Short Bleakly Poems

The unwashed drain of 
semi-civil masses sits
bleakly in darkness...

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poor muck-covered duck
stares bleakly out to a sea -
no more safe haven 

For Raul Moreno's Tainted Feathers contest...

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Eagles stare bleakly
Icy, frozen lake hides food --
     Help from human hands


For the Bald Eagles contest -- an interpretation of the photograph...

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As blossoms come forth
from covered seeds,
by blanching the shell of self
in time
the dawn of true understanding
will brighten effortlessly
from within-
rising high,
transforming to Light
the dark
of all our
bleakly imagined horizons.......

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Earth
(an acrostic Tanka)

Emeralds, rubies,
And sapphires once buried in
Rocky crevices
Thanklessly ripped from Mother -
Her trampled heart beats bleakly.

Written March 11, 2016 for the Contest of Brian Davey...

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I dreamed I saw the grave of Ernest Dowson
Bleakly set
In some forgotten churchyard corner,
Lone and wet.

The spectral London fog descended cold on 
Sentry grass
Where seldom any visitors or pilgrims
Deign to pass.

And in my reverie I bravely scattered
Roses there, 
And felt a frail and wispy “Thank you”
Warm the air....

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Welcome me not for
"I" have been here before
That strong luminence only 
ancient night's recall
From my lofty throne angels soar
bleakly-shining they bring you more

Welcome me not for 
all other god's will concour
When the sun chose to rule dayly;
gargoyles, vampires, wolverines and all
bowed to me for they saw-
"I" only could give them more...

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Shhh...was said to myself-from a loved one
those words should hurt like a dagger,put
right through my heart...
I am so misunderstood,on my lover's part! 

How do i sell my time to cheapen my ego?...
Forever slaved by a ring so legal!

Feelings of mine,remain bleakly tender!
This once happy marriage,does not begin...
It only becomes
the final ender bender!...

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You were a hot little Hispanic man.
And I was your infatuated fan.
Your love for me was cheeky,
Dreams ended very bleakly.
Now, I’m happy ever after, God’s plan.

© January 28, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: A valentine Limerick~ to your x-lover the heart-
breaker ( explaining how life goes on ) after the heart break. 	
Sponsored by: Sidney ~ LeeAnn...

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Crow’s Feet


What dark epaulette drapes
the scare crows shoulder?
Gazing bleakly upon
withered corn stalks
rustling in the wind’s
disdainful howl.

What mistaken duty
denies dismissal’s call
condemns the sullen sentry
to cower at death’s touch
mourning silenced wings

What twist of fate
draws him to the ground
in featherless
shivering
death?



John G. Lawless
©11/15/2017...

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Wishes and day dreams I place at your feet.
Where the raged and tranquil frequently meet.
Walk softly my soul, I'm burning with fire,
beauty and wisdom fuel and inspire.
Growing slowly, embers glowing, knowing.

Like a candle flame absorbing its wick.
Lost in puffs of smoke that flutter and flick.
Burning bleakly in accepted defeat.
Glowing light flickers in passionless heat.
Slowing transforming, slowly consuming....

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The soft tender woman I fell in love with
Weeps on my shoulder at times
I don’t know why, I don’t know for whom
But her tears really can flow greatly
I often ask her if she’s ok
She responds bleakly with a “yeah”
And I know her heart is in torment
So I just hold her for as long as she wants
And I massage her sensitive heart
Knowing there is a lot of pain there
I let her know how much I care
By loving her completely with all my soul

Russell Sivey...

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A Mangled Heart...


Why do my tears not simply fall,

my heart mangled, cast along these empty streets
a wreck left to rust, bleakly lost in the blurry haze,
my dreams blowing in the dust of the passing days.



Why do my tears  not simply fall,
weeping within, fractured inside,

memories of you wounding me still,
a void so vast no one else can ever fill,

cradling memories, glowing with your light,
as another day departs, beckoning one more,
barren, cold, hollowed-out wednesday night....

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Wednesday’s woe has come again
Washing o’er my longing brain
All the way down the long dark drain.
Sat on a bench with naught to gain,
I stare on bleakly in the rain.

But lo what thoughts do I ordain?
I stand, I sit, I do refrain
From leaving down that winding lane
Instead I go, to another plane
In which the moon is on the wane

I stumble blindly on in vain
I care not for the passing train
The blowing wind doth keep me sane
From giving in, to the mundane
Yet Wednesday’s woe remains my bane...

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