I shall nay know all the wonders - you hold
For all too soon the winds of winter blow
Scarlet petals withering in the snow
How cruel the breath that kills the velvet rose
Tears - that canst’ bear the thought of letting go
Forever frozen in this empty soul
A broken heart forever turned to stone
A broken stem left now to stand alone
Alas! I find that life is bitter-sweet
As I stand holding only memories
Of a rose blooming in the summer breeze
Here beneath this old weeping willow tree
Once I held the sweetest rose - ever born
Now – in my grief – I hold the bitter thorn.
Author: Elaine George
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2009
( A Monosyllabic Sonnet )
Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014
Here in the final pages of her life
She stops to rest a spell on empty lines
Reflecting on the chapters left behind
In valleys of a mind deep in contrite
Where shadows battle with a blinding light
Conflicting egos fighting on through time
Their argument life’s reason and life’s rhyme
They battle for the end that she must write
Two equal pens held tightly in her hand
Tears mingle with the ink spots on the page
One pen telling truth one pen telling lies
Her bleeding words like footprints in the sand
On lines between a novice and a sage
One pen she puts to death before she dies
Author: Elaine George
Written: April 20th, 2014
For Miltonic Sonnet Contest sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Awarded: First Place
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014
She looks around the room with worried eyes.
So many things are missing. What became
of all her pretty clothes? With great surprise
she notices her dresser’s not the same.
The fancy music box that held her pearls
is missing too from where it used to sit
beside the picture of her precious girls
there on the dresser. What became of it?
She hears her husband walking toward the room
and cries out as she sees him on the stair.
He lies down on their bed. She feels his gloom,
and then she knows. . . . He cannot see her there!
She lingers, helpless, knowing she must go,
yet hears him sob, “My love, I miss you so.”
Written for Susan Burch's "Missing" Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
Original poem - Verse - June 8, 2013
Many came with flowers,
rainbows of roses and lilies,
solemn people came and went.
And then it was quiet,
the white snow fell upon me,
as I lay waiting in my eternal peace.
In a low voice father spoke,
with tears so fondly all those years,
then an elderly man came to be with me.
Often my beautiful mother came,
so mournful she came on the coldest days,
then one day she came to be with me forever.
Many times grandmother came,
oh, I remember her sweet, lovely voice,
then she came one dark night to be with me.
Many times a little girl came,
she crooned my precious name, Susie,
her eyes so dark and sad with weeping tears.
And even now, so often,
a woman comes with raven hair falling,
could this be the little girl who is still weeping.
I hear the names she whispers,
she does not cry just for me but for all,
who lay with me beneath the grass, rain and snow.
The Makeover - Sonnet - March 15, 2015
Many came with flowers, rainbows of roses and lilies,
Solemn people came and went, then it was calm;
Snow fell upon me as I lay beneath the barren trees,
It was quiet when father read me a lovely psalm.
In a low voice father spoke to me so sadly for years,
Then an old man came to me beneath the azure;
Often my beautiful mother mourned me with tears,
And soon she also came to be with me forever.
With her sweet voice many times grandma came,
Then she was with me and I soothed her fears;
A little girl crooned Susie, my precious child name,
Could this be the young woman who still weeps tears.
She weeps and prays for all the names engraved in stone,
All who lay with me where wildflowers have grown.
March 15, 2015
For the contest, The Makeover, sponsor, Roy Jerden
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
I wait while wandering in empty dreams,
where everyone is lost and dying slow.
And in the distance are, unheard, the screams
of anguished souls I’ll never come to know.
The winds blow hot or cold here, rarely cool.
Leaves flutter out of sight, disintegrate.
Relief, if ever found, is minuscule.
I do not even know for what I wait!
I’m drifting with the leaves as they change hue,
concealed among them as they fall to ground.
And as they crumble, I’ll be crumbling too,
alone (as souls unknown hear not my sound).
And still I roam inside this wait I keep,
unwilling to awaken from this sleep.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
Abandoned flowers placed against the wall,
stems bent and twisted, limp and on display.
In long, straight row they line the gloomy hall—
these wilted gems, drooped down, no role to play.
Some flowers with their blossoms barely raised
and others hang on weakened stems so low.
In varied ways, their languishing is phased—
decaying flowers lined up in a row.
Abandoned flowers there against the wall,
their colors dull and dry like winter grass—
What once stood straight now lies in wilted sprawl.
They stab the heart of visitors who pass—
Abandoned with no sunshine in their skies—
in worn wheeled chairs, await their slow demise.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Dark & Twisted #2
Sponsor: Nathan D.
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Glowing Cloud On Mountain Top
I met you there, so very full of grace
single rose in your shining raven hair
Radiance beaming from your sweet face
couldn't stop myself, I had to stare!
