Best Dolorous Poems
He can turn the crank, to tunes of happy song,
One that his crowd has cherished for long,
But something has so terribly gone wrong
For someone has declared: you don’t belong,
O, you don’t belong; no, you do not belong,
As organ music on streets is forever banned
Dismantling livelihood, so long he planned.
So today he turns the crank to words forlorn
As emotions torn, in wistful rhythms mourn,
This miserable morning of a beauteous day,
Oh, the heavens know why the sky is gray,
And the organ blares missives that betray:
Nothing can unsay ~today is that final day.
They watch him grooving as if in festive dance
Feigning happiness, hiding dolorous glance,
Decrying audacity of fate, eerily gone awry,
As he accepts reality, uttering a silent sigh,
Watching the crowd clap, as spirits amplify
His reason for being, reluctant to bid goodbye.
From street to street, he will endeavor to go
Visiting every place familiar, despite angst of woe,
For one last act of songs and music they know,
Collect what he can, past goodwill will bestow;
Turning the crank, to tunes of happy song,
One that his crowd has cherished for long,
Though something has so terribly gone wrong
For someone has declared: you don’t belong,
O, you don’t belong; no, you do not belong.
Categories:
dolorous, emotions, farewell, music,
Form:
Rhyme
She lovingly smiles at him each evening
dressed in palest silk, a gossamer gown,
brushed with hints of silverdust shadows.
Her shapely fullness casts a womanly glow
across his surface in ripples of light.
Enthralled by her shimmering beauty,
he waves to her from Baltic blue depths
of his longing and unspoken passion.
Her reflection swims in his crests and troughs
as he cradles the embodiment of her perfection.
Crested fingers rise to fondle her magnificence
but vast distance keeps them too far apart.
Her heart guides the ebbing and flowing
of his tides in their nightly dance, spent romancing.
Fluidly, he waltzes her in rhythm to the shore,
serenaded by a chorus of flickering stars
singing a tune written eons before
Gershwin could dream of Rhapsody in Blue.
Little more could either of them do as
their song wafted in a dolorous lover's lament
known by humans but perceived by few
as a divergent love between two of Earth's forces
whose liaison would be a tragedy for me and you
Categories:
dolorous, desire, moon, sea,
Form:
Free verse
A thread ...
ties me to the Infinite
a tendril of sonorous joy, expressed
weaves the depth of my marrow
to all that is and was and shall be and shan't ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I am - sing of what I can't be!
A breath ...
holds my melody of being
spirit coursings beyond the capability of sensate expression
swell from the reaches of my heart
to find their diaphanous wings upon the maelstroms ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I feel - sing of a bounding love!
A scream ...
rooted in dulcet dreams
rhythmic and dolorous and dark, of the night
dances, lilting, to bind the wounds of that greater expanse
to shed in music what I fear most ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that hides - sing of my shaded sins!
A song ...
sews my innermost to the day
a choral conjugation of my bones and the breadth of heaven
the seed of expression, harmonious ... wending
to enjoin this sparrow's strain ... with the All ...
O - sing, my soul, of all myst'ries to find - sing of a life at end!
O - sing!
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your best free Verse 2020" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "A Poem Honoring Spirituality" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice X, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Sing It" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
dolorous, appreciation, emotions, metaphor, music,
Form:
Free verse
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
Categories:
dolorous, angst, character, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
"I did not but see her passing by, and yet I will love her until I die."
~ Robert Menzies
You don't know I am aware of the depth of your despair
Or that I hear you crying when you think no one’s there
The ailment within your heart is more than I can bare
Yet, you have the innocence of a child
I watch you disappear in shadows and I say a prayer
Sad, am I when in your eyes there's a blank stare
I would ask what makes you frown, but would you share
Yet, not so long ago you smiled
Silently, you tiptoe, timidly trying not to make a sound
What do you write upon page after page, spiral bound?
I marvel at your drawings, only those that I have found
Yet, I wonder why you feel exiled
What burden gives you cause to wear a dolorous face
I would offer you my heart if your pain it could erase
To brush away your sorrow, my hand would give chase
Yet, the secret you hold is not reconciled
I am helpless when clouds in blue above, you color gray
Can I breach your wall of gloom and make it go away
How do I paint a rainbow in your sky every single day
Yet, no list of answers have I compiled
It's an antidote, I seek to end the spillage of your tears
What cure will abdicate from the throne, your deep fears
Tell me, my love, why you've strayed from me for years
yet, I know our love has not been defiled
Do you feel locked within the vault of a sepulcher room
Sweet bud, without reason to open your petals and bloom
A gardenia in spring, scent lying trapped inside a womb
Yet, would, if I could, join you in your world beguiled.
