Buckled Poems | Examples

The Great Marvel

I find myself

So marveled

At the layout of it all,

By that I mean,

Existence,

That the personified

Ambition

Sits next me, buckled.

But definitely not driving.

Has ideas, that said.

Galaxies of Growth

After mind hug,
I was waiting in the dark —
warm as the kiss
you never gave me.
Time didn’t stop,
but I did —
right where you left me.

Even angels were bored.
We ran out of time.
I still whisper your name
like a secret line.

Don’t walk away —
I’m already faded into you.
All the versions of us
burning out in other galaxies.
I loved you louder in silence
than I ever could in the light.

Reflection ripples in space.
Black holes ignite.
Was it real,
or just the wrong place,
wrong life?
You were the glitch
I believed in
more than the truth.

The world buckled
under the weight of knowing.
I held you quiet —
but it kept growing.

Don’t walk away —
I’m already faded into you.
All the versions of us
burning out in other galaxies.
I loved you louder in silence
than I ever could in the light.

And if I ever said it,
it would lose its shape.
We were only perfect
when it was too late.

But I took your ashes
and made them into clay —
rebuilt myself
with trembling hands.
I thought I was small,
but I was just beginning to grow.
Unfurled leaves,
outstretched —
like hands waving
goodbye.

A Carnival Night of First Love

On a warm summer evening
we are pinned together on the octopus ride,
twirling with excited pleasure.
Even the breeze we swirl through
cannot cool us down,
for the passion of new love
consumes us.

We browse along the Midway,
and he buys for me spun sugar on a stick.
Later we sit buckled in on the seat
of a huge lit-up ferris wheel.
It circles round and round as we swing our legs
while surveying the bustling gleeful folk below.
I shiver with a fever 
of anticipation.

At the pinnacle of our last go-around
on this gigantic wheel,
the ride hovers there in the cooling night air.
The stars above us seem to be dancing with delight.
He leans over and his lips meet mine.
I taste the sweetness of cotton candy
and melt into our first kiss,
never wanting again to come back down
to earth.

Bitter Blues

I often struggle to make peace
with nagging relapses that,
like endless tides, come
then I need to chase away.

Intrusive rekindlings of loss,
of wanting to resurrect the past,
each time needing to go through the motions
of convincing myself it's pointless.

Confined, trapped, buckled in,
I ride this live rollercoaster
that leaves me feeling disillusioned,
frustration having a bitter rancid taste.



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

A Call For Humility

I don't think about Tr*** often
I don't like to

My guess is a third of you
are at this time   
ticked
triggered
troubled
torn
turned off
or
tickled

Avery few feel that
tripled in spades

And the rest have buckled up
in a mingled mess of 
confusion
curiosity
or careless concern

Take your pick

Only the most humble
learn their lessons anyway,
and earn a table
at the hearts of the yearning

We're all hurting

If only we could learn to listen

Words From Songs II

I won't give up, but I'm losing everyday.
We built these gallows before we knew what they were for.
A smile of joy arrives in me
You know where to find me, distance me or dont.
Reasons I can't be loved, reasons I do.
No one knows the trouble I've become.
And even a warrior needs somewhere to rest.

Dug in deep, buckled down, this is true.
Oh it's a sick thing, it's deadly. It's leading me to my grave.
Bury me. Bury me.
Feeling so good should never be so wrong.
I won't regret, i was trying to disappear.
Hello there
The shadow in the background of the morgue. 

A fallen angel, is what you are.
Where are you?
Please forgive me if I seem forward.
Know that I'll always love you.
If i die tonight, would you be there by my side?
Feeling like I'll never make it to the other side.
Everywhere I go, you go, and you go, I go.

Pier-less

The hurricane was weeks ago,
Yet now I get to see
The damage, or what’s left of it,
That was described to me.

We walked the route we always take
When down here for a visit,
Past lovely homes with water views,
Expansive and exquisite.

The local park’s in ruins 
And some trees and plants have died,
But the lovely pier we strolled on
Shows destruction magnified.

Staring at its buckled surface,
Twisted into quite a mess,
Tells me when it will be walkable
Is anybody’s guess.

chair dared not react

Eager enchanted chair wore a ghost cover of white
Stay right there! Ordered the witch named Might.
The chair sat in its place, and the goblin chuckled.
Might swirled her wand, and the goblin buckled.

Black cat laughed, and was turned into a frog.
With one flick of the wand, he landed upside down on a log.
This delighted the chair that used to be a ghost.
But he dared not react, for he was scared of his host.

