Best Dark Hours Poems
O God of the universes of Creation as a whole
I raise my hands; and open my heart and soul.'
Prostrate I call upon your power, to bless my
Friends in these long dark hours' these days
Long abhorred stand now at their doors, I ask
You gird their spirits with strength; enlighten their
Minds that they drive hence' each evil time that
They may face, pray turn them into typhoons
That will remove each trace; those of fear, of doubt
and all false pride, beside them; I ask your power
Resides, of your angel throng assign to them
More than they ever need, these women and men.'
Andrea Deitrich Michael Tor Heidi sands Connie
Marcum Wong Judy Ball Bill Baker Robert Ligouri
Joseph May Harry Horseman Brother Jacob
Sally Eslinger Sara Kendrick Sam Kaufman Joe
Dimino Len Gasun Pangiota Romios James
Marshall Goff Billy the Kidster Vince Suzdail
Jnr Kim Rodriuges Beta Augustin Rob Carmac
Robert Lindley Brandy Nichole Laura Leiser
And last, but not least B J Legros Kelly '
Much Love to all.'
May they each put to flight any 5000 that come
Up against them in any honourable venture they
Embark upon, be that written spoken or intimated
May you be with them each one dear Lord in Jesus
Name with the Holy Spirit as witness.'
Truth Found, Recovery Of A Broken Soul
1.
In nightmarish dreams he found such great dread
Of lost hope, life's decay, eyes of the dead.
Day's clear lights his damaged mind repaired
Deep traps from which his heart had been ensnared.
In sunshine he felt life's returning glows
Erase night pains and darkest of its blows.
As sun waned and shadows of dark arrived
He felt again, joy vanquished, love deprived.
2.
What of this devilish, persistent foe
With such powers, its broken claws regrow.
Hope alone, can evil be defeated
Or must Fate decree, his life be cheated.
In sun's bright shining hours his heart grew bold
Oft from tales of warriors of old.
On such bright days his thoughts returned to her
Destroyed dark powers that made life a blur.
3.
Where deepest love passions reign, hope survives
For in man's inner soul, true love revives.
Times and cherished moments serve to remind
With love's great truth, one can never go blind.
Standing firm with knowledge of man's powers
One can face even darkest of dark-hours.
Faith, love and hope are the right paths to take
All the rest are results of blind mistakes.
4.
Armed with newfound wisdom and clearer path
He had weapons to overcome Fate's wrath.
Every night before falling fast asleep
Head bowed, he recited prayers true and deep.
As new dawn's brighter lights came, his heart knew
Torments were over, as joys in life grew.
Found true, cursed Fate can be defeated
If one but lives, each day truth is greeted.
8-24-2017
The golden hour for rising has arrived, and there are violet roses in the sky,
So, I bid hello to you, my robust friend, as the vibrant, cerise birds float by.
The obsidian night, it was very long, and was filled with pleasant dreaming,
Like scenes from the heart of jade forests, where lush nature is screaming.
But the dark hours seem as ages past, since you have risen on the horizon,
Reflecting your glory in the limpid waters, as day slowly begins to brighten.
So nice to see you again, my old friend, peering in the doors and windows,
As beautiful songs from emerald trees, begin their daily, rapid crescendos.
Soon all the world will be colorful and glad, like skyward birthday balloons,
Drifting on backlit skies of somewhere, like the aromas of various blooms!
We've traveled a long way, you and I, and like orioles, we've gone together,
Screaming our joys at midday hour, as warmth blankets the divers weather.
You trail every individual, peach dawn to dusk, and from season to season,
Forever going in and out of our lives, silently, and without apparent reason.
My work as a seasonal park ranger, has kept me in the glitter of your gaze,
As gorgeous wildflowers pursue us all, down the myriad, natural pathways.
Living with my family and my cat, and having a happy life on Pretty Street,
We danced all through deep amber days, terribly soon to become obsolete.
And often enjoyed memorable outings, birthday parties, and get togethers,
Like the euphoria of your floral days, are inclined to following predecessors.
