Long Wrestles Poems
Long Wrestles Poems. Below are the most popular long Wrestles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wrestles poems by poem length and keyword.
The sea, precociously sails, toward shore.
A curious imp of a child is he.
The waves, like whirligigs, with laughter roar.
There’s no other place i’d rather to be —
where sequin splashes, touch the wind then flee.
With precious charm, his true blue eyes foresee.
With strong limbs, wrestles monstrous whales, and knocks
over huge sandcastles, built with small hands.
He blows on boats and slides under their docks.
Don’t turn your back on him! He’ll wave his wand!
Still kind, he stops, befriends the suntanned sand.
Resolved to do his part, he trims the land.
But role of dad — the king releases calm.
The impish sailor shamed, dropped in time out.
This pampered teenage child, hears preach from mom:
“Draw out wild waves, from deep, to crest and mount!”
Her misty eyes know what this life’s about.
“Reign well, my son! Swells held up high, froth clout!”
With thirst, I turned away to grab a coke,
then crash, swept off my feet —the wave it spoke.
1/26/2018
Laura Loo’s Urban Sonnet Contest
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG?
In shadows deep where chaos grips my heart, A whispered cry is heard from the darkened cells
A child once laughing beneath a sunlit sky, Now lost in the darkness of despair.
Fear crawls like a serpent in the night, its scales revealing the demons I bear
I drown in thoughts that bind me to this cage, a battle fought against silent screams as shadows twist around my mind. I wrestle with the darkness, afraid of what will happen when I close my eyes
Each tear is a river, each sigh a struggle; my mind wrestles with the demons that dance in front of me, mocking me.
I fight against the tide, but it pulls me in deeper
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
because the dark was winning once~
the kind that chews the edges
of your breath, the quiet thief
that steals the names of stars~
and someone said enough.
Lit a wick. Poured thin gold
into the hollow of the night.
because the world is cold
and getting colder,
we pile logs until the fire
wrestles shadows to the floor.
because our hands,
empty so long,
remember how to hold.
because the story never ends
with winter. Only with
a door left open,
a child’s laugh
caught like a bell
between the falling snow.
Humid and hot this April strain
Hurls heavy slot of flu refrains
Here and there see May's fumbling pains
With coughing spree and choking gains.
The viral bug wanders around
With feisty tug that wrestles ground.
Sudden and swift the dizzy fit
Of viral drift in trampled bits.
Runny nose leaks like a loose tap
As flu bug tweaks a flushing gap.
Sea of faces at the clinic
Where sick places join queue static.
The flu bug makes the muscles ache,
Pain swirls and shakes as unease stakes.
This coughing bout makes bronchial fuzz
As phlegm comes out in sickly buzz.
May now unfolds such numbing ways
When leaky cold marks lousy play.
So lie here still as drugs bring rest
To cure this ill and bring back zest.
Leon Enriquez
02 May 2016
Singapore
The body filled with inflammation..
A lightening bolt of pain
Shooting rapidly..
Body immersed in states of agony..
The mind dwells in slow motion..
As mind tries to digest agony
It tries desperately to overcome rapid shots..
Throbbing..
Pain delivered throughout..
The mind wrestles for combat..
In a war with pain..
An Invader had taken over ..
Holding back the fight
Holding back the tears..
Until the mind breaks into a moan ..
Lump in throat..
A waterfall of tears flow..
Cries of pain..
Cries of fear..
Afraid of the unknown..
Why is the question..
Spirit..
Spirit observes..
Sees the body..
knows the mind
Knows itself..
Feels emotions ..
As suffering is felt and known throughout
An expanded vision of all..
Everything that is..
The spirit knows all to well what the body says..
As the mind creates a barrier of protection..
The body is a temple..
The spirit is an eternal temple
Spirit radiates only love..
As all of our spirits glide
We achieve growth in experience
Of duality..
Joy..
Pain..
Burning flames of love spreading eternally..
In the end..
There is no end..
A continuation of love forever..
My owner, George, wrestles with leaves every Fall.
Even though I'm getting old and parts of me are
breaking down, I'm there for him upon every call.
He loves me and refuses to toss or give me away.
Because the leaves fall in bundles for weeks,
He does his best to keep me prepared for work.
He knows that I am among the best, and getting
old is not tantamount to becoming useless.
I'm the scooping type, not the pitch shovel.
I can pick something up, but cannot dig for it.
Presently, my handle is broken, but he hasn't found a fix.
George is respectful and calls me Vel, short for shovel.
My coworker friend, the rusty old tool box, is gone. My
master gave Rusty away, hoping a new family will love him too.
George gave Rusty away, not because he was no longer useful,
but because he felt someone else needed Rusty more. I miss Rusty,
and I pray every night to remain in George's family until I die.
081223PS
Anger and kindness reach for richly polar opposition.
So, can I have any more perfect anger
than I have perfect kindness?
Rumi claims that anger reposes during kindness,
but sleep is not death,
while kindness anxiously awaits
during times of quick vexation,
deeply entrenched resentment and hurt
and fear of pathological repetition
of loss and pain.
Suffering wrestles between these two.
Suffering with grows kindness,
while suffering against grows angry.
Most of life plays out somewhere between
our competitive and cooperative intent
and suffering
mentoring co-redemptive intent,
regenerative practices,
comprehensive polycultural and multisystemic karmic grace
of ecojustice,
therapeutic co-arising diapraxis.
No pain, no gain;
No gain, restrain,
retrain.
We redeem as we harvest
what we plant
in fertile compost
and toxic salt of dispossessive tears
and laughter at those we've left behind and out;
those and that nature we thought we could possess,
own, enslave, use, abuse, victimize, ignore, neglect,
commodify.
Sowing life with Self,
and Other,
in and on Earth's cooperative kindness
and challenging unkindness,
or planting angry monocultural competitive weeds,
and usually some of both,
self-righteous flashy egojustice
and ecotherapeutically peaceful mindfulness
within Beloved Polycultural EarthTribe's formative
normative co-intelligence,
reasons for all four seasons.
Kindness intends to suffer with,
and not against,
to reconnect our DNA memory--
we are a regeneratively co-evolving
deep-ecorooting bicultural Tree of Life,
growing both up and out Yang,
and down and internally landscaping
Yin-Yin ecologic
as Win-Win ecojustice Cooperative Gaming Theory,
rooting our reverse-hierarchical cooperative
and information network
all the way in and through our (0)-soul double-elliptical
Universal Synergetics Prime ReGenesis Project System
of fractal-holonic Design, Community and Communication Development,
Economic Development as Eco-logical and Environ-mental
Continuous Well-Being Improvement.
Kindness suffers with eco-injustice anger;
anger suffers against ecotherapeutic justice.
”The LORD hath heard my supplication; the LORD will receive my prayer.” Psalm 6:9 of the King James Bible
Supplication to Christ always
draws me near toward mercy's care
assured for nurturing welfare
that builds my faith to offer praise.
In blest prayer tested by trust
my soul wrestles with earnest plight
smiting any unbelief-blight
as supplication clears doubt’s rust.
Intimacy with God of grace
midst supplication’s divine thrill
guards my spirit in keeping still
safely secured by His embrace.
Around the Saviour’s loving bond
supplication presents my need
beseeching to be freed from greed
since He with miracles respond.
Supplication indeed brings bliss
despite hardship, sorrow and pain
for it leads to reaching-out gain
thanking the Lord from heart’s abyss.
August 6, 2023
2nd place, "S Words" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 8/7/2023
The captain stands alone at sea,
to safely make that southern horn.
The lighthouse marks that your home free,
or avow the day you were born!
Named after a roman goddess,
hating the seagoing vessels.
With arrows in her silk bodice,
like waves the sailors she wrestles!
The lighthouse light will be your prize,
if your ship on rocks does not crash.
Finding your just a little more wise,
when facing a goddesses lash!
The legends will speak of the gold,
to make it seem more exciting.
If you were there on waves that rolled,
it wouldn't seem so inviting!
For on the bow would stand her form,
to soften the sailors worries.
They might survive that southern horn,
when comes the goddesses furies!
date of composition:12/20/2018
The night may press its weight upon my skin,
And wrap my name in silence, cold and deep;
Yet somewhere in the marrow, light begins,
A quiet fire no darkness dares to keep.
Before the dawn has touched the waiting sky,
Before the birds have stirred the trembling air,
A golden pulse awakens where I lie—
A rising warmth that answers every prayer.
It moves within my veins like sacred drums,
Ancestral echoes beating strong and wild;
From red earth’s dust, a brighter morning comes,
And crowns the heart of hope’s forgotten child.
I am not made of shadow’s brittle thread,
Nor carved from fear that bends at sorrow’s breath;
The sun has built its kingdom in my blood,
And taught my bones defiance over death.
Each scar I bear becomes a beam of flame,
Each tear distilled to amber in the light;
For pain has never known how to contain
The blaze that wrestles glory from the night.
So let the storms assemble in their pride,
Let thunder speak in tongues of doubt and blame;
There burns a dawn no tempest can divide—
A sovereign spark no darkness dares to claim.
For I have felt the east within my chest,
Its crimson hymn, its fierce and faithful art;
The sun does not rise only in the west—
It climbs each morning through my beating heart.