Best Bitterest Poems
Mourning has broken
Mourning has broken...
my spirit and will
Despair I have swallowed...
my bitterest pill
I never imagined...
my soul needed to purge
So with anguish burning...
I compose this dirge
I've had spectral visions...
haunt me in my dreams
Spinning my meditations...
into nightmarish schemes
My pitiful illusions...
scatter in depth of night
Mourning has broken...
darkness conquers daylight
John Derek Hamilton
October 10,2019
When Red Sunset, Shines Its Brightest Inspiring Lights
When morning glories glow, your closed heart opens again
dawn's breaking light shows, a true faithful, loyal friend;
can you then cleanse the hate from your embittered eyes
open hard closed ears to hear this heart's saddest cries?
Recall our friendship, and cherished years we both knew,
remember we fought this dark world, just me and you!
When red sunset, shines its brightest inspiring lights
you feel that cool night's soft breeze, forget our big fights;
see a future when we can dance under new stars
forget the hard times, those bitterest of our scars!
Hold to sworn vows, that united once tender souls,
take a chance, toss the dice, see how it all rolls!
If this poem sent, with its sadden heartfelt plea
can repair the great damage, heal both you and me;
send back this letter sealed with a red lipstick kiss
write pretty love words, the ones that I dearly miss!
Please meet me there at our favorite lakeside spot,
sweet darling, give this broken man another shot!
Recall our friendship, and cherished years we both knew,
remember we fought this dark world, just me and you!
Hold to sworn vows, that united once tender souls,
take a chance, toss the dice see how it all rolls.
Meet me Friday at our favorite lakeside spot,
sweet darling, give this broken man another shot!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-14-2018
Rhyme, ( The Letter Sent)
Edited version of a poem written over 42 years ago.
Although heart-sent and truly felt, there was no reuniting and love thus reborn, however life did march ever onward and the torn, worn, weary and broken heart was not swiftly healed. Yet time eventually did heal it...
The pains of those ailments that grab us at will
Once better, like stalkers, can linger on still
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
When struck down, bedridden, we try to be brave
Though we feel our survival might be a close shave
But we’d gladly accept our God’s beckoning wave
If that keeps our loved one away from their grave
*
And so when I hear that slight tremor of fear
No hug and no words for the one I hold dear
Can bring forth a smile full of genuine cheer
And that forehead kiss… conceals my own tear
At night, to the God in whom I don’t believe
I sheepishly say, “I don’t want her to leave.”
I snuggle up close, I’m not ready to grieve
And I smile in the morning as I hear her breathe
The doctors I’ve trusted I must trust in still
For they’ll mend her again; I’m sure that they will
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
Dark thoughts emerging from a lifeless spirit,
a wandering ship sinking into the remotest depths;
denying itself reality and its sense of comfort...
and was ever there a lighthouse to disperse its darkness?
A captain stirring his erring ship,amid furious waves,
for an imminent and fierce war,
not noticing the making of its destiny...
fighting unnecessary battles of ambiguity,
hoping that luck would bring it safely ashore;
even a small island was hidden from his gaze!
An unwise listener would not take advice from anybody,
he didn't reject it embracing his own vulnerability;
a good decision that didn't imply a cost...
would he ever been discouraged or lost?
For uncountable years, this eager sea-man,
resisted and spoiled many pleasures for victory...
freezing time to avoid another tragedy
with a perception so sharp to defy anyone's will!
And did he deserve the harshest judgment
from others, who were pleased with their fate?
Loneliness was chosen by him
for unequivocal reasons and he craved it
like the bitterest, strongest wine
to make him strong and invincible...
nothing swayed him from his pride
to obtain that impossible goal!
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
Contests! good for building egos up
great for knocking creativity down
as I pore over words and sounds
to make my poetry jump off the page
to come alive in others minds
in the most imaginative way.