Days at the beach, days at the park, ballgames or fun backyard barbecues,
At the happiest of times, everyplace I look, the first thing that I see is you.
And in olden, golden days, when I played on and on, your warmth was felt,
Like the presence of bittersweet autumn rose, though unseen, lately smelt!
Sweet summer evenings, you gazed redly, to say your melancholy goodbye,
Like the redness that strangely appears, when you're trying hard not to cry.
Crickets in the lilac bush, butterflies in the grass, all smile to greet the sun,
And yellow days are started and soon done, in dreamlike, skyward visions!
Flowers titter in warm, fragrant meadows, and oceans shudder with delight,
People beam at your kind warmth, and robins sing once they see your light!
Who am I is a question,
That baffles and confuses me.
Aren’t I a stranger to myself,
When in me angels and demons cohabit,
Dwelling side by side.
Sometimes I am mired in confusion.
Sometimes I feel I am a moth caught fast in the fire,
And about to be burnt, when drawn to light
Mindless of the great peril looming.
Sometimes I feel I am sidelined and ignored,
And left out from the mainstream of life,
Like a book stacked away on a rusty shelf
In a dark corner, never touched or dusted.
After a wave of rising energy
I fall into a state when I feel so inert and dull.
At times, feel that I am a lifeboat without oars.
But soon I alight on the lighthouse of joy.
As the cycle of seasons keeps changing
The pendulum of my life swings from joy to sorrow
And hope and despair are threaded,
Into the tapestry of life as warp and woof
Essentially kind and compassionate,
I am moved to tears whenever I see,
An instance of human suffering
And tears of joy well my eyes
When I witness human excellence and pride over it.
Time has mellowed me, and wisdom has taught me,
To see the inner light shining in me.
Even when dark clouds creep into my night sky
Beneath the façade of my aching torso,
I see a soul eternal and indestructible.
At best, I like to think that I am a child of God,
And I strive to be led by that inner light.
Even when I swim in the doldrum of life,
I pray to release the infinitesimal quantum of energy,
That keeps the fire in me ever-blazing,
To add my lustre even to the stars.
To love and be loved is my credo,
For “even if I speak
in the language of angels and have no love
I am only a noisy, empty gong”.
There is a spark of heavenly fire in each one of us
Though it may lie dormant in broad daylight
It kindles up, beams, and blazes
In the dark hours of adversity.
So, frolic in the Living water and dance on the cliff
An edifice constructed through years of hard labor
May be destroyed overnight but keep building anyway!
"As water flows down when a faucet is turned on, thoughts and feelings pour out into a journal cleansing the heart" ~ By Poet
I keep a journal, a treasure chest of memories.
Where I record each day’s activities
Where I divulge my innermost secrets
As my feelings overflow into each blank page,
I get the therapeutic effect of unburdening my heart.
Though I scrawl down in messy hand,
It is a slice of my heart and I treasure it,
More than any other document I have.
Every day I empty my heart into its pages,
My pen bleeds words in red.
I paint me as I am, honest and truthful.
I don’t want to be a sham.
Here I lay bare my life,
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles.
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I want to be,
Everything I fail to be.
Journaling, poetry, and prayer fill my day.
They help me keep all my boredom away!
A raging river tenaciously floods
Tannins and silts combine to dark blood
A hut, just fifty metres, occupying their sight
Two men, cold and wearied, stuck for the night
An adventure all planned, lasting a week
In the middle of nowhere with red deer to seek
Twelve-hours of hiking, commencing that day
Now trapped with some refuge a stone throw away.
Cracking of boulders being pushed by the current
Affirming the folly of crossing this torrent.
Necessities shaping a cold camp till the dawn
Just tattered old plastic, to use as an awn.
Soft moss as a bed but soaking from rain
Ferns as a pillow don’t cushion colds pain.
Dark of the evening only adds to the pall
Deaths favoured colour, as rain continues its fall
Shivering endless; bodies fighting the shock
Drops of clouds tears slowed to the tick of a clock.
Moisture still falling, no hope for them now
Prospects were mirrored by the dark of the hour
Subtly the winds whispered breathe in their ear.
