"grimness" poems
The Phoenix
Williamsji Maveli
Phoenix Birds have no doom
From scented snow of bloom
You thrush that serenades me daily
Would not trill out his glee so gaily,
Could he foretell his wrongful breath
Would sadly soon be stilled in death.
Yon lambs that frolic on the lea
Would scarce disport them could they see
And incarnate the joy of life,
The shadow of the butcher’s knife:
Oh Nature, with your loving Ruth,
You spare them knowledge of Dark Truth.
Creation’s triumph ultimate
Where you will be intimate
To bring the sad humanity alone,
The grimness of the grave is known,
The dusty destiny is ever unknown
the bird and beast in their elegance
Effulgence it’s all in ignorance!
Oh man, provisioning the hearse,
With fortitude accept your curse!
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
www.williamsji.com
[email protected]
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
Stavanger Communist Party
The local communist party of my youth was a fun place
they had frequent parties with music and dance and
illegal ***** in the bushes, in the dark unpainted years
after the war when entertainment was tambourine and
bible thumping. My uncle spoke at meetings he painted
a picture of utopia for the workers a short working week
and jobs for the wheelchair bound, like other members he
lived in a naïve cocoon that had little to do with real life.
As the country shook off the grimness of the gloomy years
there was work for all, and the party shrank in a short
time disappeared; there were so many places to dance.
I can still hear my uncle's voice talks of “the dictatorship
of the masses” equal pay for all; we are getting nearer
but there are those who try to take it away from us.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
The grimness of our lives
That dim look in our eyes
Everything so overwhelming
Makes us feel like it's all ending
The ***** looks that we despise
The voices like to stay disguised
The comments want to make us cry
All we want is to end our lives
Another 'friend', another lie
Spewing sugar-coated fiction
Makes us turn to nicotine
Stupid cigarette addictions
We’ve lost our soul mates in the fire
Our hearts and minds are causing friction
Another cut - another burn
Another step towards eviction
Another pill, another bottle,
Headed in the wrong direction
Another gun, another bullet,
All it takes is one bad second
**** the gun, pull the trigger,
And all this of this could be ended
It’s a shame but what to do?
Some broken hearts just can't be mended.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
SBN.
Why do us poets
always let these jerks
who do not even
have an atom
of creativity
decide the value
and level
of our creativity?
ES.
Given that us
but meek poetic folk
have a humbleness
to our line of yolk
we permit these ignorant jerks
a liberal latitude
to openly express
their aimless platitudes
SBN.
Why do us poets
fall for the trends
and applause
it occasionally brings
knowing full well
it is all merely ephemeral
and what is permanent
is our depression so dismal?
ES.
We are cajoled
by the transient ovation
which resounds with much
brevity in its adulation
thence follows our
despondency of wretchedness
that descends into
a despairing grimness
SBN.
When will us poets
ever decide
that we do not care two hoots
for cheap popularity
and that our creations
are too valuable really
for some **** to **** on them
and make and mostly break them?
ES.
Oh for us true poets
to be admired with a fervent zeal
by those jerks who've
not a scrap of poetic appeal
unto us they can
dollop their excrement pile
for we shall surpass them
with our flash penning style
SBN.
So let us take in our hands
our own poetic destiny
lets write on time's shifting sand
and ensure our poetic integrity
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
In an existence described as
Both boring and sere
She’s like a bright flower
Popping up in the sun.
Blooming in deserty
Rubble and sand.
Her fresh petals
Offer enticing perfume.
Her existence belies
The grimness of the surroundings
And provides a disguise
For the harsh reality of life.
ljm
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 8:39 AM UTC
In a room, with the walls painted grey,
A bed, a cupboard, a table and a chair, finds their place in its emptiness.
The curtains, of a melancholic shade, drawn shut, as if the sun burns
Wrapped in solitude, my eyes can see better in this dark.
No voices, no people, only the walls to listen to,
The stories mentioned by its inhabitants that passed through.
The grimness ever spreading, reiterating a life's worth of tales
This solitary confinement is a saving grace, as the world outside fails.
And with passing time, I chose to hide
Rather than face my fears waiting outside.
