Sulks Poems | Examples

Listen to the Wind

The wind off the cold North Atlantic ocean
smells of piquant seawater on its breath,
agreeably pungent, brackish and moist.
The legendary Nor'easter off Newfoundland,
the bane of so, so many ships at sea,
is not a breeze with a soft, caressing hand.
It kicks and knocks and slaps and whacks and thwacks,
pummels and punches, pinches and pushes.
The stolid, sturdy imperturbable island
sits there and puts up with the abuses.

The northeasterly wind is very resentful
of its odiferous reputation.
At night, it simmers and seethes and smolders,
writhes and trembles, weeps and whines, stirs and sulks.
But, like the song says, the wind and sea smells
are "perfume to my soul". I stand alone on shore
and listen to the ocean's roar, wind's whoosh,
and my mind decompresses, destresses;
this is my peace, my serenity. I am home.

The Forgiven

Held captive and caged
in a tin shed,
an old steam train sulks
in its own stillness, a relic
from another age.
Its skin is cold and hard
and has the smell 
of vintage grease. 

The fire that once blazed 
in its belly has withered 
to a coating of black soot
stuck to the bottom 
of a furnace box,
the steamy snort
from its nostrils, silenced
to a dewy drip. The huge
wheels that were pumped 
by furious pistons
have come to a halt
and now are welded 
to rails by rust. 

Admirers lovingly pat
its iron carcass. The poisons
it spewed out clogging the lungs
of a generation have dissipated
in memory, its breath now
sweetened by a forgiving 
nostalgia, the veneer
of a more innocent past.
Somewhere,
stuck on a siding,
its brutish beauty 
still sits panting in the damp 
of an autumn afternoon, 
immune from time, 
absolved of guilt.

Thoughts

This invisible being has come 
alive inside my mind
She roams freely
thoughts and me entwined
Tossing and turning 
she puts me into a bind
Looking for things that she can find
I’ll give her this, she’s behind 
my poetry, this mastermind
She refuses to lift a finger
And often springs to mind
And at times she’s certainly not too kind
She has feelings which she often ties
around my neck like a noose
And takes offence, if I don’t think
And sulks when I refuse
I dare not falter, she has a short fuse!

6.6.2021
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Contest: The poet’s hands are tied

The Victorious Old

They win not by victory o'er their enemies,
for their enemies are invincible, yet they fight:
aging can be resisted, hemmed in for a time,
but its rolling is relentless, thinning the skin,
shrinking the brain, thickening the arteries....

They are partisans, the victorious old, 
fighting, alone, a relentless guerilla war
against one enemy, Old Age, who takes
everyone prisoner, if they wait long enough,
while the other foe, their last enemy, 
takes no prisoners at all....

And this final and most heartless enemy?
Death always wins, there are no exceptions,
but the victorious old give it no joy--
some even smile at Mr. Death, the light in
their eyes still burning as their souls sense
the oncoming freedom, the smell of Heaven--

and Death, never happy, sulks away....

A Glorious Chorus

Winter sulks, dying slow in stark stillness
while chiffon hues shyly peek into sight
a lace of buds bloom, banishing chillness
as resurrection of colors delight.

Can you hear trees laugh as new leaves spring forth?
See fields of wildflowers wake up and smile?
Can you bask in sweet scents wafting o'er north?
Feel newness of life, a world without guile?

As earth's heartbeat quickens, living things grow
cows calve, fledglings hatch, rabbits multiply
a bountiful journey of ebb and flow
after tremulous start, spring soars through the sky.

Nature's dulcet sounds pulsate through the day
spring's glorious chorus in grand display.




Written on 3/4/2019

Egoist

One who is full 
of himself,
as fragile as crystal ball 
on a shelf,

who sulks in resentful 
vain defense
against the slightest 
imagined offense,

and shines or dims 
or shatters
depending on the tricks 
of flatterers.

Poet's Lament

My
muse has 
just vanished
have you seen her?
She’s so darn fickle
one minute she’s active
and a torrent of words flow
then turns moody and won’t conform, 
retreating into herself, she sulks
like a temperamental teenager 

Writing Challenge 2- April 2019- Its All About 10 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart

4/25/19

A Sudden Jolt

Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Ramzan Karim, Darjeeling.
+91-85096549585
A sudden jolt

This is a tale about a cluster of hopes and burgeoning despair
Tossing and toasting flinging blankets
Wiping rolling down tears with his sleeve 
Countless hours flew by this wakeful stormy night
She has been ill lying in hospital for days and days
Dying or still has few more breaths
Brings her sweet face before his eyes
Ever caring, faithful, innocent and simple
The tenderness and warmth of her hug
He always began his day 
With greeting of her sweet smile and a hot bed tea 
Her hands always busy tiding his household
Without a grumble or gripe
Shared his grief and sorrow as if her own
Shouldered braved the fate’s storm
Today lying in her bed helpless ignored
Withdrawn and far from the warmth of his embrace
Parting still without remorse or guilt ;
He frowns, sulks, struggles juggling his mind
Perspiring, breathing heavily 
For days he is dreaming 
Waiting for that eventual day
Will that pretty girl with dashing personality, he met in the mall?
Accepts his proposition after She is dead ?

