Rungs Poems | Examples

Life's a Game of Rungs and Coils

Life’s a ladder swaying high.
Dice are spinning wild, across the sky.
Some rolls lift me to the sun.
Others drop me, the snake has won.
Still I climb, to what fate may bend—
I’ll play this game until the end.

Ladders rise and snakes descend.
Turn the board and toss again.
Every throw’s a twist of chance,
rise or fall in fortune’s dance.
To rung or coil, I take the spin—
I'm scared; I'm waiting to step in.

Some rungs blaze like golden fire.
Pull me closer, lift me higher.
Some snakes grin with painted eyes.
Drag me down from stolen skies.
Yet even from the ground below,
I’ll roll again; Up I'll to go.

Every square’s a story told.
Every roll for young and old.
Some will break and some will bear.
Some will vanish into the air.
But still I play, for in this game.
Every drop and climb's the same.

Life’s a ladder swaying high.
Dice are spinning wild, across the sky.
Some rolls lift me to the sun.
Others drop me, the snake has won.
Still I climb, to what fate may bend—
I’ll play this game until the end.

The Poetry of the Broken

My God is the God of broken ladders,
many rungs are missing
and I don’t have the skill to mend them.

My usual recourse for the unfixed
is to pen a poem about the
imperfect beauty of the
unfinished and damaged.

Breakfast is just for seating two,
there's another broken stool
propped up against a wall -
a silent testament
to 'found poetry' that needs
only a missing meaning.

I am not useless,
my wife says I am not useless,
but she never suggests furniture
that comes as a flat pack anymore,
and she often asks more adept visitors
to bring their own tools.

My God is a God of broken rungs,
I shall keep striving to fix them,
keep my toolbelt greased,
as I hammer images and metaphor
together
with yet more split nails.

Dreams Cast About

       Dreams cast about
          as the moon climbs her rungs
        
        By the first light of dawn
           ~ yield to the sun

The Ladder

Yes
It's rungs
May be covered in rust
But commit to the climb
To learn how to trust

Yes
You'll fall
Again and again
Caught by the arms
Of a very old friend

Yes
You'll be put
Back at the start
A journey to the place
Where you're never apart

Yes
Your hands
Will be battered and bruised
Take solace in a fate
You surely didn't choose

Yes
This climb
Has no real end
But neither does the truth
For which we ascend

I Breathe Poetry

I breathe poetry into my lungs, 
It is my lifeline, 
Together, we have climbed many rungs, 
'tis a great pastime! 

I breathe poetry out to the world, 
It is my message, 
My thoughts in rhymes and verses unfurled
on the written page! 

I breathe poetry into my veins, 
It refreshes me, 
I pen it down in rhythmic refrains, 
'tis my muse's plea! 

I breathe poetry out to the earth, 
It is my musing, 
I etch it in paper for it's worth
someone's perusing! 

I breathe poetry into my blood, 
It keeps me alive, 
I cannot stem it when feelings flood, 
It helps my mind thrive!

Kelli

My first test in what we shared
too easy and too perfectly paired.

The part of us that is immortal
ran holding hands through a portal,

quick to stumble and trespass upon
a duplex that kept the blinds drawn.

Your covenant before my time,
had me pray for that exception of mine,

but my ladder to Heaven with rungs of hope
couldn’t bear the weight of sin—no matter the slope.

So no from scripture to your mother,
from every hand we were to suffer,

fools bound in a tortured trust,
nothing was going to change the unjust.

Given the faith and a mind to discern,
but my wicked heart still welcomes your memory's return.

Its pulse echoes a buried refrain,
the hook on the end of a chain

will dangle this dream forever,
a rearview horizon’s tether

from our last day—these thirty years, 
ghosts recite testaments of tears,

for it was only I or they, that cared.
I never found again, that shared.

Am I Light

Am I light or dispersed star
Scatter or straight to all earthly uneven
Whether the stray comet to unfollow
Chaos or chord to sundry upheavals
Mortal cry pebbles the enshrined path
Luminious moon guide where gleam
Wise that turn to sightless wanderer
Eternal furnace alloy even those flak
Whip of whims encage all beacons
Noble deeds dacay ,utterly numb
Trying our morale in turbulence of time
Comforts or clutter of needs ,indefinite
Men walk towards golden or grey gates
Surrender in mounting rungs and ropes
Dreams shatters like lifeless dunes
Homeless sands beneath benevolent sun
Arrays of aim pierce like pungent arrows
Win or wane for fit to survive in moor world
Featherless souls in sheer free fall;
Can there be ceaseless outbound fountain?
That fearless and frisk in favors
Solo my spirit sway all silos earth bring
Let mind sleeps sight on alpine snow
The genial breeze to free and glow
Altar the heart with care to unrest
Torch of mankind ablaze with brave
Holy human share blessings that unbent
Wish the nourishing rain to furtile and flow
Generous greats render and row.

The Snake

He hates the sun
when it rains
he slithers to the lake side
gazing at his reflection
still he smiles
attention is after all attention
he soaks it all in
a fool who fools no one
they all now see
snakes love ladders
he will never slither to the top
its simply to much fun
playing with the ladders rungs
forget all those silly raindrops
this snake has been caught and hung

Opportunity

. . . is everywhere,
    an eternal, yet distant land.
    Stretching to the highest peaks,
        along the way to beach sand.

It's home to the mansion 
    and mole-hill, in addition to the man-cave.
    With residents enjoying knighthood,
        while they patiently await the next knave.

With many routes to travel,
    the journey is both near and far.
    Since it's not about the mileage,
        or if you even own a car.

It's more about one's vision,
    and their desire to achieve.
    Climbing rungs upon a ladder,
        over hardships they relieve.

The paths that are undertaken,
    may not always be the easiest ones.
    As they can often present some danger,
        though seldom require any guns.

So when they hear that door a knockin',
    it's important to answer it quick.
    Because it won't go on forever,
        and empty hands can make you sick.

Swarming Highland

Written: November 06, 2023
            ___________________________________________

A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.

Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.

Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.

Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.

Dad's Dad

“dad’s dad”


the fun in function is when do becomes does
less rungs than wrongs in one that loves
i cannot climb high in my family tree
i know no nuts for as you can see
this is my stepladder because
i never knew who my real ladder was

To Matter

To Matter
_______________

Why do I not matter, like the empty rungs of a broken ladder, I’ve tried my hardest for them to see, what a good friend that I could be, yet I’m proven wrong continuously, that what I thought just isn’t free, so now I pay for what I mean, to myself and others I’m in between, I’m giving now not a second thought, that how I feel was never taught, or sought. Plain then simply, not a lot.

Voices

"The voices howl in the dark frightens even the brave."
Quote by poet

Voices, do you hear them in the pitch dark.
They drum from pressure within moist cold wind.
It's exfoliating and forced whirlwind,
Abstract heated amorous meadowlark.

Autumn leaves move violently battered.
Dancing, blind moving incoherent wave,
Surrendering to errant void then save,
In, under midair wheaten and scattered.

The voices in the wind echo louder.
Rose pedals flow upward like flaming tongues.
Rumbling voices which weave the ladder's rungs
Blow a slight prouder, dalliance power.

My Little Girl Or Yours

At the end of a family line
she is lost on a bare branch that leads nowhere,
A twig extended into just sky
is her last journey
it is a finger pointing at an unmarked end.

I imagine her a lost little girl,
somebody's orphan or castaway.

When that child cries (which is often),
for the totally lost are inconsolable,
then, I wake up in that emptiness
where nothing branches
I mind-crawl as near as I can get to her.

The closer I get the more a cold wind roars
until that tree of far flung relationship's
sways back and forth.
I try to keep calm, call to her
as if she were a cat
I were trying to coax down from a high place.

She is always looking away from me.
I think she hears my voice
I am sure she knows me, but how and from where?

I can't hold on to this slim rocking branch any longer
and have to edge back to where the limbs
are thick and strong. As I retreat
slowly she fades away or is it I that fades?

She has no recorded history
but we are definitely both on the same DNA ladder
only some rungs are broken
and they can never now be mended.

Jacobs Ladder

I don’t climb that ladder anymore,
the one that goes both up
and down.

The rungs were never helpful,
being made for struggle
not for actual reaching.

Some spend a lifetime
looking for just the right ladder,
most end up in dead-air
as fish out of water
struggling to breathe,

it is then I realize
I only have this broken ladder
to offer.

• Short Rungs Poems
• Famous Rungs Poems
• Best Rungs Poems
• Read Rungs Poems
• Long Rungs Poems
• Rungs Quotes