"wrestles" poems
1255
Longing is like the Seed
That wrestles in the Ground,
Believing if it intercede
It shall at length be found.
The Hour, and the Clime—
Each Circumstance unknown,
What Constancy must be achieved
Before it see the Sun!
9.7k
The wind wrestles with my hair and fills my cheeks with pink.
The thickness of the day surrenders to the coolness of the night.
Fleeting hues of violet and yellow set my heart on fire--a promise of warmth.
The world is still.
But the fire goes out and the shadows flood in:
unveiling the deepest depths of darkness.
And yet, the stars scream out:
The sun will rise again,
The sun will rise again.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 10:50 PM UTC
1724
How dare the robins sing,
When men and women hear
Who since they went to their account
Have settled with the year!—
Paid all that life had earned
In one consummate bill,
And now, what life or death can do
Is immaterial.
Insulting is the sun
To him whose mortal light
Beguiled of immortality
Bequeaths him to the night.
Extinct be every hum
In deference to him
Whose garden wrestles with the dew,
At daybreak overcome!
5.9k
My sister is a quarterback
I rarely catch a pass
and she can run a marathon
I soon run out of gas
she pitches for her baseball team
I pop up on her curve
and she's an ace at tennis
I can't return her serve
My sister dunks the basketball
I dribble like a mule
she swims like a torpedo
I flounder in the pool
she's accurate at archery
I hardly ever score
She wrestles and she boxers
I wind up on the floor
My sister catches lots of fish
I haven't had any luck
she's captain of her hockey team
I can't control the puck
her bowling's are unbelievable
I bowl like a buffoon
she says someday I'll start to win...
I hope someday is soon
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
284
The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea—
Forgets her own locality—
As I—toward Thee—
She knows herself an incense small—
Yet small—she sighs—if All—is All—
How larger—be?
The Ocean—smiles—at her Conceit—
But she, forgetting Amphitrite—
Pleads—”Me”?
2.8k
One day you'll find yourself missing her in the worst way there is to miss a person.
Bones in your body cracks in every searching steps.
You can't differ between your sobs and a ticking clock.
And your soul, it wrestles with the one in your head. Daily bloodshed of "This is not real, she is still here." and "This is. It is. She has found another home and she is now whole."
One day you will find yourself missing her in the nastiest possible way there is to be an empty shell.
To breakdown in every intersection you walk in,
and to look at a carcrash and think 'at least I can survive that'.
To feel every fiber every atom in your whole being burn and scream,
they are begging,
they are begging for you to ******* breathe.
To inhale air on to your lungs and not her ever leaving scents,
to put air on it and not chants of 'I miss her' because repeating those words won't take you anywhere but the graveyard.
You'll start making god out of every thing.
Your home, your mother, your socks, the ring you never get any chance to give her.
You just need to hang on to those beliefs, that even if your god won't hear your cries, you can still beg the other ones to return her.
Your knees touch the ground more often than your lip does the cigarette.
(But now that she's still here she'll still be the one taking all the pills.)
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Cocoon suspended ‘neath a branch,
Out of harmer’s range;
Churning in tight quarters then,
Awaiting for the change.
A cast she’d spun with great detail,
To blend into the scene;
Remain innocuous, choosing plain,
To spend such days serene.
This sanctuary has terms of time;
Yet flippant so, of sight;
Blinded by the darkness kept,
May only dream of flight.
There, outside this nurturing crypt,
Lies futures yet untold;
Exploring freedom, airless hours,
As wings will then unfold.
Alterations to her inner form
Complete in all detail;
While oblivious to worlds unknown--
Mem’ries without a trail.
As perforations tear a fold,
In which she will embark,
To crystal, glowing cast of moon
Within this evening, dark;
She wrestles to uncurl her girth
And wingspan so anew;
That seems so awkward, foreign and
Has converted different hue.
Now perched upon her drying bed,
She fans while instincts try
To capture sens’ry explosions
That lay to foundling’s eyes.
Beyond the glen, a spot she sees;
A single glowing blur.
Just then each tree bends toward one side,
As breaths sweep under her.
Weightless, floating, movement new,
She tests her longer arms,
That reach, manipulating wind,
Should quivers strike alarm.
The lure of the eerie glow,
Possess investigation,
As closer toward the light she flies,
Embraced with consternation.
Near collision with the beacon,
She’s halted in mid-air;
Translucent strings of sticky form,
She didn’t see, were there.
She wrestles, tries to free herself,
While a shadow looming near
Smiles with contentment of
His cunning craft of snare.
Slowly he approaches while
She looks to see his eyes,
So vacant of emotive flush,
With fear she starts to cry.
The octo-legged creature then,
Inserts his poisoned quill,
As venom circulates her life,
He waits until she’s still.
Then coils her in silky thread,
While dancing ‘bout his room.
Tho’ this is of his own design,
She returns, inside cocoon.
As thoughts of life, such brevity,
Released of any pain.
She closes youthful eyes at last,
And dreams of flight again.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball
where did we go?
blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become
how wrong have we gone?
well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders
way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say
Worthy of record, the books all open,
Pens ready, the faces, sad,
Waiting gravely for the tired lips
To move once -- what can he say?
His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.
2.3k
Birds jump to the branches
of trees at sunrise,
But in the morning man
wrestles with whys.
Why do there seem to be
too many cuckoos?
Why chirping so noisy
what are the clues?
In morning the sleep
descends from its core,
and chittering of pigeons
hurts a man more.
There is a lot of tension
and a lot of stress.
Working late at night is a
suffering a mess.
Yes fatigue on mind,
whenever Man feels,
At times, smoking or
drinking appeals.
At roaming late night
the cosmos retort.
A Reckless freedom is
not its support.
Be it testy coca-cola or
a pizza or a cake,
Nature always opposes
without a mistake.
The sweet, the chicken,
the fish, juicy curd,
The cosmos advises
that these are absurd.
While Orderly pattern is
nature's workforce,
But freedom is nature of
a man of course.
As many are options and
choices so gobs.
A Man and this nature
are always at odds
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 11:33 PM UTC
Thoughts, worries, dreams, and hopes
All running faster than lightning through her brain.
A constant stream down a raging river.
Twisting and turning, moving faster and faster
Every failure, every painful memory weighs so heavy it begins to crush what is left of her heart.
So many bricks she made over the years to build this wall around her true self.
The window to her soul has been nailed and painted shut.
Fear was the motivation
Fear of rejection, fear of loving without love in return
The fear if she became vulnerable or open that another heart break would **** her.
This internal struggle is her undoing
Compound with the worry of life, the pain to see the disappointment in her child's eyes.
The tears because she is too young to understand how cruel this world can be.
So helpless yet expected to be stronger than steel.
So in the light of day she hides the agony away.
Blocks the darkness of depression from her face
But in the solitude of the silent night, it bleeds through her skin, takes over her mind.
Until it consumes her soul, no rest, no easy escape
She wrestles through the hours of the evening
Only to wake over and over alone.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
I'd show you the black and white photographs of this allegedly cherubic 1 yr-old....
(sonnet #MMMMMCMXC)
Oh me! How diamonds sparkle in th'exhale
As winds flirt on the lake's clear ***** whence
Blue skies thus mirrored as erst wont, a sense
Of what? half wrestles in me on that scale
Cuz why aren't we together now, to hail
This bounty in each other's arms? Leaves thence
All whispring as their boughs rock, yellow hence
Mocks joy as I see Mum in sheer betrayl.
We used to walk down to the valley, tour
The yard lost in whatever, and I knew
Our time was short. But I don't weep for her
Today as yet, cuz who's distracted to
Effect is also quite obliv'ous. Poor
As saying is: I could wish you were here too.
23Oct16b
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
"BUG"
I saw a Bug Battle,
in the cracks of the street Blood and Struggle
Their plastic screams and cellophane curses were almost like yours and mine.
Until a brave one crawled to my ear,
and he told me of his trial in the street crack theater,
I grinned as if I cared, he smiled like he had the time
He said "in whose camp does your banner fly, and can I have you on my side?"
He loaded a Pistol while I replied:
I said: I'm anti-pro no shout catechist, so keep your pamphlets political activist,
You take your cause for lack of a purpose in life,
pursuit of happiness, "eudemonia" good spiritedness
you're living proof that ignorance aint bliss
Pray "Libira nos a malo!" and Free Tibet!
But you never prayed for the souls with affixed Bayonets;
so I wave like the man being shot from the cannon;
born on this chunk of warm rock hurling through nothing;
who only on the front of spirit can fight;
Storm the Bastille of desperate life;
and dance in the street every night till the day I die.
The Bug Replied:
Know All, Know all, in the dialog to win,
two grants are a Franklyn one Lincoln's just a fin?
Posit value for this bug since you're so well balanced,
gaining perspective from the outermost valence;
you never killed what you eat and confuse "labor with action,"
but you think you're to evolved to fight for my faction;
We're currency baby as we live and breed,
BASTILLE for you ATTICA for me!
better get in the frae my anti anti teacher
before it ***** you along with every other fighting creature;
I'm going back to me cell where I breathe a little freer;
but let me give a final though like I'm Jerry Springer:
If happiness is purpose than you can call my purpose love,
to survive I fight the Battle and to me you're the bug.
Thunderstruck, I sat on the curb,
realizing I could be a "social surd;"
then I saw my small confessor get killed in a raid;
I would have stomped out his assassin if I wasn't so afraid;
instead I rose to my feet, and walked straight home,
locked myself in, and wrote out this song,
I think of the bug while I'm dancing in the street,
every time my neighbor throughs a sneaker at me;
I feel his wrestles spirit longing to fight,
while I'm drinking and singing in the middle of the night,
than it hits me:
The bug was right
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
Cosmic serpent
Flies in circles
Orbits earths
Visits vessels
Stings and wrestles
Prowls the plain
The desert arrangements
Faces fire no fear
Takes one look at the spider
Sees through the fire
Undresses the only envy
The necessity plenty
Of spiraling ascent
To meaning manifest
A plunge into the nest of the fortune cookie prophecies
Fate pulled from a hat
In the terraforming visions of the seven breasted harpy speech devours itself
The visioneer’s ouroboros precludes ovals of assimilation clinging tight to the exoteric
The vessel rejects the half digested
An ammonia laden upheaval
Dispelling folderol with blinding reverence
Inviting tragedy with nostalgic foresight
Wet nightmares
Logic abandons the visioneer ****** into the opposite of static
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
PILLOW STAINS
In the dark my heart has departed
my mind is being damaged
into darken dreams
suffering in doubt
in a castle with many characters
running about making crime most of the time,
my own reaction wrestles agents me
in a mirror of wanders
that brings on lots of thunders
pouring rain that holds the pains
that cut deep into the night
bring on more fright into my life
from early morning to dawn
my own pains that brings on more rain
leaves my pillow stained,
Holding troubled thoughts of strain
my mind over time;
wild storm made a evil hurricane
bring more pains in darken dreams
that makes the heart bleeds
the body weak shedding freckled sweat
while I sleep into darken dreams
that cut my heart deep,
Poetic Judy Emery © 1989
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
Alone and afraid.
Broken and lost.
She falls on her face
in the dust.
And then she hears His Voice.
Calling.
Calling to her.
To come and rest.
To come and trust.
She lifts up her eyes from the dust.
She whispers His name, "Jesus."
He comes to her in the dark.
He speaks to her out of a burning bush.
She wrestles with Him each night in the dark...
"I will not let You go until You bless me."
Every anchor has been removed,
that He may be the only One left.
She clings to Him in the dark.
She lets Him hold her in the storm.
Alone and afraid.
Broken and lost.
She journeys through the wilderness.
She stops fighting the wilderness.
She lifts up her face from the dust.
Her eyes behold Him,
and He holds her in His love.
In the wilderness.
Then...
He takes hold of her right hand
and says to her: "Fear not."
He journeys with her through her
wilderness.
To the other side.
Where there is a land flowing with milk and honey.
But first,
she must journey through this wilderness.
Until at last.
She has learned.
