Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Life Loss Poems | Life Poems About Loss

These Life Loss poems are examples of Life poems about Loss. These are the best examples of Life Loss poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Lyric | |

Reflection of an old man

As I gaze upon a frail old man opposite me He looks at me and a smile appears on his face I decide to stop and talk to him for a while To reflect upon those years gone by Old man, where has your life gone? Time has flown by, doesn't life moves so fast Can you remember when you were younger? Handsome man with long dark hair, the ladies loved, but its all gone now, not even any grey patches A gleam in your eye just like James Dean, but your face is old and wrinkly now Your hands were so strong, but now shake and shiver Like a stallion, your strength was of legends, but through the years you became so weak and fragile Do you remember all the loves? All those hearts your broke? The one that broke your heart? I know she skips through your mind from time to time Such a beautiful woman, full of class, you thought one day you would marry, have lots of children and die happy. Funny how life works out, how it never goes to plan What you have today is never what you thought it would be Do you remember all those who hurt you? Through time you learnt to forgive, life is too short for grudges I know you miss your real beloved, your precious mother, who sacrificed her life for you Who held you so close the day you were born, sadly, you lost her so young Life was hard with so much poverty, and I know you wonder what happened to your childhood, but you got through and learnt how to spread love You didn't let the demons defeat you, because your were drawn to the angels Think about all the happiness you brought, how many tears you wiped away and how you listened But what about those dreams you had? Do you have many regrets? Or is life too short for that? Do you feel you have left behind a legacy? I see loneliness in your eyes, everyone you loved, has left in the end. Are you happy with what you will leave behind? Do you like what you see in the mirror? As, I turn away from the mirror, and tears roll down my face I think to myself, what happened to the fun and the adventure Whatever happened to all those passengers? What happened to me? But, then I remind myself, life is what it is and everything happens for a reason Some you win, some you lose Life is too short for regret It's good to reflect, but also good to be content... The Silent One 24 September 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Rhyme | |

What Only Angles Hear

Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.

She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.

She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.

Scars selfinflicted  are better than that 
dirty feeling.
As she lays a broken shell gazing  at the celling.

She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.

The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.

At times it gets to uncomfortable so in 
another direction we  steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles  hear.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo

Details | Narrative | |

Sweetest Love Note

One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."

Copyright © Le'Rita Clark

Details | Free verse | |

Forty Today

Visited you today
as the sun set in the horizon…

the orange tinged carnations 
were a perfect complement 
for the skies
and for you… 
orange and blue
always remind me of you

the winds softly blew
and I just sat there
staring at the grass,
well more at your name really…

hardly believing
what I am looking at, 
that it’s been seven years

of missing you,
of just putting that reality
at the back of my mind…

But there are days,
such as today
which make me 
confront that reality—

I see your smile,
remember your laughter
celebrate your spirit
and your love

Tears, I tell you I have
the most stubborn tears
maybe because they 
make it so real for me?

I look around me
and look for that sign

Nope, not there…

I say a prayer
and speak to you
thankful for the life shared

I kiss the date that you were born

and walk away

my reflection on the car window

One last look around,

and then I see it…

a cat, as we drive away…

Skies now streaked purple and pink

**My brother would have been 40 today, May 6…

Copyright © binibining P.iNk

Details | Narrative | |

Nevermore Will Raven Return

 *Note:  A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three 
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday 
ended in January 2010.  Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to 
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped.  On many occasions people kept 
vigils  near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw 
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his 
grave.  Poe is considered the father of the American short story and 
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.

Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
     While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
     Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door

Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
     At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
     He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”

Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
     A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
     Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator

Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
     Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
     In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor

And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
     A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave       \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before                         \/ \/ \/
     Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave                     \/ \/ \/ \/

For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word

By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling 
Poet ~

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Narrative | |

---And the Angel Looked On

"I heard an angel speak last night and he said "write" - Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

that was the last word he whispered before his eyes closed forever...

I close my own eyes, bite my lower lip, 'til I taste tin, stone angel crying with me...
The wind sends chills through me, as the heavens threatened to weep
brown leaves skittering between my feet, seeking for shelter.
How I related to those leaves: dry...brittle...dead.

