Best Dreadfully Poems
From the mouth of the ocean and the eye of the wave
You erupt in my being and leap from my grave;
A lover so gloomy, yet dreadfully bright
You're clothed with darkness but crowned with light.
You come in the spark, you soar with the fire
The mist is your pillow, the tornado your choir;
I will kiss you to sleep on the wild ocean crest
A sleeping volcano, an earthquake at rest.
When you feel the earth move under your feet
The sun will bathe you with her sultry heat;
Let not the stars dim the light in your eyes
Let not my passion find you unwise,
For all that you are is to be all that you can
For you are the dream, you are my man.
Two thousand years, a tragedy is past
Yet it's history still leaves us aghast.
On a night, dreadfully dark
A volcano erupted, leaving it's historical mark
Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD
The first recorded in all of history
The entire city of Pompeii
Defiled and buried that fateful day
On written account of a man named Pliny
can we view this volcano's ignominy
A city in which artist and poets did reside
Everything was not lost, the day all died
In centuries after, excavation has commenced
The city of Pompeii, antiquities recovered since
The House of the Tragic Poet, one of many unearthed
I will tell you about, from it's peristyle to hearth
Elaborate mosaic floors, frescoes on the wall
An inscription in Latin, from a dog guarding the hall.
The atrium filled with with Mythic Greek nudes
From the peristyle Achilles to be sacrificed exudes
Art along the east wall are of Achilles and Briseis
and the tragedy of Helen and Paris, all cherished
About the entire house, a living poem depicted
Along with words, owner, an artist addicted.
Two thousand years ago, this home was owned
Loved and nourished by a Popeiian unknown.
The House of the Tragic Poet
If you saw, you would know it.
A. Green
As yellow leaves wither in the autumn breeze,
only apathetic thoughts remain
in this nonchalant existence of
my diseased body and over the hill mind!
It reminds me a time of agility,
A time of struggle and celebrations,
An age when dreams of a better future bloomed,
And leaping up those stairs to pluck the petals of success.
The illusion of youth, believing I would remain the same forever,
My beauty, once admired by the mirror,
My body, that lied about its boundless strength,
And the willpower that upheld my beliefs!
Now, my poor mind, dreadfully distressed,
on the fritz of my worn body parts.
Here I am, at the dusk of my life,
panting and staring at the steep stairs
called ‘rest of my time’!
I wonder, are there any tears left
to cry over the memories of my vigorous days?
Or, has time swallowed even the sorrow, leaving only silence?
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
How dim the stars when sullen and fading
as songbirds warble, their trills pervading.
When the world still sleeps at dawn's blush,
there's a lyrical melody in the call of a thrush.
I listen with my heart, and most attentive ear
to the harmony of doves. Cooing voices, I hear.
But in such moments, life seems dreadfully dark.
I long for a consoling chorus from a meadowlark.
With wistful memories I am oft' denied sleep.
In loneliness, I sit at my open window and weep,
recalling how we danced in the glow of moonlight.
Now, I mourn for dreams that will never take flight.
My time of love was quilted in layers of years,
and yesterday's memories flow with my tears.
Morning spills: my heart is tempered by sunlight
and though I tossed and turned through the night,
in a restless dream I heard him say, "Do not cry."
In my reverie, it was as if we never said goodbye.
~ ~ ~
June 15, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 2 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Originally written on 3/25/21
Fragments of Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Excerpts from: In Morning's Sweet Silence 1/22/21
How Dim the Stars 1/9/21 Fragile is Life 11/3/20
A Shadow in Moonlight 10/17/20
As if We Never Said Goodbye 6/27/20
Nature,
thou art so great.
The sun still shines so bright.
All alone I walk with the wind.
Trees line up on my way in robes of green.
From branches, birds trill joyous songs.
Breeze giggles among leaves.
I love you dear,
Nature.
The light,
will soon fade out.
Upon reaching back home,
the day would have bade its goodbye.
