"wrest" poems
if learned darkness from our searched world
should wrest the rare unwisdom of thy eyes,
and if thy hands flowers of silence curled
upon a wish,to rapture should surprise
my soul slowly which on thy beauty dreams
(proud through the cold perfect night whisperless
to mark,how that asleep whitely she seems
whose lips the whole of life almost do guess)
if god should send the morning;and before
my doubting window leaves softly to stir,
of thoughtful trees whom night hath pondered o’er
—and frailties of dimension to occur
about us
and birds known, scarcely to sing
(heart,could we bear the marvel of this thing?)
9.2k
being a poet is not planned
**~for Gabriella Garcia~
~~
*a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots
what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking
was he thinking?
that it was an ejection
that it was an ***********
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?
that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?
try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too
who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?
knowing well and full
now
the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas*
~~
upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
______________
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
Ornery odious ordinate ostensive opulence ornate optimal
Motivity meatus meticulous morsel moribund mendacity monstrance
Lucidity lingam loquacity longevous licentious lurid languishing
Votary volition verve venery vector vauntness vast
Talismanically telepathy tantamount terrestrial tellurian transition tractive
Idolatry -ics incus ictus ichor icon icky
Yogi yowl yore yoni yerk yenta yantra
Gimpy gesticulation genre gestational glitch genuflection grandiose
Dastardly douceur denouement denigrational deplorable despicable desperate
Paltry potentate portentous plagiaristic pandemic plenipotentiary plenary
Jouncy jocular jeopardy jettison jurisprudence jaunt juxtaposition
Ramify repartee radix recital rectitude rendition repertoire
Beastly bartizan bodacious belligerent brusque blatant blasphemously
Enmity exigency exacerbation extemporaneous edifice eulogy exoneration
Zoolatry zoomorphic zilch Zephyr zoic zygosity zealotry
Sultry solace subtlety substantiation suborn subliminal sensorium
Unity ultimatum usurping unfathomable uncanny unbridled unary
***** hornswoggle horizon huckster homogeny holistic heuristic
Nugatory notch nostrum notorious nihilism nimiety nimbus
Wrathy wreak wroth wrought wrest wrangle warranty
Artistry autonomy articulation agility acuity asperity acerbity
Keeky kangaroo court kowtow kobold kleptomania kinetics kinesiology
Xylography xenophile xerophilous xylophagous xylem xanadu xenobiotic
Critically credibility critique coercion conjugational conjunctive corporeal
Queasy quasi quantum quintessence quagmire quixotic quantify
Flighty flippant flamboyance faux pas fornicatious fictitious finite
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
I see apes walking on ice,
I see snakes slithering on snow,
lively eyes indulge my dream,
and it haunts me.
worry, worry, worry.
marked drips on a stained walkway
catch my stare so often
I forgot I was looking
by two levels, I drop.
the ground awaits me.
today, I am sure-footed;
I will not buckle.
an enigma passes:
I wrest free my heart,
but too late!
all that is left...
a cold afternoon,
a quiet memory,
a regretful encounter.
and countless others
who, in unfortunate confidence
might turn away in disdain...
they won't know a flower's scent.
if I were one of them,
I would stand up and say,
"Advance, Collingchance!
Attach your legions to mine,
and together we will conquer!"
or I would approach you like a highwayman
and make demands of you....
but since I am not,
my only demand
is that you accept me
for what I am.
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
Finite fictitious fornicatious faux pas flamboyance flippant flighty
Quantify quixotic quagmire quintessence quantum quasi queasy
Corporeal conjunctive conjugational coercion critique credibility critically
Xenobiotic xanadu xylem xylophagous xerophilous xenophile xylography
Kinesiology kinetics kleptomania kobold kowtow kangaroo court keeky
Acerbity asperity acuity agility articulation autonomy artistry
Warranty wrangle wrest wrought wroth wreak wrathy
Nimbus nimiety nihilism notorious nostrum notch nugatory
Heuristic holistic homogeny huckster horizon hornswoggle *****
Unary unbridled uncanny unfathomable usurping ultimatum unity
Sensorium subliminal suborn substantiation subtlety solace sultry
Zealotry zygosity zoic Zephyr zilch zoomorphic zoolatry
Exoneration eulogy edifice extemporaneous exaserbational exigency enmity
Blasphemously blatant brusque belligerent bodacious bartizan beastly
Repertoire rendition rectitude recital radix repartee ramify
Juxtaposition jaunt jurisprudence jettison jeopardy jocular jouncy
Plenary plenipotentiary pandemic plagiaristic portentous potentate paltry
Desperate despicable deplorable denigrational denouement douceur dastardly
Grandiose genuflection glitch gestational genre gesticulation gimpy
Yantra yenta yerk yoni yore yowl yogi
Icky icon ichor ictus incus -ics idolatry
Tractive transition tellurian terrestrial tantamount telepathy talismanically
Vast vauntness vector venery verve volition votary
Languishing lurid licentious longevous loquacity lingam lucidity
Monstrance mendacity moribund morsel meticulous meatus motivity
Optimal ornate opulence ostensive ordinate odious ornery
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
I guess I'll have to make it up.
A bird came to me, she did not chirp
And he did not whisper.
The wings sheathed on its back
Were in no disrepair.
Was it blue? How hard to tell, for its
Skin and coat were of glass, but
finer.
This bird a flower.
So far from bloom.
So frail i'll keep it, to nurse in
Gloom.
Not all birds need sun, nor all flowers flight.
But this of mine will soon have both, for mine must wrest day from night.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Soaring past the cloudy moon
The Eagle dives beneath the spume
To wrest away the wary mouse,
Ere dawn, to yonder eyrie-house.
And far beneath the cliffs aglow
Men go about their rigmarole.
But an upward gaze affordeth hence,
A fleeting glimpse of elegance.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
I could lose the coins in my head
Through the act of giving myself to you
Kick you in the heart with all my breath
Skin stripped and shed for you
What’s the word and how shall I say it?
Is it whatever you said before?
I have no one to benefit
But for you, I would clean your floor
I could stay there all my life
I could love you clean from the inside
I’d let you stroke my mind
And hold you through your moans and cries
I’d grasp you violently
You’d teach me how to plead
And I’ll kiss your head
You’ll strangle me to bed
I’ll let you wrangle me to bed
I’ll let you have my brain in my unrest
Wrest control from me
Watch my bliss fill the sea
Truly, we could rule the world
We’d ignite our canopy
Tangled inside entropy
So long as you’re inside of me
I’ll have you, you’ll take me
Earnestly, viciously
Can you hear my tongue?
On the edge of the velvet rung
I can hear your soul
Echoing through countless holes
I’ll take it all
If you’ll let me
We’ll fall under a shawl
If you’ll let me let you breathe
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 11:59 AM UTC
The laws of God, the laws of man,
He may keep that will and can;
Not I: let God and man decree
Laws for themselves and not for me;
And if my ways are not as theirs
Let them mind their own affairs.
Their deeds I judge and much condemn,
Yet when did I make laws for them?
Please yourselves, say I, and they
Need only look the other way.
But no, they will not; they must still
Wrest their neighbor to their will,
And make me dance as they desire
With jail and gallows and hell-fire.
And how am I to face the odds
Of man's bedevilment and God's?
I, a stranger and afraid
In a world I never made.
They will be master, right or wrong;
Though both are foolish, both are strong.
And since, my soul, we cannot fly
To Saturn nor to Mercury,
Keep we must, if keep we can,
These foreign laws of God and man.
2.4k
I want to tell you
everything.
Everything there is
to know about me.
About how I ran from
the highest hill down
to feel the air push
me behind.
Once I bent down
before God
and asked Him to give me
death over happiness.
I used to believe that
dust was nothing but
dead memories
fallen away from us.
I will tell you everything.
If only you asked.
Because I want to.
I want to give you
a piece of my mind.
I want you to get
inside the mind that controls
this melancholy body.
I want you to get
inside the chambers of my heart
and wrest dark secrets
from its broken symphonies.
Fix it.
You?
I will tell you anything.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
People yearn for peace through the night
When they can only see by inferno light
A flame that engulfs the world
But begins in our hearts
We've been tainting this pearl
From the very start
When ****** is part of their plan
I honestly attempt to understand
But the tears I hate flood my brain
When fears create blood and pain
I'm willing to lose my agency
As long as they don't aim at me
We bang our heads on the wall
Until they roll on the floor
They built a ceiling so we'll fall
So we can't reach the door
I am no longer the man inside the estate
When I'm disenfranchised by the state
So I'm pushed to society's outskirts
For the people with whom I flirt
And my perceived net worth
But where one society ends another begins
And they all claim that I've committed sins
So I wander around
Just not inside towns
Where the bullets fly like the accusations
And productivity drains all inspiration
I live in the remote wilderness now
I hoped things wouldn't be so loud
I hear drum beats in the distance
They're explosions killing infants
But there's nowhere else to turn
And my lawn is starting to burn
Must I deal with the chaos colossus
Or could I continue playing possum?
Must I stare into the fiery abyss
To make it onto heaven's list?
Must I return to the mainland
To experience my final stand?
I will wrest sovereignty from them
I will rest in poverty until then
But I would rather have less money
Than subtract family members
They say you draw more flies with honey
But all the flies die in December
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
Lazed beneath the sycamore,
we laid upon the forest floor
amidst the myriad hues of leaves,
so picturesque in reverie.
As we basked within the shade
we'd reminisce our latter days.
Our dream come true in years to come
with hope our threads of fate stay spun.
Kiss me here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.
You'd draw me close into your soul;
not once could I resist your pull.
We'd traipse the earth between the trees;
forever yours I thought I'd be,
until the day that you weren't there...
until the day that you weren't there.
And just like you, the leaves were gone;
not one lone branch did they lay upon.
Our footsteps where we once had walked
now cloaked beneath a sheet of frost.
And from the sky poured shades of gray;
the sun will hide to mark this day.
I'll be right here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.
Our dream come true had turned to naught,
just as our tree had fell to rot.
Now there's nothing left to find,
save for the memories left behind.
Razed beneath the sycamore,
I wrest my soul forevermore.
Our cherished past runs 'cross my eyes,
and dies within my own demise.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
You mean if I don't go extinct,
I guess I'm free,
as free as anyone is in this world,
with Destiny glaring at me from her Window,
Her eyelids fluttering in anticipatory teases,
and yet to flirt with her is to invite Doom into your pocket,
Even if she does gaze the glance of her blessing on you,
your date with her is, ultimately, set
the supper is bitter, and her wine that which lulls in the sleep of the ages,
until thence, she changes tables, and woos another suitor.
we all must have that sour meal with her sitting quaintly across, smiling demurely, yet knowingly,
So, until the time comes to sit at her table, wrest free from her shackles the very smallest bits of will
tho it make her jealous, her envy 'tis thus of you still.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Crescendo the silent beat of hearts in chests
at all things nigh and beauty,
or lovers' eyes locked in stargaze wrest,
on cue as sunrise scarlet symphony.
Fortissimo in birdsong chirp and banter
while car horns blare with careless fervour ;
on pavements listless feet in patter
as suits and ties commute in canter.
At noon the music peaks, forzando.
Soccer mums braced in cafe convo
of lunchtime gossip in staccato
while babes in prams asleep in piano.
On cue at sundown scarlet symphony
the baton slows in rallentando.
Call to slumber twilight melody-
the daily music diminuendo.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
1633
Still own thee—still thou art
What surgeons call alive—
Though slipping—slipping I perceive
To thy reportless Grave—
Which question shall I clutch—
What answer wrest from thee
Before thou dost exude away
In the recallless sea?
1.8k
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove,
Of golden sand, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run,
Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun.
And there the enamoured fish will stay.
Begging themselves they may betray.
When wilt thou swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seen, beest loath,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both;
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let course bold hand from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wandering eyes.
For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself are thine own bait;
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.
1.8k
I'm not sure if you and I have ever
been apart, long enough to make me
wrest my dark secrets
and revive you from the back of
my manic mind.
You have been my companion
for however long it could have been
and I have tried as much as I can
to run from you.
Away from you.
But sooner or later,
your easy reach into my soul of torment:
you know where to hide, where to look for
the things I thought I lost,
will make me return to you.
And with this silence,
I thee wed.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
The human being is an inherently contentious creature.
Seven billion rock-wall eyes;
Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;
Noses affixed to seven billion faces;
Faces covered in creases and scars,
Framed in unruly hair
And outlined in stark exactness
By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.
Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".
We are an incongruence:
We row up the rapids,
Scale the waterfall
And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.
We will always get what we want,
Whether it involves killing the albatross
Or playing Gondorff's chess.
Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp
Or that of our more miserly peers.
Robert C. crystalised our resolve.
The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats
Stand abreast.
Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",
They begin the forward press.
When an impish grenade leaps our way,
We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.
The barricades erected
By Mother and ourselves alike
Are many and implacable and incessant,
But they will be broken and overtaken.
They will be broken and overtaken by us,
The humans,
Because we are.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
On crimson tides we ebb and flow
no technicolor dreams to show
the darkness falls at our behest
as from our hands the senses wrest
take the tincture to ease the pain
release the heart from this dark refrain
shadows revoke our light of day
to incumbent solace we must sway
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
Love, should I fear death most for you or me?
Yet if you die, can I not follow you,
Forcing the straits of change? Alas! but who
Shall wrest a bond from night’s inveteracy,
Ere yet my hazardous soul put forth, to be
Her warrant against all her haste might rue?—
Ah! in your eyes so reached what dumb adieu,
What unsunned gyres of waste eternity?
