Best Cursed Poems
He defied tragedy as he rowed
His sturdy boat towards the middle
Of the cursed lake where once
His wife fell into the icy water
And drowned. He could not swim.
Time passed and he learned to bathe.
For he was not ready to stop rowing.
Every time he was on vacation leave,
He would challenge the cursed lake.
Let’s see if he’ll drown now that she’s dead.
He arrived in the middle of the large lake.
Suddenly he could not move his boat.
Instead, a current dragged him towards
The dreaded place where Sophie had died
And the boat came to a halt. A wood thrush
Flew down and rested on the farthest bow.
What a symphonic song it gently warbled!
A breeze rose and the bird flew away.
He felt strength in my arms and began to row
Skirting the shore with its many sandy beaches.
Until he saw a woman waving at him
Now he admitted she did not look like Sophie,
But had the same red curly hair and lithe figure.
She wanted a lift to her boat house, so he complied.
No word was spoken and off she went.
He rowed to his boat house, changed and got in his car.
The redhead was there thumbing a lift. Hamlet came to his mind:
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Was his destiny running after him?
Such wondrous beauty held in eyes divine,
I wish this lovely night would stay, be kind,
So blissful are her eyes...I need no wine,
Nothing to match her beauty can I find.
The morning sun shall take away the night,
And I shall wait till moon and stars arrive,
In darkness our love hides...so harsh the light;
Our love is cursed while unsought rivals thrive.
But, when we die, forever we shall sleep,
With unseen wings we leave, fly like a dove,
Our bodies, left in ground, cruel could keep;
We'll leave all things behind except our love.
Now wait for death to mix in dust and sand,
And hope we two unite in God's own land.
May 19, 2016.
Pen A Sonnet On It - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janis Thompson
Contest judged on : May 30, 2016
Second Chance - 4 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
The Shakespearean Sonnet is written predominantly in a meter called iambic pentameter, a rhyme scheme in which each sonnet line consists of ten syllables. The syllables are divided into five pairs called iambs or iambic feet.
Include a volta- a turn or contrast in the subject of the sonnet usually using such words as yet, but, nevertheless The Shakespearean sonnet has the rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.
Why Oh Why Oh Me.
Oh why oh why do have so much bad luck
My hands are tied
My feet are stuck
I’d be much better off being Mr Bean
Or Donald duck
Than me
I try so damn hard to move forward
But I always get knocked back
And if the road ahead was paved with gold
I’d fall between a crack
Nothing goes right
Everything goes wrong
I’d come last in my own lookalike completion
And I’m as popular with women
As King Kong
Why me what did I do wrong?
I feel like a caged songbird
Who never had a song
I wanted to be an Eagle
But I'm more like a Beagle
With a very wet nose
I’m fed up and frustrated
Condemned and so underrated
Unwanted just not good enough
A hasbeen an emotional punch bag
A failed comedienne
Without a gag
A sinking ship
A Rat caught in a trap
Ten steps forward a hundred back
An unwanted puppy
Drowning in a sack
A penniless beggar
With an empty cup
Only dark clouds and rain
When I look up
A prisoner on death row waiting to die
With no lookalike
Why oh why me
Cursed at birth
To live a life of misery.
Peter Dome©2019.
The child is born, and they must rejoice
Alas! It’s a girl, there’s no choice
And she grows, oblivious
Of the fate that awaits, devious
She cooks and cleans, and the laundry piles
No time for books, and her brother riles
Isolated from the outside world
The beauty unveils, hair curled
Her face hidden beneath the veil
Act coy, for she must avail
A worthy family, a rich mate
For the sake of status, a bait
Money spent, the exchange done
She has no place to run
A caged bird is sold
Her destiny until old
She is blamed, accused
At times bruised
Unable to endure
And made obscure
Death looks more appealing
Its dark abyss, enticing
She reaches the verge
But resists the urge
The fire blows out
And she screams and shout
None showing haste
As the blaze gets a taste
Her death is forgotten
And the law, rotten
Her pitiful soul heave
No one to grieve
(15 Dec 2015)
Cursed be the night... O' bloody night...
Thy face is cold and dead...
Thy eyes are of blackness, and thy cape wicked....
And the world is thy bed...
Thou sleepest during the day and cause death
in the dark...
The fire that consumed her was caused by thy breath...
Within it, a single spark...
So I curse thee, o' dreadful night...
I curse thee til the mornings' sweet light...
Sadly
Manipulated angry
feelings curse me
Chaining me, stalking me
Darkness has currpted my soul
Save me, enchant me
Untaint these words
Fool me
Saviour.
