Best Gloom And Doom Poems
Blessings are real
Blessings are true
Blessings are sent from God to you
Early in the mornings
In late afternoons
Blessings despite the gloom and doom
Blessings are free
Blessings will be
Blessings are the fruits of your energy
What you put in
Will multiply out
Blessings are the good works I’m talking ‘bout
Blessings to you
Blessings from me
Blessings covering our families
Blessings smile
And Blessings converse
Blessings aligning our hearts and souls
Blessings survive
Blessings renewed
Blessings are everything you say and do
Blessing will rain
Blessings will fall
Blessings are shown upon a brick wall
In his blessings, we can trust
In the loving arms of Jesus
Countless blessings are coming our way
In the name of Jesus today
Love Was Sent, Treasure That Healed Two Crushed Hearts,
A Collaboration with Susan Ashley
Life shattered, soul crushed, another one has perished
once gone from this world was all she ever cherished
No amazing and joyful tales to tell the kids
just naked silence, from raging of black rapids
From heavens above, truest of gifts handed down
romance sent, from He that wears faith's eternal crown.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Love, its Lights flamed, happiness needs no explaining
summer warmth came from darkness rapidly waning
O' what glory, shall your heart forever hold mine
our sweet blessing, came from angelic hands divine
Within nights, kisses that sated our hot desires
came oaths of eternal love that never expires.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Our soaring passions’ pure as nightingale’s song
enrapturing seduction righted what was wrong
upon our heartstrings’ twilight music we did fly
as supernova lusts did unfurl ‘cross the sky -
scintillating stardust showered us with magic
our souls’ kissed in sparkling bliss since events tragic.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Dreamy nectar - ripened wine, whetted revival
as I sipped upon your essence for survival
rousing the wild-honey luscious look in your eyes
behind ambrosial mist passionate beauty lies
on thirsty tongues of fire we burned ‘till morning’s light
melting past the pain in moonflower swirls of night
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration), April 24, 2019
Poet’s note: My dear friend, it always a great honor for me to be able to collaborate with you and truly enjoy your inspirational verses! Such a blessing is to me a very precious gift you give me and my appreciation is sincere and honest in this my admiration for both your great friendship and your magnificent poetry talents!
(Out of Eden: Act V)
Have you heard the sound of hooves go….. ‘clippety clippety, clop’?
That is the sound that the Pale Horse makes, when down on Earth to shop.
That Reaper mean, the one called ‘Grim’,
Takes tortured souls with wanton whim.
That rider of the Pale Horse smirks - goes …clippety, clippety, clop. ...clippety, clippety, clop.
Have you heard the sound of chests go…… ‘boom-a de boom-a de boom’?
That is the sound that the poor heart makes in throes of gloom and doom.
Horrors unleashed you freeze with fright,
Hormone screaming ‘flee or fight!!!’
The stricken heart pounds deathly beats - goes '...boom-a de boom-a de boom’….boom-a de boom-a de boom’!
Have you heard the sound of guns go ….rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat?
That is the sound that the nozzle made when out, it’s bullets, spat.
To claim a life and rip apart
The victim …and a loved one’s heart.
That nozzle spits out rhythmic hate - goes…rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat! …rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat!
Have you heard the sound of bells go ..ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong?
That is the sound that the Church bells make to mark a victory song.
Men may die, and many shall mourn
But Life itself is not forlorn.
Be brave, take heart…the Church bell peals, ..goes: ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong …ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong!
Have you heard the sound of the Cock; go …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo?
That is the sound that the rooster makes when light, the days, renew.
Days will come, and days will go
And Life goes on the way we know.
So listen, hark! The cockerel crows - ….it goes: …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo ...Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo…………Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo - Another Dawn ...another Day ….kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo!
By the light of a window sits an old man, his pennies he does count.
His hair is gray, his eyes are old, and there’s little in his bank account.
He has lived his life by the book of what is good, kind and just.
He had some fun when he was young, was a man you could trust.
He’s done all the things you have, he worked his whole life thru.
And now he sits, by the window of life, wondering what he will do.
As his health went away, his life went away, he never doubted it would.
He saved and was frugal his whole life long, he did the best he could.
But the way of money is often misunderstood, and it often slips away.
Now he wonders how he will keep all those predators at bay.
The economy went bad; his job went away, his medical insurance, too.
He’d already been sick, medicines were high, and he lost his house to boot.
The new medical insurance is high, so much he can’t afford any treats.
Air conditioning’s a dream, heat may be soon, but he’s not on the streets.
Now in an apartment he will rest his head, and sparingly he does eat.
Gloom and doom are not his way, so a new life he will greet.
He can’t write, he shakes too much, but with a computer he gets it done.
He has trouble traveling. Finding work is hard. None his way will come.
