Best Dulls Poems
When dawn's blush of light eclipses the moon
And afternoons find meadows sprinkled with dew
When I view willows smiling instead of weeping
And the keeping of promises is no longer a prize
When artist's eyes see only hues of sepia and gray
And the Milky Way abandons its billions of stars
That is when I will say, "I no longer love you"
And my heart will perish in saddest adieu
***
When my pen is lost, and my ink well runs dry
And the sky fills with clouds of yellow daffodils
When chills from the sun freezes over the seas
And bees create pollen and flowers make honey
When agony and love have been clearly defined
And my mind does not hold you in each thought
That is when my heart will no longer love you
And life will have no meaning in a world askew
***
When songbirds stop singing in harmonic trills
And heathered hills have lost their sweet scent
When fermented grapes become a bitter wine
And the shine in my eyes dulls when I see you
When a view of sunset does not leave me awed
And God turns his face from a repentant sinner
That is when I will say I don't love you any more
And oceans waves of blue will no longer rush ashore
***
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
July 25, 2017 ~ Romantic Contest Write
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
dulls, love, romance,
Form:
Romanticism
The Lord is my salvation and my light,
the stronghold of my life, whom shall I fear?
Protecting when the foe attacks by night;
the prayers of his children he will hear.
O holy Lord, my sin has been a veil,
a waywardness that blinds my eyes to you;
a poisoned cloud I willingly inhale
that dulls the spirit and obstructs the view.
One thing I ask, Lord; this is what I seek:
to gaze upon the beauty of your face.
The dark is often strong and I am weak,
remove this veil that I may see your grace.
Yet now we walk by faith and not by sight
until we see, with brand new eyes, your light.
a meditation on Psalm 27
written 16 Mar 2022
Categories:
dulls, faith, god, light,
Form:
Sonnet
[heptapent sonnet]
The Sun has been off, hiding, where its warmth is far from here,
its lustrous fingers stroking other planes.
And I, abandoned to the winter's ruthless time of year,
exist in hope that somewhere spring remains.
The wind will blunt the spirit like a whittler dulls a knife.
The darkened days will bleed intention dry.
It seems that surely all the world stands, tremulous and rife
with creeping cold, as icy snowflakes fly.
I long for gentle summer days, where bluebirds light and sing
from flowering trees where blossoms flutter down;
to dance with fireflies in sacred starlight, worshiping
the moonbeams, dressing me with lucent crown.
Here I await, with cherished hope that summer's melody
will loose the arms of winter's will that binds the joy in me.
Categories:
dulls, winter,
Form:
Sonnet
Lost in a wistful arbor, where malaise blooms,
Mists flower in hypnotic bleak violet dusks
Shades of brooding melancholy
Bruise my treasured bouquets of dreams
And plod through ponderous mists
In metamorphic doldrums
Cold inertia spirals into lamentations,
Midnights drugged with stupor
Lean heavy on my homeless hermit heart
In withering labyrinths of tangled voices,
Atonal buds of plaintive paeans,
When pensive lethargy pierces dawn.
My rose, in apathy, sees no reason to bloom
As shades of gloom birth shadow seasons
And pale fretting’s unbroken gaze dulls dawn’s hues
Clouds of sighs ravish new shoots
Born in sweet trances of possibility -
Each breath a tedious indecision wrapped in enigma.
Dullness shrouds each new growth in greyness
A slow march into inertia’s bower of cathexis.
Categories:
dulls, garden, sad,
Form:
Free verse
“When the curtain drops, should we not applaud” ~ by poet
age wrinkles the face of youth
and dulls its eyes~
in no time, Death is at my door
a shadow of a shadow...
my ears pretend not to hear
His approach
gasping in ragged breaths ~
His nails
scraping against old bones
Death drinks my tears
Categories:
dulls, age, angst, anxiety, death,
Form:
Grook
Written: September 1st, 2023
Would You Love Me If I Wasn't A Poet? Sponsored by: Silent One
______________________________________________________________
If my words lacked flow, unadorned, and dry,
In the minds of those who mope and roam.
Poetry purls and parades its philharmonic prose.
If my ink dwindled, leaving pages bare.
Should you still sense my soul's splendor?
Where waltzing words entwine and endeavor
Would you still cherish me sans the poet's guise?
A stunning seemliness, a seraphic stake.
Now, we anticipate this mutual toast.
It's a tradition we've upheld, you and me.
for countless years.
However, what if I never compose?
What if my verses abruptly cease?
Will you still inure infatuation for me?
If my words no longer intertwine?
Will my verses strive to heave delight?
Even if they lack their former bright?
You offer unwavering support, truly!
My muse is born from deep happiness.
Delight in my dulcet discord—a deed
Without your input, my words carry no value.
It feels as if you favor my fantastic flexibility.
Poetry is in my blood; that verity is obvious.
Even if terms at times tangle.
I'm afraid you'll amplify apathy one day.
face futile files and fragmented facts
Still, your urging ubiquity dulls my iniquity.
A placid pithead packed with pride and purity.
Despite the ups and downs
You ceaselessly stood by me.
As my skills strive to strike success.
