Sombre Poems | Examples

To Just

Would they notice,
If my solace escaped?
If my sombre eyes finally pinned shut.
Life is just.
I must. 
That fake smile, the painful mask I sew to my skin,
Just to feel something. 
Hanging on by a single thread. 
Each day tugs at the strings,
Test another limit.
Is it normal, to just?

I Wonder What You Look Like Now

I reflect on what you look like now!
You were beauteous when I saw you last.
What precious gifts did time endow?
All those years of tranquil absence
As you slumbered away the time somehow.

I wonder if your eyes remain bright,
They always looked at me kindly.
I think that, if you're at home tonight,
I could give you a call ~ perhaps...
Or should I just simply write?

I expect that you smile as you always could;
Intriguing, enchanting, and toasty warm.
But you smiled for me today ~ I knew you would
(In any case I've misplaced your number).
I must be more careful ~ I know I should.

Do you think of me, perchance?
When days are long and nights are cold.
Bestow on me a passing glance?
Think of times, now far away  ~  Distant?
A sombre time, a valedictory happenchance.

I should visit but what's to gain?
~ To see, now, how you are?
It could easily even cause you pain.
I would come soon, now! today!
But outside it looks like rain.

Une Journee Sombre

Béni vos ombres
Il est temps de vous avancer
Je vais vous le montrer
Laisser le matin vous embrasser
Avec bonheur enchanté
Lumière éclatante
Votre amour clairvoyante
Bénidictions des cieux
Miraculeux
Avec la pluie
Je vous bénis 
C'est moi qui te remercie

When One Is Poetically Possessed

When one is poetically possessed,
Nothing like the truest rest:
For every braved forty winks
Whacks for new poems and resistance sinks!
One is very free to weep
But one isn’t snatching any sleep:
One’s Poetic Tormentors, a zillion number,
Obsessed with The Ecstatic no less The Sombre!.

You’re hailing your tormentors but with reluctance,
This act dragging to a crushing distance;
At God’s feet dropping respectful grudges,
Not as forgivable as sexual urges …

Only God Himself knows when it shall end,
For those spirits aren’t ready to bend;
When one is poetically possessed,
Sleep becomes one’s rarest guest.

Marble's Sombre Drop

My memories scatter, like dust of the air, 
which once were more numerous than fish in the sea. 
Now withered, they re-tell tales of lost youth. 

At times my memories congeel and fragment, 
so much so, 
that I label myself untrustworthy.

I feel an emptyness that my mouth can't quantify, nor words express.
Like my soul is fleeting, ready to leave the sack of bones it hopelessly occupies. 

People say that growing old is a curse, 
but it's not the outward complexion that grieves me so.
Rather the rattle as my marbles drop and my memories lie in tatters.

I'm scared when the people in white coats barge in. 
who say they're 'here to help' , but proceed to strip me of my my dignity,
and use pills to make me helplessly compliant. 

Maybe cruel karma has punished me fast. 
For little did I empathise, until I truly knew,
what it's like to be a burden, societie's disregard. 

And ever shall I wish that humble soul,
will see me not as useless, but marvel at my tales. 
And one day, I pray, that someone will, 
outstretch to me the hand of compassion.

08.19.2020

Complexity

Haumea, speak then
might the waters make the lava stop
te nights were the sterams of tomorrow
might cause men of yesterday
to talk as it were tomorrow. beyond the expectations of mortals
might these men seek
to find ways
that the gGod Haumea, maketh so the ways of now
that Haumea, see's fit to have the storms of
now water the gardens of tomorrow.

A Silly Sombre Poem

A Silly Sombre Poem

It was on one Tuesday morning, I had some spare time,
So, began to write some poetry, a poem without a rhyme.
My composition was deep and dark, quite difficult to write,
Though I didn’t particularly like it, I knew someone who might.
Her name was doom and gloom, Worlds problems at her door,
As I continued to pen my words, mused who am I writing this for.
I tried a funny line to lighten it up a bit,
But didn’t really work, so I decided, get rid of it.
Feeling rather downhearted, I paused for a cup of tea,
In the hope of inspiration to revive my poetry.
Positive words are what I need to bring my work alive,
Then I wrote more sombre ones, my poem took another dive.
My heart felt so such sadness for the line that I just read,
It starts at the top of the hill and ends at the bottom lying dead.

KS 2 Apr 2018

Braggart Batons and Sombre Sorties

In my mind somber sorties unfold
When morbid movements scar a hundredfold.
Normalcy dead, transparency scared
Empathy bearded, intransigence endeared. 

In my mind sordid scenes grow cold
When vulnerable voices no longer hold.
Brash brands undead, harsh hustles prepared
Phantom forces deployed, evil enamels ensnared.

In my mind torrents of tears no longer dry
Victory vessels victimize, vile victuals bereft of shame fly.
Flies on excrement multiply, sties of scorn sniggle
Spies of blame bloom, pies of putrefaction giggle.

In my mind orifices and offices of ordure spy
Voices of Hades hustle, choices of straitjackets sigh.
Worms of wilderness sparkle, whiffs of death dodge
Squids of insanity soar, weeds of vanity splurge.

Sombre Sky

Sombre clouds arise
Cloudburst in the horizon 
Nightfall in the sky

Sombre

Deadly Stars Gleaming 
Death Follows in their Sorrow
Their Tears Cold and Hard

Sombre Swans

SOMBRE SWANS

Once I could
twitter like a
lark at the
world;  now I 
must muddle my
words with the
immensity of 
granite; I have
no more playoffs
left to play with
my sombre swans
sashay through
the perfidious
hours like a shroud


© Kim van Breda—26 June 2014

Far Beyond Your Absence,My Sombre Heart Seeks

For publishing

In a Sombre Mood

Are you sure after the sunset 
the hunger will find the mouths
in black alley ?

I go to my ailing land.
Stand on a mass grave.
No faces, No names.

Brother, I am not bickering
I am listing on my  fingers.

Was it possible that we could
count the virgins in the town ?

Mudslinging starts. Who was not
corrupt ? The prevailing conjugation.
How you will tell your kid who
was your mother ?

I become restless, tossing around.
A single word shimmers like a
blood soaked jewel. I pick it up.
A baby poem is born.



Satish Verma

Sombre Spell

in truth we sometimes linger here,
when darkest words compel,
thoughts are whispered in my ear,
muttered thoughts dispel,
remembered passion lingers still,
where loving eyes were held,
the Dingo at the moon it howls,
and breaks a sombre spell...

Thank you  Laura Breidenthal 

"Pitiless"

Don Johnson

A Sombre Bar Tale

Words are written on ministry walls
Deeds are earmarked in history
In between lie the unassuming
In the end recorded as a sombre barroom tale

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