Long Thrashes Poems
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My pen finds pause
my body is broken,
a weighted horror
cleaves my breast
The strings of hope sliced
as I put dreams to the sword,
but hands now whisper to stars
across a fabric brushed heaven
Tomorrow is a lie of mysteries
today is in the now of knowing,
Like burning comets the pain
thrashes into my hearts core
A journeys end now nears
the roads all find dead ends,
revived from a morass of mourning
eyes are filled with oceans
A dirge plays and dances
in a procession free of flesh,
as shadows carry me home
infinitesimal tears find silence
I am weary of time
I've smashed the clocks
crushed every watch
tick tocks, now stopped
With the enemy defeated
I forge ahead untimed,
wild and finally free
uncaged from fear and doubt
In truth tomorrow has been
gone in thousands of minutes,
the sandman flies in golden dust
that's now sparkling my eyes
In sleep I shall find eternities gate
holding it open yet never entering,
until your hand slips into mine
time my love will stand in my mind
Until we meet again ...
Wind, your double essence is well-known.
Whispered summer breezes you exhale;
Then suddenly you turn. You surge and wail,
Expelling rage, you bluster or you moan.
Your brute relentless nature then is shown
For you become a cyclone, Hound of Hell,
Or show yourself a monsoon, squall, or gale.
Unquelled, a devil’s wrath with dust is sown.
As you intone, we’re stricken by your power.
Whipping wind, who thrashes us below,
You’re merciless until that final hour
Your vehemence ceases. Gust, I hate you so.
You scour Earth for those who next must cower.
Two-faced tempest, most indeed you BLOW!
For the NETTED by WORDS: HER SILVERED, TENDER WEBPoetry Contest
I used the theme found in "Wheeze of a Wind" which had been entered
by Nette in another of Cyndi MacMillan's contests:
Timeless Yet Contemporary, A Sonnet Thang
Note to Nette: My sonnet cannot hold a candle to yours. I think your contemporary one was better than my traditional one; however, I hope you can feel my anger about wind in it!! I just love how you did your modern sonnet for Cyndi!! BTW, I MISS you. Where ARE you anyway???
Amidst the cacophony of raging emotions
In a nexus of conflicting passions
Lies a beguiled soul
He is embedded in a labyrinth of racing thoughts
And interlocking fears
He investigates his surroundings
While a sinking sensation grips him
Immobile in feeling
He plots his course
Frozen in indecision
Trying out different personas
He reaches invisibility
As he grasps to others for direction
Becoming as lost as ever
When will the conflict end?
When will stability be attained?
He thrashes around in the cage of his existence
Finding a spot to land on
Arriving nowhere
He cradles himself in a bubble
Peering out from the chains he’s strapped in
Hoping for a beam of sunshine to pierce through
One day the solution will come
And things will regain their meaning
Until then, he’ll remain with the entanglement that is now referred to as existence…
Oh Man, where am I?
What caused this pain and why?
I desperately cannot live this insane life.
For the pain of memories brings in strife.
I grab my head as my mind bends and breaks.
I want relief, grabbing the bottle as my handshakes.
Is there no end to my depraved madness?
As I witness my loved ones in fear and sadness.
Slowly, I succumb to the liquid delirium.
My head was spinning, spinning as I lost my equilibrium.
I curl up as severe pain thrashes my gut.
I crawled to the bathroom toilet and threw up.
Coughing violently, I lean against the toilet bowl for rest.
Again, this severe pain has now gripped me hard in my Chest.
Is this the final relief I so desperately seek and want?
Or is this the hell-bent on madness as it laughingly taunts?
Oh, to be at peace from this war raging in my head.
The atrocities against innocent people have stricken me as they are dead.
Finally, the darkness envelops me like a kind friend.
The family gathers around me, crying, knowing it’s my end.
Suddenly, a whispering voice calls my name.
It carries on gently as it calmly soothes my pain.
My soul feels swirling love that it desperately clutch.
My brother gave me a warm hug; it meant so much.
I awaken to hear gasps and crying as I smile.
They thought I had died, but I was gone for a while.
I told them that our brother had made me whole.
I was happy and excited about my new life, and it showed.
