"dueling" poems
We were dueling with sparks
Now we’re juggling fire
Flame still starves in the dark
Never beaten or tired
Doesn’t dim with age
It can’t be blown out
Still alive with rage
Feeding on your doubt
It doesn’t think
And it can’t feel
Driven to the brink
Craving its next meal
Anger scorches your soul
Many have learned
If you play with fire,
you’re bound to get burned.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
but no friends and no invitations
from weaker, lesser duelists
three thousand on a mtg deck
like the true king of dueling
i watch the nerdom go down
you lost to somebody
who spent twenty dollars on his deck
and i laugh anyways like it means a thing
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
What happened on Weehawken Heights,
that warm midsummer’s day?
There are several versions of the “truth”
but none for sure can say.
The Principals were both well known:
Hamilton and Burr.
Aaron Burr had made the challenge,
Hamilton would not demur.
Hamilton choose pistols as the weapons
Then Burr proposed the site.
Per the Irish Code Duello
It was all proper and right.
Dueling was illegal,
so the Seconds looked away
so they could plausibly deny
that they had seen the fray.
Each man walked off ten paces,
and Mister Pendleton yelled “Pre-sent”!
Most think that Hamilton fired first;
wide and right, his shot was spent.
Aaron Burr was deadly accurate:
His shot, its target found:
Alexander Hamilton, wounded,
swooned upon the ground.
“this wound is mortal, Doctor.”
was all Hamilton could say.
They bore him to the City where
he passed on the following day.
Aaron Burr also fled the scene,
evading prosecution.
He had “Full Satisfaction”,
this hero of the Revolution.
What is full satisfaction
when Burr’s Star was past its season?
He never more held public trust,
indeed, stood trial for treason.
A person can be haunted
by a ghost that none can see.
Burr’s brilliance had been blighted
by a sort of infamy.
Towards the end of his own life
Burr said of his enemy:
“{Had I known}The world was wide
enough for Hamilton and me.”
On July 11, 1804, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr fought the most famous duel in American history. These two heroes of the Revolution were political enemies and Hamilton had done much to exclude Burr from the Presidency and from the New York governorship. Burr,feeling he had been defamed by Hamilton's published remarks demanded the "Full Satisfaction" of a duel. My account generally follows the account of the historian, Joesph Ellis. Any errors are my fault. Any items in quotes are words ascribed to these two famous individuals. Aaron Burr never after held public office and eventually stood trial for treason for his alleged attempt to set up an independent country in the territory Jefferson purchased from France. After several years living in France, Burr returned to New york where he faded into obscurity. Alexander Hamilton is buried in the churchyard of Trinity Church in downtown New york.
Towards the end of his life, Burr remarked: "Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me."[35]
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 7:04 AM UTC
Just a Game. . .
In the comfortable stockade of my mind
Hide and seek cannot be won
Tiptoe away and find a hollow,
The solitary spot
Slipping between turmoil
Festering in alcoves
Always waiting; back tensed,
Adrenalin sheathing the silence
If I remain undetected
Perhaps the seeker will ease off,
Forget the ollie ollie in comfree
Leave me stowed away.
Much later, I could creep into safety
Call a truce, change spots...
Yet unmarred, the same old rules;
Vicious whispers that ask of unknown.
Meaningful glances and gritted teeth,
The shock of lush green eyes chasing down memory lane.
Wake up, Maple. Wake up.
But I wouldn’t, and it didn’t matter.
Because the stabbing whispers would continue inside;
Dueling emotions I long ago left at bay.
Reside there, waiting.
Counting.
Watching.
*Ready or not,
Here
We
Come.*
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Drawn by the sadness of time
Minutes of repeated striations
Hours of wounded sketching
Days draining color
Outstare me...I dare you
Survey my damage
Morphing into
A dueling masterpiece
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
Is this a power hierarchy?
Does our dueling footwork
Convince us to
Lock into some sort of
Competitive symmetry,
Twisting into your
Mashed potato minefield with
Doo *** , doo dad laden
Dancing shoes?
Gimme your
Electronic sympathy, baby,
Infiltrate the airwaves with
Piercing eye contact and
Tremourous finger tip brushes.
Is my informality coming through?
Have I communicated with
Unlocked elbows and
Megaphone ears that not only
My body but universe
Lives here and in you?
Orient yourself to me,
I task while asking you to
Take off your straight jacket and
Stay a while. Unlock your
Pandora 's box so your
Monsters can meet mine,
Mirrored in different shades of
Shock and shame, operating under
Varied hues of the same name.
