Long Somberly Poems
Long Somberly Poems. Below are the most popular long Somberly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Somberly poems by poem length and keyword.
COVID-19 pandemic analogous how indigenous peoples got felled...
Woebegone, enraged spirits
holographic images taciturn
journeying somberly aghast
at their stolen sacred lands... mourn
dead souls impossible mission
sabotaged aery mission endeavor
happy hunting grounds upheaval
witnessed gaunt bloody sojourn,
perhaps collective aboriginal ghosts return
to haunt cruel innocent heir/heiresses
regarding interlopers, si?
Malicious intent birthed in subsequent
quick succession to adventitious,
(nevertheless grievous) events
visited upon heads of storied "Indians")
misnomer spurred European explorers
(more particularly exploiters),
when "discovering" the Americas
to dole out (deliberately)
contaminated accouterments,
plus various sundry trappings
to native inhabitants.
Gross misdeeds of our long deceased forebears
debauched, decorated, and dedicated
footloose hedonistic jackbooted violent men
loosed mayhem opening pandora's box
unwittingly and/or intentionally disseminating
seeds of annihilation germinating lethal pandemic
decimating innocent ofttimes knowingly
unleashing opportunistic virile organisms
without vital immunity linkedin
bodily defense mechanisms.
With advantage of hindsight
always 20/20 (especially
calendrical juncture planetary
space/time continuum 2020)
opprobrium plentifully quoted
as cosmic consciousness skews perspective,
whereby admission acknowledged
conquistadors looted, pillaged, and raped
(blithely, effectively, and indiscriminately killed)
every man, woman, and child
and/or sowed cultural abomination
acceleration, adulation, aeration...
Though thoroughly grounded
within secular humanism
courtesy kickstarting metaphysical realism
philosophical, teleological...
essentially Unitarianism paradigm
whereby ripple repercussions of actions
(think butterfly effect
starring Ashton Kutcher - ha)
trigger domino falling action,
yet additionally affects fate,
particularly he/she who
activated, cultivated, generated...
chain of events, particularly
brutal, deplorable, and unforgivable misdeeds.
How did he, she, they, and them come to be?
Diminished, reduced, and ignored in society.
Relegated, or perhaps delegated, to busy city streets and desolate byways,
Street souls somberly paint landscapes with a myriad of overlays.
Barely decent soles, or none at all, cover these souls' feet,
Yet they endure daily tramples on sordid sidewalks and weather-beaten streets.
Cold nights meet cold stares in the daytime,
Oftentimes, the human connection is disjointed and can be quite unkind.
How did he, she, they, and them come to be?
No one knows, but compassion and love should be the reality.
Autumn breezes signal October's arrival
with windswept revelry they blow.
Golden leaves, like confetti, flutter aground.
Bare maples stand, and at their feet a carpet,
emblazoned in russet, amber, and crimson.
October offers bountiful treasures from the earth
Fields and meadows are ready for harvest,
nourished by Summer's afternoon's of soft rain
and a wealth of sunlight's warming rays.
Orchards have matured with fruits ripe for picking.
Gifts from God in plentitude to sustain human life.
Oh, how October dances until her cheeks blush
with beauty glowing in golden highlights on hills
and in the sheen of aubergine mountains at sunset.
Autumn's queen wears a crown of silken threads
from spider webs in her dew kissed hair, and a gown
woven from a myriad of colors in her twilight skies.
I walked among October's lustrous glory
then leaned upon a stone wall to catch my breath.
I heard the rustling of wind-blown leaves
as though they were murmuring a sad farewell.
My heart was burdened with funereal regret,
but October hushed me with a lyrical breeze,
"Do not mourn. There's a reason they've fallen."
I dared not question Autumn's melodious voice,
but at the wake of dying leaves, alone I somberly sat
until darkness shrouded them from my sight.
October 4, 2021
October Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Decades have clocked past since we were capped by roof
As you take your children down the history without and in us
We fondly and times somberly reminisce with you
When it was just dad, mum and three carefree children
Now we hold faces of ten -
Mature features of the kids parented within us
How we miss the innocent shrieks of month-olds
The laughter and playful nature your siblings and you shared
Phases changed, wrinkles formed, and one by one, bid bye
The hollow you guys left still is ocean deep
Your occasional visits became occasional fills
You talk of mum’s discipline that we know too well;
That she would become this soft someday, we too couldn't have guessed
How your eyes brighten as you elaborate her nightly stitch work!
To testify we can – her now cracking joints are fruits of care, hard at work then
You fondly recall father’s silent ways of achievement,
How he taught not through words but by action
We sigh with you to shake off miss’s hard grasp
Feeling your deep regret that not you all, could be as him
The green, brown, gray, yellow hues as well, we picture
Yes, you did drag your feet to the fields before sun said hi
Yet beams you all were when “healthy colors” repaid your hard toil on the soil
How sad those glorious seasons come by rarely
Memory of the first grandchild is a treasure
The dozens more, we call them blessings
Great grandchildren, how they rejuvenate us with their plays!
Your older sibling would have loved these moments
History’s trickle has to come to a halt, as responsibilities call
With the farewells, loneliness is ushered, but hey…that’s just life
We remain standing, gazing with you at the fading figures of your loved ones
Glad for your presence and hopefully awaiting another visit
To go down this inexhaustible memory lane
©GraceM Composition
Contest:4 Walls (by CT)
Like an avian roosting when his cawing has spilled,
I mourn in grief as this shadowed night grows cold
Crushed and grieving from promises unfulfilled
Sorrow burgeons my heart, in bitterness enfold
like unspun wool on a distaff or a poem not quilled
I am overwhelmed with fear; somberly weeping
beneath my rowan tree. In dour thoughts, I dwell
Wisps of silver moonlight cross the sky, sweeping,
signaling hope in darkness, as if it were a death knell
In my den, I feel protected; sanctuary of safe-keeping
My troubled eyes are in search of benevolence anew
For faith and courage instead of such dismal dread
How I long to take flight, trading grey skies for blue
to locate a paradise where happiness can be spread
sharing a drink of wassail; fruited ale of sweet brew
I shall swiftly soar among shining stars at great height
Fluttering my wings on journeyed path of poetic volition
Never again to be lost and alone on any mawkish night
No shadows holding me in their melancholy perdition
for I've learned how to ignite flames of lambent light
I suspect that my first introduction to the color BLACK
would be the discovery of dark BLACK nights in the rural,
beautifully contrasted by the lightning bugs with which we
in my childhood had so much fun, as they lighted our path
while we played with them in the BLACK of night. And oh, not
to be forgotten is the fun we had picking BLACK berries along
the bank of the railway tracks. We also walked the rails to see
who was the best at staying on the longest. Of course we were
always careful to flee the tracks and run down the hill as the big
BLACK cargo trains came along.
It seems there was a lot of the color BLACK living close to home.
My parents never owned a BLACK vehicle, but the last vehicle that
I bought was a BLACK SUV. Ridding in a BLACK limousine is fun, but
experiencing a ride in a BLACK funeral car is more sad and somberly.
We did not have central heat and air, but I remember keeping warm,
as we sat close to a BLACK coal heater.
BLACK shoes, BLACK shoe strings, BLACK shoe polish, BLACK socks, BLACK slacks, and BLACK waist belts to go with the slacks. A BLACK tuxedo at my best friend's wedding, as well as that same attire at my own wedding was most memorable. BLACK neck ties and BLACK bow ties. BLACK ink and fountain pens were 'in' back then, as were the BLACK ball point pens. I might add that I am writing this piece with a BLACK mouse, BLACK keyboard, and a BLACK monitor. I tell you. the color of BLACK permeates our lives.
82821PSCtest, The Color Black, Chantelle Anne Cooke
As the moon and sun share the fabric of a fading song of ancient blues
a ceremony of torch light identity ensues
chieftains in regalia of royal feather headdresses and mantles of warrior mania
approach the flagstaff that Clark and I stand under with a procession
of musicians clad in the symbols of their souls
playing instruments that speak the language of their knowledge,
after being bedazzled by the brute majesty of the music and pomp
our men give gifts of tobacco carrots, knives, beads and small bells,
chiefs Wueche and Arcawechar tap both of my shoulders
with their ceremonial spears, a gesture of friendship and blessing
after which we toast to the fortune of patient eyes with a dram of whiskey,
my elocution of America's intentions and jurisdiction
is delivered with sincerity and alacrity just as an eagle protects it's range
and with the wit and instincts of a wolf Chief Wueche
agrees with the terms of allegiance but also admonishes us
not only of the pirates of the Plains,
but that supremacy is the child of wrath for the natives
especially for the dominant tribe of the Sioux Nation, the Teton,
he seems to somberly realize that his Yankton people
must either become a weapon of America's war machine, or be destroyed by it,
J.A.B.
Within a book of sacred dreams
she found a knight's true heart.
Amidst the dark, a light that gleams;
romance his words impart.
They've led her down to an ocean beach
where somberly she'll wait,
for love which looms beyond her reach;
withdrawn by the hands of fate.
As captain of a faithful crew
he'll lead them into war
and reminisce of love he knew
when docked on homeport's shore.
A verse where passion's fire is found
and grows as time goes by,
but heaven yields no joyful sound;
instead, the angels cry.
Two kindred souls from eons past
converge in this new age.
With years of rapture's dance amassed,
they heat this poet's page.
In pretty mirrors from the heart,
perhaps she'll find her prize:
a place where love is sure to start,
entranced by fiery eyes.
~
Clouded skies somberly cascade
upon motionless vistas,
floating unrehearsed melancholy hues
where muted feelings roam
on an autumn morning echoing
a weary winter dream
I sit beneath a weeping willow’s
unhurried leaves fluttering
like silent wind chimes,
quietly pacing unheard melodies,
as dandelions seek the sun now
merely an absent reflection in my own tears
And I reminisce of the days when
magnolia petals were our sunrise,
sweetly scenting the virginal dawn
in soft aromatic whispers,
lazily lingering upon our skin
when your smile was my every morning
Now I wait below wilting branches,
listless arches desperately reaching
but never touching the ground,
allowing desolate thoughts to wallow
as the soft earth reclaims me
from an infinite finale in gray
~
Inspired by Sandra Adams poem Crimson Tears
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.
The saxophone tonguing your grief;
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
Turquoise battling the heavy waves.
The flautist, grave, somberly braves
The crashing shore of lighthouse lore.
Sudden widows - the sea keeps score.
The notes of navy grooves and plays
The composite of the ships ablaze.
Without the grays you don’t belong.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
The cobalt reed, a salty taste.
The blues strum strings around your waist.
The drums continuous throbbing;
Aperture of buoys sobbing.
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
The saxophone tonguing your grief.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.