The veil of darkness fell upon us,
A silence so ominous we could taste.
A moonless starless sky hung above us
While we held our breath till dawn.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
on a s e a of w o e
he f l o a t s his longings
to an e m p t y
shore
Winter - dreary, ever so cold and lonely
Wishing, hoping, suddenly gone...if only
Bear it, now that nobody cares to share it
Shivering, chilled and barren
Homestead -party, lavishly spread and happy
Christmas, drinking, cheerfully dancing, singing
Turkey, stuffing, family, all around me
Terribly warm and caring
Leaving, grieving, wondering where I'm going
Sneezing, freezing, lost in a blizzard, snowing
Falling, calling, icicles, crawling beetles
Skeleton gleaming ghastly
The hushed cemetery green,
where birds sing doleful;
and thoughts weave labyrinthine,
oh, woeful, woeful.
Yet, sun is divine,
caressing my fallen tears
serenity ... mine.
____________
June 21, 2021
Poetry/Sequidilla/Rhyme/Woeful
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1265-878-21
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Sequidilla
sponsor, William Kekaula, Judged 07/09/2021
First Place
Oh, hear this woeful girl's prayer,
such a deep sorrow sigh;
will this heart ever stop hurting,
to Heaven these tears fly.
For here, I sit forlorn and lost,
within this box of grief;
and fear another dawn and day,
which brings impending fate.
Oh, I am stained with the blood,
of love long, long departed;
I am never free from their voices,
which call from their tombs.
Among scattered stones are names,
my broken heart recalls;
forever in my soul etched deep,
and on a slender thread I am kept,
( . . . tethered to this eternal grief)
But, within my soul freedom stirs,
with strength to break away!
Oh, can I throw off this awful grief?
Lord, can you hear this girl's prayer . . .
__________________
July 25, 2018
Poetry/Verse/Woeful Prayer
Copyright Protected, ID 28-1215-653-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Strand Select 9 Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
Oh, hear this woeful girl's prayer,
such a deep sorrow sigh;
will this heart ever stop hurting,
to Heaven these tears fly.
For here, I sit forlorn and lost,
within this box of grief;
and fear another dawn and day,
which brings impending fate.
Oh, I am stained with the blood,
of love long, long departed;
I am never free from their voices,
which call from their tombs.
Among scattered stones are names,
my broken heart recalls;
forever in my soul etched deep,
and on a slender thread I am kept,
( . . . tethered to this eternal grief)
But, within my soul freedom stirs,
with strength to break away!
Oh, can I throw off this awful grief?
Lord, can you hear this girl's prayer . . .
__________________
July 25, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/This Woeful Girl's Prayer
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1045-971-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Best Free Verse in July 2018
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
(Lizzie Siddall, the Pre-Raphaelite artist's
model, has just married Dante Gabriel
Rossetti ... and now regrets it.)
Why could it not have been agreeable?
What steered me down this unforgiving cleft?
Was this misfortune not foreseeable?
Why can I find no crumb of comfort left?
I longed to find a lover, thoughtful, kind,
a husband who, attentive, understands:
but now the day has dawned (alas!), I find
my triumph turns to water in my hands.
At last I comprehend what Paris meant:
each absence was his chance to play me false.
If I object, he terms it “harrassment”.
I’ve danced alone in sharp embarrassment,
and now I find I’m weary of the waltz:
I’m keeping time, but hope the music halts.
Predation In Woeful Times
By Roy Merritt
Life is getting ghastly now
For few it seems sublime
Everyone engrossed with thoughts
Of predation in woeful times
In times like this trust for neighbors
Is a luxury you can’t define
You can’t depend on anybody
With predation in woeful times
Who knows if some day soon
Some day just down the line
We’re all at each others throats
With predation in woeful times
Will we turn to cannibalism
The ugliest of human crimes
Soon enough enslave each other
With predation in woeful times
Might we lose our beating hearts
Like some wretched thing in slime
Will we turn into grotesque beasts
With predation in woeful times
Will we revert to when this earth
First fostered our tenuous kind
Will we divorce from Darwinism
With predation in woeful times
Will we blow up this planet
Are we thus far inclined
Perhaps we deserve all this
Predation in woeful times
Might it be we deserve all this
Predation in woeful times
Satan's spawns
Blast Angels to hell -
Virgin spirits rise with
Burning sun melting
Woeful hearts
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
Farewell, thou woeful year,
Of your woes I got my full share
And grieved my heart in pain and care
But now, of your days, I have spend the last
That onwards you be known my past
As I, with glee, set my back upon your sight
And look ahead on tomorrow’s year
With the last shred of my bartered hope
It was indeed in vain
That we labored and toiled
As we strove to climb the ever-rising mountain
And, in hope of some paltry prize
Raced in pursuit of howling gales,
Or vainly still, upon a rained day
Mopped the sodden floors of roofless huts
Till our bloody-sweat did stream
The valleys of this our cursed land
As we wailed our somber song of woe
In sighed notes and groaned tones!
And for dance our flimsy starved selves
Did sway and limb in the wind,
Cracking our horned hands
In applause to our fated doom!
But farewell then, woeful year
It is here that we do apart:
You to the tales of a past,
And me to the beckoning of a future
Farewell indeed,
Year of my woes!
"Till death us do part"
Thus I stepped upon a trap;
Oh, Why I said that?
Now I wail to no avail,
Lo, my life is in shambles!
~A Brian Strand 1 to 14 line contest.
Herein the throes of our family's tragedy,
Herein our woeful daze, we're not the defeated
Nor victors; Simply the bearer's of tragedy.
Yes, Jonas was here; Thence we're the cheated.
Hail to the Knight of Woeful Countenance,
the impossible dream with lance in hand.
Alonzo had dreamed, dreams of ambiance.
Knight, Don Quixote, rose in allegiance
The man from La Mancha, felt in demand
Hail to the Knight of Woeful Countenance.
His squire Sancho Panza, flaunted the stance
From old Rocinante, slain windmills at hand.
Alonzo had dreamed, dreams of ambiance.
His make believe love, a one way advance.
Dulcinea, ……………..gets no wedding band.
Hail to the Knight of Woeful Countenance.
Castles and mules and a loser’s penance.
Bound by the rules only Knights understand
Alonzo had dreamed, dreams of ambiance
Retiring, a dream brings him assurance
New found sanity, he swears with raised hand
Hail to the Knight of Woeful countenance
Alonzo had dreamed, dreams of ambiance
Sept 15, 2012 © cghjr
Comes winter with its icy blast
Across the land thy death shadow cast
Life purged by thy soulless wind
With thy sting of death thou doest offend
Thy snowy shroud upon January’s cold ground lain
Bitter tears of crystal ice now rain
Naked branches broken and battered in sorrow doth wail
amid thy northern gales.
Woeful Winter Dirge!
May the southern breeze push back thy artic surge
O Scourge of the seasons release your icy grasp
May the sun shine at last!
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