Best Cheerless Poems
I long to—
Walk one more time
To where the land ends, and the ocean begins
To listen expectantly for the sounds of infant waves
Grasping layers of golden sand
I long to—
Hear the fat gulls with white bellies
And ebony eyes
Floating on invisible wires
Calling for the savory morsels
Hidden inside the curled fingers of an old man
I long to—
Stand beneath the tangerine sky
Lazily descending into the cradle of the sea
Vacating heaven for the snowy celestial sphere
Hung upon Vincent’s starry canvas
Ten thousand lights scattered forever
I long to—
Be embraced by the tenebrous sea
Her loneliness engulfing me like lovers of yesterday
I long to—
Gaze beyond the past wrapped in sorrow
The years of trudging through cheerless mire
Searching for reasons without answers
Answers without questions
I long to—
Remember only moments worth remembering
A twirling montage of love and hope
And dreams
Of a time when two became one
Hearts pulsing in harmony
Minds ascending to tidal floods of ecstasy
I long to—
See your face
To walk hand in hand
To where the land ends and the ocean begins
I long to—
Do it all again
Navigating vast oceans of life, negotiating its lows and highs,
Some blissful of pure joy, some burdened in griefs and sighs,
Riding aspirations eternal, rowing vigor of happiness I ride,
Undulating on tides of love, with your smile gracing my side.
On the crest of a wave, surging with gale, O, fondly we sail,
Reveling life’s sweetest moments, dreams amorous unveil,
Sketching themes periwinkle, tinting blush of rosy twilight,
Whispering secrets passionate, pleading to romantic night.
As stars above twinkle, in harmony with melodies of skies,
Hearts sensuous bloom desires, inflaming enamored eyes,
Spurring moods of romance, Venus and the Moon revive,
Flirting with colorful nebulae, where passions stellar thrive.
Anticipation builds, propelling us with exuberance of seas,
As lands in yonder delight, where zephyrs of hope breeze,
Foretelling of an ebullient morning, inscribing motifs of glee,
Glistening skyline golden, where promises auspicious spree.
Approaching our destination, we foresee realms of morrow,
Devoid of hurricanes of yore, devoid of miseries of sorrow,
Having parted stormy coastline battered in travails of throes,
Exiting cheerless shadows, vying winsome, sunlit meadows.
(A Villanelle)
The winter’s dismal path is long and gray,
a never-ending march of cheerless dark
with skies whose colors bleach in dull array
where forest scene gives one a true display
and leafless limbs provide a raptors' park.
The winter’s dismal path is long and gray,
and through the open grove a new ballet
of life and death beneath the brittle bark
and skies whose colors bleach in dull array.
A wind unites with rain while leaves decay;
each limb begins to dance a graceful arc
in winter’s dismal path so long and gray
till snow appears and hides the hunter's prey.
New scenes occur of softer landscape mark,
tame skies whose colors bleach in dull array.
Resplendent white now blankets to allay
our thirst for beauty with a lustrous lark.
The winter's dismal path is long and gray,
with skies whose colors bleach in dull array.
Night was covered in pitch darkness.
Looked fearful without a ray of brightness.
Through wilderness, moved beasts monstrous.
Nature looked so terrifying and cheerless.
After a night’s sleep the sun woke up.
As a mighty king he climbed up.
The East, like a neon bulb got lighted up.
Bright rays from the golden globe came up.
Soon darkness from the earth moved out.
Men from their homes merrily came out.
Birds from their nests, into the sky, flew out.
Sweet songs from their beaks flowed out.
Clear and cool was the morning air.
Men set out for work with plans clear.
Buzzing with life, the day was back to cheer.
Earth turned once again a lovely sphere!
Insistent starkness claims a leafless day
Where morning breaks with silent calm and dread
The slope of field is framed, behind the glass
reveals a fallen tree, with jagged edge
and grassy hills now laced with autumn rust
Inside we find a plain and cheerless room
The table sparce, an empty chair
A plate, a knife, a saucer, without spoon
One empty cup, will wait for no one there...
Ambiance of what has been,
...still lingers in the air,
as amber glows, with threats of snow,
are just a hint, instead
Lonely hours, and lonely days, and lonely shadows blend
The endless songs of yesterday, slip in from window's ledge
A meager meal will spread upon a table set for one
Where breaking bread alone without a friend
is companioned by a solitary end
The angled sun, casts shadows deep and long
A somber mood, reflects this quiet calm
Upon the walls, where gardens grew, are faded memories
where yellow blooms of yesterday, are just a step away
Where, once were two, who loved and knew their sun would rise again
There now is one who sits alone ...at the table set for one
Where hope has gone, when morning comes...
to sing a lonely song
Based on the Painting by Andrew Wyeth ... "Groundhog Day"
http://www.andrew-wyeth-prints.com/gallery_andrew-wyeth-groundhog-day.html
"Broken families beget culprits, and late remorse can never set things right"
~ By Poet.
Scenes reel back casting dark shadows,
Of the fated day I had to leave my home,
Handcuffed and guarded by cops on either side,
Despised by all as one so loathsome.
I had in me, then the heart of stone
All I could think of was my own gain.
Thoroughly swept by the rip - tide of illusion,
I had no regard for another's pain.
‘Drink life to the lees' was my credo,
So, I gambled to make a hoard of money.
Drugs and dopes gave me instant delight.
Initially my days were all too sunny.
But suddenly life derailed from its track
My wallet was like a leaking tank.
All its contents drained out in no time.
Gradually into dejection and despair, I sank.
Eliminated from life by my own misdeeds,
Weary of mind from stress and strife,
Hate grew and hardened within me as a rock.
Once I ripped my rival with a knife.
Convicted and caught red handed,
I ended up in this cheerless cell.
Within these dank forlorn walls,
I shrink like an oyster in its shell.
Everything here is dusty and rusty.
To get some peace as I attempt to sleep,
Marauding thoughts invade my brain.
Like a line of red ants, they listlessly creep.
In my ears fall the sobs of my loving mother,
Now in dumps, orphaned by her drunken husband,
I could never love my father, a true rascal
But I feel heartbroken as I think of my mother so abandoned
Vera Lynn's, "There'll Be Bluebirds Over, The White Cliffs Of Dover",
Keeps streaming through my brain like a wafting zephyr over and over!
'Tis a poignant reminder of sad and cheerless days during World War Two,
Yet, the Cliffs themselves were a beacon of hope when things were looking blue.
What a beautiful sight for weary bomber crews returning from flak-filled skies!
Seeing those venerable Cliffs, thanking God for their safe return with joyous cries!
Brave young men would live another day to carry on the battle with wings of flight;
On the 'morrow some to live, some to die to rid the world of tyranny's blight!
Royal Air Force pilots clashed in battle o'er the Cliffs - so very few, the very brave,
Defending Britain's shores as enemy planes flew from France in wave after wave!
Alas, many forfeited their lives on The Altar of Honor defending precious liberty.
They placed national destiny above their own that their countrymen might live free.
On a clear day the Cliffs could be seen gleaming from across the Dover Straits.
'Twas surely a beacon of hope for those across the sea facing uncertain fates.
They placed their hope in God praying that their comrades from across the way,
Would come to carry the Torch of Freedom to their shores one glorious day!
The magnificent South Foreland Lighthouse above the Cliffs today stands tall,
And brave men lie in hallowed graves awaiting Gabriel's clarion bugle call.
And Vera Lynn's "There'll Be Bluebirds Over, The White Cliffs Of Dover",
Yet streams through my brain like a wafting zephyr over and over and over!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My weeping eyes behold the changing sky
O'erspread with clouds of grey where once was blue
With gaze upturned, I heave a burdened sigh
At all the world now changed to leaden hue
Yet still they onward, ever onward fly
And more appear to change the sky anew
And now, as troubled hearts their sorrows spill
These maudlin clouds the heavy rain distill
The sun obscured in shame, he hides his face
And lightning lights instead the cheerless gloom
While thunder follows swift in furious chase
As if to herald thoughts of coming doom
And still, the rain descends at hurried pace
As if the earth in water to entomb
It seems belike this storm would rage for aye
And all the earth would never chance to dry
But lo! The setting sun that once was veiled!
Draws nigh to show his grandeur forth below
He shines his beams abroad the clouds to gild
And sparks the drops as diamonds all aglow
Mid pools of sapphire blue the sky is filled
With vibrant coloured shades of heaven's bow
What eye could see and not revive its fire?