May 6, 2023
Writing Challenge ~ 'Y' Words
Sponsored by Constance La France
Categories:
dolorous, heartbreak, love,
Form:
Rhyme
A saddening song swishes subtly in the bitter breeze,
Mad mournful music meets me everywhere I move,
Like a dolorous dirge drumming through the dark;
Wistful winds wearily bring to mind stinging salt drops,
All energy expended in trying to make sense of this forlorn fusion
As a painfully pensive psalm is penned down
in the ragged remnants of war...
10/25/17
Categories:
dolorous, music, sad, war,
Form:
Verse
Swaddled in frozen silence
In a weather so dolorous and damp
The pores of her mind sweat painful memories
Which take a headlong flight
Faster than the beams of light
At times shaking their fearful manes
As unbridled steeds, they come
Raising dust behind
Making all sanity blurred.
Often, they rise from their indulgent stupor
And spill over, submerging all extant thoughts
They never care to stand in queue
Jostling each other with no manners
They bump on one another, breaking all decorum
Like an unruly mob on impatient wait
Caught in the vortex of a whirling current
Her poor body begins to lose its equilibrium
And she plunges into the bottomless depth
To be choked there in whirling gloom!
Categories:
dolorous, angst, betrayal, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Raised in a somber household where she could do nothing right,
she would flounder in every chore her parents had her do.
Picked on by classmates, she would smolder with rage.
Eventually, she came to feel
that every single thing in her life was dolorous.
She could show nothing of her real self to the world,
for she was swallowed up by inhibition
and a profound lack of self-esteem.
Gathering the strength one day to leave her parents’ home,
she walks away.
It feels to her like divine providence
when warm, outgoing strangers not much older than she
latch onto her and bring her into their fold.
They introduce her to their charismatic guru.
His daily preaching of strange doctrines, though sheer bombast,
resonate deeply within her, for his words are the life line
which she's been reaching for; he reels her in!
A zealous neophyte the girl becomes as she -along with other females -
gives herself over, body and soul,
to the lecherous diabolical
leader of the cult.
June 9, 2019
For John Hamilton's Eight Word Free Verse Challenge Poetry Contest
8 Words Used: 1. Neophyte 2. Inhibition 3. Flounder 4. Dolorous 5. Bombast 6. Lecherous 7.Providence 8 Smolder
Categories:
dolorous, woman,
Form:
Free verse
Of late, nature moans inside a scraped womb
As her lush environ FLOUNDERS breaks out…
Played like a trusting NEOPHYTE from woods to rivers
She endures the BOMBAST of dirt through man’s crimes:
Awaiting kindness …amends remain undone
While LECHEROUS deeds persist without guilt, why, why?
More wrongs ravage innocent fish and flora
Infecting her very marrow, to drain away.
Loot, SMOLDER, rip a body ! Time runs out.
Mother Earth answers through bloodied jolts…
By will of PROVIDENCE, she whips a storm without INHIBITION
Halting indifference, her fire scalds air’s layers,
A battle citizens might grow DOLOROUS over--
Until her soul is nourished back, till she moans no more.
-----------
Eight Word Free Verse Challenge
For John Hamilton’s Contest 6/13/2019
Categories:
dolorous, abuse, environment,
Form:
Free verse
I watch the smoulder in your eyes ... rise
Flames licking inhibition, searing our entropy and ache
I am the yang to your yin, the neophyte to your authority and ease
Your gaze pulls me inward like the claws of carnal chaos
And I submit to the spin ... flounder in your fiery forge
I have died a thousand times in your sight, burning
I have held your heart in my hand, and felt the pulse quicken
Your smile and sinews, the swords that bleed my soul
They and I, weary of lust's bombast, and the lecherous spirit of love
(Love defined to a lad as the physical things ... the flesh and feel)
Yet I welcome the dolorous passion that devours me
The wild providence of conflagration that consumes me
And surrounds our world of selfish sensuality
I look deeper and say a prayer for mercy
But the blaze is too malignant, too wonderfully wicked
Reaching its tendrils to wrap me
I close my eyes to imagine I am you
To imagine the heat of my reflection as it flickers in your eyes
And melt ... like molten madness.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Eight Word Free Verse Challenge" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
dolorous, appreciation, beauty, metaphor, passion,
Form:
Free verse
her thoughts, dolorous, often smolder in her mind
long before they are penned upon paper
often crumpled and disregarded
like kindle for a fire
they call them poems anyway
she is inferior, a mere neophyte
fueled by inhibition
that flounders her way through life
and on the page alike
yet they call her poet
perhaps she has the providence
from her youth as her guide
to rid those memories
or spark the fire that burns
as she pens what they call poetry
she doesn't see her worth
between her words
or lecherous stares
cast from unworthy men
that burnt through her soul
she remembers only
a collection of bombast thoughts
that haunt her mind
as she writes them out
then damns them
through the flames of memory
yet they call it poetry
June 12, 2019
Categories:
dolorous, emotions, poems, words,
Form:
Free verse
I have never seen a living thing
That looked so very dead--
Lacking elegance and color,
Seeming dolorous, instead.
And its limbs were much distorted,
Like an old, arthritic hand,
As it leaned there, hunched and crooked,
As if it hurt to stand.
But while it had the look of death
It bestowed the coolest shade,
Leaving me to wonder why...
This God so oddly made?
Categories:
dolorous, nature,
Form:
Free verse
THE BOY STARES AT YOU
He is raggedly scrunched up
Against a wall of sweating bricks,
Staring at you with as much pride
As life has thrown at him.
You see he has no desire to make
Conversation with a stranger
To his stale, rank impoverishment
But he smiles anyway with false bravado.
His eyes question your unwanted presence,
Loitering for a possible answer
Which may be forthcoming
And include conditional expectations.
He won't break his kingdom of silence,
Where he reigns supreme
Among poverty's sprawling plague.
He waits for you to speak but knows
You have nothing to say he'll understand
Nor care about. Besides your speech is
Foreign to him, so you can stutter on
Without the slightest effect.
The vultures circle above, letting out
Their dolorous cries in search of the dead.
He and you live but do not engage
Because you cannot relate;
You do not exist to each other.
Among the scattered stones of the houses,
You have found a hidden graveyard
Of dreams where there is no afterlife.
Categories:
dolorous, fate, grave, hate, pain,
Form:
Free verse
“Wandering through empty and crowded streets with no destination in sight and sleeping under the sky with the fire burning inside was my life, the life of a vagabond. Survival is a funny game and life is an endless odyssey for survival” ~ By Poet
Homeless, a wanderer all his life.
An orphan, he was raised in the streets.
Mongrel dogs and gypsies were his company.
He had wild days and dolorous times.
At nights, he curled up on street corners,
Had brawls with other street children.
But as he grew up, he began nursing a dream,
To own a home and no more be a vagabond.
He took up odd jobs and worked day in and out.
Over time, against heavy odds
A little hovel, he did build,
In a verdant stretch of fertile land
Off the noisy, frenzied crowd
With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof.
With reed and bamboo, its walls were made.
With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed.
With wooden planks, its entrance he laid.
At dusk, when birds to their nests depart,
And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens,
After the day’s toil, weary and weak,
He curls into the cozy comfort of his home.
Through months and years, it gave him succor.
Sheltered him from storm and rain.
Made him differ from the gypsy tribe.
Lent him a footing in this populous world.
He wove around it many a dream.
With frugal care, his needs he met.
Like a squirrel stocking nuts and grains,
In it's secret granary for the rainy days,
He saved all that he had earned,
For a life to be lived later in bliss.
But alas!
His haven lies so derelict!
Its very foundation raced to the ground.
The once beautiful stretch of land,
Robbed of its greenery and grace!
The eviction squad usurped his land,
Hurling him down to the streets!
Making him once again a vagabond…
Bewildered, failing to budge an inch,
Like a boat, midway stranded in sea, he stood.
But his resilient spirits, to him affirmed,
‘Never defeated, though destroyed'
Soon the mud hovel, to a palatial mansion turned.
Where he envisioned himself as king of the land.
His smiling progeny picking fruits from his orchard,
And his cattle chewing cud in the shade of trees.
Why scoff it as the fancy of a fevered mind?
Oh! But to dream is every man's right.
Categories:
dolorous, betrayal, dream, home, moving
Form:
Free verse
The last mile of the way
It is a matter of must
To all and sundry,
Each and every man-jack
Has to walk it.
It is the real moment in deed
For one has to say, “Goodbye”
To those he loves.
One has to put down all his loads
And face the reality of time.
Blessed is the man
Who walks on camino real with the Lord.
Cursed is the peregrinator who peregrinate alone,
Who promenade Lordlessly.
The rich man blundered
To hell he was taken
For his life has been peripatetic and perfidious.
Confessions he tried
But confessions failed.
Remember, longest is the night
That is not followed by the day.
No matter how long the night
The day is sure to come.
With His cross on His shoulders
This mile the Lamb travelled,
Sinless and spotless the teacher was
And God the Almighty on His side He stood.
The impenitent Judas also travelled it
The mile was tough and dolorous
For his sins were accompanying him,
Suicide and sheol were his penultimate end.
Fight panophobia and euphorbia
With rectitude and optimism for heavenly opulence,
With clear conscience and faith in Him
Walk through the narrow door
Before the Master closes.
The writing is on the wall
“God shows no favouritism”
Let us travel this mile
With no wrinkle and spot
For this mile takes us
Into the hands of the Omniscious One.
Where our tears will be removed by Him,
Where there is eternal rest
Where there is no sorrows,
Neither death nor sicknesses.
Categories:
dolorous, religion,
Form:
Free verse