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Narrative Sorry Poems | Narrative Poems About Sorry

These Narrative Sorry poems are examples of Narrative poems about Sorry. These are the best examples of Narrative Sorry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

My White Lace Tablecloth

I washed my white lace tablecloth and hung it out to dry
The bleach did the best it could-it was worth the try
'Though no one else can see, the stain still remains
As old as time itself 
Stubborn as mildew rot

One false step, one careless word forever etched in time
Travels the universe, endlessly
In search of a place to rest  
What would I not give to reverse that step
To retrieve that hateful word

Tread lightly in your daily walk, o'er hills and valleys in between
Plot well your steps and weigh your words
So you'll have nothing to regret, like the
Unkind words carved deeply upon your heart
I wash my white lace tablecloth again, again and again!
~*~
10/09/2007


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regret

I was talking to my
therapist about things I can't seem
to understand
and I realized
I was always talking about you-

those calm words you told me
that 2 am I cannot seem to forget
'kiss me hard before you go'
I selfishly agreed
when those rough lips touched my soft ones
I know I am deeply in love

does it bother you?

but I still chose to go
call me a coward, dear
you deserve so much happiness
than to be with a mess like me
but as I slowly walk away
I can feel the lump on my throat

I don't want to leave--

but as I turned around, it was too late
you have already forsaken me.


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Am I Turning into a Lizard Serial Killer

Hmmm, where do I start? With deep sighs, I am sighing right now.
I just finished burying 2 lizards, and my heart is heavy...

Let me back up a bit...bear with me if I might turn out to be confusing here,
but I just need to write this, release something, in some way
Although I must admit, this is not exactly what I had in mind to write for this day,
hopefully I can write something more decent later...

I have been wanting to write something for my brother since yesterday,
since February 26 is his 10th year death anniversary.
The words remained stuck in my heart, 'til I fell asleep.

Visited him again today, heard mass for him, 
ate a Chinese dinner with my parents and sister, went home.

I now needed dessert. Got a piece of Ferrero Rocher, but just one wouldn't do.
So I got a piece of Almond Roca this time and ate it while walking.

All this time, I have managed to keep my tears away
but maybe somehow, someway, if tears want to fall, they will find a way?

I walk to that area again as I ate that piece of chocolate-
when what do you know, what do you know??

Oh sighs.

I stepped on a lizard.  Again 

Yes. Almost exactly the Same area, tail falls off, and the lizard skitters away.

But. I did not slip this time. But, yes, I still screamed, scaring everybody again.

I. Could. Not. Simply. Believe. IT.

One month and 25 days after, I step on a lizard. Again.

Today, of all days. As if I needed more reason to be sadder.

This time around, I had the sense to try to find that lizard. 
I had to know if it lived, if it was okay.
I pushed away the nearby cabinet.
And there it was.
Rather, and there they were.

The lizard that I stepped on now
and the petrified remains of the lizard that I stepped on on new year's day...
the other one didn't live after all :(

I know it was that lizard, same area, no tail, who else could it be?
Survival mechanism, no match for my killer foot.

By this time, I am crying, sobbing. 
Seriously, the tears just start falling, and my heart so heavy.
And I know it's from the combination of so many things.
The day itself, what I had just done, just things running through me.

What broke my heart, was to see that lizard. 
I was wearing rubber shoes this time, last time I was wearing slippers.
And its guts had spilled from its sides. 
I couldn't help but keep on saying, "Oh, oh, oh lizard, I am so sorry"

I touched it feebly, and it was literally gaping its mouth.
I don't think I can ever forget that?
Such a small creature, gasping, with its insides out, 
its skin on its legs and body scraped.
In pain.
Dying.

And it was all my fault.

My sister was there with me, trying to help in her own way.

But yes, there's nothing you can really do...I didn't want to stress it even more,
and let death finish what I did. 


There's so much I can glean from this, and I want to ramble on, so badly
but I will try to stop myself from rambling too much.

I put the two lizards, along with a note, the dates when I stepped on them 
(ok, killed them), and placed them carefully in a chocolate truffle box.

I buried them and still feel so sorry.

In some ways, this is can be so funny, and just  freaky & crazy (what's new, this is me?)
What were the odds??? Same place, same thing happening.
And I can't help but roll my eyes at myself as well, just finding it so hard to fathom
how I stepped on not just one but Two lizards in just two months.

I bet that the lizards are all afraid of me now, 
saying how I am a lizard killer. A serial lizard killer.
MO: stepping on them while screaming, maybe my screams also killed them off?

I actually took photos of both lizards, I am not sure why though.
Oh dear God, help me, I am acting like one, even documenting them.

I tell you, as I watched that lizard die, I couldn't help but just also
think of St. Jude (for the impossible) and St. Francis of Assisi (for animals).

I know he was dying, but somehow, yes, prayers still comfort me.

I just feel so guilty, with this happening. 

I still can't help but cry for those lizards, death by me, for no reason at all,
no purpose served.

Animals, people....death.

I know it's all a part of life... 
but it still doesn't change the fact how death can change us
and of how I am responsible for two lizard deaths.
I know they were just small animals, but Still. They were living creatures.

Death can change us in small ways, some in big ways, negatively or positively.

It all boils down to death transforming us one way or another...

I won't expound on it anymore, this is too long,
but one of the ways I can think of comparing it to, is that of a chemical change,
maybe of the spirit, the soul? Not merely a physical change.


And we can never be the same. 






022720141207123552


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When Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

Yesterday I went home for lunch I never go home for lunch When I got to our apartment I don't know why but I didn't reach for my key I was sure I had locked the door but I didn't reach for my key I reached for the door knob and turned The door was open The moment I entered I knew I froze I could feel it smell it hell I could taste it I started walking but my muscles wouldn't move my lungs were grasping for air for some oxygen but I could barely breathe Leave I told myself but I kept walking Not really walking, it was like a slow motion scene in a movie But this wasn't a movie This was my life and I could feel it slipping away from my grasp I heard noises Francine I had heard those noises a hundred times before they were the sounds of an Angel but this was no heaven this was my own private nightmare The moans traveled through the muck in the air and were amplified like the hiss from a distorted speaker It mocked me over and over again Climbing a mountain might have been easier I finally reached the bedroom I knew the moment I entered the apartment Why hadn't I just turned back I could barely see my eyes were covered in layers of salted moisture but I could see her I had never seen him before They were naked in our bed Our bed You'd think the green eyed monster would control my actions from here on in. I was insanely jealous but I didn't want to end up the morning headline in the newspaper. That monster jealousy was by my side but I took charge. I'd have to keep him at bay, at least for now. You'd think I would be mad I wasn't You'd think I'd curse and call her whore she wasn't She was just sharing, sharing her body with someone, someone who wasn’t me Being cut open alive must be less painful than this I had done the same countless times before That was so different it felt so harmless the other way around You excuse it rationalize it away But this hacked away at my spirit and tore at my self-worth I spoke I mean my lips moved and words came out I think I think I said I'm not sure it all happened so fast she never spoke I could see the shame on her face she didn't need to speak but but I think I said Sorry I said Sorry and I left I wandered for what seemed hours it was minutes It wasn't like I was meandering to a different drummer there just wasn't any music anymore I was moving to the rhythm of the beating of my heart Like a broken record it was skipping I suffered in my circled steps until I couldn't stand anymore and found just enough strength to return to the apartment I knew she was gone I already felt the emptiness in my frame She was gone She had left a note It said Sorry Sorry! We both were.
Maurice Yvonne Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker Contest Name: The Green-Eyed Monster


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Not So Perfect

Here she comes, walking with pride.
Her face is so vibrant, she looks so alive.
Nothing can stop her, no one dares to try.
Her entire life is corroded with deals, tricks, and lies. 
Her beauty is everything, her smile kills all 
It brings down the strongest men, makes the highest building fall.
But when she comes home,
The story does change.
Her life’s not so perfect,
The positions rearrange.
Her father's an alcoholic, and not very nice.
She has a brother who gave up on school, and can’t read or write 
Of all of her family, her mother is the worse. 
Sometimes she wonders if she'll survive this curse.
He mother yells,and tells her that she's no good.
She would give it all up, if only she could.
At the end of the night she goes into her room,
She begins to weep, and eventually cries herself to sleep.
She wakes up the next day,
Puts on a happy face,
And goes to school as if nothing happened the previous night,
Or that absolutely nothing is wrong with her life.
So now that you’ve seen what’s behind the closed door,
I hoped you’ve thought about this girl a little more.
With the utmost respect,
I present to you, the life of someone "perfect".


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she dying to survive

deprived of a father to tell her that her skirts to small
she wore it to hug her hips and rise with every sway in her walk
her mother, another statistic of having babies to young,
was to whipped in her dip trying to be hip so she cheered her poor child on

she's dying to survive in a broken home
daddy not around to watch her spend a penny and mamas hardly home
she's dying to survive and she's put her school on hold
she's another undereducated black child with no priorities or goals

she careers soliciting her body, making it hobby to walk up and down blocks
waiting for the right brotha she can sweet talk and pick pocket
at the honk of his horn, she stops hot trotting
hopped in his car and found a quiet spot for lip locking

her hand rises up his leg, she feels for his man
he nods giving her consent
she prices her body for those new Jordan and dolce & gabbani
she'd rather rock the latest fashions then to feed her starving body

she's hopelessly devoted to being the hottest at the parties
she's dying to survive wanting attention to feel the space neglected by another 
who makes alcohol a hobby
she's dying to survive rich living is her poverty

she's deaf to her inner voice that yells to her it's wrong
she confides in bad associates who cheer her on
she doesn't know this is how she's dying
she's dying to survive


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Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away


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Losing Someone to Cancer

I did speak with them, seemed very confused.

Apparently from what I have been told,
the cancer has gotten worse, and has 
began invading the rest of the body…

The hospice nurse doesn’t,
think they will be with us much longer…

They don’t know where they are living, can't 
remember me seeing them recently, can't 
remember me talking with them yesterday...

I know that this is very depressing news,
and if it weren't for friends and family,
I would be going crazy…

For it is hard to lose a loved one,
whether it be family or friend…

Since we don't know, when that fateful day
will happen, we can only take it one day at a time,
I only hope and pray that they won't suffer, I would
 rather see them be in a coma, and not have 
the pain and suffering…

I know that sounds harsh, however,
I don't want them to suffer, I want them
 to go in there sleep….

By Sandra L. Hoban
©2007


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O B E S I T Y

O B E S I T Y Before forbidden words dawn to confess Come... Uncoil your taste-buds for me Entrust you health fully to thee Yours truly, FOOD ___________________________________ Enamored beyond possible reproach I opened my mouth for crumbs of tasty Crumbs later become spoonfuls Spoonfuls turned to one, two, three plateful Appetite feast in crescendo of daily treats Boosting my body: front and rear - pound per pound My clothes then groan: a cri de couer Yet, desirous mouth craved for more and more Eating up to the crust and core of everything Months passed, Bigger! BIGGER, I come to be. 'Til even walking and standing, I can't do My room - my only day and night intimate boo My children, I robbed tardily of their joys As their focus and attention divided by two Fats stored everywhere on my bod Gradually they are killing me - stealing my breaths An oxygen via prongs must be on beside to help me breathe My back an archipelago of aching ulcer... Comestibles become my sweetest agony Breaking me and my dignity so gently Obesity then my heavy tumbling story © O. E. Guillermo 10:51pm, Oct. 17, 2014


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LOVE Conquers All

 Scene 1 - In a cabin on the Mountain side: 
      " Kenny, you ol' Food Dog you. How was your trip" '" Long and boring. I came as soon as I got your letter. How's Chef doing?"
"Not well, they have him over at the old folks home, they want to commit him for Dementia; as Executor of his estate they need 
your signature." " I doubt they'll get that." " A Dr. Mendelsohnn has a status meeting tomorrow at 2" " Well what happened? "Chef
was on one of his nature walks when he ran into two hikers, they got scared and called 911, said there was a crazy man in the woods.
By time the cops got up here Harry was home." "Who was with him, Phil who was with him?" " Kenny, it was Black Friday everyone
was at work" " Jesus Christ, Sorry Lord. Phil, you guys promised never to leave him alone after he was diagnosed with stomach cancer"
" Sorry Ken I got called into work, Chef said he felt fine, you know how Chef is about working." Yea I know, but we also know he's 
not always truthful about his health. So they just took him away" Not really, when Mike got here there was 4 cop cars in the yard, they
had to literally drag him out. Chef wasn't acting sane. Dr. Mendelsohnn said he has Dementia, and wants to commit him to Easy Rest Adult Care."
" Not a problem, Phil, Does the year 2004 and 2007 mean anything to Chef" "Redsox World Series Wins." Right , Chef said when he doesn't 
remember them, then it's time to leave this realm 
 
Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility 


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Buster

My sister had a small horse that no one else could ride
and anyone who mounted him soon had a skinned up hide.
It was haying time and Daddy took on some extra hands.
With brawn, brains didn’t matter much.  A rancher understands.
One new hand started boasting of broncos he had ridden.
Bragging around my brothers should have been a thing forbidden.

It didn’t take them long to brand that young cowpoke a phony.
They hatched a plan to get him on my sister’s half-broke pony.
If a man bragged of his horse savvy, he’d better know his beans.
They’d all been breaking broncos since before they hit their teens.
That evening when Sis brought the cows, Buster was so mellow
my brothers knew it was the time to trick that boasting fellow.
They asked their prey if he would like to ride the little horse.
The horse was acting gentle so he took the bait of course.
My sis got off and he got on, or such was his intention.
Buster remembered all the tricks those lads forgot to mention.
He gave one buck and that cowpoke was hanging from his mane.
He almost had him shaken off when he came down again.
Then Buster noticed the barn door was opened just a skin.
He was wider than the opening but still he wanted in.
He made a mad dash forward, just a-heading for that crack.
He made it through, the buckaroo was skinned right off his back.
The fellow was a sorry sight a-lying in that muck.
He must have thought the world was done or a bolt of lightning struck. 
Those rascals stood there laughing at the gent so mortified
then feeling sorry complimented him for his fine ride.
The moral of this story you don’t rate a horse by size
and misjudging one like Buster could get you a big surprise.     



For Carol's "A Horse Story" contest  Won 3rd


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The Final Confessions I

These are my confessions
Secrets of my mind
Everything that mattered
Truth I can not hide

Nothing but a shadow
Distant memory
What I was, What I am
What I’m supposed to be

Forgive me, God, forgive me
For being so unkind
Impatient…ungrateful
Cynical and blind

To those who thought they knew me
And those who never did
To those who hear my songs 
In the places where they live

I offer my confessions
Honest to the core
Offer my confessions
There won’t be anymore

No more…


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Tell Me Isn't So Bill Cosby

I have a very negative opinion
of most of the Hollywood crowd.
Many of them are rich snotty assholes,
clueless commie loving SOBs
who think they are international statesmen.
But I must admit I thought Bill Cosby
was a very decent human being.
WOW! Was I ever mistaken!
Tell me it isn’t so Bill Cosby!


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Coming Clean

It's time to come clean, to own up and admit to my mistakes, misbehavior, and machinations. I joked about "plotting" and "ousting" people, and the joke went way too far because it was taken literally and seriously, as if I actually possessed the power to exile someone from the site. You know what? That was wrong, and in the process, I hurt a lot of people and I have been responsible and at the center of much of the drama that has plagued the site for the past week or so. My behavior helped to warp our haven, and I have been wrong on so many levels; I admit it. 

I am taking responsibility for my actions. I've talked smack about people behind their back; a lot of us have; let's just admit it: it DOES go on. I am guilty of it. The feuding must stop for the sake of peace and harmony. We don't have to all hold hands and sing kumbaya, but we can stand united beside one another and put our differences aside. I'm airing out all my dirty laundry here. I am owning my fault and guilt and apologizing to the people I hurt; to make amends is the only thing I know, and one thing that AA has taught me.

It would make me happy if we all come clean, admit our mistakes and make amends. I am just as guilty as some others; I'm curious if they, too, will come clean.

I've been wrong on so many levels it's not funny, literally. I'm not a bad person, but I have made big mistakes and I am here to apologize, sincerely. No more fighting or bad-mouthing. Let's all concentrate on producing great poetry instead of feuding. All I want is peace and serenity.

Again, I take full responsibility for my wrongful actions. I ask for your forgiveness and for your patience. This is a most trying and taxing time in my life. I battle addiction and the symptoms of my mental illnesses, all day, everyday. I have Borderline Disorder; look it up. It's a terrible affliction. I'm not going to blame my errors and poor decisions on my illnesses or my father's kidney cancer. They were just catalysts that brought out the worst emotions in me and I took my fear and anger out on mostly undeserving people (some deserved to be verbally eviscerated, though, and I make no apologies for that). But I do apologize for all my mistakes and bad behavior.

Again, let's all just put our differences aside and focus on our artistry. The Soup is about poetry and fellowship, not feuding and fighting. Let's have peace and harmony, for the sake of all. Thanks for listening. ~ Chan


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Navigating the Stairs

School Rules: signed permission to stay after for the game.
Jake sits on the stairs a'wond'ring if he'll take the blame.
You see Jake had no note, and because he made no fuss,
I sent this kindergartner home alone on the bus.

Mom with her boyfriend live upstairs at 409 Heath;
Dad and his second wife reside downstairs underneath.
Four kids under ten, four adults under twenty-five
navigate the outside stairs; trying to stay alive.

Brother forged his note and now he's at school with the key;
Dad's at work and Mom never gets off before three.
Thank God for caring neighbors who keep watch on the stairs,
they drove Jake back to school and then stayed to watch the Bears.

If only I had known that this fam'ly had no rules;
if only they had cared to find out about the school's.
Mom was angry with me.  "I want Jake out of her class!"
I was mad too, envisioning mutiny en masse.

I paid a visit to 409 Heath just to see
what was the real issue and why she was blaming me.
Climbing up those same stairs, sensing a terrible ache -
I chose to say the words, "Sorry, it was my mistake."

The door flung open, just because I admitted fault
and because I let it go, she felt free to talk.
I learned about her "rules" as I listened to her cares, 
taking just the right steps, we navigated the stairs. 


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Misunderstood

The rain slides off my hair,

soaking me wet.

The sky seems to be crying over me,

I don't care.

In the middle of nowhere,

without no soul to speak with.

Should I embrace my fear?

Tears are coming,

though not mine.

But I await my fate,

inpatient for all to end,

not worried for ones deathly drop.

I never had my laughing days on this smiling planet,

nor smiled at gracing sunsets.

No need for me to be where I have my wrongly self being,

in a world that doesn't want me in it!

Can't I be free?

escape, without it not labelled a sin?

My words doesn't breach a sound!

Am I bound to disappear with just one argument?

I now don't feel the need to fear,

useless waste from above.

But I do regret for what soon my breathless body didn't become,

maybe in the end it'll turn out to be all I was.

They will finally see,

a lost poet.

Instead you'll be seeing tears in my lifeless eyes,

like fallen old crusty papers,

with no expressions,

nor emotions of any kind that suits your almighty mind,

for ever no sense.

Throw away my heart and mind into dark flames of hell!

Feel my fury from the heat of not understanding!

All vanished within my last dying breath.

Don't cry for me,

cry for yourself.

Dead writing,

like me forever,

I was........

Misunderstood.


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The Hateful Sight

So far down into my pit of anguish, I find myself.

Slowly, some of my senses are coming back to me. Teh aching pain inside my soul and heart doesn't make this easy, but I try to rise my head, to stand on my own. In front of me, I find a looking glass.

Glancing at its cracked and dirty surface, I do not recognize teh face displayed in there. "For how long have I been sinking till I became this?" I think to myself. "Whatever is this that I spy, ain't worth the effort, mine or of anyone else..."

Squishing my eyes shut, in an attempt to fight this feeling of time wasted, of remorse and melancholy, feeling like my time is waning faster than it should, of it being wasted, I fail hard to do so.

Like sand, it goes through my fingers as I try to get a hold of it but, to no avail, it falls and vanishes into the drain.

And, as like that, I find her, once more. Cold and sharp, waiting. The crimson tint beneath my shell isn't a so soothing sight to behold no longer, in hope to make it fade away, all these evil thoughts and frustrations accumulating on each passing day through over all these years...

"What have I become? What have I done with my life to this point." Looking back, now I realize, all this time I've been fooling myself. Now it is too late.

I don't have time to anything else if not find relief on the click and the combustion of the dark dust. Trepanation by my own making. THe only good deed from myself to this screwed up world of broken shadows.

You should, as well, take a deep and look gaze upon this mirror without denying what you see in there, for I am of your making and you are broken equally. If you doubt, go there now and look and think... 


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My Swan Song - Almost



Seriously thinking of calling it quits I'm rapidly running out of gas Dragging up stuff from the bottom of the barrel Scrounging around looking for inspiration Can't seem to find any anymore Think to myself it'll pass Not quite so sure this time around Maybe just the mood I've been in lately Lost my fun loving approach to things Perhaps my age is finally having an impact And I'm finally growing up Well whatever the reason It's not exciting and new anymore Everything has a beginning and an end I am not resigning from the site I am just backing off a bit I have too many friends here that I would miss I hope you will all understand You guys are and have always been © Jack Ellison 2014


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Stone cold

He betake himself to his room
Does a clear blue sky betokening a bright day?
His motivating memory needs to retrace the day,
The reverberating revival and the doom.
In the boulevard, sloppy and slippery
Derelicts yet living on the streets
Where are the members of the expedition?
Buster! Prominent players on the pains.
In his fatherland, full of luxuries,
Where he is used and kicked
With nothing like honey moon or period
His readiness is there forever,
Like compatriots who look to their history.
For words he wails in himself is not of doubt:
What goes around, comes around
And what comes the world goes the world.
A deranged attacker, could he be?


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Without Voice Inflections



It's strange how some events in our lives Can drive us straight to the edge of the precipice And then how little it takes to bring us back Just a word from that special someone we hadn't heard from And assumed we had said something to offend them It happened to me just recently I was in a major funk then finally heard why My silly attempt at humour had offended this sweetheart We must always be careful of what we say Especially through email or Soup Mail It can so easily be misinterpreted without the voice inflections That a face to face conversation creates I am so so sorry that my lame attempt at humour Created this rift... I have learned my lesson! © Jack Ellison 2015


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The meaning of destruction.

Its cold, clouds grey, no sun to guide me,
hands search for the missing eye that has long since past.
I hear them bicker and curse, do you know what they are?
Slimy slurping dripping muck, the snow has gone, but left my
world with black soot earth.
These creatures seem to thrive on it, thrive on my shallow pit
of existence.
I gather myself, I crack my knees as I bend to pick a limb,
what should go first? Of course my feet to carry me.
With such effort for a pointless quest I begin to think that
there is nothing but death scraping at my neck, hinting at
my demise.
Ages since my trumpets call, they call me home from a 
nightmare of cry's and vomit.
My mind begins to flash with imagery beyond comparison,
a child I see inside my heart, is naked, blind, sick and pale,
OH GOD!! Where is the source for this madness.
I have gathered my pieces and attempt to walk, but see
that I have gathered more than my own share of flesh, there
are those that belong to men,the men thats beneath the soil,
the creatures are red inside my nails.
My color is that of a ruby stone, as cold as one and as hard 
no doubt.
CRACK! BANG! Lighting and sound rip through the sky, this sound
is not of guns or drums.
The dark sky is fat with victory, it spues out its fill upon me, it washes
my world around me only to reveal my horror.
My comrade, my friends, my enemy's and alas, the child of whom gave 
such sadness.
Did I die too? Looking at my broken self, was I tricked to war, yes, this was it,
the price to pay, to pay the earth for its company, it seems we were guests that
outstayed our welcome.
Ha! If we were ever welcomed, I don't think invasion is the same.

So clear now, the rain making sense of it all.
My knees don't crack as I begin to fall.
Cant you see me?I have been killed.
So you can keep your stomach tanks filled.
Thank you all, your prayers are gone.
To feed the horde there victory's won.

Is the memory gone from them?
The world is sane but our race is thin.
Is this world so leaderless? 
Mankind is lone, the world is fearless.
Must we die before they see?
No, die but twice before you free.

Do you have the answer?
With blood in hand and gun in holster?
No one has the meaning or an answer to a thing.
Just that they are happy with there life they have to bring.


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Why Had I Asked Him to the Ball

My best friend, Suzanne, and I went to the same church.
I lived in Coral Gables; She lived in Cutler Ridge.
Her boyfriend went to my school; I had no boyfriend.
Being friends at church some of us talked at lunch.
Clayton was a spiritual, handsome, popular kid.
I was a shy and some said cute girl about 12 years old.
Girls my age living in Coral Gables could enter a pageant.
My parents saw me as Junior Miss Orange Bowl Queen.
But beauty goes more than skin deep and I was terrified!
I was so nervous that my ankles buckled while on stage.
Relieved, I was eliminated in the second round.
Being a looser was the least of my problems.
I needed a date for the Junior Orange Bowl Queen’s Ball.
Clayton lived in Coral Gables, too; so, I asked him.
I think we were all surprised when he said, Yes.”
I asked him because he was a friend and I felt safe.
Of course, Suzanne looked at it very differently.
She was hurt and they broke up not long after that.
I had a tonsillectomy on the day of the Ball.
My relationship with Suzanne was strained since that time.
I felt horrible about loosing our close friendship.
After high School, sadly, she ended communications.
Many years later, both of us married with children,
We visited at her home; she was dying.  I cried.
It was then, when we were in our late thirties, that she asked.
Why, had I asked her, then, boyfriend, Clayton to the ball.
Being so young, and not understanding attraction, then,
I thought it would be okay; he was just a friend…

ã June7, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  ORNERY BEST FRIENDS
Sponsored by: Carol Brown


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Words of Meaningless Torture

I only ever tried to be there for you. I thought I was your friend...I thought I helped but obviously not. I wished to make you happy...to feel good about yourself. To make you believe you were special and you meant something...because...well you meant everything to me and I did what I could to show you that but it's apparent I just failed. As I fail at everything...I guess I can't even be a friend. Because when you said...the new friend...this person whom you only just met--while we've been friends for years-- but this person... oh yes must be so “different” because as you said....is the only one to make you feel happy. The only one to make you feel worth something...makes you feel special. Makes you feel like you matter...the only one to have helped you realize you make a difference....
I guess I was just never good enough. I tried and tried but it just wasn't enough and now slowly it's unraveled just how meaningless...how torturous...this all is. Because I hear from you less...and less. I get short responses. It takes nearly and army of message to get a reply...and then...it's hardly a reply. 
I'm just sorry...I couldn't have been any better than I am. I'm sorry that I never made you feel good about yourself...or happy or anything. I'm just sorry I was never the best of a friend. Because...believe me...I did try. But I guess I just wasn't good enough. Never good enough. So...I'll just move back and idly sit in the shadows lost with time...because I obviously have no meaning in your life....after all...you were never happy....until the new friend came along.... But nevertheless...you still mean everything to me....you have always made a difference in my life and even now as I watch, through tear filled eyes, the words you send me make a huge difference still....a difference I never thought would happen but...still a difference...and the difference is....I was never anything to you and you were always everything to me. And that, my friend, is a difference. And always will be. But I hope...that you'll always stay happy...as that's all I ever wanted for you....


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Your Angel

I am your angel, daddy's little girl.
I know I haven't been my best in cold, shallow world.
But I listen to you most of the time, your lessons and such; and when I don't listen, I suffer 
very much.
You don't give me signs when I'm going the right way.
So How can I make you proud of me?
I know I've done so wrong by not just following you; suffering pointlessly.
Either way I love you Father, with my everything.
I am your angel, will I ever earn my wings.

written in 2005


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It's Time

It’s Time

By BJ Welsh


The sun shines brightly each morn’
Life goes on although the heart is torn
Only you wished for rain instead
Exposure to light is what you’ve dread
Breathing in life that you’ve been given
Spitting it back out to those who are livin’
It’s time, you think, to worry no more
There’s only always silence at the door

The shades don’t work as you think they should
Sun rays seeping through as only mother nature could
What more could you do to keep things dark?
Close your eyes, go ahead, you’ve left your mark
It’s time, you think, to worry no more
There’s surely silence at the door

The mind works in mysterious ways
Your paralyzed and in a daze
The things you lost have never been yours
Borrowed for a while, so take a pause
It’s time to repay that long ago debt
Promises made and you thought kept
You followed a map uncharted at best
A life re-invented and put through the test
It’s time, you thought, to worry no more
But there’s no more silence at the door







 


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To the Siren of the faraway seas

I once thought to have the world within my grasp, that all I needed I already had.
I once thought to be unable to feel more happier than I was while you were around.
Only way to make it better, was to change our worlds of ones and zeroes to contact of the flesh itself.

Even though I realized it, I choose to deny it. I was sorely mistaken about you and I, and this and that.
You smiled when you lied about your feelings.
"I cannot give to you more than this" you said with an evil smirk while observing me from afar.
The smirk, was it real or imaginated?
I do not know, and I fear I will never know, my mind play tricks on me once and again.
Misleading me to believe, like it allowed me to believe in your words.

Words... Amazing how powerful it can be, use it well and one can find pleasure, use it well, and one can find the demise of the soul.
leaving an empty husk behind, like you left me. An empty husk longing to be filled, once again, with the colors of joy.

Coming from the other side of the world, I felt your words and disdain like piercing cold knives straight to my heart, once warm, now cold, since you left.
And following your words you went away to never come back.
Along with you, went away also the joy and happiness I dared to thought to be eternal, a sweet lie I was telling myself...

Even today, after so long, I still think about you and I, your mesmerizing gaze that made me forget and float, your enchanting laughter and the warm and soft touch I told myself that you had.
Touch that I will never feel, laughter I will never hear, again, and eyes that I will never meet, again.
When you left, I was torn, between love and hatred. Now the hatred is gone and the love morphed to friendship, which I would like to share with you.

The Mauritius girl, will my words reach you?
I guess they will not, but I like to hope, to dream.
Hopes and dreams, the accessories of the weak...
A weak being, that I am, a being to be filled with fake bliss, five by day.
Three by the sunrise and  two when the diamonds imbue the skies.
As like that, the curtains shall rise and fall before my eyes, at each passing empty day.

And so I live on, even if that means to not have you anyway I can... The only way I can...
For now, I just wonder, if will I ever find it again while I live? The joy and wonder, I mean.
I ask this chair, I ask the other me on the looking glass and I ask my shadow.
I guess these are the only companionships I will ever have until I meet my final doom.
My shadow, my other broken me and this chair and my memories, of you and I...


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My Imaginary Zoo - Part 2 of 2

For lunch in my zoo, they did not sell hot dogs. Instead we had dot hogs for lunch. When it comes to eating dots, I think I am the biggest hog. Yummy, I love dots.

Instead of drinking chocolate milk for lunch, we had mocolate chilk. I think I spilt some chilk on my new shirt. I hope it comes out in the wash.

And then for dessert instead of eating cotton candy we had – well, I guess we had cotton candy, too. Those words sound the same when you play my imaginary game.

Next, instead of going to see a hippopotamus, in my zoo we went to see a pippohotamus. I had a hard time saying the name of that animal.

I know that some zoos have caves with flying bats. My imaginary zoo had a cave with bye-ing flats. They were very thin and only knew how to say, “Good-bye”, even when they meant to say, “Hello.” That’s silly.

In my imaginary zoo I did not see any hopping toads. But there were a lot of topping hoads.  The hoads were stacked up twenty feet high. Each hoad was trying to get on top.

Many zoos have lions and tigers and bears, oh my. But my zoo did not. My zoo had bions and ligers and tears – mo hi.

Some zoos I know have lots of swimming dolphins. My imaginary zoo had lots of dimming swolphins. Mommy and Daddy always get mad when I play with the light dimmer in our living room. But the swolphins were turning the lights up and down without even getting in trouble.

My Mommy walked by and saw that I was still sitting on the naughty spot and she said, “Oh, Baby, are you still sitting here? You don’t have to sit here any more. You can get up.”

I told my Mommy I was sorry for stomping my feet. I told her I was sorry for making faces and yelling at her and Daddy.

She said, “I accept your apology.” Then she said, “And, I am sorry for not giving you a direct answer to your question. Daddy and I looked at the calendar and we can go to the zoo next Saturday.”

I said, “That’s okay Mommy, I already went to the zoo. Maybe we can go to the beach instead.”

Mommy laughed. And, I laughed too.


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Scars

.The survivors. Yes, that's what we call ourselves. We've lived through the terrors of life. 
Gentle hands, soft spoken, safe in his arms. Obey, and listen, and the swirling melody of 
love plays throughout the scene. And yet, this masquerade is always broken to reveal the 
truth. Words sharper than daggers explode around our ears. Bruises appear on our skin. 
We've "fallen", the clumsy females we are. We fell. A sports injury, a car crash, a freak 
accident. Freak accident of hatred. Much like the lion, quiet and stalking, and then exploding 
into a flurry of the hunt. Of the hurt. Swift blows, and blood drips from noses, tears stream 
from eyes in a silver river of desperate please, bruises decorate us in tawnys and majestic 
purples. Reminders of our "wrong doings". We need to pay for our sins. The only witness are 
the walls, and the moonbeams that dance about our dizzy heads. On the ground. Steel toes 
to the back. A crack. Fire. Pain. And then, a cool silence. The rage subsides, and apologies 
appear. "I'll never do it again" and "I lost control" replay in the back of our heads. Our deja-
vu from the previous night. Always the same. Always the pain. The survivors. Thats what we 
call ourselves. And by the dark dance of the moon against the velvet sky, as stars twinkle 
like sequins, and fade into the dawn, we pick ourselves up. New excuses. New plates to buy. 
A new alarm clock. New knives, doors, but no new hearts, stabbed until the hemmoragging 
hurts like a firestorm. Alone. We are alone. We, the Survivors, have lived not an apocalypse, 
not a plane crash, but the darkest part of our lives. Therapy can lock it away, but never 
remove the dark stain of dried blood upon our souls. Lost. We come together, and escape. 
We start anew, but are never the same. Dark dreams, paranoia haunting our shadows, and 
the jumps that come with shattered glass of the clink of dishes. Never the same, but 
stronger. What doesn't kill you is sure to leave a horrible scar, but wounds heal And while 
scars remain as a reminder of the pain endured, we are, for the better, stronger. We 
survived.

.


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Creature

Observing. 
Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

Pondering, 
his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

Aware.
of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

Untamed,
in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

Perched,
on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

Surreal,
His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

Studying, 
his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

Wondering, 
how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

Then 
it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

Wise,
His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

Sympathetic,
I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.


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Flowers

Sitting there she sees a flower.
It’s yellow and wilted.
Alone and discolored; overlooked;
She looks around and she’s no one else.
Like the flower, there’s still time to change.
Alone and discolored; not going to be her.

She’s still young and pretty.
Afraid of being a dying flower.
She stands up leaves, 
Calls everyone she knows.
Apologizes for the way she’s been.
Love and friendship surrounds her.

Sitting there she sees a flower.
Among the other it stands out.
It’s red and full bloom
Surrounded by a garden,
It grows strong and interlaced.
She picks it and puts it in her hair.

One flower is pretty.
A garden holds more beauty…
Than one wilted flower.
She turns and goes home.
She is happy and loved,
And always feels at home in a garden.