Best Godforsaken Poems
Her trembling twilight
dims with streaking purple tears
bruised by youthful years of bleeding pain
hurting but never hugged—
locked in arms of atmosphere’s apathy
that smeared with fiendish fingers
a contusing plum palette
across any hope in her godforsaken horizon—
this sorrowful songbird
who sings with the shattered purity
of violin strains falling from Heaven
finds her bemoaning musical notes adrift—
lost on breezy deaf days
as she is once again thrown down
from the self-serving skyscape
by the hateful hands of wildcat winds.
In the deep inkwell
of lullaby-less lonely nights
where never a tender nursery rhyme
has ever set her free
are memories scribed of storm-battered days
and weighing heavily on Libra’s scales
are the injustices
of dreams she will never live
nor flights of fancy she will never take
as her sire of solar scorch and temper flare
—a warpath warrior against her springtime
sleeps soundly on a bloated bed
over-stuffed with betrayal and broken promises
while her merciless maternal moon—
distant and cloud covered
does not bother to wander the coal haze
with a lantern’s sharp beam
to cut through stranglehold-folds of darkness
to cast a light upon; to rescue her fractured form—
an angel beckons as breath and beat fade
her guardian as she passes through Earth's shadow
beyond the coldness of mother-moon's umbra
following to where warm sugar-stars soprano sing.
Tonight— a stricken sparrow
folds her fledgling wings never to fly again…
will land or air ever miss her?
Sometimes, reflections from my mirror,
recall when I slumbered at nature's nadir,
as naysayers whispered in whiskey breaths.
Bewildered, I wandered in the wilderness,
until the mercy of verse reversed the curse.
Poetry you've always been the legacy of my heritage,
a shimmering nimbus, where my words reside by petals,
but if this was my last poem,
it would be the death of an alchemist's magic.
There would be no potion to persecute my pain,
bleeding ink of wounds would have no quill mistress.
Yet, I yearn to leave evidence of my existence,
but my narration is not as lucid as
black pigment upon white pages,
because poetic colours have their own stories.
I'm tired from hiding behind idioms,
where metaphors drip in liquid lies,
veiled within tracing lines of heartbreak.
Whilst sleeping under cherry blossom trees,
I look back upon my life wondering
what purpose summons us,
as I've lost all faith in strange dreams coming true.
I've grown up surrounded by the scent of sorrow,
forsaken in seasonal spheres of fragility,
masticating upon mourning morsels,
adorning garlands of grief soaked in rainfall,
plundering like the tears of Earth,
but even when confusion composed its cruelty,
I fought back to rise, each time I fell.
There has always been pressure
from the heavyweight of darkness,
where I screamed songs of desperation,
as lamenting lyrics resembled emotions of a falling star.
When the breeze blew away the confetti of my stardust,
my heart remained like unblossomed florets -
so I became my own poetic gardener
and planted my own blooms.
Sins of humanity plague me into a withering leaf,
turning invisible, softly settling in sinister silence.
I search for a Godforsaken garden,
where my hands can heal fruitless soil.
Poetry, nobody feels like you,
yet, it's you I sacrifice, before my heart clasps,
as the soul sinks in ideologies of faith and fate.
I can't justify shadows with excuses from expression,
I'm letting go of bitter reflections from photographs.
as it's time to heal the scars from my bloody hands.
Wishing to remain quenched, but drenched in love,
so fate can prepare a grave for my sorrows.
I can't waste time wondering if I'll be remembered,
so, I wave goodbye, floating away like a feather,
executing the articulation of my senses.
My souls mutters in the muteness;
"Is my melancholy more melancholic than yours?"
I gaze across a bridge,
wondering which stream flows to you,
as nobody understands how
in the definition of lament,
I am a piano without a pianist
and you a harp without strings.
My heart is a weeping willow
within a godforsaken garden.
As the last blossom decays,
the image of you is fading,
resembling fallen leaves on soggy ground.
I don't belong in this numbness,
nor know how to explain why
my voice is lost in the vastness
of valleys without endless echoes.
I've forgotten what I wanted to say,
attempting to escape this maze of sorrow -
yet your words reverberate without resistance.
Pondering if your spirit will guide
me from this uncertain terrain,
I'm distracted by the silent hum of grief.
It hurts like an eerie lullaby,
unable to soothe the stillness of your ghost.