I look at the Angel that watches over him,imploring for answers, 
begging this Guardian to take pity on me, help me remember. 
She only looks at me, with tears in her eyes, her beautiful face
always looked enigmatic to me, for she was smiling...
and yet those tears hinted at sadness, 
seemingly reprimanding me with her look.
I bow my head in shame, and reach for her hands, 
but I only feel cold, hard stone...not unlike my heart

My throat catches, I can hardly breathe--
I loosen my grip, feeling it might burn this time
...from guilt, for forgetting...

I glance at her magnificent wings, and wished I had them, too,
if only to fly away, but my feet are stuck on the ground, 
with a heart buried in regret.

I whisper one word: "Sorry":spoken so softly, I think I only said it in my heart;
I say it louder, my body wracked with sobs, my heart bleeding crimson tears of anguish. 
I look at the Angel and notice something on her sash--
One pristine white feather lay there-a stark contrast to the moss covered stone.
I take the feather, notice wordings etched on the sash--and scraped off moss, 
Tennyson's words go straight to my heart...
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

The memories come back like a flash flood, assaulting me, bringing me back to that day.
He told me he had an angel carved to be with him at his grave, 
since I, his angel, couldn't always be there for him. And that he understood, 
that it was okay. I shrugged it off, told him I love him forever.
I still do, that's why it shamed me that I also love another now.

Seeing those words, I felt such a sense of peace, like he was embracing me, 
smoothing out my hair like he used to, telling me it was all right. 
I blink back tears, and say "Thank you" this time...I hug the Angel and I felt warm.
Drizzle and sunlight bounced off each other as I walked away. 
I turn my head around to his grave
--and the Angel looked on with a smile.

Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
 June 18, 2011

Copyright © binibining P.iNk

Details | Pantoum | |

Wayward Child

Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.

Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.

Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.

We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Rhyme | |

Suicide Mind

What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
Troubled, debts
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
Mums, dads
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them 
They just can't outrun
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Suicide Mind

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Haiku | |

Flanders Screams

A gentle wind asks Answered, simply, why not still Said family grieve .

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Free verse | |

Only in a Different Life

Looking through the window of a shop,
I see you with a woman.
She lifts long auburn hair
while you, who stand behind her,
are fastening a strand of pearls
around her slender neck.
I close my eyes envisioning. . .

I've opened them to you 
facing me,
and I'm the woman
with the red-brown locks!
You touch my cheek, and in your eyes
I read an urgent need.
You lead me to the door,
around the corner to an empty alley.
Our bodies press together.
In the chill of night,
I taste warm, wild kisses on my mouth.
"Darling, my darling," escapes my lips,
then suddenly my reverie is broken. . . . 

A passerby has stopped
to place a dollar in my cup.
Murmuring my thanks,
I gaze once more into the store 
where diamond rings and necklaces glitter
like new snow beneath a winter moon.
The man whom I could know
only in a different life,
who stands inside the store
where I could never go,
takes his sweetheart's hand
and leads her past me
pretending not to see
a common homeless woman
who yearns for so much more
than mere necessities.

For the Story Poetry Contest of Rob Carmack

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Free verse | |

After The Abortion

Another would-be life slips down a hospital sluice -
a mangled tangle of tissue, a broken bouquet of limb buds.
Carmine carnage reduced to simplistic statistic.
But these hospitals are blanched mausoleum-white,
operating slabs are sarcophagi, stirruped legs are strung high,

and a crimson slurry seeps from between splayed thighs.
Death-pimp doctors are gloved and gowned, loom grandiose,
assume arrogance and surgical masks of indifference.
Feminine thought frisks to freedom now:
the biannual foreign holiday, career climbing and the company car.

Birth is an inconvenient blip on the social calendar.
Huddled horror-mute before my Philips flatscreen last night,
peering through the fretwork of my fingers,
a sickening frisson shivered through me; vertiginous waves
breaking on my body's shore, faintness flooding my head.

Today I cannot elude my abhorrence;
it overshadows me, obliterates former complacency.
Tonight people will be on the pull in club-clotted towns,
and bedsprings will squeak a soulless sound
as more life is made to be taken.

