"bleakest" poems
The Grey
On slow-light morns
I meet the grey,
An absent sky,
It’s light, afraid.
It heralds the bleak
The tired, mundane,
Most loathsome, most
Despairing of days.
And yet this day, though bleak,
Though vision frayed
And blue sky strangled
By the 'gulfing grey,
After a shower and an eye-shut shave
The bleakest day,
Is realised.
I am awake.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
Winter, winter how we feel your icy touch
The earth is now under your freezing clutch
All that falls in our ears is the howl of gales from far
The night sky is covered in grayness without a single star
In the dawn, nowhere can one spot the buzzing bees
Icicles hang from boughs of leafless trees
Birds sit with drooping wings in their woody nests
Within eye shot, no trace of any roaming beasts
Trees stand sleeping in the biting cold
And the sun has lost its bright sheen of gold
From nowhere comes the song of a single bird
On the slopes, one cannot sight the grazing herd
Roof tops are crusted with flakes of snow
Which the sun with sharp beams alone can thaw
Piles of snow lie heaped on the barren ground
And the entire Earth lies in a sea of ice drowned
Busy streets and pavements are now lying bare
People stay indoors and to be out, they hardly dare
The rodents have gone into hibernation in their ditch
And life altogether has gone out of pitch
In the smiting chill of a dreadful wintry night
When through every fiber n’ nerve is the cold bite
How we like to sit cocooned beside the hearth
Sipping a cup of steaming tea in rising mirth
In such quiet hours, one can peruse into the pages of tomes
That will transport one to enchanting magical zones
Or engage in a hearty chat with friends and family
Thus turning even the bleakest hours sweet and lively
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
To see a dwindling tree in the forest
is not to know its bleakest
but to know its earnest
The decay is shown outwardly as despair
by means of deforested ensnare
Forlornness seems its welfare
Externally the forest is declared undeserved eternally
Beauty is unsecured directly
And hope comes seldomly
Whole,
is a forest,
alive as a unit
Spaciousness is created with the tree's covet
Restored are the longing of nutrients
in a sacrificed facet
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
"Whose life is the most meager,
the monkey or the *****
To screech and wind the
same dreadful tune
a mildew forming on your screws
What a way to grind your gears,
counter-happy through the years
Or
To pantaloon a penny nearer,
wearing outfits scavenged
from old graves
To jingle shackles,
worship Cesar's
To have a smile filled with nails,
a heart fashioned of broken stares
"But who has the most meager existence?
The undertaker or the priest?
The coffin or the corpse?"
To love the man who appoints the pain
to the monkey and the box
To praise the God that has made love
a traitorous paradox
To be the one that bears the wounds
of every ****** child, or sage
That is to live the worst of lives,
the bleakest death
That is to understand the blackest hole
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
He’s like that last bit of sunlight that everyone tries to savor during the final days of summer. He’s the light that manages to fill the bleakest of rooms. Even in the loneliest of nights I still feel the light he brings. He is the bearer of joy not just to me, but whomever he me crosses paths with. He brings joy to the miserable, youth to the old, and even love to the loveless. Spending time with you is like living what poetry is.
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 6:07 PM UTC
*in the bleakest twilight, stars, a rural sea
hues possessing confusions, mayhem;
like susurrous in the rivers the fugitives seek.
devouring words betwixt papers of prayers
the quiet evensong plays, the salted saliva swallowed
into Rome gardens of sea green and stars
a morose spirit bellow.
into the midst of the labyrinthine coral sea
they'll sail through the soughing seawind
conflating into ocean salts, erupt in mesmeric pulse
soon the April gales will shrink to a bated breath,
credence will turn into a sempiternal menace.
fiery suspires blown to my knees,
auburn tress covered a crescent beam
serenade a zero, I tilt to the drones in the haze
a scintilla of lukewarm left to trace;
to the sea her body lured,
losing panaceas and remedies.