Turns

He could feel his breath bounce back from the door
How many nights he had turned the handle
The cool orange glow of their bedroom
She always smiled at him when he came in the room
But tonight his chest was ripping apart as he held the handle
It had been all over tv
13 I remembered thinking hope they catch him
Unlucky 13
Just the number scrawled in blood upon the bedroom 
He took too deep a breath
Screaming inside please not her please
She can’t be..my mind refusing to say the word
The familiar click as I turned the handle
I notice a trickle of blood from behind our door
A gruff voice from downstairs Police call out
The voice in my head don’t go in
I had to know
Her perfect arms and legs serrated from her body
we’re placed in a pile
Her torso up right placed on top 
Her head atop like some macabre pyramid
Her dead doll eyes filled with terror
looking at me
Screaming where were you
Why didn’t you save me
My legs buckled
Her cold blood seeping through the soft cotton of my trousers
I heard a scream looking around the room for its source
The shadowed mirror answering it is you

The Gun Shop

The gun seems gun-shy in this space;
where deer hides hang on rustic walls
and granddad-tick-tocks beat, instead
of hearts in hollowed skins. The gun

 a “trophy-bagger” in its rack, 
 a loud-mouth predator at rest,
 this motherless, brother-less thug
 perceives no pity-pangs... the gun

now quiet, buckshot empty, cold. 
Above the stove’s phoenix soul hangs
an antlered head with prideful tines
the man, with bear-paw hands, had won.

A fox in freeze-frame-trot, a stiff 
with cat glass eyes, attests his prize. 
Indeed, like litterfall they fell, 
unseen his haunt in hunter gear, his gun

a junkyard dog of steel. I say
they're beautiful in life. He says
they’re beautiful in death. Between
our words — a stand of pine — the shot!

that brought the shock of ammo air
that rib-cage-ripped and broke the breath,
that hurled the crows against the sky —
the blast that felled the 10-point buck that failed to sense your goddamn gun!

Yeah... blame the buck his reckless pose
and buckled throes. You felt the king!
Behind tight trees you sat with dawn
in sniper-silhouette. The gun 

felt nothing; no remorse, no joy
—it, too, hangs upon the wall.

Rebirth

Scorned and ridiculed, 
She carried her affliction for years.  
There came a time when she bled. 
Until one day her body buckled  
And there laid she in her scarlet pool.  
That filthy maiden was as good as dead 
But Jesus reshaped her from earth’s dust 
And delivered her from the hands of the cruel.  

There came a time when 
the unborn in her womb laid still; showed no sign of life 
Curled in its fetal tomb, 
And concerned expressions  
On the faces of doctors 
Alas, were ready when they considered  the deciding factors. 
But she in all the noise, 
Lie unperturbed. 
No doubt,  
it was God who administered that herb. 
And in an instant rebirth 
The babe leapt, bounded and gallivanted. 

There came a time 
When all around her beloved child 
A fiery furnace closed in, 
But the loving arms of Jesus  
Enfolded the child with oxygen. 
  
Methinks that maiden would not have 
made it to the other side  
After the many years of  
Stained tears she cried. 
But she is Mother-Earth 
And God has granted her rebirth.

Perpetra

             Obscure place, 
under the lamp of none but He.

Of the first snows.

The thirst of the arterial, ephemeral flow.

Where echoes converge and become ghost, at it's Canyons.

O Knight of Strongholds,
where memories melt and disappear, 
showing of me again bare, of bones, of One.


Be but the realm of the transform
a symphony of ethereal whispers,
awakening dormant dreams of the alone.

In each delicate flake, a tale unfolds,
a moment frozen romance in time's embrace,
a reminder of the transient nature,
of seasons changing, of love evolving.

As winter's icy kiss adorns the land, 
knows my dream and Fairy sits on the knuckle 
at my back of hand.
I am reminded of fragile beauty,
of the miracles found buckled in surrender,
in the rendering to the Destiny-Unknown, 
pullAge of lever of planned-perpetuity of Clan.

Moreover, be yet a childing
sprite a flitting kiss on blank slated cheek of Eternity, to surrender at His feet, at His Throne.

The Ambulance

Buckled up, blue lights, let’s go
We’re taking you to the best place
Get you the special help you need
You’re going to be ok
Just hold on
You’re doing so well
Keep fighting
You can do this
You’re so strong
Not long to go now
Everything is going to be ok
We’re nearly there baby girl
Mummy is right here
I’m so proud of you
You made it
Well done
You’re going to be ok now
We’re here

Time Out of Place

All who have no faith in time
live at peace in a timeless mousehole
a hole in the fabric of nothing at all,
where a moment is but a whisker
that twitches infinity.

Danny boy
walked boldly out of O'Reilly's Irish pub
right into a catastrophic gap in reality,
immediately he was drunk on his own legend
knees buckled, his head lolled.
Back in some fictional homeland
his mother sang like a bird in a kitchen
while she stirred a dark mouse stew,
Danny's eyes flowed over
with all the milky dreams of the unborn.

The cosmic joke is endlessly amusing.
It is not a matrix nor a malignant mystery,
it is the love of the undying,
the faith of all those that have lost all faith
it is the tall stories we tell ourselves
that make even shameless death shudder.

            The mouse squeaks
            and yet another tale
            falls through a torn pocket
            to be heard as birdsong
            by a perfectly conscious
            oblivion.

Independent

with nothing buckled down
voices clash in debate-angry
lured into playground fury
independent thought spinning the air
overlapping like the puzzle pieces of poetry
words in a labyrinth 

voices of proclamation
boundary pushing
clashing against a wall of not listening
when independent thought trumpets its sheen of 
                                                                   self creation
but looses itself
in the formless rage of "I am right"
                                           justification

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