Best Black As Pitch Poems | Poetry
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Black As Pitch Poem
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There is no thing so peaceful
As a winters night in the woods--
A canopy as black as pitch,
Spangled with the pinpricks of a billion stars--
Shimmering.
The banks of snow and downy flake,
Turned to diamonds by the moonlight
That drapes the sparkling,
Rolling hills with a shawl of powder blue
And midnight lace.
The cold air, brisk and chill,
Transforms my every breath to puffs
of cloud, that trail away like
Wisps of smoke, into nothingness.
So peaceful is this winter wood--and still,
Like foxes napping.
No evidence of man exists--
He is not welcome here.
I myself am an intruder, and gratefully.
There are no prints, or marks,
Save the tracks of a hungry deer.
And the indecisive flurries fall,
As if the stars themselves--
And lightly gather on my brow and lash.
Then comes, and without warning,
A gentle breeze--a timid thing
Who asserts itself--reluctantly,
And shy.
It wanders through the powdered wood,
Lightly stirring snow and pine.
How comforting the rustle--
Just as reverent as a hymn.
And the sweet scent of the Douglas Fur
Consumes the sense and dulls the wit,
Till I am thoughtless there;
Save but one, this is a prayer--
The kind whispered as a child.
Perhaps children would be welcome here,
If they could quiet be;
Although snowballs would be welcome
In this place of sanctity.
But awe the sound, I thoughtless hear
A pinecone falling from a tree--
A sound that I would overlook
Were I elsewhere but this wood.
And that's the magic of the hymn;
The magic of the prayer--
The magic of this powdered wood
To be the more aware.
And thankfully I ponder every flurry--
Every flake, every star
And every diamond--
Every cloudy breath I take.
Now the banks of blue
Are a part of me--
This winter wood, my soul;
And though soon I will be leaving,
I will never really go.
For there is no thing so peaceful
As a winters night in the woods--
And there is no thing so quiet,
As snow!
Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Down many of the coalmines in Yorkshire , Safety dictated that an alternative means of escape
had to be found just in case anything ever happened to the shafts that raised and lowered miners to their work.
This usually involved keeping a single route open underground to the next nearest colliery .
Old George waiting by the mineshaft
Spitting his chewing tobacco juice
Today with his apprentice
They must survey the mines escape route .
1000 yards underground
In darkness as black as pitch
They reach up to their helmets
Turning on the headlamp switch.
George prodding at the timbers
That support the roof and sides
His apprentice grows more nervous
With every single stride .
A mile down the escape route
The roof is seven feet high
They see a little fallen rock
but manage to squeeze by .
The roof is getting lower
George hears the scurrying of mice
Brought down the mine in bales of hay
When pit ponies and the miners destiny were spliced.
The apprentice is visibly shaking
but only one more mile to go
When a piece of falling timber
Dealt his torch battery a glancing blow.
George could see the boys panic
and as the leader of his team
He reassured his apprentice
Then they shared the single beam .
Suddenly they hear a crack like thunder
Then the splintering of wood
George pushes his apprentice
but a fall of rock stands where George stood.
Young boy on his hands and knee's
Screaming Georges name
More terrified by the second
When no answers came.
Now in total blackness
He inhabits the world of the blind
If he is to help his leader
The boy must use his senses and his mind .
The faintest hint of breezes
He feels on his face
Air sucked down the mineshaft
Just might be his saving grace
He crawls along the jagged floor
Using his sense of touch
Soon in the distance he hears machinery
A sound he has never loved so much .
He tastes the ever freshening air
Hope inside him grows
Then the tiniest speck of flickering light
His tears overflow.
Help, Help, he's calling
As the miners come into view
Two men want to hep him to the surface
Burt he awaits his friends rescue.
Old George didn't make it
He sacrificed himself to save the boy
Broken hearted the boy had a breakdown
and had to leave the mines employ.
The boy became a father
Then a wonderful granddad
but he never tired of telling the story
of the best friend he ever had.
Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Hurriedly through the night it came
Blanketing the ground in white
A storm of raging wind and snow
Late one Christmas Eve night
It came to us with little warning
A blizzard of blinding white
While families bowed their heads
Giving thanks for the birth of Christ
The winds did howl like a wolf
And snow drifts halted travel
The dark night was black as pitch
Emergency crews were frazzled
Then as the night gave way to dawn
They found the silver lining
Families snowed in for Christmas
Seemed winter had perfect timing
Copyright © 2010 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
Copyright © Lena Townsend | Year Posted 2010
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Black As Pitch Poem
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I do not fear you, Blue hellion of Satan! From deep within the reaches of his evil den, your master has sent your frozen azure waves crawling to my stronghold. Inch by inch, your glacial fingers froth as a scalding blue lava sea, seeking only to destroy me. Closer they creep beneath my castle keep. Slowly they rise up my cliff wall threatening my death.
If you think your evil strategy threatens me, do not be as vain as he, to think that you have me cornered. I scorn you for making such a common mistake made by many fools who have no honor. What does he know of honor? Dismal and dark, is your master, the epitome of all demons who follow him. You've cast your lot with Satan, and for now he's audacious enough to believe I will renounce my faith and give in to his temptations. Not for all the gold or lands he could offer me will I kneel before him. He's been defeated and banned by my Protector once before.
Rage on in battle against me if you must. You approach from below, spewing forth from his volcanic mountains. I fear not your threat of cerulean blood, hotter than the red flows of earth. Deep cobalt is the color, grown hot from the hate he holds for mankind. Pissarro banished your color from his palette, and too bold was it to grace any canvas of Renoir.
Satan sent his minions to the dark clouds that churn and convulse above me. They will never seep into my castle walls. I hear their thundering threats echoing through my great halls, but they will never penetrate its thick armor of protection. Bolts of lightning hurl their strikes in vain. No fires sent from Hell will ever burn me down. Through sapphire sparks he leers down from blackened eyes. I do not fear the Blue hellion, for my faith is my shield.
You've joined forces to defeat me with your tyranny, but you will never taste victory. A power far greater than that of your master is biding His time before He says, "ENOUGH!" Look! Do you see the brilliant sector of bright light shining upon my cliff wall? That is the light that comes forth from His hand, by day and by night. Though my castle appears black as pitch from the outside, it is only to deceive you into believing that this war you wage is near its end, and foolish demon, that is the truth, but the victor will not be you. Though blackness seems to cover my walls, the light of His love shines within.
So get behind me Satan! Your time on earth is near its end. God and His army of angels surrounds my castle. They protect me under their wings from you and all your evil things. You will be hurled into the abyss, and your wicked schemes and lies will be buried with you.
*_________________________________________________________*
January 23rd, 2016 N/A's Contest Sponsor: Edward Ebbs
Each day we are faced with trials, hardships, pain, and temptations. This epic
was written to show my spiritual strength in combatting the evil forces that
try in vain to stumble me.
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
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Black As Pitch Poem
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There is a picture of you on my bedroom wall
Drawn by my own simpering hand
Of your divine features and veiled Oriental eyes
Scratched out by the crude tool of a 2B pencil
Alas I had no mosaic tiles, nor a sculptor’s clay
Else I might have made of you a Leonardo da Vinci portrait
But as I am no artist so is this no masterpiece
But merely another means by which to profess
My bounteous insatiable love for you
And all your moods and manifestations
Into this simple rendering I poured my heart and soul
Sealing my desire on a frail scrap of A3 paper
You would scoff at it
So accustomed are you to the incomparable beauty of
Your living face
But it was the best I could do once you withdrew from my life
Once your face became something out of bounds
A God-sculpted artwork I could no longer stroke
Or trace with the tender tips of my passionate fingers
It is all I have left of you that I can touch
And my accuracy was sorely tested – but I tried
Oh how I tried
In this humble picture I strove to capture your chiselled cheekbones
I copied your masterful brows
Your narrow forehead
Your hair is full and flowing as in life
And, as in life, so your charcoal and paper gaze shifts to the side
Evading the eyes of its admirer – me –
Dodging the possibility of encountering my wide-open
Windows to my soul
And the vast reservoir of love that brims to the surface
Threatening to spill through my pupils and drown you
As in life so in my depiction you are aloof
Yes my love I maintained that barrier you erected
I sketched it in invisible ink over your supple lips
Your pupils, black as pitch
The shadowed hollows beneath your cheekbones
I remained faithful to the truth of you
And what you have become
As every artist tries to stay loyal to his model’s essence
The lifeblood of his muse
So I have not created a false illusion of softness
I did not add warmth to your Adonis facade
Did not lend pliability to your stern mouth
But kept you as solemn and withdrawn as
The stunted soulless beauty you are
My empty vessel of ebony and crystal
My shining icy star...
My muse, devoid of love and hope as you are
So I have portrayed you, to prove my devotion
To prove that my love may overlook all that you lack
And still your portrait may be positioned in pride of place
So that I may admire your hollow loveliness
And give a melancholy sigh for what might have been...
If only you were not just a picture
A flat one-dimensional etching on the gaudy canvas of my life...
Copyright © Amy Van de Casteele | Year Posted 2009
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Black As Pitch Poem
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The wind exhales then breathes in deep
It swallows the leaves as the willow weeps
Swimming in all Her earthly sounds
No longer green, leaves touch the ground
The limbs are never completely bare
Like old man oak is losing hair
Is it summer, fall, winter or spring?
Or maybe a season that lives between?
On the wing of a dove She ruffles a feather
That fluffs the clouds to change the weather
Then puffs grow dark as black as pitch
They bubble and boil then begin to itch
Until the burst that bares the sores
From which you’ll see Her blood, it pours
Crystal clean and clear as glass
A dancing, flowing huge wet mass
Sweeping branches often missed
Blades of grass the dewdrops kiss
The falling source of Nature’s life
Its fresh cool water will wash Her knife
The tool with which She’ll quake the land
Then slide the mountain with Her hand
To scrape away the mud and snow
That Mother laid there, just for show
In a snow-free zones that get much hotter
She’ll kick up the wind and spit the water
She has not a method to freeze them out
So She shows Her strength in a waterspout
Or funnels of sand with winds of fury
It’s Mother’s law there is not jury
So pray to a God, your soul to save
As Nature prepares for a closer shave
By ocean swells or lava that flows
When She strikes whether or not one knows
Mother Nature’s certain, and that’s for sure
For no one is safe, not even the pure.
Copyright © Tina Thornton | Year Posted 2005
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Quoth The Raven
Under frosted blankets lay
On crispy frozen petals,
Sipping hearty beverages
Of dandelion and nettles,
As I gasp on misty chortles
Reflecting in an icy puddle,
Deathly spirits reminisce
Outside my winter huddle.
Snow, snow, she hath no gold
To pave my path to spring,
The raven stole my summer
To mend her broken wing,
I cannot pay my passage
If the mortal raven calls,
Neither he nor the tally man
Can catch me if I fall.
Darkness lays round about
In the silent fields of hell,
Naked as the eerie sound
Of a distant tolling bell,
My poisoned body squirming
Upon my true loves eyes,
Spreading feathers black as pitch
She flies, she flies, she flies.
Autumn seems a distant dream
Of amber painted leaves,
So I'll sleep 'neath the canopy
That is woven into wreaths,
There I mock the starless sky
As it shrouds my oaken chest
"Good riddance" quoth the raven
As they lay my bones to rest.
Copyright © Robert Horton | Year Posted 2015
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Black As Pitch Poem
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On a dirty grey Monday morning a drizzle in the wind, a black car stopped,
From the car stepped an officer who gazed around looking for door numbers,
His head turned it fixed on a woman's house he slowly walked up to the door,
He gave three very hard knocks stood waiting, fidgeting for it to be opened.
A lady opened the door and he introduced himself he then handed her a letter,
Before she opened it he suggested going inside as it was so very cold and wet,
Standing in the warm kitchen her hands shook and she ripped at the folded note,
As she read the letter tears rolled down her thin cheeks she held onto the sink.
Her son had been killed at Flanders, the officer lied told her how brave he was,
The officer sadly looked at the floor he had done this a thousand times before,
He said no more and quietly left the house, the grieving mother sat on a chair,
She stared at the crucifix on the wall bitterly and cried as she had never before.
She could feel his ghost as a child not so many years ago so proud, when he joined,
The letter said the bugles played and drums rolled at his funeral his friends wept,
They raised the flag high the sun shone off the polished boots of the many mourners,
Had she lost two sons she would have had two letters both would have been identical,
The letter browned in a frame over the mantle piece and with time her heart healed,
Torn fields of battle became a field full of red poppies and little white crosses,
Grass grew slowly over the land, nature trying to erase history the madness forever,
There is light and dark as the days roll by, in reality it is always black as pitch.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
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Black As Pitch Poem
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the day the earth saw no light
the day the sun was dark
when the moon was black as pitch
the day we gave up.
when the sun turned to stone
and the earth fell inward
when i fell on mw sword
and God has stretched his
second chance
beyond the limits of time
is the day i saw the sun go dark
and the day life stopped its never
ending will is the last day
i saw the sun rise.
Copyright © Jesse Kaler | Year Posted 2011
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Miserable grey, damp wet Days
Days shorter and winters Long
Long bleak dark Evenings
Evenings as black as pitch.
Bright frosty cold Mornings
Mornings glistening in the Sun
Sun shines cold as the Day
Day soon will become night.
Snow crisp and White
White flurries fall from the Sky
Sky as white as the Day
Day fades into a crisp evening.
Days engulfed with Floods
Floods devastating your Home
Home unfit to live In
In shelter we seek comfort.
Copyright © Hazel Connelly | Year Posted 2012
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Unicorn in a bag
A long, long time ago
In a land as black as pitch
An unholy alliance was formed
Between a Wizard and a Witch
No one dare try rival them
In there castle way up high
The magic that they conjured
Even Satan could not vie
Until one night out on a hill
The Wizard heard an evil shrill
The Witch’s screams were all in vain
By a Unicorn she had been slain
The Wizard swore upon this day
“All Unicorns I swear Ill slay”
He would capture them one by one
And kill them all till there are none
Knowing to hunt a beast of light
It must be done on the darkest night
For alone these beasts he could not best
So he’ll do the deed while they do rest
Using his magic he tracked the beast
The trail he followed lead to the east
There in a cave on a mountain side
The battle began and the Unicorn died
Now on his belt he carries a bag
In it a horn that is wrapped in a rag
The first of many has fell to his hand
His quest just begun as he travels the land
So if you see an evil old man
Carring a box, a bag and a can
Move away quickly give him wide birth
For he is the most powerful Wizard on earth
By Mr. E. Jones
Copyright © Edward Jones | Year Posted 2005
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Wealth
"20 People who have wealth but lack understanding are like the beasts that perish. ” Psa 49:20 NIV
A man who possesses riches
Without accompanying understanding
Will perish like the beasts of the earth;
A short life that’s not everlasting.
He will join the generation
Of his fathers that went before;
Sleep forever in a tomb;
No princely mansion above to score.
“Do not be overawed,” David the Psalmist said,
“When a man grows rich.”
He’ll take nothing with him in death
Where all is black as pitch.
When he lived he counted himself privileged
But that privilege he squandered;
Kept it all for his own glory;
To God’s glory never pandered.
Riches are a responsibility
And a blessing from the courts above.
God’s blessings are to bless others
To demonstrate God’s love.
So when they come without understanding
They serve for a very short time,
To give glory to self alone
And not to our Lord, Divine!
Why squander the privilege of eternity
In exchange for a quick fix here?
The honor of men is worthless;
Just a few words spouted into thin air.
Man’s splendor may bring him glory,
But only for such a short while.
To lose out on eternity
Is the greatest self-denial!
© Copyright 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
Copyright © MAUREEN LEFANUE | Year Posted 2012
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Painted streets, black as pitch…white shadows dance.
Expecting the indigenous sound to fade into the black.
It’s the same sound, the crack comes from within.
The sweetness turns bitter, her voice recorded.
Motion sickness, vomiting, and chunks left behind.
Screaming turns to screeching, lips turn blue…
Throat bleeds the corruption of the heart.
Wet, cold, meat. Bowing, not kneeling.
Trust is lost in the promise, trust is lost in the smile.
There is not trust here, there is no smiling…
Copyright © Joseph Silva | Year Posted 2006
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Black As Pitch Poem
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Darkness Turned to Light
By: Angela Christine Freeman
9/30/2017
Dedicated to: Amondo Michael Cole
There is NO reason to worry about me leaving you.
Without you what would I do?
No one else knows how to be true.
They all leave me feeling blue.
None of them have a clue who I am, where I am from, or what I’m about.
They use their human minds to plot against me no doubt. Human beings think with their hormones.
They all act like they have thrones.
They think they can rule over and manipulate me.
One day soon they all will see.
I am going to finally be free.
Thanks to you, I have caught glimpses of some light.
That’s a good sign for a soul that’s black as night.
Without you things just don’t seem right.
I have had it with Satan’s shit...I’m ready to fight.
However, I have become very weak.
When he wants into my world all he has to do is sneak.
He is a shady son of a bitch.
I worshipped him and became a black witch.
Now my soul is black as pitch.
On you I’ll have to hitch...a ride that’ll take me far away.
Take me to a better day.
Then everything will be ok.
You are my soulmate and I love you so.
I can feel myself dying and I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to leave you here to find another.
Will you love her more and tell me it’s over?
Will you ruin my heaven because you chose someone else.
I’ll know in the end...I’ll be able to tell.
If you don’t come and find me, I’ll be in limbo.
There’ll be no love for me and nowhere to go.
I’ll be trapped in space all alone.
It will hit me hard that you are gone.
I’ll wonder what I did wrong.
You’ll be singing a new song.
It’ll be over in an instant...it won’t take long.
All the love and care I put into you.
I always thought your love was true.
Then you’ll leave and tell me we’re through.
What am I supposed to do?
If that happens, it will be a darkness to which nothing else can compare.
I won’t have any hope left...I won’t have any care.
I love seeing you everywhere.
In my thoughts, my heart, and my soul...you’re always there. Please don’t ever let me go.
I am going to die young...this much you know.
Your light needs to grow.
In my soul...you need to show...
Show me how to live and get it right...
so that my darkness can be turned to light.
Amondo Michael Cole, you are the most amazingly wonderful “man” I have ever met in my life. We have special aspects to our relationship that no one else can understand and it’s not really for them to understand. As long as you and I understand and we can walk hand in hand back towards the place and time that we come from, we’ll be fine.
Copyright © Angela Freeman | Year Posted 2017
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Black As Pitch Poem
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feathered wanderers
how far… what lands you espied
moonlight guides you on
~
feathers… how many
would it take to lift me… fly
a dreams worth… magic
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the crow the raven
black as pitch… their beauty gleams
precious jewels
~
donkeys… mules… oxen
man’s workhorses… over time
still abused… misused
~
snow-capped… the highest
mountains… peaks… touching the stars
borrowing snowflakes
~
super condors
majesty… kings… queens of flight
twenty-twenty sight
~
mister mole
a golfers nightmare
in each hole… one
~
with my magic wand
holes I slit in the clouds
so the sun can see
~
sea glass… pollution
first as sharp as crystal light
honed down to jewels
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cow jumped over the moon
fairy tales… lies… cows can’t jump
fairies don’t have tails
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white sand
wave ground coral… beached
once homes for many
~
once homes for many
wave ground coral… beached
white sand
~
hark… nature crying
pollution… its wicked ways
heed natures warnings
~
babies forever
some life… bar one day
adults breed then die
~
humans if only
adults just for the one day
would peace prevail…
~
green life
supports all that breathe
returned…o yes… facies
~
red wine, I drink its aroma
honey, I drink its nectar
autumn I breathe its breath
good in words alone
they breathe for the world
perpetuating life
~
tears emotive reason
inadequacies… failings
love… most emotions
Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018