinner for those folks tonight
At the meeting, an idea from Turkey
Amongst the platitudes and the kind words
The plan that they're putting forward
Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds
I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair
Offering the world a solution
I really can't listen to that grinning clown
Spouting his verbal pollution
He's jabbering on about Islam
Trying to give us the wisdom we lack
And hoping the world has forgotten
What Bush and him did in Iraq
Perhaps he's just a bit jealous
That he's not allowed to the feast
After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons!
A doggy bag surely at least.
While another mother loses her children
More slaughter and mayhem we see
And imagine the arms manufacturers
And dealers, jumping with glee
As they make another few billions
And probably a few billions more
Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars
In their financial laundry offshore
And the politicians turn a blind eye
And I'm sure that they won't be divulging
How some of them came by their fat bank accounts
And why their back pockets are bulging
But then.......success I hear on the news
The EU says all is not black
They've solved the refugee crisis.
When they get here.........we're sending them back.
Job done, EU movers and shakers
So sorry for doubting your cause
You've sorted the Syrian problem
Give yourselves a big round of applause
© Ron James 05/04/2016
Categories:
wringing, political, war,
Form:
Quatrain
Last night I awoke to the sign of Orion, and the big dipper pouring beauty into her
countenance.
Though the stars say she is a Capricorn, a meager goat, I see Orion’s majesty every time I
stare into here full lips and wide Sophia Lauren Smile.
Her sleek and slender body bodes of Spartan stubbornness.
A stubbornness that’s had me fuming on the wrong kind of sides, of the wrong kinds of days.
Most days, we spend our lives like firefighters, putting out 101 degree fevers, cars
breaking down, and trying to make ends meet on a student’s stipend,
And as days pass, we see separation as an impossibility for how could we possibly survive
without each other?
But last night, I was freed from the stress of overfilled garbage cans and overdue
research projects,
To see her high and lifted up in the unconditional light which she shines for so many,
So many children, to whom she’s been a second mother, screaming, “Ms. Lucas!!!, Ms.
Lucas!!!,” as we see them in the mall.
The countless times that she’s saved me form suicide with a hope unfettered and sincere,
You see last night, I got a quick glimpse into my life as heaven sees it, and I saw my
wife for the first time, lifted high into the deep night, shining for the world.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I truly see her everywhere,
Every where there is courage, I see her wringing the neck of the crack head that almost
kidnapped our oldest in Chicago,
Every time I see kindness, I see her soothing voice in my ear saying, “Keep going baby,
you’re almost out of the tunnel.”
Whenever I see pain, I see her face when she looked down at her dead father’s body, stoic
and resolved that his tragedy would not mar her memory of his greatness.
Every time I see strength, I see a woman who buried her brother in the same summer of her
honeymoon and still smiled wide with sincerity.
But last night, God removed the veil, and I saw her through heaven’s eyes,
Glorious and heroic,
And in that moment I realized that nothing can stop me, because I sleep next to Orion.
Machel, the hero of old.
Categories:
wringing, loveme, time, me, time,
Form:
Blank verse
March
Sweet, bitter March,
last year tears haven’t dried out up
till now and yet you
are already at the door,
knocking lightly!
Sadness is still flapping over my head like
a frantic goose, what have you brought with you
to silence its primordial honking?!
I can see your hunched silhouette against the wall
Of my waiting, standing awash with shame,
wringing your empty hands desperately!
O' March , anniversary of tears and smiles,
Memories are pacing around nostalgically, sniffing
the withered roses, leafing through the pages of books
trying to put the haphazard leftovers of a once
beautiful image into shape…
The hurricane that accompanied you once
has subdued, leaving behind a nerve-tearing silence and
a deracinated life!
Don’t wonder; rootless hopes are still roving
over the corpse of a long dead dream, taking
strength from the ever pulsating stars…
March, March , embracer of birth and death,
the breath of eternity has abandoned
your rosy-cheeked child..
The resonance of its happy giggles are
haunting the vacant hours of night, sending me
reeling of longing!
Its face emerges from among the clouds of years, an angelic
Vision imprinted on the face of a mourning moon!
Categories:
wringing, nostalgia, march,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The glamour of their squalor is found
in specular highlights of crisp brown eyes
peering through mud-matted hair, crying.
Weeks of eating an abundance of whatever,
which consisted of scarcely more than bugs
fished from non-potable cesspools.
A decade seems a long time, until singularly
it accounts for one’s whole life…and yet
we won’t home them, because they are a plague.
Self-righteousness cannot bear the reminder
that “refugees” might be people…children even;
running from nightmares that persist in daylight.
Ignorance is bliss, after all…
and who chooses to come down from a high?
We have full tables, full inns, and empty hearts.
Opportunistic politicians see a platform,
borne on the backs of the starving and desperate,
they manifest feigned outrage and farcical hand-wringing.
Droves follow droves out from the gloomy dread
greeted by cool apathy or worse; outright derision…
what more is to be expected of humanity?
The squalor of our glamour is found
in hopeless disconnection to what matters, or
to the reality that we could have been them.
11/18/15
Categories:
wringing, child, christian, dark, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
U nderstandably pleasing everyone is not possible. She wrings her hands
f or even under the best of circumstances, those who wish to take
o ffensive will, ranting and raving, howling at the moon, ****-kissing
A ny plastic image stuck to a dash-board, paying the piper.
r eally, is it any wonder hellicopter head lights are taken for
e rrant space ships, even Ezekiel saw a flying wheel
S uspended within a wheel, and we all know, the Bible is the word
o f God. Are you going to argue with that
R easoning? really? like well, just because Leary was on acid
e ven Hindi yogis saw levitating laghimas
a nyway, she says wringing her hands
l believe in them!
