"frought" poems
I am in fact a dinosaur
****** into the late 50s
Child of the 60s
Emancipated: late 70s
Came of age through the 80s
Became a man in the 90s
Time travelled in 2000 but
The naughts were frought
Better when in the 2010s
Seeing liberation by the 20s
Extant not yet extinct
This dinosaur still roars.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC
^
< ☆ >
\/
I'm a ship
Upon the ocean
Pressed and frought
On every side
I'm distracted
By emotion
Drawn and pulled
By every tide
I have beams
Splintered and broken
I have mainsails
Ripped and torn
Never hearing
Your words spoken
I am weakened
And forlorn
I've been put through
Greatest trials
Storms I've made
With my own hands
I have sailed
A million miles
And been beached
On shifting sands
Then, at last,
In desperation
I looked unto skies above
There a Star was
In position
*It was God's
Redeeming Love!*
For a while I
Followed closely
Where'er the light led
Then distracted
My own boasting
Turned my helm
Yes, turned my head
I could n'er have
Heard the singing
Of the Star
So sweet and high
For the siren song
Was clinging
To my ears and
To my eyes!
Then I saw them!
Rocks so jagged!
The benighted
Siren's realm!
I saw whirlpools
Waves so ragged!
And I fought to
Turn my helm!
There in fervent
Desperation
I sent up a tearful prayer!
That's when Grace
Became my bastion
I was rescued
Then and there!
Now I set my
Golden sextant
To the Star I know is True
I will follow
Never exit
The Guiding Light I found
In You
Though I have
My certain troubles
It's a better life by far!
I do not steer by Polaris
But by my own
MORNING STAR
SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/14/2017
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:18 AM UTC
Blow by blow
you were the best,
old enemy of mine.
Lightening crashed.
mountains turned to
dust --
we thundered across
vast plains.
Armor battered,
sword and hammer
frought,
and still you fought.
The Gods had
their way with us,
you know --
calling for that
more than mortal
combat.
Blow by blow
you were the best,
old enemy of mine.
Jun 14, 2011
Jun 14, 2011 at 10:49 AM UTC
Adoringly applauding
Arrogant acrobatic aristocratic,
Bourgeois bad-boys.
Braving boredom and bills,
Caught controlling criminal
Circles like a circus.
Daring to do, and to deceive
Desperate damsels in distress,
Each accepting enemies.
Everyone explaining elements
From the final fights
Frought with frustration.
Getting groovy- grown old
Garnering glittering gold.
Holidaying in Getafé,
Holding onto hands of harlots,
Implying impotence and insolence,
Ignorant in their ilk.
Jovially joking,
Jesting about juvenile jealousies;
"I kissed Katie Kurtis"
Knowingly comments one kid.
Left to love and lose,
Like Caesar and his laurels,
Making music and malice,
Manifesting manic malpractices.
Natalie narrates,
"Not now, not ever".
Obvious obstacles avoided,
Objectifying objects that are obsolete.
Praying, pondering over pros,
False prophets photographed as they pose.
Qualifying quangos,
Quantitative quelling of queries,
Raising riots and runctions,
Realising regal and royal remedies,
Celebrating summer solstice,
Solitude is bliss.
Try tampering telephones
To transcribe threat of treason,
Unreal unilateral promises
Unwound by underlying urchins.
Vowing to voice very real values,
Vox pop video views.
Wearing water coloured wellingtons,
Wondering over wax cuneiform works.
Xylophone playing exemplary,
Xavier exists in the imaginary.
Yearly yearning for you,
You're yoked as Gonne with Yeats
(unequally)
Zeroing in on Ritz and Rubble,
Rubble the Zealots want to reign.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
I took a snapshot of my life
And wondered what if I was not.
If I never had existed
What would our lives had frought?
would my wife be just as happy?
Even thugh I was not here
Would my brother be more social?
What would he hold so dear?
If I had never come along
And come into the world
Just how would life be different?
How would their lives unfurl?
Would my mum still be in England?
Would my dad be with her still?
Would my Megan be as happy?
With someone else for her to thrill
The fabric that has been my life
Would have gone a different path
For fifty years are missing
I'm not there to share a laugh
Are my family just the way they are
Because of how I act?
Or would they all have been so different?
I don't know and that's a fact
A fifty year time difference
In all that's come before
because I didn't make conception
I didn't break on through that door
It's strange to think of what might have been
But all the same I'm glad I'm me
And that you've all been part of my world
And seen the things that I can see
I know that I'm a better man
for having you all in my life
I've got so many friendships
And I have a loving wife
To think that if I'd not been born
Just what your worlds would be
I hope that it is better
Because you all know me.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
Haze scatters blue light on a planet.
Frought women, livid, made into peonies by Aphrodites that caught their men flirting and blamed the women, flushed red.
Frought women, livid, chrysanthemums, dimmed until the end of the season, exchanged and retained like property.
Blue women enter along the sides of her red Torii gates,
belayed, branded and belled,
a plangent sound.
By candles, colored lights and dried flowers,
she’s sitting inside on a concrete floor,
punctures and ruin burnished with paper,
boiling burnt lime from lime mortar.
Glass ***** on the ceiling,
she moves the beads of a Palestinian glass bead bracelet she holds in her hands.
She bends light to make shadows against thin wooden slats curved along the wall
and straight across the ceiling.
A metier, she invents tinctures,
juniper berries and cotton *****
Loamy soil in the center of the room,
a hawthorn tree stands alone,
a gateway for fairies,
large stones at the base protecting,
its branches a barrier.
Its leaves and shoots make bread and cheese.
Its berries, red skin and yellow flesh, make jam.
Green bamboo stakes for the peonies when they whither from the weight of their petals
and lime in the soil,
she adds wood chips to the burnt lime in the kiln,
unrolled paper, spools, and wire hanging.
Wood prayer beads connect her to the earth;
the tassels on the end of the beads connect her to spirit, to higher truth.
Minerals, marine mud and warm basins of seawater on a flower covered desk,
she adds slaked lime to the burnt lime and wood chips.
The lime converts to paper,
trauma victims speak,
light through butterfly wings.
She’s plumeria with curved petals, thick, holding water.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 2:48 PM UTC
Yes. The Motives. Which I will due Admit
Why these Trailing Virtues egg me to Write
That my Heart tugs back my Mind to permit
Then bill me later for Hypocrisy
Then assured I was given my Titles null
Beneath you beyond these Honours compare
Cast what Votes? Life be such Permanence dull
To Pour my Energies for you to Care
So goes with the Rest. Whom by their Frought Hands
Cry and Scream to even Notice their Names
Which, by Reason, as Reasonable as Sands
Blew away Dust then Pursue your own Games.
Happy such Moments, as Human you be
To catch how far their Humanity see.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
My biggest fear is standing within earshot of a crowd
in front of a microphone that'll amplify my thoughts
i've always hid in print like a theme you just can't figure out
because if I write slow my tendency to mix letters to a spaghetti mess hardly shows
but when words find their voice in my mouth
its like a shuttle race gone wrong
who goes first, is it the stutter or the lisp
theres too many s's like success just fits and sits amidst words smoothly spoken
when i read out loud I remember the crowd of eager faces witnessing my sure demise
when it was the top five competing for that shiny prize at the the spelling bee
dyslexia
...
your word is dyslexia
like some sick joke in a word i've never heard that would come to shatter how I felt about my imperfections
running out in a frought...no...i meant a fright, not quite sure if I was headed to the right
you see, if you all put L's up to your forheads in your dominant hand, they all look right or left...or right
I missed my turn
to show my tiny world that I learned to read and spell like all the rest
instead of in a tiny jail cell in my head where I would write words in every which way to try and learn them in a way that made sense to all the rest
but instead I turned down a road of "its your turn to read out loud"...
