Wielding Poems | Examples

Ivory Flutes

I played the flute for a rampaging elephant
she hesitated then flashed a forlorn tusk
and rambled on...
She trampled a greed pocked society
gored its steel hook wielding keeper
and his forty-year reign of chained isolation.
 
Men with rifles arrived, expert at finalizing freedom.
It took 200 bullets, give or take, to bend her ancient knee.
She trumpeted to her kin, long ago marked for death...
profits cut away from their gray mountain heads.

I played an Ivory flute for an angel elephant
as she slid into the mist of a sunflower ascension.

Silent Circus

Segmented arms and legs are seen
wielding a broken machine.
A swinging lamp of kerosene
lights up a silent movie screen.
In the dark Circus Oblique,
presided o'er by the freak,
each butterfly is unique -
but none of them can speak.
Is it not a little odd, 
ev'ry page his bug-eyes trod,
were a kind of lightning rod
for the sad boy who played God.

Between Shells

up the hill
so I can see you
tootle-ha
and wielding
your smile from dawn to twilight
waving tootle-loo

in valley
I can touch your flesh
eat you up
with you sup
my buttercup of moonshine
no need to move lips

in your arms
can hear chest beating
and the roar
of the sea
as your lips slip between shells
and the sun melts me

up on top
you look down at me
I’m the town
we’re grounded
you are the undying wind
of love’s moan and sigh

STAN THE SQUIRREL

STAN THE SQUIRREL

In Texas, there lived a squirrel named Stan,
with his six-gun, he defended the land. 
     He challenged coyotes to duels,
     and outsmarted the local old fools,
wielding justice with his special brand. 

With a hat made of leather, quite grand,
     he scampered and leapt like a cowhand.
He chased off bad guys and crooks,
     with his acorn-filled hooks,
outdrawing the best, Stan’s in high demand!

I AM POETRY

I am poetry
An unheard whisper
Shadows
Conspiring
A tear
Soaked in laughter
Anger
Molded in metaphor 
Humor
Wielding the axe of angst
Whispering
A farewell kiss

I am poetry
The invisible heart of language
Beating a near silent drum
A quiet vibration
Teasing the moonlight
A cool breath of air
Drawing lovers closer
A metered heartbeat
Quickened in passions petulance

I am poetry
A dream yet unformed
Stirring the ink of dreams
Weaving a wondrous web
Awaiting unsuspecting words

Horse Color Cannot Be Ignored

Horse Color Cannot Be Ignored

Intentions, cryptic, in pockets.
Fiery darts lampooned in sockets.
The bow is a clue; not a sword.
Horse color cannot be ignored.

Wielding war’s arms, removing peace,
Men turn on each other, decrease.
Burning core, where anger is stored -
Horse color cannot be ignored.

Black as soot; rider holds grub scales
In hand; deprivation prevails.
Looking at the day prices soared;
Horse color cannot be ignored.

O the wretchedness of pale green.
Adds plague and wild animals, mean.
The ark, a save; won’t get on board.
Horse color cannot be ignored.

To go Home

Land o the mists an glens, land o the water o life.
          Land o the heathery hills, land o the mountains tall.
          Land o the magic tales, land o sacred oak.
          Land o my birth and life, land o forests dark.
I would cross the mighty seas of foam,
The highest mountains would I roam,
Rushing streams I would cross,
To lay my head at my home.
          Land o warriors strong,land o the poets song,
          Land o salmon leaps, where eagles fly free,
          Land that is ancient and old,land where tales told,
          Land o heroes wielding axe and sword.
This rugged land ,carved from rock,
Washed by sea swells, where seabirds dwell,
Where harbours built,strong and safe,
To rest again at my home hearth.

Life in the Country

Someone is wielding an axe or a hammer
It’s the only other noise beside a crow’s yammer
Dogs look down the hill, interested for a sec
Woods are thick, I see no pick or peck

Above the fog I hear a loud airplane
I follow its noise, then it is silent again
Life in the country on a gloomy misty day
Writing takes a bit of my boredom away

Summer Sunset 13-03-23

An artists paintbrush splashes againt a white canvas,
like the sun on an untouched sea
the palette of vibrant colours the same as
the rays of light reflecting off the waters surface.

