Best Unmerciful Poems
Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.
Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.
His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer.
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.
Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link.
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.
He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained.
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.
The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.
Categories:
unmerciful, god, life,
Form:
Sestina
~ Yolanda was--her name ~ Featuring:) Leonora Galinta
From a hell storm,
A mighty she-devil took on its form
Like a woman scorn ascending from the sea
Haiyan whipped across the central Philippines,
A deadly typhoon, maximum winds of around 315
Terrorizing the fragile mind before making landfall
Hitting with the center eye off from her hostility
A merciless turbulence that came and changed everything
Like a Massive Storm
She comes in as the wise thief of the day and night,
In her notorious gust of rage roars in disguise of thunder,
With the company of her own knight of darkness,
Raze all in a blast of waves wherever her path crosses,
Ruining one of the cities down to a devastation in the land
“Pearl of the Orient Seas.”
A mighty tempest in a woman’s name…. Yet,
A disgrace with more than an immortal man in strength,
Nature devouring nature itself
Including her stewards and stewardesses
An unmerciful encroachment, robbing, killing adults and children.
Yolanda, so cruel in her evil walloping!
A guest left smiling,
Engraving echoes of tears, from every single mourn
Vain, wicked, and colorless -no other air’s compare
The lives she stole, one heart at a time
Pouring down the most nauseating rain,
The pain is dissenting with everyone-- everywhere.
The bully of wind, invading sands of serenity
Unknowingly, far beyond your back----------------------------
Everybody will be summoning up more than your strength-
:)
Categories:
unmerciful, death, deep, evil, sorrow,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightening bugs mimic the starlight, atoms sneer.
Those who spout love and friendship abandon him sneering.
Their images dance beneath his half closed lids, when he blinks.
Though denied visual compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, palpable pain, he still links,
with the life which has both absorbed and excluded him not complaining.
Night passes without his mistress, Sien. His mind writhes, eternal concussion.
His torn visage trembles with the brass sounds the storm's ranting concussions.
The butcher, the baker the candlestick maker, derides and sneers.
How unmerciful is this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain?
And, if indeed, lack of mercy is just, may he not know “Why?” Time blinks.
Just the act of thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him to the link.
He must accept both the pain and the art as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.
Voices always the voices, the paint, the moon, the voices, reciprocate.
He chases the mice. The cheese, pewter plate and all, falls with concussion.
He rubs the backs of gnarled hands across his lids, maintaining the link.
“How? Why?" But, the mice eating his cheese grimace and sneer.
Inside the cottage sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in vases, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls in an attempt to sit, the insubstantial chair does not complain.
He had thought God clear, clear as sunlight, yet the damn paint Lord! complained.
He was Not God, and try as he would, the light escaped. He MUST reciprocate.
After all who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust, life blinks.
“Ah death…le grand mal…no minor concussion,”
He must escape this mortal coil, join the celestial spin without their sneers.
Sick, he was sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, no link.
Categories:
unmerciful, lovegod, light, god, life,
Form:
Sestina
Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.
Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.
His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer.
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.
Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link.
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.
He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained.
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.
The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.
Categories:
unmerciful, anxiety, art, depression, suicide,
Form:
Sestina
Earthquake
ominous, tragic
crumbling, exploding, mocking
destruction, ashes, horror, shambles,
ruining, flagging, pulverizing
unmerciful, belligerent
tremor
Select 3 Contest
Categories:
unmerciful, confusion, natural disasters,
Form:
Diamante
Encage us we are of collective souls
Display us in prisoned wallpaper as ghouls
Send us into these sepsis tanks, in tin cans
in torture dungeons, in faraway lands
Mistaken for us are the migrants
who don’t belong in our black hole,
ripped from their family’s arms,
and broken, it has a toll
Try to discern, unchain me,
give me the time of day
I’ve not done any of what you say
I’m here, do you not see me?
I’m tucked in all of your publicity
Before us you stand prestigious -n- tall,
your toughness shared inside our halls
Donning is the blood red Maga cap a telling of your gang
and Jackboots as they were worn by the Sturmabteilung
Wings reinforced by the sword’s blows, in your case
against the chains that contain, and any empathy inside
Keeping you safe an expressionless speech,
seal the deal it shall seal my unmerciful fate
Judged and sentenced without any assemblance
I see right through your imminent coarse leather, and
by the end of your reign, hard you’ll fall
And later the field forces in which you thrive
rotting torn in shreds, but still alive,
as shall be fathers ripped away from family
Have you not exhausted every remedy for me?
Infection is your reasoning,
concede for me and it shall be litigation of guilt
Rewards you’ve given, they’ve taken
and so, forsaken I be
Regardless of it, they have me in error,
as prison wallpaper
I work in the fields, a visa allows it
I wear pastel colors, a straw hat covers
possessing no tats, what of straw hats
What of straw hats?
Categories:
unmerciful, judgement,
Form:
Free verse
At the center of the hurricane blast, within the lightning
Flash lies the wicked eye of the calming storm, a weeping
Echoing of a widow maker’s somber moment, stilled by
Frozen remembrance lost beneath the traitorous waves
Of a broken heart!
Lantern lights cast an eerie shadow across the desolate
Sand dunes, in silences isolation this prisoner of passions
Tempest refuses to admit loves vanquished flame, yelling
Against the howling storms hellish rage, I’ll not give him up,
You’ll not taketh my beloved’s spirit away!
Rolling is the tides of forget-me-knots folly, a crushed
Rose crumpling beneath the harsh torrents lash!
Rushing at accelerations cyclone speed the clouds
Of destructions malice, charge at she, yet loves
Devotional stands strong, held by the anchor rooted
Within cherishes everlasting spiritual longing!
The grappling fingers of an angry aquatic under sea lord,
Thrashes unmerciful at the rocky edges of death’s
Blackened hand slamming, hammering against destiny’s
Grave stone of reality’s forsaken!
The lanterns light flickers for a seconds hushed pause,
Here in that momentary lull passion faces vengeance,
In a war of the faded roses, no one wins except the
Tears of the storm!
Bitter flowery petals cling onto the rocks of desires
Sheltering cove beyond, as two faded shades
Silhouettes meet amongst the waves of the vanquished!
But in loves torrential rain united, no power on earth
Or in hell’s feverish pitch, shall separate these spirits forever Bound within the human heart, for true love concurs
All!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
unmerciful, adventure, devotion, fantasy, heartbreak,
Form:
Free verse
They were married for sixty-seven years.
Lovely she still was to him,
though wrinkled of face and hair of pure snow.
Entwined hearts forever held sparkle and glow.
Honestly believing, he was the luckiest man alive.
Just thankful to be by her side,
sharing her life and giving her all that he could.
But fate did loom, bringing unmerciful doom....
she died a long time too soon....
leaving a lonely and broken-hearted man.
To his son, he said, "Say it ain’t so, Joe!
Just say it ain’t so!
She can’t be gone.
She’s been with me so long.
What can I do without her?"
As news spread throughout the town,
many a friend came to call.
He tried to maintain, but three months away,
his heart just couldn’t withstand.....he died that day.
Mourned, his daughter to her brother, amid flowing tears:
"Say it ain’t so, Joe!
Please say it ain’t so!"
CATCH PHRASE: SAY IT AIN'T SO, JOE
Contest Sponsored by: Deborah Guzzi
Won: 5th Place
Categories:
unmerciful, death, love,
Form:
Narrative
There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence.
He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow. To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land. Every creature was informed. No birds can sing. No dogs must bark. No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.
The penalty of course was death. Few were able to obey.
Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens. Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them. Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.
Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing. This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.
The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking. The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”
Generations of good people were wiped out. Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction. Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented. Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.
The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.
The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and the environment around him.
How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.
Categories:
unmerciful, allegory, evil, humanity, power,
Form:
Prose
~ some people find life unmerciful to live
- balloons are not square ~ Quote by poet
When the false grin of darkness assumes victory
Can feel the moist fog creeping in
heavy clouds beg for mercy
a soul's unread imagination of
the organ's graceful murmur
My burdens rushing through
the wireless network
Yearning for the heart to yield
The climax is pure contrast
softness against hardness
Repentance and forgiveness
I don't need aged hymns
under the high vault at my funeral
my voice is dead
All I ask for;
three dazzling white Madonna lilies
on my black coffin
... once I looked at the stars
16.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poetry Contest
Writing Challenge -F Words
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
Categories:
unmerciful, dark, death, fantasy, farewell,
Form:
Free verse
In the grand theatre
Opening in the Heaven,s
Drifting across the sky,
cloaked in darkness
Whistling unseen voices
Darkened within rage,
nature's forces
At work
Rising wind salute
In static
hair raising
Falling down the spine
Banging drums
Growling almighty roars
Grumbling unforeseen forces
Churning in its might,
an earth shattering clap
Applauding trees bend
Wind blowing gale
Lighting up dark
Bowing to light
In strike daylight
Unmerciful power
Battle in darkened clouds
Alight candy floss
Falling rain crystals
In sparkling diamonds
Lightning strikes
As the thunder roars
Frightening night
Rumbling drum beats
Upon nature's might
You strike
Categories:
unmerciful, nature,
Form:
Free verse
He Walked Midnight Sands, In Deserts Of Black Light
He walked midnight sands, in deserts of black light
along old ghostly trails with shadows glowing bright
Never wavering or in doubt, heart blackest black
assured by horrific cries, knew he was on track
With blood-red lusting eyes, grievous moans gave that glee
far better their sweet pain, than kindness within he.
On to canyons of agonies, sweet their sad moans
tormented by his friends, so dear were crying groans
His favorite rest stop, large shining pools of red
into it with a huge hop, soaking up the dread
Relieved of his need, he sought swiftest return
mercy's call paid no heed, he cried let them all burn!
Back through black midnight sands, his evil thus sated
Into his lonesome grave, his darkness was fated.
R.J. Lindley,
Halloween, 1978
Dark Sonnet, 12/12..
Note- (1978) Evil thrives in this dark and brutal world. This is an imaginative poetic look into the black hearts and wicked minds/souls of people that embrace the darkness and die without ever seeing the Truth and the Light.
New Note- ( 10/29-2018)
Forty years have now flown by since this was first composed(in my youth)and evil still thrives in the deeds and the unmerciful hearts of the wicked. For when absent of Truth and Light, man turns to the dark and the evil that exerts such power in this world.
Categories:
unmerciful, art, dark, death, halloween,
Form:
Sonnet
Now in the shadows a figure hides
Unmerciful rain collapses on my rooftops
The mind struggles to recollect lost senses
You take me on a victorious voyage to the Island of Paradise
Riding the waves of my intuition, I call for it
“Bring us the light at the end of the tunnel,”
I holler in the shade with Niagara Falls of hope
I hear you call to me gently in the dead of night
Why hide in the dust in the shame of frivolous defeat?
We graze in fields of forever gracious flowers as we lock hands
Don’t you worry—my patience is instilled in the dark
You elevate me higher than the clouds drifting wistfully
I trace your outline as my eyes acquaint with mystery
We have a slippery escape—a ride on a dolphin’s back
Staring…filled by the watery cadence
We sing merrily as we approach the trail of vitality
Trampled that you cannot accept my trust
The waves of the ocean bubbles us up with rare grace
I trace a detailed picture of you in the air
We ran faster than the breeze, rapidly brewing
I sketch in your panic eyes, furrowed gaze—and sigh
Give us words of wisdom to uplift our troubled souls
Not a cringe of movement, yet still I wait to create
We have to leap into the ring of fire—but how?
Imagination brought us together—now shadow, come out!
Let us be brave like the lion in the prairie…send us strength
Collaboration by Laura and David Breidenthal
*note: We wrote line after line without seeing the others' lines, and it actually came out quite nicely I think. : ) *
April 28, 2014
Categories:
unmerciful, adventure, analogy, appreciation, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
I love you but I don’t know why.
I love your lips which seem too thin
for a kind person, your grey-green
deceitful eyes which are too dry
and too unmerciful to cry
for broken hearts. I love your skin
which chilly whiteness is akin
to fallen snow in hot July.
I love your blush when I begin
to talk of the engagement ring
which I allegedly have bought.
I love you but I don’t know why
I love. The only thing that I
don't love is that you love me not.
A modified French sonnet (abba abba bbc Aac)… Hm, wait a sec, that's what I'll call you! A French abc-sonnet :3
Categories:
unmerciful, love, relationship,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...
I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat,
something likable by every singer,
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal...
I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...
I am no genius or pretend to be,
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word:
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
unmerciful, naturesong, song,
Form:
Narrative