Fight.
Rekindling the flames to survive their harsh plight
Packs full of food, swiftly emptied for fuel
Bodies recharged in spite of the cool.
Rain in the dark hours continued to pour
Sounds from the river commenced to fair roar,
First crack of dawn and they got up and away
Wilderness wins this particular day.
*Based on a true story however my companion and I were stuck in the elements
for 2 days and nights. Another river flooded and blocked our exit.*
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by /
as seasons / providing the trees /
acquire soft, green leaves / and then in time /
turning red and golden / shed their leaves.
Travelers in time are all / like a wind
sweeping across the plains of life / visitors in a temporary land /
enjoying moments of bright sunny days / filled with fun and joy /
soon to be followed by sudden storms /
and then dark hours / followed again by
the brightness of the day / rivers of time /
carrying each traveler through his day / waiting /
waiting for the next to arrive /
Time an ever moving thing / a river /
carrying each person / in turbulent white water /
or calm flowing streams / through all events of life /
then stranding him on a rocky and barren shore / or
other times / gently laying him upon soft and lush meadows /
to rest as in a quiet and calm place /
Finally on the appointed day / a call goes forth / and
the wayfarer receives his summons / to quickly go /
moving through time / to stand in a queue / moving to an unknown space /
together with others summoned / to appear at some distant place /
The queue is formed / the line moves forward / the time has arrived
to board / those great ships of time / like the giant Leviathan / casts
off from near harbors / and then ever moving / to arrive at some distant
shore/
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by / a season at a time /
travelers all / in a moment in time.
The carcasses of rockets litter grass
dark hours advanced since midnight bells have chimed
and revellers stood watching seconds pass
to cheer and kiss to strains of 'Auld Lang Syne'.
Outside, from morbid black to pleasing blue
the day pulls off the sheets, the low sun yawns,
the same as yesterday but somehow new
as from last year the final page is torn.
We, too, like this new day must follow suit
rise from our east and shine in hopes afresh
as dreams and aspirations now take root
and words in resolutions become flesh.
New year, blank page, fresh start with open mind
look forward, onwards, up, but not behind.
Chased mercilessly
over well- worn tar
palpable loss pushes
a sable brush
dunked in dread
a furious deluge
of fear
oozes out
blackens every inch
of familiar landscape
what if’s
eat through
the still static blue horizon
making a meal
of unborn dreams
slaked only by
hastily grabbed
history
coupled with
ragged spirits
that desperately
haul hope north
safe haven
on strange soil
still dark hours
away
My nostalgic trip started in the train station, where I gazed upon an entry hall that resembled a faded photo in a faded album. I clung to the hope of a futuristic carriage.
Sat at your table
Your click clack conversation
Had remained the same
Standing on a street corner, I was trying to understand traffic. The hot, thick, air was full of misting rain, which didn’t stop beads of memories from dripping down my back.
In the dark hours
A Tokay gecko calls out
Echoing through time
A new scenic road has been built alongside the lake. From it you can see the mountain range that edges the plain. The forested peaks covered with stylised clouds.
Peddling to change
When work stops and leisure flows
Free-wheeling future
I heard the owl call my name,
like a backbeat in a child's voice,
etched in shadows of a father's grave,
lonely echoes on a frosted night...
at dawn I'll be immortal again,
renewed by a workaday
and the frigid fiscal year,
my soul stays leafless in damp moonlight...
do we end days defibrillating
in hospice and parchment or
under foreign suns twitching and fluid,
while kestrels dive as doves take flight...
why only in the dark hours,
the soul's midnight,
can we see farther, deeper,
nightdreams wander like a restless wight...
experienced or just imagined,
dreamt but never realized,
conceived yet unexecuted,
an inner eye begs keener sight...
as yellow eyed and dark skinned children,
play with tattered banners,
laughing at rusted armor, bleaching bones,
and history cries that might makes right...
as I, stale pilgrim of no progress,
catch faint odors of war,
in the molded root cellar of my mind,
as hope catches wind like a child's kite.
