"threnody" poems
The kids chemically induced
Reduced to ego threnody.
Amidst chaos he possessed influence.
Would disregard coincidence
And curse at the omnipotent.
Known as lonely pessimist
Could laugh at their own ignorance.
Pops was drunk.
Waved goodbye
to any kind of innocence.
Patronized
Sympathized
Irrelevant
Sunk below the sediment.
If humans could be celibate
This death would have ended it
Instead of only him.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC
I found seashells and driftwood,
Cans and bottles and much more
Like diapers and picnic stuff
While walking along the shore.
I found cigarette butts and bags
And those horrendous soda holders
That catch on sea life and twist them
In their middle or at their shoulder.
I saw palm trees and jacaranda
Waving in the balmy breeze
And broken plastic lawn chairs
Leaning against the lovely trees.
I found six-packer carriers sitting
With all the beer bottles inside.
I saw pieces of bicycles and big batteries
And I swear I almost sat and cried.
But I had too much to do right then
Gathering up all that random junk.
I carried them to a ******* bin
And I threw it all in, kerthunk!
I wondered for the hundredth time
The parents these creeps had
That let them grow so ill behaved,
And so embarrassingly bad.
What kind of selfish brat can come
And look out on this lovely scene
And throw their ******* all around?
How can they be so mean?
It makes me hope for recompense;
That what goes around come again
And we can stash these human pigs
Into an appropriate kind of pen.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Its former tenant long since fled
to wherever Mollusks go..
Its’ empty shell rests on my shelf
For years that has been so.
I took it down the other day,
intending just to dust.
A mote, or something, caused a tear.
Was it perhaps, a thought of us?
We walked along the Islands shore
As old, practiced, couples do.
We found this shell half buried
And I rescued it for you.
We had a fine collection
On the shelf above our bed
Until your former flame returned
And you, like summer, fled.
Triangles are eternal
constructs pleasing to the mind
But this one proved ephemeral
being the romantic kind,
I raise the Conch Shell to my lips
And give a practiced blow.
Its low sweet song a threnody
For days of long ago
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea
With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's threnody,
The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar
With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown,
For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill
Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill
There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore
The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore,
For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown,
The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep,
And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep;
There's music in the song they sing and music on the sea,
The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany,
For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown,
And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down.
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Altered by the winds laced with a threnody tune,
life in the northern woods will never be the same without its bloom.
The deceased puppet master continues to pull the strings of the dehiscence heart,
one of this game is forced to take part.
The ears of an indecisive mind take in the plaintive sound,
which provides an ongoing reminder of how these feet are forever bound to this ground.
With the chances of escaping this monochromatic box slims,
one might begin to take a swim.
The ideal way of living becomes a compromise,
the old personality leaves only the eyes.
Shed away in a abscission fashion,
and along with that goes all the passion.
Sitting down to confabulate with a higher knowledge,
carry on the dreams of going to college.
Storybook barriers leave no saltant mood.
Being passed by society is quite rude.
A misnomer indeed,
being labeled wrong because of greed.
Hunger of such has taken a life,
of one upon a lake that was never a wife.
Letters that hold such wicked silence,
that can never be undone even with science.
This blue body surrounded by an invisible malediction,
or maybe that is all just fiction.
He has nothing left from his unmanly lies,
upon keeping secrets he thinks he is wise.
Knowing it all is never enough,
but with an abecedarian brain on might just call it a bluff.
Eventually farewells must be given without hate,
and one might hope to return as if all was in a somniferous state.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
Love has given up.
It was the wrong religion.
And London did not melt into the Thames.
You teetered on the edge of a golden world,
and then fell suddenly—
accused of sortilege, ****** and treason.
And at his pleasure—
or was it mercy?—
Was it for the sake of your seven years,
or perhaps for the little daughter?—
in which flowed the royal blood, spoiled by *** and lineage.
Whatever it was, no matter.
He would spare you the pain
of being burnt at the stake.
Instead, to be executed like royalty—
dispatched by a French swordsman.
