Best Foreboding Poems
Shadows of midnight
In the dark valley of black.
Grim garden growing.
her eyes are gray, foreboding
reflecting the wrath of Zeus
yet therein lies the charm of Hera
who silences Olympian thunderbolts
she is sharing a tenebrous introspect
the smile withdrawn, judgmental thought
an ego that must be fed, expense of others
aloofness brings happiness no more
i am lost in the beauty of an honest waltz
women addressing their problems
instead of undressing in front of them
we all suffer in being human
but with an honest waltz such as yours
we begin the inward path
realize the injustice we do others
its ultimate expense, our self
we are wisely told never to judge
yet every day we do
and to some extents we must
who shall i call friend
do i devitrify, or dignify humanity
sometimes i wonder why get honest
people love to be honest about faults
most of the time it is yours
truth can be an elusive beast
sheltered within, Medusa's avoiding mirrors
refusing to acknowledge the peccants within
the ones we tend to ignore
dismiss as peccadilloes
i was not fond of reflection myself
those mornings after, mirror of dipsomania
the abusive beast, a life of full moons
it was worth every battle back
sitting here sober, listening to you
Phoenix 94
Introduction
From the city on the river
Where the Sage of Monticello
And the Great Emancipator
Birthed the country, saved the nation,
Sounds a call for civil discord
In the service of ambition
From a man whose God is power,
And his name is Demagogia.
Gathering Storm
To the banner flock his minions:
Come the vengeful, the nostalgists,
Come the dreamers and the zealots,
Come the heedless disaffected;
All these factions so enchanted
By the whimsies of the Leader
Who vows naught but boundless warrant,
All objections notwithstanding.
Marching Orders
Demagogia tells his vassals
That the ones arrayed against him
Are ignoble, quite unworthy,
And must not be given quarter
When the battle is enjoined.
‘’Lay aside all thoughts of honor:
Smear their people, smear their children,
Plough and salt their reputations.’’
Engagement
In the cities, in the hamlets,
Over air waves, on the WorldWide,
Campaigns combat, hot and savage,
Demagogia as the dark horse;
So much riding on the outcome,
Which determines if his vision
Is a dream cut short by waking.
Or a nightmare neverending.
Forewarning
When it’s settled, morning after,
Demagogia stands triumphant,
Savoring the prize he's conjured,
Casts a baleful eye about him,
Smiles grimly, mutters darkly:
‘’Now be fearful, non-believers;
Like the Phoenix, rising, rising
From the flame pit, from the ashes . . .’’
2/21/2016
(Poem Written in Anger Contest)
Explanatory note:
“Song of Demagogia” is a mimic poem of Longfellow’s celebrated “Song of Hiawatha.” Definitions are fluid, but it is not, strictly speaking, a parody.
Neither is it a thinly disguised attack on any politician in office or running for office. Rather, it was conceived in anger at the devolution of our political culture in recent years and what that may portend for this country down the road.
Once upon a Monday manic morning I awoke in panic,
Panic with foreboding wrapped, into a world of troubles trapped,
I felt distinctly I’d been slapped, and from my bed of warmth been torn,
My eyes went wide, I cried and cried, that manic morn when I was born.
Submitted February 25, 2020 for the "Poe-etic Verse" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina.
Dirty thirties leaving the farm behind Looking back as the phantom of hunger Fear Gorta looms in the clouds Scraping the dusty bowl across the land Suffocating anything that didn’t die of thirst Fear Gorta looms in the clouds Blasting away all flesh from the bone To be bleached by the sun for greed has come Fear Gorta looms in the clouds Famine takes and takes even the dead are not safe Starving tumbleweeds run from the windy death Fear Gorta looms in the clouds A blackened blizzard perpetually hungry Eating everything in its path Fear Gorta looms in the clouds As death blooms in its garden Just ribs of ghostly towns lie in the wake Emaciated we run before the storm
why does the wind whisper
foreboding?
and the sky bid gloom upon me
though the sea has no love either
she holds back the ill tide of noon
warns me to seek high ground soon
though the earth tells me neither
of the flower embraced bee
still I wonder as I am plodding
why does the wind whisper foreboding?
Melancholy searches of our patches
impending death imminenting danger
ecstatic of tomorrow we sold desolated
Our heart beat no more bathos of hope
the family bell summond us no more
our spirits haunting and hunting of a land
which no indigene of optimism stay...
