Long Cheerless Poems
Long Cheerless Poems. Below are the most popular long Cheerless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cheerless poems by poem length and keyword.
In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...
I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat,
something likable by every singer,
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal...
I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...
I am no genius or pretend to be,
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word:
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
My Journey To Life
Rough ruthless friction-framed family front
I had to confront.
Crying childhood deprived of Mom’s love and care,
I had to bear.
Showers of Father’s affection could not meet indeed
a girl’s prime need.
Cheerless childhood rolled touching tough teen age
most difficult stage.
God gifted talent brought bright brilliance
in academic performance.
Lone fighter struggled strong to search her goal,
last and least console.
Failure to endure, success to access appeared by turn,
Self- dependence is only concern.
04/22/16
There was a time when I dreamed huge dreams
Felt the presence of a mysterious urgency
To reach beyond the past and into the present
Embrace each moment with a sense of hopefulness
Assured that there will be more joy to treasure
~
The clock was ticking on, endlessly judging me
With a desire to right the wrongs that had been
Whispering echoes of defeat and cheerless fears
Never truly seeing the confidence I had to believe
The poise that I felt within when I looked to heaven
~
There was the assurance of those hopes eternal
Keeping me filled with an elated desire for the future
And those things that are more than here and now
But go beyond today into the infinite faith that is
Alive, dancing across the spirit with a promise of forever
~
With these wise and secure feelings for the imminent
Reveries of anticipation sent me exhaling intimacy
Echoing prayers of breathlessness that helped me see
With God, all things are possible and probable ~ Any dream
Is there to be believed, treasured and realized, trusted to be!
Time- 8 Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: A Dear Heart
June 30, 2020
It is dark and night outside my window,
and in the soundless, lit confines of my
room I sit at my old, ivory desk
cheerless
and anxious with dread for what the rest
of another night may bring.
My ostomy bag, an abhorrent creature that
hugs precariously on one side of my abdomen,
covers my raw and fleshy stoma underneath.
Against my desire, the stoma continually oozes
feces and waste
like a sewer into the ostomy bag, which,
every seven days or so ruptures its seal
and transforms into
a stinking and rancid cabbage
whose fetid odor refuses to stop emanating
until the entire, offensive beast is immediately
uprooted from my body.
So, I sit at my ancient, ivory desk, writing
these cherry-picked words to express
the anxiety and the doldrums
of another night;
and the lonely, isolating, embarrassing, humiliating,
ego-wiping, self-esteem killing, mind-numbing,
soul-shattering, universal, all-embracing,
omni-present
stench
that weekly offends my nostrils and fills my lungs
because of a thoroughly used-up ostomy bag that
needs to be removed immediately
like an old, decaying vegetable
that has outlived its
freshness—
It is another cheerless night in the same, old
cheerless space:
the nose-blistering smell, however, is only for
another night....
Night was covered in pitch darkness.
Looked fearful without a ray of brightness.
Through wilderness, moved beasts monstrous.
Nature looked so terrifying and cheerless.
After a night’s sleep the sun woke up.
As a mighty king he climbed up.
The East, like a neon bulb got lighted up.
Bright rays from the golden globe came up.
Soon darkness from the earth moved out.
Men from their homes merrily came out.
Birds from their nests, into the sky, flew out.
Sweet songs from their beaks flowed out.
Clear and cool was the morning air.
Men set out for work with plans clear.
Buzzing with life, the day was back to cheer.
Earth turned once again a lovely sphere!
Witches who snitch were caught slipping eye-of-newt
Into sandwiches of dog es but at first it did not compute.
What kind of a Halloween party is this? Does it have a pedigree?
I would like to join, said the vampire loving bit-Emoji.
The harvest moon brought in ghouls known as gory cheerleaders.
Gravest goon’s music revved up fright, for they are fear-seeders.
Mediocre cats who had not suited their ill-tempered witches
Were relegated outside to grab legs as kids walked past dark ditches.
Dracula had arrived with Frankenstein’s wife at his side;
We all knew there’d be trouble when Frankenstein came inside.
The cheerless, the tearless, the meanest bobbed for apples.
Some of the teen ghouls satisfied snob-hobbing with Snapples.
Leaking all over the floor was a silly un-dead skeleton.
He had been gulping down slime. No wait! It was green gelatin.
The zombies, the owls, the ravens, the gargoyles too.
Admitted it was the best Halloween in year 2022.
Steel-gray clouds have filled the sky
To linger, on a cheerless day
Laying ice upon a weary world
Of rolling hills, and pastures deep
Small herds seek shelter among the trees
And flocks of geese form arrows high
To flee the wail of windmill cries
North winter winds so wet with sleet
Have buried fields, once primed for wheat
With the weight of burdens never done
A lone man works without a sun
Entrenched in white beneath his feet
Wearing overalls, boots deep in soil
And fleece upon his heart of toil
A pitchfork heaped with mounds of hay
That blanket fields of frigid gray
There's a horse drawn wagon, sunk in mud
Waiting till the master is done
He labours on, as the evening falls
It is too cold to wipe his dampened brow
His woolen hat... it glistens now
With cheeks of red, he steels his breath
Like his forefathers did, until their deaths
Humble pride, long hours to bear
Another day that he will wear
Repeating task of many years
So weary on his shoulders lay
A legacy that's long to stay
The timeless cloak of winter's day
______________________________________________________________
Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Why can't spring
last as a deep feeling,
and remain joyful and eternal?
What makes this season so vital and wonderful...
adorning our earth with flowers so delightful?
Who is so dubious to disclaim it?
True faith admits no doubt...
will the heart?
My spring was too brief,
only desire outlived it...
floating as a leaf:
to taste death on barren ground:
such is the fate of all leaves!
Perhaps nostalgia is deeper than regret,
making me yearn with useless tears
and in doing so sorrow deepens...
without realizing I have no control over it.
Return spring with a new child in me,
making me run towards the sunflowers' filelds
increasing my chances to find serenity...
return spring, but don't be short and cheerless.
Years age the body, not the spirit...
as seasons remind us how fragile we are:
living one life and returning dust as before...
without voice, flesh, blood and thought.
Soon Winter
Clouds
Rounded mounds piled
Ever higher and thicker
Heavy, hang deep gray low —
Threatening snow
— If not tonight, then tomorrow —
Over all here, upon this gurgling, burbling
Creek, which sparkles rushing
Downhill
From
Hidden
Waterfalls…
The clear creek’s muddy banks
Hardening after
Two weeks of cheerless, chilly nights,
While the collected rocks all along
the ceek’s grassy,
weed-lush, blue-green flanks,
Are refusing to sing out to the universe
before the solstice comes
to turn the light back around —
As through the amassed evergreens’
Extening shadows
With the slinking-in of dusk’s earlier
Hour’s setting sun.
————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 11/24/2023