"gloomily" poems
Our last connection with the mythic.
My mother remembers the day as a girl
she jumped across a little spruce
that now overtops the sandstone house
where still she lives; her face delights
at the thought of her years translated
into wood so tall, into so mighty
a peer of the birds and the wind.
Too, the old farmer still stout of step
treads through the orchard he has outlasted
but for some hollow-trunked much-lopped
apples and Bartlett pears. The dogwood
planted to mark my birth flowers each April,
a soundless explosion. We tell its story
time after time: the drizzling day,
the fragile sapling that had to be staked.
At the back of our acre here, my wife and I,
freshly moved in, freshly together,
transplanted two hemlocks that guarded our door
gloomily, green gnomes a meter high.
One died, gray as sagebrush next spring.
The other lives on and some day will dominate
this view no longer mine, its great
lazy feathery hemlock limbs down-drooping,
its tent-shaped caverns resinous and deep.
Then may I return, an old man, a trespasser,
and remember and marvel to see
our small deed, that hurried day,
so amplified, like a story through layers of air
told over and over, spreading.
9.5k
You surely have traded with me
Some intense part of your soul
Your haunting memories impairs my senses
As i constantly drift into the dark past
I can feel your lurking darkness in my soul
Radiating gloomily
Flowing
In the deep red stream that gives me life
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
I refuse to be
Persephone
I escape brooding moods
And the reflections of souls dead to you
To accept a pomegranate seed or two
From the underworld was a mistake
I will not pay for
And I do not expect anyone to save me
I cry that your world is so dark
you believe the light inside me is deception
the seasons will come around again
and I will not return
your soil is too damp and oppressive
for any healthy sprout to grow
and your richness and grandeur
too gloomily cast
Familiar with the voice of dismal
and disdain,
I will not be restrained
I will not be abducted
I will not be compliant
I will not forget my life in the sun
I will not be isolated
and
I will not be afraid of gathering flowers
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
The moon hangs, like the main decoration on a very eerie christmas tree, gloomily in the night sky.
Its gentle glow illuminates the world which is otherwise consumed in darkness.
The giant orb, plump like a ripe fruit-
yet glazed over with a chilling moss, inches higher and higher through the starry Milkyway.
When the clock strikes twelve it reaches summit and stops - as if basking in its own awe.
Gently, ever gently the music of the moon wafts through its carressing waves of moonshine - which hug the world below...and in the light of the full moon the fairies seem to dance and glow.
Their tunes and merriment are in celebration of the magic of dreams and fantasy in the air;
But suddenly it's not there anymore, and terror strikes the fairyfolk as they are abandoned in pitch black -
The moon has disappeared.
A candiflossed cloud eclipses the globe and steals the magic from the world.
But soon the moon is free from its disguise and the merriment continues.
Late into the night, when the goddess has long since begun her decent, like a silver'd over balloon, deflating - ever so slowly.
The fairies go back to their flowers and trees, go back to sleep and the world begins to lose its magic again...the soft symphony starts to die, in a slow pianissimo.
And just as she disapears, and sinks into the horizon, just as the dawn approaches, the world is engulfed in a deafening silence - in anticipation.
And as if the interval had gone on for hours, the sky bursts out into a carcophany of trumpets, and orchestra;
a crescendo jubilation as Apollo then edges into existence.
He brings a new kind of magic;
The magic of life.
All this I see, all this I hear when I play my sonata.
I feel the softness of the moon.
I feel the magic as I dance across the keys.
I see the world in a different light, through the music notes sketched into my mind.
And then as the night dies, I experience the rebirth of a new day, through the rise and fall of my melody -
All in the span of just a few minutes and then its gone, all gone -
And I am left starring, alone at the blank pages.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Can you blame me for viewing life gloomily sometimes...
As dim as night or even darker...
Whenever I go beyond unreached, I saw strangers within me...
They knows a lot well... They often brought me to the farthest end...
Religion give us hope... But for them there is no hope at all...
