Best Ominous Poems
Storm
ominous, dark
thundering, mellowing, drizzling
rainbow, colours, arc, promise
fizzling, fading, sizzling
radiant, brilliant
sunlight
June 22nd 2019
“Sparkling Diamonds” Poetry context
Sponsor: Joseph May
Crashing tides, a relentless assault,
Bitter cold winds, a chilling jolt.
Faces slapped by nature's icy hand,
Entities from the deep, a sinister band.
Waves rise with a thunderous might,
Like demons dancing in the pale moonlight.
Each gust of wind, a haunting wail,
As the ocean's grip tightens, a ghostly tale.
In the abyss, dark forms arise,
Silent whispers, echoing demise.
Deep entities with a grip so cold,
Dragging towards a final resting fold.
Salt-laden air, taste of despair,
A struggle against forces, ruthless and unfair.
Yet within the chaos, a defiance stirs,
A resilience against fate as hope recurs.
Was it fairytale wishes that come in threes,
or curses that bring you to your knees?
Does that gentle, warm summer breeze
blow through bodies that hang from trees?
Does it waft the tinkle of a wedding bell
or the howling hounds of Hell?
I find no solace in the stars
They're no longer shining bright
Without a trace without a light
The cold embrace of the night
Under ominous onyx skies
There's no longer new stars born
I ever vow I'm ever sworn
Forever now my heart is torn
Hurricane Matthew is lurking like a message from the Devil.
It is sinister and daunting, putting millions in peril.
The forces of nature are giving us an ominous hello,
Putting on an enormous and frightening show.
This is a sobering reminder of our fragile mortality.
We pray that disaster won’t be a sad reality.
You have to respect the size of this monster storm.
Batten down the hatches, and watch it perform!
An Ariana Grande concert was struck by an explosion
in northern England on 22nd May 2017
killing at least 22 people and injuring many
there was a massive flash and
then a bang and smoke all around
hundreds of people could be seen
streaming away in confusion and chaos
nobody was getting any sense
it was smoke everywhere and
shoes on the ground from people trying to flee.
it was frantic and unbridled
a little girl and boy
aged about eight or nine distraught
as they couldn't find their dad
all were screaming and running,
dropping their coats and phones,
just scrambling to safety
undoubtedly it was an appalling terrorist attack
and needs to be condemned and denunciated
nuts and bolts littering the ground near blast scene
as a likely terrorist attack
ripped through a crowd of teenagers
the prone bodies of those
who had been wounded and killed,
as well as others who were streaked with blood and
were staggering away from the scene
teenagers were screaming and running
in the aftermath of the blast
parents were frantically attempting
to locate their children and relatives
people were scattered everywhere.
And some of them looked dead also
such a tyrannical doctrine is
an indelible blot on the name of humanity
and a challenge for those
who talk of peace and human rights always
but as an emotional poet, my heart is broken
for those poor children and
for all those families
with an empty house that black night
Blanket coverage in the news media,
brave words by leaders, forests of flowers
at the scenes of attack, forensic reconstruction
by the police, and a return to normalcy
needs no repeating that terrorism knows no borders
and that the globalization of terror is a reality
let's pray to god that all departed souls
may rest in peace
(By Kishan Negi)
Species sundry sentential
Line the lost lowered loft
Whose weary wayward-ceiled
Roof raises itself over the lot:
The diverse specimen bottles of pharmaceutic potations,
Mortared and mixed as by the Hawthornean sawbones
And apothecary, yclept, poetically rendered: "The Quack Haunted."
(Aye,) Haunted and hunted he was, by that vile old crone,
Whose life he did not decrease one iota nor span,
With the ingested application of one of his odious elixirs,
By the harridan so quaffed.
Yet, the obstreperous host of the soldierly soldiery of dozens of nations,
Yclept herein by the appellation, "Plagiarism," they fairly encroach upon
The tableau naught but ominously.
And thus ominous be also the tone of this,
Which 'tis my most perfervid and prayerful hope that
'Tis utterly unclassifiable, unidentified and unidentifiable.