To trust.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
heritage of her long preamble **********
the quick note stencilled on sticky note
seemed not only incomplete but irrational
'plead not the day to the jury of night
its light deceives the dark into seeking
solace for its own death'
her heritage thought troubles the waves
sending its silent after effects spreading across the
waters to which we fled for safe harbour in evening's birth
we swim to shore
and explore nothing but sand on beachhead
and eachothers fumbling in near perfect dark
before dawn could streak the sky
with the golden lances of the sun
as day wrestles the sky from night
contending with eachother
revealing to our new born eyes
the fanfare that light gives the day
she stood on this stage
and did pronounce loudly
entreat the light to forsake the day
join the night
as she and i had
as lovers
then the golden lances of dawn
would be the stems of roses
from one lover to the other
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
I hope you fall in love with someone who always texts back, and never lets you fall asleep upset. I hope she holds your hand and isn't afraid to reach for it first. I hope she doesn't get as frightened and angry in scary movies as I did, but I hope that she has a subtler and sweeter way of being scared. I hope she loves chocolate as much as you, so you don't have to sacrifice anything you love for her. I hope she is never afraid to ask you to dance with her. I hope she tickles you when you're sad. I hope she makes you smile on bad days, and appreciates you on the good days, too. I hope she isn't indecisive or stubborn, but rather that she is confident and gentle. I hope you fall for someone who kisses you under waterfalls, plays with you in the rain, wrestles with you in the snow, and cuddles with you by the fireplace when it is cold.
But beyond that, I hope you fall for a girl who will never take you for granted or allow for you to stay angry. I hope she is someone who will stand by you when you are right, and still listen and care when you are absolutely wrong. I hope she is able to see you at your worst and love you still. I hope she can see the beautiful oceans in your blue eyes, and the galaxies in each of your heart beats. I hope she hears music in the way you speak.
I hope she means everything to you, because you mean everything to me.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Stares down the worst nightmare
Frustrates your favorite reality show
Cannot be contained by a wall
Is a blend of church and state
Contains 50 years of Star Trek
Drives on the right side of the road
Rarely says “Hold on, slow down!”
Is no longer gender-specific
Sometimes prays en español
Allows girls to play football
Can be painted, sung or rhymed
Was born in the days of Hamilton
Celebrates the strong and the weak
Exists as a circle inside a triangle
Hears a whisper in the dark
Often survives the winter alone
Recycles its creation with glee
Worships a blue-eyed God or none
Wrestles its problems in private
Respects its gray-haired flag
Avoids front page truth
Imagines a rainbow during a storm
Invites a homeless woman to dinner
Permits free speech as protest
Welcomes immigrants from Syria
May be terminally happy
Calls the zoo a favorite place
Hums the sound of crickets at night
Put the words in Whitman’s mouth
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
crassly clashing
diametric opposites
seething hostility paints tar-stained walls
coated against cold indifference
interfering ideologies cause pause
cryptic clauses calculate circumstance
vs.
significance
symbiotic relationships deteriorate
puddles of love remains…unwashed
free-flowing determination
wrestles mindlessly
paraphrasing haphazardly
seeking direction
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
I slept with my door open
Footsteps down the hall;
Left, right, creak, pause
The insides of my eyelids become an abyss
Left, right, left, right (faster…)
Left, right, left, right (faster!)
Left, right, left, right (FASTER!)
Left, right; It reaches my door frame
The weight vanishes ‒‒ I open my eyes
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I face my open door
The heaviness returns ‒‒ my eyes close
Creak, right, left, right, pause
The void covering my eyes arrives
An outline pierces through my sight
Left, right…
It sits on the edge of my bed
“It’s very nice to be invited in,
People… remarkably quick to lock me out”
A pointed nail drags against my arm
“People…”
The outline against the abyss reveals a set of claws
“Extraordinarily soft people,”
The weight is broken through
I look around the darkness
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I try to sleep with the door open
The heaviness is aggressive this time
It’s outline sits, looming over me
“I have not been in many rooms,
Yours is the most stimulating.”
It envelopes my vision
I feel a warm breath on my ear
“I have always wondered…
If the human is still alive when I bite it
Will it scream?”
I feel a set of razor sharp teeth settle onto my neck
I struggle to break through the weight
My eyes open
Silence.
Like there always has been.
Who sleeps with their door open?
The force closing my eyes swallows me
The creature’s outline flops
against the black backdrop
It’s thorny teeth the only visible ****** feature
“Before I go, I must request something”
It shifts closer to me in bed
A whisper speaks,
“Look me in the eye.”
The weight wrestles me
I win by stubbornness
When I look around my room, I see
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I tried sleeping with my door open
The heaviness hits me like a wave
slamming against rocks
Along with its teeth,
The outline attained eyes
Bulging through a skull,
littered with cracks
“Thank you,”
Its blade-like teeth spread
“It’s good to know I’m welcome here.”
When I awake, I hear
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I look towards my door…
It’s closed,
Which is odd,
because I’m certain I fell asleep with it open.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC
Pray.
Fold your hands or raise them empty.
True worship is in the sand.
It's knowing your coasts.
Knowing where you stop and where the Mystery begins.
Setting invisible standards on scales
you will never step foot on yourself
and being completely ok with that.
Empty hands are easy to hold on with,
so he squeezes with all his might.
Tighter with each missed meal,
tighter still with each cold night.
He holds on to the stories of Sundays,
of Lion's dens and wooden boats.
So that in the darkness of poverty's grave,
He prays.
Staying true to that thing with feathers in his soul,
he finds laughter amid storms
and wrestles smiles through the pain.
He grows.
From some invisible seed planted some time ago.
Grandmama's kitchen was a regular glass-walled greenhouse
And there wasn't anybody around
that could look themselves in the mirror
should one day they take to throwing stones.
Pray,
Mama told him.
So he closed his eyes and spoke.
Truth to remove the cold,
bread of spirit to fill his hunger.
But when he opened his eyes he felt pain in his side,
so he prayed again.
Knees on the ground,
he expected the earth to sprout cheerio trees,
the clouds to rain blankets,
and Grandmama to come around the next corner.
Such was the mustard seed.
Often times he slept after prayer.
Not always of peace.
Sometimes he was afraid his eyes
would see the same world when he opened them.
So he held them shut and saw Grandmama in dreams.
Pray,
Mama told him,
for patience and peace.
His empty hands still raised,
Still empty,
he gazed into the rafters of the one place he felt safe.
Singing songs of Sundays
and praying like Friday nights.
He felt light wrap around him,
rainbows he thought,
because he liked the colors,
and he learned while he was hungry
to pray.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
She stands tall and proud, her elegant architecture that even on winter mornings warms an icy breath and sates an empty belly.
In the burst of sunlight, beyond and through the trees, she is a muffle of loud voices, calling out a name, I can't quite catch it, in the rush of a westerly wind and the swirl of Autumn leaves.
The echoes bounce off the bark, and in her resonance heralds the death knell of the light and the coming of the children of the dark.
The moon wrestles in a patchwork cloudy sky, and I the Watcher can do nothing to halt time or the tide.
Left to watch as the Belle Tower fades from sight, silently she hides in the long shadow, and like the moonlight between the trees, flickers as she slowly passes me by.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
Come to me great entangler of speech, until the mouth
is a thicket of word mash, you
who rakes strain out of the day to day visions.
Four nights last week you came in the dream-sweeps
flying at forty-one thousand feet. Encrusting this crimson suitcase of blood production with aurulent Trojan footstep rumbles in the hundreds of thousands.
Are you the new blues guitar, the trill bliss in satirical Dutch painting;
you who wrestles the languages of sleep. To get to keep you we'd **** all mystical beasts, sew treason, and wait naked for the dead things to come.
Remoteness in the time of the lonely.
Where you shed shivers of sharks
In wild dance and wicked tantrum, lilting
Beside the androgyny of days and Time.
You the dashboard Jesus of sin and canter.
No scurrying footsteps to barge the heavy moods of ****** or abscess.
In half breaths you weaponize yourself,
A take of drink and then with the rest of the aves,
Swallowed by the colossus of entanglement,
Taken beneath the blue awning amidst the company of the sea.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
outside, the glow of flame fills my hands – wind chimes (it gently tugs at my shirt)
the night sky chirps, clouds roll along the moon’s illumination – the hefty oak tree (casts a small shadow) it wrestles with whirling winds
the smoke saturates my skin - a familiar sin
experiencing life, while puffing death - the enigma of being human.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 4:34 AM UTC