Glowering Poems | Examples

On seeing another poster of a child holding her lost pet

Another poster of a child holding her lost pet.
When I see them, man, the sinking feeling that I get.
Why can't pets just learn to stay at home?
Why are they always dying to go on the roam?
I haven't seen or heard of one happy ending yet.
This is not why we did love you ~
and learned to think the whole world of you ~
just so you could sneak out the back door ~
never to be seen anymore ~
except in visions ~ with a coyote glowering down from above you.

Give Me Wings

Fill my heart with love's light
before darkness leads it astray.
Quill me lines of romantic Sonnets
meant to chase glowering clouds away.
Offer me wings so that I might take flight.

Nadir

Sleep escaped,
Without a farewell,
She had not the grace
To aspire my light,
She proved to be darker
Than her gaze,
Glaring, glowering,
Glowing with madness,
Bipolar’s destroyer – two sides of the coin
Despair, dread, doubt – depression
Delight, elation, wired – manic
Stages of dark and light,
Day and night,
A breath, a prayer, a silence
Flooded with fire –
Cold, brilliant desire….

Where she kindles a flame,
A feeling, a flavor
Peppered with light,
But pouring out – fight or flight,
Willing the spirit to mute
What is a glorious ruse.
Nadir deceptions in the form
Of acceptance, darkness and light,
Fading into day, then night,
Manic depression – bipolar like
The questions
That come to life
When there is no prescription,
Killing the sparklers
Within my mind, within my brain
Where bipolar is made
From two pieces of a maze,
A labyrinth who prays,
For God’s healing touch,
His endless grace, 
Overflowing my cup, bringing
The chance to wake up
From the sleeplessness that pursues
Enemy of His truth, 
Insomnia, the ruse!

Like KOALA'S

_LIKE KOALA'S
Like Dophins,
Always sleep with half of your brain,
Glowering at nature’s grain,
You may be a koala for all fins,
For this arduous moments;
Will tell in the future’s ornaments.

For futurity is transient, 
And waits for no one, from ancient...
Like Koalas, do more of sleeps,
But never forget, the river slips,

In your purviews;
Intensify your reviews_
For your views is an aplomb
A shallow nobby  clomb!
Life  is a tincture of action:
Rhyming with reaction—
The luminaria’s sight 
The true sense of a falling light.

Freedom In A Cup Of Coffee

Self, is near—
From that internal glowering;
A night before. A.M. vague
Made the habit—
Now all's up in the sandy mist

Settling around me, as
The morning blooms open up to my reverie, while
I number odds in cafe grounds.
(Peak of perfection)
I'm swelling inside.

Saved to just be me
In the jolt—
Tender, random, heated;
Pushing on the planet; I'm now following
Its orbit, finally.

Concurring With Millay

Spring hangs
like a dripping woolen coat
from the pewter frame 
of a glowering sky.
 
Why is it that poets write of spring
as if it were made 
of rose petals and birdsong?—
and insist that spring is when 'true love' blooms?
 
There are no flowers, no birds, no eager lovers
with this horrid impostor, this con of a season.
 
Here by me, 
on my windswept, narrow land,
I know well how it goes—
 
spring holds winter's slushy hand,
and the two of them laugh heartily at us,
flinging their icy spittle
in our faces.

Vampire Sonnets Xxii Without a Trace

I rounded a street missing a lantern,
the heat in my eyes was starting to burn; 
It felt like gravity was all but gone 
my sharp fangs extended as I walked on;

Creeping closer still hidden completely 
Fable stood a few feet ahead of me; 
‘Recommendation: Don’t do that again.’  
I said this but knew she would not abstain;

Knowing this I came an inch from her face 
‘I’ll make you disappear without a trace.’
Being guided by such an  angry force 
every word was more than a little coarse;

Glowering at me she said ‘They will hunt you.’
 ‘They may’ I said ‘but respect I’ll accrue.’

London Bridge Is Finally Down

Those shrunken grey turrets throw 
Their distraught shadows to the wind;
And in the grey twilight of ancient 
Beinn Chìochan...
Hear you the droning sounds of 
Muted pipes retreating far back and 
Away. 

Albert heaves upon the old grey 
cairn;
When woken from his immortal sleep,
Laments beside the darkening waters
For that which, despite all its 
Eternal majesty...
He knows can but never come again.

Over grey skies, glowering like the 
Grey dawning,
Spanned the rainbow to briefly flicker
Before the remaining day;
But with the grey night will come the 
Weeping...
And London Bridge, reduced to nought 
But Her, laid finally down.

Young Woman of Today

For her replies a much disagreeable voice
Over this daring to rejoice;
Any young man’s triggered depression a delight
His heart failure by half, her show of might;
Not to me different from Arrows of The North
Whose poisoned tip summons my wrath.

Choosing to in styles sway her hip
To ensure that men’s sure steps slip,
Admirers’ stops for pleasantries resenting
For a handshake an unwilling palm presenting;
Often glowering at offences not offered,
In tears dissolving for The-Not-Suffered,
To soon a lawyer hire for the unproven,
Her face lived – a Scalding Oven…

All, what her mother had taught her,
If she wants to with A Guy go far;
Their tutorials always in some closet,
Her first lesson “To always seem upset”.

Influential Strains

INFLUENTIAL STRAINS

 this legacy
exuberant
recherche
    collude
the deliberate needs
an arcadia
inhabited
by
   primal beauty
darkened 
  glowering
reminiscent of
  decay

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

Every Bum In Our Slum

I know like a solvable sum
Every Samson’s riddle bum
Roaming our banal slum
Besides my tricky chum
With his insincere dum-dum–dum!
Not in his favor
His ear- assaulting chewing gum,
A thing to not savor
His disquieting rum…

If not slapping some drum,
Strangers asking where they came from,
Glowering at the seemingly dumb. 
Sometimes, touching tunes does hum 
But with a face decidedly glum
And not infrequently hitting his mum
For recklessly postponing his plum.

.

Winter Dirge

The earth is cold
distant fires burn--
icy arrows
pierce my sullen body
and the emptiness
becomes unbearable.

Without her
the wind
is my enemy
and the glowering
sky suggests
her absence.

I seek warmth
in my moribund cave
thawing my brain with firewater
waiting for the 
alienating glaciers
to thaw.

My Uncle Is Dead

He came into my room glowering.
I rolled my eyes, but inside my head, silently, so he could not see.
He comes to me daily, to get away from his “mean” teacher.
I am feeling a bit mean myself.

What happened?
She is teaching math, she is looking mean at me, I hate her.
I know this child well; he truly just wants to play in a sand pile.
And he despises math like I despise math; I keep this thought a secret.

We play in the sand pile and he says “My uncle died.”
I ask him “when?”
He says “we don’t know, we have not found his body yet.”
I said “How do you know he died?”

He glares at me. “Mom and me went to his house this weekend.
We knocked and knocked, and no one came.”
I am on board so far.
Mom pointed to Rex’s water bowl and said “You know what this means don’t you?”

Rex is his dog?
Head nod.
“What did it mean?”
“It means Uncle Tom is dead. He would never let Rex run out of water.”

God and His Country Air

verdant  grasses in a gorgeous April meadow
dew fresh on delicate apple tree blossoms
red buds parade their mystical prettiness
refreshing country air which rejuvenates and revives
daybreak's shy glances peek over the hills
barn standing in as a witness for five generations
dainty daffodils sprinkled with purple violets
a fabulous day for a bit of pond fishing
bluegills and bass will be biting
handsome farmer stares at the glowering sun
appreciating God's fresh new day
loving the canvas of his verdant meadow
he can smell the warm flapjacks now
his wife waves through the kitchen window
he waves back, so glad she is his!
no hurry to get inside,
loving the April meadow,
his overalls itch to head toward the pond
after our chores, he thinks
Taking another long breath of God's country air

Observations In a Country Church

Dust motes dancing through glancing light,
refracted through stained glass windows, bright.
The smell of old pine and communion wine lingers,
wax polish and roses from grieving widows fingers.
A faint smell of incense, intense in it's nuance,
old hymn books weave their soporific fluence.
The imposing lectern, Gothic and glowering,
the Nave and Transepts, jaw dropping, towering.
The silence echoes in reverent tones,
so as not to disturb the pious bones
interred in alcoves and beneath stones 
inscribed with the names of the chosen ones.
Hassock and cassock, pew, aisle and choir,
childish imaginings of brimstone and fire.
Quiet reflections in an old country church
then out to dappled sunlight through Yew, Oak and Birch.

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