Best Bleak Poems
Boiling shells crack down hard upon raining rooftops
None doth any apparitional material cover upon her arrogant gift
She hast not laid down upon her last upstanding
Glass convails images of the inconceivable
Throwing away the Sun in blackened sickness
No guilt, no shame,
Unfeeling the inevitable eternal despisement
Swarms choking the insides with a blanket
They whisper in your ear "I love you"
They grant you no delegable antidote
Pig-wrapped in a wasteful pursuit of carnal futility
Living out the rest of days hollow
Old and carolled she slips on the filth of plastic suit
No, she won't live that long
(Originally Written 3/20/2019)
alone
wrapped up in deep
melancholy I yearn
for the dark shadows to dissolve…
my doubts
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Cinquain Poetry Contest
Hosted by William Kekaula
Placed 1st
© 4th February 2020
Except for the snow, it’s a monochromatic scene
The pond is frozen to a reflecting mirror finish,
In the fields there is not a speck of green to behold
Overall, the countryside is bleak in winter’s cold,
With clumps of sage punctuating the near pasture
The trees have given up their leaves in past autumn,
While a trickle of smoke is creeping up to a hazy sky
Onto the briery bushes an inch of snow has settled.
I can imagine the family gathered around a fireplace
The only vestige of warmth in the entire painting.
Livestock are locked securely inside a barn on the hill
All is serene in this landscape, though it elicits a chill.
written January 17, 2022
Bleak February,
masquerading as the month of love,
though no redeeming qualities are born in you.
No purple berry
nor fuchsia flower blooming brightly,
just sighing earth between pale moons of snow.
The garden fairy
sleeps undisturbed in frozen blankets,
waiting for sweet robins to awaken her.
Heavy to carry,
this dreary pause in changing seasons,
colorless like a vintage family photo.
March, please be wary -
you will have so much tidying to do,
erasing death and decay to welcome spring
Who of us by late September long to be in bleak November?
A month that in this frigid clime is dark and dreary, out of rhyme.
Leaves all spent and soggy lie beneath a gray and grizzled sky.
The few that cling to sturdy oak are brown and brittle, lacking hope.
And everywhere there is the chill, a sign of winter’s coming will.
This message sent out sharp and clear of what will be in coming year.
I vow to God that I will find some beauty in this dreary time.
As I grow old I cannot waste this dismal month in cheerless haste.
So now I stand and look about and try to keep the bad thoughts out.
All grays and browns are what I see, fall’s splendor but a memory.
The smell of wood smoke in the air, faint and pleasant hanging there.
A chilly breeze that strokes my face, while holding me in fall’s embrace.
Grey squirrel scolds from limb on high, outlined against the leaden sky.
He flicks his tail and darts about, his way of keeping winter out.
A saucy speech prepared for all, while coping with late days of fall.
He’s gathering life, free time is rare . . no patience for my sad despair.
And as he disappears from view the feeders coax a bird or two.
Fluttering down they ply their trade of pecking seed, lest their lives fade.
They cheer me with their jaunty steps, these birds of winter, well adept,
At living life for this one day, not bothered that it’s bleak and grey.
I feel ashamed while standing there; my home is warm, my shelves not bare.
Thanksgiving soon to come again, when bread is shared with kith and kin.
And next comes Christmas . . loved by all; this season that will end the fall.
A time with all its joy and fun, that lifts the gloom from everyone.
So with these warming thoughts in mind, of soon to come, a festive time;
The joy in life that is December, creeps backward into bleak November.
I turn and end my thoughts of dread . . the cold, the snow that lie ahead,
Then picture what’s been given me, with eyes unblurred; I now can see.
2016 © Diane L. Lefebvre
Blinded by pain
blanketed by darkness
shrouded in misery
i stare into space
is there an eternity ?
engulfed in emptiness
bleakness consumes me
i reach out for deliverance
but the clutches of my demons
push me in deeper
lost in a maze
i feel life pulsating
in the tears which escape me
in the vapid heartbeat
in the agony flowing through me
i embrace it all
as i lie waiting for
life to seize me.
They know every word from the Good Book,
but that doesn’t stop them from being hooked
to all kinds of mess.
A driver hits a pedestrian in broad daylight,
and blames it on the chewing of khat.
Students forget their intellectual pioneers,
and take soccer betting as their careers.
Quack doctors unknowingly administer poison,
only to be caught, ending up in prison.
Random men appear right in front of you with Rolex
watches, whose scamming time cannot fix.
Power blackouts are so rampant,
that indoors become similar to night……
Everything seems to be in disarray,
making us to always pray.
