Best Woe Poems
something grabs my leg
plastic bag churned by the tide
ocean clings for life
Oft Woe Is Sorrows, Of Mere Mortal Men
Of fine artist brush and true poet's pen
oft woe is sorrows, of mere mortal men.
Tho' great the powers, sun's glow in blue skies
majestic the beauty, in dawns bright rise.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
What verse can such magnificence reveal
more so than inked truth that searching poets feel.
From revelations of heart's deep desires
to blazing flames of romantic fires.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Dare we beg our muse, cast unto us more
of immense depths from which others did score.
Gift hearts, souls and minds creativity
or beauty even in versed brevity?
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
What of importance of the sad and black
do we ignore from courage we may lack.
Nay! Ours is to set truth on its gold throne
tho, on that journey we may trek alone.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
When begging paper, cries for new black ink
of course from both heart and mind we must think.
And with purpose write to all, as a gift
Life, Love, Inspiration that so uplifts.
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Under Nature's blue skies that beg our praise
dare we give verse light, to cut world's dark haze.
Endeavor to create what time will note
with blessings, take great pride in what we wrote?
What purpose poetry, if not to give?
What purpose existence, if not to live?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-12-2019
Rhyme, ( A Poet's Heart Must Accept Its Truest Calling )
Who's that knocking on our door tonight?
Debt collectors, (those pests that we've ignored)
Yuletide woes being sung by my spouse
as we pull shades, and douse the lights!
Everyone knows a turkey and some mistletoe
could help to make the season bright
But we'll be eating pork and beans, 'cause our pocketbooks are lean
Oh! We're out of Tums!!......The house could blow tonight !!!
They say that Santa's on his way
But our petty cash won't jingle much today
So this mother hen is going to cry
Because her hungry chicks won't have an egg to fry!
And so, I'm offering this simple phrase....
To folks from one to ninety two
If the recession....is behind your depression...
Merry Christmas .. You're not alone!
..........................................................................................................
(Lyrics written to the tune "The Christmas Song" Written by Mel Torme)
___________________________________
More and more now, discomfort has become my constant company. I do not like it! Then I think of others who are cursed with conditions far worse than mine. I imagine those born with genetic mental illness or sans limbs, and I think of incubator babies who might struggle on throughout their entire life with miseries. I ponder the helplessness of parents dealing with the constant care of sightless or autistic children and the horror of small children when faced with the knowledge that cancer grows inside their bodies or courses mercilessly through blood or bone. Across the world, refugee children weep from hunger. Oh, the many people born to woe while others live with mirth upon this earth. I wonder at the unfairness of it all!
in the flower bed
thirsting roses droop their heads . . .
sun keeps beaming down
April 9, 2021
for Malabika Ray Choudhury's Moments Of Reflections - Haibun Poetry Contest
Autumn woe
To live an see an have it all,
To slip an fade and taste the gall,
To run out if time, which does appall,
Till only death is waiting.
To cast a spell, where women came,
To catch an eye, where love is waiting,
To win a heart, ignite the flame,
To seduction, so invigorating,
To now no longer play the game,
To feel the passion & the strain,
To make love, like you’re yet, insane,
Fatal, autumn is awaiting…
Don Johnson
transfixed
I stumble down
shifting halls of
my angst my
distress
a cold stale breath
stagnates and permeates
its doom
onto my essence.
beguiled
I entomb myself
in the moment
asphyxiating
flailing
clawing
grasping for
desperately
disintegrating walls.
abdicated
I capitulate to
the lair
that cold cavity
pit of dread
that
pool of tears
where my devotion
thrashes plangently.
interred
in the filth
of want
of need
of putrefying wonder
entombed within
every pore
every inch
of my desolation.
moribund
I turn to stone
my listless gaze
fixated ruefully
on the luminance
the far distant
light
where steadfast
dim hope resides.
Woe is me such a poor man
Woe is me
Woeme
Woemen
Woman
Womban
Womb an
Womb of an
Womb of man
Born in the womb of a man
Nature disgruntled
Humanity Confused
Unfounded Mind
On a WIMs notice.
Woe Is Me.
Down falls fast the frozen rain
chills the air with my disdain
on my heart it leaves a stain
yet in my mind you remain.
I drift and fade think of you
try to bring you into view
draw a color paint a hue
fixing on what lovers do.
It’s falling fast all around
again the din and its sound
try to keep the peace I found
as it thunders to the ground.
In my mind we’re at this shore
life with you and wanting more
seagulls screeching fly and soar
mixing with the ocean’s score.
Never no never have we been
lovers as such and in between
within my mind yet barely seen
under the rain near the ravine.
(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)
In the opaque mist of the fading night
you disappeared so early before time,
I didn’t know why.
My squally sky fell in torrents of sorrow,
filled to the brim with my melted heart
the bottomless abyss you left.
The wailing olive tears flowed there,
made an emerald sea in me.
In the middle of the unfinished journey
you departed so soon before the sunrise,
I didn’t know why.
On the still shore of the sea of sorrow
I now stand alone in the twilight hours,
see the layers of grief fall with nostalgic night
on the heaving waves breaking the sea.
From the somber sunset horizon
your distant call I hear to sail across the sea,
I don’t know how.
From the aquamarine depths of the serene soul
a voice resonates in the sound of silence :
Wait, the boatman will come on time.
I’m now waiting to see you
on the other side of the sea.
September 21, 2018
a flickering
angst
descends
deepens
splinters
peace-of-mind:
limpid
lines
become
curves,
touch
raw
nerves,
plunder
contentment:
bitterness
erupts...
the rainbow's
promise..
..unheard
Wilma cried, “We are going too slow!”
But poor Flintstone could no faster go.
Not because of a flat.
No, for nothing like that.
It was just Fred had stubbed his big toe!
Written Nov. 14, 2014
For the Limerick Clean and Clever Contest of Roy Jerden
Yabba Dabba DOO!!!! And Boo Hoo Hoo!!!
I am valuable but not worth any price
I am precious but far more than gold
I am productive but not for abuse
I can talk but not to be abused of talking
I am hardworking but not to be a slave
I am a wife but I am an individual too
I am a mother but I'm just human
I am strong but I get tired too,
I am in flesh, so I need rest
I care but I value myselft first and foremost
I am kind but need kindness too
I listen but not to be lied to
I run the house but I deserve to run myself too
I am the help meet but I need support too
I understand but not to be misunderstood
I provide but I need to be provided for too
I run the kitchen but I need to run my self too
I am the housewife but I am a wife too,
I am married, to my husband, not the house!
I love but I should not be taken for granted
I am weak but not to be raped, beated and scratched
I am submissive and obedient but not to be exercised power abuse on
I am a cheerful giver but not to be robbed
I am soft but not to have my blood squeezed out,
I am full of life but not to be taken away from me
Yes, I am a woman,
Created to live,
Not to be a woebegone!
My heart is an ebon swallowed night where nobody ever goes,
raging in a recondite rift like ripples resounding in rueful repose.
Should I release my woe with unfathomable thoughts of grief?
I may become as strong as a tiger or just a lonely picture motif.
Last week I walked a weak and coarse course of my lowest low,
wishing to borrow a new 'morrow devoid of comfortless sorrow.
I attest I'm depressed dreading everyday, I honestly confess.
Does every grey cloud have a silver lining or shadows of distress?
O, hear my plea! I’m drowning in dream of disdain and insanity!
This minute is not minute; I’m in a dark reverie of a flowing reverie.
The soothing days of assuage which used to be my saving grace
reminds me of how I’m living dead in deafening silence of misplace.
I asked for a helping hand where all warm hands would be on deck.
Perpetually forsaken, if you know what mean, just a dolour wreck.
Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering poor inferior me,
my heart has skipped a beat divided between joy and intense misery.
For I am but a solidary woman, methinks; I shall never be cured.
I must learn to live with this agony, or die an early death obscured.
I’m stuck in a prison pen on constant guard with solitude’s disease,
craving the day when I find appeased atonement that bestows ease…
In order I used these poetic devices:
1.) Metaphor 2.) Alliteration 3.) Rhetorical Question 4.) Simile
5.) Homophone 6.) Internal Rhyme 7.) Assonance 8.) Aphorism
9.) Dissonance 10.) Homograph 11.) Euphony 12.) Oxymoron
13.) Synecdoche 14.) Innuendo 15.) Ambiguity 16.) Personification
17.) Archaism 18.) Antithesis 19.) Metonymy 20.) Ellipsis
A Litany of Poetic Devices Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
September 9, 2018
Whispering winds of winter woe,
icy branches bend and bow,
catfish cradled in the mud,
winter waters slow their blood.
Scampering squirrels, fat & fluffed,
chasing, leaping, playing rough,
the birds are bent on staying warm,
surround the suet in a swarm.
Babs and Buster, canine friends,
stalk the squirrels who torture them,
they snort and sniff at gopher holes,
tormented by these mining moles.
In the western window, warm,
the felines flourish through the storm,
soon the sunshine's streaming in,
thus the cooking of cats begin.
Cloaked and covered, in cozy coats,
we wait for Spring with hallowed hopes,
to lay upon the dock again
and feel the sunshine bake our skin.
Night and Hokies fall
Black clouds descend o'er Blacksburg
woe hangs over all