Long Woeful Poems
Long Woeful Poems. Below are the most popular long Woeful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woeful poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: April 05, 2024
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Perched delicately on the shiny cobalt.
The brumal sky is where it lies.
A sight that truly captures the heart.
With such beauty, there is no disguise.
Pearly salver shines with a radiant glow.
Amber and pearliness, as a full moon show
Surrounded by a mist of ashen hue.
A wolf, feeling glum and bleak blue.
Solitary and desolate it stood.
Amid night depths In a gloomy mood.
A bluesy dirge, yowls in the night.
Oh, the woeful wails of leaden plight.
Echoing through the depths of sorrow's reef.
Watery paint that runs under the leaf.
A mournful melody, heavy and deep.
In the heart's chamber, it does seep.
A melody dances, in mild waves cascades.
A rippling composed refrain.
The heart sings its sweet serenades.
Whispers of golden yearning strain.
~
Layers upon layers,
flaking residue...
scraping at the inner walls of my heart,
priming the ruins of my disassembled dreams while
masking off all hope of bleeding out or bleeding on
“Dare I bleed in the color of missing you?”
Scratches filled in with crayon,
vacant hues...
only on or outside of the lines of love
Woeful stick figures dancing to a lonely song,
played by the empty roller lashed to my hand
“Would you dare touch my hand prints....smear them?”
Minutes take hours to pass, but who cares,
Que Sera Sera...
the old Zenith finds Doris Day happy,
nice someone can be
stirring a smile within a gallon of semi-(g)loss
“Why are the sale brands always barren tones?”
I cringe at the thought of another moment in this position,
base boards...
bent over and touching up,
flat lining without an edge,
waiting for your voice, your tinted smile...waiting your approval
“Like watching paint dry...”
My mirror tells the brutal truth,
a woeful tale of vanished youth
Where one eye squints and one eye shines
and broken dreams are long dark lines.
Emotionless and coldly callous
Honesty without spite or malice
Shamelessly silent yet telling all
Reflecting the writing on the wall.
An image appearing all too clear
Becomes too telling, too austere
Once colorful hues seen on display
Have now faded into a dismal gray
To know and see what is real and true
But then to sadly regret the view.
Telling myself it doesn't matter
Yet knowing, one is bound to shatter.
Sandra Weiss
Daniel Turner
I gazed beyond the hills smiling at the daffodils, screaming at the rain as it thundered on my window pane, nature erupts beyond the valley, carrying sticks and stones and fishermen dead bones; they have been fishing at sea with big boats and big nets and a gigantic fish flattering on the deck. The ocean with all its glory is choked with fashion and pride, the waves are getting high and the wind is raging havoc in the sky.
I watched the waves come and go and the boats dancing to and fro as the terrified passenger grip firmly to the side, waiting on a miracle as they fight to survive.
The water kept climbing and the sun kept shining and the captain of the big boat make a roundabout turn and break the course of the wind.
Courage stood strong as the boat speed along, running a hundred miles per hour with the wind cutting through the sweltering temperature, the people stood still looking at each other. They knew something was not right but they were determined to survived; what do you do when you are trapped in the middle of the sea and you have nowhere else to go? You have to persevere with the will to survive.
The water began to rise and the boat began to dip and dive, the passengers began to panic but captain Jones kept his composure. Water start flowing into the boat and the people began to shout but the captain kept ploughing on hoping to reach dry land.
They had no phone signal and water was up to their waist, but they all bind together and held each other’s hand and start to sing a woeful hymn, like the one John Wesley sang when he was out at sea and desperately needed company. And just as they thought of it a miracle appears out of nowhere.
An empty boat came along and save them one by one; the captain was the last to let go, he releases the steering and climb over into the other boat and they watch the boat slowly disappeared into the ocean floor. The hills beyond the valley is deep.
Ta pime yaah ta pime yaah bam
Rata tata rata tata bam
Ta pime yaah ta pimi yaah bam
Tears drip from the face of the weeping drum.
The drum the drum the drum
Screaming and shouting
Crackling and rackling
Dispelling a mighty woeful sound.
Ica mama ica mama rata tata rata tata bam.
Thousand of them pouring in the street
Following the sorrowful and painful drum beat
amba picka amba picka amaba pika bam
Girt up your waist and run
Ban your belly and come
Weeping and wailing flooding the street
Mournful singers and dancers entertaining in grief
While traditional women light thousand of candles
To feed the souls and expel the dark forces of the devil.
Ah namba ramba tata ramba tata bam
Emotions run high, increasing tension in the sky
Filling hearts with burden too heavy to bear
Causing them to rent their garment in despair.
lingo bam bam lingo bam
bam lingo bam bam lingo bam
The sound grew louder and louder
Waking everyone out of their agonizing slumber
And forcing them to congregate in village, cities and towns.
They beat the drums all night, and marched around the city wall
Blowing horns, chanting despondent words that it might fall.
Beat the drum brother man
Round up the youths to join the band
Sound the drum a little louder
March into the devils territory
And trample Lucifer under your feet.
Beat the drum brother man
Beat the drum and sing a victory song
Ta pime yaah ta pime yaah bam
Rata tata rata tata bam
Beat the drums brother man
Beat the drum for Mr. Steve and drag him into the circle
Ica mama ica, mama rata tata rata tata bam.
Expel the tormenting spirit of that relentless destructive devil.
Rata tata rata tata bam.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Page 1
1963
I sent you away from me to look for our beloved.
I watched you fade in the distant as you walked down the dusty foot-path towards town.
My dull brain craves the lost opportunity to prevail upon you of my broken spirit.
The sun shined brightly on the magnolia trees and blossom azalea bushes, but my vision is locked on your fading figure down that long dusty foot-path.
For hours I stood in the doorway until the evening sky ingest the sun.
Escaping the nuisance sting of mosquitoes, the croaking of frogs, and the longing calls of the loon, I managed to move my stiff body to my knitting chair near the water stain window.
But not a purl could I make, and so I sat consumed with illogical and negative thoughts until the rooster announced the dawn.
An encouraging thought my mind doth not bring as I watched your woeful soul kick up the dust of the foot-path with your shabby boots.
A defeatist frail of a man was you as you made those hesitant steps in my direction.
Perfervid loathing eclipsed my heart as you move nearer and nearer, closing the distance between us.
I did not care to treat the bruises on your face and body.
I did not want to caress you nor offer you consoling words to comfort you and ease your troubled heart.
No, not with an afflicted heart.
No words could explain the emptiness I felt for you.
You grab for me to comfort.
I slapped you and turned away.
A storm was raging inside of me.
Nothing was distinctly visible around me.
I resisted strongly the upsurging of unconsciousness.
No disguises of truth were acceptable.
Continue on page 2
copyright@Library Of Congress Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.
With sadness and a deeply furrowed brow
I am apalled at the hate and wonder how
this world will somehow manage to survive
while bigotry and enmity eats humans alive
Lines are drawn between black and white
by those with penchants to bicker and fight
Words fly like feathers plucked over a nest
Blood seeps through the wounds in my chest
Humanity has fallen from grace and gone mad
Dark visions are of sorrow, my thoughts unclad
I've been stripped bare, left moaning deep sighs
Tears held in check behind my lamenting eyes
If you think you are innocent, you have no clue
You continue to accuse others until you turn blue
Point those scornful fingers at your sneering faces
Where anger and bitterness have left ugly traces
Earth is my sinful child but don't call me "mother"
Your wickedness and abuse causes me to smother
I pray with each mournful beat of my woeful heart
Seek the truth before you tear this sad world apart
Unworthy am I, yet God loves me well
His compassions fail not; that I can tell
Enabling me to place my trust in Christ*
Fortress of my soul; in Him, I’m sufficed.
Undeserving, but I’m endowed with grace
Made possible by the Lord’s mercy-brace
Offering to me His fellowship sweet
Marked by pardon of wondrous kindness’ treat.
Unchained from sin-bondage of woeful pain
Granted by the Saviour along faith-gain
Freeing me from damnation caused by guilt
And ushered to blessed hope truth has built.
Unfailing Word of Almighty prevails
Since His great omnipotence never fails
Assuring me eternal life as gift
While ensuring transformation uplift.
Unfathomable is goodness divine
So wondrously awesome is the design
Letting me thank the Creator with bliss
Serving Him through others I should not miss.
“And the grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Christ Jesus.” 1Timothy 1:14 of the King James Bible
November 9, 2022
2nd place, "Writing Challenge - Unburden a 'U' Word-" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 11/12/2022.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
I think I made you up inside my head.
-Sylvia Plath
I see no reason to rhyme,
but an aching heart,
stranded in the midst of nothingness,
as quill rests in a nameless
coffin, like a trembling corpse.
Words woven in tears
glisten like rain,
amidst rustic pages
within a book of bleeding ink.
While
I, the deep darkness,
ponder, would the moon
ever grieve for the sun,
or will she allow waning
stars to abandon
her doleful realm?
As her face
shifts and turns through
phases of changes-
and her soul like
the weary winter,
withers into white-washed wounds.
I am the hazy mirror to
a lunar goddess.
There shadows betrayed
this cruel conscience,
roaming within forlorn vales,
swirling through a woeful wind,
to nocturnal sonatas.
My mind nestles like
a raven resting
at the treetop,
calling your name into
frozen oblivion,
laced in secluded silence,
echoing amidst obsidian fears.
What would they know
of tainted tales,
obscured within the
mellifluous sound of splitting rain?
I am throned to a fallen sky,
drizzling thorns and splinters
upon bruised toes.
Remember, I love you,
through dreams and more,
stretching my fingers
to your silvery spheres.
Now your palette of romance
paints a blurred portrait
of hallowed misery;
dreams forgotten with time.
There’s no perfect
pigment to correct
my insomniac frame
but metaphors to lure me
back to a colorless
castle above satanic seas.
I’m dancing with demons;
as the pain you’ve fed me,
rushes through chained chambers.
Tonight, the storms may seem calm,
like forests awaiting for a trail
of redolent rainbows,
to flicker upon mourning meadows.
Tomorrow, when I slumber
six feet beneath breathing fiction,
will you rewrite cruel convictions,
that stole my purpose to live?
Maybe darkness sparkles upon
rich rivulets of rippling regrets,
so the cosmos would allow the moon
to rise and beam brighter than
the selfish sun.
Let this poem be the last
amulet to sorrowful sagas,
as I untangle your vines
suffocating my final breath,
this is the eternal demise—
I’m dying before your dead eyes.
I must not end this story
with a happy ending as many
stories that are written for money;
I have come to the conclusion
that I must not end this story
and enhance it with allusion!
My story began two summers ago
when the enchanting blueness of the August sky
was as vast as the serene sea below;
in November leaves change colors
bringing shivers down my spine,
I started to show some sadness,
yes, it announced its imminent and final goodbye!
I must not end this story
with a happy ending
to please none other than me,
because it's a real victory
being fair and exposing
any truth that the writer
may omit for monetary gains,
or for a conviction, he thinks
it's plausible and self-explanatory;
never conceal your guilt through fear,
and protect it from inner threats...
when conscience reverts to anger!
I led a very obscure existence,
shunning gestures of amicability,
not trusting in their sincere intent;
I went in the opposite direction
instead of embracing their trust;
my train derailed and went off its tracks,
I found myself alone and hurt
nullifying my invincibility as that man
who knocked down walls and intimidated minds...
all in all, it lessened my confidence
in strength and refusing to hear woeful sounds
of reprimanding and utter shame...
nobody heard my lamentations, I felt so lame
and fragile while my convictions
became opinions that meant little or nothing!
I must not end this story
with a happy ending
to meet the requirements
dictated by a distorted society
that praises thugs and villains,
and despises the virtues of heroes;
I must not end this story
and be acclaimed for my infamy
that will restrict the joy of living!