Long Angriest Poems
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He never knew the girl that wrapped her body in self-pity the nights she spent alone with no one else to warm her, blaming herself for every bad thing in her world.
He didn't know the girl that bathes her self in tears the nights shes too afraid of her self to shower because it was the only place her thoughts had a clear shot at every part of her being.
He never knew the girl that wouldn't eat in the morning because it made her feel sick. Wouldnt eat in the afternoon because she had work to catch up on. Wouldnt eat at night because she was too tired the days before she would see him.
He didn't know the girl that whenever she said she was 'sick' it was from searching the bottom of her stomach. Removing any vice form her mortal she could find. And not because of the flu.
Even her herself never knew the girl that felt so out of place in the world that she believed she shouldn't be there.
She'd wake up hours later dazed from the happenings before,
her head lightened from the pounding of her skull against her walls.
She'd wake up with no recollection of the buckets of tears she tried to drown herself in or the breaths she lost from smothering herself until she fell into unconsciousness.
She wouldn't remember trying to erase her imperfections she would only wake up to them multiplied.
She'd never wake up with the memory of the war but always with the battle scars.
She'd tell her self it was okay and that she knew she was beautiful, that knew she was important to this world. Forgiving herself for the way she's been treated and feeding her mind empty promises of change.
The boy that she would never admit that she loved standing in front of her never knew how much she hated herself but now he did. She's the reason this boy whose smile could light up the world was staring at her with tears in his eyes.
The same eyes that resembled the loving hues of blue that laid on the seas and if you stared into them for too long their soft currents could lull you to sleep. But his eyes looking down at her right now were nothing like the peaceful currents of the sea. His black pupils were surrounded by the darkest blues from the angriest parts of the ocean. The waves crashing and churning, threatening to spill over his lashes and down his beautifully porcelain cheeks.
And for that, she could never forgive her self.
Form:
Back When Lost Love, Sent Its Deepest Sad Moans
Once when life seemed to be a bitter waste
love had failed, left its first unsavory taste,
sky had fallen into a hard heartache blue
when misery had a name, its face was you!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans
Every step taken showered deeper hurts
sorrows and woes grew in midnight spurts
moon laughed at this soul's feeble cries
hellish dark curses fell from black skies!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Back when dawn's light woke a fallen fool
a malignant lump, a sad useless tool
sun sent down fire, in its angriest rays
those were cutting blades of torturing days!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Back then, your sweet smile was lost to me
love had fled, life was as a fallen tree
nature complied and sent in its wasting decay
desires cried for you, yet darkness held its sway!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
Once when life seemed to be a bitter waste
love had failed, left its first unsavory taste,
sky had fallen into a hard heartache blue
when misery had a name, it face was you!
Back when lost love, sent its deepest sad moans.
Heartache and long nights echoed loudest groans.
R.J. Lindley,
April 15th, 1974
Dark Rhyme, (when found, darkest of dark, bluest of blues)
Note- Presented as originally composed-- no edits..
This was written while in the deepest darkest abyss, I've ever known.
One that took me six long years to climb out of (1980) ...
It was celebration of the Panguni Pongal for the sixth day
People assemble before the Goddess Kaali, to pray
Big sand pot is full of water
Below is a stock of wood, set to enter
Water is set to boil, with high fire
Everyone sets eye, with a desire
From the boiling water, steam shall flow
Due to high heat, water shall overflow
Waiting all along was the priest
With a face, as if he is the angriest
He pumps towards the boiling pot, to charge,
Among the devotees who witness in large
With margosa leaves, he drenches his bare hand
Standing with bare foot, over the raw sand
Lifts his hand with boiling water to spread,
Only over his bare body, to spearhead
Again and again until the water pot becomes empty
None shall feel over him, pity
Bare body of priest now looks as normal
Though he withstood steams of thermal
Never anyone seen any boil
Nor none attempt to foil
To witness, you may become uncool
Until you watch the face of priest, as cool
Celebrated at Peraiyur since ancient time
With passage of time, never became dime
Truly an entertaining festival to express,
The true divine power of the goddess!
NOTES :
(Margosa tree =a large tree of the genus Melia (Melia Azadirachta)found in India. Its bark is bitter, and used as a tonic)
(Peraiyur = A small town under the foothills of the western Ghats of South India in the Madurai District)
(Panguni Pongal= a harvest festival around the first week of April month)
Above Poem is adapted from the eBook "NONE TO MATCH! NOR TO MARCH!! AND OTHER POEMS ON GOD" by Mr.V.MUTHU MANICKAM. Copyright is reserved.
Heard upon the heavy, humid air,
now unpleasantly warm,
came further reverberating rumbles,
that proclaimed an approaching storm,
and we were made very much aware
Nature’s ire was evident,
as with bolts of forked lightning,
towering clouds were rent.
Seen in angriest dungeon,
as befits a brooding sky;
and mesmerised by her fury,
we watched, as it drew ever nigh.
But once her awesome power,
was unleashed upon the land,
our hypnotic trance was broken,
and we saw danger lurked to hand.
It was now the time to scatter;
to seek shelter where we could,
for thunderstorms can oft prove fatal,
if caught in open field or wood.
As we ran to seek our refuge:
we’d little time to spare,
we hoped her fury was short lived,
as lightning filled the air.
We knew we’d be acting foolish,
if the storm we’d think to brave,
so with safety our first concern,
twas our skin we sought to save.
