Long Cimmerian Poems
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"Midnight cast its cloudy beams
From the gloom the shadows went
Smudging all the tarnished dreams"
Cimmerian moonlight gleams
As troubled thoughts spread their scent
Midnight cast its cloudy beams
Reigning in nightmarish screams
Whispers of silence lament
Smudging all the tarnished dreams
Mindful of the starry streams
Groggy eyes nod their assent
Midnight cast its cloudy beams
Aware of night's darkened schemes
Sleep vanishes in torment
Smudging all the tarnished dreams
Haggard mind in its extremes
Longs for peace to feel content
Midnight cast its cloudy beams
Smudging all the tarnished dreams
04.26.2021
For Joseph May's "Choose your form" contest
Written: December 2, 2025, for contest by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
**********************
It begins as an antiphon—
ubiquitous call—ominous retort
betwixt depth of marrow and ethereal sky mist,
amid the gelid nimbus of solitude
and the vibrant, exuberant surge
of your presence.
You are the guide of my steep slope,
leading me away from lifeless despair.
to zenith’s luculent luster.
Your mellifluous sobriquet
festoons my threadbare silence,
a rhapsody against the noisome palaver
of the world’s officious slogans.
I wobble in despair,
but I wake up when you tell me to—
perseverance turns into symbiosis,
and my healing heart smudges
the sacred diction of touch
once again.
Love pulls akin chiaroscuro,
a janiform force:
one face of catharsis,
one of hubris,
Yet both sanctified
in amaranthine flame.
You exculpate my imbroglio,
untangle the fastidious knots
of my ossified fears.
Even in the dismal cloudscape,
your intrepid light
spasmodically festoons
My wilted petiole of hope.
I humiliate before this sanctity,
yet rise gamesome,
gregarious,
intrepid—
an ergate in your hive,
a viceroy in your kingdom.
The zeitgeist evanesces,
otiose burdens fall away,
and I disport in your eleemosynary grace.
Even hornswoggle and yarborough
cannot undo the synchronicity
that binds us.
Love pulls—
ubiquitous, unabated,
a hecatomb of solitude,
a panegyric of symbiosis,
a luculent valediction
to the moribund self.
And so I prowl again.
In your cimmerian,
I find sanctity.
In your treacle,
I taste eternity.
In your amaranthine pull,
I am beloved.
Written: May 4th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
*********************
Some nights, the sky feels janiform—
half vernal promise, half neolithic memory—
a cimmerian of choices I almost made.
I look up, letting the nimbus-laced cloudscape
vellicate the mind with its noisome, necessary truths,
each thought an infinitesimal antiphon
echoing through the tensile hush.
The stars seem luculent, almost officious,
as if they’ve taken it upon themselves
to festoon the dark with quiet directives—
a sobriquet for every fear,
a rhapsody for every wound.
Their light is never soporific;
It carries the spiritus mundi of wandering souls,
the symbiosis of what we were
and what we dare to become.
And sometimes—
in a moment so evanescent it feels imagined—
a single star breaks rank,
offering an epiphany
with the gentleness of woodbine
and the courage of an intrepid sherpa
guiding me up the steep declivity of doubt.
It whispers, without words,
that destiny is neither fixed nor fickle—
That's what’s “written in the stars.”
is simply the amaranthine reminder
that even in our most somber,
threadbare,
dysania-ridden hours,
We are still luminous enough
to write back.
Written: March 22, 2025, for contest sponsored by Craig Cornish
***********************
In the heart of my kitchen spices exude their aromatic allure
a harmonic blend of flavors coddiwomples mute grief. . .
cimmerian saudade in emeritus pickles, a nostalgic taste
longing for a whiff of jasmine s p e c k s. . .
the acridity of blue cheese, the poignancy of bygone days. . .
lavender aromas snip from vessels of proclivity
hidden under an ominous cloud of r e m o r s e
on par with brimstone-soaked steam,
harmony strives to alleviate concealed pain
pleading palms to purge passed-over prose
as seclusion seeps still as a slow-spreading sickness…
Scathed by sadness solitude simmers silently,
In this mixture, marvelous magic manifests for mending
spicy ambrosial nuances partake in a gracious w a l t z
pain intermingling with delight
a buffet embellished with dishes of acrid herbs,
the core character intertwines with previous fails
textures and fragrances intertwine
to create a tapestry rich in pain and d e l i g h t,
harmonizing sadness and joy in life's tangled web.
Heinous are the horrors in the rages of war
after it makes its purchase of pawns.
Brave are those following orders with a salute.
Some will never see their homeland again
for the reach of the reaper is relentless.
He is a cimmerian chasing after souls,
a stalwart fiend approaching in dark pursuit.
I am a soldier trying to escape his clutches
but my chest was the target of a mortar shell.
Lying alone, body bleeding in a trench,
I linger, wondering if this is where I die ~~
on this dismal edge of the abyss of hell.
I look for stars glowing in the sky
but there are no lights shining down on me.
My vision is too blurry too see
for the hand of Death keeps trying to close my eyes.
I beg and plead, "A few moments more."
before I hear piteous painful cries
and realize the voice is mine.
I have no choice but to accept this merciless fate,
knowing this ditch will be my burial place.
A wretched grave for a brave soldier,
but one no longer fearless and willing to die.
Soon, I will feel no pain
for Death is moving closer to my side.
I cannot hide my fear and disdain
as tears mingle in the streams of my blood.
Numb to it all, I will soon become.
My battered body is being bathed in rain.
I feel a chill flowing in my veins,
draining me of life as if it were a succubus.
I'm too weak to fight for one more breath.
Death is claiming me, not as its friend,
but with arrogance of one who holds power.
Thoughts ramble in my last hour,
my mind holds profound sullen images
of characters in history ~~
I will not die swinging from a wooden gibbet
and no dagger will be thrust by Brutus's grasp.
Poison Hemlock of Socrates, I will not prohibit.
but Death will claim me just as he did Cleopatra
when she was bitten by the fangs of an asp.
Against the cold embrace of Death's persecution
there is no reprisal, no hope left for me.
Silently, he will abscond with my life before dawn.
Written: April 21, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...you appeared as a cherub
In bejeweled emerald sky,
tangled atop topaz pearl tributary
in a sweeping shape,
of a serene watershed
splendidly shimmering.
Yet you've ever been a devil
wrapped with pristine wavy lines.
I sculpted you on a pedestal
soaring across stratosphere,
whilst, wondrous waves worked
below the surface
Gazing at the cerulean sky, you peer
rhapsodic ripples, rakish zest
blurred your tenets
scattered in seraphic scale
across your upper forehead
nestled in a hypnotic kaleidoscope
your smile speaks volumes
I can decipher your essence, truly
Your melodic voice graced my dreams
scrolling in slithering sapidity
a haunting realm
I have faith in celestial beings
or Fiends
festooned fed fringes for
failing shoreline
we fetched filthy fetter
flimsy fiddling filaments fused
a scrumptiously septic salient salve
I decry I'd dubbed devotion as lethal.
Worse, you still
believe in your celestial.
Whilst, fire swallows your whole core.
You always have
dazzling beams meet your gaze
but tonight, they are blazing with
A jolt of endorphins, exuberant and alive.
Can you fathom the sight?
Glow clings cavort consciousness
a foreboding omen
or perhaps a haphazard boon
hinges on hugeness
Cimmerian gloom blooms in your gaze.
Oh, the proximity to epiphany!
a romantic breath
left unbroken
in stillness
hearts beat
under the
cimmerian
lulling
restful still night
a new beginning
of twilight
to see
the tidal
wave of
ember flames
passionate
eyes so sensuous
is intimate sweet fruit
taste
of hope favored love
written on 7/26/2020
10/5/2021 added the first stanza
''R'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest 5. romantic
Sponsored by: Constance La France
When life is like an evanescent dewdrop,
spirits fade like ashes in a cimmerian shade
but then you smile,
enlightening like a crescent moon,
sparkling in silent serenity.
My heart floats like a sussuration of butterflies,
soaring toward an empyrean paradise of petals
yearning to stay for eternity
then you speak,
serenading like a harmonic orchestra of angels,
suddenly I feel like a blissful bard,
strumming strings of a heavenly harp.
My radiant beloved, my soul glitters for you,
like a million devoted stars, sparkling in twilight aurora.
Your voice is my sweetest abode,
a soothing sanctuary, cleansing my sins,
healing like fragrant Jasmine, dulcifying my heart,
Upon my final swan song sonnet,
do not shed a tear, for our love is timeless.
Sing me one last lover's lullaby,
even in death, your voice will be music to my ears.
Silent One
10 February 2019
Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
Extrovert eyes express cimmerian connotations,
hidden within silent chambers of an introvert mind.
Thoughts twist and turn, but disguise frustrations,
as a melancholic heart struggles to remain kind.
Drained by energies from those who fail to understand,
soul seeks solitude to energise back into life,
Searching for a comfort zone in the promised land,
before insanity cuts deeper than a poisoned knife.
Confined to dogmatic chains results in confusion,
as faith becomes an enemy within critical cultures.
Torn between paradise and social seclusion,
soul seeks solitude from vociferous vultures.
Complicated compromises mean hearts will be broken,
yet introvert wings yearn to be free so they can soar.
Life is a balance of words voiced and left unspoken,
if only it was as simple as walking through that door.
The Silent One
Simple Musings
18 July 2018