As silhouettes disappear in the dimming light,
I protect a fragile flame in your remembrance,
before withered leaves fade into ash.
toss anger, he said
into the bin of waste
waste not mankind’s love
with abuse and bite
the bullet skies
high the eagle flies
why not the steeple
less with feathers flocked
why not the pews on
threadbare knees
that knock and palms
close touch of closed
and ethereal eyes, in shock
of amazing blue, far above
the whizzing bell of shots
some fell, some rise
both have a knell and sigh
anger flung like monkey dung
lay upon the sheetrock roof
its lies are born and cradled
evil has a childhood, is able
to wean and crawl, to fall
toss anger, he spoke
to the deaf and blind
they never woke nor wised
up. six feet downer done
swept into the bin of waste
a godforsaken life
it scares me to see how much i love you
i may just hug you
and say goodbye
but deep inside my heart starts to cry
it scares me to see
how much i need you
when you call my name
it sends fire through my veins
it scares me to see
how much i love you
you and me
we are bound together
by our godforsaken destiny
it scares me to see
how much i miss you
when we part
you should see my heart
it rips and all i want
is your soft tender lips
babe it scares me to see
how much i love you
you are the truth within a lie
i never want to say good bye
for if i do i fear ill die
Once
these corridors
echoed with life
a citadel for restoration
of body and mind
a bastion of promise
for the tormented
to the outside world
it had many names
Forest Lawn Sanitarium
was its Nome de plume
I--- simply called it--- home
In its day
it was of grand design
cathedral ceilings
hung with crystal chandeliers
finest draperies form fitted
to spacious Windows
walls brightly painted
absorbing sun lights warmth
reflected off marble floors
yes--- it was exquisite--- so beautiful
Soon after my arrival --- I realized
that beauty often commits--- the grossest treasons
For beneath
these hallowed halls
there lay a world of darkness
a wilderness of living sorrow
doctors most vile
It was here--- that I came of age.
a place
where the rooms
festered in the putrid scent
of decaying dust
where the floors
where like walking
on shattered
brittle-- shards of glass
the broken sills
of cemented widndows
entomb the fragments
of yesterdays tormented souls
if only
the towers
could reverberate
the echoing wails
which pierce the silence
so thick
not to chase away
no--- but to call
the slithering shadows of doom
a place where torture
became science--- and science
a medical break through
but to me--- it was still home
Where despair
screams of stone cold fear
of ghastly ghosts
imprisoned with clattering chains
of morbid madness
lurking in secret skeletons
where charcoal coffins
resurrect in the curtain
of lethal skies
bloodletting and chilling memories
Blasted shrapnel of
crimson smeared sins
of hollow skeletons
buried beneath
the godforsaken guillotine
where harrowing horrors
howl mournful cries
and demented demons
putrify on crosses
Persecuted in the bars
of their endless eternal torture
Hope you like my home--- cause
no one gets out alive
This is a collaboration which was written with the poetess Midnight petals on another poetry site. This piece was written about a year ago...
You landed next to me while I was reading
Mahmoud Darwish in Arabic.
You said: "You really read this? Terrific."
I didn't know yet that this was leading
to a friendship right across all borders
to unite two hearts in pain.
How we both smiled, did not complain.
We went for coffee, and you ordered
for me, and then we talked,
you were from Iraq. A soldier in the War on Terror,
deserted. In your eyes the horror
so present after all these years, you walked.
You couldn't kill, you said, your hands were shaking,
so I wrote your letter to your wife and son
who were still there, although the war was done...
you can't go back, that godforsaken
war kills more than people: it kills humanity.
When will your family be here?
You are too far from those so dear,
they suffer from the world's insanity.
***
June 20, 2017
8th place in contest: I like Muslims
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
The ‘net’ is closing in, revealing a ‘web of lies’ Those who use AI and those who plagerise poems fool no one but themselves! Quote by poet!
A gossamer shroud drapes the old lych-gate
I’d hopes it would vanish, alas it’s too late
A ghostly poet rises from her earthly grave
I’m grief-stricken, why can’t people behave?
Posting copied works seeking notoriety
A playground for Dead Poets Society
Stealing poems leaves me groaning
Write your own words, it'll stop me moaning!
I loathe seeing work that has been taken
Why do folk do it, it’s just Godforsaken!
I'm fed up of reading lots of work by AI
Yet poets post it, then vehemently deny
Please pick up your pen, use your brain to write
Pretending that it's your work just isn’t right!
Dark and late, no presence of light
Wondering around as if without sight
I'm walking alone down this straight dusty road
Just me, my rifle, and this bearing load
I can hear nothing; no chatter, no talking
No children out playing, I'm nervous but keep walking
This dirt, this sand, this Godforsaken heat
I'm lonely, hungry and tired, I need to rest my feet
I've made it to town, still there is no spark
I've made it to town, and I'm still in the dark
Hours seem to pass, I begin accepting my plight
But back down that road I see a tiny spec of light
Infinite days still linger
in country lane of heavenly delight,
where we tasted the freshness of life
or was it all, just a game?
