Long Harbinger Poems
Long Harbinger Poems. Below are the most popular long Harbinger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harbinger poems by poem length and keyword.
I descended the wretched trench of lies with willing defeat,
My heart severed too many times to ever even care
Of what horrors lay beneath
I face the unknown with a corrupt thirst
I have seen these familiar twisted faces,
And I greed for their ends—for the cease of their cries,
Longing for my vengeful rise
Too long I have felt the devastation of death entwining with my soul,
Too long have I tasted the heat of unimaginable, unbearable downfall
In the torment of screams,
My mind claws in desperation
To silence the never-ending agony,
The burning of unmerciful cataclysm
Claws made of frozen souls grip my own
Reaching in, extracting my life—I rip myself to shreds
I dance the Devil's dance to the song of weeping angels
With the sheltered moon bleeding plagues
Chaos and Havoc play upon my heart
Where have I let myself descend?
To the ends abstracting Happiness,
To the cruel tail whipping sorrows to Rage,
This madness inflicted sprouted from the Guilt of Failure,
Tell me, why is there no chance for Redemption?
These lashes, these Scars raw in the demons’ presence
Lowered head accepts such torment as deserving
Rain sears the eyes of the weak,
Faltering trust in the wicked
Their teeth gnashing my flesh, my bones
And sorrow misleads in hopeless promises
When false light brings me to Darkness's sweet embrace
Holding fast to self-loathing
I pierce the veil,
My eyes falling upon the face of Death
Empty Horror returns its gaze to me
Maggots devouring my flesh
And suddenly the deplorable Madness is me
I, the Devourer of souls
The Harbinger of Doom
Pain and Discourse my companions
I pierce the veil
Only to find misfortune reflected
Holding me, fixedly…Darkness,
Lay me down once more upon your hidden altar
For too long have I let the earth’s Monsters feed on my heart
Too long have I held onto Hope only to watch her fester
Too long… and long enough that my webbed eyes close to the vision of Tomorrow
I clasp the vicious claws with infant hands and wail at the top of my lungs
Cutting into me, all I have ever lived for
My wail exceeds all cries,
For no matter how terrible,
No matter how deafening,
My Misery reigns supreme
-A collaboration with Rebecca Larkin-
Wreath wrapped around the door of my heart
Hearth's door both symbol and integral part
Part of the pageantry and beacon of my hospitality
Material canvas eroding with time; modest beacon bequeathing my liberality
Time capsule which transports festive memories to my merry mind
Festive timber melded and then artfully twined
Mirth and praise twined in harmonious refrain
Earthy refrain with delicate stitch and modest, pulpy strain
Modest harbinger of good will to all who it's crest ascend
Good will garnish that I with tidings of joy append
Garnish gratuitously crafted, residual hope to send
Hope that will past heartaches and trials rescind
Signpost serenading Christmas past, while celebrating the decorum of Christmas present
Shrouding wreath, with future Christmas dreams resonant
BROODING NIMBUS
I am not just an ordinary cloud
Dark and menacing all in grey
A harbinger of storm and rain
Ready to fulfil my destiny again
Snow will fall, as it must obey
Blanketing Earth like a shroud
But I do prefer the other image
As a halo that surrounds a saint
An light emanation for a deity
And an example of spontaneity
Inspiration of a picture to paint
Maybe make a holy pilgrimage
But a brooding nimbus, I’m not
A bowling ball with no fingerholes
Maybe hovering in a dim-lit sky
But rain is not me starting to cry
I can assume a variety of roles
But always when cold, never hot
Love’s Sonnet
Tattered womb, shred by sharp blades of regret,
Weighed down by rough millstones, dark as shame,
Pale dawn stumbles from midnight to forget -
Stinging acids scar through showers of blame.
A whisper of consolation murmurs,
Infused with the incense of compassion,
A harbinger of enchanted grace demurs
Spellbound, purified enigmas refashioned
Love, like a lyric – a lady in waiting –
Steps out of ebony’s clinging shadows
Releasing hard night with nightmares abating
The pall of shrouds rent by empathy’s glow.
The chivalry of love – a silk caress –
Eternal perfection, fulfills love’s quest.
A pair of slave girls waved chamar to thee,
As diamonds flashed with light of lamps well lit,
A king of kings must have fallen to knee,
To strip out bejewelled shoes from thy fair feet,
While Abyssinian eunuch of foulest breath
And looking like a harbinger of death,
Though clad like a gay angel somewhat odd,
And standing guard O with a naked sword,
Perhaps, might have secured thy stately room,
Then wonder I, what should have caused the doom
Of thy death, O thou flower of desert,
What swept away glory of thy grandeur?
What kind of jealousy O could have hurt
Thee? And what kind of intrigue oh ever?
To what shore of cruel death wert thou cast?
At what damndest of land? I feel aghast.
A query riddled in my memory
For long as was writhing through reverie,
I heard a scream when of Maher Ali,
‘Stand back, stand back, all this is fairy tale',
And my servant handed letters to me,
While salaam from the cook looked all too stale.
‘No more can I stay in this eerie place',
And packed off to move to my work amidst
Souls in solid flesh, life alive in grace,
My servant smiled, whilst hopeful of the least.
Yet, by the eve giddy minded I grew,
And felt as if I had a tryst to keep,
Office work seemed an act of bread from blue,
A better harvest was when there to reap,
And I threw all aside to drive away,
Not stopping till the palace was in sight,
The day as wished sun well, it was twilight,
With hurried steps I took stairs to my way.
__________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Every year at Chanukah,
Like from divine command,
My grandma made the cookies
All her grandkids would demand.
These humble sugar dainties,
Cut in shapes and rolled out thin,
Served as harbinger that Chanukah
Could finally begin.
But each one, crisp and delicate,
Came with the possibility
That part of it would snap away,
Because of its fragility.
So lions rarely kept their tails
And candles lost their flames.
The sturdy dreidels, still intact,
Were prized for lack of maims.
A colored sugar dusting
Coated each and every shape.
From sugar sparkles on your clothes
You never could escape.
My grandma passed her cutters down
To me, and so I strive,
With floured hands, to help to keep
Her recipe alive.
Today I gamely baked a batch;
My kids made the request.
I picture grandma’s smiling face
And think she’d be impressed.
Lending eyesight past the retinal lens.
Seeking the sight through
the light of a looking glass.
Our home star shines through the parted clouds lay above.
Dauntless gamut, the drum is destructive by force.
Seeing the colors of healing in perfect tune.
Harbinger night terrified in horrifying hums.
Sat the same way across, open mouth absorbing what she can't.
Long time coming to triumphant horned brass.
Blearing these praises cross simple landscape paintings.
The trill of the ringing without the slightest bit of hearing.
Loathing no other in this decorative world.
Hurling the self down through a whirlwind turmoil.
Cascading down the eye of Neptune.
A resemblance jauntily bouncing, striking true ranging trident as if javelin.
He draws long, panting breaths from a Winston
Then blows a slow line of hazy blue smoke from lips
Which have known the defeated downturn of pain
Fear flames up a burning urgency within his chest
He is ardent with yearning for the second chance
A chance to rediscover the intimacy of youthful dreams
Compromising in prayers, he tells me how to cruise
My Thunderbird whizzes past green road signs
And one exit is the one where he buys his Seagram 7
Without a second thought, I announce to him
“The exit is Exit 13” – Is this a harbinger of what is to be
Him and his muse dies from alcoholism at the age of 44!
I miss him
BROODING NIMBUS
I am not just an ordinary cloud
Dark and menacing all in grey
A harbinger of storm and rain
Ready to fulfil my destiny again
Snow will fall, as it must obey
Blanketing Earth like a shroud
But I do prefer the other image
As a halo that surrounds a saint
An light emanation for a deity
And an example of spontaneity
Inspiration of a picture to paint
Maybe make a holy pilgrimage
But a brooding nimbus, I’m not
A bowling ball with no fingerholes
Maybe hovering in a dim-lit sky
But rain is not me starting to cry
I can assume a variety of roles
But always when cold, never hot
SECRET LOVE
I must admit to loving Doris Day
Secret Love sung in Calamity Jane
The gentle song just blew me away
Now, I always want to hear it again
Those lyrics really said it all to me
And like her, I just about fell apart
And seeing her sing it was fantasy
It struck straight into my heart
It struck straight into my heart
This for me was also a secret love
And my racing pulse would start
That smile, like the blue sky above
This is the first time I have shared
All these years, I’m still unprepared
I must admit to loving Doris Day
Written: July 10, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The rain poured, a symphony of tears.
Washing away all the pain of yesterday.
Each droplet is a harbinger of hope and appears
As it danced upon the windowpane and sway.
Every storm is followed by a rainbow.
A promise of beauty after the decay
Colors burst forth in a vibrant blow.
Reminding us that joy can always find its way.
Every cloud passes through such a mirage.
A fleeting moment in the grand design.
Even the darkest sky holds a corsage.
A reminder that the sun will rise and shine
Each morning, the world awakens anew.
As the sun fills the earth with warmth.
Its golden rays caress the land view
Creating a tapestry of light forth.
and shadows that dance on the ground,
A symphony of colors and textures was found.
Fresh horizons beckon, waiting to explore.
As the sun's rays paint dreams upon the shore.
Nothing remains the same; it is ever-changing.
As a river that flows through the valleys and plains.
The light of day will prevail, arranging
Guiding us through the darkest lanes.
We find the strength to rise above our pain.
To embrace the beauty that emerges after the rain.
For in every storm, there lies a hidden grace,
A chance for growth and a fresh embrace.