Best Cruelly Poems
oh precious, dulcet diva, ocean-tide
you, of sand and foam and spindrift -
all your moods and meanderings
speak deep my spirit, wistful and wan
musings captured, gist enraptured …
I listen, close ...
on those warm and windy days, your
voice cuts clear, carries with it the joy
of sun sprites alighting on wave tops
hopping crest-to-crest like so many
gold pieces tumbling from pockets, laden …
I listen, rapt ...
becalmed days, the lull of low tide ...
gentle swells reach their arms ashore -
the cold brine washing sand and shell
like breezes sweeping the grasslands
rolling, as imagination rolls in the mind …
I listen, soft ...
whispering in my ear of the secret
dark places in my heart, exquisite
shadowy realms where passion and
reverie hide, pulsing with urge, aphotic
warm, enigmatic feelings flow and ebb …
I listen, true ...
an ocean storm's raging beauty, thus -
somber clouds, splashed Payne's Gray
swirl cruelly as Neptune flits his tresses
sea sirens lament with angry screams as
their backs are broken on reef and rock …
I listen, soft ...
gentle swells lapping brief, the sand
moon rising to the lullaby of a bell buoy
its tender peals coaxing the moonlight to
shore, Luna's beams tiptoeing gently atop
to join the phosphorescent waterline
(not to wake the slumbering breezes) …
I listen, sad ...
the gulls and terns laugh at the folly -
a man strains his ageing ears to the song
of the tides that he loves so completely -
the most divine and elegant aria known
and a voice so immortal and pure, that
it will croon on, long after there is naught ...
left to listen.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (9), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 7" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "New Poems Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Voices" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
One day when I was walking
inside a wood alone,
admiring the autumn trees,
I found a big flat stone.
It beckoned me to sit awhile -
and so I wrote a poem.
Another time while driving,
in a mighty storm I feared,
rain pounded down, but later on
a rainbow then appeared.
With gratitude, I hurried home,
and so I wrote a poem.
A boy I once thought loved me
to whom I bared my soul
rejected me most cruelly.
When heartache took its toll,
I needed to release my grief,
and so I wrote a poem.
Another boy that loved me true
brought happiness to me.
And others – friends and kin of mine:
each made a memory
I wanted to preserve in ink,
and so I wrote a poem.
Some social issues boil my blood
and things I find absurd
can put me in saracastic mode
and craving to be heard.
I wanted to convey my thoughts,
and so I wrote a poem.
Oct. 11, 2020 for the "And So I Wrote A Poem" Contest of John Lawless
“The silent song of the sighing breeze,”
In leafless demeanor of shuddering trees,
Whispered cries of a dismantled dream
Augmenting dissonance of broken theme,
A theme composed in the promise of yore
Avowing endearing passions evermore,
Of love eternal, enamoring core of soul,
Till its amorous glory, fate savagely stole.
Though zephyrs forlorn, still cruelly blow,
Wailing lovelorn woe of forgotten throe,
Despair is vanquished from song of sorrow,
For hymns of bliss sing of hopeful morro.
Pledges of today, foretell future of ardour,
Vying dreamscapes, musings-ecstatic adore,
Buoying tides of love to tomorrow’s shore,
Abandoning yesteryears memories abhor;
Of pensive sighs, spent-emotions decry,
Of dejection lamenting love gone awry,
Of nightmares trembling sleepless night,
Of allegories wistful, destiny’s hands write.
“The silent song of the sighing breeze,”
Now sings of love, from flowering trees,
Whispering melodies to a dulcet dream
Augmenting allure of lovesome theme.
Line #1
(Alternative Ending for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
Do you think he kept his wife so well
by putting her inside a pumpkin shell?
Inside that shell she had no room
to move around. A rotten groom
was Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
In the end, his wife could not be found
by friends or family. He’d thrown away the key,
and his wife was not allowed
to leave that stinking pumpkin shell.
Rumor is from loneliness she died.
Peter cruelly put all empathy aside.
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Cruelly taken by a heartless act,
gone without a chance to say goodbye.
Innocent souls roam the heavens,
safe from the harsh realities of life.
A mother's eyes overflow with tears,
wondering if God comforts her child tonight.
A father clings onto a photo,
reminiscing the last time he embraced his child tight.
They gaze at twinkling stars in hope,
wondering if it's their child's eyes sparkling bright.
On a silent night they can still hear
their child's laughter, echoing in the horizons.
They ponder if twenty children still meet
in heaven's playground, jumping on clouds.
Hoping angels sing sweet lullabies,
just like a mother's serenade.
All the fragrant flowers in heaven,
yet there is no scent like a mothers'.
Softness of angel feathers could
never replace her touch.
Gates of heaven so magnificent,
but there is no strength like a fathers'.
Warmth of angels could
never replace his embrace.
When an innocent child prematurely leaves this world,
a parent's heart is forever fragile drowning in sorrow,
for there is no pain like the loss of a child.
Silent One
19 December 2017
POTD 4th Nov 2019
Vanquishing all reservation
twilight's prelude heralds
shadowy anticipation
of a secret amorous thirst
He surrenders once more
to his darkest desires
amplifies the sultry ambiance
with star spangled bursts
A slave in her entity
tremulous in her splendour
Captivating and illuminating
this shadowy tryst
yet her heart beats not in rhythm
to the songs he composes
she dismisses him once more
Saying… ‘it is what it is’
However, through chinks of his ardour
ebbing resplendence
Predominant primacy
hard to resist will persist
refusing to believe …’it is what it is’
refusing to believe …’it is what it is’
The intricacies of love
too difficult to fathom
Her preference mismatched
he cannot define
her daily mantra
heightens sensations
reserved for the one
who appears to outshine?
Nothing but ineffectual
is her discordant course
the unyielding reality
of it drives him insane
and through the ebbing darkness
she hears him screaming ….’it is NOT what it is
It is Not what it is’
No satin ropes will tether
her cosmic line of duty
No romantic soft liaison
would induce her to stay
Tremulous and tender
her love cruelly wanders
from his romantic serenade
she turns her light away
Succumbs to his enemy…Day
whispering softly…. ‘it is what it is
It is what it is’
POTD 4th Nov 2019
Who was this man who spoke so bold?
Was He a prophet, like one of old?
He touched the lepers, made them clean,
Gave sight to those who had never seen.
His name was Jesus.
Who was this man who calmed the sea,
And from demons set people free,
Who loved to watch the children play,
And often slipped away to pray?
His name was Jesus.
Who was this man who loved the sinner,
And often met with them for dinner?
Self righteous leaders were distressed,
But this man was not impressed.
His name was Jesus.
Who was this man who raised the dead,
Who fed five thousand with five loaves of bread?
He healed the lame so they could walk,
And loosened muted tongues to talk.
His name was Jesus.
Who was this man, falsely accused,
Mocked and beaten, cruelly abused?
The Romans nailed Him to a tree,
While His own refused to set Him free.
His name was Jesus.
Who is this man who conquered death,
Who rose again filled with God's own breath?
His hands and feet scarred by the nails,
Reveal His love that never fails.
His name is Jesus.
His name is Jesus, God's only Son.
He gave His life for everyone.
To those who call upon His name,
He grants salvation, erases shame.
His name is Jesus.
Rhythms of pulses echo in souls, augmenting tenor of love song,
Reminiscing in sanctuary of life, together they shared for long;
Yet, memories sadly clamor aloud, since the day she’s been gone,
Of nightmares that cruelly shattered, dreams of their avid dawn.
Her unwritten absence now perturbs in void of the undone, unsaid,
As their unfinished tapestry longs, for stitch of the missing thread;
Vying affluence she delivered, to wealth of their beloved yore,
Steadfastly defying angst that destiny grievously brought to fore.
Unseen, she still occupies, fond yearnings of his moaning heart,
Struggling in her absence, since stealthily she decided to part,
Missing her hypnotizing smile enriching the fervor of her glance,
Nostalgic in embrace of desires, proffering a pledge of romance.
Emptiness haunts him now for misinterpreting clues of silent sighs,
As regrets torment: how long did her smile, hide her desolate cries;
Neither could he sense in her eyes, tacit bawl of love gone awry,
Nor could he decipher from her kiss, subtext of her covert goodbye.
Curtain may fall, music may end; yet allure of real love never dies,
Words of their solemn oath, unwritten absence no longer denies,
For bond of love reinvigorates hearts, tolling eternally as time,
Strumming passion’s sound of music, enamored in love sublime.
I dreamed a butterfly in golden days
when buttercups lay in the fields ablaze.
It fluttered to my cheek, sweet love to bring.
My heart was wont to burst and wont to sing.
In breath of morn was scent of bluebell sprays.
On blossomed blankets of the fields we’d laze,
and into one another’s eyes we’d gaze,
my love and I, as April had her fling.
I dreamed a butterfly.
Our bliss was as the spring, a fleeting phase,
and brief’s the beauty of young lovers’ craze.
As cruelly as a wasp, he left a sting -
and all the lovely plans we made took wing,
leaving mere memories of golden days.
I dreamed a butterfly.
2/21/13
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Oh, death malevolent!
The taker of us all before our time,
you grimly reap a myriad of souls,
cruelly stealing many in their prime,
and countless young and innocent
have you whisked ruthlessly away!
Oh, death Malevolent!
Why this utter heartlessness that you display?
Oh, horrifying death!
When young, I read of you in Revelations.
Your nature so atrocious
filled my tender heart with trepidation -
thinking of humanity's travails
the many painful ways to die.
Oh, horrifying death!
What good is it to even ask you why?
Oh, death omnipotent.
to the yang of life, you are the yin.
Your power cannot be withstood.
Everyone you call upon must let you in.
A higher and mysterious law you answer to
and fighting against you, we all are powerless.
Oh, death omnipotent!
when did I begin to fear you less?
Oh, unbiased death!
Whether you be torturous or kind;
whether you be swift or slow;
no man or woman will be left behind.
You serve a God of justice and of truth,
and, I'm told, a God of mercy too.
Oh, unbiased death!
Can I grow in faith, knowing you're the path to something new?
Oh, welcomed death!
When our friends and family have passed on;
when grief engulfs the soul;
when youth's abilities are all but gone;
when life seems somehow more than we can bear;
you come along to bring us sweet release.
Oh, welcomed death!
Are you thanked enough for bringing us to peace?
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep,
near a warm campfire on a cold December night.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
Through Ponderosa pines, whistling winds sweep
while a silver moon hovers, lustrous and bright.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
Visions of her appear. Each cutting cruelly deep,
memories that should never be brought to light.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
The fire sputters, causing golden flames to leap,
crimson embers and dark ashes rise up in flight.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
Over rolling plains, echoing cries of coyotes sweep.
His heart fills with regret and he's gravely contrite.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
Serenading Andromeda, too restless for sleep.
Fingers picking the fret as he sings about his plight,
he's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.
November 8, 2022-Third-Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
On a walk after the worst of the Sandy storm
I slogged down the still dampening
Green grass valley rutted between
The moldering fences of the shadowed alley.
Under the low, ominously rushing, soggy gray clouds
I saw so many black birds silently
Clinging against the stiff breezes
To the broken branches of the skeletal oak on the corner
As if they relished the fate of the cruelly stripped leaves.
I saw a hundred crows there.
How many make a murder?
Black pointy wraiths;
Scattered commas lined up like
Iron shavings stuck
To magnetic branches.
Dull steel skies slid in vast arcs around them.
Sprinkling windy foreboding,
Their clouds reached down
To Collect their talons.
So many eyes I know they see
Spiny black needles poking out of me.
Bloodless murder, muffling gray gauze No need to caw…,
A hundred crows see it all.
In the 1960’s all around me were cheerful chants
inviting us all to ‘Make Love not War’
John Lennon asked us to give peace a chance,
some joined the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.
We all wanted earnestly to save the environment.
I inhale this polluted air and wonder
what has happened - why has it gone asunder
Now, our legacy to our future generations
is an earth that has been raped, robbed
of her fruitfulness until her soil is barren
so, we can genetically modify food to eat
cause animal cruelty for production of meat
Now, fish are being choked and shredded to pieces
by hazards we dispose of in the rivers and seas
and they are far from being the only dammed species
who are being erased for the sake of human supremacy.
Earth is rebelling, her weathers have gone into a frenzy
raging ravenous bush fires consuming precious lives,
animal, human, plant nothing in its vexed path survives.
Ferocious storms flooding the earth, threatening
to drown out communities, cruelly devastating.
Is it too late to realise that the fumes from our cars
the cigarettes we smoke, the waste that we dump so recklessly
the spiteful, uncaring ways we mistreat the environment
leaving solutions to be found each successive government.
We can still see the blue sky on a good day
we can still breathe air, though not so fresh
we can still enjoy the beauty of flowers
and hear birdsong,
but, for how long?
Now, our troubled youth are killing each other
they see no tomorrow on the blurred horizon.
Younger generations are trying to rescue their future
to salvage their legacy from the rubble we have created.
As for making love not war
in this world, this world of today peace stands no chance
and love is just a word of four letters.