Alone I have to brood in deep silence.
It's depressing to be alone.
Most houses are lighted.
Sadly look on,
the light
I crave-
Crave for a time,
when a caring hand would,
hold me snug in love, on homebound,
cuddling me tight to warm my lonely bed.
The night is so dreadfully chill.
Birds are huddled in nests.
For company,
I crave.
July. 25. 2022
Submitted for Brian Strand Choice Poetry Contest
As winter brings shortened light,
as famine delivers harvest blight
So does violence yield premature burial gain,
scarlet tears of Noah’s premonition rain
Crimson tidal force,
deluge of cursed, wolf bane rage
Crescent moon dreadfully presage
a permanent lunar retrograde
On the dark side of the bosom,
sunspot thoughts flow terminally so, err bottomless
Feral feelings blindly comes from
malevolent eruptions,
igneous fears reflect opaque tears of hardened glass
Eclipse hearts
cast an angry downpour —
What does the ill-temper tempest send?
Underbelly hourglass
receives not
another vex overturn at trickling’s end
Rejoice, rejoice
ye peaceful pilgrims
of quantum hope certainty
The celestial sands of tranquility
will soon pour infinitely
As the last Revolution spins
identical change,
the mammon thirst for power
remains the same
Punctuated by perforated voices,
whose hateful noise
stains the grain
1-30-21
As I work hard in the hot cotton fields all day
I dreadfully think about the long night to come
Since you lost your wife you tell me you're lonely
and sneak me out from my shack to your huge mansion
Into your bed, where you use me and pretend to love me
I must pretend to like being with you, to stay safe and alive
My family has no idea I am with you almost every night
The lottery day is coming soon and I am fearful of being sold
My babies are here at this plantation, alive and thriving
I hope to be able escape soon before they are put to work
Their Father was recently beaten to death for misbehaving
He was fighting for us to try to escape to the north to be freed
Lincoln is doing what he can to make changes, I have hope
In the meantime, I continue to plan ways to escape or kill you
I continue to endure the long work days and poor living conditions
And at night I will continue to be with you as your slave to love
As I will continue to fight for my family and for our freedom
7/3/19
August 30 2018 12:10 a.m. through 2 a.m. the last time I said good-bye.
I woke up not expecting to lose the love of my life, my soulmate. No one should have to go through death of a mate. After, fifteen excruciating hours of watching him go through cardiac arrest six different times, I finally had to let him go.
I bent over kissed his lips and sat beside him. I looked at his handsome face reminiscing on the moments I met him while I held his hand and how my body burned till this moment.
I held my rosary in my hand and as my fingers moved and touched each bead, I recited my prayers and its mysteries. There was a faint smile on his face as I prayed.
When I was done, I told the nurse I was ready to help her. She gathered everything we needed to prepare cleaning his body, then proceeded in removing life support tubes.
It gave me peace to be able to spend that quiet time alone with him, I felt his happiness.
He sat beside me all the way home telling me to drive careful.
It's been two years and I still feel his presence. My life is empty and dreadfully painful without him. Those moments I spent with him was not enough, a lifetime I would never forget.
8/1/2020
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
As evenings dark began to close in
a little girl wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Listless and hungry she walks in the snow
a poor and lost soul, one cold New Year’s Eve.
Her dead mothers slippers were much to large,
they were flip flopping while crossing the street,
two wild carriages coming full speed
made her lose them, now she walks in bare feet.
She glances in windows as she walks by,
families eating and making good cheer,
her pains from hunger she tries to ignore,
she’s starving and freezing, poor little dear.
The north winds cold breeze keeps blowing her face
catches her breath as it blows back her hair.
She spots a dark alley where she can lay,
Tired and windblown she can no longer care.
She curls in a ball tucking frozen feet
carefully under her old blanket cloak,
she leans on the building, closing her eyes
now given up and her spirits are broke.
A shaggy old dog, nudges her gently
she hugs him and draws him close to her heart,
smiling she whispers, we’ll go together
when Jesus finds us, we’ll never more part
Then both of their eyes close, she bathes in dreams,
sitting at a fire, with food on the hearth.
When she awakes, a lady stands smiling,
pats the old dog saying, good boy old Barth.
The Little Match Girl by H.C. Anderson
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
12.03.2014
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
A wounded heart
An offense of conscience
Inner struggles
Inspirations?
Or in desperation do I dip this pen
Deep within the ink wells
So dreadfully crimson
My declarations
Upon this soaked paper bled
The verses LOUDER and BOLDER do shout!
My injuries from a cruel world
That must be heard!
Every rhyme and every reason
Catapulting out, through my stinging words
My soul melts into ink of quill
Becoming one
A channeling vessel
As the broken heart
Spills and spills
This is my message of life
Of how I lived!
The tragedy and torture…
Continues written and left unabridged
At the end...an ironic twist
For now, my heart resides in others
And agony lives on
From where before, it could never have existed!
A buxom young lady named Mary
whose nipples were dreadfully hairy
Tried waxing and plucking
When no one was looking
But re-growth was terribly scary
Written especially for Roy Jerden’s
Bawdy Bawdy Bawdy Misss Clawdy Contest
5th May 2014
Anger is a form of fear
Violence is what I always hear
It is unpredictable and uncontrollable
It makes peace unstable
Everyone has it, it is like an addiction
It gives birth to chaos and destruction
I see it causing a lot of grief and pain
With all this hate and anger what do you think we can truly gain
Every day control is dreadfully slipping away
But with all these nasty dispositions and attitudes anger is here to stay
If you’re reading this please take a moment and pray
This world’s anger needs management
I truly know why Jesus was sent
The Generation Gap
Dad: Have some food now-I love this scone-
I’ve been meaning to ask you-how’s your phone?
Mine’s great for dealing with business work
And all those stuff that you just can’t shirk.
Son: Wait a sec-I’ll just take a shot
Of my scone and soup, all piping hot
And upload it by phone to Facebook now.
What were you saying? I liked what? How?
Dad: I was asking you how you liked my gift
And if it was enough when I worked an extra shift.
Plus, your food is for eating, son, you see,
Not targets for you in a photo-taking spree.
Son: All my online friends do this, dear dad.
It’s just one of us teenagers’ fads.
You don’t have time for me as it is;
At the very least, let me do this.
Dad: What is it you’re buying online, my son,
That may cost two thousand? My, what a sum!
Is what I’m seeing right? Are those just clothes?
What you’ll buy with my money next, God knows!
Son: You won’t understand, dad, that clothes are the fashion
And delving for the hottest ones is every teen’s passion.
How am I otherwise gonna use up my cash?
It’s either getting the latest stuff, or looking like trash.
Dad: Every dollar is a dollar worth-
In my days, to own one was of greatest mirth.
You should learn to save instead of spend-
I don’t care if it’s the latest trend.
Son: I told you you wouldn’t understand;
I have to do this to stay with my friends.
And please would you turn the Bee Gees down?
They aren’t exactly hottest in town.
Dad: The times have changed since I was young
And strange thoughts and actions have sprung
The children have overpoweringly shocking ways-
I have nothing more to say.
Son: The past was so dreadfully boring
That to think of it gets me to snoring.
The world must have been of black, white and gray-
I have nothing more to say.
After seeing Jurassic Park
A scant few minutes after dark
I dropped my burger and froze in fright.
There, lurking and almost hidden
Formidable and forbidden,
Stood a hideous sight!
A historic creature, oh, so scary,
With armored shell and feet so hairy,
Held me in a hypnotic stare!
Its body heavily plated,
Bony and variegated,
Appeared forebodingly there
I grew dreadfully nervous
Of this dinosaur, impervious
To my imminent cardiac!
But later, safely on my pillow,
I knew it was only an armadillo
Having a Mac attack!