Best Apocalyptic Poems
This contest style’s description is one I’ve never heard
I’m unfamiliar with that particular word
An internet search comes up empty
However, others seem to have poems aplenty
My eyes are getting blurry a total collapse seems imminent
Quickly penning an entry appears to be the only way out of my predicament
My freshly emerged imposter’s syndrome is now on full display
As I throw words together to prayerfully send a piece on its way
Whoops, I don’t believe the lines above were exact rhymes
I wonder if I will get disqualified this time
I see it is quintessential to utilize the word “quintessential”
Unfortunately, that stretches me to also use a word like “nonextensile”
Argh! I just realized I’m not counting my meter
I promise I’m not purposefully being a cheater
Oh well, competitions are all in good fun,
even if they drive you a bit crazy
You just have to be creative, put in the work,
and not . . . something, something lazy
Incite the words that take me through
Unload your fears and call them truth
Stand up and consecrate your hate
Follow along, or die alone in debate
Just look at everything there is
Either products of pain or products of bliss
Just look at everyone that knows
Either running towards or waiting to go
Apocalyptic sense of right
A fluorescent path that just waits for night
Apocalyptic sense of wrong
A darkness that is, spreading on and on
My own reflections are my truth
These words are just me, I have the proof
So incite my mirror to believe
That we are all alone once we learn to breathe
A conscious silence in our deaths
Accept it or run towards more regret
Apocalyptic purity
It doesn’t matter what comes, as long as I see
How far down do you need to go_
~to stand face to face and toe to toe_
~with that no-good son of a so and so?
Taking not only yourself but all you know.
Descending from on high to deep below_
How many of your friends are now your foe?
Rejecting all the trials meant to help you grow.
Didn’t you get the message or read the memo?
To suffer a little today and not eternal woe?
Did you forget the law of_ “Reap and Sow”?
You can’t ride with the devil_ you’re too slow_
He’s got the best saddle around this rodeo.
Lines his horse up four to a row_
Apocalyptic stallions galloping to and fro.
Charging full speed ahead with resilient gusto
Scorching hot winds from their lungs to blow_
Upon all those whose souls don’t glow_
From hot veins where passion flow_
~and fight to reject vile secret audio
~silent messages broadcast on radio.
Mind control media from news to talk show.
Wouldn’t go near him as far as I can throw.
Best not stomp around but quietly tiptoe.
Take your heart off your sleeve keep it undertow.
If you failed today try again tomorrow
For your deeds complies_ gifted wrapped in a bow
Your final payment is what you’ll come to owe.
Your bold stance morphs a wispy cameo.
Ill-fated effects of enacted domino.
How far down do you need to go_
~to stand face to face and toe to toe_
~with that no-good son of a so and so?
Taking not only yourself but all you know.
Descending from on high to deep below_
Pitch Dark Rain: Apocalyptic
vanished polar ice
oceans’ currents all askew. . . .
skylines blaze scarlet
comes a scathing wind
scorching land left not immersed. . . .
waters turn crimson
moans escape parched tongues
prayers ascend to ashen skies. . . .
pitch-dark rain pounds down
For Royal Ninja's Crimson Poetry Contest
Earths red crust shudders
Skyline crackles purple forks
Famine feet flurry
My willow tree scorched
Lunar eclipse eternal
Barefoot beach walk dream
Volcanic ash views
A black season treelines crunch
Whimpered solo bark
Stagnant water tea
Pungent roots and herbs galore
Humanless abyss
Apocalyptic sight
Six pairs of Homeric children’s eyes
Over the tomb of ice gray world
Multiply my infinite sorrow into sins with no eyes or ears
In tangents of nostalgia
I kiss the death there that life suffers lung cancer
Biblical accusation pierces the silence of solitary harp in the Century of Hamlet’s
Four soaked tears eyes
Cannot set in a web of art neither in the depth of tired aquarelle eyes
The old childhood love into triangle breaths depth
Shed tears in salt of survival
In the geometry of continents
Time impasse like me in the Scandinavian saga
Logical mathematics does not capture lines neither feast of hieroglyph tears
The root of injustice divides only parents' pain
Above the European dried moral
Six pairs of eyes and four pairs of eaves accuse
They live autumn of loneliness
Any number does not define emblem of loneliness
Not even a prayer of compassion
Cosine of loneliness interferes in verses and the poetry of human love
And the death doesn’t suffer the reception
because I draw lines while remaining just a number
Has Granny gone batty?
She tells us of love,
Of flowers and trees
And a thing called a ‘dove’.
But none of these things exist now today,
Since the world heated up
And the lakes turned to clay.
The deserts are barren
Around our estate,
It’s a fight for survival,
A fight against fate.
We hear England’s legends
Of a pleasant green land
But the truth that we’ve known
Is just mountains of sand.
It is said it was greed,
A disdain for the Earth,
That robbed this poor planet
Of its greatness and worth.
We hear these old stories
And yearn for those days
Where living was easy
Beneath the Sun’s rays,
We starve now and bake
If we venture outside
And they claim again oxygen
Prices will rise.
We fight for survival,
We fight just to live,
We fight and we fight,
There’s no love left to give.
Perhaps Granny is batty
With the things that she tells
Through a longing for legend
Of fresh water wells.
Or perhaps it’s a memory
That she holds so dear;
Yes – I see now the truth
In her lone dusty tear.
Sand paper shores *******he seasons to shift into a new dawn. I believed the skies would forever hold their pillows damp with the rain, along with the sunshine. Can you smell the plague come pouring down like a summer storm? See the hollowed graves scattered with chipped fingernails or the swaying and bent lampposts observing a fractured terrain all displaying carnage. So when the colossal tide of apocalyptic taste is released from our heavenly maker to cleanse this plain anew, who will hold my hand while chosen?
-Mitch
the nuclear snakes
slither into disaster
warheads waiting
in the dithering wings
~~~!~~~X~~~#~~~>>>
light explodes
darkness erupts
fiery projectiles
obliterate without mercy
the reptilian warlords
fumble through flames
apocalypse waiting
amid withering declarations
In the Future, there will be no rose meadows, a desolate barren hellscape of ecocide normalized. The bleakness of reality
made possible by the dominion of the Earth.
Corporations contaminate the atmosphere we once breathed. They poisoned the air so they could sell gas masks to our children.
Oxygen, water have become luxuries.
Preparing for a death long waiting for us.
A prophecy where the eighth fire
will never be lit. Skin feels feverish before
the sun scorches us all into ashes.
Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear (Rev 1:3)
And the dead that die in the Lord (Rev 14:13).
Blessed is he that watches and keeps his garments (Rev 16:15)—
The marriage supper he’ll applaud (Rev 19:9).
Blessed and holy is he that takes part
In the first resurrection (Rev 20:6).
Blessed is he that keeps the sayings
of the prophecy of Revelation (Rev 22:7).
Blessed are they that do God’s commandments,
Or wash their robes and remain faithful (Rev 22:14).
These seven Apocalyptic Beatitudes
for the inhabitants of heaven graceful.
Remember these seven beatitudes
From the book of Revelation.
May you be blessed by their words;
Raised in the first resurrection.
The Second Coming of Christ
Is the most animating and sanctifying subject.
This promise is the hope of all—
The Lord’s return and mortals made perfect.
“Behold He comes in the clouds,
And every eye shall see Him.”
This is not a secret occasion
With just a few to begin.
Like Christ’s Sermon on the Mount,
Revelation breathes the life of heaven.
It’s wisdom to the Patmos seer (John),
By the Holy Spirit given.
The Revelation of Jesus Christ
That will soon unfold,
Is the mission of Revelation—
God’s warnings and blessings to behold.
Some say it is scary reading,
But others find it a source of joy.
The Apocalyptic Beatitudes
Hold blessings for us all to employ.
Copyright © 2011 Maureen LeFanue
www.godsgreetings.org
By: Liam Wilson
Deep she lurks within me
My craft she does infuse
The dreadful siren’s call
Apocalyptic Muse
Rises with the Autumn
With torpor slumber blues
And bade me record her dreams
My scribing at her cues
Her words my hands do write
Subtleties of abuse
Captured at her whim
And held there through her ruse
Embraced by her presence
To love her as a wife
Humbly bow before her
Adjoining in her strife
She whispers in my ear
Evoking what I use
In clear defining prose
Without a need for clues
Frenetically I work
And when she’s done I’m through
Fades back into torpor
And gives me what I’m due
I’ve found my place again
While Earth it changes hues
She’s scarred my soul once more
Apocalyptic Muse.
The obstacles and dangers are rarely seen
Walking with no lamp in the cold dark night.
When the big moon hides behind the screen,
Flashlight fills the mood in transparent light.
Beyond the scary realm unseen noises reign,
From the abandon overgrown world,
My nature is clear when the flashlight flame
Bring something incomprehensible into my soul.
Weary nights cloaked in the static darkness
My breath being the only sound without sight,
Flashlight in the night being a guardian of bliss
Turning the dark environment into pure light.
Apocalyptic corridors use the night shadows
For the clandestine haunting complex.
But my flashlight is like the old battle arrows
Fly, through the air meet doppelganger reflect.
In the night, seeing flashes of neon light
Our universe waiting for tomorrow to come
flashlight blinding strobe move the frighten sight
to dawn, till all the goose bumps are done.
In a world filled with despair
The smell of fear fills the air
The world we once knew is far gone
Debris from the blast litters every lawn
They forced us all underground
Advising us not to make a sound
We once lived the days through
But they wanted something new
A world with no war
That of which they swore
The world we lived in would soon be great
We thought of this not knowing our fate
We walk along the only street
The others are obsolete
The bunker collapsed in on itself
As if it was a broken shelf
With nothing left to give
We ask ourselves if we should still live
Our beautiful blue planet billions of years old
A matchless marvel in the cosmic architecture
Survived eons of trying times in hostile space
Endured the disrupting tectonic turmoil untold.
Fostered the diversified life in the tree of evolution
Nurtured the pristine innate splendor of nature
Amidst the enveloping noxious haze heinous
Of the suffocating industrial pollution of progress.
As the stride of civilization crosses the Rubicon line
The mankind will enter the stark dismal terrain of doom
Trip the critical balance usurping the green canopy
Veil the fragile ecosystem with the smoke of growth wild.
The sustainable limits are being infringed ever so rapidly
After long summer the planet might freeze in extended winter
Caused by the catastrophic climate change looming large
To initiate the apocalyptic period of the fifth season.
_________________
November 5, 2022
Contest : The Fifth Season
Sponsored by : Anthony Biaanca