Best Bemoaned Poems
Sensing and yearning allure of daydreams
My musings amble in meadows of themes,
Sometimes wowing ebullience of dawning,
Sometimes luxuriating in moonlit evening
Gazing lambent skies of stellar twinkling,
Inviting me to echo my inner most feelings;
Of whispers romantic when love is courting,
Of giggling streams and blossoming springs,
Of resplendent autumn’s falling gilded leaves,
Of fate unkind, bawling, in throes of grief,
Of pristine joy beaming from mother’s eyes
Jubilant in delight of child’s innocent smile;
Of ebb and flow to life in seasons undulating
Spurring me to attribute form and meaning.
So, I write verses stemming from core of soul
Striving to capture essence of elusive words,
Exploring assonance, even in rhymeless prose,
Attempting to inspire spirit of wordless woes
As thoughts-poetic heart’s rhythms compose;
Of chromatic sunsets and scintillating dawns,
Of starless nights hosting tenebrous bygones,
Of tales strumming romance, of fables forlorn,
Of ideas enthroned, of paradigms bemoaned,
Of boundless expressions, of passions I own.
August 30, 2022
Placed 2nd: I Write Because Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Categories:
bemoaned, muse, poetry, writing,
Form:
Verse
This is what the wicked are like— always free of care, they go on amassing wealth. Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure and have washed my hands in innocence ~ Psalm 73:12-13
A wise man long ago bemoaned the thought
that those who seek the paths of righteousness
so often struggle mightily. Their lot
seems only to be wreathed in hopelessness.
Meanwhile, the wicked reap rich dividends
while disregarding others' poverty -
they'll use whatever means may suit their ends,
neglecting justice, love, humility.
Believers know "these three remain" to guide
up peaks appearing insurmountable:
Faith is that trust in Him who walks beside;
Hope is that blessed wealth uncountable;
and Love, which guides us to eternity -
For "God is love", the greatest of the three.
Categories:
bemoaned, poverty,
Form:
Sonnet
A surly old maid
had an urge to be laid
and bemoaned her virginal status
with life discontented
her plight she lamented:
"'tis not easy to live without coitus."
A scheme she invented
got polished and scented
tweaked her pointers to swing more voluptuous
with a rose-scented blanket
and aphrodisiac banquet
whisked her beau to the beach to be fructuous
Clad in scant mini
whence peeked her bikini
bent on bidding her cherry adieu
purred words mildly profane
wined him champagne
dined him fare with venereal value
To hone his libido
entrèed on baked avo
oysters, scallops and honey-glazed almond
lips enticingly luscious
sucked asparagus
sneaked a look if what matters had hardened
As was he, she became cocky:
ogled what was now stocky
with no inhibition she fussed and she flirted
our virgin opened her mouth
with one hand down south
loosened a knot and lay there unskirted
Decidedly heady
her lover was ready
to pick her rosebud unsoiled hitherto
her lush lips he fingered
where he lovingly lingered
to prepare for their kissing debut
With a bolt sat upright
said, his voice somewhat tight:
"Your mouth is a pit of infection.
I swear I was keen
but your mouth lacks hygiene
foul breath made me lose my ********."
Categories:
bemoaned, funny
Form:
Rhyme
G rowth requires the reins of pain, the curing singe of fire
I nside we shrink, we quiver, quake but we rise inspired
V ictory through vice, challenge hardens resolve, lifts higher
I nnocence belayed, tried, can raise us whole, entire.
N ever damn the pain, decline the fight, rise, with life conspire
G od knows what's best this I believe what comes must transpire.
T he faint of heart, will never know the crucible, the pyre
H aving never risked the plunge, never left the flowery briar
A nd angrily bemoaned the dark, the pain, the fret conspired
N ever giving thanks for the test, the trials which seem most dire
K iss the ring, the ground, blow kisses skyward to the Holy Crier
S uch gifts as these diverse and free, all necessary and desired.
Contest Count Your Blessings
Date: 11/14/12
Categories:
bemoaned, faith,
Form:
Acrostic
The Fire
For centuries, it matchlessly stood
This Nair baron’s mansion made entirely of wood,
Which but carried a curse from an old woman, or worse,
From the chief carpenter who was sort of done in
By the landlord with whom he had a run-in
Till, one day with the rising sun, the eldest of the sons
Soaked a brand in kerosene and the set the edifice on fire
Which burned for days to be bemoaned for decades
Hoping to end the in-fighting and tension
That erupted on questions of partition
Only to be followed by a long legal battle
And the family fortunes falling like skittles.
S.Jagathsimhan Nair,
19 apr 12
For Rick Parise’s “FIRE” contest
Ps: The first curse was from a poor old woman. One of the trees used for the construction was hers. It was forcibly felled against her wish. So it carried her curse. The second was from the chief carpenter who those days fixed the location of the proposed house’s first corner-stone , which , according to the age-old science of buildings was believed to have a bearing on the fortunes of the land lord as well as the carpenter. In this particular case the landlord too happened to be an adept in that science. Out of some grudge, and enjoying unquestioned power, the land lord is believed to have forced the poor carpenter to fix a spot for the first corner-stone which would bring the carpenter death before the construction was completed. It happened that way in this case.
