Anticlimax Poems | Examples

Anticlimax

I lay down to sleep
with the lovely lilts of rain
and the soft whisper of wind in my ears
At some unearthly hour
wakened up from sleep
by howls and shrieks

I don’t know when the rain and wind
turned into a tumultuous roar
and why I failed to notice
the windows turning on their hinges
and the doors snap open and shut

When I woke up, I saw
the land inundated
trees arm twisted and splintered
hanging limp in lifeless mass
beleaguered by wind's foul game
and the leaves still shedding
drops of tears!


( This happened yesterday night)

Sep.1.2022

A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest

Chlorophyll Drunkard

.

Every calibration I do,
Blur to emerge the one weirdo.
Every navigate does syntax,
Oh, so higher at parallax.

I creep with my scornful envy,
And I know why they do beauty?
Because of an anticlimax,
Oh, so higher at parallax.

All gassing awkward in my brain,
Forever missing you the green.
Fill in my cephalothorax,
Oh, so higher at parallax.

The Sensuous Spell

Adoration and the forbidden fruits are deceiving,
anticipations of whishing fields delusion.
Knowing that the anticlimax comes with a frost,
above the wisdom of true believes just tossed.
Purgatory is that state of mental expiating,
when that ideal holds the key to relating.
That interconnected process of tapestry as force,
malleable dreams that need a plan of source.
Regarding all life as sacred at once,
thinking of that sphere as treasure in response. 
The kiss as intellectual chemistry to fuse,
liberation of mundane to become the divine use.
Sensual alchemy creating a fragrance to taste,
portals of imagination to easy to paste.
The child like heart in contact of magic,
spectrums of aware sensitivities without tragic.
That dancing spirit of a dreaming soul alerts,
among the whispers from other worlds.
The vehicle of truth and reality is build to roam
for the subtle and simple road to take us home.

Holiday Season Paean

My door is decked with holly and pine,
The larder’s stocked with fancy food and wine.
Tiny lights twinkle on bannister and tree,
Dozens of cookies to bake, if there’s time free.

Knitting needles flash for each gift,
Presents need wrapping, but my spirits lift,
As I look forward to visitors sharing
This season of love and caring.

Corny old movies to see,
Golden retriever cards sent to me.
Dog cookies and jerky too I’ll bake,
For my goldies to greedily take.

Singing with joy old carols,
Especially if peace they herald.
Holiday parties at friends’ homes,
Catching up with others an excuse to roam.

But after the hubbub a chance to relax,
Wine and pellet stove a soothing anticlimax.
A good book awaits on summer paddling fun,
‘Twill transport me to the season of sun.

So here’s wishing you such happy fun,
Once the bustling about is done.
May love and joy fill your holiday season,
Fond memories made for any reason.

MRT 12-21-15

Tart

Tarts 
Chorus
You are not the tart, but I am 
For am sweet and exciting 
I am indeed the tart, for am exciting and sweeteee

Sweetness of bitter-leaf is the antithesis of nature,
Lacks the wherewithal to counsel bee-stung hunter 
Of the sweetness filled in the honeycomb chambers,

Chorus
You are not the tart, but I am 
For am sweet and exciting 
I am indeed the tart, for am exciting and sweeteee

And nothing could prepare the fresh-married virgin 
For the excitement of climaxes, when the beginning 
Was an anticlimax of pain and blood and in-depth 

Chorus 
You are not the tart, but I am 
For am sweet and exciting 
I am indeed the tart, for am exciting and sweeteee

But the real joy only comes when their is a blossoming ,
And their is enduring fruitfulness and life limitless,
The beauty and passion and playful tantrums of togetherness.

Chorus
You are not the tart, but I am 
For am sweet and exciting 
I am indeed the tart, for am exciting and sweeteee

If Only

If only the sun is forever blue and bright
I will have the perfect tan I ever wanted
And the heart will glow as shiny as the face

If only the rain drops on the driest soil
resurrect the withering flowers and dying crops
Alongside nourishing the forgotten memories

If only the thunders and lightening’s sporadic visits
Not to intimidate the dogs and cats
But to awaken the dormant sensation

If only the sunset does not overplay its perfect beauty
mesmerize the already intoxicated lovers
That the ending of the day is not an anticlimax

Rather the norm of life

Edna Purcell 1912-1930

Edna Purcell
1912-1930

Dying a virgin was the least of my regrets.
Dying a chaste woman at 18 seemed a moot point.
I remember watching my momma die.
It was in summer, and I was 16.
Hopelessly disconsolate, that’s how I felt;
How would I live without her?
Why was she so cruelly taken from me?
How did she get so sick?
My demise, then, was the anticlimax of my short sad life.
Oh cruel Fate, you!
I despise your insatiable appetite for shattered lives;
Indeed, I spit on you for all the ill-timings and bad luck.
I spit on your wry smile, lurking there, 
Behind the shadowy trellis, 
Of private episodes with flowers and silk;
You, with those arrogant knowing glances,
Those imploding muscular arms of private desperation.
I died a virgin indeed, never having you,
Died with an empty heart and a reeling soul.
Life was just a foolish grab for nothing; 
Always seeming to have enough,
But always wanting much more.
That was life, my life in this quiet religious town.
So, I died a virgin in 1930. I was 18.
Too late for me, I guess.
All I wanted, was to spit in your face!
Oh cruel Fate, wrecker of dreams!

3 Senryu

visions of himself
a life of broken fragments
palette toned sepia.

a sense of menace
depresses anticlimax
master of his moods.

he realizes
not all quests are quixotic
some are doomed to fail.

Siren Song To a Lovelorn Man

Chemistry infuses



Grains of solace



Forecast





Passion illuminates



Forbearance wakes



Queries





Affirmation ejects



Anticlimax occurs



Siren

Forecast

Chemistry infuses



Grains of solace



Forecast





Passion illuminates



Forbearance wakes



Queries





Affirmation ejects



Anticlimax occurs



Siren

The Cat's Game

The cat is staring at something behind my back,
his pupils so large, his eyes seem black,
I see his muscles twitch and tense,
his skinny tail becomes immense.

We've played this game, the cat and I,
(although all logic it defies)
for nights and days and years untold,
what demons do his eyes behold?

So, with a sigh, I play along,
and glance behind to see what's wrong.
Of course, there's nothing there at all,
smooth plaster of my bedroom wall.

I only looked away a sec,
I barely even turned my neck,
but, true to form, the end's the same
every time we play this game.

The cat, his eyes are little slits,
his tail is not puffed up a bit,
his body's now fully relaxed,
the end, once more, an anticlimax.

I used to think it a feline quirk,
that this was how all cats' brains worked,
but once I left my haunted birthplace,
the cat's game vanished without a trace.


©Danielle White

Passage To Unknown

At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was 
romping on our souls. 
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts. 
Death cannot be intrusive. 
It waits at the door of light. 
The show will start when truth dies.

I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal 
the silken smoke of dark truths.

There was fire in my heart 
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears, 
the eerie memories. 
The age-old pain of seeking 
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of 
finding a passage to unknown.



SATISH VERMA

Goodbye Then

Goodbye then. 

We have closed the book and 
replaced it on the shelf. 
Dog eared pages straightened. 
Tens of thousands of words 
read, spoken, stored for posterity. 

Goodbye then. 

No longer a working title, 
but an archive which will 
gather dust in the annals of time. 
Maybe one day to be discovered, 
like some ancient tomb. 

Goodbye then. 

Remember when we began the story? 
The newness, the excitement and 
anticipation at what would unfold. 
Spellbound by adventure, mesmerized 
by speculation as each word became exposed. 

Goodbye then. 

All done.  Story complete. 
No more surprises, just the 
anticlimax of finality. 
The eerie silence of conclusion. 
A lingering pause, one last look, a smile - 

The end.

Eyeless Faces

Mechanically inquisitive 
Draped on neon tape
Absent mentality shadowing
Of ill-mannered wonder
Faceless stammering fallacies
Covering all in suffusion
Supposition oppressing 
The veracity of facts
Bogus conclusions drawn 
Upon a cracking rudimentary
Deriding night crawlers 
Mocking the anguish
In hollering vestige 
A feint of exuberance
Compels a nauseated anger 
Griping my throat from the pit
A retaliating strike
Against this disease spreading
Mockery of life destroyed
Zipped and departing
In a blue flashing anticlimax
Mute eyes falling to asphalt
A revelation	of mortality
The astonishment fading
In shoulder shrugged releasing
Disbanded heavy frustration 
A barbaric yearning to behold 
The dark car fades into the night
Liberating unnamed martyred
Silently dignified
Faceless retreating to window barred safety
The street again quiet and empty
Lulling the city back to sleep…
In self fabricated security

• Short Anticlimax Poems
• Famous Anticlimax Poems
• Best Anticlimax Poems
• Read Anticlimax Poems
• Long Anticlimax Poems
• Anticlimax Quotes