Bleakest Poems

Unphased

I am one who carries love
who also carries grief
I hold life’s many phases
like the moon engulfed in shadow

this weight has pulled me inwards
to discover hidden craters
that may become rich seams
how far till I reach darkness

the tides rule pain and pleasure
our wealth of brilliant dreams
and loss of all we cherish
as we fall to earth again

the sky of summer brightness
bears trails of rain and tempest
growth needs the bleakest weather
to forge its strongest limbs
 
and I will strive to keep
the love I bear inside
supple, deep and vibrant
sprout leaves for my new moon.

Lantern Of Light: Collab w Christina Bowring

Sparks aflame my sanctuary 
Flickering, roaming glints 
Over valleys of bygone years 
So long kept in shadows

Traversing the bleakest darkness 
Where heat of love evades 
As the cool of Prussian blue night 
Forms a silky silent shroud

Unravelling threads of sorrow's blinding 
Guiding me from night to day 
And through the hush, a glow emerges 
Soft as songbird's first breath

Now embered dreams ignite ahead 
The past melts in morning's hue 
And where the lantern's light has led 
Hope rekindles burning true

Dark Side

The dark side’s very nature is self-destruction,
Bringing pain to all, a dangerous seduction.
It spreads its madness, twisting mind and soul,
Yet it’s addictive, taking its toll.

The longer one lingers in its dark embrace,
The harder it is to leave that place.
Though they know it brings them pain,
They too must share in some of the blame.

But why do some turn toward its call?
Are some just born to watch themselves fall?
Not born to the dark, but drawn to its might,
Through circumstance or an affinity’s fight.

They refuse to judge those caught in despair,
For they know the weight they bear.
In the bleakest moments, it feels so near,
As if falling to it is the only way clear.

O hearken to hints from your heart

To please Lady Muse, all my heart to bare, 
I tried invoking her with chiselled verse, 
That, the pure pleasure of my pen’s all hers, 
Yet, left I was at blank paper to stare. 
I sought some odd words archaic and rare,  
And tried to paint the bleakest face of woes, 
Which, often a desperate poet toes, 
Fervent did I appeal that she be fair. 
The words when came, came halting as if shy 
And listless, I failed her bulwark to breach,
Nothing whatso worked and I knew not why, 
I failed, the fount of words resource to reach, 
I still coaxed my pen a new line to mint, 
A voice whispered: hearken to your heart's hint. 
_________________________________________ 
Sonnet | 03.11.2008 | poem 
Poet’s note: There are times when no matter what you do, words desert your pen as this sonnet says.  Notice, the Volta is hinted at the beginning of the sestet, but its high tide occurs only at the poem-ending couplet.

A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

A handful of sorrowful years have passed
and now I bare my shame.
A deserving fate for one miscast;
deserving of the blame.

For I was flailing as a dreamer,
focussed on the past.
Running from the future,
losing all at last.

I thought I knew the pathway,
ordained for me by you,
So rightly threw my all away,
and left her with no due.

A selfish mournful man of fear,
in years of wallowing had found,
a truth that I did overhear
of future wants unbound.

I must accept that I am, in-fact,
a selfish loathe-full man,
deserving of no love from you.
since it was I that ran.

But in the bleakest of exchange;
truths realised at last:
I wish I could go back to change
my decisions of the past.

No children nor lovers nor painful life,
do I now wish to have.
Just an everlasting soulmate,
to power through and laugh.

So I will wait for future crossed,
when I can tell you plain: 
that for all the things that I have lost,
you define my pain.

I will work as long as time allows,
if that is what it takes,
to speak to you of love and vows,
to make up for my mistakes.

Not Leave for Winter

Perhaps I’ll lose my leaves and stay this year,
To join winter’s bleakest winds and hours; 
My northeast friends will leave and disappear
For southern sun and obsequious flowers.

Only a stray, grey squirrel will appear
To find if nut from fall may still be found.
My thin bark may be gnawed by hungry deer
As no food may be found upon the ground.

For winter force’d nascent thoughts inward
And I must have the luxury to weigh
An eidolon, now so froward,
The freedom to gestate and have its way.

Then spring shall come and her new buds emerge
For Life’s Forms shall have their demiurge.

Placed Saucer

Breaking through day,
the last night,
where the mirror
on glass lips posed 
for a new moon, 
that only masked
its face in ebony
brims of space

trapping in my ache,
with cedar pandoras 
making the bleakest
of songs; a
viridescent heart—
under sylvan skin;
back to sun's cloned moon;

her moody phases 
cut you, while
salt gives the
macadam a required 
taste— alone,
with an empiricism 
of waste; but in a
candle's whiffs,
the flames—

round and round in
my head— afer an 
evening's quivering 
prayers, fixated on
poppies in morning—
breaking through day.

Renewal

the worn-out jerseys
    those mud-smeared pants
  visions of brightest glory 
    ~ heaps of bleakest misery

  yet hope springs eternal
    in the human breast
  next season begins anew 
    the coveted championship quest

World War Iii

War does not determine who is right - only who is left. - Bertrand Russell

It’s a darkness so sad and grim,
Dreams destroyed by the bleakest sins,
It’s more than loss of life and limb
World War isn’t just about who wins

Homes are ruined and lives are wrecked
It’s a darkness so sad and grim,
Death in each shadow or suspect
Was this war started on a whim?

Here at home, we all sing a hymn
For those soldiers who will not live
It’s a darkness so sad and grim,
Warriors, hearts and souls they give

Though we sought peace, our hope was lost
Beneath seas of pain, our souls swim
Glumly fighting despite the cost
It’s a darkness so sad and grim,

Broken Beauty

Broken Beauty

By Mark D. Stucky
Glamour is a hollow, shiny shell,
a rapid, pretty paint job
on an insubstantial surface,
that alluringly promises much
but never satisfies the hunger.

True human beauty is internal,
from the depths of one’s core.
It starts in the heart and soul.
It slowly sprouts and spreads,
percolates and permeates
the exterior from within.

The best but bleakest beauty
grows from wisdom
wrestled and wrought
from woundedness.
Pain, a teacher of distinction,
comes to every one of us,
but only some students
embrace the lessons
and find meaning in affliction.

For perceptive learners,
crises cut and clear the clutter
from bloated, busy lives,
enabling the complex splendor
of sorrow and healing,
of tears and laughter,
of doubt and faith,
of truth and grace,
of peace and joy,
of love and compassion
to emerge from pruned spaces.


(First published in Small Town Anthology VII: Entries from the Seventh Annual Tournament of Writers, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2021, p. 93.)

With Summer Eye Aglow

With Summer eye aglow,
as sidewalks briskly bake.
The stern teacher, asleep.
Old books dusted with shake.
In the Autumn, reopen.
Reopen
with Summer eye aglow,
Buds open.

The sea of Galilee, gallant,
Christ places sole
Of each foot, stirs fear of mankind
Upon ebb and flow,
With Summer eye aglow.
Walks sans pit or pratfalls,
The Son of God - listen
When He calls.

The apple of God’s eye, He shines
In the bleakest days.
Though the proud couldn’t see,
Indeed, the Spirit did raise.
Calvary couldn’t hold Christ down,
As man cannot hold
The royal diadem crown.
That’s too bold!

Upon the earth and sea,
Briskly walks gentle pace -
A constant flow from heaven,
Flow of grace.
With Summer eye aglow,
From creation burns,
Ancient teacher awake -
Mankind learns.

Seeking Grace

melancholy bleeds tears of darkness, hues
wistful, lonely weeping silently, night
blazing with the grim, a shroud to confuse

withdrawn into the aching, grieving write
poetry and prose bleeding bleakest doubt
wistful, lonely weeping silently, night

even dreams so beautiful can burn out
the muse, once light, grows heavier, gloomy
poetry and prose bleeding bleakest doubt

all hope gone, depression shifts all through me
darkening my heart, my soul, with feelings
the muse, once light, grows heavier, gloomy

dread fills the heart with the bleakest dealings
will there never be the chance to find grace?
darkening my heart, my soul, with feelings

fears, sorrows surround me with their embrace
melancholy bleeds tears of darkness, hues
will there never be the chance to find grace?
blazing with the grim, a shroud to confuse




Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
May 27, 2023

'i Rose Like the Phoenix'

I rose like the phoenix

I climbed out of the abyss when I was at my weakest

Depression at its bleakest

I had to keep moving, I simply could not stop

For this to be possible my high standards could not drop

I possess courage, hope, determination and no fear

I'm an alpha, a viking in battle, please let me make that clear

Adversity is real and it can claim your life

You have to be prepared for this if you are to survive

You can't afford to give up, don't you dare quit

It is imperative that you realise you are mentally fit

When I create my poetry, I want my peers to relate

I want my words to resonate and help their mental state

I can't stress this enough, you have to keep going

Hard work and determination are the two things you must be showing

The thing that I have realised is depression does not tire

We must work harder than our illness, this will lift you higher

Be proud of your achievements, you've been through a lot

When the opportunity presents itself, make sure you take your shot

Be confident in your ability, believe that you're unstoppable

If you stick to this approach then anything is possible

Stellars Within the Moon's Spotlight

Stellars under the darkest night
Glowing plight in constellation
Silhouettes afar from the moonlight
Speeding lights in formation

Stellars faint in a blue Moon
Sellars taint in a covered Moon
Faces of stellars form in names
Braces of altars dorm in flames

Stellars catalyze in many places
Like sheer diamonds in pieces
Stellars ascend in night's bleakest
As the Moon descend at its weakest

Each stellar behind the Moon smiles
As the Moon traipse and beguiles
Facing all other crystal lights
Moon stays bright like Stellars in spotlights

The Colors of Hope

In the bleakest corners of Hell-Town
    midst playgrounds littered with glass
  Disfigured weeds stretch to the sky
    and no one's seen a blade of grass

  Where junkies openly ply their trade
    and cheap beer flows like lemonade
  A tiny woman, sure a saint, paints a rainbow
    ~ Wide-eyed children, the colors of hope

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