Best Discontent Poems
Autumn chilly days will soon be over,
There will be no bees over the clover.
The last vermillion leaves some red some gold
The breeze blows and my heart is much too cold.
I walk aimlessly in an unknown path,
My heart is like a sea with ugly waves.
How dare she, aloof. look away from me?
Has she forgotten those lambent days free?
Days spent in love and full of happy glee,
Whispering sweet nothings neath the oak tree.
Now she would not even acknowledge me
As she ambles the busy town, feeling free.
I do not love you anymore, she said.
Love is fickle, as autumn leaves fell dead.
Happily discontent, that I am, that I be
now future
happy discontent
achievable out of reach
joie de vivre bags of regrets
what I am now what I could be
love the journey are we there yet?
live in the present dream of becoming
I'm truly self made I'm reactionary, dependent
let it be, let it be, now endless mindful reflection
I’m restless, but at peace unable to sleep, daydream
I’m thankful for many things when will this nightmare end?
nothing is perfect, fully satisfies quest for perfection ruins the journey
life is an ever evolving process hit or miss, sink or swim, stuns growth
a chest full of good things in life a pile of things underachieved, undone
thankful for what I’ve got so far I want more, but I'm burdened by failures
acceptance without complacency resentful, jealous of what others have
accept that creativity makes mistakes counting failures, clutters & confounds
when the sky breathes poetry
through sepia-streaked silence,
and the earth reclines, listening
to the music of weeping wisterias~
blowing in the pulse of bleeding paradise,
I swallow sizzling stars
within cloaked scars,
comfortably blanketed
in self-woven wounds.
while you, the prisoner of my past,
keep revisiting empty journals,
lacking crystalline colors of comfort.
as crimson are the lines
across pages of pain,
and rhymes left unwritten~
stretching through margins of misery,
like flowers blooming amidst rain,
like fireflies flickering neon dreams,
oblivious to the darkness
that tastes like delicate storms,
gusting with glistening grief,
undressing dusks shivering
in blazing frost…
O tulip trinkets,
echoing ballads of brokenness~
I ache to surf through crooning chaos
in serene seclusion,
away from the fickle wind and
unseen waves, tortured by
twisted tunes of twilight.
I’ve long been the voice of love,
unsaid, intoxicated on life’s
whimsical woes~
a ghost of a wilted rose,
robed in restless redolence,
befriending demons within,
as shadows too
abandoned the healing
chambers of angst,
reluctant to sway
to chamomile chimes
of euphoric gardens
where roots of ruins
are watered with tanzanite tears…
perhaps the moon
was never mine to keep.
and in this distant affair,
I sing sparks of sorrow
to the soul of salt-kissed sapphires,
wishing the world could comprehend~
how peace is neither a lily nor a bird,
but a weathered tree
stuck in the forsaken
sands of felicity,
an eloquent ambience
where I thrive
in bittersweet solitude…
remember me ~
when clouds veil saffron
of the sanguine sun
and the zephyr forgets my name,
I remain the mistress, dressed in
distressed diamonds,
not a seeker of superficial lies
glazed in greed and gold,
I trace trembling chakras of torrents
with ink and sighs,
exhaling lunar-dust,
like a maestro of yearning,
perfectly flawed and unrefined,
still healing ~
tied to the faded lips
of an
enlightened constellation…
He took away his touch
and at first I felt relieved
I bowed down to god
for taking that selfish
bastard away from me
But after a while
I grew sad
It's weird to say
but his touch
caused happiness
now that it's gone
I'm forced to search
for more entertaining activities
which will only please me
to a certain degree
It's makes me mad
that men have this
strange affect over me
Does it make me weak
that my happiness is
jepordized when
the male decides to leave?
Why must I continue to dream
about soft caressing touches
and about falling in love
is this all my heart cares about?
I wonder as I wonder.....
WEATHERING THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT
In this, the death prone winter of our discontent,
the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos
and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic
cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity.
Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history
scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves
in chilling winds of cold war seasons.
Here, in the frozen season of time, Armageddon
stalks democracy in the chilled midnight hour;
while in the twilight of the eve of destruction,
world watchers waddle the time away: constructively
engaged in spotlight moments of warming scenes.
With a bloody but unbowed head, let not our world wallow wearily
in the mirage of winter’s defeat; nor allow her frigid blast
to shatter the bruised reed of hope or out the burning wick of love.
Let us stare adversity in the eye, rekindling the spirit of unity;
let us refashion the crumbled, rejected stones of our moral society;
we building a new and better world where we hold it to be self evident:
peace---perfect peace, is the dominant ethos of our recaptured humanity.
When I have finished with this body
And hopefully ascend the heavenly stair,
I'm going to go into Heaven's workshop
And have a word with the management there.
I've not been too happy with their merchandise.
I feel I didn't receive of their best.
Perhaps I got one of the rejects.
Well it wasn't as good as some of the rest!
Oh the model was alright to begin with,
Then little flaws began to show.
Perhaps it was assembled by a -non peace- worker.
Or maybe an illegal immigrant from-down below-.
However it 's been of very poor quality.
It's needed alot of repair.
Another thing it creases too easily
It's got wrinkles everywhere.
Also the materials too stretchy,
It goes baggy after alot of use.
Needs to stand up better to stress and strain
Can't seem to take alot of abuse.
And if it gets a hole in it
It really is a pain!!
Oh you can repair it, stitch it up
But it's never quite the same again.
I also want to discuss style.
Sorry, I feel the design isn't up to scratch.
I want to know for example,
Why tops and bottoms just don't match?
I've noticed on quite a few models
Proportions all up the wall,
Overdone at the top,hips flared too much.
And I don't go for the pear shape at all!!!
Also I wanted to always look good in it,
Perhaps that's rather vain.
Well at least be comfortable with it
And not have cause to complain.
Some say I might get a replacement.
If I do one things for sure,
I'll check it out thoroughly next time
Before it leaves the production floor.
There is no peace in a war zone
The battlefield's become my home
Casualty is mind and body
Assaulted by my worst enemy
Maybe tonight it'll let me sleep
I can't decide
I don't know why
It's hard letting go of superficial things
Put off by yesterday's reason to be happy
Nothing ever seems to change
Elusive serenity
She doesn't want to visit me
Been so long
And I miss her
Can't do this alone
But I've always been told
No one is worth trusting
Here I am
Fork in the road
I stand
All signs read HOV lanes only
So I guess I'll wait
When joined by another
Closer than a sister or mother
That never goes away
Til then I have to sit and spin
This bizarre web I'm weaving
And hope for better days
fall’s foliage wingless
man too longs for a southland -
future mist defined
Brian Johnston
December 19, 2015
The gelid wind is a knife, ice to bone
As Demeter decries Persephone's moan
I too shed a tear, crystalline nature
In the pallid winter of my discontent.
Downy flakes fly in my woods, this glacier
melts slowly, apart from everyone ashore
I die a little more each day I bore
Holes, In this winter of my discontent.
No ode to my urn shall abide tragedy
Created in frolic architecture, majesty
Denied grace in art, I cry a little more
In the frigid winter of my discontent.
Since I was a small child and would try to sing,
when we rise and sing the praises of "Old Glory,"
it brings tears to my eyes. Maybe it's because we
have endured much to keep our flag flying--too
many wars, too many injured, too many dead.
Or, perhaps, in this "Winter of Our Discontent,"*
whether Red or blue or neutral tan, we can, as one,
STAND UNITED.
call me old fashioned
but the star spangled banner
brings tears to my eyes
*Winter of Our Discontent," novel by John Steinbeck,
Shakespeare's "The Tragedy of King Richard III"
February 9, 2023
for "It Means A Lot To Me" contest
by Regina McIntosh
The world's on fire and the news is despair
Stench of the apocalypse fills the air
Racial tensions, border disputes and cultural crusade
Immigration, separation, seems 'tis a bed we remade
Demonstrate into conflagrate, identity theft makes the rounds
And social media allows opinions without grounds
Shooting up each other, our school's new lesson
Now we can conceal without license that Smith & Wesson
Pick your country, seems most are headlining the ill
Now more than ever we need a stronger will
With even weather being threatened I wonder if we can weather
This generational discontent that we've fostered forever
There's a westerly wind that sweeps down the shore
Riding roughshod, through the furrowed maze
Plowing the seas with a lofty oar
To justify each thrashing wave
Unwilling to pulse with calmer mood
Her temperament bodes malcontent
Unrelentingly, earnest, she herds her brood
And prods them along with grave torment
Rendering helpless, behind the spray
The sun watches with solemn round
While quivering waters define dismay
She holds long the seasonal sound
From the sphere of the dawn, into bold afternoon
She is schooled by the whims of the moon
____________________________________________________
9/15/13 For Poetess Darkly's Contest: "Sonnets of the Wind"
Where did you come from my precious sprite?
You live as if there is no tomorrow.
And still somehow you are bluntly interrupted.
You may come inside and warm yourself for a bit.
Maybe we should act upon nothing at all.
Welcome to my world, please stay a while.
Warm your hands by the fire and close your eyes.
Memorize your collection of thoughts.
My discontent has eluded my nature of being serene.
Something has been added to my sense of calmness.
Perhaps it is your presence and your beauty.
Shall I wrap my cloak around you please?
Let me comfort your shivering and frail body.
My looks are powerful as bolts of lightning.
Feel my willingness to comfort you.
My touch is soothing, your eyes remain closed.
A moment to cherish as fresh dew on a leaf.
Try as I may to remain in the moment, your eyes open.
You jump as if to flee, then you stop and look back.
Your soft gentle smile has an obscure captivity.
I stand and reach out for you to no avail.
You fly as fast as the wind wisps through trees.
My mystic eyes are no relief to your naivety.
Like a wild horse senses the harm...you are gone...
my sister turned light chartreuse
after hearing on the news
the end is quite near
a blizzard all year
so we recommend snowshoes.
The sinking beauty of the spreading spectrum of sadness I revel
as the cinnabar sunset takes away my departing day.
The joy of twilight time the last rays of drowning dusk unravel
in the pensive painting of the listless life in disarray.
In the darkest of nights the stars shine in the satin sky bright,
silver dust disperses sequined shimmer on the shadow of sorrow.
The rhythmic rustle of dead leaves makes the melody of delight,
tear drops turning to pearls of dew sparkle on barren meadow.
Carved deep in the vale of woe the stream of discontent flows,
where the ecstasy of resurgence cascades with happy memory.
If despair finds a niche of empathy as the wrecking storm blows,
despondency morphs into halcyon heart’s beguiling beauty.