Long Grimly Poems
Long Grimly Poems. Below are the most popular long Grimly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grimly poems by poem length and keyword.
The skies opened their curtains,
And grimly offered me that which I had always sought for
Asylum, refuge, protection, peace, eternity,
Why, all that I had been coveting while I was
Suffering, treading dangerously in the murky waters of Earth!
I looked at the way ahead with hope ringing in my heart
At last, my life buoy was here!
But then, the image of Love, left to himself,
Blinded and swimming in the darkness of earthly life
Flashed in my gaze, causing me to instinctively turn away from the skies!
Why, the realization shook me to a jolt,
The Heavens won't be as enticing as I deem them to be
Without the soul that was meant to complement mine
Yes, without love, the land of eternity would merely be a place
Where I shall enjoy eternal youth in peace, while feeling miserable!
Pray, the skies closed their curtains on my resigned face
So be it, I whispered, my blooms shall meet with their fate
Whether they die out of neglect, or they become the most glorious of all
Is not up to my will, rather, my fate, remains tied to love's,
As it had been decried since the beginning of times!
“Sigma”
It’s a deviant world
a lone wolf finds a place to fit in;
it’s pure poetry, war
heroes dance ducksteps with the romance of it all
some rise, they return home to other meaningless battles
some fall, looking for greener grass and their God
some do not return at all
they find it better to escape
they drift off dissolving into other better or terrible worlds
it’s hard poetry, the romance of war
when you hit the revelation wall;
prayers unspoken sleep,
demons
with their promise of salvation
return
they are put to bed
roughly, like a whore
adorned in slippery satin ribbons of red
masks now removed
snow like medication breathed in
dreams like opium warm the cold veins
pierce everything
like a bayonet
shut out the din
flood an enlarged heart
with all its kintsugi cracks seeping honey and sin
smiling grimly the good humour well-hidden
heroes dream of taking the lead
the quiet broken, dimly lit pawns
avoid the gun-fire and blistering burn of noisy shadows
ptsd survivors
like voiceless poets,
sometimes rise instead
ruling deeply over outranked warriors
CandideDiderot ‘25
"...When you come home
I'll bake you a cake
Made of all their eyes
I wish you could see me
Dressed for the kill
You're my man of war
You're my man of war..."
1.
Murders in congress
grimly ponder on parapet walls
on the grim reality of lost homes
and loved ones yet unborn -
their casual caws more muted
than the usual cacophony
of careless camaraderie.
2.
The still dark night
of scintilla-ed canopy
and eerie filigreed fingers
of flora bereft of foliage once lush
limned against the pallor of
moonlight mocking at men
reduced and humbled now
from their hubris then.
3.
Candlelight dinners
bereft of the trappings and finesse,
a gourmet's grumps bring together
rediscovered ties
of familial bonds under the thickened web
of electronic sludge and slime
now briefly removed.
4.
The sweet lullaby of a
distant mercenary generator
puts me to sleep
in the comfort of knowing
that i am not alone.
Troglodytes in surreal settings.
Nonetheless suicidal ideations severely
whipsaw punctuate, lacerate, assassinate
frescoed fiasco failure grimly livingsocial
ah...that dull cutlery eyed with temptation
one painful thrust hemorrhaging, whereby
carpeting permanently stained blood red,
(security deposit forsaken) cremation ought
not outrageously expensive, I subsequently
chickened out imposing eternity of fire and
brimstone self condemnation, denunciation,
excoriation gently tested as serrated knife
made contact against flesh of left arm..., no
strength prevails this Father's Day 2019
beset with gravity of black hole son wracked
fiasco frescoed across psyche adrip with
bajillion pearl jammed tears aghast at blank
tabula rasa with few hashtag marks evincing
feeble effort contrasted with abundant
adventure awaiting eldest daughter agog
at countless opportunities availed since...
her birth, when she exhibited above
average intelligence made bee line high
school International Baccalaureate program
(at Lower Merion) testament, asper flying
colors one keystone linkedin destiny toward
eventual linchpin, viz IVY League University
(handsome financial aid package allotted),
plus exemplary academic job well done, now
finds blessed progeny enroute to west coast
(sharing pricey apartment with emma man hint
beau), whereat this papa overjoyed at bountiful,
delightful, faithful indomitable laudable
achievement starkly aware how bleak and
forlorn hogtied hobbled horrid mine existence
never knowing "seat of spongebob squarepants"
experience analogous to rite of passage gaining
positive result regarding electric kool aid battery
operated litmus test forging steely mettle
comprising organic entity NON GMO, nor gluten
free genetic gifted body, mind, and spirit attaining
inherent maximization allowing, enabling and
providing decades to acquire financial means
to enjoy relative versus countless squandered
prospects yours truly (me) neglected to cultivate
leaving barren an existence not worth trumpeting!
In words, straight from this writer's heart ~
my soul, or some other sensitive anatomical part,
I consider a poem a failure, without success
when poetry readers consider it a bloody mess.
Sometimes I write in the midst of discombobulation.
It's catharsis in a bottle of ink to a confuzzled mind.
Relief to me when I'm puzzled, not when I am blind
for to see what others don't, soothes my frustration.
In my thoughts, black and white scenes are flitting.
There's an urgent need of color, but none seem fitting
that my pen and ink consider worth transcribing.
It's discombobulating for me, as if I'd been imbibing.
Trying to sound cohesive when using clever metaphor
can weigh me down until I am prone, crying on the floor.
There are themes in some contests that seem ill-defined,
when I've no clue about a subject and I feel confined.
I'm drowning in quicksand, and no one can pull me out.
It's grimly perplexing to be filled with such brooding doubt.
My words begin to ramble, and I get lost in a blunder fest.
Seriously, it's a conundrum. About this woe, I wouldn't jest.
I wind up scribbling sonnets without meter or hint of rhyme.
A saturnine absurdity and a complete waste of my time.
An infinity of feckless, ineffectual lines without vitality,
so much so that my poem winds up N/Ad. Another fatality.
I need to find a way to make other poets savor the taste
of what I breathe in and then exhale so that it's interlaced
with profound meaning that others might comprehend,
instead of mere words on a page, that no editor could mend.
I don't mind constructive criticism. I'd be a foolish ingrate
to not accept well-meaning advice. Wisely, I'd contemplate
changing the course of a poem that simply doesn't mesh.
I'm not so discombobulated to realize when I need to refresh.
A young small spruce tree had grown
In the sprawling evergreen conifer forest
Once decided to celebrate Christmas alone
In an isolated hamlet that’s the nearest.
It then started to slowly walk on a faint track
In the Christmas eve hours of the cold night
With the blue moon shimmering on its back
Where the snowflakes fluttered, falling light.
At the thinned edge of the receding thicket
On the crumbling slopes of the rippling hill
An old house remotely hung, grimly isolated
The smokeless chimney on its top stood still.
Through the cracked house’s frosted window
The tree looked inside the room dark and cold
A little girl making a tree of creased paper it saw
For a green Christmas tree they couldn’t afford.
The small tree called the sad little girl to come out
They went together to the nearby freezing garden
She plucked the last flowers for the tree to decorate
The moon made snowflakes on the tree to glisten.
A star descended on the tree from the glowing sky
Finished the decoration sticking on its conical crown
Lending its sparkle to the little girl’s lightened eyes
They celebrated the Christmas they’d never known.
When for the girl bed time came her mother found
Her in deep sleep the fingers curled, smeared in glue
The paper tree in her arms, both lying on the ground
Her dream won't break, it would one day come true.
December 12, 2017.
Ordinary People
.......................................
walking on the roads hurriedly,
to reach workplace indifferently,
to finish pending work finally.,
saw a bleeding man callously,
looked at passing by people furiously,
and thought did my duty thoroughly.
The dying man could be wishing desparately,
to help him with a heart humanly.
What did he know,we have become possibly,
merciless than the reaper so grimly.
Have the time to take picture perfectly,
but not to lend the hand to help you readily.
Well ,could be anyone’s woman,child or anyone potentially,
to be in a state and watched on helplessly.
My status ranges from low to high endlessly,
and so does my education absolutely.
Do I care about these you silly,
am just like you ,ordinary people living casually,
unhinged,unperturbed ,going along slyly.
After all ,we are all people living so ordinarily.