From Wisdom Born, Decades Fighting Fate's Cursed Hand
In youth, a young lad roars for much needed applause
in old age, wisely remains silent with just cause,
seeing the end near, some shed bitterest of tears
thinking such splashing supplications, angels hear;
whereas this old, callous world neither sees nor cares
what sorrow one displays or how much heart one shares
for savage the measure world uses to reward
dying lover or a talented, humble bard.
On pages offering up their softest virgin whites
are invisible castles beyond mortal sights,
each one begging for its wailing walls to withstand
massive cannon shots or a victor's crushing hand!
Poets, be they young or old, should a full pen hold true
to life, as spilling of ink- its treasures accrues!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-01-2020
Sonnet, ( Why All We Think We See, May Be An Illusion )
( So Spoke The Raven, After Master Poe Demanded Silence )
Syllables Per Line:0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables::168
Total # Words:::::120
Note:
Muse demanded I write this second poem on this first day
and it be dark. Raven agreed and Master Poe abstained.
Paper sang a blackened tune and pen danced a raging jig
as evil clouds rumbled while gathering in the far west
echoes drifted through broken window, and Hades jingled
a billion unbreakable chains. A older and wiser poet yielded
to avoid the usual headaches and aching pains!
That was Then, and This is Now
In the crypt of our loves memory, we danced so free,
Our romance, a cursed flame, burned with spectral glow.
But secrets, whispers from the damned, you see,
Now haunt this desolate heart with bitter, icy woe.
Thy deceitful touch, a venomous bite, I now know,
That hath passed from then, to now.
Thy laughter once, a haunting dirge so sweet,
Our dreams of an eternal union, pure and true.
But lies now stain the sacred vows we'd greet,
And trust, like a shattered vase, lies strewn askew.
Thy beloved promises now broken, I avow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
The poison upon thy lips, the accursed kiss still stings,
Each deceitful syllable, a phantom’s scream, tears my soul.
In the pit of despair, echoes of love's anthem rings,
Now consumed by the lies that devour it whole.
Thy pleas for moral absolution, I disallow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
As the raven of betrayal seeks to amend its weary prey,
Thy sharp talons, ripping out my heart's core.
Once deemed invincible, our love, now rent in disarray,
Drifting further apart, forevermore.
No longer shall I heed thy entreaties, in sorrow we shall bow,
That hath passed from then, to now.
Memories of our cursed love, linger in the mist,
I'll forge ahead, embracing the darkness that we sow.
For in the ruins of our buried love, lost to a fateful tryst,
The price of your betrayal, in blood, I shall bestow.
Thus, that hath been us then, and this is I now!
From birth to death -some people feel they never had a winning hand in life
Rock paper scissors,
Wizards of utopian flavored wizardry, exquisitely triumphs in every gamble beyond these doors,
Flawless tangled reversed reflections, remain forever forbidden to thoughtless mentors,
A cursed emotional seesaw bleeds and wrestles each end hardcore,
Roaring and agitated amassing vacillating backwards tripped out cognition galore,
Attuned intrinsic tutor restoring more miraculous palaces placed within your space and time,
Sublime tribes of chrome plated words alive and congregating, hitting hard the hammer of stamina utilizing backyard grammar,
Autodidact physiques pack preeminent techniques fond of higher states,
Earthquakes from snake riddled concealment shake the anointed with disappointment,
Appointed fools lowering vibrations of stations frequencies,
Advocates underground traveling through lands and over sea's,
Undetected forward vision upwards,
In the presence of cowardly lords using swords of misfeasance,
Eyelids glued open, still unobserving rulers, kings and queens with blinding evil pupils,
Topple till stagnant misplaced silence takes vengeance over souls,
Walking gods of earth observing a hole as the devils henchman transform from the fallen,
Never forget the calling, the called out elect without verbal speech, supernatural telepathic freedom,
Finding Eden beyond quantum universes unlocking Pandora’s Box,
Mundane conscious blocks, angelic psychedelic capabilities,
Infinite possibilities traversing dimensions with three sixty peripheral vision,
Subatomic divisions, galaxies of particles coexist omnipresent yielding disorienting mechanics,
Organic fractals, geometry sacrosanct, divine kinematics pure to awoken viewers,
Future past tense, retrocausality effecting cause of events presents questions,
Spooky beauty interviewing intentions, synchronized oscillating firing patterns,
Exploding fireworks of hierarchically organized neurons, circuits and networks,
Knowledge or Ignorance? Defective decision fostering Berkes, Apple believers the first?
Earthborn mortals thirst!!! For cash, philosophy of money doctrine, man cursed.
