Best Blackish Poems
She and the handsome gentleman finalized the contract, and he gently placed
the antique pearl necklace into the palm of her tiny hand. As he walked away,
she fantasized about making love with him, for he possessed both charm and
exceptional good looks; he certainly was enchanting...thick, black wavy hair,grey-
green eyes...tall...muscular ~ oh, those muscles...all over his tanned body...head
to toe.
But she wondered about that limp as he walked away, depending on a heavy
metal
staff
for
balance...
after all, an eternity of beauty and power in exchange for
one
pathetic
soul.
The evening of the deed was a frigid six degrees, and there was a dead smell of
the sun. She stayed late after work, waiting anxiously until everyone had gone.
Finally, he was alone in his office, so she placed the pearl necklace around her
fragile neck and unbuttoned her red, silk blouse so to reveal her sexy red
camisole.
She entered the office, and gently leaned over him from behind; he was aroused
by the scent of her "Red Door" cologne...his favorite, and his senses were even
more heightened as he turned around and observed her erect breasts speaking
in a language only he understood. With his large hands, he slowly explored her
thighs, making his way up her black skirt.
"You have beautiful legs."
"You think so, huh?"
They kissed, and the necklace brushed his chest; he didn't feel well, at all. He
was hot...so hot, and his body began its metamorphosis, retaining a grayish
tinge....then blackish...
He
burst
into
flames;
then, disappeared along with all omens of the deed.
She walked over to the black wrought iron mirror and smiled; her wrinkles were
gone...vanished...just as promised; she was ten years younger.
The windows began sweating, and the handsome stranger appeared.
"I have one more assignment for you."
"But we made a deal, one soul."
She began to feel peculiar, and as she viewed herself in the black mirror, she
began aging...ten years...twenty...thirty...she pulled out a large clump of thin, white
hair.
The room darkened from his moonly mind.
"My dear, the other soul...is yours."
Categories:
blackish, confusion, death, introspection, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Slain lies the heart of innocence, a vanquished warrior
Of passions flame, melted is his shield of honor, this
Gladiator whom sacrifices all for pleasures desire.
Cutting deeply, do the knives of betrayal, leaving raw
Wounds exposed to the chilling air, of sorrows fallen
Hero, whom elups forth crimson tears of emotional
Regrets, in this arana of the broken hearted lovers.
Steels weapon of faith, melts in the weakened
Hand, as strenetith medusa turns upon him, shifting
Him unto the stone heart of loves lost soul, leaving
Behind a monument of gray.
The concurred romantic ceases, the last true bard
Writes no more, this lytrical man journies through
The valley’s of the shadowed heart, clinging upon
The light of hope, yet unarmoured this soldier
Battles blindly in the dark.
Maidens fall before him, kneeling, yielding,
Their inner being unto him, but the reddest
Rose petals possed before him turn blackish,
Unto his memory of faded elegance.
The wind still whispers her name in the
Darkness, the stilled frangrace lingers upon
The breeze, the softness of her fleshes coreses
Lies beyond his warmth finger tips.
But one another worthy shield maiden will
Revive this fallen foe, and no force in heaven
Or in hell shall separate these beating souls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
blackish, adventure, beauty, betrayal, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
I walked by the lake in the morning light
Caught movement in the corner of my eye
Stood a beautiful woman dressed in white
Silence was broken with a mournful cry.
I rushed to the spot where she I had seen
Finding not a trace at where she had stood
Still was the water, ‘twas a blackish green
Had she fell in or walked into the wood.
A stone nearby with inscription it read
June the twelfth in eighteen thirty seven
Lady Ava drowned here, sadly found dead
We pray her souls now resting in heaven.
Had I seen a ghost? That I’ll never know
Walks down by the lake, I no longer go.
Written on the 18th September 2018.
For The Unexplained Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Carolyn Devonshire.
Categories:
blackish, death, memorial, water, woman,
Form:
Sonnet
Charcoal Sheep
Watery eyed thoughts came,
Zap! Pow! a short circuited brain.
