Long Gloom and doom Poems
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By the light of a window sits an old man, his pennies he does count.
His hair is gray, his eyes are old, and there’s little in his bank account.
He has lived his life by the book of what is good, kind and just.
He had some fun when he was young, was a man you could trust.
He’s done all the things you have, he worked his whole life thru.
And now he sits, by the window of life, wondering what he will do.
As his health went away, his life went away, he never doubted it would.
He saved and was frugal his whole life long, he did the best he could.
But the way of money is often misunderstood, and it often slips away.
Now he wonders how he will keep all those predators at bay.
The economy went bad; his job went away, his medical insurance, too.
He’d already been sick, medicines were high, and he lost his house to boot.
The new medical insurance is high, so much he can’t afford any treats.
Air conditioning’s a dream, heat may be soon, but he’s not on the streets.
Now in an apartment he will rest his head, and sparingly he does eat.
Gloom and doom are not his way, so a new life he will greet.
He can’t write, he shakes too much, but with a computer he gets it done.
He has trouble traveling. Finding work is hard. None his way will come.
His mind’s not sharp, but he’s seen so much, he’ll find a way to get along.
And he still has a passion for words, the world, and of course for song.
So with that in mind, as a poet he was born. And as a poet, he has grown.
He’ll never be Shakespeare, Milton, or Poe…but a poet all his own.
From his work, great poems will come, as his foundation is solid as stone.
He’ll write about people and places, and in time his light will be shone.
Some poems will be up, and others down, and a few of dreams he knew.
His thoughts and work gave him a passion for life, to which he will be true.
So tell a friend, and buy his book, have them use it in their school.
It’s the history of people, places, and things, a beautiful history jewel.
His life went to dust but now thrives, and he’ll gladly continue to work.
The rest of his life he’ll be a great poet, it’s a responsibility he’ll never shirk.
In his poems, his hope, bright soul, and heart will continue to shine.
It’s something that again calls to his heart, that he can say is truly mine.
Impress Me4 Epic Carol Eastman Written 2009... for all poets...
They’re cute, little opossums; riding on Mama’s back;
her tail rail, secures precious brood.
They’ll grow to be lethal rats;
they’ll try to eat your dog or cat and they will probably win their battle, as they have, giant shoulder chips.
My Manx once tangled with opossum female and
since she had little tail;
great mouthfuls did her hinny make.
Proud of the white upon her chest,
she quickly cleaned up the mess and us,
none the wiser be.
For several days she laid around, our little calico clown; but she was aged and likely to do so.
Around the house she trod; with no marks or blood on bod; until she could no more and it puzzled us to our cores,
why she’d stopped eating.
We took her off to the Vet; a virus, we surely bet and
what a shock we did get, when Vet said,
“Opossum’s chewed up her behind!”
Surgery was our next option;
because an opossum went’a‘chomp’in.
In a couple of days we’d have to stop in and
pick her up, once again.
Listless at home, as our tabby roamed;
her little sister, her ego blistered;
examining tube sticking out her butt;
wouldn’t leave her alone,
so violent hisses and growls ensued.
For days on end, our humiliated furry friend;
would her long days begin, in such a moody brooding.
When that tube came out, happy calico clown,
like “Tigger”, bounced all around.
Table to table and chair to chair she leapt and
made us all shout; “Bad cat!”
Nevertheless, not one thing was broken.
Her sister, how she sniffed at the stitches,
in her hips; our Manx finally laid down the law and
let a big paw rip! Swatted Tabby was offended!
The hissing, spitting fight ensued; with Tabby rolling through the room; Manx, she released such gloom and doom that made Tabby a bit smarter.
Perhaps Manx’s situation, demonstrated by her jubilation, coupled with her agitation; rejuvenated her.
A lively “kit”, she was again
and I tell you, my Manx friend,
enjoyed her newfound days again;
happy that she was saved.
For a while, Tabby quivered;
dazed, she sat and shivered,
because Manx had sent her up proverbial river.
A double lesson, it had been;
though Tabby did irritate Manx again;
Manx from then on did engage in more careful play;
but not with an opossum.
Love Was Sent, Treasure That Healed Two Crushed Hearts,
A Collaboration with Susan Ashley
Life shattered, soul crushed, another one has perished
once gone from this world was all she ever cherished
No amazing and joyful tales to tell the kids
just naked silence, from raging of black rapids
From heavens above, truest of gifts handed down
romance sent, from He that wears faith's eternal crown.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Love, its Lights flamed, happiness needs no explaining
summer warmth came from darkness rapidly waning
O' what glory, shall your heart forever hold mine
our sweet blessing, came from angelic hands divine
Within nights, kisses that sated our hot desires
came oaths of eternal love that never expires.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Our soaring passions’ pure as nightingale’s song
enrapturing seduction righted what was wrong
upon our heartstrings’ twilight music we did fly
as supernova lusts did unfurl ‘cross the sky -
scintillating stardust showered us with magic
our souls’ kissed in sparkling bliss since events tragic.
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Dreamy nectar - ripened wine, whetted revival
as I sipped upon your essence for survival
rousing the wild-honey luscious look in your eyes
behind ambrosial mist passionate beauty lies
on thirsty tongues of fire we burned ‘till morning’s light
melting past the pain in moonflower swirls of night
In that gloom and doom came our Spring's resplendent morn
Love, joyful sound of Living, thus we were reborn
Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration), April 24, 2019
Poet’s note: My dear friend, it always a great honor for me to be able to collaborate with you and truly enjoy your inspirational verses! Such a blessing is to me a very precious gift you give me and my appreciation is sincere and honest in this my admiration for both your great friendship and your magnificent poetry talents!
sigh ...
there is no shortage
of gloom and doom these days
we are in the midst of something unseen in our time
and the fear and hysteria is palpable
that said, I'm not taking the blue pill ... no way
reality is important, as are fear and caution
those darker things keep us safe
they temper our decisions and guide our courses
still, choice comes down to line-of-site ...
every time I say or do or affect anything
remotely encouraging or positive or optimistic ...
a thick, cold, wet blanket is thrown
the "reality", I am told ...
here's the thing -
I've been in pharmacy and
medicine and science my whole life
and from the beginning of this viral monster
I've been extraordinarily aware of the "reality" of this rabbit hole
odds, numbers, percentages, statistics
trials, results, vaccines, treatments
sobering, to say the least
but HOPE is a reality as well, just as sobering
and while these aged-but-wise
lungs of mine can still push gases
I'll choose to take the hopeful, encouraging, OPTIMISTIC tack
bring on the darkness and gloom
I have been to hell and back a number of times
I know the darkness well
and therein shine the most glorious of suns
oh, I absorb and process and consider all the dark
and cold and discouraging elements of this horrible pandemic
(anyone would be foolish NOT to know the weight of this disease
or understand the deadly seriousness
of all that comes with it)
but sunlight can peep through a wee hole
and it is THOSE rays that will always draw my gaze
life IS hope, from where I sit
and as long as I can type -
as long as I embrace this gift of mine for crafting words
I'll consider it my duty to use that tool
at least in some part
for the promotion of all things shiny
bright, optimistic, encouraging
happy, joyous, hopeful, halcyon, uplifting
heartening, upbeat, inspiring
and absurdly sunny
call me delusional - I've been called MUCH worse
it won't bother me ... much, lol
but ...
this is no fantasy land or careless dream I'm living in
it's simply the brighter reality
that I CHOOSE to see ...
the more hopeful future
I choose to anticipate.
As I was sitting in the waiting room about to get the results from a biopsy I recently had
I was thinking how quickly life can change…it can go from good to bad.
I was feeling a little sorry for myself…a self-imposed gloom and doom
until I realized my urologist and an orthopedist shared the same waiting room.
I immediately stopped thinking about myself…social distanced…sitting there
when a young woman walked in on prosthetic legs followed by an old woman in a wheel chair.
Next through the door was an old man who gave my senses a shock.
His legs were swollen and purple and he could barely walk.
From these people obviously far worse off than me I quickly was exhumed
as my name was called and I was taken into my doctor’s waiting room.
Where sometimes I sat, sometimes I stood…other times I’d pace the floor
wondering what news was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
I tried not to think about it…tried thinking about my wife and my family instead
but waiting for that door to open…a host of tragic thoughts entered my head.
I read my book, looked at the doctors credentials…thinking his parents must be proud
when I noticed the faucet leaking…and wondered why it had to drip so loud.
As I was studying the map of the urinary system thinking I could use some Vodka or Vermouth
the waiting room door opened…it was my moment of truth.
