Wrestles Poems | Examples

Within the Dirt, Stars Form

Dusting the floor,
my broom wrestles
with the cobwebs lingering
from yesterday's sales,
all around the ceramics
the threads poke
in all directions,
I kick the dustpan 
and the dirt crystalizes 
in midair,

for a moment, it was beautiful. 

Sirius, bright as always but
Canopus, closely behind. 

The vacant moment 
stabilizes,
attuning gravity 
for the slightest
second.

The image painted its portrait 
onto the walls just as 

Starry Night captured Van Gogh. 

Unlike brilliant masterminds,
the stars fall as gravity remembers
its role. 

The glittering dots flake 
over my feet blending 
back into the ground,

the straws weak grip lifts
the dirt kicking it back
outside, yet again it forms 
high up in the skies blending 
with nature as it hides,

slowly it vanishes 
as its memory remains

within the dirt, stars form.

Eyes of the Rain

In the face of an early morning drizzle,
On a fireside earth-throne,
I sit and summon thoughts.
The firewood, red with the suppressed anger of
Smouldering fire,
Crackles constantly
Amid the paying of wages of serenity.

Thoughts and fascination cringe
My breath now pulsated by the throbs of wanton
Visions . . .

Invasion!
A gust of rain wrestles me down.
I stand, peering deeply into the grey, fussy
Band of wetness,
Where the eyes of rain met mine
In one quixotic moment.

Heartbroken By Young Love --POTD

I feel your unrehearsed pauses--
the rustle of a blue shirt in leaving
a tangy ache your firm lips make,
holding back  cold, collected words.

This rendezvous ... a slow-fire quiver
an  ending which has it's own interment;
and outside, night wrestles with time
brittle dew against my eyes, dry mouth
licking an estranged bite that reminds me
of your frivolity . Until sighs
become hollow and stuttering
like a thirst from a weltering breakwall.

So it is with discovery,
the trails of affection are never mine
as I call you grimly,' 0 heart-breaker'
while banging shells litter on the dunes
as this heart shrinks from tangled lies:

There is still much to learn about
young passion... needles upon my chest
losing you from sight like a migrant breeze...

for a woman , fragile at eighteen.

Prisoner of the mind

In shadows deep where chaos grips my heart,  A whispered cry is heard from the darkened cells

A child once laughing beneath a sunlit sky,  Now lost in the darkness of despair. 
Fear crawls like a serpent in the night, its scales revealing the demons I bear

I drown in thoughts that bind me to this cage, a battle fought against silent screams as shadows twist around my mind. I wrestle with the darkness, afraid of what will happen when I close my eyes 

Each tear is a river, each sigh a struggle; my mind wrestles with the demons that dance in front of me, mocking me.
I fight against the tide, but it pulls me in deeper

Volcanic Eruption of a Soul

At times the soul gets clenched,
in an unspeakable grief.
In a demoniac grip,
it chokes and w r i g g l e s~
The pain of being stung by a dozen scorpions
or hacked piece by piece by an axe.

Tremulous grows the heart, over love that is spent,
Seeks in vain to revive the joy that is gone,
Strains to lift up the veil that d a r k e n s the soul, 
Wrestles to come out from the desolate cave of black solitude.

The more it struggles to wade through the mess,
the deeper it plunges into the morass of despair.

Clung on talons of excruciating pain, 
wailing a long wail of never being understood,
the mind goes berserk~
w
   h 
    i
  r
l 
  i  
n
   g
 
             and  
c 
  h
    u
   r 
n 
 i 
   n
     g. 

Anytime the volcano might erupt,
emitting fumes of sulphurous smoke,   
with asphalt lava, spilling out,
blowing life with its violent breath.

Faith Paved Road

Too much pain wrestles in my dark,
forcing limps that stifle my spark.
Trekking life's long and winding road,
I seek You for a faith reload.
Praising Your road paved with truth's seed,
I will find where pain does recede.

Hair Fight

She gathers her arms for her nightly fight
to do battle with her hair, to “get it right”
she’s been cursed with unruly, super fine hair
that won’t cooperate and flies everywhere. 

Oh, to have thick, voluminous hair
so sheik, so silky, so shiny and fair
spun layers of gold, or deep auburn flair
or lovely chestnut tones, “fabu-lair”!

But, alas, unwanted whispy is she
as she settles into her pin-curl “soirée”
she wrestles her head scarf to keep it tight
and prays it “stays put” while she sleeps at night. 

In the morning, her second round fight resumes
unpinning her curls, knows they’ll fall flat real soon
next comes the teasing, the crimping, the spray
knowing the volume won’t last half a day. 

Then sighing, with hand mirror, checks every spot
every turn, every angle, she does this a lot
I wait for my mother to finish her hair
If “it isn’t right” we’re not going anywhere!

LADY X

LADY X

The Golden Amazon Warrior
Whether spoken of in Latin 
Or heard in Greek
She is Strongly Built
And tall in Height
She knows how to Speak
She knows how to Write
Wrestles with Men 
Who taught her how to Fight
Pugil Stick Champion
During the Day 
And during the Night
Her Warrior Ethos
She holds them Close
She holds them Tight
From a Powerfully Built Nation
A Nation Full of Might
In Constant Wars
In Constant Fights
The Golden Amazon Warrior
Is a LADY by Day
And a LEADER at Night
Her Name is LADY X
Who Finishes the Fight.

28 Feb. 2021
By: Xanthe LaDale Smith

The woman with three names

There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.

Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.

Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.

Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames. 

Nobody can catch her riddle

runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides. 

But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.

A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides. 

Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer. 

This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter. 

In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.

Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter. 

When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter. 

A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter. 

Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.

PLEA FOR RESTORATION

Seeking now for recovery
I beseech God to heal my soul
from wasted years of misery...
oh, so longing to be made whole. 

Seeking help with sincerity
my heart wrestles for earnest plight
freedom from addiction's pity
pleading toward step in the light.

Oh, I long for sweet peace* and joy
amidst teardrops, sorrow and pain
please smite worry's doubt that annoy
grant me wondrous thanksgiving gain.

Lift my spirit from feeling low
to seize life's quest with eager zest
let me bask under serene flow  
finding haven in hopeful rest. 

*Psalm 39:12 Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

Response to Glenn Hughes "Wasted Again"
June 7, 2024
5th place, "Glenn Hughes" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori; judged on 6/16/2024

UNDONE

Facing God, Assessor so great
my soul wrestles for earnest plight
midst battle for achievement flight
as I confess my undone* state.

Despite grievous sorrow and pain
my heart seeks the Lord Who makes whole
fixing glitches of undone role
toward wondrous thanksgiving gain. 

Upon Christ’s inviting altar
I lay my undone goals with hope
begging for help so I can cope
since He’s my Rock of Gibraltar. 

Trusting the Almighty for grace
against torture of being undone
so that good success could be won
I fix my faith to His truth’s brace.

Now, anchored by the Saviour’s stand 
my spirit claims victory seal
assured of His miracles' deal
that I’ve done my best by His hand.

*Isaiah 6:5 Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.

January 23, 2024

3rd place, "Pick-A-Title, Vol. 41" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 2/9/2024

He waits in Ambush

   My soul eternal
     wrestles the devil infernal
 
  he waits in ambush 
     perpetually, for me

  to forget, and disconnect
     from God Almighty

  then rushes in to ruin and wreck
     extinguishes in a sec, the Light

  God gave me to spread throughout the world
     leaving my conscience submerged, deeply disturbed...

The Angler

The water churns under the angler's gaze,
Mirroring the sky in a soft, gentle haze.
Beneath the surface lies a world unseen,
Where fish roam freely in currents serene.

The line tightens, the thrill takes flight,
A struggle commences, a dance of might.
The angler wrestles with the fish through the night.

Colors burst forth in a rainbow's delight,
As scales glisten in the moon's soft light.
A flash of crimson, a splash of gold,
The fish's strength, a sight to behold.

It fights with resolve, this creature of the sea,
The angler reels, his grip steady as can be.
He knows the rhythm, the ebb and flow,
With practiced hands, he guides the show.

Finally, the fish breaks the surface's hold,
A moment captured, a tale to be told.
In hues that shimmer like a sunset's gem,
A testament to nature's untamed emblem.

In the Canopy of Filtering Light

“Light pervades us. It wants to embrace us. Gloom is its barricade.”
                      -	Quote_by poet

In the hope of this light I walk,
I'm not held by the night of yesterday,
Neither am I saddled by the tempest of my mind,
I'm sheltered from the gloom that portraits the day.

I'll go through the door that this light reveals,
I'll sojourn on the path that it illuminates,
Hope wells within me,
Courage flows from my chamber.

Nature’s light filters through my gloom,
Mirth pervades my room,
I look into the mirror with open eyes,
Faith wrestles fear.

Away from the darkness of yesterday,
Into the light of today,
I can see through the veil,
I'm not edged in by shadows.


November 19, 2023.

Cosmic Stoicism: a Carnival of Absurd Wisdom

In stoic carnival, emotions juggle,
laughter somersaults on a tightrope of reason.
Epictetus, ringmaster, dons a clown's nose,
philosophy as whimsical sideshow.

Stoicism, circus tent of paradox,
where the lion tamer wrestles inner beasts.
The trapeze of fate swings on absurdity,
as three Moirai perform an acrobatic feat.

Seneca's stoic beard, a magical illusion,
transforms into a confetti-spewing waterfall.
Cynicism rides a unicycle of cosmic irony,
while Zeno's paradox becomes a funhouse mirror.

In a carnival of wisdom turned wild,
stoicism pirouettes on the edge of the bizarre.
Life's absurdities, the grand finale,
a cosmic joke echoing in stoic guffaws.

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