The strange cry, the empty look-
The stream-of-no-consciousness are we!
Transience of another being of thought.
Vanity is in the air, tranquility seen by,
issues of the hearts, tales of bubbles.
Glamorous buddies of yesterday,
our dreams were horrible, mother touched.
Why is Dad suddenly so pale and sickly?
Why do we speak differently with our spirit?
We looked into ourselves without even a smile.
We are silent, foreboding silence of the
lyrics of elegy and ode.
Our silence spoke Millions from our eyes,
for fear ruled the night we looked into ourselves.
Sarcasm of our satirical corded persons,
rolled it last for the silent.
Death smelled here and there,
pity was in the eyes of the night!
Death! Death!! Death!!! Lurking.
Chiyelu is not here and we were not told!
She ought to lead the morning prayers -
Why is Papa crying and pointing in the air?
Why is mother panicking and panting?
Where is Chiyelu my golden sister?
Where is she, has she joined the stars?
Is our discoveries a fairy tale?
After the wildest beauty of this world,
dust comes in mind in tales boys tell.
By her dead smile I knew all was not well.
Mother! Where is Chiyelu?
Father! I am going to join her there to
thicken this foreboding silence.
©John Chizoba Vincent
Cam'god.
There is a rumbling and a rustling
Tummults are swelling
There is a stench of it coming from the ground
Beneath it is smoldering and bubbling and gurgling.
There is a change coming
Not sure what it entails
I hear many things from many peoples
No one is certain, yet certain it is not good.
Earthquakes, Storms, Atrocities, profanities
Innocent loss, insecurities increase,
Looking for hope, watching for magic
Believing in what seems to be good
Deluded by what we hear thinking the answer is near
Sinking deeper, falling short,
Clouds are coming nearer,
Denseness penetrates our hearts
Listen to the sound of it, read between the lines of it.
Prepare, be aware, keeping a close eye
.
Tightened muscles tweak foreboding trills marking his silence
while aches of shrill shadows pit my paled bravado against loud fears -
my love etched heart would bear any truth hit to free us both.
April 30, 2018
Ominous Foreboding Augurs...
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Death burns
holes in my mortal heart—
I am not opposed to it
yet I detest how it looms over
everything and everyone
I love.
How I cringe
thinking about how
in this lifetime I will
face more absences,
more voids, more tears.
It is the
foreboding of
a storm—the clouds
form gradually, making
you so very alive and
so very aware—
yet you do not feel
the true impact of
the blow until
it rains.
6.14.22
The worldwide burning,
One minute to 12:00 o'clock
Nuclear churning.
They walk towards me
and away
from left to right,
right to left,
creating foreboding, in silence.
It happens every time
like images of rhyme,
visible silent words -
right to left, left to right
at night towards me and away -
creating that foreboding.
I know they'll be here,
in this shortcut,
the way I take to my cottage.
So strange what fear will do,
such foreboding.
Images master the mind.
(Jul 2022)
The dark may provide some comfort
Tragically it can feel safe and well known
Because beneath the gloomy clouds of ignorance and fear
We’re convinced, there’s really no need to truly know
Certitudes majestically flourish
Illusions manifest and begin to take hold
The seeking conformation of our cherished beliefs
Exposes the credulity of our souls
We continue to worship false idols
All the while, vociferously proclaiming truth
In this delusional world of arrogance and biases
Opinions are valid without proof
When our fictitious world is more significant
Than the truth that’s factual and real
Our journey in life becomes sadly contingent
On the way our feelings make us feel
I hope the dark can provides us comfort
Perhaps it allows us to sleep well deep into the night
But as we draw near to the end of our journey
I hope our emotional desires don’t fade to fright
Scintilla experienced an eerie foreboding
the house at 125 Klondike Street felt unsafe
she sensed that it had brought doom to occupants
she was shaking her head no when her husband said “we’ll take it.”
She took him aside and explained her feelings, but he would not budge.
Something about it called to him as fiercely as she was repulsed by it.
Within five years they had experienced a fire, a flood, and a divorce.
Scintilla gave her husband the house and the equity.
All she wanted was to survive, to get out with her life.
Her odd immediate premonition came to fruition.
Her husband passed away from Covid-19 two months later.
Their children paid attention to her forebodings after this.