so I'd read really slow not sure if I was reading a history of Korean or Japanese in English
but written in their natural direction for impact
and i'd get through a paragraph before they stopped me
because my words choked behind my teeth
its just embarrassing
let me tell you
leaving highschool was more relaxing than distressing
eventhough everyone that knew me was now left behind
and so I packed up my life in notebooks
and sealed them in a recycle bin
like I could recycle the thought of them
but no matter if I liked it or not
my letters would come to know no order
when stumbling out of my mouth like a night at the bar passed two
because nothing good happens passed two am
but I write according to my greatest whim
when all the hers and hims retire from a night at large
and so im still stuck here with words leaping from my pages looking for a home, in mouths that know how to shout and let it all out
but, no matter what, im trying
so I stand here now choking out this combination of consonants and vowels
because I know now, my imperfections will lead me to a story only I can tell
so thank you for listening to this garbage disposal of spoken notes I swore looked better when I left them just to be wrote
in notebooks bound by the thoughts of just me
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
Whispering silk unrolls in the wind
For its binding, now undoing
Pulling hard by unseen hands
Fingers tangled in spiders' threads
Tugs, less gentle, throw it higher
Over chimneys, tower ledges below
Ginst, bricklain work, chiseled stone
Brushed now by, dirtied and frought
Spied, by sly old grey crow
Mother brings a gift, sought low
Entwined, knotted and tangled
Holds a nest until the wind goes
Finely knitted, strong long cloth
Keeps sun from cool, inside from cold
Chirps and claws, new norms anew
Life long beyond crows ago
Trees, booked, feathers few
Nest has fallen, silk askew
A child tests it's cloth
Fingers rubbing, so soft
Now to moment's a toy for you
But mommy's nose, sees age and dirt
Not for use, maybe sickness and hurt
Thrown to the refuse, lost once again
Light along its journey
It's toes tip, trip, catch the wind
Pulled from piles, playing breeze
Along town streets and dusty paths
It finds its way, fate's touch wait
Sinuously long, a finger might point
The trail it makes for blue blue skies
A ballot's initiative, beauty and far
It wraps and rolls, billows and blows
Twists and frees, darting amongst trees
Not for thee, not for thee
Back and forth, bright leaves
Far out, closer to the sea
It tastes the salt, like the waves
Breathing, snaps up against shores
Invisibles tangibles unbreakables
Another gust and its a storm to us
Up, it's taken thrown in fuss
Out, its brought, a lack of trust
And deep, it'll dive, buried amust
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Once I soared with eagles
my guardian angel by my side.
Walking tall with confidence
caused my foes to run and hide.
I chose my battles carefully;
I picked the place and time.
If any son dared cross me
I knew his *** was mine.
I remember ocassional setbacks;
times when the going got rough,
but the things that should
only helped to make me tough.
I guess I thought there was a God.
I prayed once in a while,
but I knew I didn't need his help
to go an extra mile.
I rebelled against authority;
took all the freedom I could get.
I could not allow myself to lose a fight;
my *** ain't been kicked yet.
Needing victory in every duel
became my prison cell.
As I leaned hard against the wind
my soul set sail for Hell.
I didn't know it left me;
I didn't see it stray
Fighting one last battle,
it would just get in my way.
This battle was the hardest;
it took five years to win.
Revenge and anger were my weopens;
I wore them like a grin.
When the fight was nearly over
and victory was near,
I prayed to God," return my soul"
but He didn't seem to hear.
I'd look for without Him;
this heart that I had lost.
I'd win it back all by myself
no matter what the cost.
Now standing on the pinnicle,
I fearfully looked around.
My soul would not have come up here;
it's too far from hallowed ground.
Starting back down along the path;
frought with struggle and with strife,
I found I was decending through the
wreckage of my life.
While pawing through the ashes
of the bridges I had burned,
I found the charred remains
of all the lessons I had learned.
Confused and battle weary;
I could not tell wrong from right,
but I prayed that at the freefalls end
there might be truth and light.
Now I'm lying in the smoke and fire
at the crash site of my soul
peering out through Godless eyes
as a snake peers from his hole.
I should have had some warning;
a shot across my bow
but my spirit spiraled down and down
and look where I am now.
Like a marble in a funnel,
my soul spun 'round and down.
With a lack of positive energy
it finnaly hit the ground.
Now I'm at the bottom
With no way to go but up.
God, please give me the strength to feed
my soul;
your sacred wine to fill my cup.
This was the first poem I was ever able to
right. At age 56 it came to me in a dream and I got up and wrote it down.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
Delicious Delights
Frought with terrible Frights
Giving my heart a horrible start,
On this starless night.
