Best Forlorn Poems
Sitting on the cusp of dusk and evening
Placidly he ruminates where life has been
When she still believed in vibrant springs
And exulted dawning of purple mornings
Echoing exuberance of seasons’ calling
Fragile, yet colorful, as autumnal leaves
Delicate, aesthetic, as snowflakes falling--
Until she chose to surrender her dreams.
Oh! how fervently she cherished streams
Zigzagging ebulliently on their property
Digging lanes through prairies dark green,
Giggling, rushing, curving, on life-journey,
Pointing zealously, how to redirect destiny
Hosting daydreams of daffodils, milkweeds,
And tranquil bliss edifying lotus sanctuary.
Pity, neither did he feel her zestful appeal,
Nor could he allay those spaces left empty--
Between life as it is, and life that could be--
Saddled by incongruence defying harmony.
Lonesome he wailed tracing her footprints:
Cheered birds singing, doted stars twinkling,
Breathed-in her air scented with jasmines,
Buzzed in moth-passions of nocturnal winds,
Gazed deep woods where moon was rising,
And found her there, but not her meaning.
Yet, she came by, reminiscing through time,
Staying long enough, scanning the night skies--
But much as she tried, the Venus didn’t smile,
Alas! when she left, that was final goodbye.
April 28, 2021
Poem of the day on April 29, 2021
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Forlorn Hope
Death and Forlorn Time in the Shadows of True Evil
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
The Face of Hope
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages
Towering above spiraling pits in the dark midnight of essence
Breaks disingenuous chains of nightmare’s clutches
In bleak mansions of the dark moon to warm their hearths
Refusing to prostitute possibility
With poignancy that probes lost footsteps trying to hold onto
Perfect moments of saline life support
Steps in to shine with opportunities’ bright smile
Refuses to accept the suicide of love
On rocks of the torn heart’s tragedy
Or see unscalable opaque obstacles
Or wear the mask of homeless helplessness
Discarding pity’s piercing banshee sneer
Fate’s cynical demand to fulfill obtuse fate
The face of hope refuses to wear desolate –
Or a God forsaken destiny -
Bereft of moonlight squeezing between
Abandoned footprints of dreams
Smothered by smog
A single shaft of illumination – a cloak protecting fragile insight
Never bewitched by night’s dead space,
Wearing victory’s luminosity of enduring promise,
Vanquishing a taunting laughter of ridicule
To break down anxiety’s imagined walls
Surrounding the paradise of foolishness
With dawning reveries of one bright star.
Abiding in eternal covenant
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages.
5-6-21
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Tread cobbled path of wandering heart;
She speaks in moonlight spirit,
Thine treasure chest come undune,
'Till I lose mine feathers,
Frozen by her sole divinity;
She, found to mine lost,
Twixt these street exile redefined by her golden glory,
pounding on my chamber door;
I must forego the counsel of my twisted devils,
Rise from lay 'pon this brow beaten soul;
Swell into her wonder... lift love anew!
Heaven restore mine black gloom;
Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Spilleth' over, soothing matrimony.
~JSLambert
© PoeTTreeZ Publishing
i stand here
this dismal day
beneath the hues
of ashen skies
looking at these trees
still as bare as i
in emotions
i wonder
if their roots
are as twisted
as mine
beneath
their earthen grave
do they thirst
for hope
forlorn
on the wings
of time
do they feel
the cold of winter
as it strips them
bare
do they hear
the rustle
of their old leaves
beneath my feet
as i walk along
emotionless
shadowless
alone
like words lost
on tips of tongues
their buds
are forming
slowly gathering
bursting outward
their limbs
reaching
into misty air
like my hands
stumbling
for another
to hold
once again
finding
only emptiness
through the distance
of past
am i to stand
less tall
ready to fall
naked of hope
like love fell
forlorn
on the wings
of time
am i
a non-existent
shadow of past
hollow
of emotion
afraid to stand
alone
i stand here
this dismal day
beneath the hues
of ashen skies
looking at the trees
as the woodpecker
breaks the silence
as if drilling me
looking for hope
something
i myself
cannot find
April 15 2021
This or That, Vol 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Why can’t you hear my forlorn cry?
Its restless desire calls out each night
Waiting for you to answer it
But you ignore my forlorn cry
Only thinking of your own self
Why won’t you answer my helpless call?
Its feeble sound grows softer each day
Hoping you will come to its aid
But you ignore my helpless call
Not thinking of the pain that burns in me
Each time you ignore my forlorn cry
You fuel the burning pain
I have suffered all my life
Your life is a journey
Which will never wax or wane
A beacon of bottled moonlight
Anchored waves of radiant rain
There is no demise
Or salvation of plundered plight
Cast into a sea of superstition
In the depths of torrential night
Your life transcends flesh
That sinking vessel which we mourn
It resides in a shipwrecked message
Found on the shores of faith’s forlorn
The whole world is not enough,
For my overflowing sorrow to engulf.
The firm mountains could not shake,
By the mere quiver of an earthquake.
When my love could in half cleave.
Oh! My plight is too heavy to handle or believe.
My heart burns like an inferno gyre
Consuming itself in endless fire
She says, “your love spills over the brim.”
She’s mistaken ? she thinks, “It’s a whim!”.
I could open my ribcage
And let my heart utter the adage:
“Love is too good to be true,
When it fades away like a drop of dew.”
He just signed a grand contract
in curves of ink I worship now,
memories of writing on frayed pages
fade with twirling winds of time.
Dark ages of catastrophic wars
lit by my poured hope in desk lamp.
His grandmother healed prisoners in pain
with their agony preserved in diaries,
legends, hope, lost days of love,
they narrated, she wrote, I absorbed.
Ah! What freedom I'd experienced
being a scribe's magic wand of faith,
a light to the tattered world in rags
shone across grey skies to guide
derelict souls with valor on journeys,
I'd been a mighty sword in disguise.
Gifted to him in a transformed world,
beneath crumbling desires I weep,
I crave to pen emotions not business,
my brave stories in graves asleep.
June 25, 2020
The Old Scribe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: craig cornish
~Winner: 4th Place
When someone feels alone, forlorn
Like the world has left them to mourn
The charming joys, the wonders born
Rousing a gentle fate
Inspired by gifts from hearts so pure
Lovely dreams, feelings who endure
The broken, worries so demure
Gentle that cannot wait
Struggles to go that extra mile
For the beauty of a sweet smile
Comforting spirits all the while
With kindness to elate
Haiku Straying Husband
forlorn ice slit bedroom
frail flower between your legs...
ardor expires
Tanka Stay At Home Wife
hours ravage ardor
supple sin envelopes grey
thick belly obscures
erotic athletes wrestle
loyalty in lieu of love
Somber harmony,
Melancholic symphony:
Winter sonata.
To suffer from the heart’s demise, forlorn.
the truth sheds light on layers of lies, forlorn.
I listen each day for the sparrow’s song,
yet winter brings the raven’s cries, forlorn.
Lord nigh, I seek hope only you can bring.
Distant smiles disclose my own disguise, forlorn.
My angel descends unto the early hours.
Upon her silken gowns, I close my eyes, forlorn.
When oh when will I trust to love again?
To think I became all I despise, forlorn.
As dawn it roosts, to the early lids of my opened eyes,
Never ever has been a happy feeling pleasant comprise.
Quinquennium back I can clearly remember,
The morning’s plea scalds my thoughts like burning ember.
My blanket festooned body, on the bed it stirs & moves,
The immensity of my drumming head, ever hopes it improves.
Rise as I to the early morn’s sunshine,
Try to smile and reminiscent, it’s surely futile to whine.
And so I sooth my dreary mind,
Impel the mind to elude dismal thoughts & unwind.
Alas! I’m timorous, those dull & dismal thoughts befall,
My mind ,now I know I need to overhaul.
To edify my mind I have to seek,
Muse must I, think ponder reflect every day of the week.
Tall happy positive thoughts I must now contemplate,
For these are those that will bring me peace and joy once they ruminate.
When I close my eyes to tardy nites,
Am gonna be happy at morn the thought itself excites.
A long dark shadow of doubt it always looms,
It’s foggy dawn and my dull thoughts they resume.
From dawn to dusk I carry on a low,
Pessimistic spirits, they make me slow.
Explicit thoughts are sought desired,
A sound body and mind are always admired.
Forlorn, behold it in my mind’s eyes,
Set tone the work ambience my passions cries,
Throttled are my dreams, dismayed are my desire,
And Brutus knife it’s uncouth edge stabs the back in holy attire.
In a Quinquennium span, and time it ran,
But my spirit at first light is like a weary man,
Now I cognize to him his destiny a bloom,
And to me my destiny untwined from his , so not to doom.
Must alter my retort to suit me fine,
And joyous days will transcend me to cloud nine.
Aghast I am for I have lost,
The crusade within me and am weary exhaust.
Forlorn I am to the day’s time,
Often mull are they my thoughts, that are all slime.
Forlorn I am to the nite’s time,
I know it’s time to clean up my heart’s grime.
Forlorn it will be till I inversely think,
From insanity, I’m now on its brink.
Forlorn ,I want to say good bye,
For many eons before I die.
*Image of Tennyson Cross, Isle of Wight provided by Pixabay.
Forlorn Hope
Poetic Form: Sonnet
Divined amassed, thinly advance their scope
bloodlines warrant one soul's intended quest
persuades enhanced history, constants hope
pastoral guides sculptors essence is blessed
Readiness spurs insights, smoothing passion
unforeseen tests that fool-hearted, not them
their unbidden stare on death's face, cash in
pushed e'er determined, tensing a rose stem
Unchecked horses, intrepid horsemen burst
barrage relents as foe feared those affirmed
lurked rears castle shadows most accursed
chance lights an afront darken all confirmed
Bold few opinions charged submits warlords
fruition won swords gained Heaven rewards
2021 May 08
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (May 18): Judged 2021 May 18
~~Brian Strand
*2nd Place*
This or That, Vol 2
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2021 May 13
*HMS checked 10 syllables x 14 lines.