Long Wreaks Poems
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Death comes before the reaper, with its sickly pale dark breath,
A curdling color of dark green, that wreaks somewhat of death,
When dreams fall into hopelessness all lost to the mundane,
Rain of misty misery can drive a mind insane
Do NOT give up your dreams my friend, reach out and gather light!
Like pebbles washed upon the beach, seize each joy with delight
Some dreams of our antiquity, may surely wash away,
Yet others wash within our reach upon this very day.
Do NOT allow the dreariness of misery to steal,
To rob you of the joy this living day can surely deal.
To read the poems of others, or share of one yourself
No dulling of one's wits by putting living on a shelf
Death comes before the reaper, with its sickly pale dark breath,
A curdling color of dark green, that wreaks somewhat of death.
Rebuke the dark time killer that will leave one in a daze
Hopeless hours of pure mundane mind wrapped in mists and haze
Grab the light, insist to write! Live life to the brim
In little ways, in all your days, hold fast!
Carpe diem!
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Dear mother,
Every time I see your face
My mind is weighed with hate
Every time you open your ignorant mouth
I just want to scream out loud
Keep your sorrow to yourself
I don't need to cloud my soul just to yell
Dear mother, don't you know your making your own hell
Better halt your drinking before you sound your own bell
Instead of nurturing me, you drown my spirit with rage
Trying to constantly nick at my spirits strength
But I won't let in because I use my mind to think
Dear mother, your life is an endless cycle of life and death
You suck out my chi and your lifestyle wreaks
Every time I blink my eyes water from your alcoholic stench
My day was fine until you came in
You enrage me to the point of wanting to commiting a tremendous sin
Dear mother, you will not win
You rely on superstition to solve all your problems
Better stop before your thrown down to the bottom
Dear mother, you've never been a mother to me
Just please stop spreading your dark energy
or just leave me be
P.S
Dear mother, I wrote this from my consciousness
So please take head of my wish
For the contest, Tales From The Dark Side, sponsor, Kelly Deschler
Sir, ‘tis a letter for your eyes only, oddly, ‘tis a brown envelope used?”
—“Pray tell, why did you say, oddly, madame?”
“It hails from the palace, a place of dignity, but to forward itself a respite with commonality, breeds a different sort.”
—“Ah! That explains that (holding the unopened envelope in his hand raised), for across our channel is abuzz, as war wreaks havoc beyond our shores, I beg that I be naught caught by any challenges, as an announcing envelope may hail an affront at my very doorsteps. Plainly, it draws none to wonder, for it lacks interest for the few who seek cover from our English weather, their ruse.“
“Really, here in England!”
—”That madman is naught an idiot, but diabolical. Give him no measure, for he’ll want more without end, for that’s his intent. Our nation has long been at risk, and I fear that the contents of this envelope may ripen our unsheathed souls to hail victory in its due course.”
“I dislike war.”
—”Madame, it's naught the matter of ‘dislike or like’, nevertheless, it’s a matter of our very survival that will purpose our furtherance of our ‘likes or dislikes’, their proper argument to entertain our future.”
“Maybe, the palace seeks peace.”
—”If it be so, then I challenge that ‘word’ with its homophone and not homonym from that depressing madman, with due respect, madame.”
“Well, open it, sir, for the king awaits—I trust—for an answer?”
—”Very well, tut-tut. Hm, I’m asked to be the next Prime Minister!”
“Oh my, and what of Chamberlin?”
—”He will probably be a thorn in my rose; unfortunately, it is rumored, yet prepared will I be, to exchange it with a lily. Well, I am off to the palace and there will I see that purplish king, or brown if it be so hush-hush.”
Love burns deep in this ember where jewels are a mere reflection upon the stars
Mere mortals as we live but with this love we divide even the infinite
Options are of dull few words
For who can will or wield such power that no being can comprehend
This deed is foreign to our analogy and inconspicuous to the logical
Defying even the strongest will of man such as that of survival
What is this that consumes me,
Infuses in me the traits of a stranger
Who is this stranger deep within my members
How does one rid this atomical abomination to my design
If words fail me and logic desists within me how can i mold this clay into a pot
The days are still, peace is wraught
Certainty has becomne an illusion of permanance, a dimension not found but seen
These days to try and live wreaks hardship at the gate
Will i rid myself this burden, even in death?
Can this load be no more?
Do not ask time
to work in tandem with you. It won't.
It revels in doing just the opposite.
It is Satan's vicious curse.
Time doesn't care if you have one leg
hopping along the fast lane
to keep up. It won't adjust to your pace.
It leaves you in the dust every time.
Do not bother extending
a hand of friendship to time.
It slaps down every outstretched hand.
It insists on staying your enemy.
Time seethes with envy; so envious
it's working year after year
to ravage your beautiful face with age,
to oxidize all your precious shiny things.
It scoffs at your youth and vitality
so enjoy them while you have them.
Live your life while both are still intact.
before time wreaks its havoc.
Marvel at the colorful flowers
blooming in your garden while spring
is still young, for time will eventually
wilt them all. Cruel and merciless; time...
kills us all in the end!
N-A re-run 7 Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Date submitted: 06/14/2020
Time Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke (N/A)
Date written: 06/10/2020
Chaucer wrote, "... thy tongue shouldst thou restrain."
There is truth in his words for a vile one can cause pain.
A sword unsheathed from its scabbard can pierce a heart.
In like manner, a wicked tongue can tear a friendship apart.
No matter how the teeth bite the tongue before it speaks,
if allowed to talk freely, emotional havoc it often wreaks.
Each word can be a bullet shot from a combative tongue,
delivering a verbal assault when ugly words from it is flung.
Be mindful of the sharp weapon your tongue can wield
because it's capable of wounding those without a shield.
Foul words can't be returned once they've been spewed.
Control its abusive actions by having a change of attitude.
Don't allow it to run wild then say, "It was my tongue's fault."
Control the cruel beast, to say least, and rein it in to a halt.
Scripture says the tongue has the power of life and death,
so do not allow it to define you. Stop and take a deep breath.
Words burn whether whispered, hissed or shouted in scorn,
weighing heavily in the air, leaving the innocent feeling torn.
A tongue can crush both spirit and soul and tell a twisted tale.
Keep it leashed inside your mouth and pleasantries will prevail.
Today the world is crazy wrong,
Upside down and sideways long.
Political strife in a voting year
Brings about a heightened fear.
Red or Blue the fine line blurs
with Blue and Red casting slurs.
Casting slurs instead of ballots
Masks the issues and wreaks havoc.
What is fair and what is right
Lost within the coming fight.
Who may win and who may lose;
A ballot cast makes the news.
Media headlines of this morning
Change with afternoon reporting.
Opinions here, opinions there;
Think for yourself, taking care.
Tomorrow promises more of the same.
Let’s not continue as if insane.
Three more months till voting day.
Please cast your vote, have your say.
Once, he wore the smile of a happy man
but now that seems so out of place
on the foolish facade of a circus clown
who stood on his head to draw on his face.
His life had been turned upside down.
What tragedy has filled him with dread,
this man, who paints a silly grin on his lips
and cries just to prove he's not dead?
Tears of a clown
With a dismal fate and cannot come to grips.
Life is an act, and he plays his part well
but hiding behind the cheerful mask
are the eyes of a brokenhearted man.
One who every night could drown
in a sea of tears for a life that's a living hell.
Every day he wears the same baggy clothes,
a costume worn to hide the pain
that he doesn't allow anyone to see.
But each night the rain falls again.
Tears of a clown
Trying to get through a time of catastrophe
Full of remorse when he lays himself down
It's all part of the carnival show
but alone in shadows he weeps.
He's inconsolable as they flow
Tears of a clown
Nightmares haunt him as he sleeps
With bitter memories, he wakes
and another river flows down his cheeks
Tears of a clown
What sorrowful misery his heart wreaks
Another day
how it wreaks
of time standing still
not seeming to move forward.
The seconds
ticking on the clock
tapping out the melancholic hold
of moments trapped in time.
Ponder the silence
embrace the brief glimpse
of sunrise in the morning
awaiting the moon set.
Tick tock
the days pass
here brief then gone on
marking me.
No longer young
not accepting age
wandering the years
casting shadows on the days.
Just another day
what's on the news
prejudice, hate and war
nothing appears to change.
Is there another course
some better way to live
better decisions to make
lessons to be learned
or will it be the same
over and again
relearning and unlearning
another day?
Cuckoo, cuckoo, the false songbird sings
a maiden has committed the original sin.
The seed in her belly she cannot hide
before it swells, she must become a bride.
Who was the father? Was it Bill?
(a name I recall she mentioned still).
He rejects her and the child inside
before it shows, she must become a bride.
She seeks a cuckhold to raise the child as his own,
and from there the lies are sown.
No church wedding for this bride
which wounds her ego and hurts her pride.
A pact with the devil is hastily made
a secret she believes she’ll take to her grave.
In exchange he takes her soul
an earthly creature that he can now control.
A blackness fills the empty space
filled with anger, laced with hate.
It consumes her but she hides her shame
seeking others on whom to lay the blame
She wreaks anger and vengeance on all those who know
even the family who welcomed her, before her belly began to grow.
She manipulates and dominates those who are kind,
but memories sow clues, like breadcrumbs, in a child’s mind.
The truth will come out, the stars reveal,
then those left behind can begin to heal.
The church bells will toll, although she won’t be missed
and her secret will be told, when she is laid to rest.