Long Comfortless Poems
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My heart is an ebon swallowed night where nobody ever goes,
raging in a recondite rift like ripples resounding in rueful repose.
Should I release my woe with unfathomable thoughts of grief?
I may become as strong as a tiger or just a lonely picture motif.
Last week I walked a weak and coarse course of my lowest low,
wishing to borrow a new 'morrow devoid of comfortless sorrow.
I attest I'm depressed dreading everyday, I honestly confess.
Does every grey cloud have a silver lining or shadows of distress?
O, hear my plea! I’m drowning in dream of disdain and insanity!
This minute is not minute; I’m in a dark reverie of a flowing reverie.
The soothing days of assuage which used to be my saving grace
reminds me of how I’m living dead in deafening silence of misplace.
I asked for a helping hand where all warm hands would be on deck.
Perpetually forsaken, if you know what mean, just a dolour wreck.
Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering poor inferior me,
my heart has skipped a beat divided between joy and intense misery.
For I am but a solidary woman, methinks; I shall never be cured.
I must learn to live with this agony, or die an early death obscured.
I’m stuck in a prison pen on constant guard with solitude’s disease,
craving the day when I find appeased atonement that bestows ease…
In order I used these poetic devices:
1.) Metaphor 2.) Alliteration 3.) Rhetorical Question 4.) Simile
5.) Homophone 6.) Internal Rhyme 7.) Assonance 8.) Aphorism
9.) Dissonance 10.) Homograph 11.) Euphony 12.) Oxymoron
13.) Synecdoche 14.) Innuendo 15.) Ambiguity 16.) Personification
17.) Archaism 18.) Antithesis 19.) Metonymy 20.) Ellipsis
A Litany of Poetic Devices Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
September 9, 2018
A SPIRITUAL SAINT'S STRENGTH AMIDST STRIFE
Fortitude for half a century, giving God all the glory,
The Foundress of Holy Family lived a humble, godly life,
St. Mariam Thresia - a stigmatic saint's story
Filled with many troubles, temptations and strife,
From Puthenchira, an Indian Syro-Malabar Catholic
Consecrated herself to the Lord at eight or nine years,
Modest and meek, serving the poor and the sick,
She was disciplined, obedient and different from her peers,
With childlike simplicity, charismatic charity and Christian chastity,
Fastidiously following Father Vithayathil's fine footsteps,
The "virgin of pains" was for Family Apostolate, the model entity,
Nursing the sick and dying by visiting them at their doorsteps,
Burning with intense love for God, she was a mystic soul,
"Whose Heart was aglow with fire and whose feet were winged",
Enduring her sufferings for the sake of Christ was her goal,
Her patient, divine spirit was with radiant sweetness tinged,
She had fervent trust in God's immense providence,
Her spiritual ecstasy was hours of prayer and meditation,
The "Apostle of suffering", she strived for her continence,
Wiping the tears of the broken hearted was her consolation,
Her gracious gift of goodness guides us all in giving
Care, concern and compassion to the comfortless at all cost,
Her lasting legacy left behind still leads the living
To show His love, shine His Light and shelter the lost.
Form: Rhyme (abab)
10.23.19
{This poem is about St. Mariam Thresia, who was canonised on 16th October, 2019 by Pope Francis in Rome. She is the Foundress of the Congregation of Holy Family, Puthenchira, Kerala.}
Checked the small view from hospital room I did
Doing this deed was just a simple thing
View top of trees but bottom half woods hid
Windows in building right, sun_ clouds mirroring
How many persons from car wreck slain
Thinking continues noise from hall distress
View draws me in_to outside once again
Are the crows high in nest now comfortless
Will my love whom on my bosom kept
Be kept safe_God will heal I am quite
Sure, even though now the time light has crept
The deciding factor will be tonight
At our home will he come once again to face
All the love and happiness in this place
Vegas be Damned!
Vegas took him off the board at 80.
As the cards were dealt each day, passersby
would swear the deck was stacked –
against him. Fate had, for some reason,
chosen him to constantly be in the line
that closed for lunch, watching the bus
he just missed - leave. Youth, street kid,
pin setter in a bowling alley, living at the
kindness of friends parents, eating as the
opportunity presented. 17, enlisted,
good duty, three hots and a cot. Re-enlisted,
war, Korea, PTSD (before it was PTSD).
Discharged, returned to the streets of
his youth – no longer a youth. The drink,
elixir of the damned, damnation of the
scarred, comforter of the comfortless.
Arrests and jail time, flop houses, back
to the streets. Early in his forties, fate’s
dealer broke open a new deck. A chance
meeting, a choice, an unsteady walk,
a door, into a new life. Get well jobs,
dishwasher, grave digger, volunteer.
A 75 dollar car, an apartment of his
own, friends, and fellowship. Another
better job, 30 years later, retirement
at age 75. A birthday party shared with
friends - many half his age of 84. He
still walks the streets of his youth
proudly, thinks of those who, unlike him,
were not as fortunate. Those who succumbed
to the rigors of life, and death, the unseen
wounds that never healed, the hopelessness
of a stacked deck. He laughs a lot, has a
bit of a skip in his step, a wry smile on his
face, an MBTA Charlie Card in his wallet,
and a plan to be a part of this day.
Vegas be damned!