Within these grey walls,
I see a chance to be at peace with myself, until one day, the heavens whisper its time to come home.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
Some things burn cold.
Dry ice, steaming, almost smoking.
So cold it burns, sticks to your skin, and just keeps burning,
killing what it touches, scorching and searing,
driving nerves past the point of pain to numbness.
There’s dry ice in his eyes.
The scathing words that fall from his tongue
give off toxic vapour.
The set of his jaw,
the grimness of his mouth,
the tension in his body so like the posture of one steeled against winter weather.
But he is the cold front.
His hatred the wind that freezes tears on eyelashes.
His withdrawal ******* warmth like sub-zero temperatures that chill to the bone.
There is nothing to do but hide.
Insulate. Find warmth wherever it resides.
Run, stomp frozen feet, cling to whomever is near.
Stay out of the places where the frigid draft creeps in.
Seal the gaps around doorways and windows.
Shut out the mind-numbing cold, draw up the blankets,
turn towards whatever fire there is.
And do not go back out there.
Once-frozen flesh remembers the cold.
The pain is made new, faster than before,
no less debilitating.
I will not look in those eyes.
I will not let those words freeze and shatter my heart.
I will not mourn the smile that once rested on those lips.
I will not feel that cold again.
Until I catch a glimpse of myself in a moment of rage,
a bluish pallor on my features,
frost on my lips and in my eyes,
and freeze in a panic.
But I refuse to inherit that legacy.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
A heart is a war, a heart is a shutter
One stream of light is allowed to escape
Far into your chambers a ceiling is painted
Mosaic by name, but truer to form:
An electrical storm we ourselves engineered to
Perpetuate evils eluded before
In the grimness of what lies behind the mind's door
When we met as two fangs in the jaw of a serpent
And you were the flares arcing up towards the sky
And I was the lens overawed by your light
Yes, I was what bent you with colors diffracted
Now I am that glass which your mildew begrimes
Color me flyblown, or color me blind
Marred are the edges around this old glass
The ink inundates and the horn is all hollow
Latched is our gate when the causeways collapse
Besieged now in my ocean of ink
Scanning the night sky for sign of a flare
No whisper, no shutter, no lingering there
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
I don't know why,
Why I escape the shades
and curse the sun for getting me warm!
I don't why my soul is flinching the world!
The horror of nights and that grimness
of days, don't let me sleep or remain awake
I don't know, if I am still living or
This life has deserted me before a long!
The soothing music tears me apart and
That lethal silence intimidates my fragile heart!
I don't know if I still belong to myself or
I have been snatched away before a long!
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Who looks up at the
Buxom moon?
The city is drowned
In its own grimness.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
the small bumps and hiccups of the rattling carriage startled you awake. the green seats of the train were lined with cheap vinyl and stained with coffee. they held us in the glow of early morning and the glare of midday and the grimness of night. i looked up from my book and locked eyes with you. i wanted to whisper poems of e. e. cummings into your ear but you were so peaceful as you closed your eyes again, sinking into that place where you are both awake and asleep yet neither.
words of poetry could not bring to mind the softness of your skin as you sunk low into your seat, nor could they rival the prettiness of your closed eyelids and the way you curled your hands into paws using the sleeves of your sweater. i wanted to stay like that with you forever.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
we write now past anger,
but nearer to the closing
…
the period of our lives, here,
at the end of this poem
and with every day,
every word, every look,
i·so·la·tion
is now redefined as:
des·o·la·tion
(a state of complete emptiness or destruction barrenness bleakness starkness misery melancholy gloom bareness dismalness grimness aridity sterility wildness anguished misery loneliness despondency despair distress)
now, it too is redefined as:
we can no longer look at our children faces...
