Long Mournful Poems
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A long time ago when I was a little girl
I heard a story told by my family about
a Cherokee tribe who once believed it
would be better if there never was night.
The great creator heard their mournful plea
and took away the night and now day time
it would forever be. Soon the heat took its
toll and plants from the heat did not want to
grow.
Once again the tribe asked for relief but this time
of the light and spoke out loud to the creator for it
to be always night.
Darkness came upon them and still plants would
not grow. Warmth had disappeared and it was
always cold. Never a warm sunrise to meet and
little by little, nothing left to eat.
Once again the tribe spoke to the creator and asked
for the day and the night to be as it should. The weather
became more pleasant and gardens started to grow. Hunting
was good so there was always food to show.
The tribe thanked the creator for making every thing good
and they forever lived in gratitude for the blessings of this world.
I heard those who passed away during these times of change
the creator placed their souls in a new creation called
the cedar tree. They are now protectors of this tribal family.
So if ever in the forest and you smell a cedar near, know your in
the presence of those who lived long ago here.
The loss of perfection is hard to comprehend until it no longer
brings to one a fruitful end.
Now do I believe that this story is true? Well they say a piece of cedar
tree holds powerful medicine for protection. I still have a small piece
I have carried since I was 11.
As dark brooding skies weep with mournful rain,
I tread to hide tears of heartache and grief,
trying to staunch my lament, but in vain.
From love now lost, I've not yet found relief.
On cloudless days I scan harbor and shore,
distant horizons, for signs of a gale.
But I hear no rumbling of thunder's roar,
no hint of a downpour, lightning nor hail.
One day soon, I hope my sad heart shall heal
and I'll welcome the sun's warmth on my face.
Then, I shall no longer have to conceal
teardrops from missing my lover's embrace.
I shall be freed from sadness, freed from pain
as dark brooding skies weep with mournful rain.
~ May 27th, 2022 ~
Orphan Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Cool autumn air breathed deeply in
Now breeds a growing warmth within,
Exciting ancient bygone dreams
To flash in sudden colored scenes
Long walks once shared on distant roads
Become infused with winter’s chill,
And I can feel the wood-filled stove,
Still crackling as I lie there on the sill
The tender tones of well-played strings
Pulse through the creaking wooden floors —
Entwining happy high-pitched notes
With mournful melancholy drones
But as I breathe again, these scenes depart;
Their many short-lived colors trail away,
And I am left reflecting in the dark
On lives which I no longer am a part.
(APROPOS OF 11/21/2018)
i
The fires came and the winds blew;
Nothing remained the same—
If only they knew…praying for the rain;
The floods came the next day
And the flowing mud had its way:
Houses that had remained
Went down the mountain drain;
But they vowed they would build again
Knowing that they were not the blame
And that the old Devil would be put to shame;
For they remained filled with sparkling hope
And fueled by igniting faith in ways to cope;
ii
How could they have ever known
That the fire next time
Would be so dreadfully blown
Consuming all they held so sublime?
Yet, despite the devastating cost
Etched memories would not be lost;
The heavenly Eagle had stirred the nest
And their souls’ spirits had survived the test.
iii
Without caring to warn, fiercely famished
Flames came knocking at fuel’s gate—
Like flesh-eating bacteria
Scorching the ripe Cali landscape;
Most were devoured within the path of the flames,
Leaving ashy structural architectural shards
And remnants of charred human remains
Laying naked among charcoal baked clods;
If only they had known—even imagined—at least…
Nature’s unleashing of such a power—a roaring beast,
With strange winds carrying sparking needles of pain’s grief;
iv
Destruction and death raised ice bed thoughts of long ago—
Of the charred cities of Sodom and Gomorrah—
But healing memories fired flaming faith with spirit filled Gloria:
Remembering Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—
Also known as Meshack, Shadrach, and Abednego;
In the end, deliverance came sweeping along the charcoaled way,
And the sunrise of time granted them a new blessed day
As the mournful death charred journey remained to be tread;
The Most High, Jehovah, heard their prayers and nodded His head.
v
Everything under the sun and moon come in due season;
Whatever nature brings, the Creator will reveal His reason.
Know then that for what has come, you are not to be blamed;
For in due season, the old Devil will surely fall and be shamed.
I love them a lot.
What an ultimate
authority!
What an outstanding
beauty!
What a mighty great
river!
What an ecstatic
joy!
What a crowing
glory!
Victory has already
faded.
A young donkey
dies
A palm tree
withered.
Maybe spring will be
back and will flower.
The depressed mournful
hill is full of bliss.
.
How beautiful the music that he made;
his lilting song was carried by the breeze
and waves of water, and the lyre he played
sent all the birds to singing in the trees.
All creatures of the forest he entranced.
The magic of his song made them alert,
and even rocks nearby the rivers danced,
and thus, a river’s course he could divert!
Upon his death, how mournful was the song
which even then had power to amaze
all those who heard its tune floating along
the river to the shore. His music stays
inside the hearts of those whose words endear
us to the magic which they still can hear.
Oct. 10, 2017
For John Hamilton's 'Your best sonnet October1-December31,2017' Contest
(sorry, my best romance was already a winner in another of your contests!!)
Words Used
Ghost, Heart. (Nouns)
Shiver, Deliver, (Verb)
Wicked, Viscous, (adjectives)
I had a friend- jovial and sweet, in my college days.
The same room, we had shared at the hostel.
I noticed, by and by, she was losing her sprightliness.
Had no clue, what upsetting thoughts nagged her HEART.
One night, she woke up screaming- “GHOST, Ghost”
Looking delirious she said petrified, a ghost was at the window.
I brushed it aside, thinking she had seen a nightmare.
But her erratic behaviour continued, often acting bizarre.
Slowly, she seemed to have slipped into a spell of silence.
There was always a look of horror in her eyes.
She was no more the cheery girl of the past.
Into a world of spectral shadows, she seemed to have sunk.
If ever I woke up from my sleep, I saw her wide eyed,
Gazing into the air, as if seeing something horrifying.
Once, she said, she saw a skeleton dangling on a VISCOUS spider net.
Often, she was seen SHIVERING and stopped behaving normal.
So upset, I wished to DELIVER her of her mournful plight,
Her parents were informed who took her to a doctor.
Under examination, she was diagnosed with Schizophrenia,
Characterized by hallucinations of WICKED spirits, haunting her.
* * * * * * *
When memories come surfing, still my heart goes out to her
Who fell into the abysmal depths of delusion and frightful fantasy.
Will antidepressants work on her? Will she ever become whole again?
Or will the dark demons continue to haunt her, day and night?
“As day and night, seasons come and go, leaving an afterthought that nothing is permanent in this world. Though life is all impermanence, know, there will be a sunrise after every sunset”-~ By Poet
Away from the crowd, I sat on the seashore
Looking at the setting sun,
Drowning into the indigo depths.
The grey enormity that heaved and swelled in turn,
Warmly received its everyday evening guest.
As I was looking on, breakers rose high,
Crashing over the boulders, making a mournful cry.
My eyes stretched far into the horizon
I watched clouds quickly shapeshifting
And the multi coloured firmament
Changing into a grey monochrome.
As like a python, darkness swallowed the day.
A cycle ending only to begin again!
Cowboy riding herd on the prairie,
A man of tough and rugged degree,
Most private and independent soul,
One of a kind from a unique mold.
Drifting along on his faithful steed,
As cloven hooves drum the barren ground,
Success is never guaranteed,
When beat is heard by foes all around.
The weather weighs heavy on his mind,
Fears the northerly wind’s mournful whine,
And fast rolling of the tumbleweed,
Might spook the edgy herd to stampede.
Days in the saddle takes heavy toll,
Singing ballads to boost his morale,
He’s determined to keep control,
‘Til herd is safe in the old corral.
Lost in labyrinthine lanes of midnight's embrace,
Where ghostly gas lamps gleam, casting silhouettes of grace,
Their luminescence lingers on cobblestone veins,
Chattering footsteps echo, bound in heavy chains.
Through wet, winding alleys, cloaked in evening’s dight,
Erected edifices enshroud the moon's ethereal light,
The air still, holding a chill, sharp and unkind,
As whisp’ring murmurs echo, dark secrets confined.
In the grim grip of night, 'neath skies of storm,
Haunting laughter lingers, a prophetic pall, ‘till morn,
A black rose blooms in the moons’ glimm’rin glare,
As Love's beauty burgeons, unfurling despair.
I've tasted the bitterness of love's deceit,
The sting of betrayal, in love's sinking retreat,
For amidst the splintering of shattered dreams,
Love's touch may assuage, or so it seems.
In the depths of the soul, where darkness dwells,
Love's icy fingers bind, a chilling knell,
Locked in torment, a heart's melancholic cry,
Love's weight bears down, a mournful sigh.
Though loss may loom, a specter in sight,
I seek solace in memories, ‘neath soothing moonlight,
For in love's ledger, there is beauty unbound,
Even through loss, its scintillating sentiments are found.
I wander this city’s wet, winding maze,
A seeker of love and all her wondrous ways,
With passions ablaze, though my heart's tattered and torn,
In love’s haunting pursuit, forever forlorn.