John G. Lawless
10/18/2014
for Gautami Phookan – Sketch a Character – Poetry Contest
I dream of you from that world far from here;
to not be there, it cuts like broken glass.
I'd end this pain, my love, had I the brass
to quench my need for you to be so near.
Without you here, I wilt in this austere,
comfortless zone of un-creative mass,
stifled, crushed by the unyielding impasse
of knowing I may never enter your sphere.
Were I a wind--a breeze! a zephyr!--I'd
ride the heavens till I light on your lap
and then with you there forever abide
as if betwixt us there were ne'er a gap.
I swear--for you--that I'd move heaven and God
as sure as men do plod...do plod...do plod!
Whenever I think of depression, I think of it as a cold deep bottomless black hole. I think of it as being surrounded by an endless night, without the break of day. The only solution dealing with depression is to pray. That God will have mercy and will turn your lights back on. "The light of the world is Jesus."
There are proper medication helping people to deal with depression. I really ought to know. From personal experience, because I take one psych medication for depression. There are side effects for most medications, Including some medication dealing with side effects. It is important for me or anyone else to take all of our physician prescribed medication as directed.
Whenever I think of depression, I think of the utmost empty feelings harboring deep within my heart, mind and soul. But I also believe, "God you are more valuable than diamonds. God you are more valuable than gold." God your faith can lift me high above the mountain tops of my life.
Whenever I think of depression, I feel lost and all alone. It is as if all my friends have deserted me. And i have been left far behind with no body to console me.
But than I think, "Oh how he loves you and me. Oh how he loves you and me. He gave his life what more could he give? Oh how he loves you. Oh how he loves me. Oh how he loves you and me."
Whenever I think about depression, I can think about the times. I wanted to blow my bright and shining candlestick completely out. And putting an abrupt ending to my comfortless and senseless life.
But than I think, "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are week but he is strong." "And it shall come to pass that in the last days, that all who call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved."
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea Dubarry
Roxy 1954/ October Country
August 18, 2020
Although I had no one particular
in my mind wanted to see
I waited anyway,
I yearned and wandered to see one unreal
like a shadow in the cloud of sundown darkness.
I didn’t have one who I really wanted to see
or one I must see with delight
I waited with a burning heart on one actually not there,
today as usual, all too soon passed away.
I hadn’t anger or remorse more than bearable
or reason to bang my breast and cry out loudly in the air
I wreaked my wrath not to others but to myself again and again,
while I was doing so I became red myself under eve’s sunset glow.
I am losing my body temperature because I am lonely and comfortless
and that’s why my bone chills from solitude. Although I didn’t consider running out and embracing anyone I meet on the road
and rub cheek to cheek to receive other’s body temperature,
I was raising my eyes to the air and called nameless name but when the name returned as an echo and fell to shatter on the ground, I was gathering the pieces for all night through without sleep.
I sit with pen in hand this downcast morn;
and search the Muses for more enraptured songs;
songs of great cheer, of memories heartworn,
to banish the spirits of inflicted wrongs;
before, no songs could quell the ruthless onslaughts
of life; so abject, I was comfortless;
unsaved but for them hovering in my thoughts,
wooing me with lines that eased the hopelessness.
So, wherefore am I life's steel lightning rod;
a man, and lone soul, whose quiet defense
the world longs to disrupt—invade? (So awed
am I, that viciously it takes offense.)
From such place, the Muses grant their rare escape;
where, in peace, poets can safely take their shape.
First thoughts emerging
From my wakening mind —
Shall it be fear
That fills me
Weak and faint
To face the waiting day?
Or, sleep dispersing
With the coming dawn,
Shall crowded thoughts
Rush restless
Through my mind
Of endless things undone?
When shadows fading
Flee the rising sun,
Shall other shades
Of darkness
Shroud my mind
With life's futility?
Or once more waking,
Weep in bitterness
To find my life
Unwanted,
Out of use,
An emptiness alone?
Shall night unsleeping
Bring the morning grey,
And sorrows, fears,
And heartache,
Crowd my mind
In comfortless array?
Or could my thinking
Turn these pains to prayer
To him who knows
My helplessness
My weariness,
And find in him relief?
Could he my pacing
Thoughts infuse with peace,
If I lookup
And cry,
Lord,
I believe!
Help Thou my unbelief?
See Mark 9:24
the random residue of sunken shadows
retrieves an image of the light gone by
an effigy ashen faced and smouldering
glows tenderly upon the silhouette of time
yet another curve ball of molten assertion
distorts impressions on the transient mold
pinnacles opine to differ from ground zero
tapestries’ memories fragment figments
of imagination attempt to reassemble
the waning half-moon of false composure
serrated edges compress to bursting point
the vigil at closed gates of no return
defended by cross bows skulls targets
missed opportunities and flightless arrows
in anticipation of another haunted day
when sleep refrains from comfort
night stallions call for spurs and whip
a rodeo of mental injuries displays
with comfortless numbed precipitation
the viscous sweat of solutions out of reign
yet she gathers remnants of an outline
a contour of sanity clothed in disguise
puts another log on her ice-cold fire
sheds a frozen tear on course to exposition
grasps a tinder olive branch of feeble hope
decides to die at last and wishes to forget
01st August 2021