Lean into me, let your
Shoulders slender and shimmy to a
Tenderizing touch, the
Objects under your skin collapsing
To the 4/4 timed battle
Between form and perception.
The ingestion of the
Metaphor is the message, and
The tongue regards a tune
Differently than a taste.
Face symmetrical, nostrils work,
The blooming waste of consumption
Centered on the top right corner of
Your cheekbones.
I can't help but grab the
Slight upswing in the tone
Of your voice and spin it around;
Let's swing, darling.
I'd like to take your descriptors
On a date to the dance floor.
How long can we keep this up until meaning has waltzed out the door?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Red and raw like my brain,
unable to shut down.
Thoughts crashing like electrons
orbiting a nucleus of dueling emotions.
Wanting to stay up,
Knowing I should want to come down
and stay that way.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
enthroned above the kingdom of desire
hardly born... a chestnut of wane fire
stealing metronomes from garden gnomes
shunning the gimme
of asking for nothing.
your breaks mend
iris slivers sleep in dungarees
of dross and stale glass
sick lemurs. dancing in the Cherokee of sublime Dementia
dueling rhapsodies of function
utterly bereft
of form ....
unformed.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
Persistence is the fuel for success,
Ignited by the sparks of passion.
Attacked by the enemy of imperfection,
Facing hardships on every battlefront.
Dueling problems with a strong sword,
Fighting for the ultimate cause in life.
A warrior never admits defeat in battles,
No surrender in the war for excellence.
When success is finally won by glory,
The blade of victory will shine with pride.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
Soon after the sky had cast off
The tattered cloak of night,
And the midnight sun had set,
Helios himself climbed above the trees.
Dancing across the tops of dueling oaks,
Those primordial brothers between the ponds
Who, over time, grew up and into each other,
He sat spinning madly.
Shedding his golden rays,
As a lab shakes and sheds the water from his back,
They fell deliberately onto
And through my open blinds.
And I, stirred by the small streams of light
Cutting through the dark as if empty space,
I opened my eyes, only to close them again.
Lying, silently, I wait,
Tracing shadows as they slowly shift,
Dancing across the dull, white walls.
Fetid clothes lay protecting the floorboards.
The stale smell of smoke lingers,
Trapped in the soft cottons and polyesters
Of the cream throw pillows,
The blue waves of comforter,
The vast canyons of the corduroy futon.
Wine, fresh on my tongue,
Tells tales of the evening,
Lost of late in a world so distant.
My memories slip away like slack tide
Beneath rotten planks of a dock.
Twin cities, London and Paris,
A cold Christmas morning in Montmartre,
The warmth of the café we shared,
All hung up neatly on the wall.
Maps of emotions I never knew I had.
Only the breeze may speak here,
Whistling through the fissures in the wall.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
met my maker
*not for the first time,
two acquaintances periodical,
two boon craftsmen, artisansals,
bs-gab-talking about who is surely
the better poet, glinting, side-splitting,
raucous laughter in our dueling self-mockery*
*neither takes the other too serious,
but of each other, we take endless,
never satisfied, insufficient, each needier
for the rapper inside and repartee, adoring
our jiving unique camaraderie, all-the-while,
knowing our balance unequal, but not caring*
*for as equals we meet, to revel and reflect,
revealing things of each other that only we
know, meant not for sharing ever, for these
webbed strands binding, at same time, release,
permitting a tough honesty tally, truth not a concept,
unnecessary, for how could we ever hide our love mutuel*
*we sitting bestride and beside, in ye old, weather-beat-down
chairs Adirondack, having come hewn from trees centuries old,
now overlooking the Bay, we eyeing a solitary fisherman whom,
we both knowingly aware, metaphor for that day that will come
to collect me away to a new locale, where we will yet still needle
each other, with mercy unforgiving, not for our misdeeds, for never*
is forgivenessasked for or given, not taboo, but
holy unnecessary for such is the way the between the
designer and the artifact, the poet and the poem, the craft
and the object, gardener and her fruits, a cellular understanding
that comprehends the interlocking necessity of our natures, that our
shared endings, are a duelity, both finale and gateway to our next poem!
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:46 AM UTC
I do not live: I burn. In acrimony raging
Two souls are dueling within my breast:
The soul of a devil, the soul of an angel.
Their breathing is flame and it gives me no rest.