Why do I do it, It’s hard to explain
This obsession that’s driving me slowly insane
The dark hours seem endless, the boredom intense
You would think at my age I’d have more common sense
The weather’s ‘Brass Monkey’ bitter and bleak
With many blank sessions for many a week
In pursuit of the Carp that might come my way
Making this session a red letter day
Watching and waiting or making a brew
Tying more rigs or warming a stew
As I sit in my Bivvy set up by the lake
Hoping a Carp will just make one mistake
Darkness gives way to a creeping daylight
I am now well alert for a feeding spell bite
Should I re-cast new baits to better positions
Or leave well alone, Ah! Decisions, decisions
My Bivvy’s an Igloo, glistening white
(My Rod, Pod and Buzzers got frozen last night)
The lake, from my bed chair, seems peaceful and quiet
When my left rod and buzzer erupt in a riot!
Out in a flash and strike into a fish
This feeling is magic and all I could wish
All the blanking and waiting and doubts that I get
Are gone as my Carp glides safe into my net
There are not many Carping and I like it that way
I can choose any ‘Swim’ that I want, any day
Yes, Carping in Winter is special, if slow
With each triumph hard fought for and that’s why I go
dang,
grandma was a real hubba bubba-
killer-diller
khaki wacky boycrazygirl
a spiffy hot damn hoofer
during the dark hours of WWII
and the devastation
followed with
unrestrainedjubibilation
beat me daddy eight to the bar
grandma was a real hubba bubba-
franksinatracrooner
singing grandma put on her stompers
she was a babydoll soppysappysharp
a spiffy hot damn hoofer
worked in a factory
building partsforairplanes for the boys
no siree bob she was not giving up her job
she had
dreams
a white picket fence
in the
boondocks
grandma was-
a spiffy
hot damn
hoofer
no gobbledygook she told great stories
of what it was like
after the war forthetroops and all
pin-up girls like Marilyn Munroe
Elvis
Roy Orbison
Jerry Lee Lewis
drive-ins
fancy wheels ovaltine
casablanca goingmyway its a wonderful life
for whom the bell tolls earnesthemmingway
it was a time of attitude
no fuddy-duddy she had the gams
met grandpa doingtheswing
they had no lettuce moolah greenbacks
but they
were over the top
stuck on glued
bonkers in love oh grandma had
no fear of saying hi-de-ho
he said hey sugar are you rationed
dang
grandma was a real hubba bubba-
killer-diller
kacky wacky boycrazygirl
take a gander withyourpeepers
at this thingamabob poem
____________________________________
June 2, 2015
Free Verse
Inspired by the slang of the 1940's
For the contest, Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk, sponsor, Debbie Guzzi
First Place
Abu Nuwas
He proclaimed to the caliphate
In the dark hours of the evening
Rejoice! These splendid virgins are a bleeding
Drink our youth, and let not harm come our way
Peace is the brotherhood
Wine and love shall hold sway
Let us rejoice at the gardens and fresh bled flowers
The vineyards and the imams holy ways
Abu, in his boastful poetic fashion
Told the Islamic court,
Let us dance until the stars begin to fade
This is the fashion the universe has made
Embrace the learning’s of our neighbors conquered
The gardens of Babylon
In our drunkenness
Let us de-flower
Rejoice rejoice
For all that we do
We wish no harm on others
To flourish is all that we shall demand
Live with honor as you kiss the maidens hand
Abu held the court as poet and jester
Wine and wisdom invaded his soul
At times prison lay in front, enemies do fester
Freed from his irons
Abu Nuwas wrote poems of love
That lasted forever
Isis is the weed
And not the flower
Soldier on my brave friend
one loyalty to bear
it is to this we owe our stock
and for fortune duly share
When dark hours invade our hearts
with no plan for our escape
we will tighten ranks and challenge fear
for the future is ours to shape
Together if we face the brink
of never turning back
may all see one set of prints
left showing from our tracks
To that end what will has forged
we'll finish you and I
together as one to see it through
such loyalty never dies.
Loyalty Contest-Sponsored by Broken Wings
04/20/2016