For them we are only God's toys...
They knows every fate of human... Death...
That the blade of the father of time was always in our neck...
That every day we became closer to our unhappy ending...
They were so strong...
They began as my sidekick...
When I started counting 1 2 3... Learning ABC's...
I even taught they were a gift... My guardians...
But as time goes by... Their motive was unleashed...
To ruin life... To ate and destroyed mind...
There was a time that i never know me anymore...
They possessed me so much that I can't even control myself...
It's like a beast was unraveled within me...
Their passion was to get into one's head...
To play mind games with it... To turn white to gray...
Beautiful days into rainy... Love to hatred...
My body fell numb suddenly... Here they comes...
They really did exist... My head will be at war yet again...
On what I feared most... My sudden METAMORPHOSIS...
Mysterious Aries
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Cloudy coffee on a rainy day
The saxophone’s honeyed voice echoing
Sitting, sighing, waiting for the sun that
Never will shine
Walk through that coffee-house door.
I’m tired of waiting.
There are tears on the other side
Of that glassy wall
Black umbrellas
Gloomily trotting back and forth
To where they need to go
Still, I sit here and wait for the sun
To come out again.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
A gentleman traveling through Alabama was interested in Uncle Ned. "So you were once a slave, eh?" said the gentleman.
"Yes, sah," said Uncle Ned.
"How thrilling!" exclaimed the gentleman. "And after the war you got your freedom, eh?"
"No, sah," said Uncle Ned gloomily. "I didn't get mah freedom, sah. After de war I done got married."
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
*What dreariness meets the weary eye,
As November discreetly descends,
Its watered sun, drags across the sky,
Trying its best, to make amends.
Naked trees, seem to stand in sadness,
Stark, abandoned, by their dying leaves,
Autumn’s colours, lie drab and lifeless,
Their golden flames… just distant dreams.
The slanting rain, gloomily falling,
Behind its curtain, the sun forlorn,
Miserable birds, cold, not calling,
Silently shiver, through the dreadful morn.
A misty dampness, bleak and clinging,
Across the landscape, silently steals,
This cloak of misery, unforgiving,
Embraces the forests, hills and fields.
Come you winter! with your cape of snow,
Your icy frosts and sparkling rays,
Forsake this dreadful month…let go!
Release us, from these sombre days.*
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
My mask is slowly crumbling
To the faint philosophy of your dreams
I cry with pain but hide my tears with a smile
My soul bleeds ever so faintly with no sign of weakness
I weaken by the day, die by the night
I try to confess my sins but in the end it all falls away
A gloomily fate rests in my palms with the knife in my heart
As my life comes my mask will shred but hold with love
But my mask can't hide my life anymore.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 9:13 AM UTC
Up here at the top of the world, I stare into the horizon.
a building under construction in plain view.
Next to me,
A homeless man throws an empty bottle at some hard hats.
Screaming nonsense at them like he owns them.
Beside him,
A dog prances around, stopping only to **** on the brown grass.
covering up the **** that was left by some other dog earlier on.
the sun sets.
a film student points and clicks his camera at his model.
The model stares longingly into the horizon
At night,
Rebels, stumble out of the wilderness giggling and coughing.
smelling like skunk and sweat.
Almost stumbleing off the rocks.
I sit alone at the top of the world,
Trying to find my own way to escape.
I stand up and walk to the end of the cliff.
I scream nonsense at the black, but nobody hears me.
I **** off the precipice; but nothing is covered up.
I stare gloomily off into the horizon, but all I see is the building under construction.
I inhale smoke, but I don't feel any different.
I can't escape like the homeless man does,
or the dog, or the film student, or the rebel. they found their ways and Those ways belong to them.
I need to find my own way to escape. My top of the world.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
Round and around
And back down
On this rusty Ferris Wheel
Creaking and moaning
Trying to take us this morning
Up and down
But we only go around
The reason I'm here
Has never been clear
All I know is that I know
That I care about you so
No real backbone and a hazy facade
Greet me every time I try to read your sign
Your expect so much but only give a little way
I don't know how you expect me to stay
Staring at me gloomily
Choking your pistol grip
Submerging your hands deep
Loading your gun and pressing the tip
To my extremities
Alway threatening
To blow me to pieces
I can only look up and smile
This night might take a little while
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
Secluded within my quilted cocoon
A mess of white bed sheets - embrace me tight!
Forlorn, humming gloomily to the tune
Of silence in the solitude of night
Oh, how I love to sleep, to dream of light
And monarch wings and fruitful dahlia blooms
Sweet nectar of utopia’s delight
Where melodies of silken harps do croon
But flightless I must nest within this tomb
My heavy heart a hindrance to free flight
Curled up within this embryotic womb
For release, to God my prayers I do recite
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
The bitterly sweet seclusion
Sit the soul free of the jabbering drones
of those corners of such mess
The mind's noise may flow
outside the quiet enclosure of these walls
Rejuvenate the self
as no intruders may interrupt
The beating of the heart
conducts the ticking into the night
Yet, until the harmless flow drifts unwillingly off its course
into that realm of overwhelming angst
Suddenly the state of one witched the dark to light its path
of which aimlessly walked alone
But the heart bursts with the pressuring passion
to sync such a setting
with that of a curious walker-by
Gloomily no steps heard from the intimidating outside
All that echoes is the fading notes of yesterday's piano
Oh that reminiscent tune
The plucking harp of a shining, graced spirit
now an irrelevant concocted sound
falling so suddenly short of a masterpiece
That song that enslaves the head
as if calling for an encore, before the conductor even raises his baton
So the art of the writer's hand is clenched still
by the frigid hold of the past
and guiding the pen's strokes through the only script it believes
The same story pathetically scribbled every night
in ridiculous hopes of a greater ending
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
wrathful-seeming clouds
gather
their leaden gray
turning
to ominously dark
the entire canopy
gloomily
tenebrous now
a deathly silence
falls
the calm before the storm
but calm like this
though silent
is unrest
at its peak
the heavens
start to growl a bit
like hungry hounds
thunderous bolts of lightning
erupt
and rip
the sky
the gravid clouds
flowing with
nourishment
like
a mother's
bounteous *******
release
in torrents
as if no individual
drops exist
a deluge
of relief
filling creeks
and rivers
renewing
sun-parched earth
the urgency met
the rain slows
to steady gentle drops
sweet moisture
soaking
seeking
roots
caressing leaves with cool relief
and giving everything
new life
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Two people are kissing
on the bus, their lips
entwined like one knot
of candyfloss. Nobody
else notices this, or does
but doesn’t care, eyes
peering gloomily out
the windows at the
belly of fog across
empty fields. I wonder
how long these two
have lasted, how long
they have brushed
tongues and laced
fingers with each other.
Barely eighteen, adolescence
prickling their skins
like heat rash, the fear
of young adulthood
a neon light down
a dark alleyway. I wonder
if they will last. I doubt it,
but there is no way of telling.
I ought to say it’s fleeting,
that in half a decade
you might not know
each other, two people
together once in some way
but now not, or with others
who have yet to enter the frame.
But it would be rude
to interrupt. They kiss,
I sit.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
The ticking of an antique clock,
The smell of unwashed dishes,
A sinewy hand curled around the heart
Small slits of sunlight Peaked through the blind’s half shut eyelids.
Burrowed in the shadows,
She sunk into the old armchair.
Ink scrawled papers littered the room,
Resting gloomily on the coffee stained carpet and dust flecked tables.
The words would not come.
Her notepad ---- a casket for the desiccated shells
Of words that carried no life.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
The stars shine bright tonight
Above all the city lights
All we see are the barely visible flickers
From way down here
Nevertheless, they are still there
Gloomily hidden behind the urban glare
Burning bright
On a brilliant night
For you I promise, I'll always be there
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
I wrote you a poem
But you didn't undertand.
for each word means something to someone,
and you're just too different to know.
I wrote about the summer
the haze and the roads
when we walked through the sickle scented fields
row by row
when we held hands
and kept on doing so.
and I wrote about the fall
the autmun wind that blows
and the pumpkins and the warmth
within houses
row by row
and I wrote about the winter
when leaves still sparsley hang
from limp trees
that the wind hasn't blown away
left over from the autumn
when snow has yet to fall
but gloomily we wait,
outsise preparing,
outside,
our houses
row by row
sled in hand
waiting for something to either fall
or start to grow
and I would write about the Springtime
but you never lasted very long
because when I described the three others
you just turned and frowned
and told me that I was wrong.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
I sail around my island of darkness,
There’s something about this stream.
A way of circling round and round,
That soil being gloomily themed.
When I come closer to the land,
I can hear the wind speaking subdued.
“This is the home you are longing for,
This is safe, pleasant, warm and good.”
I could have control over there,
And let my thoughts rule the land.
But to be a ruler of my own body,
There’s still suicide I’ll have to withstand.
After endless circles of sailing,
Around my island of the grasping past.
I now go look for inhabited land,
Where my warming hand is waiting at last.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 3:19 PM UTC
The sun plays hide and seek in the clouds
As the tide kissed then retreated from the dancing sand
The waves gloomily sang
And it felt like everything I've never had
Beckoning me
My God
What a cruel game destiny plays
In the distance
Above the weeping willow
The moon mischievously winks
Hiding secrets
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
Hello there little fella
Why do you look so awfully glum
Is there a reason behind that tiny little frown
Why are your eyes so glassy and bright
What can be the reason you look so down
Where is that huge smile I used to see on you
Where is that loud laugh which fills up the room
Where is that tiny little hops in your steady walk
Where is that cheeky glint of mischief shining in your eyes
Hey there, hey there little dear fella
Come now come here and let yourself free
Don't sit gloomily there in that dark dusty corner
Let me be the ears to whatever your heart dismays
No. No. That can't be true
You're wrong. It can't be. No. No
You're imagining it. Its never true
You don't know what you're saying. No. No. No
Don't cry now little fella. There, there
There, there. Do wipe those poor tears
Don't let them fall. Don't let them flow
This too shall pass. This too shall go
You will be fine now little fella
You will be ok
You will get through this
You will be walking your way
This hug you are in now, it will always remain
This strength you feel now, it will always be there
This courage you hold now, it will always stay
This love you have now, it will always be yours
Always
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 7:03 AM UTC
She slipped clumsily in a café
Looked all around her
from the corner of her eye
Felt all eyes upon her
Bit her lip
and flushed crimson
most disconcertedly.
He was sacked,
literally fired
Got down in the dumps
Was down and out
and was left feeling
blue so gloomily.
He gave her a blossomed rose
Blood rushed to her cheeks
She blushed a deep red
so very joyously.
She watched her rival from afar
Summed up her envy in reflex
and she turned green jealously.
It looked hale and hearty
Ooh the cherubic chubby cheeks
Baby looked in the pink
as it babbled away innocently.
She heard of a loved one's demise.
That was a shock indeed
She went white as a sheet
as she then wept so woefully.
She saw a teeny-weeny spider on her skirts
Talk of arachnids and phobias, yikes!
She turned a pale yellow in fright
as she screamed so fearfully.
He found his sweetheart
in another man's arms
Doubted his own charms
and his face went purple with rage
almost immediately.
He faced his lifelong enemy
Hate brimmed up in him
as his bitterness found a vent
He shot him a black glare
how very scornfully
Well, well, it might seem that the worst of all the human hues
are the melancholic depressing blues
But I think being green for jealousy
and the black of hate
top the list in deserving poohs.
Mind you these human pigmentation of emotions
are a matter of reflex
for you can't choose
which of the human hues
you'd like to wear, on party day
and which you'd rather not use.
https://youtu.be/VFInp0m0b4Y
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 1:12 PM UTC