I do not care for the onerousness of being pinned down,
For living up to the hoary and draconian standards of the vast
Collect of poetry-of poetries.
This I will not brook.
(But before I end this ebullient and elliptical encomium,
I must turn once again to that species of alliterativeness that
Provided the nutriment for it and me: the "grist for my mill,"
As the archaic idiom has it: )
Therefore, these things
Have henceforth
Come casually
To their
End.
beauty arises
peeks through ominous clouds....
autumn kisses leaves
As rains and the torrentialest of snows plummet,
Filling all the skies and the area interstitial to earth and sky
With a frenzy of flying flakes;
As gusty winds doth blow and toss the flakes this way and that;
As torrents true amid the most rending species of gale
Dash themselves bitterly and self-destructively
Against this crude roof,
It is of my hodiernal solitariness,
My aloneness and lonesomeness,
My singleness, and plural,
Romantic stationariness that I must needs
And peradventure speak:
Yet, firstly, permit us all to sit still and our selves
Stationary, silent and still; and silence that intruding music
So ominous yet banal, tinny and slight:
Lighthearted 'tis it, as well:
That which plainly portends our overwhelming destruction,
And that of all our cogitation, cognition, concentration
And composition, with its overmuch resonant yet tinniest
Intrusiveness.
So allow to be it thus and summarily silenced-
Now, that's better.
A man can listen to himself think again;
He can form cognitive thought and appreciation thereof.
Therefor, that music silenced and my concentrative powers
Revived: As a blade at the whetstone, resharpened:
I can keep on with the prosody and poesy of my plight,
But...
.
Ominous clouds bank...
Peach orchard ablaze with fire
Fall's angular light
I was standing in my precipice of loneliness
A look at the bottom
My soul was shaking totally
Risk of falling
The risk of death
Risk of lack
I was confused
I was filled with conflicting emotions
But your picture at the Beach Waves said angrily:don't afraid...do not be timid...be brave..i am yours.
I was doubtful
But something in my heart threw me down.a ominous dark thing.
I've crashed(fallen) a long time and went down deeply to the sea...while i've seen you On the precipice laughing me and me in the sea crying with your picture in the waves...
and a ominous dark thing...you hairs...your pupil threw me down...you killed me...Cruel!
Cruel!
Cruel!
Cruel!
You killed me.
And i was crushed in the Controversy of the waves and the rocks.
I was broken in myself
Ominous
Morning sky warning:
calm waters are misleading;
the sailors fear not.
I thought, “Why don’t they turn back,
avoiding calamity?”
Havana
In the fifties Havana was a gigantic whorehouse For the Americans,
and run by the Mafia and assorted businessmen , but down from
the mountain came Fidel Castro and created a principled society.
We didn’t like this Cuba should be a democracy that too often means
the right of the rich to subjugate the poor the helpless and those in
wheel chairs. So he was a communist then he who built a free health
this secular pope did this and made the best schools in the hemisphere
in face of cruel sanction from USA. The Obama with a horde of investors
will be bringing glass pearls and shiny promises.
I do not succumb to consumerism but retain their pride in being
the country that won a fifty years old struggle against a bitter enemy
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!
Ominous cries from the valley below
As the crow flies, he knows
Of yelling, beckoning, of another time
Of when he was too young to be in his prime
The temptation to stray is overwhelming
So he decided to begin; his trip to the valley beneath him,
Declining slowly he maps out a spot
Too land on a river rock
Which was beveled down, by the rivers mighty current
And the river masks the dreadful ominous cries
As the crow finds out the demise;
He landed and took an empathic glance
And what he saw was a toxic lance
Driven deep into nature’s heart.
Nature is screaming for it to be saved
So the crow called up his cronies and they did not play
It took some time but they were victorious
Now the crow is old and withered at clean-ups end
All he can do is bow and bend
The cries are gone and nature is mended
The crow sacrificed is life, an unselfish act
Now he is a legend, for he made quite an impact.