Categories:
wringing, mythology,
Form:
Acrostic
They stood and watched in horror
Their teacher was being burned alive.
Committed by what, they call themselves humans,
One hundred and thirty two children died.
What were they guilty of, what was their crime
They supported Malala and her Nobel peace prize
The Murdering Taliban's tried to kill her once
All because she wanted an education to improve girls lives
They lay there pretending to be dead
Holding their breadth when insurgents passed by,
Who killed with a smile on their face,
Only way to survive was hard not to cry.
Schools you would think were safe places
We can see now that this isn't so
Pupils at This Army Public School *
Take their lives in their hands whenever they go.
Wailing mothers are crying, wringing their hands in grief,
Why must children die how do these murderers sleep.
Penned on September 7th 2015.
* School in Peshawar Pakistan where the Afghan Taliban slaughtered children and teachers
Categories:
wringing, murder,
Form:
Verse
“You may say that I’m a dreamer”,
With bold presumption in my youth
Beyond school age, but hardly saged
Turned loose, we hoped to use our wits to change the world…
And thought we would…and thought we could…
We declared to fight, what seemed so right
Those days as we leaned so hard against the wind
The plight of man’s predicament on earth, we mused
The breeze just caught our spouted words
And tossed them where it would
We feared our crystal world would splinter
Would shatter without our spin...
"Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in”
But that was then…
So naively in such innocence
Thinking we could see a world at peace
Hoping to make our dreams come alive
From thoughts we shaped on winsome days
Imagining, ….if you please
"It doesn't have to be that way!"
And now with logic’s eyes, I do remember
How changeless is a planet
Glimmering in search of answers
And still not wringing answers from the slightest sound
And words we spoke, with vigorous shape
Our hopes expressed, still looks for guidance…
Are uttered yet, by other voices…
“My words like silent raindrops fell,
and echoed in the wells of silence”
Lyrics From John Lennon “Beatles”
Elton John
Jim Croce’
Simon and Garfunkle
For Chris Matt's ---'Contest Favorite Songs and Lyrics'
Categories:
wringing, hope, imagination, introspectionwords, world,
Form:
Narrative
Her radiant beauty crested, wave ebbing,
summer shakes her flowing green free of cooling rains;
yet, stubbornly they linger, gathering
in misty gray garlands about her peaks.
Decay's first browns creep among the flowers,
drab omens of pallid landscapes soon to come.
Vain summer! Water mirrors she left scattered
reflect from every concave surface of the ground.
Fearful of the season's ending glory,
she reaches for a gown only a queen could wear--
parading field and forest in cascading folds of crimson velvet.
Brilliant oranges, scarlet, gold weave her leafing harvest crown;
Her saffron slippered feet trip down a path of aging green.
Even the moon grows large with October envy,
but he cannot out do her flamboyant display;
his grand act only lasts a moment
compared to summer's pretentious autumnal show.
She hangs on, only brown remaining,
wringing out every vestige of our praise...
until winter comes, ice bragging, to steal the last away.
Copyright, August 28, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
wringing, autumn, beauty, seasons, summer,
Form:
Free verse
In a meadow fair lived the mouse Ben,
Who fell in love with the squirrel Jen.
He wanted to marry but had not a dime,
“What could I give her that's shiny and mine?”
He thought and he thought and then he knew,
What he could give that was neither old nor blue,
“I know! A star, for what burns brighter
Than love lit from afar?”
So he called to the moon and asked for her advice,
She told him, “I'll give you a star but there is a price.”
Up the ladder he climbed with shovel and grin,
He began to loose a star from its pin.
Jen watched from below, wringing her hands,
For she knew sometimes the stars had other plans.
And when he fell from heaven, the Moon took pity.
“He would give you the brightest star in my city.”
And then from a mouse he was quickly turned
She searched high and low but when she learned,
Poor Jen cried in relief, then sighed,
She pleaded with the goddess, who replied
“I'll give him back, if only I knew,
which of my constellations I made him into...”
She extended her hand as a friend,
“You must find him yourself, and only then,
Fear not, don't despair, not all is lost,
But everything changes, it comes with a cost.”
Jen searched high and low, pry and pull
But some stars were too hot ,others too cool
Finally she found him! Shaped like a rose,
When she touched his hand they both froze.
Falling from the heavens, both intertwined
They really were in a pickle, a real bind.
Suddenly they gasped, feeling lighter
They were coasting on wing flaps and fur
Laughing with joy, they glided higher, they flew!
For a new journey, they were forged anew
-------------------------
So my friend challenged me to write a poem/story about sugargliders, the moon, and a
dime. In the end the squirrel and mouse are turned into sugargliders.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Written 5/6/2014
Categories:
wringing, children, flying, love, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
Diphylleia grayi turns transparent in rain,
Transforming before me to lustrous bone
Drawing out aches in my marrows pain
Patience — the clouds will fade, leaving you standing alone
Ending transparency, we find white in every pane
Wringing you dry; elevates this capstone
Wet again, you bloom into ice-etched floral glass
Hiding in purity, the world forgets quickly; how clarity is surpassed
Categories:
wringing, beautiful, flower, nature, rain,
Form:
Free verse