His mind’s not sharp, but he’s seen so much, he’ll find a way to get along.
And he still has a passion for words, the world, and of course for song.
So with that in mind, as a poet he was born. And as a poet, he has grown.
He’ll never be Shakespeare, Milton, or Poe…but a poet all his own.
From his work, great poems will come, as his foundation is solid as stone.
He’ll write about people and places, and in time his light will be shone.
Some poems will be up, and others down, and a few of dreams he knew.
His thoughts and work gave him a passion for life, to which he will be true.
So tell a friend, and buy his book, have them use it in their school.
It’s the history of people, places, and things, a beautiful history jewel.
His life went to dust but now thrives, and he’ll gladly continue to work.
The rest of his life he’ll be a great poet, it’s a responsibility he’ll never shirk.
In his poems, his hope, bright soul, and heart will continue to shine.
It’s something that again calls to his heart, that he can say is truly mine.
Impress Me4 Epic Carol Eastman Written 2009... for all poets...
In its winter of gray steel ice
gloom and doom
A scream from an owl
keeps me cold
and shaking with fear
Mysterious silver moonlight
A voice no one hears
with a desperate desire
Sounds like an infant groan
The silence falls, winter white
the forgotten prospect
I fly away with downy wings
07.01.2019
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
sigh ...
there is no shortage
of gloom and doom these days
we are in the midst of something unseen in our time
and the fear and hysteria is palpable
that said, I'm not taking the blue pill ... no way
reality is important, as are fear and caution
those darker things keep us safe
they temper our decisions and guide our courses
still, choice comes down to line-of-site ...
every time I say or do or affect anything
remotely encouraging or positive or optimistic ...
a thick, cold, wet blanket is thrown
the "reality", I am told ...
here's the thing -
I've been in pharmacy and
medicine and science my whole life
and from the beginning of this viral monster
I've been extraordinarily aware of the "reality" of this rabbit hole
odds, numbers, percentages, statistics
trials, results, vaccines, treatments
sobering, to say the least
but HOPE is a reality as well, just as sobering
and while these aged-but-wise
lungs of mine can still push gases
I'll choose to take the hopeful, encouraging, OPTIMISTIC tack
bring on the darkness and gloom
I have been to hell and back a number of times
I know the darkness well
and therein shine the most glorious of suns
oh, I absorb and process and consider all the dark
and cold and discouraging elements of this horrible pandemic
(anyone would be foolish NOT to know the weight of this disease
or understand the deadly seriousness
of all that comes with it)
but sunlight can peep through a wee hole
and it is THOSE rays that will always draw my gaze
life IS hope, from where I sit
and as long as I can type -
as long as I embrace this gift of mine for crafting words
I'll consider it my duty to use that tool
at least in some part
for the promotion of all things shiny
bright, optimistic, encouraging
happy, joyous, hopeful, halcyon, uplifting
heartening, upbeat, inspiring
and absurdly sunny
call me delusional - I've been called MUCH worse
it won't bother me ... much, lol
but ...
this is no fantasy land or careless dream I'm living in
it's simply the brighter reality
that I CHOOSE to see ...
the more hopeful future
I choose to anticipate.
Dear Mr. / Ms. Presidential Candidate
A preliminary wish list, I hereby state...
Dogs that do not bark
Coastal beaches without sharks
Skunks that have no smell
Adults who never yell
Blue skies, never overcast
Perfect Spring days that last
Airplane seats with lots of room
Sermons without gloom and doom
Desserts without calories
A big increase in salaries
Year-round gentle breezes
No more coughs or sneezes
No more gun deaths, no more shootings
An end to all environmental polluting
Summer camp instead of school
In every park a swimming pool
Potatoes that don't need peeling
Love without hurt feelings
Wasps and hornets without stingers
Kisses that forever linger…
If anything here gives you pause
I'll just have to vote for Santa Claus
Treasures Given That Will Forever Last
The red rose, colors that such pure joy brought
gleaming wet from last night's slow falling dew
are as divine gifts in darken world caught
begging Nature's gentle hands to renew,
Your life, that gave so many a new start
now has withdrawn into a waiting room
many born that deep wisdom you did impart
to ward off hard blows of world's gloom and doom,
Seeing beauty, its sheen causing a glow
of memories some bitter, most so sweet
tho' heaven may be waiting its next show
to extend its hands to your dear soul greet!
The red rose, your life, seeing beauty cast.
Treasures given that will forever last.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-20-2019
Sonnet, ( A Poetic Dedication To Our Beloved Mother )
Manus tuae viae ducem divinus.
Stripped of friends and family
she lives in squalor’s misery
The tiny tenement room
bespeaks her gloom and doom
Yet when Friday evening arrives
her heart flutters, comes alive
Ignited by kindling Sabbath lights
her face aglow throughout the night
Peace lily a potted plant
Long enerald leaves with white blooms
Simple teracota pot contains and nourishes
A sympathy gift, a daily reminder-forget me not!
I hear Wallace whisper, as I pace and rant
Our time has been paused and will resume
Peace lily a potted plant
Long emerald leaves with white blooms
Mischievious smile has a posessive haunt
The still broad leaves echo in the room
A voice that prophesizes gloom and doom
Your name has a new slant
Peace lily a potted plant
**A rondel form of poetry
Disappointment /// Disillusioned
If only it could be known ?, if it be told
why my youngest Child, becomes meanly bold.
If only the truth be seen, the tale would unfold.
Regardless – she in my heart – I will always hold
even if – to these devils – her soul, she has sold.
My little world has come tumbling down,
uncertainty, heartache, fear for all around.
My life, no longer planted firmly on the ground.
Insignificant ?, I feel !, – not a ripple, not a wave
as I – carelessly thrown into the fray of a deep blue sea –
await my fate in the gloom and doom of impending eternity
as my youngest Daughter, prepares me for the grave.
This Beautiful Child, - goes ugly at times – Mel, Melanie,
seems determined - hell bent and hell bound to destroy me
by any means – one way or by any other
acting like – becoming so much like her mother,
following in the foot steps- wearing the boots of her sister,
Mandy, who can be a child without feelings, nothing to register
a sign, a belief in – there seems to be nothing to family ties.
It seems to be ?, all I feel from her, see with these old eyes
and have to wonder ?, has it died ?, all gone dry ?
Is my life ?, are my Friends, my Family – lost – reason to cry,
cry !!!, as all seems to have been going down the road, toward dust.
Do I accept ?, live without ?, I guess, move on I must,
as, upon this old metal – my life – things begin to rust,
become the poisons eating away
at what is left – taking me to that end day.
All that is left for me to do ?, it seems, is pray !!!
In my heart, in my mind, my memory, they will always stay
even if ?, in the physical, in the spiritual, my Girls are gone,
doing the things they must and continuing to move on
towards a world of bigger ( I pray ) and better things.
Things taking them beyond their mother / me, what life brings
to them, that has tortured, haunted and torn them apart,
allowing them a better future – then their past – and a new start
and hopes – from me – that all the negativity will depart.
Love
Dad
B. J. “A ” 2
June 3rd 2004
The irises are so purple bright
glistening and gazing in the night
starry back drop out of sight
Picture perfect as the full moon
past the horizon of gloom and doom
from days that bloom in late June
By Susan Mills
Today the clouds have a purple hue,
Not like yesterday when they were blue.
Does the purple hue bring gloom and doom,
Or does it imbue a hint of pink in view?
The clouds have flattened,
And lost their cumulus shape.
Now exhibiting a lenticular view,
Still exposing the purple hue.
It appears something could be hidden,
Inside the disc-shaped cloud.
Could it be something from afar,
Just visiting to see how we are?
Held by a dungeon of torrential rain
It resounded like a quarrel outside
It was an argle-bargle of earth, rain and wind
It blew patterns of a boustrophedon
Being cantankerous from the brouhaha
I took my bumbershoot to the door
The umbrella became discombobulated
The nonsensical wind blew it inside out
A melee of rain furbellfwed my face
A gardylool hadn’t been announced
Thus a television gonzo weather reporter
A nincompoop on the matters of meteorology
And I, a smell fungus, thought, no sun would shine
But, somewhere near, I heard a turdiform, "A Lark?"
To my amazement a vomiter shown from above
The Earth smelled dank mud, spores and green grass
It was petrichor to a doubting Thomas
Was I to trust the rays and Lark?
But, the smell of must from the downpour ~
Meh, on the other hand, gloom and doom
Have always been, my very best friend
6/6/16
Note: real words, check them out: @ http://www.alphadictionary.com/articles/100_funniest_words.html
Always expect the unexpected.
Don't be shocked by a surprise.
Sometimes our nonchalant complacency
presents a new gift in disguise.
The future we had planned for
isn't always whats in store,
but for each lost opportunity
we'll find another door.
We will find a way of coping
when we thought we never could.
What seemed at first so negative
can be transformed into 'good'.
The seed of faith grows hardier;
the weakness becomes strong
and soon what first seemed 'gloom and doom'
sings a much more hopeful song.
Inside each grey and blustery cloud
there lies a silver seed of hope.
It nestles in the misery and
grows to help us cope.
It blossoms into friendship
we never knew was there;
it blooms when people 'rally round'
and show they really care.
So, don't be shocked by life's surprises.
Don't let them knock you to the ground.
Let the bellow of the storm die down
and hear the tinkling silver sound