And if I die the first, shall death be then
A lampless watchtower whence I see you weep?—
Or (woe is me!) a bed wherein my sleep
Ne’er notes (as death s dear cup at last you drain),
The hour when you too learn that all is vain
And that Hope sows what Love shall never reap?
1.6k
Where are
The ecstatic saxophones that
Slung forth swank slurs of
Beauty,
The *** *** ***
Bass lines,
The snaps and snares and the
Sweet rhythm of the Night?
Music had character
And minds followed, in following
Soared.
There were no glittery vampires,
No prepubescent
Brother boy bands.
Soulful crooners never
Warbled over Alejandro,
Or the boots with the fur, with the fur.
We wrote letters and shared thoughts and ideas
And convictions.
There was no need for the techno
Middleman
To wrap our
Real thoughts in LOLs
To make opening
Up to another
More efficient.
Mass media
Gluttony drowns
America till I strain and struggle
Only to barely stay afloat
In this sea of apathy.
But you won't buy and sell my soul.
I'm not going to
Be your
Consumptive,
Quiet,
Couldn't-care-less,
I won't get in the way,
And I won't raise my voice,
Good American,
2.5 children,
Christian,
Conserva-libera-publi-crat,
Self-centered, Illiterate, Ignorant
Sheep
Only to follow the power.
**** no,
I'm mad as hell;
I want to leave the next generation
A world where
You can confess your
Love and be a man or
Love another man and have
Basic human rights, and it all
Starts in your
Mind
And your
Expression thereof.
It's the saccharine pop
Culture that has
Made free-thought unfashionable, a crime.
Art is
Revolution.
Hang
Up,
Log
Out,
Unplug and just look
At what you've let the
World become in
Letting yourself be
Little more than
A faceless source
Of merciless dollars.
Wrest free our
Culture from the
Calamitous and indifferent
Claws of rampant capitalism.
Express yourself or submit,
Stand up for a free America.
I will not be sold.
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 2:23 PM UTC
It was a normal two scorpion and one rattlesnake day at 112° in Wichita Falls , Texas .
Texas . . . they made Hell out of the good parts of Texas and the rest of the state just went there . Fortunately my parents only went there so my little sister could be born there . We left the great state of Texas and moved to the incestuous state of Alabama .
Where the impossible will always remain the same . And the possible will be banned , outlawed , and perpetuated behind countless barns , toolsheds , and the outhouse known as Montgomery , the State Capitol . Called the Heart of Dixie (it should be called ******* of Dixie and thank God for Mississippi , for they have wrest that title away from us . But we gave it a-hell-a-va-fight .)
We are a multicolored society . We have white (the pressence of all color) and black (the absence of all color). Which is strange now because the black people are called colored and the white people are called all kinds of blacked out names (usually on court documents).
Alabama is proud of it's educational system . We measure one's intelligence by how soon they leave the state for better opportunities . In Alabama an educated person is a four letter word , like *** hole , or worse . Oops !
Let me see now . . . one , two , three , four . . . got to tale off my shoe . . . five , six , seven . . . wait a minute . . . *** hole ? . . . is that one or two words .
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Forsooth, this *** of thine, so pert and tight
and Denim clad, orbs of wanton desire
that gadded man did wrest folly, and smite
wretched fortitude with embolden'd fire
of lust. verily, a janus faced Goddess
temptress to the recklings of gawded cheeks.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
If I offered you blood,
The screed light of moon,
In tempest night of storm,
As nigh as my faint heart,
Would you pray penances,
Acknowledge new ablutions,
At creed, alter of strands,
Of oceans and seas alight,
Under a moon so struck,
With fires of salted water,
Tears that rain from within
And wrest your old troubles
In the beams on my love,
If I offered you blood?
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
She thinks the leaves will change just for her, If for long enough she stares.
believes, She's in the Praying Mantis's constant prayers.
Thinks the sun doesn't really shine 'till she takes a look outside.
believes that fireflies only light up to impress her.
Somehow, she Believes all of this, And still thinks she's of the lesser.
She tells her secrets to the Trees and doesn't care how she looks.
tells her fears to the fish, as she frees them from their hooks.
And to the Praying Mantis, She tells her past,
hoping, it will pray for her future to take a smoother path.
Her Future.
It couldn't come any sooner.
But it's of it, she's terrified.
Confined, to the present time,
She's a prisoner of her own mind.
Scared, of the unknown.
Inside, She's still a little girl, But oh, how fast her body's grown.
She thinks Nature is the only thing on her side, And her enemy is time.
She's already sick of this roller coaster called life.
But hasn't lived near many enough days.
She says,
Praying Mantis, Should I close my eyes the wrest of the ride?
No answer, Yet silently he prays.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC