I am the tundra barren cold and numb
A frozen wasteland where no light can reach
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
In icy silence where no whimpers humb
My thoughts like glaciers grind, erode, and breach
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
The Amazon within once vital thrumb
Of life and hope now withers out of reach
Between these poles my insatiate self-succumbs.
Anxiety a howling blizzard's sumb
Entombs me deep a creature bleached of speech.
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
Depression creeps permafrost of my slumb
While echoes of lost joy my soul beseech
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
Yet in this waste, where all seems overcome
A seed of strength cracks ice defies the leech
I am the tundra, barren, cold, and numb.
Between these poles, my insatiate self-succumbs.
When the clock stops ticking
When the world stops turning
When the waves stop crashing
When the darkness entombs me
Who will host my funeral?
Who will mourn my death?
Who will ensure a proper burial?
Who will miss me when I am gone?
What will people say about me?
What will my legacy upon this earth be?
What will I be remembered as?
What will it take before I am forgotten?
When I die, will someone host my funeral?
Or will I be left to rot in my own loneliness
Forever forgotten about, thrust into the afterlife
Into the ashes, into the dust
Winter arrives on a carpet of white,
in a glistening gown of ice and snow.
She alights as migrating geese take flight
and blustery breezes begin to blow,
to the cheers of the babes of Scorpio.
Snow entombs Autumn's dead in a white shroud,
burying city streets till they get plowed
and shutting down all but Nature's playground.
As a grey, somber sky gives way to cloud,
Nature's wildlife begins hunkering down.
Bleeding behind a crimson-colored cloud,
a scarlet sun tints Dusk; cerise and pink.
And burgundy, entombs Sol like a shroud,
while a dying sun slowly starts to sink
into an abyss of ebony ink:
and the last vestiges of daylight shrink.
Luna, donning a gilded golden crown,
ascends into a vast, star-studded sky.
And diamonds and rubies adorn Her gown
when Mercury, Mars, and Venus rise: high
above the flashing lights of a firefly,
and the shifting shadows scurrying by.
Dawn spills color, inking black-sable skies;
vermillion, purple, indigo, and blue.
And like molten gold, Sol begins to rise;
reflecting pastel shades of every hue
into crystal droplets of morning dew:
while once more, a brand-new day starts anew.
And spun spider webs add a silver sheen:
beautifying Nature's canvas of green.
shroud of mist entombs
eerie silence takes a hold
~
sun hauls back those drapes
Written 14th January 2021
Contest Hi-Ku(7) place promise
Sponsor Brian Strand
10th Place
I am broken
my bones
will not endure
this sum of
memories
feelings
thoughts
under the
loveless sun
they are crushed.
Peer long
into this grave
this pit of
despair
this black permanence
no heart is
left there
snuffed out
by potentialities
by unrealities
all great illusions
die this way.
Deep is my
slumber
cold in my
chest it
suffocates me
entombs me
a gathered gloom
is frozen recompense
for all my
imaginations
hopes and delusions
now
put to sleep
I lie in
restless repose
rotting
no lover’s kiss
for me
nay
my woeful screams
are unheeded
unneeded
by anyone that
could matter
did matter
I’m forgotten
in this permanent
filth of despair.
Annihilated by a Poet who uses the Extreme Metaphorical Weapons for diabolical Destruction.
Pulverized by the Flow Of It, a Beam that's Historical, Deafens your motor skills so you are no longer able to articulate and correctly Function.
My mastery is Malevolent, my Intentions become Clear as I Recite my words, while whispering Incantations Directly into your Ear.
I cast onto thee a Remnant, words Mentions sinisterly Fear, I'll Ignite mysteries of Damnations Correctly and immensely Clear.
As so the Horrors of the Abhorrent Consumes every Thought, every Sensation Becomes horrifying and Utterly Unbearable.
Covered in Sores, Torrents Entombs this Plot, the Invasion Benumbs adorning Stuttering that you find absolutely Terrible.
I'm lost in an unforgiving jungle!
The trail I'm following is sporadic and confusing
and as the undergrowth closes in, it's suffocating;
making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The high humidity leaves me drenched in sweat:
the heat is unbearable, my every muscle screams.
Panic is spreading!
Chills creep up my spine,
and I taste fear's bitter dregs on my tongue:
as its pungent odor wafts from every pore.
Like a mantra, I keep repeating a desperate prayer:
"Please, God, save me."
The ground under my feet feels spongy,
and I hear the rustle of hidden terrors in the leaf debris.
Whatever possessed me to attempt this hike?
As darkness descends, the dense canopy entombs me.
My face is a scarlet mask of scratches:
and acid tears burn my cheeks!
The pounding beat of my heart is overpowering:
and I collapse into a sobbing heap.
Fear stalks my dreams in an exhaustive sleep;
unsure if I'll ever awaken:
or even wish to.
. for public domain
I fear each Winter's ascendency.
I loathe its long and formidable reign.
I yearn for Spring and Summer showers,
Autumn's chilling wind and brutal rain.
Winter's doom, long on once fertile ground,
entombs a broken stem and decaying limb,
mutes leaves of grass without a sound,
hovers our land like a deadly hymn.
Each preceding Season's history,
embalmed by each Winter's dreadful sound
says, "Endure well your austerity.
Words worth hearing shall be once more found."
Tumbling from sullied grey clouds
snowflakes confetti the air
like down feathers, swirling down.
Riding on a chilly breeze
trillions of intricate flakes
begin to carpet the ground.
For crowned Queen of ice and snow
in her alabaster gown,
Winter suddenly arrived.
Consumed by flames of scarlet
fueled by Jack Frost's first touch,
not a single leaf survived.
Winter temperatures drop,
until it is cold enough
for you to see your own breath.
And with a heart cold as ice,
Winter entombs fallen leaves,
while camouflaging their Death.
Swarms of flies infest teary eyes,
the untouchables have no worth.
And live and die in the gutters,
shunned by society since birth.
The sick occupy the shadows,
where death entombs these castaways.
For faceless crowds take no notice,
how the lowest-caste end their days.
A woman with a giant heart
felt India's poor were in pain.
And brought them medicine and hope
to shelter them from heat and rain.
She found joy in loving the poor
and shared that joy with all she met.
And lectured that these souls of God,
more than prayers, need our time and sweat.
Mother Teresa begged the rich,
let God touch others through you.
And this angel became a Saint,
to those whose dreams she helped come true.
(Quatrain)
2/18/2017
October now is on its way;
November mists are here to stay.
With mornings dark and damp and drear
The wintry blast is ever near.
Welcome to November.
A mournful mist entombs the trees.
All is still – no hint of breeze.
Like soup the mist lies in the vale;
All colours bleached, pastel and pale.
Mysterious November.
A melancholy haunts the wood
As desperate thrushes hunt for food.
Sadness drips from skeletal twigs
And blackbird in the dead leaves, digs.
Deep and dark November.
But sunbeams slanting through the mist
Bring joy and hope of Spring, I wist.
Three months to bear the Winter's worst
Before the first Spring blossoms burst.
Hopeful in November.
The “dainty lady's” lost her gown,
For every leaf there's only down.
The beech mast on the forest floor
And hedgerow bright with hip and haw.
Time of change, November.
Such stunning colours, rich and mellow :
Deep red and orange, brown and yellow.
With “mellow fruitfulness” aglow –
Sweet chestnut, hawthorn, spindle, sloe.
Colourful November.
The bed of sorrow is comfortable
It entombs you
in a comforter of darkness
Once you lie in it
It whispers sweet nothings in your ear
and you want to sleep for eternity
Beautiful numbness creates serenity
You are unable to feel
and begin to lose yourself to the darkness
Agony is a constant presence
A reminder if all that has been lost
and all you lament for
The feeling is like none other
An experience not forgettable
nor memorable
The world ways you down
You were worried about my bed
When you should have been worried about yours
This sudden urge I've come to feel is
rapture at my gate
Not more on sudden than is subtle but
weary of this spate
Thoughts of dreams, realities obscene
and too depraved
Quite more on nightmares than dwelt
dreams yet dark and highly craved
Consumes my mind on vulture plains
devouring to ensnare
Despising law and hearts thereof
perpetuating air
Loosed in my twisted reasoning twisted
as in psycho strange
To understand this feeling you need feel
as do the crazed.
Constituting heart is a melody of nature
but as I hear it playing is my symphony in
gesture
As the organ sounds flows the flood of
tainted scarlet.
Leaving all but dense perfume and a taste
of cupcake velvet.
This wretched place I know is my bound
while I am bleeding
Not much bleeding as in breathing but
nonetheless demeaning
This occupation begs by night, entombs
me and enslaves
Preoccupying binding shadows, darkness
is my subtle crave
Desire is held in noble dream, inspired by the silence of night,
Willed to the merciless cold of senility, in a chill of evening darkness...
Our hands reach out to the perilous sky to catch a moon so still,
In the breadth of stars no dawn entombs us, as we cry for tomorrow rise
For the moon instills no shadow, nor rays that grace the dawn,
Nor buds of grass that silent grow where sincerity is born;
Like the simple sign of our quick decent into thoughts beyond the night
Or things obscured by spoken words, when a cooler breeze arrives
Come oh sun in solitude, rise children from their sleep,
Allow that that gives a faithful clue, to bid the night farewell,
Listen the call of a mockingbird, note lines on sincerity,
And caresses the daybreak with its early beams of light
By M.Norton
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