Best Bewail Poems
These sparkling tears do tell a woeful tale
Of sorrows hidden deep within my heart
They bring to light the heartaches I bewail
And speak of broken dreams I bury deep
Hear now this tale and vow to never part
Awaken love from this, a deathlike sleep
In answer to my tears, let love prevail
Reach out and comfort me with words so sweet
Protect me from my demons that assail
For none but you can bring back life to me
And gift me joy with which each day to greet
If bound to you, my soul shall be set free
These sparkling tears do tell a woeful tale
In answer to my tears, let love prevail
For Craig Cornish
The Cornish Sonnet
March 10, 2014
The Three Islands Sleep!
Sleep, sleep, the islands asleep!
Sleep while the winds blow on her face,
On her trees, and on her mountains and hills,
Sleep when the thieves dressed in suit come in,
Like the befuddled man sleeps in his own vomit,
Or like the overworked farmer, who in his bed creeps.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep with unclosed eyes, like he who can’t sleep,
Sleeps to the sound of alarm, the fight for her life, and her sea,
Sleeps, when the red crimson blood from her vain shed,
Like anesthesia in flesh, make it numb, feel no pain,
Or like the brain hypnotized, would not think for itself.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the foreigners come, move her out of her bed,
From the kitchen, living room, on the trees she sojourns,
Sleeps, though her offspring bewail, for some bread and a rest,
For schoolmasters that left, with no school nor recess,
And the peril and risk that play daily on the streets.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep, the three of them sleep, when they empower the fiendish,
To keep the ball rolling, the robbing and defrauding,
When the ballots that are twisted, in their hands feel no different,
Sleep when the liars can lead them, but the truth doesn't reach them,
Or when death sentence upon them, they hear, neither see their grave ending.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the corrupt one comes, with false hope to promote,
Like better jobs, new buildings, profuse gifts are given,
Sleeps like the reefs and the cays in the deep,
When the hurricane sweeps, still they all in deep sleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sound a sleep!
Sleep! Sleep! The three of them sleep, when rain water falls and seeps,
Seeps through their pores, deep down in their souls water leaks,
With thorns, wild trees and tall bush growing from underneath,
The Cassava, plantain, watermelon, sweet potato, food produced choked and killed,
Like invaders our land destroy, but we sit and daydream, since our islands sound asleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The three islands asleep!
Poor ol’ Pyrrho, he’s the hero
Of my somber poetry:
Couldn’t figure how to pick your
Core beliefs with certainty.
Bold Descartes, he got the party
Started with his Cogito.
Up popped Pyrrho (what a zero!),
Said to think is not to know.
Next, John Locke, he tried his luck; he
Claimed true knowledge must appear
By consensus of the senses,
But just how, he wasn’t clear.
David Hume, an ornery human,
Stripped Sir Science of support.
Just one reason he could seize on:
Custom is our sheer resort.
Kant, the strange one, said, now hang on;
For what’s really real don’t fuss:
Be content to just consent to
What our minds make real to us.
Lastly, Hegel scored a bagel
With his dialectic ways:
Synthesizing’s just surmising
When you have no solid base.
Oh, bewail their learned failure
To make absolutely sure
Of the theories man can fear he’s
Welcomed with a false allure!
As for poor ol’ Pyrrho’s moral,
Which I think we should applaud:
Don’t be blurtin’ that you’re certain—
You are just a man, not God.
It is when I search,
That I find.
And when I find,
That I realize how truly lost I am.
It is when I listen,
That I understand,
And when I understand,
That my own thoughts begin to confuse me.
It is when I look back from where I came,
That I remember,
And when I remember,
That I start looking forward again.
And,
It is when I question
The linearity of life,
That these Circles haunt me.
They haunt me
Again and again, and again.
Now I pause, and pray
That you do too.
And I ponder awhile,
For seconds - just a few.
But it is moments like these
In which my choices I bewail.
For it is moments like these
In which start becomes end.
And ends?
Starts, without fail.
Earthy barmy leafs scurry
Pulling rapidly in peak flurry
Lamenting blind as mists worry
Crude cool calm earth attacks slowly
Silly calm breeze shoo wholly
Sharp plume vanishes hollowly
Descending riveted cloud gleam
Sputtering upon scratching stream
Hurries vacantly in sprinkling steam
Lying oaks bewail 'n bemoan
Unobtrusively giggling delicately unknown
On clear red foundlings windblown
Deciduous elm trees fluster
As slow clouds be one of cluster
Above and slowly disappears in a duster
Suavity forlorn pebbles grieve
Amongst sluggish ol' buttermilk sky heave
As stars twinkling thru' pea soup vapor retrieve
God is missing,
Come hither there’s whiskey, drugs, sex, twitter!