Quincy Mac
Date Written:4.5.2016
If i could exhale, really exhale,
To expire the rubble of the ages,
1000 years of dread off my belly,
and my fingertips once so dainty
then could grasp stars and not burn,
I dig my face into the dirt and find eternity.
i gazed into the jackals eyes and he spoke to me from eternity
he said "follow closely so that i might teach you to exhale
and maybe dear in return a smile upon your face will burn"
an expression lost on my brittle jaw for ages
so i walk upon the crust of the earth now bruised and dainty
yet i feel growth between my toes and swelling in my belly
woe does bewilderment plague me here, tearing up my belly
then a soft green garden snake cradles me into eternity,
i watch her curl and dance across the soil of this dainty
room, she looks back from her slither reminding me to exhale,
have i been lost for all these ages?
or have i simply been afraid to burn?
and thus so is it my place to burn?
for i feel welcomed and smooth yet i have poison in my belly
and tomorrow i will remember the pain of the ages
may i retain the knowledge of eternity
or become bodily again when i exhale?
or have no question that my thoughts and ideas are dainty
i have visions of my presence siting crossed and dainty
breathing barley and quiet as i burn
surrounded by a castle of tones that bring me to exhale
into the mouth of god and back into my belly
i feel my self escaping and gasping for eternity
coming back down to the end of my ages
i could sit and cry for the death of the ages
but this life i despise growing and rooting, dainty
yes, paltry no, and tattering for the rest of my eternity
yet i recall the jackal and his feet where the earth does burn
and i miss the poison in my belly
it not escapes me, but it crusades me to exhale.
before and after the ages, the world will burn and my body will lie dainty
on the ground filling her great belly with the poison of eternity cursed to exhale.
Is this some cruel joke you're playing
or am I cursed to go through life alone?,
Each time I become close to a new friend
you take them away and I'm left on my own.
My heart was broken at this time last year
when you took away my friend and "brother",
and it almost happened all over again, when
yesterday, I came close to losing another.
I was so lucky to have known new friends
who welcomed me like family in recent years,
some people say you gave me the gift to write
but, are my poems doomed to always end in tears?
(For Chris... please stay well, my friend)
Under the darkened vale within the labyrinth
Of my cursed dreams
How my wounded heart yearns
As the pages of my history turn
Back to those colourful cherished days
Now out of reach and so far away.
I dream of my first love Diane
My sweetheart and star filled dream
Who shaped my future
And made me the man I am.
I'm desperately searching the places
We loved and used to go
And asking people if they know where she is
But no one knows
I know she's near but don't know where
The pain I feel in my heart
Is just too much to bare
I feel lost broken and full of fear
For my soul mate who I loved and breathed for so dear.
Then I awake and it hits me like a bombshell
As reality sets in
It may have just been a nightmare
But she gave me the happiest days of my entire life
I've never really been happy since those days
And I suppose I'll carry my love for her
To my grave.
Peter Dome.copyright. 2014. Aug.
I've been stabbing myself for years,
and causing these forlorn tears.
Wounds that will never heal
because of the weapon I wield.
Not a blade, but with my eyes,
from reading the bitter cries
of the angry words he wrote,
ones he used to cruelly smote.
I curse myself for this self-inflicted pain!
What is there for me to gain
by remembering the past?
How long will this self-torture last?
Until I throw away the letters
that keep me shackled in fetters
or until I tear out my own eyes,
the orbs I've come to despise.
If only I could be so bold
and break the evil demon's hold
I'd be free to live my life
without reason for sorrow or strife.
But I suffer from an affliction
from which I seek no benediction.
From my self-inflicted form of grief,
I seek no cure and no relief.
Why do I punish myself this way?
Is it guilt because I didn't stay?
No! That would be a lie
I know he's the one who didn't try
to break free of his obsession
and rid us both of the deep depression.
My wounds will continue bleeding
for I know I will keep on reading.
+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
January 22nd, 2016
Self-Inflicted Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
To the Tree, He was condemned,
like a callous kleptomaniac.
Castigated and scorned by
a cackle of cacophonic voices.
Clamours and clanging...
clanging of corrupt tongues.
Away, they led Him to
the welcoming Cursed Cross.
For ages, this Cross has borne criminals,
The condemned offenders that roamed the streets.
A symbolical structure of falseness,
Of corrupt mortals punishing cursed beings.
The Cross welcomed a new Curse -- with ecstasy,
A quintessence now is being laid on it.
So many sins on this One crucified,
A once-in-a-lifetime grace for the Cross.
Amidst pains; amidst sufferings; amidst hell; amidst the dead;
The Curse crawled along.
To Victory; to Redemption; to Rebirth; to Grace;
The Curse turned around.
Christ, He became, ascended into Glory,
And the Cursed Cross crossed over.
No longer a symbol of affliction, but,
A monument of Grace that saves.
Galatians 3:13
Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree:
HAPPY EASTER