Long Wrangled Poems
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Written: July 6th, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
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Line of inquiry: fact or fiction? what does it mean in actuality, to be touched by spirit?
Syncing retains aurous, aglow affection,
Restore it, and be sure it fosters motivation.
Mountain spiral dynamics and wet reflection,
Glancing up at the stars, for ormolu connection.
My visceral Gaia is where you now dwell,
I am in the wisteria vicinity of your sacrum.
Given karma in our minds, let it beat as a drum,
Severed up and down, then split into shells.
Both male and female, Earth and heaven,
Oh, the saga of time we bore this burden.
Reinstate this vivisection, and complete the link!
Pouring myself into you is just what I think.
Tonight, I drew your kundalini awakening action,
Coronal crown does not lend to construction.
With this eye, I grasp the alabaster overcome,
The following day, as if it had already come.
A holy snake acts as a trumpet to our ears,
He wrangled himself into a marmoreal tip.
We also received our Pashmina chemistry strip,
What have we grown, crafting musical fears?
The water spring will quench my thirst,
I will recall the soliloquy, amethyst, of past burst.
The Sanskrit plexus will be toggled then,
With sapphire sepals pouring from heaven.
I will join the marigold glory with love,
Ancient Phoenix unleashes dark torques.
That it will uncover its solivagant way to storks,
Bringing seraphic peace to mankind from above.
SIMPLE SPIDER STORY
Palsy poison spider
bickering, binding, biting
sparring, stinging, scampering
creeping in crevices cocooned
coded crooked cock-eyed
Here, there, everywhere
Scorpions enticed bicolour eyes
broken webs of gravity’s return
to sting a billion bites boggling
so drenched in poison they
polluted rivers and valleys alike
Here, there, everywhere
Palsy spider died a peevish death
a pensive peony covered her crevice
soon after hatched another
fat on a slick strawberry hat
no more unruly rushing, roving
Here, there, everywhere
Watching a world pass by
through feather ferns fickle
weaving Toltec threads to tickle
looking glasses glowed in unison
ladybirds crawled cowering, to cater
No here, no there, no everywhere
Silver-black spider wrangled
open legged over her webs
a phantom from below or above
fat on slick strawberry hats
smiling savoury sleepily across
flowered forest floors fleshy
No here, no there, no everywhere
Hairy legs entwined another eight
sixteen swirled curled spun sinless
secretly into seductive moist nights
earth deep saffron spelled spoils
simple spider coiled a sacred foil
No here, no there, no everywhere
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2001/edit2024
He wrangled with his world, found a way to cross the seas
on merchant boats brimful of slaves, bound for British shores.
Innumerable are the things that we shall never know;
amazing, those things to which destiny holds the keys.
As a captain of slave ships, raw pain he thought to ease;
yet, time after time, clouds filled his skies with fear and dread.
“God laughed at my calamity,” he would say later when he found
the bow that bridges heaven and seeks a God to please.
He met with Wilberforce, a man settled on his lees,
challenged him, as abolitionist for slavery.
Years passed, but emancipation passed as English law.
The bow that bridges heaven, mankind from bondage frees.
John Newton is his name; He’s one of heaven’s trustees.
Inspired he wrote, Amazing Grace, which brings to my mind
the rainbow - God’s own honored promise to keep His word.
The bow that bridges heaven and keeps us on our knees.
April 2, 2020
1. “the bow that bridges heaven,” Christina Rosetti
2. “I also will laugh at your calamity;” Proverbs 1:26
3. "There are innumerable things that we shall never know, but there are remarkable things that we shall truly experience in life'." Franc Rodriquez.
4. "The Lord has promised good to me. His Word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be As long as life endures. John Newton
One day I delivered a poem
one that seemed to be premature
so I swaddled her up
and set her aside
to grow 'til I felt reassured
How she yowled and howled for attention...
how she cried so piteously!
How she coughed and she sneezed
whimpered and wheezed
then threw up all over me!
Still I tenderly tended her bedside
and lovingly nursed her along
determined to sacrifice everything
to raise her up healthy and strong
As she grew and recovered, she wandered
and crawled over everything
and I found I had trouble containing
my rambling, unruly offspring
She became an inexcusable bounder
a wayward and bratty ingrate
who despite all my love and affection
refused to make sense or read straight
She dallied in questionable places
she idled and shiftlessly shirked
lazily lagging, ignoring my nagging
while I selflessly, endlessly worked
Firmly applied discipline to her
and structure, and meter, and rhyme
but she bucked, and rebelled, and bit me
and stayed up beyond her bedtime
We wrestled, and wrangled, and brawled,
bickered in bitter altercation
if I didn't do something quite soon
she would ruin my good reputation
At length, I decided I'd had it
we had reached the end of the road
and although she clung like a wet paper towel-
I flung her and flushed the commode!
Near forty years, I plied my craft,
Anticipated each new day.
Indeed, most nights, I would have laughed
To think that I’d just walk away.
I delved in magic in my time
I plumbed the depths with cryptic codes
With methods compact and sublime
Though oft I kicked against the goads.
