Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
The wringing dark trailing behind.
Onto her palm, drops shadow's stain.
Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
While the water fills up in gray;
A cloud held to her face's cry.
Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
The wringing dark trailing behind.
On the mountain top alone
Standing with you
Deepest darkness dances
Spits on all that's true
Watching wringing, writhing hands
See strutting evil fall
Laughing at those who call on gods
That are not gods at all.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Cowering in my cave alone
I've run from you
As in the deepest darkness of
My blackest point of view,
Beyond the howling hurricane,
Rock-cracking earthquake's fall,
After all-consuming Fire
I heard your gentle call.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Lord let me hear your still small voice
Speak softly Lord to me
Speak through my busy world of noise
I'll listen eagerly.
So, what are you doing here?
I hear you ask
Disclose your deep-down, deep-felt
Fears. Come let's restart
Walk with me, my willing friend
Surrender now your all
And then, empowered, we can go
Together, walking tall.
Simply in power you came Simply,
in power, Lord, come again.
Seven By Seven Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
1/24/2026
Night Sea Masquerade
the moon takes on a new form
on water closing her mouth
their imposing other tides
she's a belle over the sea
her shadow bulges in waves
at night you never can tell
wringing audience, ringing
*edited the title after contest
"she" is not me for this subject matter
Where in night, down in day
Clutching one's clay clogged face
Dilly-dallying ditzy dances
Dull, dampened waltz swimming with a drunken sway
Methodical movement of the ditz's drunken daze
Dazed dolphins dance down gutteral gin and toneless tonic omissions
Wringing ring wrung fingers, for the ditz's sherry glass gaze
Caught crooning whispers within the careless candid spotlight
Spickle spittle dawned the dolphin's dance, dominance'n drivel
Deigned to sway within a drug infused haze.
Spluttering with the need of stitches, as burly bone ingrowths
Dappered the damper desolate surface
To drag the ditz's measly hip dips, from the four-lipped, two-tipped,
Derailing and de-tailing,
dolphin intrusion.
7//10//2025
To this Mourning idle day,
To the silence of this uncertain night;
I offer the quenched melody
shrieking boastful, in silence of gloom.
In the sombre piano, Chopin
upheaves restlessness crying in fright.
This worklessness pinches deep
the needles, of loneliness wringing again.
An upbeat mourn yearn shows
to reach the absent overwhelmed be.
Here reaches out there to then,
where the answer would approach back.
Sucked back into vacuum black,
Away from the light heavier than dark,
Bleeding in red rose covered
in throes of pain, and beauty of blood.
Leaving behind or being left
behind the curtains of worldliness,
Grounded set her eyes silently
Breathing among the needles of needlessness.
Stewing o’er surprise storms?
"Crying's not for me."
Wringing peace from panic’s plea,
welcome water’s whimsey.
Let the rain soak in…
revive sapped energy
restore grass to green
relax the worry-warts.
"Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free. Nothing's worrying me." B J Thomas
The extermination of my self-identity
comes easy when taken from the tongue.
Words hanging in the balance,
breathe in the air in which they are strung.
Wrap tightly around my neck,
wringing the air out of my lungs.
Infestation of the mind and of
a heart so fractured yet so young.
Carried deeper into a world of hate,
so I let go of the hand that I once clung.
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE ARE ENOUGH.
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE ARE
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH.
Joy and sorrow in staccato
Feet strike the floor
Heel and toe
Pounding from the knee
Kicking up the skirt
Hips sway
Spine arches
Arms encircle the body
Wringing and unfurling
Elbows raised
Wrists and fingers twist and rotate
Hands fling high
Eyes cast down
Cante and compas
Toque and palmas
In passion and anguish
Duende
Brackish nerves languish and latch
like seashells clinging to the shore—
something in the water pulls them in…
some fervor from something
Familiar and Ancient.
I’ve seen your eyes before…
on too many arresting horizons…
how light hits your features,
colliding waves of my senses,
twisting my inner bitters—
wringing them out to the tactless tide.
Bitters melt in the salts…
nerves narrow and focus.
My lit up eyes drag against tidal forces and
you’re lost—drifting love…drifts…love drifts…
Love Drift.
Those dream-drooping eyes
are too knowing—too familiar—
which makes me whimper to realize…
you’re too bright for me to handle.
Things That Offend
Miracle Man
3/5 2025
At eight o’clock sharp our telephone starts ringing,
Medicare telemarketers can drive us nuts.
Seven calls daily keeps both of our hands wringing,
seeking information from some elderly klutz.
Then charitable letters from some we’ve aided,
are reaching out to us concerning our estate.
This causes some feelings of being degraded,
we’re only a name and number whose time grows late.
But these annoyances are just another life test,
that keeps both eyes and our thoughts focused on the cross.
It reminds us daily we’re here to do our best,
without letting these things become our albatross.
A squirrel got into the homestead,
it picked a lock with a dry thorn.
The smell of dank fur clung.
We carried small talk above our heads.
Nothing put away but still dangles.
Denim droops, snagging
the arms of rumpled shadows,
fusty jeans gander and loll.
Calico and cotton are rescued
the soggy separated
from the mildewed.
Soon front steps will be scoured,
tails and collars made to flap
while medium-sized back-yard critters
flounce and fluff.
If a blotting wind returns,
the squirrel will bail with a flick of its tail,
we will wash bathtubs,
fully clothed with yesterday's suds.
Looking Forward to
I look forward to
wringing my
endocrine glands covering the
top exterior of
the kidneys; loving deeply, intensely, first respecting and
approving the
toilet brush; the
new second Tuesday of
the week.
pale scudding clouds turn sun less bright,
bikinis, no more, greet my eye,
and ice-cream shops stand shuttered tight,
fall's shorter days the reason why
bikinis, no more, greet my eye
where balls once volleyed at that net
while children frolicked wringing wet,
and ice-cream shops stand shuttered tight
because the boardwalk lacks its crowds
beneath these far-stretched, graying clouds,
fall's shorter days the reason why
a lonely, forlorn mood descends
here at the beach once summer ends
The holes of the lace curtain,
Having closed the winter windows.
Life shimmers like so coveted blueberries.
So many pieces of obscurity.
The tops of the trees are spinning in the wind,
In a semicircle, back and forth,
Like whipping up the raw material for a biscuit.
Or maybe they're wringing their necks?
The wind has thrown the rumble of trains
Into a soundproof bag.
Every human is asleep.
exhaustion of stars
wringing out the memories
one light at a time
perspicacious perspective
revives poetic express
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