The prophecy must have been of little comfort
as your ladies helped prepare you to meet
Death, newly betrothed.
A gown of dark grey damask
floated over a blood-red petticoat.
Your mantle was trimmed with ermine.
Queenly, you stood and addressed those who had come to
watch you. And then you knelt and began to pray, and
quickly and mercifully, the blade
carried out its trajectory.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Self loathing
confusion a snafu is what i am
nothing more but a waste of space
I always ponder why i am in this place
I want to have potential-to feel like i’m worthwhile, worth breathing, worth existing
Always asking for the truth, asking for an answer
shifting
Why can’t anyone hear my cry for help, my weep for the truth
Searching for a reason why i’m doubtful and suffer these scars subliminally
Malady
I’ve come to accept i’m mentally ******
A loony
A daft existence
Unhappy threnody
but am i existing?
Is this actuality, reality
Too much sensibility
emotion teeming sensitivity
why
why
why
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Lilacs blossom just as sweet
Now my heart is shattered.
If I bowled it down the street,
Who's to say it mattered?
If there's one that rode away
What would I be missing?
Lips that taste of tears, they say,
Are the best for kissing.
Eyes that watch the morning star
Seem a little brighter;
Arms held out to darkness are
Usually whiter.
Shall I bar the strolling guest,
Bind my brow with willow,
When, they say, the empty breast
Is the softer pillow?
That a heart falls tinkling down,
Never think it ceases.
Every likely lad in town
Gathers up the pieces.
If there's one gone whistling by
Would I let it grieve me?
Let him wonder if I lie;
Let him half believe me.
1.9k
Sugar nightmares haunt children
Nancy harlequins cane them
Oh, child of mine
your life you did,
away,
sign.
Force fed familiarity with already branded emotions,
irregular realities and clouded surreal formalities,
so very many humans’ form dichotomies
out of our shared mute gray;
spinning constant self-important prose.
So very many humans share so much,
so little,
not often
doing little to soften
all of their emotional blows
trying hard to strike enigmatic pose.
Oh, child of mine
the heart of utilitarian method
has receded in incredulous fashion
followed by authoritarian apologies;
the majority is not icecream people
spreading simple good thought,
but generations fraught
with trivial conformist ideologies.
We are all hiding our seams
with creative masks
and self created tasks.
Oh, child of mine
your prescription reality is revealing itself as Atlantis,
sinking and shuddering into Quaaludes
with frightening psychotic interludes.
Emotions paint
stained lurid faces,
dancing with
ludes effecting movement,
nudes of swaying and repose.
You arose deeming so much rightfully yours
waltzing through seemingly already opened doors.
Holy curb their anti-Christ
Consider your aging soul
Oh, child of mine
Belief of awareness in action
understand the probability of dissatisfaction,
Stop!
treating the moment as a bleak bridge to the next inaction.
Eventually ponderous thoughts form
resembling an orrery,
an incessantly philippic story
orchestrates your oleaginous personality.
Oh, child of mine
Youth flees and your mind
takes once again to the seas,
a vexing penumbra of perception.
Bathos permeates the fathoms of an obstreperous life
and if you still care,
lament that this meaningless congeries
of moments
inspires only delusion,
no disillusionment.
Eventually a lilting threnody
leading 'tween burning pews of proposed serenity
and the following bumping callithump
will firmly stamp you into black infinity.
Oh, child of mine
You've used the switch
too much
too often
coupled with lofty scoffing
giving the innocent up as offering
to the
mechanical engine
of organic creation.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC
I have loved this time of year since the moment of my birth;
Its panoply of colored leaves that flutter down to earth.
I’ve loved the cool and bracing breeze, the fruits of harvest grown,
the sight of geese in Vee formation winging their way home.
My treks out to the cider mill for a warm mug or glass.
The times I’ve spent reflecting upon this year just passed.
I raise the collar of my coat against a sudden chill.
I feel cold winter’s icy breath drawing nearer still.
Please delay the Christmas tunes another week or two.
Oktoberfest is barely done, so sit and have a brew.
****** me not with chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Winter just means shoveling, the snow piled ever higher.
Its days: short, dark, and dreary. Its nights are long and cold.
So I mourn Autumn’s passing with its gifts of red and gold.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Low down in the dirt and silt,
Buried hatchet, blade and hilt,
Armor without sparkling gold,
Body taken o'er by mold.
'Tis the flesh and blood of him,
Ignatius, whose body dim.
But mind so sharp it cut through tin,
Forgotten now by all his kin.
Forgotten by himself, as well,
All't remains; the bronzen bell.
That rang when beastly men he fell
And sent nations to fiery hell:
He died not as he lived before,
Not on the fields of battle evermore;
Killed, he was, by a simple thing:
A mind destroyed by a ceaseless ring.
And thus, all that remains are the corpses,
The blood and gore, the slain forces.
And a man who could not be destroyed,
Lest it be by his own body.
But we shant forget the legacy
We shall compose a threnody
For to forget is but heresy
Remember our simple knight.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 9:21 AM UTC
A blank canvas
was occasionally graced
with the sky and lake
in hues of blue
As the wind pushes
the sails of boats
Outside a window.
Inside a home
An artist in a chair
brings life
Into a still frame
Strangers unaware
Of the strokes that bind them
to an empty page
Here they will lay
for eternity.
Years later, far away
a breeze
seems to sing
a threnody
the tide will rise
and the sun will set
Here lie words
as flowers
An empty chair
No artist here
On a grave by the lake
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
It's snowing tonight,
and I think ********* Dad,
when Maryland beats Indiana
and I move to text him.
He's beyond snow now.
So what do I do with these
unbearable photos he took
of me standing alone
in the withered sun
on monumental trains,
I was six or seven,
out by the rusting roundhouse
in Brunswick?
It's been snowing for hours
& I carve a footpath
out to the unplowed street
to watch the shining gray
banks under the amber light.
There is no route to carve
through this silence.
My father was made of ghost towns,
from Manzanar, from the endless
pine-dark of Idaho's rivered night,
from all the unmapped places,
he grew complete in himself.
And even now as I watch
the snow slant and stumble
I am left behind as his son
apart from him and without.
The snow dives into the
night blankness and I wonder
if I had died first, cutting short
this reckless careless crooked sprawl,
would he be writing here?
The smeared gray glow
of the screen across his hands,
the fat flake snow rising
like dough beneath the windows?
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Your fate was woven in the silence of time.
Embroidered with dread and pain.
Made bearable with bonds of friendship and love.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Disrobed in the darkness, the sky freckled
with the light of stars, shivering.
Never will we forget the undying.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
For fate is something twined in a misty veil.
Ignore the flute that sighs a sweet melody.
For you, Noctis, will be bound to your threnody.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Born with the Storm's Blessing,
in all it's strength and might and glory,
all that will be left for you is a ruin
of crying waters, deathless flames, and
flooding song of the Oracle's lyre.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Her hair of spun gold; a primose in white,
and pearls around her slender wrists.
In her hand, a sylleblossom, bent low
in your final kiss.
Your final promise.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
She stands strong, her trident in hand,
knowing that she is a phantom of
transient life.
She looks at you.
In a field of flowered ice.
Standing as days of harsh sun and rain pass by.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It haunts you.
The memories of where you dare not
tread.
Yet.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Give yourself into the song of the sweet summer bird.
Give yourself to the Oracle - the Morn's Star who
fears no sun in her wake. For she was born
to die in the light.
As are you.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
No need to be afraid, Noctis.
Your corona is a crown that befits no other.
For all shall witness it's splendour and glory
as the Chosen King.
The days are waning.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
The nights are burning.
Alive with daemons and weeping plagues.
The Sun and Moon reap pain sown
from so long ago.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It's alright.
Because you will be beyond our world.
Where you will no longer be weary.
Where you will no long be pitied.
Where you will finally be free.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where Love is sweet and Sleep is kind.
To you both.
The Storm was always yours.