Those who bewail we’ll banish in a cage
God's vanished in thin air, it’s all the rage!
He's nowhere to be seen and hate has spread
Everywhere, questions left unanswered
North of here, in the Tropic of Cancer
Those who’d high hopes
Medicate with dope and pills
Try not to tie a rope ‘round my throat
What say ye kills pain whilst His return
Loss of life in hurricanes
I’m calling missing Gods and God Amber alert
God is missing,
Where’s thy bearded hermit
To see thus proof permit me that
or commit me, one of the two
Gone is the gothic holy ghost, poof!
Why thy existence needed most
What did in dinosaurs, where is
Alien intervention to end wars?
God is missing,
With good reason, we’re worlds apart
An adrenaline rush, O throbbing heart
This is my story of a ghost unseen
It’s what I came up with for this Halloween
We Must, respect eachother by listening
“In God We Trust!” although He is missing
Night and day, a thrashing
like an invisible whiptail
surge van hail,
doth swell me bosom
excruciatingly, doggedly blackmail
capriciously be-numbingly,
aggravatingly assail
mine conscience in
what paltry pale
capacity of this gamboling male,
I can "pay forward,"
whatever means shale
be moost apropos avail
to offset bewail
ling (internal psyche doth ale
hankering) against utter
lifetime (mine) peppered
with emotional, physical
and social destitution
bereft, viz fail
ling to maximize inspiration
reverberating as vibrant detail
lacking even justa minimum
desire to live
(visa vis no way
discover ring, nope nar even
"FAKE" king minuscule appeasement
of my body, mind,
and spirit triage during)
hell...shove (shelve) aside
such gloriously noble benighted role,
amidst upending folktale
re: King Arthur and His Knights
of the Round Table
futilely searching for holy grail
where steadfast conviction
emboldens this heart and hale
spirited mindful,
sincere hard drive spurs
(neigh saying horse
sense of mine)
where ambition saddled
to air (dan sing) quailing,
yen propelling (yours truly),
with sincere humanitarian,
(i.e. blood driven)
philanthropic spiritual zeal,
I tried to unveil,
this reasonably rhyming thumbnail
sketch poetically versatile
within this spurious verse despite
any trials undermining travail
rather mine heart felt genuine
motive fueled by impetus
to contribute within e kale
logi, fizzy hollow gee, humanity,
with integrity, magnanimity,
and quality fervency,
while still adept, adroit,
agile, and alert,
(cuz America needs more lerts
to become great again)
ironically steel tougher than nails,
duh pleating ability dovetail
to bug (or wug) gee wholesale.
S o soft the pillowed clouds bewail the rai n.
E nduring wind blows cold as long ag o
l ethargic thoughts in hollow timpan i
f oreshadowed songs to soothe my disconten t;
a nd, now awake, I sail upon this se a,
c reated strong, unlike the put z
t hat used to live inside of me. Now, I
u nhesitatingly take full contro l,
a s varied is the path I walk like plains of a' a
l eft worn and still on wind swept Oah u.
I n this, my soul, I contrive to acqui t
Z en like in my intent to remove the toxi c
a gony of self doubt invading my person a.
T empestuous feelings of certainty dispel the disbelie f.
I AM ME! Never more will I doubt my wil l
o r pander to social expectations of m e.
N ow I know my destiny, and it is without limit s...
11/11/16
“My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge…”*
Thus was the lamentable protest of the Lord Himself
…against wisdom-deficiency
Caused by truth-rejection, ignorance-reign,
…skepticism-prevalence!!!
Propped with such rally point, here am I with my educator-voice
Protesting against inimical means that hinder every learner’s access
To genuine quality education that fosters love to God and others.
Though I hail every government’s great educational thrust toward
national progress and development
I also bewail any educational system’s “destructive” drive
for global competition, intensifying “survival of the fittest” doctrine
smiting interdependence, drowning collaboration
enslaving others that are weak or incapable intellectually …
Yes, I advocate for free education;
Yet I negate for the abuse of such blessing
through negligence, slothfulness and passivity to study well,
while taking for granted school amenities…
Surely, I vote for education that fights poverty at all phases
But I oppose the use of education funds to champion
the cause of just the elite, depriving the impoverished
to accessible educational resources…
Indeed, I am for education that promotes total well-being
especially the moral-spiritual aspect along faith's enhancement
While I shun education that glorifies self against the Supreme Educator
defying His established order, leading to chaos.
*Hosea 4:6 My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee, that thou shalt be no priest to me: seeing thou hast forgotten the law of thy God, I will also forget thy children.
April 5, 2019
6th place, "Protest poem : A poem with a message" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Stephen Pennell; judged on 4/6/2019.
Though the winds are wild,
And the gale unleashed;
Though waves bewail
And the surge swells:
My hurting heart still hums:
I know that Jesus lives,
I know He lives for me,
I know He's been my dyke;
I know He calms the storm.
So, I anchor in the Rock
Winds or waves cannot shake.
I hole up in its crevice
And wait for a while, trusting;
Just a while for God's glory
To drop like morning dew,
Distilling down the peace
Of heaven on the field
Dried by drought.
© 2015
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
When gone is your glamourous feature
When pain rules and breathing becomes a torture
When limbs are failing one by one
And life is no more a fun.
Then and then alone is the test of your metal
Few can the unwelcome visitor handle
Few can take aging with grace
Others bewail and make frowning face
Look at the flowers, how they blow
Over time they fade and lose their glow
Yet they nod and emit their fragrance
Yet on the rain drop´s rhythm they dance
Why man digs his grave much before he dies
Why he broods, bemoans and cries?
Why a graceful aging he never tries?
Why his eyes act as a waterfall?
And his soul the demons of pain and agony maul
Aging and death are processes of life
The relationship with the world is cut through this knife
They can´t be avoided howsoever one tries
He bemoans, cries or in the flame of agony fries.
Sintra, Portugal, 12 September, 2015
Oh beloved dear one , sing to me your song
its caress to rest my ears to fall thereon
the tenor of its soothing balm unto my heart
from its intonation wish never I to part
Break the mold beloved to the high exalt
sing about true justice compared to mans default
take true aim with words designations mark
lift them from their misery with the divine spark
Your skill of composition compliments of sound
where breathes a truth in stories made renown
highlight their intentions for the cause you wish effect
pointed the veracity that leads to circumspect
Take elements of history a tale told in note
outline in detail its morality in wrote
expressed is your ability the mind to mesmerize
where realities of men's behavior brought to size
Accompany with melody instruments design
harmonize those tones and tales ultimately fine
your songs can lead one to the right conclusions
break the chords wrapped with mankind's illusions
Oh beloved Bard your ballad sets me a sail
a chronicle of joy or those that we bewail
from you shall I never turn away my ear
its narration and aria brings recitals near
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC
Words bewail actions
Non-interventional distractions
Losing
Love in translations
from where do they grow under the See of unknown some weaved in the shell and bone linking slinking silent under the sound waves maybe in the great lakes of the cat it lay but this great lynx under the ocean spray in reflective eyes this bright eyes he is a king over all the children of pride.
It has the head and paws of a giant cat weakens the nations an abdominal bat but is covered in scales and has daggers but set with hook in lake of fire he staggers like spikes running along its back and tail no weapon formed shall harm do not bewail just a toy of the most high he rises but fails taken for legends but the truth entails when returning the true Lord of Sky's with hook tremble satan Jesus draws nigh
100 years ago at Passchendaele this day,
Young men prayed their fear would go away.
They waited, knee deep in mud, in trenches,
For the whistle to sound amid their defences.
They prayed for courage that very night,
The very next day they faced Germany's might.
The Third Battle of Ypres was about to start,
Another bloody conflict to save Europe's, heart.
Men screamed and died in fields of mud,
Turned into a quagmire of their comrade's blood.
Wave after wave they came, the enemy engaged.
For more than three months the battle raged,
A whole generation died in that accursed field,
Before the enemy began to weaken and yield.
So many young men from home and abroad,
At Passchendaele died to break the enemies sword.
War is an evil, something we must all bewail.
To depose the tyrants for Peace to prevail
Passchendaele 31 July 1917- Nov 10, 1917
Lest we forget.
© Dave Timperley 30 July 2017