Next calm air was pushed aside,
cyclonic down bursts seen:
whilst trees bowed their obeisance,
in the nearby wooded dene.
When overladen clouds then burst,
in sheets of solid rain,
so the humid air dispersed,
and the world was fresh again.
Next, when thunder clouds split asunder,
to leave the world clean and bright,
we saw skies in all their grandeur,
as shafts of golden light,
broke through the storm tossed clouds,
now fragmented and torn,
and as the sun emerged again,
we saw a world reborn.
Though thunderstorms intimidate,
such times we do adore,
for it is a time to savour:
despite our fear and awe.
Rhymer 10th August, 2016
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
Hostility and anger was zooming around the room when she arrived.
She sat in a corner, writing poetry, creating a pretty world of her own.
The hostess came by to take a peek, and ended up with a smile.
She patted her shoulder and said “I am so glad that you came!”
The angriest fellow in the room with a permanent frown sat next.
He wanted to see what she was writing. It touched him, and he softened.
He began to cry; letting out tears he had held for most of his life.
She ended up patting him on the shoulder.
Her husband watched without comment.
She was an empath bringing people joy in quiet ways.
She had an understanding of psychology that consternated others.
By the time dinner was served, three wanted to sit next to her.
He watched them change name tags around, each trying to get a seat.
His wife was a compassionate listener. She could turn a room.
He had seen this for most of his life; they were in their sixties.
It had been happening since she was sixteen when they met.
He winked at her from the other side of the long table.
There was laughter, there was hope, there was joy.
She had them frolicking like faeries by midnight.
And without alcoholic beverage or a witch’s spell too!
There was a time when I believed much stronger
than I do now.
A time when all the problems
that faced me and my world
could easily be solved.
A yesterday when a small child crept upon its knees
and prayed with humble sincerity that could withdraw the wrath
of the angriest of men let alone the gentle love of a fathering God.
That was the past
when the child had no doubts
and believing was a simple act.
As the child grows that time tends to end
and like lost yesterdays
a child grows away from simplicity.
Todays are born too suddenly
and a young adult grows distantly away
from hymns and prayers we used to know.
These nows are always with us
as childish visions are put aside
and gods are laid to rest with forgotten prayers and holy medals.
Today, we've grown older, wiser and mature
to be free and independent
capable of solving our own unaided needs.
Tomorrow though, now there's another time to be
when an aging person's thoughts are left to ponder
more serious and more important dreams.
That will be a new unchartered time
perhaps to search and believe again
much stronger than ever before.
It wields misery like a knife. And there's no magic wand to be waved
To make it fade into oblivion. It leaves me suddenly hankering
For the halcyon days of summer. There isn't enough warmth saved
It's chillingly cold, and I can't shake my incessant shivering
'Tis a cold, cold winter. Brutal as can be, and summer seems far away
Oh, how it keeps hovering in the air like a flickering hummingbird
Days are quite long. Time, as still as the snow covering my doorway
Am I supposed to grin and bear it? Carry on day after day undeterred?
It wields misery like a knife. The gust of wind it blows is terrible
I wish for rain to rid the onslaught of snow, it's white hue is blinding
Is this winter at it's angriest? The misery it has unleashed is insufferable
Rays of afternoon sun shall dissolve it sooner than later, I'm hoping
I yearn for spring, in all its glory. It will arrive before long, I pray
Cold, cold winter, please, please, please; finally be on your way
WK 2 MARCH 2019,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 03/26/2016
I was told by my uncle Steve
that I descended from a prince;
word spread through the medieval town,
then all the single girls chased me
around every corner...I heard them giggling.
Blue blood flows in my veins,
that Coat Of Arms can attest this fact;
Frederick II must have given to a valorous knight,
I can imagine how he felt accepting this honor from a King,
but the mystery remains...what was his name?
I must search for my ancestry and those scrolls will surprise me;
and if I had a wish...I would be that armored knight who seduces
the Queen whose desire for a younger man is too evident.
Ah! I will be decapitated by the angriest King! You will weep, charming lady!
I don't live in a castle groping on a barren hill,
I don't owe lands tended by loyal peasants, no carpet
is spread on my entering, no trumpets announce
my coming; I'll never smile at a pretty princess or maid!
Ah! The illusive dream of a-would-be-king! But I have blue blood flowing
in these veins! Why wasn't I given a title of nobility like handsome Prince Andrew?
Theme: Who Am I?
Written on 1/25/ 2016
Trouble left alone hurts no soul
Endowed with enough wisdom
To score no own goal
When trouble turns vicious in the kingdom
Where trouble finger on the trigger of his machinegun
Slays intruders by the dozen
If wisdom devices from them run
Towards the avenger denizen
Who enjoys a repose by the busy bus
He drives at leisure
Eliciting from no intruder a fuss
That halts the flow of the pleasure
Trouble sips like a well-chilled red wine glass
To his heart’s content
Until a misguided lass of little class
Brews for trouble vats of discontent
Catalyzing him to erupt like the angriest Hawaian volcano
Spewing noxious Sulphur gases
In an inferno
That incinerates flower and tinder dry vases
To teach a salutary lesson
To learners willing enough to take heed
Of timely advice from the wise person
Who readily plants and germinates the wisdom seed
Whose fruit
Nourishes
The recruit
Who dishes
Out love to meddlers
Enjoining them to treat trouble with the respect he deserves
From finicky fiddlers
Who trespass on trouble’s preserves and reserves.