Long Dolefully Poems
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I first read Lord Byron's poetry, after a love was lost.
Each of us going separate ways; sorrow, the high cost.
Byron wrote of his grieving in 'When We Two Parted,'
of how lovers might leave off; both sadly broken hearted.
He expressed his time of "silence and tears," endured
for years from the one he'd loved, and of his cold cheek,
the one she'd kissed with soft lips, the one that had allured.
His verses written in poetic words; ones he could not speak.
He wrote of affection lost in the sentimental poem, 'The Tear.'
How the name of his loved one, his heart shall always revere
and loathed the last look he took as she slowly turned away.
Byron lived with romantic despair; his Sonnets woefully convey.
The woman he loved no longer walked in beauty like the night...
'She Walks in Beauty,' is perhaps the most famous of his writes.
His appreciation for love read in, "A heart whose love is innocent!"
But once lost, the stars are veiled by clouds becoming imminent.
I reference a lesser of his works, for it's become my favorite one.
'Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not' made me feel dolefully undone.
He penned, "those beloved, vanish'd hours my soul was given thee."
Bereft but "may never be forgot," though their loved ceased to be.
He dreamed the love they'd shared returned, but that was fantasy
and swore his love would not fade. In his heart it remained reality.
Final lines, "Can still a pleasing dream restore," instead of being forgot?
If hours we had together are gone, "Then tell me not, remind me not."
Fantastic story in milky marble,
In honor of a wife, so praiseworthy (?)
Though seems overflow of fidelity,
Tajmahal is Muslim art, painterly;
From around world he brought so precious stones.
He ordered his whole kingdom to labor.
Mumtaj bore Fourteen children, soulfully;
Her youngest tried to break his father's bones,
Didn't Shahjahan keep wives for favor?
Six, the history says, quite dolefully...!
Maddened with thoughts of a lone masterpiece,
He gathered all artisans; gave gifts, sweet;
Cut off the hands; plucked out the eyes, with ease,
And played fiddle, like Nero, as in treat;
Lo, the architect did greatest of deed,
Made a hole, no one knows where, till this day,
And, hence, it's leaking, leaking and leaking;
Engineers of every caste, sect and creed,
Thenceforth, have tried greatest possible way,
To stop this seepage and irksome reeking...!
So, when I look at you, Tajmahal, dear,
Pool of blood floods within my naked eyes;
Should I ignore these for art-sake and drear,
Or bear it for heart of love that ne'er dies?
Reject simile, metaphor! Parts of speech,
No figures of speech match human being,
Tell Shajahan and Mumtaj this great fact;
Every one to every other must teach,
It's each and every being's well-being,
And not monuments that truly attract...!!!
04 May 2022
With a load of worries on your shoulders
You dolefully trudge on your path of life,
Evading any ditches or stray boulders
Craving for a life free of stress and strife;
But then someone cuts right in front of you
and shoves his faith in your face and his views
And wouldn't leave you be even on cue,
Sadly the pestering just continues.
Ha, since before the beginning of time
Many seers and prophets have come and gone,
Yet mankind has kept with the sins and crime—
Why not leave religion and God alone?
That’s when I just go mad as a hornet
And feel like gutting them with a hatchet!
"Mad as a hornet" contest by John lawless
With a load of worries on your shoulders
You dolefully trudge on your path of life
Evading any ditches or impeding boulders
craving for a life free of stress and strife.
But then someone cuts right in front of you
Shoves his faith in your face and his views
And wouldn't let you be even on cue,
Sadly but the pestering just continues.
And for the fact, since the beginning of time
Priests and politicians have come and gone,
Yet mankind has kept on with his crime
So why not leave politics and religion alone?
That’s when I go crazy with a machete,
Hold me tight for I can’t stand steady,
Like to shred those goons like spaghetti...
Ha, I am shuddering with rage already!
~11/08/17
~Judgmental People and Haters
contest by Brenda Chiri
Upon the arc rises familiar visage of tenebrous dawn
As birdsongs protest, yet another day gone wrong,
In anguish of emptiness thrashing~ stygian, forlorn,
Screaming relentlessly of despondent, indignant void
Blasting his emotions, clasped in poignant thoughts.
Nothingness was the theme of his darkened night
That brazenly shrouded luminance of starlit skies,
As the waxing moon turned pallid, refusing to shine
And benevolence of Venus dolefully uttered a sigh
When dreams, too, acceded to nightmares’ assault.
Life has been a long journey, trekking hills of misery
In hollow pursuit of hope, always despaired trying~
Every forward step of progress unresponsive, lacking
To rescue him from oblivion, from gravity of abyss,
Where silence echoes fear, warning there is no exit.
He knows intimately, she too feels dread of anxiety:
Of ocean-storms unseasonably rushing summer heat,
Parching her delicate notions of blossoming spring,
Of harsh winters encroaching on her autumns fiercely;
Yet, she stands steadfastly, defying the curse of grief.
Prodding goodwill of divinity she tolls bells of harmony
Giving voice and meaning to life’s reassuring feelings
Clamoring for a day to brighten halo of their morning,
Demanding relief; with her clenched fists at the ready…
Forever, if it takes that long, to alter path of destiny.
December 20, 2021
Poem of the day on December 22, 2021
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 27 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title: A Shout Into The Void
"Life is a song," I find it intriguing,
how often the roads we journey upon
allude to lyrics like variant moods of songs.
Some days I endeavor to sing,
but the words come out all wrong.
Orchestral phrasing holds no cadence,
no tuneful rhythm relegated to dance
when love has taken a clumsy misstep
in the melancholy realm of romance.
Every note is out of sync when played
if no harmony can be found.
I become dolefully dismayed,
afraid to hum a single chord
of mellifluous melodies I once knew.
Then, sorrow is my burden to bear,
weighing heavily upon my suffering soul.
Sunsets no longer hold interest for me,
so, I refuse to view them alone.
Hearing love songs I should be singing
sting me with maudlin emotions.
I'd rather listen to the trilling voices
of cooing songbirds and nightingales
instead of humming a song sung blue
when there's nothing left to be said.
But I would sing an aria ~ acapella,
my voice raised to be heard,
with every love song I could recall.
Each refrain and every romantic word.
I would resound each alluring interlude
with sultry yearning and desire.
When life if filled with happiness,
I eagerly light the torch on fire.
I would serenade chirping sparrows
who warble on my window sill
from the dappled dawn of first daylight
until purple heather shades of twilight.
And yet, I could not suppress the need
to sing a nocturnal lullaby
to lovely Luna, the luminous moon
and the radiance of each shining star.
Life is a song that composes its own music.
Everlasting love, if you take hold of me,
my only wish is to be where you are ~ eternally.
Oh, there are some hurts that nobody reckons
when a rush of rage, pain and revenge beckons
about a wanton act of mayhem and spiteful action,
In the silent nights it beckons, oh how it beckons
belying my irenic ideals, beliefs and just conviction.
Hesitant and much fretful I stood at the threshold
of a cordoned off bloodstained room, dolefully cold,
at this time a most dismal of moments and piteous
to wrap my head around this grim spectacle I behold,
My beloved and I lay bleeding—murders most vicious.
To find the one who committed this dastardly act
I vowed to exact vengeance, unravel one sole fact—
Towards my wife’s unfaithfulness was my hostility
It’s I who staged this scene of murder-suicide pact,
my suspicion was not without merit of her infidelity.
~5/12/18
~Premiere II contest by rob carmack
There's not a cloud in the pristine Colorado sky,
But for a myriad of feathery contrails left by airplanes flying high.
I wonder from whence they came and what are their destinations,
As they form arrow-straight patterns of many variations.
They're probably having lunch now, the proverbial pretzels and coke,
The pilot ever alert with steady hands upon the yoke.
What a view that must be from thirty-thousand feet,
Especially for those lucky folks who have a window seat!
What dramas, I muse, are being played out among those aboard.
Some read, others snooze, others keep glazed-eyed seat mates bored!
Harried moms trying to keep their kids from going berserk;
Stressed-out business travelers poring over reams of paper work!
A lonely soldier at a window seat stares dolefully out in to space,
Holding in his heart the memory of his sweetheart's last embrace.
A newly minted grandmother whose face is just a-beaming,
Going to see the new-born babe for whom she has been dreaming!
With clenched white knuckles, tense first-time flyers abound.
A newly-wed pair exchange a kiss, not caring who's around!
The silvery jet speeds upon its way, the contrails dissipate,
With travelers anticipating joyous reunions awaiting them at the gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I first read Lord Byron's poetry after our love was lost.
The poet wrote of his grieving in 'When We Two Parted.'
Both of us went our separate ways, sorrow, the high cost.
When love withered and died, I was left broken hearted.
Byron penned how his time of "silence and tears," endured.
I grieve without your hand's gentle touch upon my cheek,
without the kiss of your soft lips, ones that I had allured,
Byron's verses were the sort of words I could not speak.
I couldn't tell you of the tears I cried, each one falling away,
or how often I whispered your name in a nightly dream.
I lived with romantic despair that Sonnets woefully convey,
but on waking, I found my reveries were not what they seem.
I quote a lesser of Byron's lines, for it's now my favorite one.
He wrote, "Those beloved, vanish'd hours my soul was given thee."
'Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not' made me feel dolefully undone.
Bereft but "may never be forgot," although our love ceased to be.
I fear that I shall eternally be reminded of the love we shared.
No dream can restore it when it's faded like stars in sunlight,
or withered flower petals. Pity my heart has not been spared.
Perhaps, a poem I should write to fill the loneliness of each night.
Condolences Forever Invoked - 9/11/2001
Many unsuspecting innocent lives
unwittingly found themselves
at ground zero
with absolutely no time
to bid loved ones adieu,
and thus with
a metaphorically clangorous
(aire splitting din – bedlam askew
n'er to be silenced),
aye felt near ready,
viz no haw wing,
nor hem ming – waze
farewell call to peace monger...
and arm Matthew
nine one one when
clear out of the blue
a resounding handy
dandy bell lose clue
asper, a fitting notion pain
fully apropos to applaud motley crue
i.e. strangers risk
king life and limb,
would definitely do,
no matter where persons
stationed come thee
ex-tolling bells morrow,
(whence thee fateful
seventeenth anniversary
twill dolefully arrive -
somberly dawning for
survivors and/or next of kin -
less than twenty four
hours from now),
sans unforgettable tragedy
indelibly etched will be recalled
in a blinding
fiery stormy flashback,
where significant lost lives will replay,
when weaponized airplanes
took a kamikaze nose dive
a dwindling cadre,
qua first line of defense,
emergency civilian and/or military
trained personnel jumped
into the blizzard decimated fray,
whereat selfless persons
scurried (helter skelter like)
all abustle analogous
to a outsize bee hive
where 24/7 news
broad casters did air
(nee blast) round
the clock latest bulletins,
could not escape incessant blare
ring frozen like a
life size like sculpture
seated in favorite easy chair
hypnotized by the sheer colossal
utterly incomprehensible dare
devilish a state of emergency,
the then president
(George Walker Bush) did declare
dumb founded, slack jawed,
and wicked deed
waiting for horror
to be recanted as an err
roar overloaded sensory circuits
exceeded threshold,
nonetheless listeners and/or
viewers forced themselves to hear
live coverage far more appalling
than any night mare.