It blessed you for good reason.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where the moon is full and the sun is high,
Where the mountains stand so strong in vain,
Where the meadows chant and greet the light,
Where the roses bloom and sylleblossoms cry dew,
Where the wind carry joy and not whirls of sad.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
There you are,
The King of Kings,
Noctis Lucis Caelum,
and his consort,
Lady Lunafreya,
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
I see you there.
Swaying and drifting off to the sound
of sweet chimes.
Under the Sky of the Light's Night...
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
3:00 AM
A darkened room
I shift under
Smothering blankets
The wind howls
Through cracks
In the window pane
Like a chorus of
Grief stricken souls
In the midst of their
Threnody
I am drifting in and out
Of this unrest
The heaviness of
Doubt and disappointment
Leaden on my chest
I wonder if perhaps
These lungs
So inconstant and frail
Were always meant
To bear the task of
Struggling to inhale.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Strangers at the edge
Of the churchyard
Cry their
Crocodile tears
And murmur
Dull regrets into
The dampened earth,
While the sad girl lies
In a Soulless Garden
Ravens watch
From the gloom of
The yew tree
And join in the
Mourner’s requiem,
While wringing hands
Throw lilies
Onto the upturned soil,
And the sad girl’s soul
Bleeds sorrow
Harrowed faces
Fade into the fog
And the bell
In the church tower rings
And the Ravens
Leave their tree
And the soul of the sad girl
Grieves alone
By the stone
In her Soulless Garden
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
........ SUICIDE NOTE UNWRITTEN........
Go deep fade away and leave me be,
Your friendship was but sorrow to them that have long known you before now.
You've followed me way too long on forlorn road,
Right from my infant you've clinged way too well than blood to veins and bark to trees.
Leave and return no more, not in my quietude, should you be found like lost coin in day of lack
For all we've been, We've had no pleasure but pain,
You held but dirge for all that have known you.
You were the strange story told of them,
A story so dark and scary that hearts feared to hold.
You were the solemn whisper from the cold evening wind,
Evening touched by sorrow and despair.
You have no good sound but of sorrow and pain
Your melodies count but threnody, elegy, coronach, requiem, and lament.
Go farther in million miles and be lost in seasons gone by, lest your tone resound in my solitude,
You eerie note of evil whisper and solemn sound
That sink in deep the soul and spirit.
Our union should never be spoken in words nor be told in tales of time.
For I myself shall tell no story for us, neither will I lay to heart all that we've had in time well lost.
I shall trace no more the path we once trod.
Go, sink deep far away be lost in oblivion,
You the perfect stranger long known by misery,
The solemn friend of the doomed.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Sing to me, o southern hill
where my mother lies,
she near the river
where other children
only her eyes could spy,
her fingers feel.
Willow trees, arcing oaks,
pillows made of amethyst and
amaryllis, beechnut spread,
linen spread by old Mill Creek,
cattle grazing, hazy August
afternoons, all alone was she
except in fantasy.
No love from Mother,
her Father farther
away than Ozymandias.
Tears she used
in her high tea;
no spoon had she.
She wept beneath a yellow sun,
a sister to the gentle sea,
the golden waves of wheat.
Tod Howard Hawks
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
The snow starts sticking
to the ground. Nights seem
longer. The ocean seems
more blue. The stars stop
twinkling just like your
eyes. Time stops.
My reflection in your pupil
fades away just like the sweet
scent of your cologne.
Undying melancholy and
a threnody dedicated to
the sky.
Eagles feed on corpses,
I walk on shattered glass
and you walk away.
Blood oozing out of my
wrist, I dry my tears.
A rough road that goes
nowhere. I lose myself
somewhere between
the flashbacks and nugatory
present. A present without
your presence is of no value.
As I wait for the tides to rise
and sweep me out to the sea
I wake up panting heavily just
to find you sleeping next to me.
Another nightmare filled with my
worst fears. Most importantly the
fear of separation.
Fear of losing you.
Every single minute we get closer
to death. Closer to not being
with each other. Closer to turning
into stars. A nightmare, so
strong, delineating
the right emotions
intimidates me about
how long we have
with each other? A forever?
