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howard brace Aug 2013
"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
for Sally, Bex and Tonya, Denel and my beloved

<>

gods do not seek forgiveness,
or comprehension,
desertion, desecration, ascension
or condemning condescension

but how how they crave
just a good conversation,
to get a word in edgewise,
a nice chat,
entrée à, la tête-à-tête,
entre deux, deluxe-amis

a casually talking,
absent of
words of need and beseech,
reason and causality,
and no I or We pronouns,
sans enunciations and annunciations,
false hopes for incarnations, incantations,
set asides for life's grievous aches
all human requests, and some of God's commandments
for now, set aside,
annulled

just a talk,
some repartee,
but mostly an open ear lent,
an early morn quiet listen
over tea (he/she) and coffee (me),
paying attention to
both sides of an interactive story

as recompense for my willingness to be,
his engaged counter party,
my mourning gloomier cloudiness,
quick exchanged for instant,
rising sunshine warming glorious

my vista
of a bay dancing
to Tchaikovsky Swan Lake ballet music,
deftly inserted between
an Agnus Dei and an Ave Maria

mood music he said,
and we chuckled,
he/she was god and orchestrated
my tastes,
Adele et Dudamel,
comprehending my undesirable apprehension,
by granting my needy wish for
poetic inspirational composition contentment

all exchanged,
for just a good listen,
no judgements, in either direction

I am the god of love,
the one who makes you weep,
when you study your beloved's rising chest,
each uplifted breast heaving,
a confirmation blessing,
that her life is present
for at least the next second,
ready for your magi adoration

be not fearful,
this day we talk only,
as I pass by,
I have no business to conduct,
on your island of sheltering redoubt,
but to engage and unburden
for even gods
are required to confess,
and aging godheads do adore
a human shoulder
upon to rest,
a great invention,
(If I may say so myself)
and to whom better to address
than my only love poetry
poète personnelle

here he off-guards me
with a favorite injection,
Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings,
music so sweet that it never fails
to weaken my knees,
sweeping my eyes unto weeping
priming me with this first coat of
sounds so elementary soothing

he half-bows before me and says,


forgive me human, for I have sinned

in Dallas and Nice,
just this past week,
with forays here and there,
doing god's work

read your bitterness and struggle,
anger and forgiveness all in one crust,
furious curses and wails so plaintive,
my heavenly musicians weep from jealousy,
at the cries emanating from the fired fury song
of human hearts torn and love plundered

I am the god of love

and

the god of pain and all that is the

anti-love

(and to make me better understand,  
Schindler's List score, so sweetly,
he plays for me,
to clarify the atmosphere,
that death and love -
and the courage of understanding,
so oft go hand in hand)

write me a love poem for me,
no hymn or sonnet do I require,
for love is essence of forgive,
there is no perfect union,
that cannot stand,
with out this emotion of
conciliatory intermediation

tell me you understand
that the scales
of bereft befallen,
disparate chance interrupting randomized,
must periodic perforce
sometimes weigh more,
than the good of simple

balance tip that creative god spark within,
of which you write,
away from my bloodied, unsightly hand

write me one more love poem
a frisson semi-sweet and cleanly neat,
of good things sad,
but worthy of remembrance

you are not the first for this bequest to receive,
other poet's before and after,
will Jacob-wrestle with my angels,
battling to find the...

no matter

"my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw"^

let your love poem
to me
be of whole healing,
for these disarrayed feelings
cannot forever persist,
the perfect balance you desire
is not on your Earth existent,
unobtainable

these cracks and flaws must and will come


and yet

love poems
will be our common language

and then he/she left,
leaving this poem behind,
born from my mind, yet,
carved on my skin,
written with the nib of my rib,
sealed and signed,
future undefined,
but dated upon my
cleansed hand's lifeline,
hand held outstretched
as if to say


“and yet"
^ "my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw".
William Shakespeare

Sunday, July 17th 2016
8:42am
Anno ab incarnatione Domini
I was introduced to her mother
One Whit Sunday, down at the Hall,
They said that this was a ritual
And suffered by one and all,
She wanted to check your hands were clean
That you had no flaw on your skin,
I wanted to marry her daughter
But if I had, I couldn’t come in.

They led me in through the servant’s door
Down a passageway to the rear,
Marching me past some gloomy rooms
Was an ancient Grenadier,
He didn’t reply to a single word
That I said, his face was grim,
Then into a room with a chandelier
That was gloomier than him.