I took a deep breath as I watched my doctor’s face…looking for a sign
and to be honest I don’t remember anything…after he said the word benign.
As I opened the door back into the waiting room I noticed a young man sitting there
It was obvious he had Cerebral Palsy and was confined to his wheel chair.
And I noticed all the people in that waiting room…the one my doctor shared
had someone who helped them through the door…someone in their life who cared.
And I thought about my wife and family who when they hear the news
will be sharing in my joy…but would have also shared my blues….
And how any happiness we feel is more joyous and any pain is much less sore
when we have people who love us…waiting…on the other side of the door.
Disappointment /// Disillusioned
If only it could be known ?, if it be told
why my youngest Child, becomes meanly bold.
If only the truth be seen, the tale would unfold.
Regardless – she in my heart – I will always hold
even if – to these devils – her soul, she has sold.
My little world has come tumbling down,
uncertainty, heartache, fear for all around.
My life, no longer planted firmly on the ground.
Insignificant ?, I feel !, – not a ripple, not a wave
as I – carelessly thrown into the fray of a deep blue sea –
await my fate in the gloom and doom of impending eternity
as my youngest Daughter, prepares me for the grave.
This Beautiful Child, - goes ugly at times – Mel, Melanie,
seems determined - hell bent and hell bound to destroy me
by any means – one way or by any other
acting like – becoming so much like her mother,
following in the foot steps- wearing the boots of her sister,
Mandy, who can be a child without feelings, nothing to register
a sign, a belief in – there seems to be nothing to family ties.
It seems to be ?, all I feel from her, see with these old eyes
and have to wonder ?, has it died ?, all gone dry ?
Is my life ?, are my Friends, my Family – lost – reason to cry,
cry !!!, as all seems to have been going down the road, toward dust.
Do I accept ?, live without ?, I guess, move on I must,
as, upon this old metal – my life – things begin to rust,
become the poisons eating away
at what is left – taking me to that end day.
All that is left for me to do ?, it seems, is pray !!!
In my heart, in my mind, my memory, they will always stay
even if ?, in the physical, in the spiritual, my Girls are gone,
doing the things they must and continuing to move on
towards a world of bigger ( I pray ) and better things.
Things taking them beyond their mother / me, what life brings
to them, that has tortured, haunted and torn them apart,
allowing them a better future – then their past – and a new start
and hopes – from me – that all the negativity will depart.
Love
Dad
B. J. “A ” 2
June 3rd 2004
~*~*~
'Twas the night before Christmas when Mom said,
to Dad- go get a tree for us better than last year;
remember how by Christmas morning it was dead,
she shouted instructions as Dad put the car in gear.
He looked at me with a sigh- oh don't you worry,
we will buy the best and biggest tree on the lot;
and will search their complete tree lot inventory,
we will find the very best Xmas tree ever bought.
Well, we did find the best and biggest tree ever,
on the drive home- off the roof it started to slip;
and I said to Dad, it's great but just a bit big however,
deck the halls, he sang, it just needs a little snip.
He turned it this way and that but it did not fit,
in the front door- don't worry he said and got a saw;
I was really, really doubtful I had to admit,
he was hacking at the branches as I watched in awe.
Well, somehow we finally got the tree in the living room,
but it was too tall and the top was crunched on the ceiling;
at this point, I was filled with a great gloom and doom,
when Dad sawed the top off- I had a real sinking feeling.
But he stood back looking and feeling pretty darn proud,
when Mom came into the room- and screamed;
this tree is the worst yet, she was yelling really loud,
so, I ran out of the room 'cause she was so steamed.
Where am I suppose to put my Christmas angel ? Dad,
(the top was flat and there were branches gone leaving gaps);
she stood there sort of bewildered and boy was she mad,
and not just that the tree looked awful- it began to collapse.
(Dad, tied it to the wall- so it would not fall)
We decorated the tree anyways but by Christmas morning;
not a thistle was left- just a bare tree with decorations adorning.
____________________________
November 27, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Oh, Christmas Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1202-170-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest The Night Before 2
sponsor, Joseph May
Third Place
(alternately titled “How art thou dear reader?”)
(Inexplicably triggers domino effect
and doth indirect
lee send favorable
ripples vibrantly unchecked.)
vagaries of an uncertain
today or tomorrow
excites this scribe,
with a whim
analogous to sensational leitmotifs
introducing note worthy
composition melody,
and/or lyric with vim
and vivacity, particularly
to avoid behavior
being predicable, and also
(more importantly for)
to partake of the vast trim
ming of life, (not just those
reserved for holiday time),
where every day provides
an opportunity, no matter slim,
and/or fat chance to bring,
(or deliver a smile)
via friendly gesture accompanied
with a kind word
such as "hello,"
cuz no cost involved being friendly
to a self absorbed passersby
alighting, and enabling
stark contrast day, sans
gloom and doom uttering,
an innocuously neutral
greeting to bring
a dollop of good
day (not simply,
those festive occasions
(mainly and most
optimally, favorably,
and conveniently during)
Thanksgiving, and/or Christmas,
but any given evening
no matter the season if only to fling,
(albeit verbally) one or more glee
full spontaneous vocalization -
(USDA NON GMO,
gluten and monosodiumglutimate free)
surprising yourself (myself
in this case) voluntarily prithee
boost interpersonal
social awkwardness,
perhaps even offering
to lend a helping hand re
garding circumstance,
where an individual
might be contending
with something obviously
beastly, heavy, and/or
unwieldy to manage
despite the outcome, where
no response
might be forthcoming,
maybe experiencing feeling
snubbed without letting
air of indifference
(from recipient) sting!
The hues of affliction caught my glimpse
Maddening horror scratching my doorstep
Clashing with severe torture,
Scorching away my destiny...my confidence
Hallucinations take hold
Risk shoved in a deserted briefcase
Pluck the rose pedals that reveal your wasteful woe
Now your woe is crystal clear in your outspoken instructions you very much lack
Magnify the dazzling sensation,
Drugging my suicidal life and its troubles
Sparkling risk managing to parachute a confident endeavor from each angle
Crawling on poverty road...managing to warp-up easing moments
Unsteady in your rambling presence
You are an incredible luck to my immortal life
Too unbearable to strike down...hunted on the spot
Magnify the dazzling sensation,
Drugging my suicidal life and its troubles
Trails of avarice, wonder my mind far from thee
I'd diminish all the doubts...clumps of shapeless clay
Save the case and listen to what I have to say
Keep me away from worrying mad
Digest the emptiness I feel deep inside
Leaving a trail of blasted fears
A mixture of fondness and softness
Plants on your brushed, blemished whisper,
The atmosphere fairly uneasy to take hold of
You borrowed from me and stole from my mummified heart
All I seek now is gloom and doom
Resume with your lightening life
Isolate yourself from hardened fear
Death stares grow unsteady in your figure
It was as if they never existed in your warm, swirling heart
I plead you'll never set foot on this road again
I'll some day figure out the unpredictable code
Be courteous, though your abilities are weak
Lay in dark affliction,
You warped-up poverty road
Walk in secure recovery
After I determine this code
Hold on for dear life
Lay on my palm, if it would help
Walk in secure recovery
(Out of Eden: Act V)
Have you heard the sound of hooves go….. ‘clippety clippety, clop’?
That is the sound that the Pale Horse makes, when down on Earth to shop.
That Reaper mean, the one called ‘Grim’,
Takes tortured souls with wanton whim.
That rider of the Pale Horse smirks - goes …clippety, clippety, clop. ...clippety, clippety, clop.
Have you heard the sound of chests go…… ‘boom-a de boom-a de boom’?
That is the sound that the poor heart makes in throes of gloom and doom.
Horrors unleashed you freeze with fright,
Hormone screaming ‘flee or fight!!!’
The stricken heart pounds deathly beats - goes '...boom-a de boom-a de boom’….boom-a de boom-a de boom’!
Have you heard the sound of guns go ….rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat?
That is the sound that the nozzle made when out, it’s bullets, spat.
To claim a life and rip apart
The victim …and a loved one’s heart.
That nozzle spits out rhythmic hate - goes…rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat! …rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat!
Have you heard the sound of bells go ..ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong?
That is the sound that the Church bells make to mark a victory song.
Men may die, and many shall mourn
But Life itself is not forlorn.
Be brave, take heart…the Church bell peals, ..goes: ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong …ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong!
Have you heard the sound of the Cock; go …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo?
That is the sound that the rooster makes when light, the days, renew.
Days will come, and days will go
And Life goes on the way we know.
So listen, hark! The cockerel crows - ….it goes: …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo ...Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo…………Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo - Another Dawn ...another Day ….kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, doo!