Void of silent echoes begin to listen
As obsidian stillness refuses to glisten.
A touch of unknown gentleness stirs the soul
Completely known, and yet its presence is whole.
The ego tries to suppress this magnificent event,
Claiming to survive with malicious intent.
Imminent calm touches the forbidden fear.
Whispering its true peace to the ego for it to hear.
The heart senses the conflict of this ongoing torment.
It feels the despair as the ego thrashes in pain; it foments.
The heart touches this conflict with the joy of Love.
Gentle Silence makes the ego aware, to let go of the dove.
The ego realizes that the belief it holds must dissolve.
For all that is human, must embrace anew to ascend and evolve.
(described in ~thirty lines of rhyme)
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling
unlike Christopher Robin
hi ho... hi ho exiting
their wooded den
(think Snow White and
her seven dwarf men)
off to work they go to earn cents
(unbeknownst conversion into) yen
boot just enough to undergo
gastric bypass surgery
to shrink abdomen,
plus grueling boot camp regimen
guaranteeing bullseye
hit courtesy artillerymen
nsync with honing
sharp eyed acumen
joining (rather leading) civilians
carrying out coup d’etat
putsch ching aside feeble,
inept and lame
president to step up
and augment pen
ultimate last ditch effort
to halt climate change
to stave turning planet Earth
into self destructive oven.
All joking aside horrific,
née apocalyptic crisis doth loom
perhaps even unleashing mushroom,
clouds (thrown in for good measure)
encompassing entire planet
assuredly spelling doom,
where liquidation and fire sale
at all brick and mortar
stores will bloom,
(just ash at the front desk)
charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew
pointing blackened decker
index finger boom
meringue literally every black
Friday, Saturday, Sunday...
until every tomb
morrow until end of time.
The graveyard opens the door's to the walkway,
But only to me,
Take slow breathes and count to three,
Now i open my eyes ,
I see what cannot be lies.
Upon the grave is my name,
As if i opened the door and death came.
I lay in the grave motionless as ever,
My mind is quiet clever,
This has to be a dream,
It must not be,
Laying in the coffin cannot be me!!!
My screams to anyone cannot be herd,
Not even the tiniest word,
From my mouth come's out a small choked up cry,
Life passes fast and then you die.
This is a dream,
I scream!!!
It is not what it seems,
The dream thrashes,
For it has turned to ashes.
I wake up,
Scared as ever
My mind can be quiet so clever,
I see i am still in the coffin,
I yell for help!
But all i can hear is a helpless yelp.
Churning ominous dust, an angry sky pounded it's fists that ferocious afternoon.
Draping a charcoal blanket, brooding air suddenly darkened all brightness.
Threatening winds whipped thrashes on boulders and branches,
Spinning madly around, dizzy in it's vortex,
a tornado descended from funnel clouds.
Destruction everywhere, in vengeful rage
trembling trees uprooted, blown far away.
Rainsoaked birds fluttered, hurled at an insane trail
in malefic power and speed, Earth was decimated.
A wild pirouette storm, dancing and swirling
in turbulence of downpour, at last is calmed.
A carnage of broken pieces
in shattered shards of shrapnel...
But after a haze of hangover,
spreads again a bijoux night of fairy tales,
hiding behind those stars we count.
A new day again drips from the sun.
In a soft rustle of morning breeze
leaves again dance in little spirals.
13th June 2020
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
Contest Name Spiral
I am sailing upon open waters. The wind, in my face,
thrashes white sails and casts briny foam into flight
from churning seas. My boat is buffeted by mighty waves.
I stand at the helm with salt-stung eyes on the undulating horizon
where it blurs into storm gray sky as if a single encompassing terror.
Then I think to myself, "I cannot win this fight."
But what fight?
The wind is the wind - not my foe. I can lament the injustice
or wait for its course to change, but both of these choices,
in the end, will only serve to repel me farther from my destined port.
The fight lies within me - not without.
I choose the course, steer the rudder, and trim or slacken the sails.
So with patience - and perhaps great effort - even opposing winds
and tumultuous seas are harnessed to navigate wherever I am willing to go.
And that is living...
9/20/2016
Based on the form (and theme) of "Gone From My Sight" by the poet Henry Van Dyke