Written and finished on:21/9/24
It was an experience near to death
With swirling water and mind
Choking and snatching at breath
My eyes and voice unable to find
The pool attendant unconscious of my distress
Innocently my granddaughter looked on unaware
As my limbs thrashed with stress
And I gasped for air
Down I sank to the very tiles
And kicked upwards in fear
Was this to be my funereal style
No way would I choose a watery bier
So grimly I pushed my head back
And fought the water for my life
Spluttering I broke the surface through this knack
To grab the bar with joyous relief.
Never has the world looked to me
So vital and worth so much care
As when I gulped in with lungs free
To drink that blessed air
To drink that blessed air.
The number four shows form, pleasurable are their colours
Where normally it takes daylight to glow, to nurture natures flower
Resonating to elation, affirming these coloured bonds
The indifference of, blinded severely in respond
Amidst his darkening dark, sighs abound from two
In preach, clouded sermon is relayed, to run this virgin through
*~*
Such closeness in revel they, tongues asping if desiring more
What shall be the outcome, who addresses life's future door
Fervent zeal remains, against this backdrop of darkened hell
Yet, she demands and delivers he, again his body swells
*~*
Content, now comfort reached, she resides within his grip
Engulfed has the white become on this entering darkening trip
Saliva drenched, his head now bowed, engrossed, achievement said
Enriched by absorbing the white, amidst both, this stead
Her looks of hunger abound, naked like birth, blossomed rife
Do we dare to think of our surface, and what becomes of life
*~*
Like a sweetened girl in love, she looks up and admires the dark
One can only fear our tomorrows, our white dove joins his stark
Her body perky and peached, en-riched, she's now bowled over
Leg raised in content, in his dark there can be called clover
*~*
An aching hunger cries for more, in torrid lustful bites
His talons become their union, this darkened redded night
Taking, she invites him so, to suckle on her charms
Is this the virgin we knew, who once stood all alarmed
Manipulated she now is, her abundance he's now in grace
Shall she bow to her superior, in his darkly grimly place
*~*
Entwined they re-unite, as she absorbs his ogre charms
Invitingly she takes, her lips like a welcoming balm
He's tasted, taken in, in release he's in comfort gain
Her light engrossed with his dark, goes against the grain
*~*
Like the autumn weaves warmth
With hope and grace,
Inspirations in temptations of laughing scarlet,
Blazing tangerine and glorious gold,
Soothing away the darkness as beautiful
Casts its shadow over my spirit,
A dream reflecting peace that rouses me to remember
Where there was a choice, reserved for joy,
Light was the sustaining power –
Arriving in my unwritten absence,
When bold flames of passionate bronze
Faded into the summer and reminded me why,
Why I was like the dwindling moon, sliding beneath
Stardust dreams, coloring the night
In ebony history – grimly waning ways,
Soothing away the fog of yesterday and creating
Intimacy in the bonds of laughter and compassion,
The seclusion so liberating, smiling into the moments,
Erasing the black and putting away the smallest tasks
Excusing melancholy and blaming dusk
For its exasperating way of giving in to doubt,
Listening to the enchantress, lunation
Who boldly praises the nocturnal memories,
Roaring and seeking temptations,
So wise and wonderful they cling to the flesh,
Like sweat shimmering and sliding,
Sticking to the moments in an abiding grace –
Is memory so brave as the reflection it gave,
The intimacy between two echoes,
Night and day, yesterday, the past – weaved
Into the present moment, erasing the wistful wish
Who dreams light yet focuses on the night
And remembers only to agree with autumn’s brave kindness,
The memory like a taunting of two thoughts,
One of love and one of sorrow, each with their own fears
Their very own tears and so many trusted years
When everywhere there was light
Poured out on endless stirrings of what it is
To give in to the past and its spirit,
The blessings rising like a mist across the mountains,
The moments when life fades in sterling sands
Visions of kindness when life is truth
And life binds the days with praise,
An aching praise who restores and renews,
Invites the beautiful to breathe
And the sadness to grieve…
This is the past and it’s healing will give hope
To the ones who remember
A clinging ache, meant to break…
Yes, there is victory in the faith who believes
God wins – in the end, GOD WINS!