Nor mind behold and not its thoughts inspire?
In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders. Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door. Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . .
I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront. How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world. And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!
Oh baneful yellow Moon in fullest rounded sphere,
Bright as Summers Buttercups in abundant yield,
Coldly riveted upon Winters beaten, thin silvered panels;
Thereof: By ye mighty hammer doth great thoth wield!
For what fearful trowel gouged out thine far flung valleys
Whilst piling high upon yon monstrous heights?
Wherest, scattering the bare pebbles, a ghostly sower
Coursing across vast cratered plains under Selenian moonlights.
Here once didst thou swelling tides ever invade long vanished shores
Dragged upon by some dwindling, exploded, far distant star;
An atmosphere girdling, warming and nurturing -
Torn from this barren rock and cast way out afar!
Eternally ostracized and deviled, adorned in black swirling robes;
Drifting angular grains heaped - raked by hot solar winds;
Your desolate kingdoms lit in all seasons under heavenly lanterns;
Worshiped and foully cursed upon: for any amount - and all manner of sins.
And ere did erstwhile lovers that ever come forth on bended knee,
To traverse the pale beams that twist about the crooked stiles,
Pledge well intended oaths beneath high, impossible windows:
Their grandly draped balconies and balustrades bathed in luminosities wiles.
When across the recorded centuries of histories misted-veiled years,
from the quill of the old sage, from the high lilt of the bard,
Your pensive countenance disaffected and of a cheerless tilt -
Hanging upon sharply crested vestiges of reckless disregard!
We walked among the birch trees
To pass the summer days.
And did our best to trick ourselves
To try and lose our way.
But with success of getting lost
Our courage turned to fright.
When concern gave way to worry
That we may have to spend the night.
We trampled through the cheerless woods
With the Sun still overhead.
Unsure of where our cabin lay
And where this trail led.
The younger kids were quite distraught
And their tears began to flow.
While my Brother and I looked about
For a direction we should go.
The hours faded and the time grew late
As we walked on dappled grass.
But nothing seemed to ease our plight
With twilight's gleaming set to pass.
We came upon a quiet meadow
And sat to ponder the challenge we all faced.
In hopes a hurried rescue
Would bring a Parent's warm embrace.
When at that moment a car drove by
On a road deftly hidden by towered weeds.
And our spirits soared to see the path
Which would quite comfortably suit our needs.
An hour later with the Sun asleep
We arrived home with a hush of anguished pain.
But we were all eager for tomorrow...
When we'll happily lose ourselves again.
The End
*True story. As kids we would march into the woods, get lost and see if we could find our way home.
*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
My mama said to get a man,
I first must prove myself a cook.
I could not feed him from a can.
I tried to learn how from a book
And sought to make a chocolate cake.
I didn't care how long it took.
I set the oven high to bake
Then sat to watch my favorite soap
And to plan the menu I would make.
The cake was burned without a hope.
It was a cheerless sight to see,
The smoke so thick I had to grope.
Since it seems a chef I'll never be,
I'll find a man to who cooks for me.
A wistful breeze blows through the trees
as summer nears its end
September beckons to the fall
Its old and brooding friend
The blue of sky, the butterfly,
birds that sing on high,
will flutter with my doleful sighs
as summer bids goodbye
The somber sound of autumn bells
with falling leaves they ring
until they cast a gloomy spell
with the cheerless winds they bring
----
8-16- 2015
If a little bird should say:
You're Boring, Cheerless
But do everything you've got to,
Should you Answer or Reply?
For its not what that "bird" says,
But what God said for you to do,
He will show the way.
Use his Word as a Lamp for your feet,
As you journey along the way.
He knows where He's leading you
Just trust him and obey!
Placed here on earth at a Particular Time
and on a Specific Date;
With a destiny that's Unique to only you.
Born at a time when you could be
most useful,
For you wouldn't fit into past history.
So be ALL in this time you're in
To go down into real-time history of now;
As the Lord chooses to make use of you.
You may not be famous 'cause its not
your role,
But do tasks as God would have you do.
With Inspired imagination, finding ways
To help others, letting them know that
He is real.
Use what gifts he has implanted upon you.
In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...
I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat,
something likable by every singer,
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal...
I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...
I am no genius or pretend to be,
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word:
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci