Best Bemoan Poems
You had me oblivious to your antics,
as you hushed me tenderly by the creek
into your hide and seekable
soul-surrendering secret relief.
There, you cottled me into softness
with a simple chin caress,
which continued to smooth
the entire twisting course
of my delicate remorse.
My garments shifted
from their skin,
slipped into the witnessing wind.
You convinced me to sin
so remarkably, so recklessly,
for one worshipped glide
of feigned intimacy.
I bemoan my mixed senses
behind the curtain of uncertainty.
Oh, Romeo, if only I'd known you.
If only I knew that
your prestigious people-pleasing smile
was practice for the play.
That those granny pleasing manners
and Band-Aid banter
would soothe my soul to sleep.
That those jovial jokes
and caramel coated coaxing
would lead me quietly to the creek
where your meaty man hands would span
each inch of my innocence and beyond.
That your chivalrous, chiseled chest
and incandescent camper's scent
would be compressed
against my gentleness.
By this indulgence
I had relinquished your respect
and you had tossed my trust.
So dissolved the blending of lust,
and with it the end of us.
Your camouflaged fibs
of forever love
would continue deep
through the space in my ribs,
into the closing scene.
Romeo, so applause-worthy were you
on your secret stage that
Shakespeare could have cast you
just as you had cast me.
Images of children dwelling in developing world
In plight of poverty~~ some two billion strong,
Fly a flag of existence, waving distress unfurled,
Crooning mournful song: is this where we belong?
Struggling in parched lands of bared dreary sights
World they live in is the world they have known,
Where days of emptiness cede to dreary nights
Churning nightmares as dreams vacant bemoan.
Wishing upon an angel~ I would endeavor to plead
For turning places despaired into domains of hope,
For means to educate, learn skills, write and read,
For rewriting will of destiny, while striving to cope.
If I could bend sorrow and the fate of tomorrow
Seeds of knowledge I’ll sow in the dreaded woe
Marveling the fields of wisdom sprout and grow
As minds edified glow, defying misery’s shadow.
My wish for peace echoes benevolence spurred
As hymns of unity in the temple of goodwill toll
And calls of equity from endearing hearts heard
Reverberate harmony in euphony of sublime soul.
I wish upon a candle, for world to join a sing-along
Lauding pledges of love to spur the youth on and on
Cheering to acclaim: this is where the kids belong~
In benevolence of hearts, over seven billion strong.
June 13, 2022
Placed 1st: If Only My Wish Would Come True Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Born in cloak of modesty, life toddles, yet thrives
Musing of blissful eternity in domain of paradise
Befriending and beholding its virtuous design
Facing triumphs and failures of quests worthwhile
From first breath to last it's a long thrilling ride
As love and desires rule trappings of eager minds
And will to acquire wealth demands equal time
While allure of fame ignites latent spark inside
As maturity gains wisdom it begins to ask why
Things that were treasured once, now fail to satisfy
And glitter that charmed then, now burdens eyes
When meaning of life changes as time goes by
And memories then bemoan venues forgone:
Failing to sail the oceans when tides were calm,
Forsaking kiss of love when nights twinkled stars,
Ignoring golden aura when fervid was the dawn
Precious become moments waning to end the game
When tallies are made of words said and unsaid--
Some seek reconciliation, some still burn the flame,
Some that meant so much, no longer mean the same
July 28, 2019
It's to the corner kids must sometimes go,
or to their room they're sent and kept alone.
Their freedom gone, they stare at walls and groan.
When time is up, they've not one thing to show!
Of poets, there are some who undergo
a similar reaction. They bemoan
their ever being sentenced to the "zone"
of writing in a form that stifles flow.
Like embryos enclosed within the womb
and sucking on their toes, they wait to be
thus freed from "Mother" Poetry (Oh, doom!)
In contrast, I implore you: Keep that key
and leave me here - restricted. I shall bloom
inside this little room. Do punish me!
Indian summer lies within your autumn hazel eyes,
my velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost;
love lingers in bereft fingers, I stroke your face in guise,
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust.
My velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost,
your chill withered russet my enchanted efflorescence;
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust,
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence.
Your chill, withered russet my enchanted efflorescence,
blue breath exhaled... my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air;
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence,
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear.
Blue... breath exhaled, my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air,
my harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep~
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear,
into all my tomorrows tears of my sorrow shall seep.
My harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep,
amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten, fading everyday;
into all my tomorrows, tears of my sorrow shall seep
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display.
Amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten! Fading everyday,
love lingers in bereft fingers. I stroke your face in guise;
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display,
Indian summer - lies! - within your autumn hazel eyes.
Susan Ashley
October 8, 2017
~ Third Place~
Contest: Mid October Premiere
Sponsor: Brian Strand
When I look on my life that's now half-spent,
I sigh the loss of youth that's forever past,
wishing myself better Fortune's consent,
love, friends, and wealth with naught to lose or waste,
but for the mean expense of young love lost;
despising this, I oft' bemoan the loss
of vestal company's first time the most;
for matrons offend like mouldering moss,
which, like Time's sure, inexorable march,
destroys the juvenescence of life's spring
year by year till extinguishing Youth's torch,
a dead flame for which I am most desiring.
If I could live and love anew once more,
I'd not err this time: and lay a rude whore.
My heart shrivels dry, blackened rose in bitter anguish, ...
Do you feel my pain?
Why must the flame of day dwindle dim?
O' fortune, like the moon, changeable, waxing and waning
Oppressing me, first with power's soothing stroke
To take it all away!
Poverty of my spirit lies in love's immortal wake
Why fate of fortune, cruel regard, forsaken me?
Vain, and shadowed, I waver between the balance
Such agony is mine!
Day and night, everything defies me?
Great is my grief!
One cure, escape me from the throes of my misery !!
I beg, the Gods... hear my wail, hear my plea
Would fate be cured by kiss, one look, one sign, devotion? !
This wretchedness is black, I taste bitter ash!
Keep dark night hidden in the depth of your heart, o' moon !!
I am like a leaf, played with by the wind
I am like a light hovering bird, chains cannot bind me !!
Salvation comes with desire, one touch
Do not turn the eyes away...!
I cannot be shamed!
Torment me not, o' heartless moon!!
Wheel of fortune spins my heart...I beg to win love's prize !!
Without it, I will bemoan the wounds of fortune with weeping eyes
.... and I am cursed as I fall from the peak of glory....
into the depths of the valley of despair !!
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protogothic entry: for Amy's Contest:
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Inspired by the classical music, "Carmina Burana"
A cantata, written between l935-36 by German composer Carl Orff.
This passionate work was based on ancient poems hand-scribed in Latin...these parchment
manuscripts discovered in a Bavarian monastery in l803. They were believed to have been
written by students of the clergy (monks) sometime during the 11-13th century.
This familiar music has been used in numerous film scores..quite dramatic and powerful
In the puddle of monsoon floods
Autumn boughs are quick to erode
From the grate of colder evenings
Finely whipping each earthen lode.
Yet for all I bemoan the end
Glowing through lambent summer’s blaze--
Who could not be enthralled by fall
Its rain and hued portrait amaze.
The slow wilting ‘midst vibrant tints ,
Now paints an oak tree that loosens
A tight grip upon mauve-lined twigs--
O fall…a beauty in ruins! ~
..........................
~Writing Challenge- Decay-Poetry Contest
For Constance La France 9/25/2020
From life you chose to disappear
Yielding to waves that lured you in
Never knowing what could have been
Each day I'm haunted by grim fear
Anguished by the most dreadful thought ~
What had I done to break your heart
My lashes tether to each tear
When the sun slips into the sea
I cry, wishing it could be me
I miss you so, my love, my dear
I ache day and night, all alone
My fate, a visage I bemoan
Oh, how I yearn to hold you near
Like the sun, I shall slink away
to rest in your arms 'neath the bay
From life you chose to disappear
Each day I'm haunted by grim fear
My lashes tether to each tear
I miss you so, my love, my dear
Oh how I yearn to hold you near
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
NOT WRITTEN FOR ANY CONTEST
Not all poets are kindred souls
That theory is full of holes
For a few, poetry extols
Different goals Different goals
Words guided by what's in our hearts
Wanderlusts or humorous thoughts
I value artful counterparts
I don't hurl darts I don't hurl darts
Don't point fingers of shame at me
I treat no one with treachery
and I don't act like a queen bee
Hypocrisy Hypocrisy
Don't harm poets with pen or knife
If you're unhappy with your life
Why are you filled with angst and strife
Like Barney Fife Like Barney Fife
Sadness is a depressing trait
A mood that might simply abate
If you stop whining... mitigate
No need for hate No need for hate
I'm not part of a gang or pack
My friends and I do not attack
We have not stabbed you in the back
Disgruntled flack Disgruntled flack
Take screenshots like a bombardier
We've no need to tremble in fear
You've no reason to shed a tear
Now is that clear? Now is that clear?
With poisoned seeds of malice sown
Repeated complaints you bemoan
A cawing crow you now are known
Contentious prone Contentious prone
Broken fences will never mend
With a mindset that will not bend
Into those depths I'll not descend
I will transcend I will transcend
I'll write no more and waste my time
On one who thinks her views sublime
I will choose a healthier clime
To write in rhyme To write in rhyme
Where is my Moon river
To carry me away
Where nothing can bemoan me
And sun forever shines
Gliding every cradled wave
Every mellow tune
And leaving hate behind me
For lands of only love
Where is my Moon River
My floating paradise
Where pain does not exist
And minds are safe to wander
Dreaming is my guide now
I know it can come true
That one day we’ll be free
As one, we’ll sail away
The sails are raised upon the ship "Unknown,"
to travel slowly on life's seven seas.
I look upon such things as I am shown,
in hopes to solve life's little mysteries.
I now am sailing with a gentle breeze-
to learn of what I can until I'm grown;
so I can handle life with greater ease.
The sails are raised upon the ship Unknown."
There's waves I find in life that have been blown,
upon my ship by other ones decrees.
My skills at sailing these rough waves have grown-
to travel slowly on life's seven seas.
The shores I look upon are laced with trees,
their colors looking like they have been sewn
by angels with embroidery degrees.
I look upon such things that I am shown.
The work I do sometimes I will bemoan,
but with it I have gained such victories!
I seek a light that never has been shown,
in hopes to solve life's little mysteries.
Sometimes these oceans seem like they will freeze,
still other nights it seems I sail alone.
It's then I get down on my hands and knees,
To pray to God because He's on the throne.
The sails are raised.
Who'll speak for the children?
I see the images
emaciated bodies
skin on bones
hopeless eyes
ravaged souls
Who'll speak for the children?
while super powers play
the death toll speeds ahead
nobody speaks
third world souls
not so important
mass shootings are grieved
as they should be
as they should be
but...a soul is a soul
who'll speaks for the children of Yemen?
who speaks for those poor children
are third world souls less valuable
than first world ones?
Who'll speak for the children of Yemen
suffering for the sake of politics
dirty dirty word
dirty dirty world
dirty dirty propoganda
my soul weeps
but who am I?
I sit cocooned in my room
fattened by my good life
enjoying my wealth and status
It's easy to weep
in some far off country
It's easy to bemoan the plight
that's not my child
that's not me groveling for food
that's not me willing to sell my soul
to buy medicine for my family
to stay death
that's not me
that's not you
Who'll speak out for the children of Yemen?
Our silence will accuse us
when judgement day comes round
when that trumpet will sound
there will not be silence
Who will speak out for the children?
Who will help the children?
Who will love the children?
Who will die for the children?
Will YOU?
Eileen Manassian
Into the air I used to lift,
and with the clouds or stars I’d drift. . .
another place, another day.
My flying dreams have flown away.
No longer do I sail to sky
at night when in my bed I lie.
My feet, once wings, have turned to clay
and dreams of flying flown away.
Now sweet night visions in my head
grow fewer. More I dream instead
I’m lost or late. To my dismay,
the flying dreams have flown away.
Oh, where has gone nocturnal bliss,
and how have plans gone so amiss
that now I find my world turned gray
and dreams of flying flown away?
I long to run, leave ground and then
glide up. . . Why can’t I soar again?
I’m tied to earth and brought to bay
now flying dreams have flown away.
And fleeting time has also flown,
so now I only can bemoan
a fantasy I can’t replay
in dreams of flying. . . flown away.
Gone are the days
when every man and woman was royalty
Spirited away
when the slave catchers came
Fled are the nights
when every child dreamed of
being called a prophetess or priest
Washed away
when the long ships crashed upon the reef
The corrupt council and judges
hid in the rainforest that day
When they sold us out to be slaves
It seems those days ain’t changed since;
Judas faces put on cloth by silkscreen print,
splashed on canvas by painter’s ink
And I wonder ...
what would my ancestors think?
Asking myself why ...
this scattered people possess no common aim or purpose
Bemoan, I cry ...
seeing the children wander idly
And I ponder ...
what do they dream to be?