into maelstroms she goes,
inhaling salt water, a spirit wet with ruth;
her grey bones into ash,
into watery cemeteries she goes.*
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
the world is adorned with a million windows
the bleakest night has a thousand eyes
daylight shines into the globes darkest corners
truth will ultimately expose all lies
NASA’s satellites circle
Tropic of Cancer latitudes
cameras pinpoint the disease
metastasizing in the body of Homs
from stratospheric limits
sensitive lenses read the names
magic markers have scrawled
onto white sheets covering the dead
YouTube gets Oscar consideration
for grisly cinematography
a real-time visceral docudrama
of panting fascists gleefully tramping
through the desecrated streets
coolly administering a coup de gras
to a city on its knees, pleading release
from an **** of incessant bloodletting
twitter records desperate tweets
the batting wings of endangered flocks
furiously thumbing into the blogosphere
calls for UN intervention that falls on blind eyes
BBC reportage,
the global gold standard
for journalistic excellence
scoops the stories
of London based FSA partisans
awaiting repatriation to scatter
Bashar’s Kodachrome killers
Has the All Seeing Eye
who has graced us with sight
laughingly curse us with vision?
Does the
One Caring Eye of the Universe
bless us with perception
to haunt us with images?
Has
The One Thats Sees Everything
blinked closed the eye of compassion?
Has the horror of Homs
become too much even for
The Universal Eye of Love?
the opened eyes
of a dead child
reflects our
cold winter
of indifference
demoralizing
dehumanizing
a watching world
Music Selection
Grateful Dead Eyes of the World
Oakland
3/2/12
jbm
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
In the bleakest part of winter.
When earth is covered with snow,
A sentry of masculine gender
Stands without a sign of woe.
How is it snow men always smile?
The scenery isn't great.
Though they most often dress with style,
They are always overweight.
Magic silk hats hide their bald heads.
Their carrot noses aren't cute.
Beady eyes seem pixilated.
They don't even own a suit.
So, why do these guards always smile?
What can they all smile about?
To contrast, scarecrows are most vile,
With a look that's all worn out.
Scarecrows got the cerebral part,
But it wasn't an even trade.
For what snowmen got was a heart,
In the love with which they're made.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
sweet bird of budding april's pretty wing,
sat in the willow where the catkins grow,
enchanting like the river's winding flow,
small chatterbox that always loves to sing,
the blossoms kiss the sky whose wandering
finds vast crusades where fleeting warriors go,
true to their loves e'en in the bleakest snow,
or some princess who finds a sapphire ring.
enchanted lands, the bird sings in the tree,
so long forgotten once found near and far,
where streams wind yonder where the bluebirds play,
on honey branches by the windswept sea,
as if they whispered underneath a star
of princely gold the beauty of the day.
Apr 3, 2024
Apr 3, 2024 at 2:34 PM UTC
You,
Lone being
Of enduring kindness,
Your tiny hand touching me tenderly,
Even in the bleakest times.
Dragging me out of the darkness
Even as I continually crawled toward it.
The tortures inflicted,
both blindly and unintentionally
And with premeditation and surety
Should surely not have befallen one so gorgeous of spirit.
It seems now you have lost your faith in me,
As I have failed to fulfill a slew of promises.
But, you do not understand where I stand,
How my hands are shackled
Fettered to the spot,
When we dwelled together
Hell rained down until our hearts were parted.
I do not wish for the intensity of my vile
To drizzle and stain, and burn and brand you.
You are far too precious to me to allow the chance of that.
But, seeing you burn my page from your diary,
Finally and emphatically denouncing me,
I am torn down like a ***** ******
I love you with devout intensity,
And watching you suffer at our separation
It equalled the potential pain of my tint tainting you.
So what am I to do now, kind one?
My smile only masks the agony so long.
Sweet one, whose kiss lasted longest,
Which sadly meant, there were fewer of them.
The clever saboteur will always sabotage us.
The angry cannoneer will always barrage us.
I don't want you to endure such things.
But NEVER stop believing I Love you!
Whatever you see occur,
Never forget this.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 9:13 AM UTC
I tore out the intimate stanzas that my friends had written in my note book
I used it to clean their mess
Jealousy at it's bleakest
Excuses at their best
Angst and nerves filled my head
Most of the time i'm too scared to read what they had written
Most of the time i'm too scared to read what they had said
My notebook is hardly mine any more
Merely scrap pages for my friends thoughts
Their voices are loud and powerful on paper
But I hardly spare the time to listen
**Imagery created by all means
But never correctly interpreted**
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
I found myself a dying sun,
I lay ashore, all mem'ries gone,
Beneath a sky of crimson clay,
Where every world spends its last day.
The dusty sand beneath my form
I used to love looks so forlorn.
The waves crash down with energy
They do not wish to share with me.
I am tired of it all,
Sick to death, I take the fall.
Down to the void, abyss,
Without parting glass or kiss.
You will not find me here tomorrow,
I have drowned myself in sorrow.
The bleakest darkness of my past
Swells in the distance like a mast.
I shall not perish, all the same.
Your world is evil and insane,
Yet I shall rise again at last
While you'll be buried in the past.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
In the Bleakest of December,
I sought my soul to remember.
The warmth of your touch,
The taste of your lips.
But to my dismay I could find no such feeling.
In the heated rain of the spring time air,
I searched my soul for what I once had,
But in my soul there was nothing but misary and dispair.
The fragrance of the peace and joy you bring,
While listening to the Robin sing.
To lay you down on a silken bed,
While sprinkling Rose Dust around your head.
To see your eyes in an innocent Blue,
Seeing me there to look after you.
Now at the end of this desperate search,
I have found the light of which I yearn.
The truest form of my love for you I have now found,
A crystal example of our love that has left the ground
To stay in this moment, is what I shall do,
To thine own heart be truest to you.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
Some worship the sun and the stars
Others worship bearded men with guitars
Some of us worship idols and priests
Others worship the trees and the beasts
Some worship places
Others worship faces
As of late, worship of numbers seems to be the norm
The image of ourselves does this worship deform
The worship of might will last for eons
The human mind is fascinating though, delusions it’ll build to free itself of these rigid forms
Pick a belief, a rock or a sock
There will always be those who, for the love of their beliefs will bring down havoc
Worship is but human nature, even in the bleakest of times we close our eyes and look inward
When we do wake up, we buckle down, take a deep breath and start walking onward
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Meanest
Bleakest
Blackest
Dryest
We are the meanest, bleakest race.
Hail from the blackest, dryest place.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
Through a broken window
Covered with dirt and cobwebs
And from within an empty house
Crumbling and derelict
Even the bleakest landscape
Can look fine and good
When the water runs in
Through the sagging old roof
It makes the rain outside
Seem healthier and clean
So that drafts blowing through
Cracked and buckling walls
Make the harshest winds
Feel kind and warm
Because when the interior
Is so desolate and empty
It makes the worst of the world
Seem pretty much good enough
So why bother to change
Anything at all
By Phil Roberts
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
***Steamy ink boiled over
the kettle of opportunistic metaphors
poison'd doses in gray's gangrene slur,
don't attempt to sleep in my mouth
like a w***e in head, the sword in bed
taboo artistes in monotonic ambivalent jaws
clamping down without remorse
chomp'd away at an asunder analogy
piss'd in my jeans and expect'd to get fed
spit it out on the polar opposite cafe floor
unicorns dwellings of butter'd blessings
broken bread & barely berry wine of Monet's encores
bite the ear that fed you preaching van Gogh
perhaps they'll listen for insanity to be set free
confining rules taught us naught to stutter
pay your monopoly dues in bleakest sermons
pass the bucket of superiority's conquests
bled of analgesic ego's epic divided faction's fiction
don't forget to wipe your shadow on the way out***
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
in this,
my darkest hour,
the shadow of doubt
sits as I sleep
staring into my eyes
when I look at
him
and burning
holes in my form
when I find the
courage
to look
away
he is silent,
most times
seemingly satisfied
with encroaching fear
from his very prescience
but at times,
he does speak
he whisper to me
soft truths
which I cannot
deny
but
I refuse
to
accept
these truths
like…
that I’m failing
at the simplest of
tasks
or
that I’m
unable
to control myself
and what
I am
or
that
I am no
longer
someone that
I would
look
up
to
for the most part,
I can ignore these.
going about my days
in bliss and happiness
and sunshine
other times,
I am not so
lucky
when my bed
seems my only
friend
and I flop
down into its
soft sheets
and begin drifting off
into my own
world
I am
suddenly reminded
of his
existence
this is when he doesn’t talk
he just looks at me,
knowing why I am so
desperate to get away
from everyone,
and continues to
look
stop staring!
I say
stop staring!
I say again
stop staring!
stop staring!
stop staring
you *******
freak!
but he doesn’t
I work myself up
arguing with him
rationalizing his motivations
analyzing his strategies
predicting his moves
it just makes the whole
experience hurt worse
until finally:
I grab the lamp,
the bottle, the
plate, the knife,
the book, the child,
the girlfriend, the
family member,
the moral
and
throw it at him
every time
the object shatters
against the wall
and the shadow
is gone
I never see where he goes,
I’m still not sure of his name
or his purpose
in these, my darkest hours,
I can feel his eyes burning
me
he whispers answers
too hard to swallow
and edges me on till
I gallop over the edge
once I jump,
he leaves,
leaving me to wrestle
back to some sort of
sanity
I am not sure why
I am not sure when
I am not sure how
it’s possible in the
first place
but I know he will return
and I will be left to wrestle
with myself when he departs
again
in my bleakest moment,
even sleep haunts me with
dreams of my corpse
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 9:42 AM UTC
And so she leaves, what we were behind
And somehow expects me not to mind.
We weren't together but I'm still not fine
In this world, where she's not mine.
From all our plans, she walked away,
And now I'm alone, on this bleakest day.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
Here you stand alone with your thoughts
Not believing you could be whole again
You try to tell yourself that you're okay
Deep down inside, you don't believe what you say
You feel that perhaps it's too late
Scared that somehow, someone will find you
Break you, watch you bleed
Then leave you behind to pick up the pieces
It's going to be a long, long night
It's going to be darker than it should
The bleakest of seasons , a time for tears
Colder until the morning light appears
Please don't hide away
Follow your heart, don't be afraid
Think of what could be, what would be
If you'd rewrite the role that you play
I believe you've got what it takes
You're magical, beautiful, incredible
I know that you're much stronger than you let on
I know you're brave enough to get through this
I will be waiting for you on the other side
Out of the dark, out of the rain
Where it's almost paradise...
I'll be waiting to be with you again.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
The aches and pains and disappointments
of a life lived as well as
experience and wisdom allowed,
explode and expand to fill and overflow
every thought, every feeling, every motivation.
“It’s too hard. I can’t handle it.”
But even still, underneath
the rust and the grime and the dust from disuse,
lies a burning heart of hope and faith and love,
as even the bleakest and darkest night
eventually spawns a glorious new dawn.
“I’m so tired. I don’t think I can continue.”
Endless exertion climbing an impossible to scale wall,
even in utter failure,
still tones and strengthens seldom used muscles and
oftentimes the mere refusal to quit
is the tiny, almost imperceptible seed of unconquerable courage.
“It’s impossible. There’s just no way.”
The final step, cloaked in futility,
reflects the effort already expended,
not the amount still required and
holds the inimitable power of eventual success
as a reward to all those who except and meet its challenge.
“I made it! I can’t believe how close I was to quitting.”
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
You forged a map
whilst quite unaware
that he was in want of direction,
and though he was lost
and close to despair,
he mustered his will and he made a connection.
You spoke of an age
from aeons ago;
a harmony sweet to his ears.
Though sep'rate by worlds,
you drew him in slow
and extinguished his nerves and his bleakest of fears.
You opened yourself up
to him like a rose,
when discord and tension were rife,
and gifted him naifly
with welcome repose
when you entered his otherwise workaday life.
You flooded his thoughts,
a tempestuous storm,
your tales of love as his guide,
and whilst he took your lead
and began to transform,
he learned to catch starlight with you by his side.
And how can he thank you
for touching him so,
when he still barely knows who he is?
The best he can do
is to write you a verse -
a mainline direct to your heart, from his.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
Rain falls in sheets for weeks,
ceiling springs a leak;
from the weeping breach
the waterline soon creeps,
stream flooding in furious
flurry of worries, deep.
Innumerable leagues beneath,
unfathomable meters and feet steep;
wrapped in the blackest and bleakest grief
wreathing my neck, I can no longer breathe.
Stifled, I can plea and scream,
but this abysmal void eats me
like a parasite, a thieving leech
suffocating, siphoning my speech,
bleeding my body weak
until all that’s left in this sea
are clothes to blow in undertow
like shredded leaves
and bones to be part of some unseen reef;
into the yawning depths of this sleep,
death swallowing every secret to keep-
I close my eyes and hold my breath for relief.
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 2:45 PM UTC
Bleakest drape inescapence.
Impertinent involuscence.
Stemming from a copulent.
Incongruent malocculent.
Plead among no relent.
Populate incompetent.
Unvaried fraudulence.
Clarity accomplishments.
In foggy eyes, the view reset.
Across the smoke, a sober fret.
A mind that rose from utter death.
Again to draw, refreshing breath.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC