Long Grimmer Poems
Long Grimmer Poems. Below are the most popular long Grimmer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grimmer poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes you can hide yourself in a mirror
Not everything’s revealed within its glimmer
What you see is only your outer reflection
You’re only looking at lights reverse deflection
Your eye’s look forward but only see back
It’s truly an optical mirage, a reflective façade
Sometimes there are lies in the reflection
Walls that are built to provide you protection
Like makeup used to cover flaws and cracks
Hiding blemishes and limiting the attacks
Paradoxes of light, a brightness that is dimmer
Illuminating the truth, obscuring the grimmer
Sometimes the truth is only seen as fraud
When your outer skin hides what is inside
Mirrors are unique as they capture misdirection
Curved paths of light are only retinal projections
Images presented to the world may never lack
But they may not represent a faithful track
Sometimes a reflection is defined by the shimmers
Of the underlying image like candlelight that flickers
Giving up truths behind the lies seen by refraction
In a mirror’s view when you are open to inspection
Less defined by vision compared to the abstract
Of what is promised to your soul through God’s contract
(Marilyn Monroe speaks.)
River of No Return
A desert is a bitter place.
There's something cruel in endless space:
it strips away the human scale.
I fear these winds that scour and chase
the vortices, and sting my face.
Good looks are fine, but all too frail -
ask Monty. Once you've lost your place,
you feel as if you've lost the race,
you're not what you're supposed to be.
I envy his consumption rate.
The one man in this battle-born state
in grimmer shape than even me.
Yes, Huston's the paternal kind,
but something's left him colourblind:
director's name on empty chair.
He's hollow, going through the motions,
painted ship on painted ocean:
you touch him, but he isn't there.
I married Miller on a whim.
If I could land a man like him,
I figured, I must be someone.
A man above me, older, smarter:
I didn't want a Jewish martyr.
Why lock the safe? The money's gone.
I come without a guarantee.
Men fool themselves - they don't need me.
I nixed on Arthur, fixed on Clark.
I've reached some kind of plateau now.
I'm sure of everything ... but how
to find my way back in the dark.
I am darkness,
I am night,
I am where many are lost without hope in sight,
I creep and seep,
filling the cracks in you,
with me.
Encroaching, slowly, in little ways,
pushing out the better days,
replacing every happy moment with misery,
with grimmer thoughts,
with procrastination,
lack of motivation,
and no will at all.
I change you,
mold you,
cast you in my die,
warp you,
twist you,
with doubt,
anxiety
and lies.
I don’t need to worry about haste,
No, no.
You won’t have the strength to fight
once you realize, you are mine,
because I work slowly,
as the thing I have more than you,
is time.
“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” we hear the beast coming.
Music gets under our skin. The worst of attacks,
narrated by the boat’s captain. Unsettling sink
of the USS Indianapolis. Just below the hull,
a giant life wanting to strike a blow. This boat
a smaller target. Getting chummy, stomachs
lurching. Baited by grimmer details. A solid blow
to the vessel. All hands on deck - only three.
“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” and oftentimes whimsical.
Who will survive? Aye! Aye! Not the captain!
The shark will save the other half for dinner.
You, who know, know what happens. Those
who don’t, be warned; watch, get an education!
Happy Earth Day, Mother Earth!
I have to say, for what it’s worth,
That you’ve seemed better in the past;
Things are getting grimmer, fast.
Lack of snow in ski resorts
Has hurt much more than winter sports,
With fire, now, a constant fear,
Especially when winds blow near.
While temperatures that fluctuate
Cause harm to crops and, as of late,
Between the times of floods and droughts,
Your advocates are having doubts
About sustainability;
Will future generations see
A way to help protect your lands
In ways that modern life demands?
We humans have our work to do
To fix the damage done to you,
But while we can, let’s pledge to try
So Earth Day hopes don’t up and die.
…the seeds of neo-Nazism are germinating
Markus Nierth, former mayor of Tröglitz, Germany 2015
Germany’s rock candy windows and cookie like shingles make seeing the oven inside impossible. At first, the obsessive compulsive cleanliness of Nuremberg’s post-WWII streets is a joy. For a child of the melting pot, born after The Big One, it’s painful to recall the grimmer aspects of the Third Reich with their proposed eugenics. Nuremberg [rebuilt] roots in an elitist past hiding behind half-timbered houses of wattle and daub. Once the seat of the Holy Roman Empire seeped in power, then, a base for Hitler’s wunderkind rallies—now a soul-blighted bloom, a minor stop on the tourist trail.