Contests! we don't need them
they drive us crazy every day
putting our best foot forward
and doing something that is brave
putting your art out there for judging
nurtured and created with much loving
only to be brutally dimissed
or even worse maybe even savaged
Contests! Huh, well this I find an interesting challenge
maybe I will just have a go at this
rise to the challenge and try to win it
not because I don't think it still stinks
but because in my own way we become
ever so slightly addicted to it
looking for some kind of justification
for writing poetry and putting it out to the nations
or just because we have a competitive edge
contests! I've won a couple so see what's next
see if I can be the best, I mean i wish everyone all the best
I just enter for a bit of fun, not to be just number one!
but being unplaced leaves me undone
but hey, let's show a little grace keep a smile upon our faces
swallow this bitterest pill and compete until they lose the will
to misjudge my work again, I am the top contestant man!
enter contests or be dammed, stinking contests drive me mad
Argh!!!! is that even a word?
17/7/18
From Wisdom Born, Decades Fighting Fate's Cursed Hand
In youth, a young lad roars for much needed applause
in old age, wisely remains silent with just cause,
seeing the end near, some shed bitterest of tears
thinking such splashing supplications, angels hear;
whereas this old, callous world neither sees nor cares
what sorrow one displays or how much heart one shares
for savage the measure world uses to reward
dying lover or a talented, humble bard.
On pages offering up their softest virgin whites
are invisible castles beyond mortal sights,
each one begging for its wailing walls to withstand
massive cannon shots or a victor's crushing hand!
Poets, be they young or old, should a full pen hold true
to life, as spilling of ink- its treasures accrues!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-01-2020
Sonnet, ( Why All We Think We See, May Be An Illusion )
( So Spoke The Raven, After Master Poe Demanded Silence )
Syllables Per Line:0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables::168
Total # Words:::::120
Note:
Muse demanded I write this second poem on this first day
and it be dark. Raven agreed and Master Poe abstained.
Paper sang a blackened tune and pen danced a raging jig
as evil clouds rumbled while gathering in the far west
echoes drifted through broken window, and Hades jingled
a billion unbreakable chains. A older and wiser poet yielded
to avoid the usual headaches and aching pains!
In the bitterest of the cold polar north shadows of illusions dwell,
Reflections of light on ice, maybe so or is there more to these
Optical delusions, the natives say creatures hide amongst these
Rocky snow covered hills, and they call forth the power of the
Alpine peaks for protection!
These mountainous summits of elevation known as the
Thundering mountains, many men have gone missing here,
Without explanation or reason, without any evidences trace
Ever being found, as if just vaporizing within the alpine mists?
But legends say by the tribal chieftains, they were taken by the
Snow beasts the Yeti’s, the abominable demons for
Trespassing on their sacred icy lands!
These outlander's whom should have known better,
Warned were they not, to climb at this inaccessible remote
Elevations for this is the forbidden territory belonging to
The creatures of the rocks!
Many men go there and are swallowed whole by the mighty
Avalanches, called forth by the screaming howling of the
Mountain guardians, weaving through these ice and spray
Waves as if they were made of winter wisps’ of air, the creatures
Take these hikers, or skiers unware, than devour
Them later at their leisure’s pleasure afterwards!
These avalanche waves have another name given to
Them eons ago, the claws of the tiger, sweeping
Within their mighty claws, everything living or none,
Beneath their talons of devastation!
But what if there were more to this myths story,
What if these two legends were working together?
In a tandems precisions epic motion, beast and
Mountains, both struggling to survive, against
The onslaught of humanities approach!
Endurances basic instinct of survival, natural law
Prevails, that only the strongest of the species is allowed
To continue, but what if these two natural raw forces
Combine, to do whatever it takes to achieve
This final climatic extraction, brawn concurring
Intelligence, or maybe it’s the other way
Around!
In this wilderness only the whispering winds
Knows the answers to these questions of inquiry,
And there left unheard by the deafening ears of
Progress and mankind until it is too late!
But the native people know, and warn them
To stay away for this land belongs to the Yeti’s
And the mountain protect them beneath the
Claws of the white tiger, the mighty avalanche!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The Egyptian standard falls, unto histories surrendering,
The deserts breath, is so stilled, under the Nile river's
Murky abyss, busted masts, heave against the
Heavily laden hauls,taring the ships apart,
As the Egyptian fleet sinks beneath the waters surface.
A shooting flame of arrows, lights this tender box,
Of human flesh and bone, in wars clash of titans,
Rome must concur all nations.
Survivors screaming for salvation’s protection,
But help will not come, for Horas is a
Defeated deity, hiding within his own temple to
The east.
Broken is the heart of Egypt, as a daggers sharp edge,
Is plunged into the body of a living god, the last Pharaoh,
Known as Cleopatra.
Cradling misfortune's solider, Mark Anthony, she thus weeps,
Behold love's most tragic couple of history.
With his last breath, he calls unto she, by names sake
Alone, Cleopatra, than remains stilled.
Lord thy last falcon has left the golden land,
Welcome him, she thus bids farewell, to hearts warrior,
Cleopatra.
A mortal woman holds her lover, within destiny’s arms,
Soar with the great eagles, my love, for soon I'll join thee,
In the great halls of our ancestors.
Tragedies star crossed lovers, partake in the bitterest
Of fruit, dried are these figs, once ripened by the sun,
Now unpalatable by discord’s taste.
Nay, all the power and wealth of Egypt itself,
Could sever, the silver threads joining these two,
From one another.
Lovers heart, bound even after death itself,
Shall they walk forever, within the valley of
The dead together, silhouetted figures, embracing
Reunification’s promise vows expressed long ago,
Written within their hearts eternal.
Lain in a golden gown, the queen of the Nile
Does she rest, beneath death's slumbering shadow,
A serpents bite, has laid waste to a dynasty’s blood line.
Behold how in the heaven two eagles do soar,
Blanketed by the golden warmth of the sun,
As the passages of the hear after open wide
Their mighty gates, each name is spoken with
Honor pride, behold Mark Anthony and Cleopatra.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
"I love you"
Words so easily said
and then abandoned and forgotten
like a sunset in one's memory
here for a time
and then gone
I was there
I saw the sun
I felt it's rise and fall
I experienced it
and then it was gone
You were here
You told me you loved me
and now you are gone
like the sun
with no explanation
How meaningless those words
how empty
how disgusting
to have believed you when you said
"I love you"
Empty words
all empty words
words said, but with no meaning
the bitterest lie
of all.
(November 18th, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
The truth was concealed with many branches,
viscous web woven of half-truths and lies;
hidden, the spider spun a silk repugnant
off a sticky tongue prone to moralize.
Newly emerged with dewy wings unfurled,
she fanned them, innocently unaware,
among fragrant blossoms naively sweeping
green garden border, concealing his snare.
At last the sweet sun rays warmed and dried her;
she was ready to lift bright wings and fly.
New vistas, new horizons awaited
this adventurous lady butterfly.
Into the clear, clean air softly rising,
faltering with the newness of fresh wings,
she dips low among the flower faces,
is imprisoned in gummy, wet web strings.
Just one moment - innocence is plundered
and whirled round and round - bitterest cocoon;
he pivots in springing, gleeful madness
to add the trophy to his black festoon.
Copyright, August 8, 2016
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum
are two friends of mine.
They hung out with dear Alice.
They knew her in her prime.
They smoked some dope,
least that's the hope,
in caterpillar time,
oh, tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,
they are two friends of mine.
Mr. Dum loved the Cheshire cat
Mr. Dee the Jabberwocky,
both of them shunned the Hatter,
he made the bitterest tea.
Why Dad named them
both the same thing
only the rabbit knew.
What he'd done was a shame
seeing that they were TWO!
Just two boys, round formed,
beak capped, and bow legged
but, oh the trouble that they caused,
they never were up staged!
My deadly duo,
famous two-o,
who would there be but thee,
just ask Alice, she'll agree
twin boys of dread debauchee.
Mist, Mist..
Why not whisper, why not speak?
When upon thy shrouded depths,
Thou knowest truly, what we seek
Darkness, Darkness
Why be quiet, why not be shrill?
When your hoot and squeal and growls,
Shivers our spine, with unbidden thrill
Cat, Cat
Why be fair, why not be black?
Then your hackles and caterwauling,
Sends us scurrying, to home be back.
Hag, Hag
Why be frail, where is your broom?
When your ire and witchy hex,
For wayward kids, spells dreadful doom.
Road, Road
Why be lively, why not be lone?
Your dark stretch once cast shadows,
Dancing wickedly, with the wind’s soft moan.
Moon, Moon
Why be normal, why be so pale?
When it’s your ghostly light and full visage
That sends the night, to howl and wail.
Trees, Trees
Why be silent, why won’t you creak?
The touch of your twisting limbs,
Will send us running, though knees be weak.
Bat, Bat
Why in flight do you shy away?
When your flap and eerie screeches,
Bolts us upright, from where we lay.
Statues, Statues
Why be still, why don’t you blink?
When your lifelike and weird stare,
To morbid fright, makes us sink.
Where has thrill, and childhood fear went?
The dread craved, without any harm meant,
Remembering…
The simple fire lit stories, From whence one conjured,
The demons of the night,
Feeding eerie appetites.
For now this world, has darkened indeed,
With the very evil, that is man’s own deed.
With horrific crimes, atrocious and vile
In contrast makes sweet, the bitterest bile.
Woe for ‘tis sanctified no more, the domain of life,
Taken cold blooded with nary, a conscience’s strife.
Children though chaste, with this horror not spared,
Man’s grimmest side, to dire fullness bared.
The great divide, between men and monster,
In these darkest of times, exists no longer.
That is why…
My mind whispers and hoots and growls,
Caterwauls and moans and howl and wail,
Hexes and shies and stares and blinks and sinks...
Down, down, down.
For I pity this frail humanity,
In its sad, sad, sorry plight,
That ponders why innocence has gone,
From scare’s warm embrace,
To TERROR'S cold arms.
- Originally posted as TERROR TERROR.
Copyright by the Olongapoet,
George Daniel Anos Oct. 12, 2008
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine
?? ??????, ?? ????? ? ?? ???????? -
? ??????? ? ?????, ??? ?????? ??????.
?? ??????, ?? ?????? ?? ????, ????????
??? ??????? ?????, ???? ? ????? ???????.
????? ??????? ?????????? ??????? ??? ???,
? ???????? ???? ????????? ???.
??? ???? ?? ?????? - ?? ??????? ?? ?????
?? ???????, ??????????, ???? ????????
?????'????? ?????. ????? ???! ???????!
?, ??????? ???? ?? ???????? ????!
?, ??????, ??? ??????????. ?? ????? - ??????!
? ???? ????? ???? ??????????? ????,
? ???? ?????????. ??????????? ????
???????? ??????? ???????. ?? ?
??? ?????? ? ??????? ?? ???????? ????,
? ???? ? ????????. ??? ? ?? ?????!
???? ??? ????????????, ? ???? - ?? ???.
?? ?? ??????? ????? ???? ????????!
???, ??????????? ???? ?? ??? ?????? ?????.
?? ???????? ??????? ?????????? ????.
???? ????? ????, ?????? - ?? ?????. ? ????.
??????? ?? ???????. ????? ?? ??????!
??????????? ????????, ?? ??????? ????.
?? ????? ???? ???????? ?? ???? ????!
(?) Maryna Tchianova 2016
Honourably devoted to George Gordon Byron,
The UK, the US and Ukraine,
with deep respect for all the aforenamed literatures and faith in the Ukrainian nation through the thick and thin.
So sad are days in this bitterness
and bitterest cold outside
Gone are friends and leaves
and grass.
The walls are mocking me, laughing
I can feel me hating me with a passion
This is one of those dark days
I see them at play
The demons who play hell
Casting doubts and leaving
agony in the wake of sunrise
Until this day and I rest again
We will bear it like shackles
dragging loud chains
I will listen to music that worsens it.
I'll drink to the pain, as Im numbing it
Jack Daniels is no friend of mine
just a confidant in the worst of times
There is no solace in this bottle
Only places to run and hide.
So today I hid from shadows and the sunshine
not letting one loom behind me
or the other sting my eyes
Contemplating and making sad compilations
mixing and blurring memories
blend them into one absolute emotion
I'll wallow in this today
Looking at a distorted reflection
it stares back from a whiskey meniscus
Johhny Cash murmured in the background
smoke wafts through, plumes like lengthy
ghost fingers
The sun will set on a day like this
It will creep back beyond the waterline
lighting clouds in surrealistic colors
Closure, comfort, and serenity seep in
This was one of those dark days
I grabbed it by the neck
and conquered it
Jack, Johnny, and Me...