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
I have come head bowed and barefooted to your door
I genuflect and lay in supplication at your feet
I leave my grievances at your altar and implore lore
For I have been wronged by knaves and vixens' deceit
A blameless life shredded by steaming turpitude galore
Meshed in the inglorious machinations of gainsay replete
In the formidable vista of the Most High I bared my soul
Worn sackcloth and ashes inviting to be smite and buried
In that epoch if by deeds or misdeeds been to others foul
Or if in grimness I seek deliberate harm, injury or such varied
Upon this salient oath I stand for I know no sword will be levied
Except the Most High desires me a sacrifice of which is unqueried
The Divine atoned a fearless spirit within His chaste chosen
Blessed with gifts talents and the Light of Everlasting redemption
Whether on earth's ground or the Majestic Throne of the Most High
Oh to have the rare honour of hatred and nays from the ******
A pristine Charisma so sublime as to furiously unsettle darkness
Only graces earth by Divine ordination and steps with ArchAngels
[email protected]
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
It was cold and windy
snow piled high on the ground
as if adding to the grimness
of a bad weather day.
Every breath threatened
to freeze my lungs
and the ears went deaf
icy wind blown into them,
eyes cried helplessly
fighting with stinging cold.
And yet, somewhere, the heart melted
as I watched a tiny bird
singing on the bare branches
heedless to winter's rebukes
it was singing to life.
My lips unfroze
I whistled to the bird
and stomped on the snow,
happy to be alive
blessed to witness
yet another winter,
wind, blow, blow
as hard, as chilly
as you can,
so glad you found me,
breathing still.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
Innocence becomes more innocent once it is ruined
Once the fragile and immaculate has broken into a million pieces, is it truly recognized
As a limbo that was as beautiful as it was terrifying
Something so perfect it seemed as though all things were destined to break before it
A moment when the ground of the earth becomes the villain
Why would you do this to me? You ask
As the density of gaea stares back at you, poignant and all knowing
And when you have finally found solace in the bottom
When it seems all but impossible that you should fall further
The curse of time seems to swallow you whole
Bringing your shattered form to a hollow peace
Still; complacent in your new found pain
Surrounded by a void that lacks compassion
There are no victims here
Immediately the denial of truth
Denial of the fact that feeling overtakes reason
Replacing the knowledge that nature had put in you
About how very small and temporary everything is
Your broken biology still wrecked across identifiable anguish
And yet, you yearn for everything that hurts
Within the abyss, filled with both ending and infinite beginning
Only one constant remains; nothing
I want everything, here and now
I want everything so that I may never be fed this hurt again
Gluttonously we consume any and all remaining sensation
So that our new form, our new self, maybe be satiated
As it arrives, unwelcome, into this world
Eat, and fill
So that you may find normalcy in this new forsaken world
There is no me, there is no you
There is only the endless murderous maelstrom
Of life becoming unlife, and crawling its way back to the surface
Undermining and crusading all that has never felt pain
And as the innocent falls anew into the ever lasting caverns of hellscape
We are born anew
Destined to live and die a thousand deaths before our end truly comes
Predetermined to live by the inevitable
Tactfully designed to deceive, by any means, for as long as possible
Only then, having faced the grimness of truth
Are we completely human
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
From dusk to dawn I raise this hammer to hit the railroad spike
On the ground, when he heard I was serving life doing hard time
Daddy had a heart attack, and looking around in this crowded place
I know to home I won't soon be going back
I hear somebody say, son forget about your woman , she'll write saying
She tried to be true but found somebody else
Hear the sound of the hammer talking now to me
I know to the other prisoners a man can never show any fear
But looking at these high stone walls, I'll probably die up in here
Nights I stay up not able to sleep, holding steel bars in both hands
And slowly start to weep, listen to the sound of the hammer
Locked up here there is no hidden glamour
This is a place where dreams go up in smoke
No laughing here, grimness is no joke
I remember so well when the world fell in on me,
Mama forgive me for all the wrongs I've done
I know that there's no coming to my rescue
Said goodbye and held you at the prison gate
Turned away from right, now it's to late
Hear the sound of the hammer, beating the steel spike down
And the dead sound of steel slowly going into the ground
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The starlings and the sad seagulls
Slowly searched the sandy shores
But the barren beach does not hold
Any clams or other life as it had before
Only my soft footprints mar the earth
And the birds are glad give my grief wide birth
Slick stones flew skipping through
To memories of me and little you
Tiny ticklish toes laughing cheeks blushing
The bitter briny ocean always rushing
While deep wells of water rise
To meet the slaughter of innocence
Partly sad and quite belligerent
Wailing words of rage incoherent
I curse the beauty before me
The last cold wet cloth is removed
At last the tiny body is moved
As the ocean exhales foam
I sit upon the shore to cry and puke
Chunks of greasy guilt and grief
In the form of bubonic blood laden *****
Followed by furious fits red phlegm
I beg the ocean to take me instead of him
But there is no mercy in Poseidon’s face
Only the grimness of this painful place
As I wait to find my final fate
Only meters away from my little brothers
Burial space
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Walking alone in the mist of deceit,
Heavy breathing billowing down to my feet,
The one I trust is someone I cannot keep,
Willfully complaisant in the role of a sheep,
Giving everything on this battlefield too steep,
I'm enamored to be courting, but now I weep.
Arms stretched, mind benched, legs drenched, body wrenched, my portrait of a family, a pursuit of forbidden fruit.
Her lies in thickness I can't recognize,
My cries to rid this sickness compartmentalize,
I've accomplished the impossible knightly,
She destroyed the possibility frightningly,
The children shielded of being scorn admirably,
Family perturbed and overwrought widely,
Friends preserve and safeguard concisely,
Triangulations throng her presence authoritatively,
The grimness overtaking the air forever nightly.
One domino regressed to the fallen,
bringing the collapse upon all of them,
Irony of the first domino on top,
The rest are outlined in chalk,
Holding them all up I fought,
But the pain never stopped,
I fall over plopped,
I can't walk.
Never able to achieve the masterpiece,
My soul in fleece is slowly released,
The devil has poached me from the crease,
I'll never be able to restack any piece.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 2:11 AM UTC
We hang on for dear life when the hanging brings us nothing but strife,
it's the zone that we know
a comfort,
a place to go when we don't want to go
so we hang on.
I have hung on each rung of the ladder and have sung a hymn to the grimness of what passed as some pleasure and then I have dropped.
Dear life has a limit, a quick flash and we dim it, but we all want to be in it and the hanging is a part of the package.
Being cursed,
being well versed in the luxury of nothing to do
I did nothing, was less, made my share of the mess I was in,
hung on
sung on,
now
bring on the rest.
If the test was in the being in the doing and the seeing
I believe I have passed beyond what classes as half way and in another zone where I call it home where I go because I want to, when the mood takes me and where this life leads me is as much a mystery as it ever was.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
Kumbaya, O written words, customize your thoughts into bite-sized
Nuggets, and store them in the clouds – in the huge video of the sky.
Always easier to see the movie than to read the book, right? This isn’t
Being lazy – this is efficiency, this is learning to hear and see quickly.
Emoji-me your innermost feelings – and make it snappy, yet truthful –
Obvious like a pebble gracefully striking the water’s surface. Forsake
The grimness brought by the news of the day – be not obsessed!
Bow down and worship chirps, tweets and posts, and share them.
In the looking glass you can see diminished contemplations as
They drift into nothingness – even the brightness of a smile is
A smirk turned to stone – our language and our soul are a morbid
Collection of dry bones on a sickly precipice.
The new generation is born of a slain, technocratic parent – their
21st birthdays celebrated beneath the fallen soldiers of newsprint –
A new world in which a museum houses the letters and arts of
A coherent paragraph now called a blurb. Kumbaya.
© Lewis Bosworth, 9-2017
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Kumbaya, O written words, customize your thoughts into bite-sized
Nuggets, and store them in the clouds – in the huge video of the sky.
Always easier to see the movie than to read the book, right? This isn’t
Being lazy – this is efficiency, this is learning to hear and see quickly.
Emoji-me your innermost feelings – and make it snappy, yet truthful –
Obvious like a pebble gracefully striking the water’s surface. Forsake
The grimness brought by the news of the day – be not obsessed!
Bow down and worship chirps, tweets and posts, and share them.
In the looking glass you can see diminished contemplations as
They drift into nothingness – even the brightness of a smile is
A smirk turned to stone – our language and our soul are a morbid
Collection of dry bones on a sickly precipice.
The new generation is born of a slain, technocratic parent – their
21st birthdays celebrated beneath the fallen soldiers of newsprint –
A new world in which a museum houses the letters and arts of
A coherent paragraph now called a blurb. Kumbaya.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 12:45 PM UTC