Anyone can see there’s no sense of direction;
the books of law sound like fiction.
Our visionaries are either in the graves,
or not yet born.
Time has made us its slaves,
with corruption as our dawn.
Date of Entry: 24/04/2017
Beneath the bleak November sky--
Standing, my back to the setting sun.
Chill wind slamming against me,
Tears flowing down my upturned face.
Staring into the oncoming darkness,
Overwhelmed by pain and fear.
Alone, facing the encroaching night.
The shadows are drawing nearer.
They have almost eclipsed me.
But suddenly I hear your voice,
Feel your hand clasping mine,
Arms surrounding me in a gentle embrace.
Your warm breath as you lips brush my neck.
And suddenly, the moon breaks the horizon
Bathing the night in silver light.
Stars grace the blackness of the sky
As you hold me close.
I no longer fear the dark.
But then I wake--
Oh, I wish that dream was true!
Bleak Days
cold bleak days of life
may visit in future time
with hardships unknown
bonded as one side by side
warm love will ease our frostbite
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~4th Place~
Contest: Get Romantic ~ Visual 7
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Judged: 03/06/2015
Syllables checked: 5-7-5-7-7
.
In Bleak reflection
I speak
I think
I write
I later day post
My problems then both
shared and doubled
And so to reflect my
bleak outlook onto
unsuspecting other's
Bleak House
Bleak Life
Bleak in tongues i speak
, i scribe , i script
Bleak i wretch and so to
in other's view broken
bits of me
Because Bleak is obviously
everything and all i know
For it is the only subject i
feel conclusively qualified
enough to commentate
verse and recount about
And if you we're me you
would know
Though i barely tell the truth
I do not lie about when it comes
to i
Pictures
of summer-
on screen arouse
a daylily dream as
I browse.
pictures and music at
http://www.gooddaylilies.net/
Overgrown with trees and weeds,
abandoned long by men and breeds,
still,haunting darkness reigns
into this forest,the mossy path leads.
Inhabited by ferocious brutes
and unknown trees laden with red fruits,
walk seems prolonged,yet energising,
the path being punctuated by protruding roots.
There,amidst the aphotic forest,stands a bleak wall,
with cracks and crevices,it's about to fall,
erected o'er shaky,worn out stones with lichens
that seem too old with no life at all.
Beyond the bleak wall lays,a meadow without blemish,
like the one I saw in a dream,I still cherish,
where the deers ramble fearlessly,
the wounds in their mellowed hearts,the nature will replenish.
This week is bleak, the birds don’t sing
No sun, no rains, but greyness
Even the churchbells didn’t ring
Have they become atheists
The bellman and the bearded dean
And all the congregation?
In times like this to breathe is sin
No promise of salvation
Can take away the truth it fakes
And like a stubborn stem
Grows through the slab, the truth condemns
The order of the damned
So atheism’s a way to go
Believe in politicians
They must continue this old show
Which you can call fictitious
But wasn’t it meant to be as such?
Just ask the God, if you
Don’t think he is disturbed too much
With millions in the queue
That stretches out through centuries
Dead people want to know
What were their lives about, if this
Was meant to be a show
Beware the Ides of March, in case
The warning comes in time
If there is still a time to waste
You doubt it? So do I.
It was over in Brooklyn,
No, not a Met’s game.
God forbid that.
“The world was, it was, in some off-hand manner, never meant to go right.”
In which the first man jumped.
It was all over really,
That 12 million people were out of work,
There were already poor people,
But at this point a man could not just “Whistle off, and march on.”
Because he was in the same situation,
So he jumped too.
It was day after day,
That 12,000 people lost their jobs,
Wall Street for some was a “Fairy land to visit, but truly it was a desert to live in.”
And so the men who lost their jobs didn’t want to go home to their wives,
They didn’t want to tell them what happened,
So they jumped as well.
It was nationwide,
That 20,000 companies went bankrupt,
The banks went bankrupt,
As they trembled in their offices waiting for the inevitable.
They got tired of it, so they did anything to “Vary the detestable monotony”
A few more jumped,
A few more died,
All because the found that
“The universe makes a rather indifferent parent at times.”
severely fragmented flashes
lead to blank frustration
never computed to what
my body does,
what other bodies do.
it's not gluttony, it's emptiness-
i always have something in my hand.
the mirror in my mind grasps
at different concepts of myself
like a pawn shop
how much can i get for
this
other options
newer models.
i am happy i just
analyze
my mind numbers emotions
turns them into freeform jazz
writes down the melody and rests
that occupies me for hours
from a distance.