Best Wrings Poems
I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode,
next to Elysian Fields,
is mumbling agitatedly
under his breath – possibly
grimaces, wrings his hands
as he flips the pages of
vain anthologies where
writers sell their wares…
Stuck in comfort zone
deprived of achievement,
wary of new horizons,
surprise ends and twists…
they cling to restrictions
and Mother Nature’s skirt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 24th August 2020
Categories:
wrings, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Summer resplendent sun glowing
in the photosynthesis of viridescent grass.
Waving blades like long fingers flowing,
the sudden sighing gusts come and pass.
The field lives palpable in the anamnesis.
I step through the Queen Anne’s lace,
I lay down on dense turf, where distress decreases,
Sun of repose wrings out pain, leaving no trace.
The field uncut, surrounded by trees,
shooshing wind mixes only with the hum of bees.
Lazy, balmy, timeless afternoon, grasshoppers leap.
Musty grass inhaled. I doze and fall asleep.
The field dandelions release seeds like cotton
floating on nuzzling breeze, landing, then begotten.
Burrowing moles hunt earthworms under soil.
Nests and mounds, why do ants tirelessly toil?
Toad hops by, pausing, inspecting for insects.
Sioux Nation meadowlarks sing of friendship
from the nearby woodland intersects.
Love by dissolving into field, my ritual worship.
At cool dusk, I awaken to cricket chitter.
Night’s canopy of cosmos is without dimension,
measureless. I am free and joyous in star glitter.
I merge with field habitat, awakening all sensations.
Published: Pick Me Up Poetry 10/22
Accepted for Publication, 11/2023: PoetrySoup Anthology Vol. III
Reflections on the Important Things
Categories:
wrings, beautiful, flower, nature, peace,
Form:
Pastoral
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:
wrings, mythology,
Form:
Acrostic
Oh you know the type—
the orchid woman
a cosmopolitan who cosmo sips
between snips of gist
her charisma a starship —collides
with your star-full eyes
supernova for Casanova
her pouty lips knit a glamour-mag smile
rows of sugar-white pearls
strung shiny straight
behind wet-red slicks of a Revlon stick
—cherry-juice bait dilates your want to taste
orchid woman’s glamorized mouth
for the masses to idolize
for many to fantasize
for her to tantalize
and advertise
there’s no need to compromise
with you
or your penny-candy conversation—
when beauty is legal tender
why invest in a waste of words?
ooh, orchid woman is w-i-l-d
an exotic sun-tanned narcotic
erotic her despotic bloom
quixotic your contemplation;
your entangled-limbs-expectation
that this frilly filly blooms just for you
and oh! just look how the honey makers buzz
watch the money-makers spend their sums—
worker bees blinded by her blonde neon
fall in her wake…
or maybe ‘diamond pro’s’ bling
stings and wrings their eyes
…who cares who falls..
when mere red rose adorations
and sticky sap Hallmark incantations
bear not the fruits of 24-karat donations—
Mmm! Mmm!
her traipse does shake like mango jelly sweet
orchid woman’s long-stemmed catwalk walk
full-rounded bouncy-buoyant racy-lacy-ecstasy
yup.. a thoroughbred— she’ll have you ridin’ high
to your credit and blame
you won’t feel her stiletto tips
when she diva-gold-digs ya
as nothing more than a runway-ramp
all slinky-strut-hips
and stay-the-night-vamp
till fly girl wields her strappy high-heels
in a rhythmical click-clack
all over the next middle-age stage
indeed! orchid woman
a hot-house hottie
fussy stuffy lil hussy—
...too much water?
….not enough water?!
oh no! she’s wilted—
sniffle.. snivel.. “where did I go wrong?!!”
mm-hmm.. high maintenance is s-u-c-h a turn on…
yeah… orchid woman is w-i-l-d (eye roll..)
Categories:
wrings, beautiful, imagery, irony, power,
Form:
Free verse
Behold the humble Cowbird, such an evolutionary quirk.
Somehow nature taught this bird to be a first-rate jerk!
When it comes to low and dirty tricks no other bird can match it;
She lays an egg in her neighbor's nest; leaving them to hatch it!
She says she’s far too busy; "I’ve got to follow the herd".
I say that she’s just lazy! You conniving cowardly cowbird!
When her ample hatchling sheds its egg, the bugger's just not fair.
It crowds its nest mates to the ground and eats more than his share!
Sound familiar? I hope to shout! Of all things that annoy . . .
The cowbirds in the office here act out this scornful ploy
By dropping projects on my desk, ill-thought, half-baked at best;
Expecting me to hatch them out and make room in my nest!
Our bosses do this all the time, but I reckon that's their lot,
But what of Slow Joe down the hall? I can’t believe this rot!
He hangs around and wrings his hands, judging my ambition;
Taking potshots while I sweat to bring his work fruition!
The problem with this cowbird gig; the thing that gets my goat
Is that cowbirds get promoted, and I don't get a vote!
This is small of me, I admit; this outrage misdirected.
Cowbirds will always tick me off, at least 'til I'm perfected!
Categories:
wrings, bird, work,
Form:
Light Verse
The smoky rose burns bright in the embers of my soul
From paradise to earth the angels fall softly
Wrapping their wings around me
They keep me hanging on
They keep me hanging on
I see the colors of heaven dancing like doves
And I feel the love
It's like a flower in the dark
Whispers of lonesome breathes disappear
When the angels come near me,
I keep hanging on
I keep hanging on
Angels, they keep me hanging on
Until the rose has turned to fired embers
Without a sound she rises from the ashes
Of the past, alive reseeded
Re-magnetised,
I'm hanging on, cuz they never gonna leave me
The angels, they keep me hanging on
Forever.
Her petals never shall wilt again
They will upsurge in every peak of passion
For when the body dies, the love of the thriving remains
It keeps me hanging on
It keeps me hanging on
My heart wrings from the sheer honesty
Of her echoing choruses
I feel peace from the matchless aroma
Their wings are wafting me to sleep
I wish only to dream in her grip
To catch her transparent essence
Keep me hanging on
Keep me hanging on
With a strike of love
With a wick ever sustaining
And a flame ever burning
Downward to the dust,
Upward to the heavens
I will know that I am needed
I will know that I am real
--
This was a collaboration written with Mystic Rose
Inspired by the song Magnetised, by Tom Odell, and the picture above.
Categories:
wrings, angel, appreciation, courage, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
I sit in state of wonder
as my mind does ponder
over thoughts
which compared to thought are fonder
than t' prefer that thoughts no longer
would linger and finger about the essence
Of reality's encompassing presence
While'st I stare through care
To do all that I may dare
To alter all to do what in our minds is fair
as we find fair left behind
and that care is lost in time
all the point is lost in rhyme
the rhyme however is not a loss of point
infact the joint of with without
means no existance without could be
with and out of sencerity
and doubt begins to fade
the truth of lie has been made
we work with what we know
to let the spirit go and see our "destiny"
to come and no winds blow
o'r our path to let world show
that arrow follows path of bow
and further will the spirit go
with than without the firing bow
and string which wrings and sings
and begins to bring the thought to action
and begins the unaction of the unthought thought
as becomes what is now not and once what was
is only thought which stays unthought and reality's reality soon will rot
to grow the truth of lies and death
and life's cycle is now at best
when all is equal, leaving end and sequal
Categories:
wrings, time, uplifting, visionary, lost,
Form:
Free verse
thick mist …
breath of dusk …
bearing its own tales
the yellow bricks wind away
swallowed by the brume
fallow footprints, long since faded
but I cared not to trace them anyway ...
vacant souls searching for the
most basic of virtues
leading another young pilgrim to
fates unknown ... and unnoted
(the fog itself endows more guidance)
… they never returned.
crossroads ...
proverbial AND actual
my instructions were clear, as always
the counsel, lucid and lettered
yet life has never borne the conventional
courses for me ...
naught a prevailing wind or
timid tack to weigh …
regrets?
real as rain ...
but they bear conscience and wisdom -
grateful, am I, for each.
night …
is closing in like a promise
the forest, deep, yawns forsaken
the lad in me longs for a sweet dream -
a fanciful lullaby
and final blink of lashes, soft …
but ambition is a jealous mistress
and she wrings complacency and excuse
from the hems of my spirit -
legacy and contrition dance the
dark like fireflies
love's wages howl in the night
chilling my thoughts, my marrow ...
my blood.
the choice …
was made for me, long ago …
before these serpentine paths were
packed and paved, the placement
of my steps was ordered …
that road untraveled - of red brick and border
was written at time's inception upon
the binding of my soul
and there shan't be another ...
going my way.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Best Free Verse July 1 - October 1" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
wrings, analogy, appreciation, journey, life,
Form:
Free verse
I know the Bear.
watcher, courage
unpredict(ability)
I know the Snake.
wisdom of initiation
I know the Wolf.
I know a pack of 'em.
loyalty, intuition
I know the Spider,
though I pretend
I don't.
shadows, communication
I know the Owl,
or, I pretend
I do.
insight, clairvoyance
I even know the Fox.
(I may be the Fox.)
cunning, hidden
messenger
I know the Bobcat, the Alligator.
patience, revenge
and other far-off
Beings, lost to this
space, but not lost
on me, not lost to me.
I know the Bat.
secrets, longevity
I know the Cougar.
So well that I call her,
not by her first name but,
the First Peoples' names:
I call her Catamount/Painter/Puma/
I call her Panther/Mountain Screamer/
I call her Amigo da Onça
foresight, leadership
silence, patience
I know the Coyote, the Crane.
ingenuity and folly; vigilance and independence
I know the Heron, the Lynx.
self-reliance, balance
guardian, listener, guide
And each of these,
each Medicine
each is prayed for
and each preys on
each arrives from
some inchoate world
(land? sky?)
beyond all sight.
An answered wish,
a plea,
a demand.
And each, a predator.
One who wrings life
from flesh
that it might deliver its
song, its dance of Medicine
to one so foolish as
me.
and yet the Hawk,
I see today,
though predator,
is the Medicine of
Solitude.
Near enough,
Far enough.
Alone enough,
apart enough.
a lone Alone.
Hawk
Arc
Lofted.
Lifted.
Hawk.
Medicine.
Alone among...
Denadagohvyu
Categories:
wrings, animal, bird, mythology, native
Form:
Free verse
At last, by night, that tarries late,
they hurry home, to Father's rage,
without a chance to plot their way.
The floodgates fail, as the young miss cries.
A handsome lad, pleads with his eyes,
while telling tales, of how and why
their carriage failed, with strokes of luck
which stuck them on the muddy trail
This fate that the chokes the airless room,
has clouded starlight in their eyes,
and fills the mood with doubts and gloom.
~
An angry Father, waiting long,
behind a frown, as sun goes down
then, with the rise, of devil's moon,
he hears the drum of horses hoofs,
that come at last, and none too soon!...
He had watched the clock count off the hours,
with endless pacing, of the floors.
While mother, fair, and worrisome,
in wilt despair, will hold him now,
to keep his anger in control.
She wrings her hands, and silently
prays her sweet lass, innocently,
was not delayed by guiles of love,
which meant no harm. But with such charms,
was this suitor captive of her smile?
Or were they then so swept away,
by winsome songs, and star's display,
by all love's wiles, and moonlight rays?
Young damsel, fair, who stole the hour
is left a flower, quite untouched
but as a suitor now he must
declare his honor and his hand
'Tis that.....
of which they will demand !
____________________________________________________________
For the Contest Inspired by the painting of Charles Haigh Wood
Sponsored by Isaiah Zerbst
9/19/13
Categories:
wrings, art, emotions, love,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Grief wrings out our souls, but the tears do not wash away the blood. Our love remains, swollen and tender.
Categories:
wrings, bereavement, death,
Form:
Elegy
He sits there and cries
Big tears fall from his eyes
“Why, oh why?”
He wrings his hands
and tries to understand
Why I'm curled up in bed
No words come to my head
There is no answer
Just emptiness
He whispers...
“Where has my little girl gone?”
You were the life of the party
Friendly and sweet
Everyone you’d greet
With a smile and hug
Now…..
You’re just curled up in bed
With eyes full of dread
Where….
Oh, where has my little girl gone?"
His princess, his dream
Youngest of his team
Unwilling to face life and live
She’s stuck in her bed
Wants to stay home instead
No answer
To the words hung in the space
Between him and his child
His heart's going wild
"Where has my little girl gone"
"She’s gone, daddy, gone...
Somewhere along
Seeing Mama die
Somewhere along
Wondering why
Somewhere along
Holding broken dreams
Somewhere along
Stifling her screams
Somewhere along
Broken heart night
Somewhere long
Losing the fight
Somewhere along
Nothing more to give
Somewhere along
No will to live
That’s where, Daddy. That’s where your little girl’s gone"
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I called this a narrative because it actually happened last time dad came to visit me in Lebanon. We had this conversation in my bedroom, and it broke my heart that I've caused him so much pain. When he calls....he's quick to detect what spirits I'm in. He worries about me. I'm his baby....the little one of the family. Mom had me when she was 41....surprise surprise. After two boys, they really wanted a girl....Well, yes....I have changed...Yes...I was the life of the party. That old sparkle comes back now and again....Life can be difficult, and it wears you down if you let it. I adore my dad. His word was gospel when I was growing up. He was larger than life to me. We share a special bond....He is coming for Christmas....I'm so happy.
Categories:
wrings, father, feelings, pain,
Form:
Narrative
A large tree stands alone as it has for countless seasons.
The width of its trunk wrings admiration from the soul.
It is stong grounded and permanent.
It draws all of its needs to it.
Its roots, the reason it exists
are unseen, underground.
They grip the ground, they suck the earth,
they quest for its survival,
as its branches sway serenely above.
There is wisdom, balance and surrender to elements,
be they wind or rain or fire.
Time in between each millenium sees a tree,
forever standing.
Categories:
wrings, nature, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
Ben Sana Mecburum: “You are indispensable”
by Attila Ilhan
translation by Nurgul Yayman and Michael R. Burch
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you’re like nails riveting my brain?
I see your eyes as ever-expanding dimensions.
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that I burn within, at the thought of you?
Trees prepare themselves for autumn;
can this city be our lost Istanbul?
Now clouds disintegrate in the darkness
as the street lights flicker
and the streets reek with rain.
You are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Love sometimes seems akin to terror:
a man tires suddenly at nightfall,
of living enslaved to the razor at his neck.
Sometimes he wrings his hands,
expunging other lives from his existence.
Sometimes whichever door he knocks
echoes back only heartache.
A screechy phonograph is playing in Fatih ...
a song about some Friday long ago.
I stop to listen from a vacant corner,
longing to bring you an untouched sky,
but time disintegrates in my hands.
Whatever I do, wherever I go,
you are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...
Are you the blue child of June?
Ah, no one knows you—no one knows!
Your deserted eyes are like distant freighters ...
perhaps you are boarding in Yesilköy?
Are you drenched there, shivering with the rain
that leaves you blind, beset, broken,
with wind-disheveled hair?
Whenever I think of life
seated at the wolves’ table,
shameless, yet without soiling our hands ...
Yes, whenever I think of life,
I begin with your name, defying the silence,
and your secret tides surge within me
making this voyage inevitable.
You are indispensable; how can you not know?
Attila Ilhan (1925-2005) was a Turkish poet, translator, novelist, screenwriter, editor, journalist, essayist and reviewer. Keywords/Tags: Turkey, Turkish, Translation, City, International, Leaving, Depression, Absent, Absence, Parting, Separation, Distance, Loss, Break Up, Soulmate, Soulmates, Love, Lovers, Companionship, Passion, Desire, Longing
Categories:
wrings, absence, autumn, break up,
Form:
Free verse
We were walking home late one night, we were feeling alright
as I held her tight and I looked in her eyes I said,
if i had diamonds and pearls i'd give them to you girl and pritty things.
what she said confused me in the head!
While diamonds and pearls appeal to most girls,
to me they don't mean a thing, I don't wont
any pretty things nor fancy wrings, just you by my side
holding me tight that's enough for me.
a few weeks latter we went out on a date,
as we strolled along I was humming a happy song,
I turned to her and said, if I had all the treasures of the world
I would give them to you girl, and again she said to me.
While diamonds and pearls appeal to most girls,
to me they don't mean a thing, I don't wont
any pretty things nor fancy wrings, just you by my side
holding me tight that's enough for me.
On our anniversary we stayed home to eat,
by candle light the box caught her sight,
when she read the note she looked like she was afloat,
then she threw her arms around me. It read
If diamonds and pearls don't mean nothing to you girl,
and you don't wont pretty things, nor fancy wrings,
Well I will stay by your side and hold you tight,
for that's enough for me.
Categories:
wrings, love,
Form:
Rhyme