Wielding his brush in between his fingers,
he mixes two colours carefully,
blurring the line
between the water and the beach.

He paints yet more,
leaving strokes of fading yellow, vibrant red and pink
upon the sea's deep blue ripples and frothing crests,
the sun's image shimmering on the surface.

Intricately he constructs serveral palm trees,
their leaves tickled by the wind,
their bodies forming delicate shadows
dotted all around the beach.

Ethereal rays of light illuminate the idyllic scene,
a majestic combination of ruby, violet and gold.
As the final strokes are set and done,
the silent painting jumps into a cacophony of life.

The cry of seagulls.
The neverending crash of the sea,
palm trees swaying gently in the ocean breeze
as the sun slowly sinks beneath the waves.

Ah!
A summer's sunset

Tempest Storm

Tempest
Winds o'er the sea
Nature wielding power
Exposing our human frailty
Humbling

Habitual Magick

We worship the Sun that’s wielding fire,
be still let the dandelions bloom;
Release the last of the bitter frost 
allow a smile to return to your eyes;

Be still let the dandelions bloom,
it may take some time to grant wishes;
Allow a smile to return to your eyes,
all of winter you have not felt free;

It may take some time to grant wishes,
habitual magick is rising,
All of winter you have not felt free,
hibernating just to remain warm;

Habitual magick is rising,
there is a rebirth of young flowers;
Hibernating just to remain warm, 
nature sometimes pauses to heat up;

There is a rebirth of young flowers,
release the last of the bitter frost;
Nature sometimes pauses to heat up,
we worship the Sun that’s wielding fire.

Lifes Jackdaws

Life’s Jackdaws
I wish it were now! Yes now!? ?Seven tens and two years further along,
like that dead headed summer garden, you know the song, you a long time gone,
In your eyes I saw all the answers, to all those questions which I never knew then,
you never spilt any, I constantly watched for drips of clues uttered unhidden.
 
Oh, and how, now, that impossible conversation would level this rutted path of blunder, 
wonder rattles those memories, stirring thoughts echoing as loud, rumbling mind thunder, 
in a spiteful way, where washed up confusion reigns answerless, wishes would become,
a frail burnt paper kite in a storm of lightning shadows, no solace to share just numb.

Instead, we coral horses galloping in endless circles, ridden by yesterday’s spectre, 
So, we as empty wonder boxes, move on in the shadow of the hourglass’s collector,
we don’t see the time pass, we see the thoughts pass, on a destiny bound runaway train,
amid the cackling squabbles of life’s Jackdaws wielding their blunted knives life stained.

Souper Warriors

 Souper Warriors ride on steeds they call Muse
 Defeating enemies with words they choose
 There steeds take them where the wind blows
 Word warriors whose poetry grows

 They battle mythical beasts in lands far away
 Wielding metaphoric swords on their prey
 Sailing oceans,  riding the storms
 Each adventure brings new forms

 They battle dragons with fiery breath
 With a thrust of their swords dragon takes last breath
 Their realm knows no bounds
 They go where the challenge is found

 9-7-2024

Silent Combs of Pen

Silent Combs Of Pen          	


Hello good friends
Inspiration
Of songs sung
By wind chimes rung
Miles away
On a mountain  
Say you sleep

In longing do I rise
To sit beside your side
And listen to the anthem
That brings the night to life
But it’s nearly the witch’s hour
How alone I mock and scour
As nights growing power 
Splits the very sky

For words feed my hunger 
As night shells out its thunder 
Let pen wrought and plunder 
Thoughts inside my mind 
That catches waves at nap 
Or songs love birds rap 
How silently my wife 
Sleeps inside our bed 

And I wonder if she wonders 
Why awake I cannot slumber 
As to sit in idle umbra 
Wielding silent combs of pen 
For awake or in dream 
We are cast upon life’s sea 
Only distance sets us free 
Come let us be upon our way

Holy Punchers

I think hell to be like a midnight grocery store
shelves filled with burning crucifix and pestilence.
Bloody-black water up to the necks of Half-souls.
Groping mindlessly in the dark...
searching for God in brackish hopelessness. 
Flint and wooden carts colliding-
black water biters abound.

The checkout line is a turnstile 
manned by faceless- dripping things
wielding holy punchers
eternally pocking your debit card soul.
while howling      Next!

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