Ravenously Poems | Examples

Lingering leaves of gold frolic in the autumn wind

"Lingering leaves of gold
frolic in the autumn wind,"
Swept up by bygone breezes,
already collapsing
before they begin,
As disillusionment clouds an overtired soul—

Misplaced and irretrievable
To a society that ravenously
disembowels empathy,
Twists and mangles trust
until it becomes unrecognizably disfigured,
Leaving the carcass to be plucked by bone-thin vultures,

Fed by culture’s apathetic, parasitic narcissism,
Under the boiling, pre-winter sun.

Of Poetry's Perfection

I’ve littered the page with alliteration
Marbled it with metaphor
Injected it with irony
Confined it in constrictive cadence
Slathered it with slithering syllabic silliness
Ravenously roamed the Rhyme Zone
Challenged the demons of “How many dot com”
Punctuated the un-punctuatable 
Said “the heck with spelchek”
Shed the shroud of sentient surveillance 

For my words are fed through
The shredders of sentiment
The chopping blades of “critique”
The swirling blades of trimmers
The plucky platitudes of pruners

And yet I write, compose, imbue
In unseen color distant words
Rough cut diamonds
Defying the cutters edges
Leaving a life unpolished
Unabashedly unashamed
Of the tarnished truths
That mar the purity
Of poetry’s perfection

Poetic cauldron

Wanna go back to my poetic cauldron, the ink boils within me, pass me the spoon, minds and souls have went long without. Need I be punished for starving the nation, sprinkling my artistic expression, the aroma reverberates with poetic reverence, tasting glands oozes ravenously, sauces of creativity fills my hand, edible to the soul too, 

marinate the mind with creative expressions, like an artist painter, paint spots all over my poetic kitchen, in my artistic kitchen crockery and cutlery of spirit evokes words, fill the cauldron to brim, multitudes are to be served, a poetic meal, entice the smell sense, as appetites widens, one belly after the other,

I serve the voiceless, the trapped, the surrendered and  those who left this this earth not fed, for in my cauldron ingredients of life giving, competes. Lemme put flesh to these poetic bones and feed life back to this poetic body, it's in my poetic cauldron I wanna go back to
#Poetic_Ink

Have We Learned Nothing

Have we learned nothing!!!???
That the “gods” do not bleed
That fervor and fear are fools
Dancing on the edge of folly.

Peace but a sleepy hollow
Dozing in the woods
Awakening to the horror
Of wars “alarm” clock.

“The gods must be crazy”
Sacrificing their lambs
To feed the desires
Of ravenously rabid wolves.

And we, poor fools,
Bow to them all
Praying for a dream
Defended by death.

Must our faith now be placed
In prayer, muted by hate,
Shouted to distant” gods”
Have we learned nothing!!!??

The Fall

Eve of fall
denuding of trees
No longer lush whispers heard through the leaves

A low pitched moan a creak here and there
In warning to all listening
to heed and beware

The salad days behind us
and winters hounds approach
Ravenously looking for remnants of life to poach

The air increasingly
bearing a sting in the fog of new day
the  fickle sun wears a ring

Announcing its departure
Rushing to its betrothed
On the other side of the world in silver arraignment clothed

The trees declaring without fail
Some years more vibrant than last
The comings and  the goings that happen much too fast

Caught up in lifes bounty unable to see
that summer would end we couldn't believe
we'd witness its death and solemnly grieve

Pulling tight our woolen wear
to the inner rooms we go
to pray once more for early spring and awaite the sleet and snow

The Bibliophile

He was known for a puzzling idée fixe
for literature in an array of topics;
Not a citizen of particular themes.
Given to a pursuit of this literary ENTERPRISE,
he would hermit away and ravenously read, 
which left him with a pale VISAGE.
He'd dealt with comments of its PERNICIOUS effects,
putting a BLEMISH on his social standing. 
Yet, it didn't DAMPEN his spirit.
He didn't shy from upgrading to a learned man.
A mixture of books granted him entrance to 
TRAVERSE an ever transforming road, 
for which weather had no dampener on.
He was a SENTRY of his own mind,  
following the ASTRAL bodies in the night sky,
to channel knowledge into dreams.


~~~~~~~~~
8 Word Challenge: DAMPEN, BLEMISH, PERNICIOUS, TRAVERSE, SENTRY, VISAGE, ASTRAL, ENTERPRISE

Pqr

Perfect Playmate

puny pink primrose
pursuing phantom pleasure 
pecking playful puff

Quitter

queasy queen questions
quirky quail's quivery quacks -
quill quietly quit

Ride

rain rake rattling raft
river roared ravenously -
rider relished ride


First Place in STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (10) any theme any form Poetry Contest sponsored by Brain Strand

Dark and Light

Dark,
ravenously ruled the rocky cave for many hundred years
fearfully fled to the firmament when a little lamp brought
Light



Honorable Mention in STRAND CHOICE Z,any form,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand

Elasticity

When guilt 
collides with my pleasure
and pain is too hard to measure
Escape is the elastic tether
that accompanies 
my sensual physical bender

Tock tick tock
my emotional drop
for a second 
hands feel time stop
Flipping out
as I body flop 
liking being on the bottom
her bouncing on top
surrounding my need
with her hunger spot

Brown eyes 
Black hair
I love touching her everywhere 
especially there
I enjoy drowning 
while being fully aware
My eyes reveal my selfish 
while in that moment I don’t care
It feels like my sad is no longer there
as at her beauty I ravenously stare

She helps me 
feed my need
as I release my seed
In that moment 
a feeling of ecstasy 
my illusion of being freed
I catch my breath
feeling my thoughts begin to bleed.
It seems even my sweetie 
can’t unearth this weed.
Deep down I know
what I truly need.


A small note to explain the last line. During times of stress I am inclined to use physical aspects of our relationship to help silence my inner turmoil. At those times I would do better to look to God to calm my spirit. The physical can only temporarily satiate me.

Kill Machine

This is America. 
We kill everybody equally.
So do the Neo Soviets.
So do the English.
So do the Chinese.
So do the Muslim extremists.
So do the...
On and no it goes.
A meat grinder of death.
More fresh kills are needed.
Feed the death machine.
It's ravenously hungry...

Scavengers

I’ve developed a deep respect for scavengers.
They ravenously attack that which most would disdain;

The impure,
        the contaminated,
                         the defiled,
the rotting flesh gorged with maggots.

Furiously devouring the putrid flesh of the no-longer-living,
inhaling its essence.

They voraciously consume what others abhor,
taking it in with a fervor, a passion,
allowing their body to perform its natural process.

Turning rot into life.
Taking those sacred nutrients, missing from the board of kings,
and churning it into the milk of gods

I'M the Me, Sin Refugee

I have no Lord! 
I'm in no God! 

Oh, I'm the punishment of the opened pains,
the cursed in the blessed world for the bragging

here in the inn of heart 
the holy wine glass
filled with burning coal; 
I drink it ravishingly as well as ravenously  

I'm going to die 
death kisses me mirthfully
I regain the life of humiliation 

Oh, no mortification of thought 
cuddling me
here I'm the me, Sin Refugee
wandering port to city
known to unknowingly

no home I make
on the dew of arum leaf
shining more than rising sun
but after a while much burn

I'm in the burned heart
burning odour I'm in the ghost
likely most living in death


-27/11/19 CTG, BD

Once Again, Oh Little One

Smile once again, little one, for I'm drowning in tears
Why did you leave clasped in your little fears?
Beneath tightly closed eyes, weren't dreams fluttering 
You were my world, in my mind now memories cluttering
Kiss me goodbye, as those tiny feets stride away
Far from life, far from world, far from me, without a say 
Angels, they said, you'd hug, heart's chariot flying 
This heart now grieves for the smile, all dying
Pleading I await, your little wings flying down, soothing 
Our swollen gazes, whisper into my ears, frothing 
Words, I long to hear, know dear, you're more than missed
The past I long for, watching your baby hands grow
You were my little angel, speechless and quivering I saw 
Your life taken away from my hands, ceasing the delight
Memories, deserved of past, blind and deep, without sight
Those days crawl down my mind, ravenously munching
Down my heart, embracing wait of a long awaited touching
Time separates for the missing grows unbearable, it's you
I need back, never to miss, safe with me, for days anew
Stop my wailing words not, for I know not how to reach
My little angel than through words, though unspoken, I beseech...

Colder

I constrict and recoil from the bitterly cold wind
The sun so bright it hurts through the clear sky
Soft melancholy music bounces from the perfect acoustics
And I drink my despair ravenously as I cry
My winter's pain is almost too much today
Profound sadness shoves me violently, 
tearing my old sweater
scuffing my worn shoes
I mutter some passive nonsense to myself
Hoping tomorrow it will all go away
Hoping tomorrow I'll find someone besides
me to accuse

Syncopated Soul

Syncopated Soul


Voices of reason transfixed by treason, a heart murmurs in the cold
Echoes of depletion of a heart in lesion, a face in the mirror gets old
The love escaped and ravenously raped, a tired tear turns to mold
Where darkness dwells and sorrow swells, walking with a blindfold

Life a drowning drain of a punitive pain, a wailful lost in a whirlpool
With a destiny in detain a sacrificial stain, a transposable trivial tool
Shadows of silence in deific defiance, a master and his menial mule
Where winds are rampant and emotions fragment, a cunning cruel

I’ve always known and often shown, existence of a fermented futile
As I stand alone a despondent drone, spewing words a crying crucial
Idol illusions of seditious seclusions, my thoughts begin to be fruitful
Standing at the edge of time a new paradigm, a poetic pensive pupil.



Music by Sinamore~'Frozen Mile'



Sept.11.2018
Second Chance for the Unloved Poem 
Sponsored by: Jesse Rowe 


N/A for contest

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