Best Dull Poems
Sometimes, I wake up from Sweet Death’s dull sleep,
And find, I’ve not been living as I could,
My friends tell me they tire of seeing me weep…
I feel like I’m a boy, not flesh, but wood…
My nose is growing long, they seem to think,
Although I speak, and mean just what I say,
Some tell me that my promises all stink,
Like broccoli that’s been left out all day.
Well, I’M NOT LIKE THAT! And I don’t agree!
“What seems a lie’s a Promise,” bright Ray* said,
“a need, ramshackle, waiting to be born…”
I think he’s right, and even though he’s dead
I’ll take his words, go charging up the stairs,
And make amends, and show, I’m one who Cares!
*’What seems a lie, is a promise, a ramshackle need, waiting to be born…” – Ray Bradbury
Dull As A Disease
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
Behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in apt flair
You look real as life, my amore mia.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
When I initiate to scribe sonnet,
I see you duly embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, lips as dry as a leaf
Your green blue deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither the death kills me, nor does the life,
Your very silence eats my soul and body.
Dull as a disease, I die of a thought,
Do not you fancy the same as I ought?.
============================
Date 21-10-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third place win
Contest: I Recall by Frank H.
some bright sequins of fun shined amidst dull threads of routines... art time none
We went in a cab to see cold slab,
That did appear to be dull and drab;
Letters were distinct when viewed;
So much sadness there we ensued.
Tombstones arranged row after row;
All around green grass grew and grew;
In background were abundant trees;
In faces we would feel a cool breeze.
On a long beach many boats landed;
By an officer had been commanded;
Such a horrible place surely had been;
They died never to ever be seen again.
In graveyard each dead body will abide,
Remember all of those who there died;
Bugle issued forth such a lonely sound;
For all those who no longer are around.
In review soldiers would soon pass by,
Proudly, but still were wondering why
They did gallantly die with things grim;
Forever will never forget any of them.
Am open to all criticism and recommendations.
Did Pray on Dull and Dreary Day
Horn Hiaku
to God we would pray
on a dull and dreary day
gorgeous sky now gray
our prayers to God said
after that had gone to bed
fires we do dread
about worried much
police tightly clutch and touch
now walks with a crutch
with God we will stand
after He gave us His hand
Him we understand
is consequential
while having the potential
of being essential
Political activities taking place.
Jim Horn
Another dull Monday: I am still in Sunday mood.
I yawn as long as I have sluggish settings.
It will never be quick enough unless I go faster.
Who knows? Perhaps that is for the best.
Case I experiment with dizziness.
In particular, it accepts the truth.
From yet another hectic Monday.
Written: November 07, 2022
Gloom
pervades
this bleak life
Sadness prevails
Dull
Light
shining
in darkness
Hope kindles smile
Bright
03/04/19
Love lived in the hearts of Him and Her,
But distance shrouded fear over Her
And to punish Her reluctance
He gave another girl a chance
And she brought triplets nine months later.
(c) Nyonglema
The summer sun has lost
its gloss and warmth
And falling leaves are forming
baron tree's
Whilst snow crystals blanket
them in white
And the laundry on the washing
line now takes oh so long to dry
And i haven't taken an
antihistamine in quite a while
Or sat outside on my garden lounger
or opended up the umbrella
And the watering can is just
quietly sat in contemplation
gathering rust and moss
Nature is in the throes of re-gifting
Yet still takes a moment to leave
a parting gift behind of a
christmas tree for us all to
gather around and decorate
The moon tried to shine like the sun
He rose to provide our evening light
Always wanting to be full and bright
The stars would join him every night
He affected how the ocean tide flows
Met astronauts, saw spacecraft shows
Changing expression with each sunset
He often noticed the colors of Earth
Wondering if his dull glow had worth
Fling open these gates of purgatory
In the sharp corner of a deserted hell to see
Behold, the office of the dull-eyed in an overloaded ark
Nearly concealed by a screen of dusty cobwebs
This soul perching on the cliff ledge
In mournful tears at merriment of grief
Never in danger of falling from sheer exhaustion
A pitiful victim of siren wailing unshaded tears
Mingled with compassionate grief of victims
A lullaby of tribute the still one can't bluff
As floods of mockery roll down scaled cheeks
Clogging down eyelids like an oasis of shame
Refusing partnership in the merchandise of wickedness
But foreseeing an approaching explosion of fake tears
Patriotic beasts in custody genuinely opens up
Lending out in all directions unequaled cries
Which rather heightened the unmarried thoughts
Of aging sapiens in their profession of pretense
And poisoned their delight in the un-haste of the kill
As their visual aids dilate nowhere to everywhere
Dart of a towel rolled hot mucus on quivering lips
With the skill a cat licks her young kittens
Alienating their minds to tracing smokes
From huts the aura of stewed beast emanate
Even though laid mute whom could have jolt
The corners of our mouths into a funny jolly grin
At night, these crickets sang melodies of mockery
During day, all manner of creeping, crawling things
Rustled forth into the hot baking sun
Aha! this grief that grips loose when huts breath smokes.
dull fog encircles
rushing in beautiful mist…
blinded by the light
Russell Sivey
Blankets by the dark
As if mind tangled by shadow
The unusual day for an unusual poet
Stuck in hibernating her inspirations hatching
Painting through the empty space
Word floats, puzzles, scrambles
This time crepuscle made her day
But not as easy as it looks
Lack of intensity
Her mind turned in dull
She longs for the warm of verses
But the stupidity may seize all her freedom to write
Becoming a dull poet is not an option
But sometimes a blurry mind may lead some stories
Even for the dull itself
Even for the stupidity of the poet herself
When the day is dull with no sunshine
It becomes a very dull day
In the morning it begins
In the afternoon spreads
Until the sky changes
Then the sun shines
For short time
Then hides
Sun