Or just another second?
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
I walk by the moon
Writing a threnody
Of the ubiquitous sublimed anger
Of the unkempt souls
My words are passing on
From one line to another
These phases are scattered
Like dandelion seeds
The zephyr diverting my attention
A pleasantly small plethora of emotions
Over flowing
With the tide
My mind ebbing to drown away
Like a sycophant
Unconsciously corrupted.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Breaking open the doors of the monastery
Letting the sun creep through the cracks in the stained glass
Wondering at the beauty of the day and its deep blue sky
Greeting all sentience
Turning around and watching you always
Gentle breezes whipping your hair about as you
Danced in the rain of sunlight dabbling on the prairie
Vast meadows enchanting the playground of life
And then waiting for the moonlight to come
First dyeing the clouds an eclectic rainbow of turrets
Dire for moments and then lucid to its core
Heating the world for fragments––
Listening all night to the beating of the homecall
Driving universals home
Breathing in the shimmers of the universe
And letting it melt in your eyes
Every memory held in the world
Playing on the cloths of time
Weaving softly on our kaleidoscopes
Mirroring every step––
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 11:31 AM UTC
Go deep fade away and leave me be,
Your friendship was but sorrow to them that have long known you before now.
You've followed me way too long on forlorn road,
Right from my infant you've clinged way too well than blood to veins and bark to trees.
Leave and return no more, not in my quietude, should you be found like lost coin in day of lack
For all we've been, We've had no pleasure but pain,
You held but dirge for all that have known you.
You were the strange story told of them,
A story so dark and scary that hearts feared to hold.
You were the solemn whisper from the cold evening wind,
Evening touched by sorrow and despair.
You have no good sound but of sorrow and pain
Your melodies count but threnody, elegy, coronach, requiem, and lament.
Go farther in million miles and be lost in seasons gone by, lest your tone resound in my solitude,
You eerie note of evil whisper and solemn sound
That sink in deep the soul and spirit.
Our union should never be spoken in words nor be told in tales of time.
For I myself shall tell no story for us, neither will I lay to heart all that we've had in time well lost.
I shall trace no more the path we once trod.
Go, sink deep far away be lost in oblivion,
You the perfect stranger long known by misery,
The solemn friend of the doomed.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
A concrete angel
runs her fingers through
silver strings.
Lose yourself
in the depth of her
sad blue eyes.
She glides over
streams of restless arms,
an empyrean light
flying through umbran
constellations.
She is neither
deaf nor numb to
their pain as her harp
sings with sweet sadness.
As she wonders...
How strange and sad it is
that death gives peace
more than life ever did.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
I looked into your eyes
And I saw our tomorrow.
I couldn’t think of yesterday,
Of lost dreams or sorrow.
I could barely let myself
Believe for that moment
That there can be an end
For loneliness and torment.
It all seemed a fine fantasy
In which time stands still;
When I left my lonely street
And stood with you on a hill.
There was no rain or sirens
Just two people in an embrace,
And I was for sure that I was
Lost in your wonderful face.
Something happened then
Many of my dreams came true.
And every one of those dreams
Seemed to be there in you
I never took a moment to say
To myself, "Go slow, take care!"
I just wanted to soak this in
And suddenly I didn’t care.
I wanted to let all my hopes
Take me over and control me.
Not caring that there was no
Fairy Godmother to bankroll me.
I was on my own, and lost
In a dream that was coming true.
There was me, myself and I
And nobody else but you.
This could have gone so wrong
And this would be a threnody,
A dirge, a sad song of me;
A nearly Shakespearian tragedy.
Instead I played it just right.
I knew a good thing when it showed.
It’s been you and I ever since.
It was The Love Train I rode.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
There’s no sympathy for single mothers
she said.
He sniggered.
Social services:
what do you expect?
I left me ‘usband when ‘e beat me up.
They’d ‘ave been ‘appier to spend
the public funds
on a grave.
No gravestone.
Just a plot to mark the spot
and two tiny tots
clutching a bunch of weeds from the
roadside.
And no place to put ‘em.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC