Best Woefully Poems
I tried to create a poetic dream,
to fulfill our promise,
but we became a victim
to fate's wounding ways.
My flower garden lies in ruins,
suffering in silence -
my lips unable to kiss her back to life.
In the demise of our destiny,
there is no reincarnation.
Hope fades with each withering petal,
perishing to our unfulfilled vow.
Stench of regret pollutes dark, damp air.
Winds wander, weeping woefully,
whispering condolences for our tragedy.
Delicately, as if it was your soul,
I place the last blooming rose,
close to my heart -
hoping, one day,
to reunite it with you.
I can see butterflies,
drowning in puddles of lament -
helpless in this unforeseen storm.
I sense the angst of disorientated bees.
Their queen deprived of nectar,
they pine in distress -
yearning to be close to her.
Sun rises, veiled in a black blanket.
Birds sing songs of sorrow,
soaking in sombre sadness.
A mournful chorus,
which only increases the pain.
Her image reflects through my eyes.
Her voice echoes in my mind.
I crave for darkness, tired of shadows,
look to the heavens....
Wondering why?
In this dead end of dreams,
soul bangs against my chest,
crying like stinging winter rain.
I collect each sacred tear,
to keep our last rose hydrated -
to lay it upon your resting place.
A promise has no guarantee.
A poet's pen cannot create forever...
Third and final part to my 'Promise' trilogy
Simple Musing
Silent One
6 June 2020
Categories:
woefully, death, lost love, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
How fondly he recalls when doting moon stared
Blush of her radiant smile gleamed opaline skies
While cuddling stellar vibes love they declared
And embracing her allure he venerated his prize.
In womb of romantic night passions-grand aired
Exchanging fervent vows, longing dawn of sunrise,
When revealing prurience every intention bared
In rhapsodic titillation euphoric feelings surmise.
Alas! soon emotions hid—dispiritedly impaired
When blissful times saddened hearing her cries
As souls, deceptively beguiled, no longer cared,
Silence between them grew stoking sullen guise,
For rise of whimsical day, woefully unprepared,
Shadowed glamorous arc, deeming fate unwise,
And upon sanguine horizons stygian storms flared
As the pledges of forever, destiny chose to revise.
She pleaded to forget the love they once shared,
Its flame was extinguished by whim of disguise;
Dreams they dreamt could no longer be repaired
Once the spark of aspirations abandoned her eyes.
Suppressions of emotions left them bereft, unpaired,
As lovelorn inhibitions roared, to spell their demise
Exiting prized fervor, forsaking dreams unrepaired,
Trapping unrequited love-vibes where passion dies.
May 10, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 30 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Internal Inhibition
Categories:
woefully, angst, heartbreak, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
She said, if I correctly recall,
That, for her, a sustaining love is an
Absolute prerequisite for what
Would be a total commitment of the
Coupling bodies...and all that
Constitutes the essential parts of the
Eternal Soul;
And I not so assuredly competent
In this - the practice of such a higher
Art!
Adding, some little time later, that
Being so chained, in what she described
As an unfortunate consequence of a
Most regrettable thrall,
To a domineering Harlequin who,
When mindlessly exercising the upper
Whip hand, had neither modest restraint
Or any amount of unimpassioned
Self-control,
Was, in fact, just a flagrant excuse
For a base lust;
Of course this was not to be confused
With the laudable and gallant actions
Conceived within the inner workings
Of a steadfast and more openly honest
Heart.
And was I convinced that I was indeed
Sincere in all my avowed pledges?
And did I truly understand that all her
Troubled life she had tirelessly
Searched for one such as I purported
To, somehow, seemingly be?
How I instantly can bring to mind
Those obscure and doubting mutterings...
Still carrying upon an ill wind I
Should not wonder;
I think of them like the songs of the
Naiads: what woefully remaining
Sounding endlessly above the glassy
Tinkling of a mystical lakeside's
Stiffened and shuffling Sedges;
You a modern-day Danae, infant Perseus
Clutched to your swollen breast, your
Little box, in all its abject
Loneliness, now set adrift upon some
Desolate and open sea.
What turned out, in the end, to be a
Pointless charade. Perhaps; but that
Which, despite shortening periods, whilst
Enduring felt almost timeless.
Then of course this shared guilt...
That will, shamefully I fear,
Forever bind us.
Categories:
woefully, destiny, relationship,
Form:
Rhyme
Labyrinth paths, winding and twisting, a serpentine meandering,
otherworldly, ethereal, much too dreamy, lost and wandering;
saturnine, long raven sparkling hair that I hide behind, woefully,
tangled in the branches and thorns of life, lost hopelessly.
And then I found poetry and I pen my sorrow in verses bleeding,
now I swirl with beautiful words and send them in the universe, soaring;
writing my sadness is intoxicating, but also it can be a dreadful curse hurting,
prisoner of the past, locked in chains, can I begin to reverse, be a new me changing.
Entwined in words that I put away, I found them still waiting,
with a painful heart, I write my tangled, thorny journey, my hand trembling;
unraveling the weave of chaotic corridors in my life, I fall to my knees, praying,
oh will others love my verses penned, will they weep sadly when I write the aching?
In the shady silent forest, a shimmering snake seeks it's sanctuary, slithering,
beautiful definitely, and like the iridescent snake, I hide lost intentionally;
hidden, safe, melancholy, until the sun has found my soul delicately,
labyrinth paths, winding and twisting, a serpentine meandering;
___________________________
February 3, 2016
Acrostic/Mono Rhyme/Alliteration/Internal Rhyme
Copyright Protected, ID 16-751-710-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Theme chosen, Lost and Found
Written for the contest, 4 x 4 Pairing, Master Rhyme,
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
Categories:
woefully, lost, universe,
Form:
Verse
Alone and weary ...
she dangled toes o'er the mountain ledge -
the late-October night was clear
and bitter cold, yet as still as death ...
rare were such even-tides
when not a breath of keen altitude
moved among the peaks.
Far below, thru brumal wisps
the tribal lights shimmered in warmth
drums of ceremony echoing
like All-Hallows heartbeats ...
a lone conch-shell horn
moaned woefully, and somewhere
a wolf answered.
The harvest moon
swam thru the bright Milky Way wash
like a silver doubloon ...
swallowing stars in its wan gullet
and transfiguring the sharp-shard ridges
to proud porcelain gods
arms stretching heavenward.
She had made this
calm-but-keen sojourn countless times
each late fall, in careful anticipation
of this very night ...
but never before had an evening
trembled so tenderly
or shone as bright and bloodless.
Life had been full ...
with loves and adventures and aches
but she longed for rest and sleep ...
the bare, lonely mountains of ancient autumn
and crisp, dead leaves hushed it to her -
the prayer of welcome ... the prayer
of poignant endings.
She smiled at the thought
of those she loved, now left behind
her heart swelling with a sad, soulful contentment.
As her people's farewell chant rose faint
sweet with the smoke from campfires, far below
she breathed, deep and dear
the magnificent night ...
And stepped softly ... off the edge.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Fall Into Fall" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
woefully, adventure, appreciation, autumn, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
sometimes I sing
antique anthems,
of the nights
I was confined
within a bottle
of diamond tears,
wept woefully
from the widest sky
that held kaleidoscopic stars~
amidst festooned fields of
pixie-dust flowers,
hanging like
starburst chandeliers,
when t i m e was never in favor
of designing a
heart-shaped galaxy
to ease the
troubled torrents….
as languid linings
cast by the
sombre umbra
soaked me
in melancholic sprinkles,
of what was left in my strength;
for I knew nothing
beyond the evening clouds
that mirror
marshmallow musings,
stained with
tuscan tones. ..
yet, I remember
seeing your sunflower smile,
as I dreamt of
your mystical melodies,
spoken poetically,
way before I knew you
would become my reality,
though the homely hideaway
to my hopes
now fester amongst
corners of your
dusky eye lashes…
I’ve battled with nothing
but obsidian obstacles
that laid
in the
tiny tunnels
of my
crippled consciousness.
now our souls
seem chained in pearls
and coiled in amethyst anklets
as one, in stellar waves
through a
ceaseless constellation;
cosmic connection
endorsing these fingers
with your
poignant pantoums,
aligning my heart to lay
within your
evergreen embrace,
limited by
the lyrical land
you’ve lavished
my
longing lagoons into.
so here I am, scribbling stories
of our zealous zenith
within your platinum presence~
as confessions disguised
within tangerine tercets
of vanilla villanelles
have now come alive,
amidst a rebirth
of a warrior meant
to b l e e d
vivid verses
eviscerating
nacreous nebulas
into blissful b l u e brines,
that shall stream
through
unfamiliar rivers of dragon roses
till every electrifying element
rests in aesthetic harmony.
Categories:
woefully, deep,
Form:
Free verse
Pretty Patty was a penny pincher of the worst kind
She saved every single cent that she could find
She carefully cut out coupons ,counting every one
A bit bizarre but buying butter cheaper, oh what fun!
Fashion forward not, wore second hand store stuff
But our ditzy darling was a diamond in the rough
She started scrimping and saving solely for a reason
Her main mission was gladly giving gifts of the season
To those who were woefully without she gladly gave
With this joyful gesture a child's Christmas she might save
7/8/14
Categories:
woefully, care, feelings, inspirational,
Form:
Alliteration
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
Categories:
woefully, journey,
Form:
Epic
Whenever my days seem long,
And all my tasks turn out wrong,
And I wish the things I had not said
And feels like turning over and play dead...
Ha, I sit down ruefully and I write.
When someone somewhere gets hurt,
When a lively flower bites the dust,
When somewhere someone's heart breaks
And sneaks into a corner and quietly aches...
Oh, I sit down woefully and I write.
When someone smiles and shares his joy,
And takes some time out of his life to enjoy,
When he takes the right road with the end in sight
And takes it with true faith and grateful delight...
Yea, I sit down joyfully and I write.
Whenever someone dares to dream,
And essays to swin upstream,
When someone undertakes an arduous pilgrimage
And reaches ashore after a stormy voyage...
Yep, I sit down hopefully and I write.
On the wings of the wind I write,
On the waves of the sea I write,
I write for all to see, feel and hear,
Write I about love, hate, faith and fear...
O yea, lo! Now thou know why I write.
~03/07/2013
~Contest: Your Personal Favorite
~Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Categories:
woefully, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
Just outside the window
a row of coned shaped trees bend their foolish heads
for her attention...
She can have her way with them...
yet, with such a wily nature, she passes over them,
and softly treads a path through the garden gate...
Her steps are light as dew, making not a sound...
as she hesitates to wake a slumbering rose...
and timidly brushes past a trellis of sleeping morning glories...
She peeks in, then slowly slithers through his open window, while he lies sleeping....
The angle of her glance makes his closed eyes flutter...
and he smiles....
Her appearance casts shadows on the far wall, as she stares across the room at him
She tarries for a moment
A reflected image on the mirror spreads her silken white cloth...
He feels her move over him...
He is kissed by this welcome intruder, ...hypnotized by her charm, and her cool breath...
Dazzled by this embrace, he tosses the quilt, in restless dream....
She caresses so softly, filling his heart, and making him sigh...
He basks in her love, and lies in sweet gratitude in his sleepy state
enraptured with sweet contentment
Soaking up and drunk with the intoxication of her shine
Outside, a lonely eucalyptus tree is jealous...
Impatient and longing to feel such affection....
It's branches clamor against the glass, hoping to break her spell on him...
But, woefully....
angry clouds intrude to steal away the moment...
She runs and hides!
No longer does he feel the kiss,...the sweet lunar incandescence of her breath...
The seduction of her glow...
Coolness and disappointment envelop him as darkness returns again...
And he is once again alone in the shadows of the dark
He must pull his blanket up, and dream of other lovers.....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Dr. Ram Mehta's contest..."Luna... Goddess of the Moon"
Categories:
woefully, imaginationsweet, longing, sweet,
Form:
Personification
Just outside the window
a row of coned shaped trees bend their foolish heads
for her attention
She can have her way with them....
yet, with such a wily nature, she passes over them,
and softly treads a path through the garden gate
Her steps are light as dew, as she hesitates to wake a slumbering rose
and timidly brushes past a trellis of sleeping morning glories..
Instead, she slowly slithers through his open window while he sleeps
the angle of her glance makes his closed eyes flutter...
and he smiles....
Her appearance casts shadows on the wall, as she stares across the room at him
She tarries for a moment,
A reflected image on the mirror spreads her silken white cloth...
He feels her move over him
He is kissed by this welcome intruder, hypnotized by her charm, her cool breath
Dazzled by this embrace, he tosses the quilt, in restless dream..
She caresses so softly, filling his heart, and making him sigh...
with her gentle touch upon his face
He basks in her love, and lies in sweet gratitude in his sleepy state
enraptured with sweet contentment
Soaking up and drunk with the radiance of her shine
Outside, eucalyptus branches are jealous
Impatient and longing to feel such affection...
Their branches clammor on the glass, hoping to break her spell...
....But, woefully..
angry clouds intrude to steal away the moment...
She runs and hides!
No longer does he feel the kiss, the sweet lunar touch, her seductive breath...
Coolness, and disappointment envelopes him as darkness returns again...
Her golden touch is gone, and he is once again alone in the shadow of the dark
He must pull his blanket up, and dream of other lovers....
Categories:
woefully, imagination, sweet, longing, sweet,
Form:
Personification
Hoof beats...palpitate and pound,
A sudden rush...rapidly...rushes by.
Leaving overturned leaves in a swirling...whirl.
Pursuers...persistently follow the tainted...trail.
A Magnesian...mare crosses his mind,
A debt of dreadful...death woefully bestowed.
Death...the debt to breed on forbidden lands.
Centaurus relentlessly...races his hurtles.
Leaving his luscious...love behind.
He’s a Chiron...Centaur at heart,
A masculine...defined...toned...torso,
Merged at the waist of a horse wither,
Where a horse's neck should...solely be.
Being chased for besetting and breeding,
A pallid moon illuminates a fast paced night.
With a timid...terrified look over his shoulder,
A fearless heart...fears the approaching masses.
He not only reaches the edge of Magnesia,
But the edge of a cavernous...cliff.
Caught...trapped...lodged between two natures
(Half-human...Half-animal)
(His hunters...the bottomless cliff)
Thoughts race his mind...mixed reflections.
Flooded by a montage of frolicking memories.
Of a bond not meant to be...destined to not exist.
A desperate attempt to fight extinction,
To successfully mate with a Magnesian mare.
He searches his soul for strength and with his
muscular arms he quickly unsheathes his weapon,
Raising his Chiron...steel sword in cold...defense.
A fatigued heart...a fierce...fight ensues without fear.
Ferociously...fighting to the death paying his debt.
A Chiron heart slain by a legion of Lapithaeian hate,
For a sole attempt to live...to simply breed again,
On the forbidden lands of Mount Pelion,
He faced...fate with its’ risks of death,
Under a Thessalien sky...illuminated by a pallid moon.
For the one beckoning notion called love.
Categories:
woefully, fantasy
Form:
Free verse
i prefer to remember you like this
there was a time when this space was meant only for us
now we created a hole that allowed grief and stress
we are now shades of our former selves living in oblivion within ourselves
i am on a roller coaster ride as i stare endlessly out of the window
the bends reminds me of the nausea of our never ending changes
what i would not give for a sweet dose of organic glory right now
that is what it felt like when we first met
somewhere between fantasy and black paradise, reality and truth tapped us on the shoulder
what died is our merged recognition of reason and our emboldening of The Reason
i guess that is why i turn to isolation as my visibly invisible mistress
in the center of walking the floor over you, i prefer to remember you like this
Categories:
woefully, blue, change, heartbreak, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
Each of us is born the main persona
in the narrative of his or her own life.
Through ever-changing atmosphere,
supporting characters and diversity of settings,
we help to mold the rising action of our own tale.
A great variety of characters abound in our stories.
Some of them, bright pennies tossed into existence,
spin wildly on exploits which make for
the most gripping of preliminary chapters.
However, their denouement is hard to guess.
Others, silver dollar, sparkle too,
but in a much less compromising way.
I suppose most of us could fit into that category.
Giddily we dance through early life’s events.
Then on and on we go, unraveling our plot,
striving always for happily-ever-afters.
A smaller group, Olympian, glide like skaters
on ice. Not only blessed, they are also driven.
Their chronicles inspire us; they are gold!
Others, although colorful, when held up to the light,
they are shown as counterfeit, the perpetrators of pure fiction.
A few, by fate and nature not so blessed, may court insanity,
or at the very least, create confusion
with their crises that seem to come unceasingly
yet often fail to find resolution.
Possibly, if given a good polishing,
they could be diamonds in the rough!
There are others who are the spawn of a society gone wrong.
They stalk our paths, as unfeeling as assassins.
The pages from their lives can horrify.
However, those who wield great power
are also often morally corrupt, and
if their stories live on, it’s in infamy only.
These types of souls are nothing but
cold, hard cash, and paper burns or crumbles
in the end.
A final group is joyless.
Given something . . . giving nothing back,
they hoard the talents God gifted them.
They wonder woefully why no one wants
to open their books to even read
the parts that once had held some promise.
For them it would be better to have been
a rusting copper penny in dread of its own conclusion
than even an evil-doer whose story titillates
and at least gets read.
Categories:
woefully, life, metaphor,
Form:
Prose Poetry
It is a black, moonless night; bleak and barren
the desert landscape is alien with twisted cacti shapes.
Elongated shadows fall upon fresh blood kill, with gapes
a cautionary reminder of coyotes, or were they vampires?
The mind can play its trickery when it is terrified...
...a wrenching sound, a blinding light, a sinister abduction.
Tranquilized and paralyzed, I falter as I lay
exhausted and helpless on this cursed Halloween night.
How can I escape these terrors from without and within?
Will howling werewolves be feasting upon my flesh tonight?
I hear the wind whipping through the diabolical world
of devils and demons
I cannot escape, I am woefully undone...
... until I am startled awake by my dog’s sticky tongue!
Written on 10/26/2020
For Halloween Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Categories:
woefully, funny, halloween, scary,
Form:
Free verse