Inward turned burned ocular pain,
too many thoughts to restrain
I’m a cheap sheep making my mistakes again.
Smell my seared wool going down the drain.
Ba ba ba, sorta blackish, wishing I was right as rain.
Worlds accessed by my fingertips
help to quicken this sheepish heartbeat.
I bang on my keyboard, DELETE, DELETE!
Ripping out digital scores, sheet by sheet.
Never once listening to warnings.
All the while the other sheep bleat.
Instead I feel my brain drain
as my barnyard thoughts strain.
I can’t translate what they’re saying,
but I feel them point and complain.
My paradigm won’t shift though,
I have a glass ego to maintain.
So I download my brain
into my mainframe.
I’m watching you fake shepherd boy,
black sheep never sleep.
Into the darkness
we’re destined to creep.
We have those sad sadistic secrets
you’ve burdened us to keep.
So I smudge charcoal thoughts
dangerously deep.
I prefer paths, dangerous and steep.
Within the silence of the lambs,
you devilishly relish hearing me weep.
You defile fleece as white as snow.
I resist going where those sheep go.
Their path leads to your fictional rainbow.
They’re not safe even though
they travel slow.
The True Shepherd
wouldn’t lead them to and fro.
I listen to my uneasy queasy feeling
and exit your proverbial row.
I wish I could stop them too
but, ba ba ba,
off to the slaughter they go.
Categories:
blackish, angst, courage, dark, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
The moth, inexorably drawn
To an incendiary fate,
Is tunneled to the wormhole's end
And placed in stasis, there to wait.
A single strand of silk is all
That ties it to a universe,
A speck caught in a cosmic thrall
Suspended in a quirky verse.
A strange fire arcs the silken cord;
The spark moves at the speed of light.
A dragon bursts forth from its lair,
Takes flight as the moth's wings ignite.
Back at the source, a blackish smudge,
The only hint of what took place.
A worm imagining set free,
Unleashed to roam in time and space.
————————
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Categories:
blackish, fantasy,
Form:
Quatrain
"...The Secret of the Golden Flower is not only a Taoist text of Chinese yoga but also an alchemical tract. (...) it was the text of The Golden Flower that first put me in the direction of the right track." C. G. Jung
"The Golden Flower alone, which grows out of inner detachment from all entanglement with things, is eternal." Richard Wilhelm
does it bloom in the subatomic quark neuron
a flower petals deranged
burning with green rage
dark firmament pullulating infinitesimal quasars
unpeeling layers of nuclear fusions fissions
the blue-blackish greenish-blue haze
is this the eye looking at the eye
which I
between the crushed ajña-eyebrows
under eyes straining to envelope reality from afar
spotty bright grains pulsating in a velvety ink-blue-black throbbing screen
thoughts racing forwards and backwards in time
childhood slights deprivations unrevenged hurts
throbbing thriving on treacherous jabs by of-all beings friends
those who profit from taken-for-granted confidences
the women who dun-you-in
thoughts of a nature to make you hate fate
then the pulsating roving churning dismembering coalescing screen
dissolves
and in the pale fringey opening white furry stripes on the blue-black greenish bulgey bed of velvet
whose I
lights the frigid fire burning dynamo
whose eye
shrivels
reopens brightens
what is it an eye
which stares
shrinks sharper by the fractioned second
closes and opens again
and again
till the pinpoint galactic blackholing centre
bigbangs
the myriad diamondlights buoyed on a myriad-petalled dryburning flowering sun
shedding golden glory
expelling all thought or is it mere doubt
the intense unrelenting feeling of
is it joy
or a fumbling stolen fear
the mental orgasmic relief
the sense of deep other knowing power come face to face
refreshing retreading the worn-out neuron paths
then the return
after the wearinesses
or is it nonplussednesses
to this world
to words
to wars
to waste
to wickedness
a world without wonder
without womb
a world dying
dead
a tomb
see only what you should see
words see only what eyes make belief
even when words don’t mean what they see
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 3, 1997[Revised May 2003] -from longhand notes: a binding of poems. 1997
Categories:
blackish, angst, introspection, world, flower,
Form:
Didactic
Transearth void,
Darkness imaginary,
Interior cosmic system captivated,
Single box frame.
Triumphant numbers,
Cloning the blackish infinite.
Mastering image star-breath.
The two,
Ones and Zeros governed.
Rush flight,
Conquering wars over the other in submitting power.
Shooting stars four & nine,
Entering,
Burning in the azimuth of symbols.
Entire data found in the palm size briefcase.
Computer smiles,
"Having all the solutions in me. Give me your best thoughts, please!"
Fingers speak of an answer by keyboard questioning.
Entering but two;
Live-
Love-
Silent pause,
Screen fuzzes white,
Spectacle light of confusion,
Crushing nonsense,
Meltdown of incomplete facts.
Up in and smoked out.
Than,
Resting in peace,
In graveyard software.
Not even Bill Gates prepared for this coming day.
Saying a little prayer from my lips.
My heart's eyes opened-
"Wow!"
Looking up,
"My God!"
"How do You still live in one piece?"
Categories:
blackish, science, prayer,
Form:
He held his detached face in his hand as he trepid into the darkness of an
ungodly aura fermented from the
evil within him.
Masked with so much anger and pain
through his faceless face as it mirrored
into his face like the reflection
of his own blackish image.
Yet behind shut eyes he roared like a lion
sending signals to his comrades as
an invitation to the dance into the forest
of the pitch-dark night.
Fist clanged tightly and mysteriously
as he was trapped in his own wrath
and never to see the light of the day
for it was a dead end.
Now alone, his monstrous black hair
poured out in anger;
don’t drag me into my own hell.
Categories:
blackish, anger,
Form:
Imagism
"Prays of The Enslaved Soul" (3/26/09/42yrs)
So small, no one can see
just a blackish, ink mark were my soul should be
tearfully waiting to be what i want to be
to move on to greener pastors (pastures)
spilling out the inter me, calling out to the soon to be
just no were to find a clear path, to that thing i call, me
just waiting, and waiting
till i can place one idle dream into a real movement of freedom!
so that when one tear falls from my face, it will roll from the cheeks
of joy and laughter
so, i wait and pray for this day, but most of all
i pray for the strength too wait one way or the other!
aka:lyricvixen
Categories:
blackish, hope, song-lyric
Form:
Smell of lilacs
Combination of three words contest:
Smell of lilacs, pitch black room, dancing
Lilac is purple; purple is blue.
The smell is so great, you’ll pursue.
Night after night, in a pitch-black room,
The smell of lilacs makes you renew.
I wake up at night, night after night.
Dancing with my shadow, really tight.
In my home, in my pitch-black room.
The smell of lilac is full of delight.
In my pitch-black room, how can you see?
You need no eyes for you to be.
The smell of lilacs will guide you through.
Come with me, my darling, and dance with me.
I’m in my room, which is pitch black.
Blackish blue, the white I lack.
I love to dance to the sound of rain
The smell of lilacs will let me go back.
12/27/2015
Categories:
blackish, beauty, dance, happy,
Form:
Rubaiyat
How is it going?
I hope life is still as flowing
because it isn't right now.
At fourteen, you only get faults and fouls.
Will you look back at me today
and laugh in a despising way?
What will you do, who will you meet?
Are you still willing to help the beggars on the street?
Is your heart full of passion or has it turn cold?
Do you praise yourself or do you still scold?
Do you still see the world in blackish white or reddish blue?
Do you still want to bid your sadness adieu?
Are you alone right now, do you remember me?
If you don't, then please look at the willow tree.
You know which one, it's behind our lawn.
I carved my name on it before December's dawn.
If you look at the initials you might recall
the memories you had of me and him late that fall.
Maybe you aren't as innocent as you were any more
but that's okay because life wouldn't be such a bore.
Tell me about yourself, tell me what's going on.
I want to know if you still visit that lake of swans,
that wooden tree house and that fort made of vines.
I want to know everything, isn't anything fine?
In two years, you'll tell it all
but hey, no one's stopping me from breaking the walls.
I want to know my future, I want to know you
so I will be aware of what I'll shortly go through.
Hopefully I'll get a reply soon,
probably on my birthday, some time in June.
You'll write to me and solve the mystery
that once was hope, but built your history.
~17-12-2012
Categories:
blackish, childhood, growing up, hope,
Form:
Couplet
Art thou the wicked deceiver who cometh dawn or dusk
Once a dweller in the heavens who wrought scorn unto thy Creator
In the ancient of days did he cast thee a loft
Thus becoming caddish as cag-mag
A drab locked away in Bridewell’s gaole
Whilst thou parlayed the garden’s bouquet as the Grinder Seeker
Who stood a midst the knowledge tree and offered nary but one
One bite will make thee greater than He
One taste shall wit thy mind
Maker of gray betwixt black and white a savory eater of men’s souls
Doth thou cometh this blackish hour to carry my wicked soul home
Sheath thy forkth tongue
Shake down thee to ever more hell
Henceforth to dwell ever the more ye will
In mere of fiery waters
Waiter of the wittle of rotten and Evil- Forsooth! Forsooth! Thy dream
Dost not the coddish fear and tremble while thou holdth Bilbo high
Hearth lay thy saber- blood stained pudhly with the souls of mankind
Thou monstrous shadowed deceiver
Mankind no longer doth the grave bind
Get thee behind me Satan
For thy Kingdom is no more
A son of David hath beautifully bequeath a love for all mankind
Resist not the righteousness this judge of Adam
Who doth sit at the Creator’s right side
I stand in judgment as my soul is the bounty
For now thy claim for my-self is thus been denied
Categories:
blackish, death, philosophy, religion,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The sly full old wigget rageful and warned
Of any child on Halloween day born
Forlorn tis told of these blackland tards
The evil eye each blackish child thus born
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
How these but look upon a child’s innocence face
Besieged to become impaled as stone-frozen in place
Yet the haggard old wigget is credence for our dismay
Thus before dark can children safely play
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
For the blackland tards are hungry you see
We who are the prey must the darkness flee
Flee the shadows of questionable clandestinity
Safe in thy bed-covers above one’s head-thou art privy
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
But at last take care-venture ye nay from thy light
For seizing the curious they will give thee deathful fright
Doth the blackland tards doth lerk in wait
A dredful death and a meal you make
Beware-beware- the blackland tards
Mark A. Goodson
written for the Halloween contest
September 28, 2012
Categories:
blackish, child, childhood, fantasy, halloween,
Form:
Rondeau
monolith wrapped
with blackish aura
now old lion has
lost it's strength
wiggles under the
iron gossamer
sometimes yelps
yawns and sighs
waiting in labyrinth
for macabre end
For P.D'S contest
Categories:
blackish, nostalgia, prison, sad,
Form:
Elegy
FIRE OPERATIE. (operatie is Dutch word for operation in English)
F ine matter in combustion with oxygen too luculent,
I ncandescent fire's poise flares up its ligament.
R esourceful if used with a well crafted stroke,
E nds up in its originality into a smoke.
Barbeque pomfret dances on the hot grill plate,
Fella operant is harum scarum,focus drifts to marr,
Fish a dish untowardly gets blackish straight,
Penchant of the palate now becomes a scar.
Water cycle disturbed,soil has furious fire,
Ex improviso calamities,lava,firestorms dig deep,
Diseases new to skin pop up,scorching rays conspire,
Greed of us if controlled,time again will reap.
Flambeau flickers soothing fire,inner heart purges,
So many wants wanted,this is what one urges.
Contest:Elements Part 4.
Sponsor:Brian Davey.
01/05/2016
Categories:
blackish, feelings, fire, fish, imagery,
Form:
Sonnet