You are my source of strength.
In each verse I write, you praise
My poems find solace in your gaze.
But what if I stop being a poet?
Will you cast a blind eye?
Will my words still be worthwhile?
If I can't glide amid the lyrical birds,
I long for our ties to rise beyond rhyme.
May our love defy the flow of time.
You admire me beyond words.
But your mate is utterly unattainable.
Our steadfast solidarity supersedes art.
Categories:
dulls, analogy, appreciation, love, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
It’s 4:00 A.M.
and my alarm clock rudely awakens me.
As I wash my face, I look in the mirror I ask,
“Why do I do this? I don’t have to,
and there are so many things I’d rather be doing.”
As I am leaving, I kiss my still sleeping wife on the forehead,
and I am reminded of the answer to my question…
I do this to give my family whatever in life they wish.
As dawn breaks,
I make my way across town in heavy traffic.
The news on the radio dulls the monotony of my commute,
“…hot and dry today, the Yankees beat Boston 5 to 4,
unemployment reaches a record high as more families face poverty.”
Hearing the news I am reminded of the things I was taught
when I was growing up; we must always do what we can,
and help the less fortunate; that is part of being a good citizen.
At the office,
my day unfolds and it’s work as usual.
Suddenly my day is interrupted by the ringing of my phone,
“This is Bob. My wife has died unexpectedly,
I need your help, your advice and support.”
Hearing this I recalled the hard times I’ve suffered in my life,
and the friends who were there by my side to give me support.
We must always be there to give strength when needed to those we love.
It’s 10:00 P.M.
As I wash my face and get ready for bed, I give thanks for my many blessings.
June 4, 2018
Categories:
dulls, character, giving, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
How did a cherry kiss? Bitter flower petals with sweet pistils.
So laden they act as halos while we breathe the love
in a pink hollow, silence sounding like taste, acting like epistle
to hold this moment in a silvery image, like moon, or dove
low, low, a bowl formed while sunshine flickers above.
Chains of yellow petals hang over our deck, the leaves hands--
offer welcome resting branch, our sheltered home.
Seeds follow close, fragile like beans, hard case to feed the land
crawl before God, they say, be grateful as we weed and stir loam.
Together seeds and flowers and hands make a life a poem.
Awaiting the sumac, the flame at summer's ending is fruitless
we've passed the feathering, the pimping of red underneath bristle
the deer horn softness crawling out in oddest places in a mess
lining the sand pond, above the purpled iris, the pestle
of stone and sun, no rain to bring down sumac's fiery trestle.
Vulturous crows squawk and fight the ring-billed sea gulls
waiting, one in the bared hollow hands of the cottonwood
the other fat-bellied and waddling after rain finally dulls
we're under hoodies, under shivers, our neighborhood
waits the pinking and mossing, will it unfurl new wood?
Categories:
dulls, age, autumn, home, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Rust sleeps without the churchyard
on the blunt perimeter rails,
on the bloom of iron stabbing up
into the pelt of rain.
Rust sleeps upon the fence posts
where the wire is nailed to wood
and the metal burns an ochre tint
beneath the sodium arc.
Rust sleeps atop the hinges
of the pub door so to screech
a shrill alert to drunken ears
of some returning ghost.
Rust sleeps upon the riverbed,
suicide pushed into the deep,
trolleys severed by the silt,
dead baby prams beside.
Rust sleeps in feasts of coma night
and eats small mouthfuls of the moon,
spits corrosion at the stars
and dulls this razor life.
Categories:
dulls, death, life, philosophy, sad,
Form:
Verse
six a.m.
gray dulls the straight horizon
with morning tumble-burst rain clouds
look, even the sun is breaking!
so am I
tied to my bed in thoughts of the having, the holding,
the breaking
broken glass is nice
it cuts less, grinds down instead of in
in fact, broken glass can't bring you
half the sadness of breaking
it goes deep and down, then it twists around
now, it's done again
it stays there
like thick fog covering sunlight
trying to rise yellow bright
reduced to breaking smoky gray
honey, sitting on a shelf
in a bandage womb of blankets;
paste her together with plaster and glue
in only hours she'll be just like new
all my tomorrows
I was the fool lit to "dusty death"
out brief candle!
alone again,
hoping to break out
instead of breaking inside
*Entry for Mark Toney's Marathon Mile 3 Premium Contest
Categories:
dulls, depression, loss, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
A man examines his portrait in life
The life he leads ennui dulls his desires
A wanton spirit crying through his strife
Pity him not if of this life he tires
His life was short, he careth not its end
He lived it all, he dreams no more or will
No dregs of life to taste no hearts to mend
He longs for sleep no more to drink life’s fill
A battle not fought, a love not lost, why?
No one to share his dreams, his poetry
Until an answer to his unheard cry
Words of love awoke and told a story
Now love gives hope and awaits his firm grasp
True love, a deep love that ever will last.
© 10/1/2014 GG
Categories:
dulls, love,
Form:
Sonnet
When two choose each the other
Having decided this, their fate
A bond, a pledge, a vow replaces
That which, unchosen, cannot wait
Even when it requires a warrior resolute,
Vitality deathless, and sacrifice continuous,
Eternal must the pledge be, or
Risk betrayal's scourge sinuous.
It is at the pit, against the fiery horde
That Absalom dulls the finest sword
This is what it takes to stand at my side
Antagony to injustice is my cause
Knell my soul to abandon, divide
Eidetically my failure would resound, preside
Sorcerous dreams expounding my flaws.
Indebted to peace, yet still facing war
Soliloquy sweet, punished yet more.
When the lashes pernicious slander my spirit
Have you the stamina to fight weaponless, naked?
Ardently ask the goddess Irit
That throughout the nightmare, you survive unwakéd?
Impassioned, immortal, immoderate, rhetorical
Would you, could you, if so, should you?
Illusion or real, my fight is defense
Leave destruction behind
Lose selfish pretense
Give willingly blood to the unjust blow
Impatiently wait the night for the dawn
Vicious dark creatures attack love's glow
Effervescent, they dissolve at the light, and pass on.
Because violence feeds violence, and hate cannot withstand love's rapture.
Categories:
dulls, evil, love hurts, peace,
Form:
Acrostic
There is no thing so peaceful
As a winters night in the woods--
A canopy as black as pitch,
Spangled with the pinpricks of a billion stars--
Shimmering.
The banks of snow and downy flake,
Turned to diamonds by the moonlight
That drapes the sparkling,
Rolling hills with a shawl of powder blue
And midnight lace.
The cold air, brisk and chill,
Transforms my every breath to puffs
of cloud, that trail away like
Wisps of smoke, into nothingness.
So peaceful is this winter wood--and still,
Like foxes napping.
No evidence of man exists--
He is not welcome here.
I myself am an intruder, and gratefully.
There are no prints, or marks,
Save the tracks of a hungry deer.
And the indecisive flurries fall,
As if the stars themselves--
And lightly gather on my brow and lash.
Then comes, and without warning,
A gentle breeze--a timid thing
Who asserts itself--reluctantly,
And shy.
It wanders through the powdered wood,
Lightly stirring snow and pine.
How comforting the rustle--
Just as reverent as a hymn.
And the sweet scent of the Douglas Fur
Consumes the sense and dulls the wit,
Till I am thoughtless there;
Save but one, this is a prayer--
The kind whispered as a child.
Perhaps children would be welcome here,
If they could quiet be;
Although snowballs would be welcome
In this place of sanctity.
But awe the sound, I thoughtless hear
A pinecone falling from a tree--
A sound that I would overlook
Were I elsewhere but this wood.
And that's the magic of the hymn;
The magic of the prayer--
The magic of this powdered wood
To be the more aware.
And thankfully I ponder every flurry--
Every flake, every star
And every diamond--
Every cloudy breath I take.
Now the banks of blue
Are a part of me--
This winter wood, my soul;
And though soon I will be leaving,
I will never really go.
For there is no thing so peaceful
As a winters night in the woods--
And there is no thing so quiet,
As snow!
Categories:
dulls, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
Virgin snow sparkles in the darkest hour
as stardust dances with celestial power.
Silently it rains upon mother earth
giving witness to such an idyllic birth.
A fawn and doe now break the glaze
like tiny spoons upon crème brulees.
Below Polaris they prance and snort,
for they seem to know the time is short.
For such a night is a rare event,
as blue light above is heaven sent.
Wondrous luminescent tranquility
trumps any earthly poet’s ability.
Now the first rays pierce the frigid night
and Orion’s bow soon fades to light.
White carpet dulls now without the luster
of a nocturnal painter, the starlight duster.
James Nichols 12/29/12
Categories:
dulls, beauty, imagination, nature, snow,
Form:
Couplet
Embers
I watch the dull fire glowing red and hot,
my face feels sunburned and my eyes are tight.
I look into the shadows, at the others in this spot,
all my people together, in the dull steady light.
They are a joyful people, they laugh a lot.
I feel her in them, now, clearly on this night.
In the embers I see laughter when I was young,
when I had burnt hot and felt fire in me.
I moved easily and surely, was quick with my tongue,
went out drinking and dancing as if it were free,
there was no life unlived or song unsung.
I was so strong and my thoughts were so bright
In the shadows of the coals a loved face appears,
so serene. The moment we met, we began to talk,
talked so many things over our wine and beers.
Then we married and often she and I would walk
I loved what she loved and there were few fears.
The heat dulls my sight and makes my eyes water.
In the fire, I see my mother die in the car crash,
me, at fourteen, so long ago, but still in the pain.
How the embers of life roll on and leave ash.
This year they lost their mother, all seems in vain.
Only she cared if I stayed up late or had been brash.
The loss is a hollowness inside and my chest is tight.
A grandchild heaves a log onto the camp fire.
Sparks burst up, like brilliant memories in the night
He brings more wood to build the fire higher
but covers the embers, ends the memories with the light.
A mothers voice sounds, “No more!”she is a sigher,
just like her mother. She looks at me and grins outright.
I realize that the fire will, in time, make good new embers.
Categories:
dulls, bereavement, feelings, marriage,
Form:
Rhyme