Categories:
bemoaned, family, old,
Form:
Free verse
~A lament~
Most signs and prophesy already fulfilled,
the scarlet of harlot lady has sung,
the veil has fallen away.
Hitler, De Fuehrer the man of sin,
the son predicted, hath prophesied,
many of God’s elect, the Jews have died.
`Tis much later than you think,
millennium is surely at the brink,
the harlot’s two legs of beauty are no more,
two towers of economic power have fallen.
In one hour great towers did fall, bewailed,
bemoaned, the earth doth reel, to and fro,
nature’s safety is in the fro, as earth bows low.
A vicious cycle, a call pending of Michael,
One foot on land one foot on the sea, one final plea,
One more call of love, and then we’ll see.
Categories:
bemoaned, introspectionearth,
Form:
Elegy
Strolling along through Gumgulli Park
where shadows of trees made it quite dark.
Absorbing birdsong filling the air,
taking in beauty with barely a care.
Some people were out walking their dog,
others were passing me out on a jog.
Quite a few kids were kicking a ball,
and noisy miners were having a brawl.
And there on a seat alone in the park
I saw the figure of one Basil Clarke,
sitting alone and just staring ahead
with a look so forlorn and nothing said.
So I thought it best to comfort the man.
I sat beside Basil to help how I can.
The first question I asked to ease the bumps -
“How come you’re looking down in the dumps?”
Basil declared that on three weeks ago,
an uncle died that he barely did know,
but in uncle’s will it opened his eyes,
for ten thousand dollars was a surprise.
I gave my condolence for Basil’s loss,
even though I’m sure he don’t give a toss,
so I wished him well for his good luck,
but Basil’s reply left me dumbstruck.
“I’m just getting started” Basil bemoaned,
“Just two weeks ago I was telephoned;
a cousin I barely knew curled up his toes.
His twenty thousand helped with my woes.”
You must have been over the moon I said.
Basil shrugged and just nodded his head.
I was slightly shocked at Basils’ reaction -
his depression was just gaining traction.
“And just last week my grandpa passed away,
and they read out his will in the usual way.
I got one hundred grand from the old coot”
and all of a sudden Basil went mute.
I was quietly shocked with Basil now numb,
so I asked Basil why he’s looking glum,
and Basil’s response had a horrible ring,
“Well this week there is nothing – not a thing!”
Categories:
bemoaned, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Inscribed still stone unholds, supine spirit enfolds
bemoaned psyche enwrapped, entranced soul strings unsnapped.
Categories:
bemoaned, death, memory,
Form:
Alexandrine
African-American and abusive, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist:
an army sergeant; a Vietnam vet; and, a backhand,
face-hitting sadist.
I once bemoaned that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!?)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So, once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse,
I rebelled under my breath
and uttered the "n" word at him
(so he beat me nearly to death).
Bruised, I never uttered that word again;
then mom and he divorced
as I grew older (which freed us at last!):
now unrivaled (with no remorse),
I suddenly was the man of the house; and life
for us seemed less stormy.
For the first time in years we lived without abuse;
and, at last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God;
and gave myself to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did!
Born again, I thus was sufficed.
So the scars of my step-dad's abuse which
for years I had repressed
began to heal and disappear; and so I became
less and less oppressed.
Now old, my erstwhile step-dad developed
advanced swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet (back when
I was still angry and young).
Not yet able to forgive him for the abuse that
made our lives so unbearably grim,
I nevertheless still realized that the weight
of still having hatred for him
was far worse than my pain. I recognized
that in life we all transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
His grace and forgiveness,
I made the right choice to forgive him;
for me a daily, ongoing process,
I at last began to let go of the anger
and truly begin to move past the mess
that was my step-dad's legacy to me. Also, I
began to forgive God;
for He was not to blame for him (whose own
father, too, did not spare the rod).
Still, tho' I had chosen to forgive (him) and let go,
he was unmoved and unchanged as ever:
but I, however, realized that what truly mattered
was that forgiveness set me free forever!
When at last he died, I had already completely
let go (so that he was forgiven).
Now I can only ask of God whether my step-dad
was changed from his glimpse of heaven?
Categories:
bemoaned, abuse, anger, forgiveness, god,
Form:
Narrative
A Modest Proposal
By Roy Merritt
Doctor Swift wrote it anonymously
His delicate modest proposal
His idea to save the poor Irish
Was to make their children disposal
He was lampooning Petty and Bacon
Quite popular upon that year
Their notions of how society be taken
And socially engineered
He wrote of the poor Irish
How they going to waste
And how a child of just one year
Might appeal to one’s taste
They could be roasted, stewed,
Or boiled long in a pot you see
To be sliced into ragout
And made delicious as fricassee
So let no man talk of expedients
Of taxes on landlords absentee
Let no man talk of new taxes
Or leveling them at me
No clothing do they need
Or furniture to sit astride
Not one penny for luxury
Or vain human pride
It would cure much idleness
Keep women safe and pure
Parsimony and patriotism
The only way to endure
Prudence and temperance
And love of one’s native sand
Was how they should differ
From the Laps in Lapland
And thus the small children
Could prove a fine subject
Not be bemoaned as a burden
But a benefit to the public
You might would put on weight
If the child is particularly sweet
And I don’t doubt be easy to chew
So tender would be their meat
I don’t doubt either as times
get worse in this nation
That some bloody right wing fool
Bring Swift into the conversation
Instead of depending on food stamps
When little food you got
Just reach over into that crib
And throw the kid into the pot
Just reach over into that crib
And throw your kid into the pot
Categories:
bemoaned, children, food, history, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
The poor child groaned
while his mother moaned
''Ah, he's possessed,
oh, he's been
bewitched'',
Superstition bemoaned.
To the witchdoctor she
sped
and was back with
murky potions
such yucky stinky lotions
those mythical
concoctions
The woman obeyed the
wily witchdoctor
Placed belief in that
traditional healer
and the poor child still
groaned
but his mama no longer
moaned
After two days of
treatment
and no lessening of
predicament
she thought he needed
something more potent
When all it turned out to
be
was a toothache dent!
But she would hear of
no dentist
Like all quacks her
witchdoctor
had fooled her five
senses
For his spells and his
chants
held her too in a trance
Quite a weird weirdo is
he
Beware the medicine-
man!
Beware that vodoo
magic and witchcraft
That survive on the
gullible and daft.
Categories:
bemoaned, health, mythology,
Form:
Narrative
in restless sleep
my eyes fluttered
candles sputtered
lost in a dream
enchanted night
stars were agleam
caught a moonbeam
in my bare hands
lambent glitter
beyond belief
in bright gold leaf
oh, how it shone
then came the morn
I woke alone
my fate bemoaned
at break of dawn
I stretched and sighed
stifled a yawn
window shades drawn
and I slept on
Categories:
bemoaned, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
Had some pictures on my iPhone,
But they’ve somehow disappeared.
Since I’m not so techno-savvy,
This was something that I’d feared.
‘Course I didn’t have a back-up.
Could have sent them to my mail;
But I let procrastination
And some laziness prevail.
I bemoaned their disappearance,
Thinking them forever lost
And, most likely, in my furor,
There were several curses tossed.
So a friend who overheard, said,
“All this moaning’s not allowed;
For your photos haven’t vanished –
You can find them in the Cloud!”
What this means is quite beyond me;
Sounds like Esalen or Zen.
I rejected those some years ago
And would do so again.
But though I don’t understand it,
I believe the Cloud is real;
And if it returns my pictures,
Oh, how happy I will feel!
So tomorrow I’ll hit Google
And I’ll find the code to crack
That I need to fly up to that Cloud
And get my pictures back!
Categories:
bemoaned, technology,
Form:
Rhyme
Ricochet bullet,
a bullet with someone else's name written on it ...
It makes a 45-degree right turn off the concrete pavement,
and finds you instead
You just went to the corner gas station
to buy some potato chips and a loaf of bread
But now you're going to the morgue
with a bullet in your head
Death was waiting to embrace you that morning,
the minute you got out of bed
Newspapers the next day,
says you were an innocent bystander
An argument in the store,
spilled out into the parking lot
Just as you arrived, the shots rang out
Deadly gunplay took your life yesterday,
you never would've stepped out the house,
if you had known it was gonna end this way
Innocent bystander,
your life took a stage exit left
when that ricochet bullet took a right turn
Falling to the ground, taking your last breath,
you bemoaned your fate ...
picking the wrong time to be an out-of-town guest
Categories:
bemoaned, death, irony, sad, sorrow,
Form:
Elegy
The singer sang from beyond the grave,*
Or in his grave, to be true.
His voice reached up to the architrave
And vibrated in every pew.
The vicar called on the choir to sing
As loud as loud they could.
But the voice had an even louder ring
Sending quivers down the rood.
Oh Lord, they sang, oh mighty God,
Gloria in excelsis deo.
But the singer sang of life’s hard rod
And of Hell's undying blow.
The women looked up the pillars tall,
While big-eyed children cried.
The singer had them in his thrall,
But was not to be descried.
The vicar read his sermon out,
As if proclaiming from the mount.
The singer responded with a voice so stout,
He sang of fear’s rich fount.
The congregation lost relation
To the good man’s godly word.
They stood in helpless trepidation,
Their souls so far disturbed.
The church’s doors swung open wide,
To a cascade of chattering leaves;
The screams and panic and terror inside
Shook the church to its very eaves.
And then, oh then, oh horror pure,
The spectre appeared at the door.
His bloodied hair, his sombre allure,
Chilled the living to the core.
The vicar clutched up bible and ran
Through a hidden door to the side,
The singer opened his cloak like a fan
And wrapped all the children inside.
The women bemoaned this cruellest loss,
They wailed to the crucified Christ.
But bound and weak and nailed as he was,
There was nothing he could do.
* This Poem should be read in conjunction with 'The Pauper's Grave'
Categories:
bemoaned, adventure, death, fantasywomen, voice,
Form:
Ballad