She sat at the end of a table, veiled
And motioned me to a chair,
The dust was thick on the table-top
And I’m sure there was dust on her,
I’d heard she once was a beauty
One of the greatest in the land,
But she sat there bowed like a coffin shroud
As she raised her withered hand.

‘Show me your hands and your fingers,’ she
Then whispered in gravel tones,
Her voice like the dying embers of
The ashes of human bones,
I raised my sleeves to the elbows and
I held them out to her stare,
‘I’m going to marry your daughter,’
I declared, ‘so be aware!’

She flinched, as if I had slapped her
Then she said, as hard as nails,
‘I’ll write the end of the chapter,
I’ll not heed your rants and rails.
My daughter won’t marry anyone
That I don’t approve, you’ll see,
You think that you are the only one
Come cap in hand to me?’

‘There was a time, I was in my prime
When the world was at my door,
And I could have married anyone
But the love that I had was poor,
A rival had him imprisoned, just
To get him out of the way,
Then said I could buy his freedom if
I’d lie with him for a day.’

‘My love was such that I put my trust
That this Earl would keep his word,
So slept with him on a Sunday, then
He put my love to the sword.
He said that I’d have to keep his bed
For I had no place to go,
That I was fit for playing the *****
And he’d let my friends all know.’

‘I couldn’t cry, I would rather die
But my first thought was revenge,
My heart was broken forevermore
But my love would be avenged.
I ran his lordship an evil bath
With herbs and salts disguised,
Then held him down while it ate his flesh,
And put out both of his eyes.’

I leapt to my feet on hearing that,
And staggered back from my chair,
‘So now you know I’m a monster,
If you cross me, just beware!’
‘I think you’ve told me a pack of lies,
But I love your daughter, true!
I’m going to marry her come what may,
I swear, in spite of you!’

She rose and beckoned me follow her
And she led me through the gloom,
Down through a flagstone stairwell and
Into a tiny room,
A man lay there in an iron bath
That was filled to the brim with oil,
And only his face was still intact
Though his eyes had both been spoiled.

‘He hasn’t an ounce of flesh on him,
The oil just keeps him alive,
He’ll never get out of this bath again,’
But he’d heard us both arrive.
‘For God’s sake, **** me and end it now,’
He groaned from his oily tomb,
‘I will when you bring my Martin back,’
She whispered, there in the gloom.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough
But I’d lost my way inside,
I knew I couldn’t get married now
I was far too terrified.
She called me back and she raised her veil
And she said, ‘He stole my grace!’
I saw to my horror that syphilis
Had eaten part of her face!’

David Lewis Paget
ok okay Apr 2021
It's hard to see the colour
In a world which is fading
The sky is becoming gloomier
The ocean has lost its way
The bright city lights no longer stand out to me
They seem as dim as they are fake
The smell makes it hard to see the colour too
It gets stronger by the day

It's hard to see the colour
When people ignore others in pain
Our dreams have been forgotten
Maybe our world has gone insane
Just prescribe another pill
And see if things really change

I find it hard to see the colour
In a world that is so negative
Our world is falling apart
Yet we all seem to stay the same
Its a lot harder to see the colour than it used to be and its getting worse.



If anyone wants to check out my insta, I am active on hellopoetry and insta.
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/write.to.the.moon/
Peter Balkus Sep 2016
Getting thinner and thinner
and skinner and *****
and gloomier and weaker,
unhappier and paler,
depressed more and crazier
and messed, death-obsessed
and stripped to the ribs 
and scarer and thinner
and lighter and paler,
less pretty, enslaved and
less happy, not happy,
Auschwitz-like, so horrid
self-killing, deploring,
and faker, unhappier
and skinner and broken
and scarer and scarer
and thinner and thinner
and thinner and thinner
and ghostler,
and death-like,
fibre-glassed,
dead thin,
dead,
inside and out.
His black devices,
The victim, forever on the rack.
He could play upon them as he choose
Would they arouse him with a throb of agony?


While thus suffering,
The avenger had devoted himself.
Uprose a grisly phantom,
Not just the external presence, but the very soul.

The great judgement day,
That moment of his ecstasy.
Laid his hand upon his chest,
The profoud depth was remarkable, his spirit now withdrawn.

A dark transfiguration,
Brought them a gloomier hour,
Silence out of the abyss of sadness.
The past is gone, and so am I.

Gone, with the Angel of Death.
Sam Po Jul 2014
Rain, Turn on the music of your thunder's splendid sound,
strike your magnificent  lighting on the ground.
Your frigid wind shivers my soul within.
Every drop of rain cascades my rosy cheeks
How sweetly the rain kisses my parted lips.

oh rain, drench me with your love,
don't stop pouring your affection in my heart.
The gloomier the day,
the gladder I'd be;
The darker the world,
the brighter my heart would be.
Rain reminds me of HIM
#love #rain
Jordan Nov 2013
Her habit was herion my spell was depression, we adressed eachother in murmurs and groans, together we died and were reborn. It was sadder than the last day and gloomier than before, but we were closer when furthest away, like each time we stepped out we came home.
Catarina Pech Jul 2017
I felt a pang of sadness
instead of quieting it, I plucked the string
it reverberated loudly,
bouncing around from my amygdala to my hippocampus
it made me want to play more cords,
until the most melancholy song filled my head
I tried to quiet the song, stop the vibrations of the strings
But my whole head is numb  and prickly from the noise
The pitter-patter of my tears just make a new sad song anyway
Even if I was able to quiet those noisy thoughts,
another is likely to pop in my head,
Start it all over.
No, I need help. A new riff.
Someone to play me something soothing or happy
No one around me knows any
If they do, they don't care to make music for me
Not today,
Today their song is probably gloomier than mine.
Likely tomorrow too.
I am tired and abandoned. Someone smile please.
ㅡjatm Apr 2017
Before she met you
her world was a complete
black and white.

But you spoke in colors
in waves like spilled ink
and showed her the in between-
the gray of life.

She can't seem to wash you off
for you flaunted her that there were even more
that there are reds, oranges, and greens;
lighter and warmer colors.

Love, peace, happiness, and life.

But then you left her and
she learned even more
you taught her of
blues, yellows, and purples;
colder, gloomier, and darker colors.

Sadness, broken heart, and anxiety.

You have lost track of a girl
with sunflower-shaped dreams
and you left her having no idea
that you were her favorite color
yet she's grateful
of how much you taught her
about the colors of this world.

(j.a.t.m.)
me gs Nov 2013
I did not see you today at school
So is it such a surprise
That my day was gloomier than normal
Without your:
Greetings in gym
Smiles in the library
Laughs in the hallway
It is such a surprise that everything rings hollow,
Much likes the bones of lovers past
Eons from now
Someone will make a necklace from my bones
And I'm quite sure
That if they rattled it
They'd hear your name

me.gs
RuNe Sep 2015
You look full tonight,
bright but looks gloomy.
An airplane passed you by,
but it seems you didn't noticed.

The wind feels chilly,
it adds to your being gloomy.
Dogs howling somewhere,
it creeps me out.

This should be the time
where you'll be most merry,
lots of stars should be with you tonight.

Clouds starting to gather around you,
they are in different shapes and sizes.
I don't know if it will cheer you up.
You look gloomier than before.

Another plane pass you by
and you hide from the clouds.
Now that's the saddest part.

Why hide your beautiful smile,
like the stars hiding from you.
Can't you see the clouds are
trying to cheer you up.

They are dancing in the shape of
a fish swallowing you,
an owl like your their eye,
a centipede tickles you,
making you shine so bright.

There you go...

Smile ... You should be happy,
don't patronize me...
One night when I was looking at the sky
suze suze May 2018
You are taking a walk.
The weather is perfect. The sky is cloudy, but it isn't raining, and a cool breeze is blowing. Its soothing you. You are content. Relaxed. You are walking down the empty road,  thinking of your lover/crush/ex/bestie/anyone close to you; wishing to talk to him/her, imagining yourself in a hilarious convo with him/her, holding his/her hand in yours as you walk. You couldn't be happier (or gloomier).
On the way you happen to pass a river. Being in the mood that you are, you decide to loiter near it. The view is great. Gentle tides pushing away the present.
You start walking playfully on the concrete barrier. Suddenly you trip over a rock; reaching out your hand for support, you find nothing. A sharp chill runs through your heart.
You scream out loud,though somewhere amongst the  quick thoughts in your mind you know you are going to plunge into the water.
Before you know it the cold water touches you. Splashes and drops surround you. You beat frantically your restless arms, but only cold fluid flowing. Helpless... You reapeat your ****** movements over and over again. Legs trying to run away to safety; but there's no ground. No support. Your head goes under water.. Eyes open ; you breathe in the cool liquid. You try to cough out the water, but end up taking in more and more water.
Your body starts moving down towards the bottom. You are tired. You try. But it's not enough to get out. Exhausted.. and starting to feel numb.. and sleepy and tired and all those feelings creeping in. You see leaves floating.. Feel the fish slide against your skin.. But you can't respond. You lose consciousness in between . You cease.

All your dreams, all your thoughts, all the things that made you you, its no more. Mere chemical reactions in the brain. Your mind doesn't exist to even acknowledge that you existed. Or that you died. Not a slight trace of you in that motionless body...
Take yourself through a thought of mine.
Brian Pickering Feb 2017
Sartorial

Not always conformed, to what was expected of me,
The sixties and seventies, exciting times, not what the older generation, thought it should be,
Sample new pleasures, sometimes on a whim,
New music, new stimulants, often, not what it said on the tin,

Dress code were informal, and often quite extreme,
Highly coloured loon pants, that the older folk, had never seen,
Time progressed, matured, and subdued was the order of the day,
Dark blue socks, pin striped suits, and some, a very, very drab grey,

Time sped on, identity gone, I tired of life conformity,
I’m a full grown man, so I hatched a plan, for my own, self autonomy,
I started with the socks, with colours so bright, I always knew where my feet were,
Like beacons in the night, a luminous sight, my feet, a pyrotechnical blur,
A very useful guide, when you’re totally pie-eyed, to know your feet, were still on the ground, beneath you,
If they were at shoulder height, there’s a good chance you’re tight, that things had gone, totally askew,
Panicked thoughts do abound, I shouldn’t be this way around, whilst a gentle thud is the sound, of your ****, as it’s striking the ground.

Ah the shirt, a statement, a provocative trait, with designs, you either love, or you hate,
The shirt is the thing, that should make every man sing, at the prospect of projecting an image,
Hawaiians are brash, the colours do clash, but you’re starting a new age, the old one to trash
Your identity is born, let the old identity mourn, be extravagant with colour, be flamboyant,
Burn the beige and grey, stand up and say hey, my colourful image, is my enjoyment.

Parrots and cars, palm trees and bars, and shirts with multi-coloured stars,
Brightly coloured sneakers, baggy shorts that features, a perfectly monstrous clash,
With your new image to go, step out and throw, your wavering confidence away,
Treat people with humour, especially those who are gloomier, and brush away that awful cliché,

Some people may think, it’s OK to link, dislike of your choice,
for unkind remarks, to voice,
Accept it as is, it can make you annoyed, but it’s only a mark of their schadenfreude,
To combat this, it’s absolute bliss, to give them the finger, then slowly depart, don’t linger.
Galbraith Frase Aug 2019
hello and goodbye, little flower
the wallops of the sun and moon
the taste of sweet and sour,
why are you fading so soon?

energy never lies
each day, each petal dies
roots that are used to be cherished
zest is slowly beginning to perish

disappearing charisma burst
embosomed by a gloomier thirst
spirals of flourishing passion
stem's propped to percussion

restoring the seeds of fertility
is the perfect tone of sanity
but the sudden gush of calamities
hindered the ray of prosperity

tailored lullabies,
hoping for rain or a battle cry
here's the dream's doom,
for a flower that no longer blooms

the feeling becomes seasonal
a little bit under the weather,
remember the plant that used to grow?
now's colorless and withered
The saddest part of life? Is when your growth stopped for many, unexpected reasons and you got no choice but to fade away and lose energy.
Vinnie Brown May 2017
One day, when you wake up before the suns up
You'll realize that I was the man of your dreams
The sun won't rise and shine
It'll be a bit gloomier
You'll question to text me and fight within yourself to see what I am doing
The truth is, I might let you back in and I just might not
You'll have to earn your spot amongst the great things that reside within my heart
If you do manage to fight your way in
I'll never use your journey of life against you
Feyre Jun 2020
The sun
It shines brightly some days.
Causing eyes to squint,
Skin to burn,
Sleeves to roll up.

Other days is peeks behind clouds.
A shy child in a new place,
Unsure of their desire to come out and play or hide away.
Teasing us with warmth,
But not staying long.

Some days the sun doesn’t shine at all.
Leaving the clouds to cover the sky,
Like a grey blanket,
Not warm,
But daylight all the same.

People are like the sun.

Some days they uplift each other,
Eyes squinted as laughter flows through them,
Hearts burning with joy,
Huge smiles rolling up the corners of their mouth.

Other days people are in new surroundings.
Shyly trying to meet new people,
To make the right first impression.
Unsure of which decision is the right one,
To choose to go out or stay inside.
Teasing smiles,
A fleeting look.

Some days people are less happy.
Absent minded,
Stuck inside their heads.
Letting the world continue around them,
Not present,
But here all the same.

Someone can be the sun in your life,
Brightening your days,
Lighting up your world with a smile,
And still be able to cause you pain.

To be your brightest star on your darkest days,
And yet be the reason some days are gloomier than others.

But that also doesn’t mean they aren’t the Sun to you.
Cy Sep 2018
Every night as I walk home along the streets of my school, unraveling thoughts always pop in my mind.

Inexplicably undesirable of the mind. Seeing the first raindrop spatter on my face as I journey home, my whole life force became inclined with it.

The first raindrop continued on becoming a drizzle manifested by the likes of me.

The thoughts became gloomier and sullen and the rain gets harder and stronger.

The thoughts took on a part of me to the point that it were no more detachable.

******* out the life force inside; pouring out as a storm. A storm containing all kinds of pessimism and negativity.

Now the soul is slowly oozing out of the body and what remains to be is a soul that always stays up until midnight.
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2018
Does our mind
have an underground
where our innermost secrets
are hidden
immersed in murky waters
which we would never want
to revisit?
(the door to the key
we had flung into
some faraway sea
so long ago)

there's no darkness
that's gloomier
than this
our purgatory--

don't mention
Freud--he wouldn't know
even his own mind
he struggled to understand

the brain
is not the mind
and the mind
is not the brain
(grey matter is substance
thought has no form)

don't mention
the neuroscientist
he's but a machine-reader
and all machines
have faults
where's the dwelling place
of genius
and how are thoughts born?
(it's stupid to guess-
science and technology
are in their infancy)

if one knows not
what one's own mind is
how would others?

I would not go down
the path of thinking again
let me be a child
let me escape the prison
of my own making

give me
a fresh corner
(however small)
of a distant field
let me sow
new seeds
born of pain
and suffering
this time
I know
a new plant
would grow

sprouting
into the sky
seen by all
I would have nothing
to hide

and my underground
would go away
forgotten
and vanish
for evermore.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
i'm too old to be "e.m.o." -
   and i'm too clamorous
to claim "goth"...
          god: and that love
   to loiter!
               first they teach
the child the alphabet...
then reduced it to an α & β
           "contest"...
ever hear an alcoholic
utter the words: i'm thirsty -
ever?
   but i will be the womb-eye
having sighted
    mistletoe roaming free -
like cotton-candy
   in the hands of a child:
   instead - parasitic -
                    perched in trees:
gloomier than a
    hunched Diaval -
  riddled: less by an image
in water -
   but more: with a missing
tangle of root:
   to mark the god and string
in puppet a
   being: worth nothing
more than an offshoot.
    - give me the name
of the man who fell in love
with his own shadow...
   and i'll tell you the name
- who made Narcissus
      a lesser standard
         of autism for the modern
tongue to interpret...
      ... and why didn't
   solipsism materialise into a demigod?
EmperorOfMine Oct 2018
I loved you when you couldn't see me

My pink nothing came unintentionally

I didn't want to bring a bag of colors for them to be robbed

You took it all and left me raw and now all I do is sob

I could go out and make my mission a haunting

But all it would do is make me look like a weakling

And so what I do is cover my pink nothing

And trade it out for a gloomier color and drown to feel something
EmperorOfMine Mar 2019
Have you ever felt unheard
But felt that you were being watched
Cause that's how I'm feeling right now
My mood is colors that are splotched
I'm not saying oh woe is me
But I hate no one sees the woe
A game of tag over the sea
Alone, because no one would show
They say loneliness can create
A second copy of your soul
But this one is much gloomier
And where a heart should be, a hole

— The End —