Best Dismal Poems
Having loved ones is an incredibly comforting feeling, but when you enter the vast
landscape of the mind and see only depression and despair, you become aware
that you are alone in your misery. Clinging to the last threads of sanity It feels as if
you are spiraling into a bottomless black abyss.
All sense of responsibility, joy, hope, drive, ambition and any concern for life are
gone like a whisp of smoke. There is no comfort offered when looking deeply into
who you are. Everything that you once held dear seems so pointless in the eternal
perspective of time. There is no escape from the futility of it all. Will I make a
difference or at least be a descent human being. If I do, what difference will it
make. Countless times have I looked into the never ending realm of insanity and
longed to leap into its welcoming arms. I can think of no greater blessing than to
lose one's capacity for self awareness.
Would I fall for all eternity or through the destructive force of madness find
normalcy. It all seems so hopeless. Some say life passes so fast that you should
cherish every moment. But, living out the drudgery of each day seems an eternity to
me. If I focus hard enough my minds eye sees exactly who I am. I have a self
loathing, over burdened, depressingly active, mentally challenged, sarcastic, twisted
thinking process. Process usually indicates order. Not in my case. My mind plumets
into a cold unfeeling wasteland that sends me into fearful fits of confusion where I
am overwhelmed with unrelenting incomparable anger. I ponder an escape , but I
realize I am destined to wallow in the company of despair and futility for all eternity
and deservedly so. Then it finally dawns on me that through my foolish decisions
and self destructive actions I have fulfilled my mission in life to be a stench filled
mass of human waste. I grieve for those who know the loneliness I feel when
journeying into the depths of the seemingly twisted internal machinations of my
mind. It is the only place that in all respects you are truly alone. I no of no other
place where hopelessness reigns as it does in the deep recesses of who I am. It
makes me wonder if I might be God's only mistake.
All my socks were in the laundry
And I was late for an appointment
All the world was in a quandary
My life is such a disappointment
The skies turned dark with clouds
Rain showers fell to the ground
My heart was lost amid the crowds
Where feelings simply confound
Life left me certain I’d lost the prize
I couldn’t feel anything except regret
Wishing for joy which always implies
This ruthless sunrise will not be a threat
It was a good morning until… poetry contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
February 11, 2021
It was December, 1956 and Christmas was approaching
Mama was in the hospital and would be until the New Year
While we were visiting, she said to my brother Jim and me
“Your Santa presents are in the top of my closet. I am so
Sorry I won’t be there on Christmas morning, but Santa
Will come, just as he always does.
Jim and I shuffled our feet and looked at the floor.
We fought hard to keep the tears from flowing down our
Cheeks, but we were also a bit embarrassed, for we had
Been playing with our “Santa presents” for several weeks,
But we knew we mustn’t let our Mama know.
It was going to be a dismal Christmas in more ways than one
But it became one of the most memorable moments in my life.
SEVENTH PLACE WINNER
written September 20, 2021
especially for "A Lovely Memory" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
(a true story)
“Don’t make me go to Disneyland,” I cried
Fourteen years old with all the angst that brings
They made me go and something in me died
Depressed by all the fake and plastic things
The second time my parents made me go
Was in my twenties, Paris, lucky me
I sulked; I’m an aesthetic snob, you know
Too selfish to enjoy my children’s glee
The third time was the worst, the fuss I made
At thirty odd, made odder still by drink
I tried to run, got caught in a parade
The final Mickey piss take; now I think
I want to go to Dismaland! Bad luck
For can I get a ticket? Can I f**k!
by Gail
The play was a dismal flop
She went to a coffee shop
She saw the villain
In act of killin'
Scrumming in the room nonstop
In the dismal silence
In the dismal silence I sit in my dark quagmire
looking for a ray of light to guide my way to contentment.
Many times I have seen it but have hidden my face
for I fear that the brightness would only bring more pain.
It is in this inferno that Robbins cry, Ravens laugh
and the storms of life throws its fury my face.
Here I see the red evil eyes of the hounds of contentment
as they pierce my soul and shatter my serenity.
These confines that I live were created by oozing memories in my mind
and it's residue that it leaves is the poison called PTSD.
The day started out on a low note,
with the clouds moving in,
as I got out of bed
and my daily grind did begin,
used to the sunshine
and not so much cloudiness,
I looked at the weather channel,
and they predicted it right,
with raindrops falling on my head,
and having only pessimistic thoughts,
the atmosphere being dark and dismal,
wishing tomorrow I could soon retire
and turn 66,
got to work in the usual way,
with the retina scanning clock
having yet another field day,
denying my face and eyes
and not recognizing me,
you would think that overnight,
I had some kind of plastic surgery,
how I longed for the old time clock,
and how much easier it used to be,
then being short of help
in our receiving department,
had to pick up the pace and slack,
to make the adjustment,
labeling and slinging boxes of meds most of the day,
sometimes I seriously longed for calgon to take me away,
and still later my r f gun acted up
as I pulled that afternoons orders,
and being on productivity,
it made me a lot slower,
then my boss showed me an order
that apparently got messed up,
telling me to be more careful,
to be more on my toes,
Oh how I longed for the clock
to make its tick tock go faster,
feeling like the day
was nothing short of a disaster,
and finally at 6:30 pm
I left feeling worse for the weary,
feeling like an expendable middle aged Dorothy,
with someone chasing after my Toto,
just feeling down on my luck,
but not quite like being in a tornado,
with my preoccupied thoughts,
the workday finally ended on a high note,
while on my drive home
as I spied in the distance
one of God's beautiful rainbows.
On this morning Thomas awoke
Ready to take on a forecast predicting he would get soaked
Still doubting thinking meteorology was a joke
Headed outside
Winds blowing no lie
Running back under covers
Twenty four hours washed out waiting for another
Throughout the rainy day
Wondering if everything was okay
“I have nothing to say”
Doubting Thomas peeked out to skies angry and grey
But for a second a glimmer of sun
Storm must be done
Opened the door
And there was good old Danny on his stage floor
“We are in the eye
Bad weather has not said good bye
Could you spare a nickel and dime?
For the information I told you on my mind”
Securing all his shutters
Doubting Thomas prayed to the Holy Mother
Hoping this will end
Leaving the destructive mess to mend
Bed is the place to be
Tomorrow work to pick up the debris
Due to Dan
Monitoring his five and dime climate stand
Doubting Thomas was not in a life threatening jam
Only to hear the message ‘stay at home’
‘All alone’
‘Sit by the phone’
‘For the call
That is all’
This was an honest warning
Informing
Reporting that water is pouring
Instead of ignoring
About this time that was not boring
Since Thomas must
Prepare to fix damage from the element’s fuss
Without any cuss
Replacing it with community trust
It is a lesson in concern
Knowledge stand firm
For others not to get burned
Getting caught in a situation
Where they are facing
Natural trouble
Distant from their corporate bubble
dismal march rainstorm
baby mice found in garage
kids selecting names
Submitted on March 29, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (MAR 31) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Originally posted on June 3, 2018
I am flung against the drab ashen phonon sky, weighted with ghostly iron clad jaws of bitter winter's grip, biting the feather-flared Doves gravid with fatigue from the ill-laden onerous air. The rough-coated dog with ice-tipped ears had surrendered to the corridor of gutters in the toilsome cold, a fugitive of neglect of his own demise. In this empiric city, a shrine of humankind, vespers of frozen conflict rose up from its bowels, like sweat from otherworldly gargoyle watchmen of stone and mortar atop the surrounding spires of fortune. Beneath the steeples of holy crosses and frozen muted lights, faceless, heavily cloaked phantom transients trudged through half stacked drifts of dirty snow moving farther away from hazard, blinded in their apathy. The grimy yellow cab bedraggled on its mucky, viscous boulevard strained and bellowed as a labored oxen. Desperate, surreal sirens blaring from a distant byway echoed and purged from the back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls, laying like pale-blue corpses in garbage bins that sheltered their weakness - interred in their obscure tombs chasing their fate in a bottle of booze. And I stood frozen in the moment, displaced with the cold reality in my icebound, paralytic soul, shuddering with hurt.
ice laments silence
cloaked in bitter winter's grip
trapped in bitter spires
December 17, 2019
December or January Haibun Poetry Contest
Moments of Reflection - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
repitious symphathy bracing graffiti upon the walls i animate
elegiac words morphing into their stark existance
inanimate figures peel away to shade the world gray
their vows spoken through echoes of blood screaming out my eulogy
reiterating their prevarications which induce the opaque starlight
the contours emit a reflection deceiving the effigy
singing vacant pantomime to the adorn imperfect perfections
(With appreciation and apologies to Edgar Allan)
`Twas a night both foul and dismal, unholy night, unclean, abysmal,
A night that woke an age-old darkness, a darkness that now sped across the moor.
As fearsome signs and tolling bells warned ancient nuns within their cells,
The darkness came and it then was reaching, reaching through his Lordship’s door.
Reaching from the pits of Hades, consuming souls of Lords and Ladies,
Then those souls with their demons falling, falling as others had fell before.
Nuns and angels wept in sorrow. Night moved on till it be morrow,
When at last the house stood empty, empty by the storm-tossed shore.
Darkness walked within the hallways, walked and waited upon the floor.
And it would wait there ever more.
(Sept. 5, 2016)
The threshold of my life is dark and bleak,
Dismal dreams haunt me,peace is all I seek.
Bloodstained covers are wrapped around me,
My piteous life is nothing at all, so too speak
I loathe my conception, darkness is all I see
1.) piteous
2.) bloodstained
3.) threshold
4.) conception
5.) dismal
10-1-17
I’ll apologise here at the start
For this verse won’t appeal to your heart.
So banal, it’s a shame
But I’ll shoulder the blame
’Cos it's not rude, nor funny, nor smart!
What a dire and heartbreaking, dark, dismal day
when you crossed that threshold at heaven's doorway;
our painful conception of death's bloodstained sword
that punctured our piteous hearts with dismay...
now healed with acceptance of you with our Lord.
September 29, 2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Rhyme Time With 5
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 10/10/2017
Required words to use: dismal threshold conception bloodstained piteous
Rhyme scheme: A-A-B-A-B