Mysterious sirs,
Bearing wonderous furs,
Looking at me, plain to see,
Moving in blurs.
What may I do?
What might ensue?
They, whom I vanquish in all of my anguish,
I can undo.
Fears are faced,
Dastardly Dangers erased.
As if I, giving it a try,
Laid them all to waste.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
What is the price I pay for health
The price I pay for this is wealth
In the late night hours I think and dream
So that in pain I may not scream
What should I do with my precious life
Frought with pain; Fought in strife
I want to be the best I can
I want to be a better man
But how can I make my dream so
When all I know is what I'm told
Can I bring myself to live
Until I'm gray and old
I want to live; Don't want to die
I want to see ahead what lies
But can I with this awful style
I can't seem to even smile
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
Vermillion streaks in stratus, dark
Against the very heart of night,
Bands of deep red in the shroud
Portend approaching cyclone's might.
Morning shards of fractured cloud
Stream across a shattered sky,
Smothered sun in shadowed orb
Against where apprehension's lie.
South East winds arising now
Tussock billowing in dale
Trees commence a windward thrash
In lieu of kiss of coming gale.
Greyness of a leaden sea
In the lee of storm's approach,
Beneath the streaming sand dunes
The seagulls shelter, in reproach.
Mounting gusts of boisterous wind
Cascade along the lamp lit way
Schoolgirls shriek as skirts fly high
And ominously, skies turn grey.
Supermarkets, in the city
Teem with queues in panic buy,
Grab bags now the urgent item
Just in case the flooding's high.
Traffic blocks the bridge and byways
Wan in headlights falling rain,
Anxiously, the need to be home
Frought anticipation's pain.
All the birds have disappeared
Vanished, in the sudden still,
Eery in the misting rainfall
Frightening, in a mystic chill.
Havoc as she sets upon us
Howling wind and teeming rain,
Horizontal onslaught blasting
Gabriella's Song by name!
Bridges under siege with flooding
Trees down over roads,
Monstrous waves in tidal surging
Causing coastal overloads.
Imprisonment by sandbags
As flooded rivers overflow
In blinding rain of maelstrom teeming
Anywhere and everywhere you go.
Inundated cars on freeway
Flashing hazards submerged deep,
Rescued souls lost, bewildered
In sudden-ness disaster reaps.
Massive trees are torn asunder
Blasted foliage thrashing wild
Torrents rage through streambed gullies
Gabrielle, destruction's child!
..............
Aftermath of horror's silence
Hollow eyed and gaping jaw
A nightmare for your sanity?
Nay, Gabriella's Song.... is flawed.
M@Foxglove,Taranaki NZ
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 8:04 PM UTC
I feel more clear, as of late
less bogged down by fear and dread
excited for the future?
maybe not
but wildly curious
my love and I decided
over a late-night conversation
built on months of worry and sadness
something rather heavy
we had always wanted to be parents
wanted to have children
compulsory, partly
society expects that of people like us
but here is the problem
you would not invite a friend,
more than a friend
someone you supposedly love more
than anything else in the universe
a love you don't understand
but that overwhelms you
and fills your heart with that mysterious
knowledge that you would absolutely die
to save this little person
you would not invite that person to a house
you know is going to burn down around you
why would you do that
you know that house is going to burn down
you know who is going to do it
you know how this is going to end
why then would you invite them?
I know that I would love my children more than
the universe and all the stars
that is why
in a decision frought with heartbreak
we have decided to save them
from this burning house
to let them be in the peace of nonexistence
safe, forever, from the fate of this world
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 5:12 PM UTC
I feel so safe with you....
Not sure why because you are frought with danger...
As I breathe you in I feel at home....
Laying in your arms... I feel the strength of you...
Little kisses on my shoulder....
Your Hands On My waist....
I love you in these moments....
I love you catching me...
E.J.M.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
Nuphar carlquistii; disheveled parish; her dynasty
Deoxyribonucleic barcode, celestry
E Chord, timbre and thunder
The moon is delicious, burnt umber
Whose tomb, Venus
What heir to the doom of ,
What plant pruned, sheared from
The bemuse of the dead, the naught
The wreath of fig leaves, the drum beat
Frought
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC