Marring Poems | Examples

SHANTA

Shãnta

On th' night that I saw her...
Darkness had been shunned into day
She turn'd 'round eyes bright enlighten'd...
"Oh, my gosh...Randall, you're here! I can hardly believe it! How are you ol' friend n' HEY!"
Mine eyes started to drip, tears of joy view'ng her visage.
So aglow with Her'n smile n' as if she'd never known this world's marring...
No evidence of pain n' not one hint of it's cruel'st scarring.
She laughed so a'glee; "COME n' dance with me, ya' jerk!"...whilst taking my hand, as 'ven if I'd fool'd refused no...lol, 'twould not have worked!.
Holding me so close, I felt so loved n' adored, when all my pain vanquished n' then 'way we danced my heart soar'd!!
She then whisper'd mine ear; "You've much to do, so keep strong...and don't worry, luv'...then you'll be back here, where you belong."
Slight she pulled back, as The Heavens were her'n eyes...
An most sweet'st n' innocent kiss came to mine lips, as a cosmic swirl whisked mine soul 'way...
Oh, God Bless Your'n Gold'n Heart & 'Til We Meet 'Gain; "THANKS n' I LOVE YOU, SHÃNTA!"

By: ('~A~')zaza

Winter Confession

Little girl, Sunday
through christening water 
Little woman, Monday
through marring rain —
and motions
the berg slicker —
fear the approaching snow 
their heart reign;
together a frozen chord 
felt by a crowd —
she's chilly; 
these arms hugged her prayers.
Then and now clairsentience,
frost scathes my eyes
before knees ever make
ground.

Friends of frogs

Written for the contest: Alliteration Nursery rhyme
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Contest Judged:  11/6/2024 12:00:00 AM
Placement: 1st



For friends and folks of foolish forests' frogs! 

Darkness deals with your dusty dirty wares,
Shadows shine, shimmering in sheering sears,
Stars twinkle topmost on the tossing trees,
To crisply cuddle the blistering breeze.

Fearless forests friends forbid foolish spies,
Listen long, lively laughter lifts no lies,
Even evenings eager to call you fools,
And shame the sour scents of your playing pools.

Ban any boot of blame from your long legs,
Many mysterious mouths mock your eggs,
Hidden hearts hum horrible haunting hymns,
While their fears for you fret on fragile limbs.

Godly ghosts guests fought fetish friends and folks, 
Fresh fears then froze your frantic frenzy croaks,
Marring you from making mendacious cry,
While waiting where the worst will walk you by.

Glue Her Heart

Her heart has turned to glass
Broken shards that stab her from within
Lost in her sea of sorrow
She hardly feels the tears pouring from her soul
Melancholy reigns, marring her mind
She drowns day after day in her ocean of worries
Smiling, when there's no end to her problems
To whom can she open up? 
Who really knows her real state? 
To whom can she share her regrets with? 
Who will pull her up from this dark depression? 
This chasm that seems to consume her? 
This chaos that runs amok, ruining her? 
This speechless pain that silences every other thought? 
Who can cure her heart? 
Glue those shattered pieces back into one whole? 
Take control of her lachrymose life? 
Comfort her, hold her when she needs it the most? 
WHO...? 
Is there no hope?  
Is there no answer to her cry?
Is there no rope for her to hold on? 
Why does life have to be so hard? 

SHE LAUGHS...

Mango

Mangiferin crammed,
Magnificent fruit king...
Mingled with vitamins,
Minerals and fibers
Makes marvelous milkshakes...
Maintains mental health by
Marring malefic moods...

Death Married Death To Death

Death looks at a flower, screaming I am beautiful
look here I am, come eat me, alone.
Death hovers, smiling, never waiting, walking always
by, knowing that,
any thing that touches it will also soon, never die.

Death is love, love is death, why are you both, death
is your pet pink pig, and two flying pearls.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, sleeping, holding on
to the flesh untill it falls off.

Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, why does the
world move you through it.
Death is a voice always quite, sounding alarms to
walk across the street knowing you look while you
come running.

Death is a woman, who is crazy, thinking the world is
spinning into her coffee.
Death to all men who think they can save the woman
by marring death and eating her sandwich.

Death fingered you, you loved it, now you finger me,
leaving my bee exposed on the flower, you buzzed.
Death's own flower is always sweet and poignant on me,
It is always open for you to smell.
and it's red alarms, you ignored,
still here now it comes, alone, to see you as one.

Those Where the Good Ole Days

loves interlude
The story of love
it's why I ask myself
we are best together
seems i don't want no one else
people see things differently
it's different in every eye
we say hello just to say
goodbye
why oh why
tell me why oh why
must my heart be broken all the time!.....


Those where the days
those good ole days
when women loved
there men
with honor and respect
those were the good
ole days

Those were the days
those good ole days
men adored 
and they chored
all to help the lady
those were the
good ole days

say it aint so
say it aint true
no collaboration
between me and
you
can we go back
start over again
maybe this time
we will end up
as friends

i like it when
we were together
talk over anything
through
any kinda weather
holding hands
from dawn til dust
spend a little
begg a little
but in god we'd trust
take credit for marring
the two of us
those were the good ole days!

Influences of love; getting back into romance is harder to do!
trumpets, french horns bassey guiars. violens chelloes flutes and woodwinds. sythesizers and right singers creating the right sounds!

I Stand

For every hour, within so many days.
The minutes i counted as they sped away.
My heart was destroyed, left within the ashes.
The rememnants of life, fell from lowered lashes.
One deep breath was held. 
Held in desperation. 
Desperation caused from seperation...

For every whimper swallowed, before escaping.
For every time things were mistaken.
A scar formed, marring the beauty of love.
Another scar given, as each time I shoved.
Another deep breath held. 
Held in pain. 
Pain that had left its mark.

 For every chance taken, yet never taken. 
For every decision maken that was mistaken. 
For every heart beat that's still beating 
I stand now, my past I'm defeating.
A breath taken deeply. 
Deeply releasing a past. 
A Past that is no longer my prison.

The Sparrow

Foggy
Drizzling rain
Droplets begin collecting
Marring the polished wood
Where the little sparrow stood

Windy
Trees swaying
Tears and mourners
Uplifting scripture is spoken
The sparrows soft cries awoken

Flowers
Sickingly sweet
Meals are delivered
Grieving friends from church
The windowsill the sparrows perch

Living
Seemingly stopped
Weeping at gravestone
Loss they can't abide
Faithful sparrow at their side

Time
Marching on
Sun creeps in
Tunnel fills with light
And the sparrow takes flight

January 2023

Morphed Mists

Mundane matters motley
Muddy minds mostly
Melding, moulding, miring
Mindlessly meandering

Meek moribund musing
Mindfulness missing
Mystics mentalism mimic
Marring meditation’s magic

30-June-2022

Begin with a letter Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Angela Tune

The Hug

A cloven feeling of love
for marring motions of hug
When rising spirits above
tear at their ceilings of tug

And comforts settle upon
what muscles drawn are bond
When tension leaves us for good
and frumpy feelings are dawned

Anger Does Not Cleanse the Wounded Soul

Anger does not cleanse the wounded soul;
Invites no healing to the bosom scarring
By thoughtless word or unintended scroll.

‘Tis more than hurt the mind so marring
Nurtures the malignancy that sears inside
Invites no healing to the bosom scarring—

The constant ache signals the ailing pride
Self-loathing eroding from deep within,
Nurtures the malignancy that sears inside.

More than merely misnomer’d fragile skin
One’s whole being suffers from self-defeat
Self-loathing eroding from deep within.

From crippling anger the soul must retreat
Before the whole personality is eaten alive
One’s whole being suffers from self-defeat.

One so consumed must want to thrive
Anger does not cleanse the wounded soul,
Before the whole personality is eaten alive
By thoughtless word or unintended scroll.

My Best

Exhorted to fulfill my very best
amidst perfection and excellence test…
what matters well is I did my utmost 
vis-à-vis required and set standards’ post.

Respecting others with their unique traits
cognizant of my flaws and error weights…
what matters is that I’m striving to learn
still improving for which my heart does yearn.

Unmasked by jury along good and right
my soul admits guilt of hypocrite’s blight…
what matters then is my attitude show
from inward repentance to faith-glow.

Exposed to God Who knows every motive
my spirit seeks His wise directive 
what matters now is life’s earnest desire
in serving by His grace till I retire. 

Thus, responding to bullies, may I say
tasks abound for achievement-gain each day…
what matters though is having honest* aim
helping someone, not marring any name.

*2Corinthians 8:21 Providing for honest things, not only in the sight of the Lord, but also in the sight of men.

November 9, 2020
9th place, "Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Mark Koplin; judged on 11/14/2020.

Satvik Stance

The continuità
Of thought quanta
A hypnotic trance
Marring innocence 

Soundless word
Double edged sword
Slave or master
As we choose to foster

Love distilled attention
Lower mind we jettison
Deep trance meditation 
Radiates bliss elation

Mode of being watchful
Co-creates each miracle
Bringing reality into being
As of our own choosing 

25-August-2020

The Ballad of a Pencil With No Eraser

The saddest tale that’s e’er been told 
Is that of pencil Sharp
He wrote so dark, so brave and bold
The critics on did harp

Disaster struck one fateful day
As Sharp wrote down a line
His pink eraser wore away
So marring Sharp’s design

Now Sharp decays in health and mind
His purpose now so dull
And as Sharp fails, he falls behind
And publishers are full

No time have they for useless Sharp
A point without an end
So on and on the critics carp
About his latest penned

To greatness go the other pens
And those whose use goes on
To write of mountains and of glens
For Sharp all hope is gone

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