Every moment since, forever treasured
nights glowed on, your smile a star
Everything since that night measured,
love raced in deep, like a speeding car!
Now time has given me such great sorrow
Heaven welcomed your spirit on in
Misery my food, heartache my tomorrow
forever gone my lover, my great friend!
Glowing cloud on mountain top now dances
I gamble that climb and took my chances!
Oct. 16th, 1973
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Tinge Of Purple Rests Within My Heart
Tinge of purple rests within my tired heart
Soft touches of a heavy old soul
Now pulling on my heavy empty cart
Often my world seems to be lumps of coal.
I heard thumps of acorns falling on down
That majestic oak sheds its little seeds
Old age has me feeling like a sad clown
Longing to ride again, runaway steeds
Tis winter! Culprit bringing its bleak cold
Seeds resting secure in the frozen ground
Spring will come and they rise out very bold
Yet again life comes right on around
Nature teaches us, all will be alright
Life and death matches just like day and night
Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2016
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 107
1. My muse woke me at 4 am to write this.
I told her no but she nagged until I rose to
do the deed. I' tell ya , I want to strangle her
sometimes but then at other times love her to
2. The immediate repetition of the word "heavy" in verses two and three is intentional and used for effect, as both the old soul and its life's burdens are now currently found to be very heavy to bear. Poet's prerogative , norms be damned says I.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Black Death Among The Shadows Does Gaily Roam
Black death among the shadows did roam
deep in solitude its power reigns.
Nowhere and everywhere it calls sweet home
and always its appearance brings pains.
Through fords, over mountains into gentle seas
fate sends its messenger in a black shroud.
Never to be stopped by the many crying pleas
or women moaning and wailing out loud.
Its only victorious foe, the light of eternal life
where our Redeemer's truth and divine love grows.
Delivering us from depths of misery and strife,
brought by suffering from fear of death's throes.
Black death among the shadows does gaily roam
Yet tis forever forbidden in God's sweet home.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-21-2016
Note--- INSPIRED BY A THREE POEMS READ THIS MORN..
My thanks goes to these three great poets for the inspiration
to write this sonnet this morn-- Peter Duggan, Lin Lane and Seeker..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
The curtains on a somber evening fell
as weeping angels hushed and pulled me near;
assurances of love they'd softly tell,
to calm a soul who lost a love so dear.
Like ribbons on a memory I reached
to tie them all together in a bow,
now wrapped in every prayer that was beseeched
and warmed within the heaven's lovely glow.
Still, why are Cherished stolen from our midst
before we have a chance to say goodbye -
regrets for one last time we should have kissed,
or even one last time we could have cried.
Yet still through angel tears that have been shed,
I can't believe the thought that you are dead.
Copyright © craig cornish | Year Posted 2016
As beams through blinds half-open softly play
on mottled skin, and helpless, she depends
on doctors and on nurses, none allay
her growing agony that never ends.
Her dread is looming larger. She can’t rest!
She clings to life and ponders soberly
the reasons for and answers to this test.
There has to be some recourse she can’t see
beyond what they’ve endeavored yet to do!
What lesson has she not already learned
with all the many hardships she’s gone through?
She prays to have this last page left unturned,
but then that page is lifted, for that night
a breeze blows in - Her soul to God takes flight.
By Andrea Dietrich on Oct. 24, 2014
For the "Sketch a Character" Poetry Contest of gautami phookan
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
She’d made him out to be larger than life
A hero of the times with brawn and might
The one who could with word put end to strife
And fight the dragons, bringing dark to light
He was to her an angel strong and brave
Who claimed that truth was plain for her to see
She thought he had the power from pain to save
But though she tried her doubts she could not free
And then one day he fell in deep disgrace
The one who claimed to be steadfast and true
This noble knight on steed with angel face
Had changed from brightest light to different hue
Deep sadness filled her heart for his demise
No more was he a hero in her eyes
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
A vision through the haze of time and rhyme
a mirrored beauty, Helen sits and waits.
I see her through the window for it's late,
at dawn, I'll bring her death, for she's not mine.
As yet, the key's not turned in lock sublime,
and I will stand and wait as fear dictates.
The Master's carriage leaves at half past eight
then I approach the shrouded outer gate.
Through the door and to Helen's room, I run,
and grasp her tightly to my beating chest.
I tear the cloth from her and she's undone.
Helen prays for her Paris dispossessed,
as on the satin sheets my stanchion drums
out of fight and breath, she acquiesced.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
Will you be loving me ‘til time is naught?
Your fingers only know of suppleness,
will they not flinch to touch skin wrinkle-fraught?
My beauty withers, cup reached emptiness…
Your love has set my heart aglow, renewed
‘tis ev’rytime your words lave over me...
Like soothing rain on desert sand subdued,
I soak it in, drunk for eternity
Do forgive me, for ever doubting you,
this pain has ravaged me, yet you’re still here.
‘Tis I you love, this I now know so true,
please stay with me, for death creeps in so near
Let saccharine lips meet for one last time
The windows close now, yet leave love sublime
Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011
I've seen the shadowed knowledge of beyond
and have come to know life and death are one
To be tied to hidden dreams and their bond
and melt with the eternities when life's done
To tremble before the shadow of death
and yet seek life with all its reliance
May I honor every precious breath
Till' Earth claims my body in defiance
I'll be more mindful of the journey sought
When I cross time's bridge alone to succumb
and find death's door opened, unlocked as thought
As death's final shadow is life's outcome
What will it mean to stop breathing , to die?
To look at the shadow of death in the eye
contest Death Shadow
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014
an artist through and through.
Her words alit on gossamer wings
as through our hearts they flew.
Each poem was written from the heart
and soul of our Linda Marie.
A visual portrait painted with words
for us, her audience, to see.
We thank you for your friendship.
You will be missed Sweetheart.
We thank you for the words you left us
before your sad depart.
Your beautiful soul, full of grace,
is in a far, far better place.
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2014
Could I take love and push it out the door
Make it to die and breathe of life no more
Could I take love and with a spear impale
To make it breathe it’s last, I would not fail
Could passion be a personified I’d try
To beat and torment, then I’d make it die
Desire would be next my wrathe to taste
I'd murder it for what it’s laid to waste
I would inflict the cruelest agony
For what imposters these have done to me
I’d close my ears to cries of mercy made
Until I bury them and turn the spade
For they have only gifted grief and pain
And clothed my heart in shrouds of the insane
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Let Me Go First
Gravity's getting stronger every year
and my final day here is beckoning.
My sure demise holds nothing that I fear
more than the pain that losing you will bring.
I beseech you love, let me lead the way,
I'll find that gentle place; return to dust,
don't leave me first, not for a single day,
just let me go and join me when you must.
Our lives, our love so very entertwined,
One mind, one heart two bodies came to share,
unbreakable these satin ties that bind,
I must go first and leave them in your care.
It was ordained the morning of my birth,
to love you 'till I lie beneath the Earth.
Copyright © Wayne Sapp | Year Posted 2010
Burnished bronze, tarnished teal,
flare warnings yield to winds of steel.
Their urge to jump, to flee and hide
cuts off the warmth for suicide.
They leap and land at such a cost,
far flung debris- refulgence lost.
They shrivel brown, dark fibers done,
decay beneath the wayward sun.
Their shredded shells in supine piles,
small hells ignite by human wiles.
Gray smoking wraiths slip out to sigh,
soar off to smear the flannel sky.
Green progeny will take their turn.
One chance to live is what they earn.
Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2009
I cut to see if I feel how it's like being human,
I cut to see the pain relinquish inside,
I cut for all the memories that remain to drain down in the sewage
What symbols life runs with death in that rusty pipe.
A slash here and a slash there,
What happened in the past?
A slash here and there,
Soon the memories don't last.
Scissors, knives, razors and sharp edges
keeps a bloody smile, no more weep.
Slice and dice, trim more than the hedges
And I don't care if I go to deep.
One scar closer to a never ending dream,
I don't care if I go to deep.
Copyright © Miggy Lomeli | Year Posted 2014
I seek for warmth by embers getting cold
and though I coax, they will not burst to flame
I sit and mourn the heart of love you sold
that bode in tigress broken now and tame
my body shivers by the dying fire
I wrap around me words of long ago
that scorched my heart with burning tongues of fire
but cold sensations now my heart does know
before I close my eyes and drift to death
I hold an ember close to bosom bare
a searing pain induces gasp of breath
and yet the burn is welcome wound I wear
You left me cold, alone in night so dark
Love's fire died and left me not a spark
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
My lovely Lucy, you’re no longer here
He called your name; you left without a fear
Your heart was tired and more so your soul
God let you rest for soon he’d make you whole
There is sadness deep inside my heart
To know that in our group you’ll have no part
I’ll look for you by name, but I won’t find
That face that was so loving, sweet and kind
I don’t blame God, for He knows what is best
You were His loved one, so he gave you rest
A woman of great faith, you had no doubt
You wrote of Him and all that life's about
I’ll miss your poems, and your friendship, too
One day we’re sure to meet in earth made new
Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. 14 For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15 According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words.
I Thessalonians 4: 13 - 18
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Choices, Voices and Bad Company
Bang , bang , gunshots in heated night air sang
jump back , be careful where you nightly hang
Fun, fun , going where the night action stays
danger waits hidden when nights replace days!
Kick it, kick it, time to chase the gals
beware safety gone if you hang with pals
So carry a shooter , step up your game
name in the paper soon may be your fame!
Hold on, hold on, your future life has game
you grab future rejecting drugs so lame
Stand up , a man that carries his own weight
yield not to greed, lust and all useless hate!
Live on, living to find your star and shine
Live on, love in life , love so very fine!
Robert J. Lindley 08-24-2014
Note: A sonnet that presents today's life choices are
often far more serious when made than young
people can realise. Seeking action and thrills
always come with a cost. Quite often a deadly cost!
Don't freely decide to get yourself so lost!
Been there, down that, long ago..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
Inspired by Frederic Parker's Without Lament - POTD 18 October 2015
Kim Patrice Nunez
19 October 2015
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
The ocean softly laps the boat
as I watch the setting sun.
I drop the flowers and watch them float,
relieved this day is done.
Ashes are scattered in the sea
followed by flowers of white.
I watch an eagle soaring free,
flying into the night.
Tears slip silently from my eyes
as the waves gently lap the boat.
I turn back home in darkening skies
while the flowers and ashes float.
Alone, I head the boat to shore.
My heart, bereft, forevermore.
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2012
Dear freedom, your sweet innocent voice seems
Now like a distant echo, lost in the wind.
Hopes lost in a set of broken dreams,
With heavy chains, to your heart of stone pinned.
Day by day, night by night, without an end in sight,
Tortured by the ravaging beak of time, flying
With wings of solit'de, displaying its might,
And hatred-filled eyes, watching me dying.
These chains around my heart like a vicious snake
Poisoning my soul with darkness and despair.
A dreadful nightmare from which I will wake
And look into destiny's most wicked glare.
I stand under shadows cast by heaven's light,
And into sleep I fade, witho't a fight.
Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2014
Patriot Guard funeral Escort
Loch David Crane
Today is sunny: with three dozen bikes,
some decorated cars, a pair of trikes,
two dozen Marines: all of the family
and toddlers to set their Daddy free
into the Great Beyond beyond the sky
where loved ones send their veterans who die.
Below our feet the stones give way to grass
where they are neatly trimmed; and as we pass
the names of strangers stare into the air
and we look back, wondering who lies there.
I won't step on a grave--I'll walk around
so not to insult those within the ground.
We ride at funerals honoring those vets,
brave men and women we have never met.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
SONNET – END OF LIFE
Fore'er without the pain, always apart,
As now with absent cast of yearning eyes.
Time's lonely quest to heal a wounded heart,
With destined end, to ash returns my rise.
My life ordained to doom in outcast fate,
The zeal of joy turned into woeful lies,
Confused a life in prime to dust abates
Defeats compassion past the silent cries.
From dreams of love to useless life so bare,
Bereft attempts turned into grave desire.
No longer will remains, alone despair,
In end of all that was, of purging fire.
A lonely heart deceased in frozen cold,
No breath remains of ornament once gold.
Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015
Brave Conquerors Of Weakened Tribes
They could never in any great haste
their false glory dare to forsake.
Why abandon that gleam in their eyes
for truth in those sad tomorrows?
Dwell not in that bitter splendor
A victor with a yellow wreath.
In pride hide being a lying pretender
never giving up what fate bequeath!
Restless spirits from vanquished foes
can not invade that haughty parade.
Brave conquerors of weakened tribes
living out a false, arrogant charade.
History now reveals the dishonor disguised.
And tales of false victories cleverly contrived!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2015
In the past, the main thrust of the Holocaust/Genocide Project's magazine, An End To Intolerance, has been the genocides that occurred in history and outside of the United States. Still, what we mustn't forget is that mass killing of Native Americans occurred in our own country. As a result, bigotry and racial discrimination still exist.
"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue" . . . and made the first contact with the "Indians." For Native Americans, the world after 1492 would never be the same. This date marked the beginning of the long road of persecution and genocide of Native Americans, our indigenous people. Genocide was an important cause of the decline for many tribes.
"By conservative estimates, the population of the United states prior to European contact was greater than 12 million. Four centuries later, the count was reduced by 95% to 237 thousand.
In 1493, when Columbus returned to the Hispaniola, he quickly implemented policies of slavery and mass extermination of the Taino population of the Caribbean. Within three years, five million were dead. Las Casas, the primary historian of the Columbian era, writes of many accounts of the horrors that the Spanish colonists inflicted upon the indigenous population: hanging them en mass, hacking their children into pieces to be used as dog feed, and other horrid cruelties. The works of Las Casas are often omitted from popular American history books and courses because Columbus is considered a hero by many, even today.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015