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot

Details | Rhyme | |

Letters from Afghanistan (cowritten by James Fraser)

Dear Carolyn:
Another letter from another tour
In this place in the sand they call Helmand
This will be my last, for you can be sure
To never look back on these Afghan lands
          Dear James:
          It's been so long since I've felt your embrace
          Studied the constellations through your eyes
          Found joy in the manly features of your face
          Or recovered from our last sad goodbyes

Dear Carolyn:
Another two lost, one was my best friend
Before it's me, I pray my leave is soon
My heart is crying out, my hopes descend 
Is tomorrow my day, in deathly strewn
          Dear James:
          I've been praying so hard; surely you're safe
          The son I carry will have his Dad's smile
          I don't think God would orphan our young waif
          You must walk through our door in a short while

Dear Carolyn:
The joy in your letter, mother to be
Me a father, soon to be homeward bound
Grow with my kin in the land of the free
To thrive in peace on American ground

          Dear James:
          I think our boy will be a football star
          Perhaps he’s sending a message to Dad          
          Like Peyton and Eli he’s thrusting hard
          To have you and him here, I’ll be so glad

Dear Carolyn:
As James was preparing to say goodbye
Boarding the chopper to take him your way
Enemy aircraft dropped bombs from the sky
I regret to say this was James’ last day
          Commanding Officer Brannigan
          U.S. Armed Forces, Afghanistan

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Marsiya | |

I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013

I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over

Sabrina Niday Hansel

Placed 1st in "Unsung Hero" 7/2014 contest
Also 3rd. in "Portrait of a Poet" 1/2014 

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel

Details | Rhyme | |

A Forest

The night like clouded charcoal scorched,
A sea of trees with starlight torched.
A night where laws are sound asleep,
Anarchic prayers running deep.

Alone I hear the wretched screams
Of screeching trees... or so it seems.
The cries protract into the air,
Without a sound they disappear.

The shrieks have bartered now anew
With sounds of meat and boney chew
Discharging from the faithless trees
And snarling with my memories.

But creatures' gruesome growlings drown.
I smell the gunpowder and frown.
The waging sounds of war advance
In battle stance with gun and lance.

The sounds of bleeding men enhanced,
The sounds of fate and time and chance,
No sooner do they cross the trees
Than fade as all their voices freeze.

But worse than bombshell sounds occur;
The storms, the winds, the thunder stirs.
The roars that shake the forest's roots,
The flowers, soil, and passion fruits

A rainy resonance restocks
The grass the air the woods the rocks
And washes with its dancing tingle
All the sounds that intermingle:

A dreaming forest in the night,
And trapped within its fanfare fright,
It chokes me in its thunder thrill
And hangs me in the silence still,
And hangs me in the silence still.

Copyright © Gael Attal

Details | Free verse | |

My weakness


Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are  suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of  fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple  
How did it come to this?
Lord, now I carry a  burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me or is it me who deserted you?

God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow?
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?

God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?

God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?

God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes, I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
I ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Cowboy | |


We’ve shared the trail, kicked up some dust, An’ stood a storm or two. We’ve rode the plains, the wide frontier, The easy trails were few. You’ve listened like some wise old sage To ever thing I’ve said, An’ as a friend, supported me, No matter where it led. I wished I coulda carried you, The times you were in pain; Or rustled up some kinda shed To turn the blowin’ rain. I’ve come up shy with some your needs, You gave me more’n you got, But in your silence, seemed to know, I needed you a lot. Compadre, friend, amigo, pard; I called you all them things, But there’s been times, I swear to God, You musta had some wings, An’ He sent you to care for me Like no one had before. If you’as a man an’ not a horse, I couldn’t a-loved you more. We gave this ranch our sweat an’ blood, It’s yours as much as mine, An’ raised our young’uns through the years, An’ Lord they’re doin’ fine. They’re blazin’ trails an’ raisin’ dust, They’re off an’ runnin’ free. We’ve taught ‘em well an’ made ‘em strong; Compadre, you an’ me. I always knew the day would come When we would fine’ly ride, To join the Maker’s round-up time, Up on the Great Divide. I sorta hoped we’d share the trail But this was not to be, So, you go on, we’ll ride again; Compadre, you an’ me.

Copyright © Jim Fish

Details | ekphrasis | |

A Depiction Of One Artist And His Starry Night

Vincent Van Gogh~Starry Night __________________________ a precarious world of indecision a dark pallet of light this brilliant depiction , it does scream , it cries out blues and yellows swirl in a maze of defeat a crescent moon suspended in a blissful evening , hangs lone in agony I rest within this small town of hope my eyes are saddened , my mind relentless in delight You are mine , my asylum , my starry night a dimension of light under this wrenching canopy of demise oh Vincent... __________________________

Copyright © Rick Parise

Details | Narrative | |

Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.

