Grinds Poems | Examples

I am inhabited by a cry that weaves its shadows in silence

I am inhabited by a cry that weaves its shadows in silence,
Night after night it takes flight from bitter corners,
It searches in endless depths, with claws of longing, for something to love,
I am terrified of this shadow that sleeps in my soul;
All day I feel it spinning gently, like a dream, within me,
It stretches its soft wings, freezing my thoughts in silence.
In a sea of lost dreams, its sigh is a faint song,
I feel how it envelops me with its mute coldness, with hidden desires,
It is a burden that weighs on my soul, an echo of an eternal night,
Wandering through the labyrinth of my being, it whispers forgotten secrets.
A shadow dwelling in my ancient heart, like an unbounded longing,
It grinds my days with a whisper that knows no rest,
And deep within me, a stir, a call to the unknown,
A song of a turbulent soul, seeking solace in eternity.
Ah, to free myself from this dark dance, from this tumult,
To find my peace among the stars and let the shadows depart,
To fill my heart with the light of dawn, with love and peace,
To feel the cry dissolve in the sweet aroma of morning.

Sonnet 116

I’ll always feel this way. Love can’t be love
which alters where it alteration finds:
my driver, she – no matter how she grinds
my gears. I’d hardly term it, hand-and-glove:
it’s much more like a scrimmage, push-and-shove.
Relationships there are, of many kinds:
but whether pigs-with-lipstick, Golden Hinds,
one party is below, and one above:
one partner is the hawk, and one the dove.
If she’s the cheese, I am the humble rinds.
No matter where this crazy freeway winds,
there’s one thing that I’m always certain of:
a meeting (or collision?) of the minds:
a bedroom where we never draw the blinds.

Ear-Splitting, Liver-Bellied Bullying

plink, plink, water in the sink
sinks slowly into budding suds
torturing the pans and fork tines
who want cascade - show on the road
plink, plop, hands over ears, now stop
but slowly the spatter of drops
like the slow go of a rain storm
keep habitating, repeating
their ear-splitting, liver-bellied
bullying of the spoons and cups
the apron-covered giant turned
off the faucet, threw in the rag,
then the sponge, ew…her hands with gloves
now each piece, that is us, is scrubbed
and ah, true running water-rush
each of us towel dried, put ‘way
from nightmarish brutality
we rest…we rest..until lipstick
lands on the side of grinds in cup
and pan slams onto surface heat
in other words, we get beaten
then comes water in sink, awaken
the bully who sleeps eight hours
look forward to vacation, hers!

The Blood-Stained Glass Heart

She scrubs the floors with hands that bleed,
her heart, a brittle thing beneath her chest—
a reflection of the shattered glass
she once danced on,
believing love was a crown
meant to fit anyone.

The prince's ring,
so smooth,
is a shackle,
and his kiss—
not a promise,
but a contract with the devil’s own whisper.

Her stepsisters wear their cruelty
like fine silk,
while her smile fades
into the dust of her cinders.

The carriage,
once golden,
is a cage
that rattles down the path
toward a ball
that was never hers to begin with.

The clock does not strike midnight.
It grinds her bones to powder,
and she is left standing
in the ruins of her own dreams,
the glass slipper cutting into her flesh
as if it always knew
it was meant to break her.

Mush

Neuroscience
takes a world class meal
grinds it into bits
and tries to convince us
 — its taste has improved

(Villanova University: April, 2025)

Memories of Eleventh Summer

School grinds on.  It seems like hell.
Last day, then summer, and we're free. 
An angel sings, rings the school bell. 

We race down the street with glee -
so, begins three months of fun. 
Let's play baseball.  Let's climb a tree.

Riding bicycles in the sun,
Will this season end?  No - never - 
dreaming of that special one. 

Oh, to be there now. However, 
summers never last forever.

Predator

It hits fast with no trace
No warning…no face
Slips in slick and sips blood quick 
Steals breath and whispers death

It chokes and grinds
Claws deep and rewires minds
No mercy…no pause
Just rot and crippling loss

It feeds and crawls
A shadow that shatters and mauls
No escape or way out
It leaves permanent scarring and doubt

Sisyphus Silence

Sisyphus’ Silence

I sit, a silent, carved-out zone,

A soul entrapped, unlit, unwhole,

The majority’s tide grinds flesh to bone,

While others’ feelings wallow, roll

In mud that clings, a river’s drone.

Sisyphus slumps at mountain’s base,

Scowls at the stone, then dares a smile,

“Nevermore” hums through empty space,

The gods, once loud, now mute, exiled.

Surf Usurped

Hitchhiking by blurred station generic
Gypsy Flora slips anonymous, gravel
Grinds her heart of garbage, barbaric
Buried skeleton stirred, further travel 
Ticket to Keep It Secret

Scarred in fish guts grubby, harbour 
Heaves its putrid out to sea, amnesia 
Avails an arbour over bleak macabre 
Mutineer hurled ragdoll dumb, seizure
Saline dreams Dali delirium 


Draped clock face, Flora's flailing coma
Collides with shore, format felicitous
Ferocious ocean spews sweet soma
Segued fortunate Flora duplicitous 
Digs over fingers scratching 


Sea sparks zesty spirit, crystal clairvoyant 
Clavicle thrummed during tumble turquoise 
Touched pitching ceiling, delight buoyant 
Blackened flotsam, frivolous foam destroys
Destined to nest content




29th March 

Redefined

The Love Song

The Love Song
A song we both liked once
grinds-on,
a needle on a disc
etching deep grooves
into a mutual experience.

The cat we once shared, died.
Our dog chased the cat
in its leg-twitching dreams
until its old heart gave out.

The cherry tree toppled in a storm,
when we cut its broken limbs down
blossoms fell like coral rain.
The garden we both tended to
was never the same.

That song we loved
is hardly ever sung nowadays
its tune un-played,
insensitive modulations
have twisted it into a jingle
only heard in elevators.

I have kept
the scratchy vinyl recording,
its lyrics now seem trite,
besides, we no longer believe
in such timeless melodies.

How Do I Get Out Of Life Without Dying

the walls sweat cheap bourbon,
the clock grinds its teeth,
and outside, the night spits curses
at the drunks who never learned to lose.

you ask me how to leave life
without dying—
but what have you ever had
that wasn't already rotting?

the job, the woman, the rented room,
they all go like smoke
from a busted cigarette—
thin, wasted, without apology.

maybe you walk away slow,
maybe you stay and let the rats
teach you how to chew through steel.

either way, the joke's on you.

Glaciers dance with Newton's laws

In the stillness of frost, the glacier rests,
Bound by the law of inertia’s quest.
Silent and steady, it clings to the land,
Until gravity whispers its gentle command.

A force unseen begins the glide,
Massive and ancient, it cannot hide.
For Newton spoke: F = ma,
And so the glacier carves its way.

Downward it presses, a relentless might,
Through valleys and time, both day and night.
The ice grinds rock in a cold embrace,
Shaping the earth, leaving its trace.

But action meets reaction's call,
As the glacier leans, the earth stands tall.
The ground pushes back with an equal refrain,
And meltwater flows where the ice once reigned.

From towering peaks to rivers below,
The laws of motion direct the flow.
A timeless tale of ice and stone,
Where Newton’s wisdom is clearly shown.

non-mechanical

Love is non-mechanical
it doesn’t crank, pinion
or always work dependably.

In cavalier moments, I thought I knew
something of how it all works—
it’s apertures and shafts—
its grinds and reciprocations.

I’d judge it’s motions
work its levers, judge its spins,
and address its slippery angles.

You could call me obsessive
but obsessive people don’t
obsess this much.

You could call me compulsive
but the compulsive aren't
this compulsive.

All I can do is poise, balance
or swipe a little black credit card.
It’s the only magic I have.

I can’t turn bread into wine
or fish into water.

I can’t make the blind walk
the deaf to see or the lame to
taste again.

God reserves some miracles,
keeps them as close to the vest
as cards.

Jugglers work the circus,
mimes thrash to communicate,
and tightrope walkers fall.
.
.
Songs for this:
Viva la vida by Cold Play
When There Is Love by Karen Sokolof Javitch
The Rainbow Connection by Sarah McLachlan
.
.
How about a Christmas playlist! Because Christmas is in 10 days!
www.daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3

Rage Forged in Disrespect

There’s a rage that ignites when someone damages you
An uncompromising, bewildering storm within.
Your brain churns with thoughts of vengeance,
A thousandfold wrath ready to erupt.

But do you compromise your soul to feed the fire?
It’s all connected, yet so utterly disconnected.
They have no idea what they’ve unleashed
This inner demon clawing at the gates.

A thousand futures, a million seconds
Pain stretched in weeks, rage forged in years.
Why do they disrespect you to this breaking point?
You give your all, pushing daily to do what’s right.

Are their inadequacies a mirror they can’t face?
Does their lack of perspective cast you as the villain?
You tried to be the hero, the good guy,
To stand on the side of justice and light.

But the disrespect it grinds, it gnaws, it sends you spiraling
To a place where rage eclipses reason.
I want to shatter the star line,
Reach into the void, and grind gold for planet 9.
To fix this fractured atmosphere of fury,
Before I lose myself in the abyss of their disregard.

Said me to I

you must take the time to rhyme,
the design is divine and you will find
it aligns with the original minds
of before times when afore lines
were written/signed and mined
for stage binds and weaved vines
intertwined with the twine of dimes
nickels and pennys deepening fines
as greasy grinds gripping wine stines,
snipping lips with widely-eyed shine
sipping moonshine as they dined
behind locked door were blinds
which burglary was a dyne
like a katabatic slope incline.

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