It seemed so perfect there
before infancy taken
alas to masquerade in a strange world
a culture godforsaken.
Yet! One can hope the carousel
of a diligent life still spinning
will respect the eternal gradient
then stop at the beginning.
I search to find the evidence
of what once was ours,
but like the swiftness of the stream
the simplicity fades with the hours.
I’ve strived but failed to turn back the tide
submitted to life’s precarious frame,
yet when I close my weary eyes
to me you’re just the same.
© Harry J Horsman 1999
O Lord, why have you designed
for every malady a medicine,
For every wound, a balm
leaving only love incurable?
This melancholy dusk
this smothering loneliness
and my mournful heart
pining for my beloved
in this godforsaken milieu.
If not to appease my yearning heart
My love, can you but come
to soothe this moaning moon
and lo, to console these teary stars?
Oh, for heaven’s sake,
do come to enliven
this woebegone skyline.
When a gust of wind sweeps by
the rustling of the fallen leaves
startles me and I begin to wonder...
Did you just pass me by?
~09/06/18
~For John Hamilton's Best Free Verse
July 1 - Oct. 1, 2018 contest.
~Brian Strand's 115 contest
Deserted
Desolate
Destitute
Empty
Homeless
Isolated
Lonesome
Reclusive
Solitary
Abandoned
Alone
Apart
By oneself
Companionless
Estranged
Forsaken
Godforsaken
Left
Lone
Outcast
Rejected
Renounced
Secluded
Sinking
Twenty-four black roses
Hanging around my neck
Twenty-four hangmen
Collecting on loves debt
NOTE: I don't find the time, neither do I have much inclination, to write a great deal these
days. However, the occasional new piece gets composed, and this is one. I would like to take
this opportunity to thank everyone - Ruben, Raul, Andrew, Elaine, Patricia, Carol, Adeleke,
Krista, Trudi, Kristin, Bill, Shishir, Sami, James, Trudi and many, many others - who have
been so kind, supportive and appreciative both now and in the past. You are stars. I am in
your debt.
I know it's not the happiest piece, but it's what I have at the moment.
T.
Last Chance Saloon:
The deadbeat shuffle from Boardwalk to Boot Hill
Implores the synapse circuit of a short walk to the kill,
With one foot out of line one soon is gone
In Winter rains that fell all Summer long;
Never once did Zeus advise to pack a bag,
Only suck it up and tread the old main drag.
When first she shed her morals and her dress,
The channel burn adored her more than less,
Post-coital walks, romancing in the sun
Beat a path to living in the shadow of the gun;
As expectation always lets one down,
Rends the heart in two by softly skipping town.
From the stained-glass of an alcoholic haze
Wherein kaleidoscopic migraines snap and blaze,
The rusty barrelled gun scrapes at the head,
All the chambers full of coals and glowing red;
She resurfaces like some immortal doll,
And each bullet tastes of paracetamol.
So to raise the weary glass to mouth again,
To curse and toast her godforsaken name,
To down the medicine and down some more
And ride the bona-fide revolving bat-swing door;
Swear by saints alive to never leave this room,
No more chances left to chance in this last chance saloon.
Security Guard
I failed to get a licence to turn my snack-bar
into a wine-bar, at the time the later was unheard of
now they are everywhere; it appears I was
ahead of time, anyway, not cut out to stay all day
selling burgers, hotdogs and sweet drinks sold it and
for a while, I could sleep till nine.
Snoozing does not pay for itself I had to find a job
night- work as a security guard at a building site.
I was reading poetry at the time and noticed bards
of yore came from wealthy families or had someone to
pay their bill for sexual favours, as I was not that way
inclined resigned my lousy paid job and went to sea
when my ship was in port, I found a godforsaken bar
continued to read, drink and dream
Environmental distort
Illness of mind, brain disrupt
Youth mental disorder stare
Marijuana cocain herorin a dire
Society decayed from drug and its abuse
Tragedies and crime, that stem from the use
Father stole is life from his childreen
Childreen rape there life in their father's den
Where do we find the root of this menace
Victims of this self abuse, tumbling down again
Death and violence, and the torment soul
A road of destruction without any control
After inhaling this foreign substance
Some smalltime pleasure, worth the organs
Raping thy self of full potential
The economy import drug that have expired
At the detriment of the young life
Drug abuse is a dire keep the diatance
Drift so away from it, keep resistance
The darkness of drug and the evil that lurks
You will always be tired and slow as a slug
They say it for pleasure
They say to overcome pressure
But the miseries it unluck is beyond measured
Pain and horrible death is usually the closure
Due to drug, daily problem persist and faiting in there miseries
Struggling to resist that godforsaken misery
Avoid the temptation of addictive
Don't become a problem to the aociety