Best Ill Omened Poems

O August, I feel subtle scents
of dandelion days melting,
like spring falls of delirious diamonds,
while memories of sentimental sapphires
flow amidst clouds of colorblind cruelty,
revealing how butterflies
from the temple of fragmented armors
abandoned my spirit
at the altar of Ares~
adorned with crushed wings.

Tonight, as the sky mirrors rivulets
rippling with...

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L o v e ~ a crippled nightingale
b u r n i n g in bronze tears
of tornadoes,
limping and writhing,
screaming for release,
but
what if I am the mistress
             of glass-cut dreams,
crowned with 
 razor-edged...

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As crystal glacier, suspended in the onyx air,
bleeds darkness kissed with saline sadness,
clouds tiptoe through trapped phantom winds,
dripping sinister creatures rising from the
egoistic eyes ~ cracked illusions reflecting the underbelly of
fragrant fountains ~ an inverted resemblance of
grotesque monsters lurking in seething spaces,
heinous jaws of the...

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Here rests the realm of the
thorn-tongued truth ~ 
a mortal mirage of doomed pentacles,
where forks and kettles speak
  the language of witchery,
  the dialects of the diabolical,
listening as feral desires fill
the aquatic hues beyond
eclipsed chambers, chained
with lunatic gold ~ 
where the beast impregnates
the...

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“I like my lover's heart blackened with a deeper shade of darkness, where the ravens and I can rest in peace.”  Ann Marie Eleazer  

She had her potions ready, plus an arrow etched with runes.
Stygian mists swirled all around, yet she had perfect...

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I s t r e t c h my arms,
caressing collapsed dreams,
l o s t 
within the 
debris of darkness,
rising from the 
volcanic vortex,
drifting with scorching fragments
resembling a love turned to ashes,
from scarred skin and flames.
For I am the constructor of my own chaos~
singing Lilith...

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As black birds, bad luck shadows us,
For we have many personas like trickster
Or ill-omened out caster, cast away
No matter how our broken speech sounds.
Our mere presence spark uncomfortable discourse.
How many chances can they take with our lives?

I’m cursed, within this unnoticeable room,
Where my only odds...

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That beast that prowls and lurks
Always on the doors opposite side
Primeval and fetid scents rising
For it is here evil resides
Locked within these crumbling walls
Or so I have come to believe
In these halls distant and aloof
Ill-omened phantoms hang in warning
Stillness splinters from a shrill impact
A morbid...

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The setting sun swings from gold
To deepen into bloodshot red.
And as I sit alone upon the sand,
Of a long forgotten inlet bay,
I feel its fainting warmth, its ending joy,
As ill-omened gulls glide overhead
And screech away their hideous song.
 
I gaze into the gathering gloom,
I see...

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At midnight, awakened,
The ravens stir.
You thought it was a dream.
Ill-omened prophets,
Of the night, are they.
Flying through the realm
of your ominous mind.
Foraging, ungainly,
For the desire in your heart,
No longer to be found.
As you’ve already
Given in to the darkness.
Your breath begins to fade,
Death’s door unlocks and opens.
Now...

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As I look back on the torrent winds of the fate that mars my mind.

Back at the measured erosion of my convictions.

Back at the losing elements of my loving drive to conquer.

Back on the relationships that drown in a river of tears.
A river of tears...

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HER TIME

ill- dated she thought
ill-humored her birth brought
ill-omened her race
ill-starred her pace.

Through thick hide
Though beffudled
Hard-boiled she remained
Her bright future is imminent.

Ineluctable is her fate
Bridled by unknown
Blithe she ever has been
Awaiting a pleasant futurity.

An Ijeoma Ikonne's poem © 2021...

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From assassins fleeing but finally spotted, 
One’s good image guarding and still it is blotted;
An ill-omened murderous car
Crushing one’s guiltless star!

A team playing out its heart but lifting no trophy,
Zero approbation bagging for one’s philanthropy;
A last- round knockout receiving from a punch-drunk pugilist,
God truthfully serving...

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Just one dusk at the terminus,
the hourglass will shatter.

No more pain,
no more suffering,
just the silence
of a penance without sentence.

My feelings,
a procession of punishments.

My condolences
to all those victims
who drowned their vigilance
in the bowels of negligence.

No allegiance
to the urgencies of decadence.

The decay of my celestial spark
sanctifies its...

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