Rainbow Wheels - Collaboration With Chris Green

In the path of sundust
multicolored dancing particles
he sits, sulks, mutters,
dust gathers on his wheels

The daylight taunts him
beyond the glass defense
pulling on his emotions
as the heat sneers sarcastically

One finger is reaching
rubs the bright colors of
his motionless wheels in
projected frustration

When a gray cloud wanders by,
a momentary distraction
His mind bends in assorted directions
while thoughts turn to winter

He wishes magic wand dreams
snow men sitting on sleds
legs, willpower propelled
long-haired, giggling faeries

The cold wind whips about his skin
as he bundles up, not for warmth, but comfort
His blanket brings the snow to him,
soft fabric drifts caressing memories

He weaves dreams of comfort
of love and friendship
racing rainbow wheels warp speed
being carried by loved ones

And even though the sun has now returned
he still smiles from his room
Because he knows there will be other clouds,
returning him to the happy moments

***

July 26, 2017
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White

Kitty Charms

Kitty charms
     sweetest gift
          in your arms

Fluffy fur
     twinkling eyes
          mews and purr

Hide and seek
     'neath the couch
          gold eyes peak

Chases wand
     bats the toy
          quick respond

Paws squirm neath
     the closed door
          priceless feat

Climbs the drapes
     scolded down
          runs escapes

Under chair
     hides and sulks
          with blank stare

Hears some noise
     food in bowl
          smells the joys

With meow
     runs to eat
          happy now

Nighttime treat
     sleeps on bed
          warms your feet

Kiss Party For Some

Kiss party for some
The frog sulks and wrecks the damn 
Thing because it sucks

Winter Blues

As the Sun sulks in a somber place,
flakes of alabaster mask His face.
And like banshees crying out all alone,
howling winds bring a chill to the bone.

Freezing temps take the fun out of play;
when blustery winds won't blow away.
And depression sullies days of snow;
fearing Winter will never let go.

Blanketing earth in a white duvet;
color is absent from Nature's cache.
And while geese flee this barren landscape,
life hunkers down if it can't escape.

Salt and slush coat the city today;
in dull hues of melancholy gray.
And skyscrapers anchor clouds of mist;
stifling the air as flurries persist.

Spiraling thoughts let sadness take hold;
driven by merciless months of cold.
And city folks recall winters past;
dampening hopes this weather won't last.

Snow Syndrome

From time to time when the sun sulks
and turns away its face in a huff,
It sends a chill spiraling down earth’s core
and renders the sky grim and gray.

Then winter wakes up from its sojourn
and unleashes its white boisterous beasts,
in collusion with roaring wild winds,
upon unwary earthlings and spreads
its snare as far as the eyes can see.

Armed with a sturdy shovel
and in my full battle gear
with stiff joints and back ache
to back me up at best,
I am ready to take on the beasts!


~11/19/15
~"Snow" contest by Shadow Hamilton

The Crooning Dove

Effigy formed of inert dust, 
Inhaled the divine pulse, vile vine  
Infused with worth and dignity. 
I'm not! I'm not! Fallen from grace; 
I frown at my rueful bungle.

Sad to strut, my honor swishes 
Shame; dark crusted conscience 
Hangs on me; keeps paling my worth
Till I yell at Christ's open arms  
For return of the gone glory, 
So dear, the present, a shadow.

Years in the fire, self-refining,
Yielded scum, dross, a dull shine. 
If I should have another chance, 
Revert to the noble state I'd lost, 
My heart could be tanned rainbow.

A dove cranes on a perch, offset 
Against the blue, croons in the wind, 
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? 
Yet I battle with baneful pride,   
Scorn the grace, the courting nocturne.
No end to my nice now, I wow.
Quite unequalled, I'll ever be. 

The bell tolls for others, each time  
Softer; the whir of a whirling world.  
The sun keeps her scoot; stars, their stroll.
Summer smiles; winter whines, sulks.
Time etches against my proud form. 

The bell! Sounds like tolling closer—
Jangling, ruffling... nettling.
Yet my pride... my pride sticks, 
Lances the chance to begin again.
	

© 2015 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

Confessions of a Poet

Confessions Of A Poet



As the dark hour slays the great setting Sun
earthly fires in the nether regions flame
The poet's heart must see both to have fun
words spit forth earnestly but not a game
Slashing  one's own soul to get the job done

In the midst of the darkest lonely night
poetry burns deeply to release its heat
Poet's heart must feel all to truly write
claws that gash and sharp teeth that eat
Epic battle marching words into the fight

Each verse sings softest melody just to him
as the sky cast down its deepest blues
The poet must see with a mind never dim
searching heaven and hell for any clues
Play with words and toss 'em out on a whim

So says a drunken Muse, the envy of my Soul
she that sulks and cries to beat the band
Pretends winning her heart should be my goal

Robert J. Lindley, 03-09-2015

note--I asked but why, but why end with that closing three verses.
Got back the usual snarky reply, "just shut up and write."!

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