Perfection sought though rare attained
Oft disallowed by time constrained
But O those moments, when obtained
A glimpse of pure, of the unstained
Down through the years, far in the past,
In tongues not spoken, scarcely seen,
We wrangled bits, locations cast
And other crimes, dark and obscene.
I often raged ‘gainst the machine
And failed to quell its savage breast.
Long seemed the spans, far in between
To outcomes daemons, grudging, blessed
’Twas these brief times, joy-filled, I yearned
That brought me, wanting, back for more
Full knowing where I’d soon return:
Depression’s edge, despair’s dark door
This wondrous game of love and hate
Near forty years I played this well
And never did my hunger sate
‘Twixt heaven’s gate and depths of hell
Yet here I stand, I do not feel
The draw, the tug upon my soul
I wonder how that passion, zeal
Just disappeared, yet left no hole
The Lord has blessed me with my bride
With strolls in country green and fair
With stories, small ones at my side,
With fellowships, to cherish, share
And so I find it curious
To have invested so much time
Most certain, not injurious
And yet, to walk and chase a rhyme…
I refuse to think of these days as melancholy.
The “s” has been missing on my keyboard for about a year now,
and in that year I have felt great pleasure, surmounted
great obstacles, and have wrangled
and tormented over false outcomes;
the delusory greener grass.
Yet these are the days I am to discover all of this.
I am to walk out of the cage and stand back, turning around to gaze
at the various compartments of my Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box:
The hinges, pulleys, ropes, splices,
bevels, strapping, horns, buzzers, clocks, and radios
that have encumbered and ran its chaotic push towards
A function built and conceived by man.
I am outside of it now
And I dare threaten to call these days
melancholy just because I miss all my meaningless gauges.
At yet I still stand at the doorstep,
in the silent light where Luminosity begins,
the saddest place of all. It's here
that I find attainment in one direction and attachment in the other.
My Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box haloes
from the white glow of a hidden crescent moon.
Rumors abound
All around town
Lily White
Needs a knight
She is tangled
Being wrangled
By the tricky trees
Planted by Peacocks from Leeds
Wolves are down under
Hearing wraths thunder
Drinking Burnley claret wine
Getting ready to do second tier time
In comes the Hammer girl
Wearing expensive pearls
Bought using Gallo credit
Wondering, ‘will anyone get it?’
Message, ‘relegate’
Easier opponents await
Fans will have reason to cheer
Dousing the same expensive beer
As players work on maturing skills
Crunching numbers, paying the bills
Oh yes, who is going to get dropped
Commentating, ‘our season truly was a flop’
Officially closing the show
Taking the athletic production to parts unknown
Goal now ‘will want to come back’
Claiming healed healthy, surviving a relegation attack
I saw the carefree youth racing,
Racing their cars around the town.
And straight away I saw no one had
Properly clipped their buckles down.
They raced at breakneck speeds,
Irresponsibly, through a bright red light.
Lucky that time, not to hit anyone,
In the still of the cold wet night.
So I wiped a rag of oil over the road,
Around the corner they’d surely drive.
Yep, the carefree fools hit and slid,
Slid to the tree, nobody would survive.
Then I walked to them, the wrangled smash,
With my black cape, scythe and lanky bones.
I helped each up, took each away with me,
Past their cold empty new tomb stones.
“I am Death, I’m the end of your road”
I announced on our short little stroll.
Now, I’m looking forward to meeting you one day,
When I’m harvesting your soul.
New Years Old Wishes
In a world wrangled with wild wars
Between two developed nations,
With civil deaths a sad eyesore
And a bane to human reason,
With harsh tension and violence
Elsewhere one can daily witness,
Stemming from lack of tolerance,
Wrecking homes and lives with distress,
With a few basking in plenty,
Overwhelmed with satiation
And the lot dipped in misery
With children doomed to starvation,
Would New Years old wishes of love,
Would old wishes for compassion
Would wishes for peace fly as doves
Or drop down the deep ocean?
Sands of time will ever unfurl,
But human race will remain same;
So will issues facing the world
And New Years old wishes be same.
Well, I’ve lived in this Montana country
guess it's been pert near fourteen years
I call myself a cowboy though I ain't
punched no cows or branded no steers
Ain't broke me no fiery eyed wild stallion
Or pushed cattle across open land
Never fended off a mountain lion
nor killed a grizz with my bare hands
I ain't wrangled some ornery rustlers
with my rifle and colt six gun
Haven’t spent winter alone in a line shack
or been in a bar fight just for fun
But I got me a hat, some chaps and spurs
went and watched me a rodeo
I learned that to be a real life cowboy
is more than putting on a show
Don’t need to wear a Montana slope hat
to live the good old cowboy way
It's more about how you respect the land
and always mean just what you say
You believe in traditions and honor
love, nature, honesty and song
A person who follows his commitments
though he may have to ride alone
If you want to be a cowboy my friend
then it's having the fortitude
to stick to convictions and do what's right
That is the cowboy’s attitude