Short Battering Poems

I feel threatened by battering natural events....

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Sea
of soldiers
turning the tide
against battering waves of
shells...

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Drenched in blood.
Alcohol fueled battering.
Another Saturday night....

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Eagerly like a disgruntled battering ram
she mowed them both down
eager to reach what had been denied to her...

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All I am, oh life, to the relentless battering of your storms I owe!  






  

© Demetrios Trifiatis
         14 May 2016...

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73 Exhumed Creative Engineers Tear Chubby Soliferrum and biscotti

93 Diseased Stewardesses Smack Bemused Ballista and tea cake

83 Gorged Piano Teachers Teach Damp Axe and éclair...

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Whining, whistling, wind overhead is howling,
Crashing, crackling, thunder and lightning raging,
Hailstorm lashes, battering without mercy;

           Reading 'The Tempest'


27/01/19...

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The Witch’s incantations
Slowly bubbling
Acrid arguments
Denying a truce.

The Warlock’s whispers
Chortling conjecture
Snarling sentiments
Battering a peace.

John G. Lawless
©4/5/2023...

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I guard every secret
without building a fortress
around it and not fear theft;
let battering storms attack it,
let ill-wishers envy it:
will their effort to bring it 
down affect my deep fondness?...

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Severe thunderstorms, tornados, and large hail
Scary for an area not noted for storms of this scale
What is happening
Such extreme battering
Patterns are changing rapidly, we are being assailed...

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His “words hit the highway like a battering ram”
And “burn like the metal on the edge of a knife”
So “cold and lonely in the deep dark night” I am
“Crying icicles instead of tears” for his life

January 29, 2022...

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On hearing “Ding – Dong” of the temple bell, a sturdy troop    
N
Of monkeys, live on the mountain top, come down chattering
M
A
T
On to the bell-tower, and muttering "OOK", they eat left-
P
Overs, and then flee in fright the temple bell, battering.
E
I
A...

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Indian Colours vibrant and full of life
In stark contrast to dusky skin of Indian woman
Showing off boldly their resilience in the face of hardship
Amidst the poverty, stench and harsh weather
Amidst the wife battering, abuse and child labour
A gaudy picture against  a rustic life...

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Aching cold in swirling grey,
damp, wet, sharp within the freeze.
The loud retort of battering winds.

But then the silence...
a soundless crystal expanse.

The timeless, endless halt 
of all things storm and damage.

A pristine genisis emerges
on the knife -edge of the instant....

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The storm was raging 
With battering rain, 
I walked up the path
And through my window 
Saw the lamp aglow, 
To welcome me home.


Written 27 th March 2021. 

Tableau 2 Poetry Contest

Sponsored By Joseph May. 

Picture number '4'

 6 lines, 5 syllables in each line....

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I lie crumpled at the foot of my own bed --
there are moments when I am empty,
rushing water pouring over smooth, flat stones.
I stare vacantly at the slow torrent of sky
and at the unchanging rooms of my life.
I commiserate with the moaning of the wind
and the battering of the tall grass of the plains....

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Though Sampson was known for his hair
Delilah quite fancied him bare
She thought he'd look cute
Not quite so hirsute
And shaved him where no one would dare

Alas, when Mother Nature called
The whole world seemed to be appalled
With no hair to hide
Sampson's bouncing pride
His battering ram was blackballed...

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Blossoms sprout in the heart,
the entrails of the start.
Now things woken with life,
for survival they strive.

At last the evils sicken,
life is never a given.
The battering of living,
for being it is hitting.

Alas, now they pass,
fall down to green grass.
It is leaving the heart,
the ending of a start....

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We stay adamant;
We stay arrogant;
Knowing not to stoop,
We create a sham loop.

If we stoop, we will rise,
Battering the web of lies;
Original things seldom glitter;
The things with glow are often bitter.

Hence, outshine inward,
Battling against the outward;
Life's a massive marathon race;
Stoop, rise, be full of grace....

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An immense ocean of grief life is

Where fierce storms of agony rage

Constantly battering our soul's ship

Without letting our pain assuage!







© Demetrios Trifiatis
      01 Aprlil 2021 
-
* UPDATE:
WITHIN THREE WEEKS I HAVE LOST FIVE RELATIVES AND CLOSE FRIENDS TO COVID-19! MAY GOD STOP IT HERE! R.I.P. MY BELOVED BROTHERS AND SISTERS!...

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ALMOST   HOME




. . . . . the feeling of getting close to home, 
easy waves, rounding the point into Conception Bay after Baccalieu’s battering,
train speed abates after the familiar points clatter,
smell of the canal or the bakery,
sound of church bell or neighbour’s dog barking, 
road curves over the last hill and my roof  eases into view. . . ....

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Youth becoming fast the grownup.
 Courage with all the emotions.
 Holding fast to lay down cowardice.
 Creeps into all at times beaten.
 Guns battering chaos from dreams.
 One’s dream sleep shades of red.
 Repressed from never thinking.
 Never to end til spent.
 Smokey tides of grey.
 Plans left behind never return til then.
 The ultimate duty of family.
 Calls to one’s mind past caught up....

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Angel on a hill

You made me feel special
like a shiny apple in a basket.
An old penny worth more than a cent.
A beautiful afghan to keep me warm.
A moon bow in a night storm.
A standing, loving, angel on a hill.
You made me feel special
when the tyrant came after me.
Battering me with haunting words.
Telling me I shouldn't have been born.

Heidi Sands

*Placed 3rd in Contest: A response to......

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Amidst the sea of confusion
with the constant battering waves of of remorse
Compass and ship swirling freely
Renderling it
pathetic and and weak
All faith and hope lost in the tide
Survival, bleak
But then 
a light
it pierced the sky
Giving strength and security
upon a mountain high
guide me to your fortress
release me from this tide of blue
give me your hand to grab onto

Lead me home to you.....

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I can feel the sweat drops forming on my skin
Like morning dew
I can hear my blood ticking
My heart beating
My breath passes my lips 
Like a tropical storm
Battering the defences of some third world country
My waking life is  characterised by emotional dullness
My nerves offer nothing
I glide through the days
Waiting for a god I dont believe in
Hypersensitivity
Now even sleep offers no respite
From the ceaseless roar...

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