Street walking pedestrians—the silent middle, staid, detached—stroll or bike along paths, immersed in white dreams. The pogroms of terror, stolen homes, and bridges made from Jewish Cemetery stones lie beneath layers of pristine paint and plaster. The Jews victimized for centuries, and the war trials, a mere subtext to tour guide chatter.
xenophobia
tamped down like an ash banked fire
waits to rise again
on a bellows breath of rage
spray painted on railroad cars
The site of my pilgrimage, The Palace of Justice—walled in panels of ashen mahogany—retains a dour mien. Judges, jurors and those to be tried, still use this hall. After-images of skeletal camp dweller and vain glorious generals rise wraith-like from the polished surfaces, paneling, pews, and copings. Greek God’s glower. A bronze crucifix castes judgment on all who pass: God fearing, or atheist. Justice is not present; horrors are not passed and conscience is now presented to the world as a fanatic in a suicide vest.
First Published in Artificium UK 2016
When gazing Beta Persei,
a star with many ghoulish names,
be wary of a winking eye
with fluctuating flames,
evincing evil aims.
Ancient mariners would watch with dread
and chant their prayers out loud,
when that “Eye in Medusa’s Severed Head”
was held by Perseus, proud,
high o’er the heathen crowd.
Sailors' hairs would stand and straighten
when that shady eye would shimmer.
The Hebrews shouted “Rosh ha Satan!”
when “The Head of Satan” grew grimmer
as "The Demon's Eye" got dimmer.
Dubbed “Ras al Ghul” in Arabic,
or “Algol” in the West,
“The Ghoul's Eye” plays a demon's trick,
resulting in unrest,
and much astro-interest:
Riding high in Autumn skies,
guiding galleon ships,
then fading before fearful eyes
by mean of an eclipse
of stars in an ellipse.
Then three days hence this trick repeats
with pre-ordained precision --
dark demon light again depletes
when it winks with wild derision,
which begs a bad decision.
Oh Ras al-Ghul! Oh Ras al Ghul!
So near and yet so far --
do not take me for a fool
that fears "The Demon Star,"
“The Devil’s Demon Star.”
Yet many who think it mirth, or myth,
will double down with doubts,
when that wily eye would wink forthwith
they’ll watch their whereabouts.
Better watch your whereabouts!
For those Gorgon snakes give you the shakes,
and chill you to the bone.
And one wrong look is all it takes
to turn you into stone,
eternally alone.
Submitted June 27, 2020
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Thy Glare’s as gentle, as is Sun on Snow!
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
Admittedly, there’s no grimmer disaster,
Than sudden fury rupturing House and Row!
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Amid the clods and falling dust and plaster,
Will we know we are reaping what we Sow?
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
Aimed at my Heart: she ran faster, and faster!
(The storm outstripped, no matter where she’d go.)
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Dim hope! I pulled her under an alabaster
Fountain, round which the dusky funnel did flow,
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
When all had passed, still was the oleaster…
But she lay still, felled by a mighty blow!
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
It’s wonderful and rare to laugh
Or smile for two hours straight.
It happens when you get to see
A comic who’s first-rate.
Last night we joined the audience
At New York’s famed Town Hall,
Amid the crowd of fervent fans
Who follow Robyn Schall.
Her comedy is special
And to everyone appeals,
As the funny stories of her life
She jokingly reveals.
By interacting with the crowd,
All thrilled to thus engage,
She extends the warmest welcome,
Calling some up to the stage.
With a few well-chosen videos
Security* provides,
We are treated to an inner self
That Robyn never hides.
For full disclosure, Robyn is
The daughter of dear friends,
Yet seeing her perform
My fair and square self recommends.
We all need laughter as the world
Gets grimmer every day.
“The Robyn Schall Experience”
Makes all that go away.
*Security is what Robyn calls her brother
Richie, who helps with her shows.
Marilyn Monroe discusses making
"The Misfits"
A desert is a bitter place.
There's something cruel in endless space:
it strips away the human scale.
I fear these winds that scour and chase
the vortices, and sting my face.
Good looks are fine, but all too frail -
ask Monty. Once you've lost your place,
you feel as if you've lost the race,
you're not what you're supposed to be.
I envy his consumption rate.
The one man in this battle-born state
in grimmer shape than even me.
Yes, Huston's the paternal kind,
but something's left him colorblind:
director's name on empty chair.
He's hollow, going through the motions,
painted ship on painted ocean:
you touch him, but he isn't there.
I married Miller on a whim.
If I could land a man like him,
I figured, I must be someone.
A man above me, older, smarter:
I didn't want a Jewish martyr.
Why lock the safe? The money's gone.
I come without a guarantee.
Men fool themselves - they don't need me.
I nixed on Arthur, fixed on Clark.
I've reached some kind of plateau now.
I'm sure of everything ... but how
to find my way back in the dark.