Copyright © Sue Mason

Details | Blank verse | |

The Narcissistic Neanderthal

Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
     you  plunder through life taking no prisoners,
             with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
      tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
              What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your                                                       
      circumstance;  narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any                               
               tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede  integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free - 
      a lover of women among inept men, 
                but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with   
      runny disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.  
                So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting  shame,
       littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
                How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
        and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
                 From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,

I am free.

Copyright © Anna Lee Stedman

Details | Tanka | |


~~ beyond my sorrow there is a path that beckons I could go that way or stay and hold hands with death and weep upon a cold stone ___________________________ August 16, 2014 Tanka Entered in the contest, Any 5 line Poem, Poet Destroyer, First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Narrative | |

The Devil's Tide

I looked up at a silver moon 
Peering through a cloud of misty gloom 
As we sailed across the Atlantic Sea 
That fateful night in June 
And as I stood upon the bow 
A furrow crossed my troubled brow 
When I saw a dying star fall from the sky 
As the wind out of the north 
Began to cry 
'Twas then with fearful heart 
I came at last to realize 
That we were sailing 
On a wave of ill-tidings 
Known as 'The Devil's Tide' 
For no omen of the sea 
Brought more fear than thee 
A fallen star -  a silver moon 
Together in the month of June 
If legend true would surely bring us doom 
So with no trace of land in sight 
We sailed onward through the night
I -  the Captain 'Louie Lou' 
With my faithful crew 
Aboard the 3 mast schooner 'Angel - of the Blue' 
On canvas wings we flew 
Upon the wailing wind that blew 
Then suddenly a hush of malaise 
Crushed the summer night
Filling all the crew with dreadful fright 
As all the stars in heaven lost their light 
And the silver moon dipped completely out of sight 
Leaving us to drift without guidance 
To our unknown plight 
An eerie sound began to roll out of the west 
Growing louder and louder as we held our breath 
Until it was upon us and the ship began rise 
As we looked in horror into the Devil's eye 
As the Angel of the Blue began to fly 
Up the Devil's breast she climbed 20 fathoms high 
One by one the Angel's wings were torn away 
As she fought to save us from the Devil's rage 
Screams of horror falling from her timber sides 
As the crew fell into the Devil's tide 
And I -  tethered to the helm -  watched them die 
As we climbed even higher into the Devil's eye 
And as the Angel's body creaked and cracked
We finally scaled the crest and rode upon the Devil's back
Just before I fainted and my world went black 
I woke up in the morning high on a mountain side 
Never knowing just how I had survived 
knowing only that my Angel and my crew had died 
Many years have come and gone since then 
And I am forever haunted by each and every one of them 
My faithful crew and my mighty 'Angel of the Blue' 
I see their faces in my dreams 
As I awaken to their screams 
Wishing, too -  that I had died 
But someone had to live 
To tell the tale of the 'Devil's Tide'.


Author:  Elaine George
Entry for contest:  Legends
Awarded:  First Place

Copyright © Elaine George

Details | Rhyme | |

Stormy Heart

Alone in loneliness Amid forever nights And these four walls In faint, whisper soft your name I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains "Please not another nightmare, no more storms" But, answers are merely glimpses of light From lightening... Filtering through the pane Empty sheets... Cast empty shadows on the wall Of places where you used to be Eyes wide open Now asleep, afraid I am to fall Trapped within this never ending dream I cling to all the memories that I have Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed A fire for you still burning inside Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last And silence your unrescued suicidal screams Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass Or is it of your wandering spirit Mockingly knocking? Haunting with its vindications Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp All this amidst lost stares into black windows Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains And I swear I see your reflection Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face And for the first time You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"

Copyright © Michael Smith

Details | Senryu | |

Tears in a Bottle

Tears in a Bottle
doors open, doors close wasted opportunities – tears in a bottle
Entered in contest “One Solo Epic Senryu or Haikyu – In a Bottle” sponsored by Poet Destroyer A (7-22-2014).

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

Details | Didactic | |

Speak of thee

                                        He is above us in the clouds 
                                run through the fields and speak of thee
                                              He will grow roses

                                       I will be the stem of the roses 
                                       for I shall never leave your soil

                                     You will be the tree I grow beneath 
                                             and he will be our rain.

Copyright © Andrea M Christian

Details | Rhyme | |

You Are My Life

You Are My Life

You made the moonlight turn so blue
as you took my heart away with you
Love never before hurt like this
our love, all of you is what I miss

This house suddenly is ice cold
my soul feels a million years old
Once these rooms saw romance grow
now you miss me deeply this I know

For none have ever loved as we did
you were the hot sexpot, I the lid
My darling think back and just feel
how deep was our love, how very real

Think back to nights on the beach
the destinations we both did reach
Cries you swore were from pure joy
you my princess, I your hot loverboy

Wherever you are look at stars above
long as they shine we'd stay in love
That oath you made just for our lives
such love is forever always thrives

Darling , please bring my heart back
I am a train , wrecked off the track
Hear, this is my last desperate plea
bring back all your sweet love to me!

R. J.  Lindley

June 22, 1977

note: This write so long ago saw my sweetheart
 return to me but her vow to stop her drugs failed 
and she ran away again to do her drugs. I never
defeated her addiction. I lost her, my life shattered
but our spirits were made to shatter from lost love
and then later reform.
I have the poem in my hands complete with the vow she
signed written on the back.

I XXXXXXX swear to never again do drugs
signed, XXXXXXX Lindley, 
June 25, 1977

Sadly that vow lasted mere weeks...

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Narrative | |

The Fire Rages On...

the fire rages on….

smoke hot and murky 
(like sodden dank  old whiskey)
burns the backs of her brooding eye lids
as she watches fires power frolic 
like a mesmerizing ghost
                  it consumes with licking fingers
the aromatic lavender and the intricate lilies
destroying so slowly 
                the dark hard leather
                           and delicate white lace
(it could be gone in an instant)

the quiet like a devastation spills into her
like bodies of the long passed
                                       (already ascended)
eyes like cheap gin
on a Saturday night
begging to be borrowed
in someone else’s head

forms of faces out of tune like an old scratched record
replaying into a wiped out ancient black sky
breeding dismay between what should be kissed lips

burrowing into flames she sketches with her ruby red
and shadowed pink mouth
(had it always been this way?)
she….with fragile fingers
                                    twining and untwining
(with temptation of a rose thorn)
      unhealed with lacerations 

does she own the capacity 
                                      on her own 
  to block the fierceness of the sun?

beneath the stale sirens
(pounding out a raucous rhythm
                                    on her heart) 
of a raw and frantic flutter
she hears the wild piercing
of wings beating in futility
        against harsh walls
rat tat tatting….rat tat tatting….
battering and scattering 
                                  trapped inside a cage

“fly free….just fly free!” 

she pleads to the lady she visits every  Friday
                 “why the hesitation?”
as she whimpers from the wounds
                  old and dead and long buried
in the ground beneath a willow

and still the fire rages and rampages
                                          steals the flower petals 
while ripping through the forest 
as she trips on tender heels of the never fast enough

smoke still burns the backs of her brooding eyelids….

Copyright © Christie Moses

Details | Rhyme | |


Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years

And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Free verse | |

Grandpa's Study

The room is still,
Quiet but for wind and rain
Making music on the windows.
Empty but for endless shelves
Of leather-bound volumes -
The first editions you loved so much.
The desk is weathered, coated
In a film of dust.
The chair is old and worn,
Tucked in just where you left it.
I can almost hear it creak
Under your weight,
Hear you whistle in that absent way.
I can almost see you there,
Hunched over creased pages,
Reading Keats or Blake.
I can almost smell that familiar scent
Of fresh soap and musty books,
Of spices and cigar smoke.

Copyright © Heather Ober

Details | Rhyme | |

Darken Lightly, The Bitter Harvest

Darken Lightly, The Bitter Harvest

Time shadows slip right on by
thunder in this cloudless sky
Once dreams did vividly abound
now this horror, no happy sound

Yester years, life gave it all
regret was never the only call
Days flew by with a certain feel
the good life on a time wheel

Such before death darkly came
its card with your sweet name
Sweet your memories truly are
still worshipping you from afar

This bitter harvest eats my soul
leaves me with this empty "living bowl"

Robert J. Lindley

Copyright © Robert Lindley