Not one flame bursts but two - whatever I am touching,
And in each stone two heartbeats I hear clash…
Wherever I go there is an odious doubling
Of two warring faces, which vanish in ash.
And everywhere the wind that follows me is spreading
The ashes: all my footprints are effaced.
For I am not living - I burn! - and am shedding
A trail of grey ashes across a dim waste.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
Dreaming seems to be a cycled reality,
dueling matters of vague interpretation
almost holding on to a fugue
state of delieverance,
that returns to dreaming.
A wakefulness that pardons our stressors,
exploring how sureness of changing tides
have arrived to wash the shore’s footprints;
turning salutations to a once cumbersom
slumber to keeping these eyes closed.
The mind never rests,
it continues to timely act.
Despite the character of one’s gait
submissive to extrinsic. We dream the same.
A neutrality in recognition,
the deepest desire,
the social matter,
and the human acceptance.
We rise to sleep
to deeply wake
the harden reality we failed,
to accept throughout our day,
removing our knighly armor and face
our dragons which have their own vices,
yet our devices hinder. Our true dreams,
blur between eyes closed
changing to dreaming with eyes open.
Realizing all true negatives are true
positives differing only from accepting
that I can vertically add difference;
we can all equate to change
if you keep dreaming in mind.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
If our lives were like a dueling match, we would be the perfect partners. You can deflect every move I make. We'd be dancing th same dance, always, and neither of us would win.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Animated means to bring to life.
Animation is evolving.
Animation went from being point A and point B to finally involving the journey.
Animation has evolved to being three dimensional. Seeing more than just right and wrong but now seeing reason. So when my significant others attempt to shoot me down by telling me I'm too animated, I smile.
I smile because I have evolved.
I smile because I'm finally bringing you to life. You brought me into your life only, not to feel lonely anymore. All the problems that won't here between us in the past are finally arising as you are growing muscles on your backbone that only See's right and wrong.
Is it that the problems aren't transparent anymore or are your bones finally catching something in between them. Anyway you break down the definition of Me, you will always get that I am alive. Even the Greek breakdown of the word animate still say I'm soulful even more than your soul food.
It's not my fault when you want to send problems my way I change the environment we're dueling in like a Yu-Gi-Oh field spell card. You want me to get real like bullets but even then shots I avoid them like the matrix.
I can get real like the Hokages death and still show honor in our battles like I'm Goku. Animation shouldn't be the reason why our relationship takes a step back. That shows me that you were dead from the start and I should of started my prologue somewhere else.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:46 PM UTC
An empty shell
of where breath resided
A childhood fantasy
unveiled as grim existence
Echoes of lonely hopes
with wishes unfulfilled
Crack Me
Reveal Me
Smother Me
Bury Me.
I'm Dead.
Smooth velvet wind
whispers Love across my skin
A vision of possibility
emerges as a prism of celestial hues
Melodic waves
push my soul ashore
Envelop Me
Illuminate Me
Cleanse Me
Celebrate Me.
I'm Alive.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Down I go
Dying slow; no carpet rides
Beneath the blue below
Precious diamonds; pressure only grinds my bones
That which dwells in these depths,
Must be overthrown
Like the stone, dragging me deeper
Into this black cold
All my sunken attempts
Dress the sand in swords
For all the fallen warriors slain
By the dueling voices inside my brain
Chained to pillars in this endless ocean
Composure erodes like weathered boulders
Yet, I stand staunch against the breaking waves
For what is outside myself, I have no mind to claim
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 6:06 PM UTC
Dueling mind
No, not mind but something else
Constantly fighting for what she likes
Never happy
But always empty
Dueling mind
Give it peace, maybe she will settle
Lets try and see
Not far from reach
Yet a thousand miles apart
She knows what she wants
Yet she still seeks
Like a blind man
She just wants to see
Like a baby she just wants to know
Her dueling mind won't let her go
It causes her pain
Her dueling mind won't settle
Her mind
Her minds
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
You ask me how I find the time,
But time is not the issue,
For they, are all prepared, needing only recognition,
For they, are all in readiness, needing only composition
I see a toddler swaying, see him to disaster lurching,
Somehow avoided with last second seer-like swerving,
Ten times in a ten foot walk across a patio,
My eyes code red at the incredible risk/reward ratio,
It is nature at it most incredible, miraculous, ordinariness
A young girl of ten wears a pocketbook across her forearm,
In the style of an elderly woman, as she plays with Barbie,
Tho her body immature, her psyche, says note my
Iconology, her accoutrement, texts a message subtly,
I am preteen, I am near woman, treat me accordingly
Dueling iPads in bed is a poem in my head,
rhymes accurate of screen reflections of an
X factor that stimulates my cerebral cortex.
Verbal ointment that I posses can't fix a flat tire,
but sets me up for a personal review, self awareness
Gone mad and with finger, on gas station floor,
In the grime, words are realized/written concretely,
what my heart speaks freely
Within each day, miracles present themselves,
Gauntlets thrown, note them well and be justified,
Visions, external to my physical self,
Yet product of internal chemical reactions
That blow through my veins, swirling,
Word leaves, on a November weekend,
Windswept from a thousand directions,
So you ask me how I find the time,
The question proper be amended,
How do the times find me,
How do I know them,
And why, do I share them
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
Persistence is the fuel for success,
Ignited by the sparks of passion.
Attacked by the enemy of flaws,
Facing hardships on every battlefront.
Dueling problems with a strong sword,
Fighting for the ultimate cause in life.
A warrior never admits defeat in combat,
No surrender in the war for excellence.
When success is finally won by glory,
The blade of victory will shine with pride.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
I Don't Like Guns...But
they make my husband feel
like a man and help him bond
with our sons.
I don't like them or how he
describes the way they feel in
his hand: "Better than a ***
I heard him confide to his pal, Joey...
but something has to protect us.
I mean it's our right to be on guard.
It's our right.
My husband spends all his
time with his guns: cleaning them,
polishing the barrels, studying their
details. And talking...talking about
his gun rights, about his next NRA
meeting or what happened at the
last or that he can't believe how
good the right gun in his hand feels.
I don't like guns...they made me disappear.
Written for GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO: DUELING WITH WORDS TO STOP GUN VIOLENCE. ..a Facebook group
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
Nothing matters because this is all too transient
Facebook smiling photos granola girls with hair flying up
Faces red from drinking and being pressed by their boyfriends surprise birthday parties Oh
The boy you once loved happily smiling from campsites You knew he was different when he told you
I like computers not ***** dueling not drinks
Sense not sexuality
And yet he’s there, grinning without you, happy until you are finally Ashamed
Of what did not happen between you
Ashamed
Because his friends surely know of your shame, his numerous friends who are not your own because of some Accident of your narrow birth
That did not bless you with his indifference, his casual, easy way of holding on to people
Ashamed
Because you’re staring at a world that doesn’t really exist
And you know, you just know, that you still care what It thinks.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
I woke up late this morning
It took me awhile to get out of bed
And when I did
I contortioned my body at odd angles
To squeeze all the sleep out of my bones
I looked out on the backyard as I peed
And saw two cardinals hopping around
Bright splotches of red in the overgrown grass
They stood facing each other chirping loudly
I couldn't tell for what until I saw
The female, brown and plain, standing by
On the banister of the deck
Watching the standoff
One of the red males fluttered up next to her
And she took off, not satisfied
The one still in the grass took off madly after her
The one on the banister galloped its length before taking off
Like a rolling lit firecracker
Its fuse too long
They both flew towards the house
Out of view
I scurried down stairs
Mildly overweight, hair sticking up at odd angles
Like a ball of broken glass
Thundering down the steps
The most ungraceful of all creation
Lumbering and over excited
When I got the back window
All three of the cardinals were in a wet clump
Of purple flowers that had opened themselves
To the scant sunlight of an overcast day
The female jumping and chirping excitedly
The two males weaving and bobbing in and out
Of the flowering bush, a pair of dueling sowing needles
Trying to knit the song of success
And then they saw me
My shirt an unnaturally bright electric blue
My face pressed stupidly to the glass
My grin unnatural and dreamy
As I watched this common display
That is still dazzling to me as I think about it
And they all flew off at once
To settle their matters elsewhere
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
in the woods, i was a boy of twelve summers
lanky and spry, my shadow faithful to my heel
as i trek. i suspect no doom. the world loomed
imperial.
in the woods, i was a boy who dwelled, tunnels -
deep in the sun. my halo, entangled in my horns
my forearms red. i reject no truth. i hurl moons
aerial.
over white picket fences. i blend in with wild things
calmly. i move through the rough shrub and ivy.
[tall grass.]
lashing mid-thigh... bare skin, drum tight. cooling
where the wind kissed. my innocence inveigled
in the turbulent dusk. bucks rut, then
lock horns; dueling
magnificent.
in the woods
i was a boy
who dared.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC