Wriggles Poems | Examples

they are everywhere

they seem to be here
they seem to be there
they seem to be everywhere.
`
they're playing with my mind
they're playing with my time
it seems to me, they're way out of line

their sarcasm wriggles and creep
cutting into my soul, all so deep
inside tears fall, again i cry and weep.

wearing their knowledge like a cape
to part and share they won't let it escape.
as i continue, living inside this cage-
with unintended ignorance, as my wage.

standing outside looking at the group
thirsting for knowledge to lift the mood
instead i`m sitting here unclothed and nude
so to gain total respect, i will pursue.

down upon bended knee. i plea
undo this cage. set my spirit free
and life can be all hopes and dreams
instead of drowning in this, dark sea.

My mushy muse

     I’m a dead muse walking, stuck in a queue
        moving along slowly, spreading out too
   A worm wriggles past, looking worse for wear
    was caught in a hailstorm, guts everywhere

    I'm a dead muse crawling, stuck fast in glue
caught up with the worm, he leaked so much goo
       We're neck and neck, near the exit gate 
    I patch up his wounds, then use him for bait

    I'm a dead muse fishing, snagging old reeds
 the worm's in awful shape, each segment bleeds
       I let him off the hook, just to take a rest
        he looks juicy, but in truth not the best

         I'm a dead muse starving, no appetite
          can't find a stanza never mind a bite
          And that poor li’l wiggler, I let him go
        into the hailstorm, oops no, stupid crow!

By
David Kavanagh

Mole

Velvety earthmover, pink spades for paws,
mining for wriggles and nibbles.

You dig, delve and shovel,
breaststroke, through the soil,
a subterranean swimmer,
seeking a trapped sunlight
in the dimly packed dirt.

Myopic mole, surface,
peep out,
to blink at the moonlight,
rest upon your little hillock of labor,
a mound
that testifies to your busy soul.

Push your naked twitchy snout,
up into the wide-open,
whiskers alive to the rarified taste,
of a less muddy slice of life.

Song of the Four Seasons

Song of the Four Seasons 2-16-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Song of the Four Seasons

Jagged steel gray skies
Compose barren bough sculptures
Midnight days, Orion nights
White fire crystal symphonies.

Spring wriggles adagio toes,
Sunbeams thaw tuneless meadows,
Daffodils dream yellow melodies
Blossoms burst fragrant ballads.

Downbeats of summer rainstorms
Silver sonatas of moonlight
Heat rises in crescendos,
Cool waves soothe sunburns.

Scarlet scatters leafy notes,
Crisp sapphire skies motifs,
Harvest chorales of harmonies
Harbingers in orange transitions.

Kestral Sky

A kestrel flies the sky with slow wing strokes,
then glides in and out of invisible windows.

Of a sudden - stillness - no sign of a hover,
as if a child's kite had caught an updraught
and ceased upon the wind.

Did a field rat stand on two legs
to sniff a waft of air?
Did its long pink nose
twitch, its whiskers tremble?

Down plunges a glimmer-flash
of feathered wings.
Down comes a thunderbolt of silence.

A strike!

The rodent is snatched-up
by far-reaching talons.
For an instant the rat wriggles -

it is dead as the bird rises.

The Depths

A mucky puddle
still holds the reflected night.
Two maundering starlings
peck at the dark pool
as if fishing.
One worm wriggles up,
the birds don't seem inclined
to eat it
one bubble in the puddle
surfaces -
I sense a kraken.

The Clearing

The sordid thought thicket thrives 
within the dungeon of the dark mind,
where the web of tormenting roots wriggles,
entangles all the escape routes,
as qualm deconstructs life’s forest path. 

Unsure frail footsteps falter, 
deranged wobbly tread dithers,
the root trap and the abyss wait
for the traveller, worn out of walking long, 
going jaded to nowhere in the jungle of life.

The survival struggle starts as shovel of resolve
upturns the security soil, fells the trees, 
removes the mesh and the darkness,
the crafted pasture of freedom then 
looks up to the sky above the dismal canopy.

Destiny isn’t a pretext, the walk is one’s own walk 
through the murky maze of the forlorn forest,  
where the insightful impulse carves out
a pasture transforming into the garden of bliss,
the inner vision configures in the clearing.

_____________

February 17, 2023
Contest : The Clearing
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
For Brian Strand Premier No. 1194

Resolving To the Tonic

Come cover me with taffeta blue
let the shine rub onto you
when joined with cotton the feel becomes joy
in its pure state

I love the touch of man-made materials 
when I speak with my cello silence prevails
when cloth unites with the subtle texture of painted wood
the touch is overwhelming my heart becomes raucous

But then I play my cello silently
it groans in soft delights
the audience wriggles in their seats
heaven itself can’t contain the beauty of the subtle pianissimo

“Hush,” I said to the multitudes, they became quiet
I played a blue cello; a golden muted trumpet accompanied me
we began with a melodic mezzo piano playing with restrained bird calls
softly the bird songs sat above lilting melodious notes

Notes carry one toward into soulful ecstasies
long panoplies of chords flow like water into a placid lake
cellos then come to the fore filling out the symmetry of music
the full composition is luscious manna to the ears and soul

Chaotic chords flow to their beginning 
returning to resolve to the tonic
to peaceful respite like humans require
to final rest

Movement In the Key of Life

ears wiggle
       fingers waggle
     girls giggle
       customers haggle

     curlicues squiggle
       snail-pack straggles
     belly-fat wriggles ~
       survivors bedraggled

A Girl With Poor Handwriting

As The Note-Taking Girl scribbles
And absentmindedly quibbles 
Her fingers are animated wriggles
Churning out eccentric squiggles:
Letters of Ever Clumsy Angles,
One like a creeper that tangles,
As many like threads in singles, 
Wherefore her teacher openly wrangles 
And after explosion stiffly dangles
Before her the option of A Street Hawker
Bearing a case with or without a locker
And around patrolling with jingles
Or she be whipped and a nearby ear tingles!

But that wasn’t The Rescue from a writing 
That keeps a teacher’s eyes biting!

Listen To the Buzzing Bees

I hear you mumble as the bees buzz around the garden
Slurping sweet nectar
The rosebud’s abundant fragrance
Hangs thick in the moist sticky air
The scent wriggles its way into my nose
The effect surprises a giggle from my throat
You pause and I realize the conversation
Must be too serious for such a flippant reply
I attempt to hush my inner musings
But giggles can be tenacious
Particularly when being suppressed
Causing the giggles to become a roar
You stare at me thinking
I’ve finally flown over the cuckoo’s nest
Which turns my laughter into unrefined snorts
I slowly waft back to earth
Joyful tears slipping down my cheek
The silence hovering in the space
Between us
Please, I quietly beg, see me
The conversation resumes as I concentrate on the buzzing  bees

10/15/2021
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
by Emile Pinet

Sounds Squirm Up

Rain-steps publish worms,
wriggles scribe themselves.
The thrown thud of a newspaper
punctuates the wet and written.
Sparrows scrawl and scrabble,
foraging starlings attack the earth
sounds squirm up,
muddy scripts are picked at, edited
a door slams,
the ground rewrites itself.

The Three Realms of Life

The Sun, the Earth, the Sky
And the birds come to fly,
Their wings wrapped with golden feathers
Kiss the white clouds and the mere blue sky.


The sky stands alone
A lone traveller, who covers the whole of Earth.
White fluffy clouds are its ornaments
While the Sun is its vermillion spot!
Stands the green mountains,
Giving it the huge green attire.
And the birds come to fly...


Brown and hard and fertile
Is the Earth,
Where one can find a variety of life,
Wriggles a worm deep beneath
Stamps an elephant on its sheet,
Jumps the kangaroo over the plains
And feasts the lion on the meat!
And, here comes the farmer
Tilling the layers of ancient survival,
Grows potatoes, beans and pumpkins
This is the sweet Earth where we all lie.

The Sun with its radiant look,
Provides light to read a book
Vitamins to survive 
And the perfect evening scenarios...
Where the Sun meets the horizon
And changes from blue to yellow to orange
And a dark night full of fireflies.


And then, the owl hoots
From the tree branch,
The dark night full of pride
Whistles to the wind,
And the trees behind
The trees behind, the trees behind!

Life At a Glance

“What a beauty!”
his elevated appraise brought
his Love to join him reading
          the news article.

An elephant stands elegantly.
His snake-like long trunk wriggles
on sky – high – like a victory flag;
     spear-edged, curved tusks
support to hoist his triumphant flag
  to celebrate his recent victory.

         “What a marvel!” 
man measures the tusker’s width, 
     his height, size of his ears, 
smallness of his eyes, especially his 
              ivory tusks.
    Tip of his trunk looks like 
a magical hook; his body stands
unmoved, like a round, gray boulder.

        Breaking the expected,
      affirmation, Love begins:

      “Sure, it’s truly a marvel!
He should have Achilles’ courage
  to bear the pain of his wounds
             on his heels;
   his ears with the bullet holes
look like sieves with big holes.
I'm glad that I’m not the woman
       lamenting in this image".

A Charmed Worm

Sigh I high, a busy, burning furnace,
scrolling lines with aching, grieving woes;
she, a charmed worm, wriggles, snorts,
while floating on a fluffy, velvety cloud.


Feb. 17, 2021
Liberum Divisa 4 Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Gregory R Barden 


Original poem: “Catharsis: The Love Mantra   
Posted on Dec. 2, 2020 for the Catharsis Poetry Contest 
Sponsor: Silent One

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