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Long Bereavement Poems | Long Bereavement Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Trisha Sugarek | Details |

The Ash Can

The Ash Can  ©

I got the call on Sunday night.  I was traveling on business.  When I looked at the caller ID
 I wondered why my husband’s boss would be calling me.  I was unprepared for what
 he told me and my legs turned to water when he said that my husband was dead. 
 ‘A heart attack?  An accident?’ I asked.  ‘No’, he said, ‘John committed suicide.  
 They found him in your garage this morning.’  I heard someone screaming and 
wished that they would stop so I could hear the rest.  His voice was very far away
 and the woman just kept screaming.  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’  I need to hear.  I clapped my
 hand over my mouth when I suddenly realized it was me who was screaming.
 I don’t remember hanging up or getting on the plane. (beat)  Yes, John and I were having
 problems and we had been separated for about three months but nothing was official. 

 After thirty years of marriage I never believed that we couldn’t weather this and share 
the rest of our lives together.  This was just a phase he was going through…some sort 
of mid-life crisis.  This had to be some horrible mistake, a case of mistaken identity.  
My John would never do this, leave me like this.  (beat)  

I stumbled into our home around nine the next morning.  The house looked like a woman
 hadn’t lived there for months. Dirty dishes in the sink, groceries half put away, empty 
beer cans and a full ashtray by John’s chair.  Seeking comfort I walked over to his chair. 
 Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror over the
 fireplace.  Some wild looking woman with mascara smudges under her eyes and smeared
 lipstick looked out at me. I walked closer to inspect this stranger in my house.  
She looked old and used up.  Who was she?  What had life dealt her to look so worn out? 
Oh, God, it was me.  Staring out with those eyes bleeding hot, raw pain.  (beat)  I curled
 up in John’s chair and closed my eyes.  Was this all I had left of my husband?  This slightly shabby piece of furniture that still smelled of him?  How could I tell our children?  Could I bear to go into the garage?  What would I find? 
 I knew that they had taken his body away but what had they left there for me to see?  
Maybe something there would prove that this was truly a mistake.    I rose to my feet and 
walked into the kitchen and through the laundry room to the garage door. (beat)

I slowly opened it and was knocked back by the remaining stink of gas fumes.   
John’s car sat in its parking spot, the garden hose hanging from the back window like 
some obscene snake.  I gagged and pressed the button to open the garage door.  
The passenger side window was open so I could look inside without having to touch the car.  And what I saw on the seat told it all.  There was John’s cell phone, an empty bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Excedrin.  (beat)  And something else…a second cell phone…what in the world? I was only allowed five seconds of blissful denial before it all came crashing down on me.  The second phone…the secret phone that men who cheat keep to talk to their lovers.  All those protestations he offered during the time that we were apart.  ‘No, there was no one else’, ‘I just need to find myself’, ‘I don’t want a divorce’, ‘I just need some time’. ‘I love you; I’m just not in love with you.’  Lies, all lies!  How could I have been so stupid?  Then I notice a crumpled manila envelope on the floor of the car.  Anger driven, I opened the door and picked up the envelope and the two cell phones and went back into the house.  Sitting in John’s chair once again, I smoothed out the envelope and read what was written there.  
‘Ricky, tell Sherry I love her. Tell Sherry I can’t live without her.  Tell Sherry not to cry
 for me. Sherry, I’ll love you forever. I’m sorry.....John-Boy.’  Who the hell was Sherry? 
 Did my husband of three decades kill himself over some tramp?  Some other woman 
whom he barely knew?  I picked up the second cell phone and scanned the history of calls.
  Where was area code 864? As I set the phone down my eye caught the partial title of 
a book lying on the rug under the table.  Picking it up, I read: ‘How To Keep A Long 
Distance Relationship Exciting and New.’  I opened it to the first few pages and found an
 inscription,  ‘To my tiny dancer, until we meet again.  Love forever, your John-Boy.’
My God, John, how could you?  How could you do this to us?  I yelled as I threw the 
book across the room; will this hellish nightmare never end? (beat)  I picked up the
 cell phone and scrolled down the history; Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman.  No other woman, huh, John? South Carolina…hence the long distance relationship…you’re such a fool, I told myself. There was voice mail saved and I listened to the most current ones.  Those messages told a story of a married woman who had a son and a new grandchild. 

Another sad, pedestrian story of a restless woman trapped in a loveless marriage but
 unwilling to leave.  The daughter-in-law apparently would not let Sherry see the child. 
 It seemed that John, in a misplaced attempt to help, called Sherry’s son to insist that
 he let Sherry see her grand-baby. 
 Only to succeed in blowing up that family.   The final message was not so sweet and 
sexy from his lover. Sherry had dumped my husband. (beat)  I didn’t know whether 
to laugh or cry.  I seemed to be trapped in a crazed, unbelievable soap opera.  But what 
is it that they say about truth being stranger than fiction?  I sighed.  John had always
 wanted to rescue anyone in trouble…even when they didn’t ask for help.   He had crossed
the line calling that woman’s son.  Oh, John, what were you thinking?,  I asked the empty
 room. Didn’t you know?  You were her dirty little secret.... (more)

(from my book, Monologues 4 Women) 




Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Vic Pister | Details |

When I Die

When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life 
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes

I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn 
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad

Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way

I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought

I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say

When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield

These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven

The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years

When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned

Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate

The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity

I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow

I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive

I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here

I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more 
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven

My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife

I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm

I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn

When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate

The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife

This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name

Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game

We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind

And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief

Copyright © Vic Pister | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by A. Mark Massey | Details |

The Redemption - Part 2

The Procession

Through love they make the passage into light
of gardens lush and in the morning fresh.
All hand in hand they walk up to the site
she chose to be her final place of rest.
The mourners gathered ‘round the open ground
and sprinkled petals on the coffer tomb.
Cold silence seemed to be the only sound
as bearers placed it in its Earthly womb.
And far behind the family stood a pair
of men in whisper as they viewed in grace.
One spoke about his life now in despair
and other days that brought him to this place.
  “No God of love would leave me in such pain,
   alas my faith in Thee could be in vain”.


A Faith in Vain

Alas my faith in Thee could be in vain.
I’ve called on you to find the strength to fare
the tragedies that fell on me like rain
and in that hour I could not find you there.
My son and wife are now three years deceased.
Malignancy now fills my mind with fear.
I’ve given up my search for inner peace.
Now only manic demons harbor there.
I still aspire that one day soon I’ll be
released from all these mortal bonds I bear
and seek to find in Heaven my relief.
Through faith in Thee I hope to find them there.
  I wonder why the God of grace would plan
  to test the mortal circumstance of man?

The Cancer

To test the mortal circumstance of man
my body fights a battle from within;
the cure too strong for many to withstand
with poisons meant to make you whole again.
My ravaged state had left me but a shell
and made me wonder why I even tried. 
When I had fallen deeper into hell
my life was saved but for it faith had died.
My guiding light had been my family,
in darkest moments there to lead me on.
I realized that He watched over me,
providing strength in them to keep me strong.
  I knew my loving family would sustain,
  In death a living memory could remain.


The Death of a Son

In death a living memory could remain,
the patriarchal heir shall carry on.
In vain I walk because there is no name
to call a father who has lost his son.
He stood by me when I was in despair
and as those hopeless visions filled my head;
so futile my request that life be fair
or pray for death to take me in his stead.
My grandchild's birth, his son shall free our pain;
too young to know his father could not stay
reminding us that part of him remains.
But sorrow won and death would claim its prey.
  With family we may conquer life’s demands;
  one man cannot secure such futile plans.


The Widower

One man cannot secure such futile plans
to ever mend a mother’s broken soul.
She was my lover and my closet friend,
the anguish finally took its mortal toll.
We placed her in the ground atop her pride,
this single grave now binds me to this ground.
And soon our bodies will be placed aside
with fleeting hopes our spirits can be bound.
I called to Him, “Have mercy on me Lord,
in my surrender, I’m a broken man.”
I knew it was His judgement I abhorred.
But who was I to doubt His holy plan?
  A granite stone engraved for evermore.
  The only way this memory will endure. 


The Emptiness 

The only way this memory will endure
when all my hopes have withered into dust
and everything in life I once adored
is gone and now in nothing will I trust.
My shredded faith I’ve cast into the air
in pieces I may never find again.
With you my friend these memories I share
so in my sorrow you may understand.
The listener stood in silence for a spell
then turned to look into the mourner's eyes.
Then spoke of this great gift that had befell
upon him just before his son had died.
  Your faith in life and love you can restore;
  It lies within the heart of one so pure.


The Child

It lies within the heart of one so pure
as we stand before this passing friend.
The life and death for all is to insure
that everything that ends begins again.
A child is such a blessing to receive,
so filled with love it heals our Earthly pains.
Just take this child to heart and you’ll receive
all the love and joy He has ordained.
All those gathered stood for one last prayer.
With silence broken each then found their way
along the paths where others shared despair
among the stones where mortal memories lay.
  The soul will find its way to Heaven’s door
  A stone shall mark all those that came before.


The Redeemed

A stone shall mark all those that came before,
the solitary soul shall reign unbound.
With mortal flesh interned forevermore,
we pray the soul is now eternal bound.
Through faith we seek an everlasting life,
we hope our prayers are heard on Heaven high
A fragile son cannot escape the strife,
through love they make the passage into light.
Alas my faith in Thee could be in vain
to test the mortal circumstance of man.
In death a living memory could remain,
one man cannot secure such futile plans.
  The only way this memory can endure;
  it lies within the heart of one so pure.

                        Heroic Crown of Sonnets
                                        A. Mark Massey

Copyright © A. Mark Massey | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Jayne Eggins | Details |

I hate Mother's Day

Its been over 27 years coming
 this missive or letter,
 maybe poem ? 

I HATE Mother’s day !!
 with a passion ... I've said it ...
 The sheer relief is palpitating
 a load of my mind, and body,
 slithers away peacefully knowingly,
 just to see those words in writing,
 Actually I find the words out of reach
 to express my utter relief, just now 

Don’t get me wrong,
 It’s not that I don’t love or
 want to celebrate my mother
 or lack feeling for her
 Oh ! it’s completely the opposite 

Not only does it remind me what I miss (her)
 but it also reminds me, what,
 what I always felt I lacked
 (as a mother I mean), and I've felt
 it for many years, since my first 

My mother and hers and my father and his
 set the standards so high, so very high
 that I thought hey, I'm smart ?
 I can be a mother a better mother
 like no other, like no other indeed !

I remember receiving gifts
 being overwhelmed with joy
 that first mother’s day
 I was graced with that love
 and all those crazy
 Motherly emotions, we mothers feel
 I felt gratitude for all that
 and so much more 

But then doubt crawled into mind
 setting up house, making a home
 that would last the whole lifetime
 of my eldest son, until these past
 days filled with agony, measured
 no longer in minutes or hours
 but in each moment of pain 

I felt I hadn’t been there enough
 I knew, or thought I knew
 I hadn't loved them 'enough'
 or soothed their pains
 or made their bed 'enough',
 Jesus, the shit I poured
 down my own back 

I lack many things, though
 I had wisp of a dream
 that hope would win,
 I'd be a mother, like my own
 but that wasn't to be

life changed like a hurricane
 I lived one life and then
 another took its place
 no better or worse,
 just different 

my children never went without,
 then they did for more years
 than the former, I felt the pain
 each time I said 'no' but always
 tried to rob Peter paying Paul his due
 and went without, yes even food 

then slowly as times sands swiftly
 drew threw the hourglass
 they all left, got jobs, found love
 and made lives without me,
 I never get to see them much
 some more than others 

over time it’s taken its toll
 I thought lack of contact
 spoke about the mother I was
 how much I was loved
 I was right,
 it was saying something
 just not what I thought 

I have saved two of mine
 from the very hands of death,
 I have went without sleep
 for more reasons than I care to list
 I have answered the phone
 in the dead of night
 spoken about everything
 and nothing 

I missed a call to bail a man out
 but alas it was the one night
 I have known the hands of sleep
 all night, for a very long time
 so I forgive myself, even if he doesn't 

I have slaved and went without sleep
 Christmas night, just to see their
 little faces in the morning
 I always tried my best hoping
 and praying, yes praying !,
 (to that one in the second row
 Saying, "I always knew she prayed")

Some will take a shot at a guess
 at why I write this just now this close
 to a day that should be celebrated
 for all mothers the good ones and the bad 

It’s because even a bad mother can love
 with every fiber of her beautiful soul,
 even a bad mother can be a good mother
 on those days that end with a child’s peace 

As my days trickle to hours and minutes
 I know mothers never ever stop being mothers
 yes even the bad ones, can love forever
 with passion that burns from her womb 

There is a feeling that only a mother can feel
 and I don’t mean just birth mothers,
 I mean all mothers Biological or not
 they all feel it in their hearts and minds
 in their bodies and souls
 even the children she gave homes to
 (but not life), in doing so
 is giving a life to without
 knowing first breath,
 and yet still carry with them a love
 they will always bare
 then as times hand lays his head
 and says enough, she is gone 

it is now on this Mother’s Day
 I say, I hate mother’s day even more
 because I am a motherless child
 wishing for just a few moments more
 so I could tell my mother
 she was the best mother, like no other,
 Because she was mine 

--- 

Postscript:-

there’s a lesson here for you children
 those lucky enough to still have their mother
 give her a call and just say I love you, then hang up !!
 let her think what a "cray cray crazy" child she has
 but wouldn’t change for anything even life
 and I bet she smiles ... eventually 

time will never stand for no man or woman,
 So love your mother and tell her, once a week ? maybe? 

To my kindred souls who have felt the loss
 and the stinging cut of the wounds
 that drip with grief from their loss
 today I hate Mother’s day too ......

but there's a lasting but here,
 I forgive my beautiful soul,
 I gave 'enough', it was all I had ...

Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by DENNIS DE ROSE | Details |

That's Chuck, He's my Friend

What's that in your hand?. Let me see.. He said.
It's a picture; that`s Chuck; he is my friend... I said.
You pick your friends kinda young, don't you?... He said.
No, that was a long time ago. We were in college... I said.
I'd like to hear more about your pal Chuck... He said.

Okay... I met Chuck in New Paltz in `74... I said.
Oh, that's the pot smoking college, isn't it... He said.
Don't generalize, everyone's not the same... I said.
You're right. So tell me some more about Chuck... He said.
Okay, so you want the short version, or long one ... I said.
Whatever you like, I have plenty of time ... He said.

Well, this guy Chuck approaches me; he looks perplexed... I said.
So what was his issue. Why that look on his face... He said.
Chuck tells me "No one will stay with me in the room."... I said.
How odd is that? That doesn't make sense... He said.
You and I swing one way, Chuck swings the other. ... I said.
Now I see what the problem was; What did you do?... He said.
What do you think ? That doesn't bother me.... I said.

Hey, you want to hear a funny story? It's a side splitter... I said.
I've got time. I could use a good laugh right about now... He said.
Chuck had a 53 Schwinn bicycle, all chrome, red and white... I said.
You've got to be kidding me. I haven't seen one in years.... He said.
I'd hop on back. We`d go to town and chug down a few together... I said.
That's not funny. Where's the punchline? So what happened?... He said.
Well, one day Chuck failed a test and got super pissed off.... I said.
That's not funny either. You've got to do better than that.... He said.
He yanked on the handlebar so hard, he busted it clean in half... I said.
Wow ! Did they have "Funniest Home Videos" back then?... He said.

That's not all. We had so much fun together. There's more... I said.
Don't keep me in suspense. Lay it on me..... He said
There was this girl; unique with a special attribute.... I said.
What was so special? Three breasts instead of two?... He said.
No joke, her name was Madam Clittora! Enough said... I said.
I can't believe that. You gonna leave me hanging?... He said.

Anyway, shortly after that, I graduated. Chuck was younger.... I said.
So what happened to Chuck? Good friends keep in touch... He said.
We saw him two years later. We visited With his family, was nice... I said.
Ever see them again? You shouldn't desert a friend.... He said. 
You're right. But things don't always pan out... I said.
So what does that mean? You both seemed quite close.... He said.

I was married at the time with a lot of responsibilities... I said.
So that's no excuse. You should've kept in touch... He said.
After that, I didn't. Time changes things. Wasn't intentional.... I said.
So is there more to this story? There's got to be more... He said.
Oh, there is. Time moves on. 35 years later... I said.

It's 2010 and out of the blue, I think of my old pal Chuck... I said.
So you didn't forget him after all, but almost... He said.
It's a gamble, Chuck Drzal was in the phonebook; I called... I said.
Good for you. You took a chance, renewed a friendship... He said.
You're right. Just like old times. `74 again. What a feeling... I said.
So what happened next. Tell me quick, can't wait... He said.

We talked off and on, old times and new things; it was good... I said.
So it sounds like things are really working out for you guys... He said.
We saw Chuck, in the summertime; looked good for 52... I said.
Hey that's great news; Is there more to the story?... He said.

A little more... His friend died the day after we saw him... I said.
Oh, bummer. Sorry to hear that. How`s Chuck now?... He said.
Called him in November. His diamond ring was stolen... I said.
Wow ! That's a real downer. Did they catch the bastard?... He said
No !... I said.

There's got to be more than that. Call him since then?... He said..
Yeah... but... I called twice... he never answered the phone... I said.
Well, I hope you find out how he is doing?... He said.
I did. Saw his obit a few days ago. He died November 17th... I said.
 
 He looked at me. A tear rolled down his cheek... He said nothing..
I looked at him. Couldn't speak, all choked up.... I said nothing.
He looked at me. Gave me a hug, turned and walked away.
I yelled to the universe... "That's Chuck, he's my friend!"

Copyright © DENNIS DE ROSE | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Rob Tierney | Details |

Comparisons

COMPARISONS

I sit here now back on my bed
Bandaged and still quite sore
I think back to my Mum and Dad
And all they both endured

My Dad he died of cancer
My Mum of MND
Both were unpleasant ways to go
Distressing all and me

My Dad he said the whole way through
That such things were quite shit
“It's not the hand that you get dealt”
“But how you play with it”

He played his days, diagnosis on
With courage and true grit
He even kept his old jumper
Into which he once had fit

In his last days his breath grew weak
He just slept more and more
No longer looked like my dear Dad
Not like he'd looked before

I wasn't with him in the end
When he drew his last breath
I wished I'd been to hold his hand
And hold him as he left

My Mum was strong for all of us
Who were then left behind
We tried to not upset her heart
She's say she didn't mind

We spoke of Dad and often laughed
But sometimes we just cried
It cuts us all when we all thought
Of just the way he died




Bereft of hope, robbed of his strength
Left just an empty shell
Locked up tight inside his frame
He must have gone through hell

Then comes my Mum, my guiding light
She strode right to the fore
She grasped the lead and stood up tall
And led us all once more

For 10 years plus she moved right on
Taking all in her stride
You could tell she missed my Dad
Some things you cannot hide

She too grew ill, and felt real weak
They couldn't find out why
When told that she was terminal
I just sat down and cried

“Why was this all happening now?”
“This all seems so unfair!”
My Mum just smiled, said “C'est la vie”
And sat back in her chair

We visited Mum alternate nights
Myself and partner Lynn
Some days we did a double shift
Although it did us in

I too got ill, not bad of course
But I could not visit
Aware of just how ill Mum was
But I could not risk it

Xmas '11 was an awful time
It really was so sad
Advancing days, time growing short
Not knowing how long we had

My Mum was now in her last days
She knew it too as well
It was just like a crap repeat
Of my Dads sheer hell

Her last day came, I got the call
As I put down the phone
I realised now straight away
I felt now so alone

An old orphan, a silly thought
No Dad and now no Mum
I waited for it all to stop
But no release would come

My world just stopped, the sun still shone
The world just turned each day
My heart was black, devoid of love
“I want to run away”

But that is not the man I am
I buckle but I do not fall
I'm bruised, and bashed and bloodied
But I am walking tall

I feel I am my fathers son
Much more now than before
For those having a real nightmare
I really do implore

Do not give up, do not back down
Stand up for what you feel
Don't be part of the machine
Do all that makes you real

Break down and cry and shout and swear
If its what gets you through
Who gives a damn what others think
Just be true to you

I didn't think I'd get over
Losing my dear old Mum
But now it's over 2 years on
And rarely I am glum

All I do is sit right down
And shut my eyes real tight
And I am back with Mum and Dad
And everything feels right

Whoever said the age old phrase
“Out of sight is out of mind”
Please send this silly sod to me
I'll boot their big behind

My Mum and Dad, live evermore
In cells and blood and mind
And through their kids and legacy
They both have left behind

Still here on earth not visible
Most of the time it's true
But I still sit and talk to them
As I would talk to you

I talk to them, you'll think I'm mad
I simply do not care
It just makes me feel really safe
To know that they're still there

So now I sit down in my room
Upon my empty bed
They both reside down here with me
Even though both are long dead

There's more to life than physical
Of this you can be sure
There's spirits, aura's genetics too
And feelings too are pure

So when I think of Dad and Mum
I sit down with a smile
And shut my eyes to be with them
For just a little while

I feel their warmth, deep in my soul
Just like a summers day
It brightens up my darkest times
And chases them away

I'll leave you now to close my eyes
And see them both again
I'll tell them that I spoke of them
With love and peace my friends
----------XXX---------

Copyright © Rob Tierney | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

The Weddng Ceremony of the Dead, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel s Les Noces de la Mort by T Wignesan

The Wedding Ceremony of the Dead, Part One, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Les Noces de la Mort by T. Wignesan

Orgy of stone !
I drank hate in your inferior parts
And bathed during a wild summer our green sepulchres
O ! death
and my animal mouth became distorted
on those decomposed lips which long ago turned
strange

Stricken by god for having loved you
during transfiguring summers O ! Madeleine
wholly naked breasts dried up by such severe beauty
and by such an impetuous sun between your legs
and upon your flanks two large smelly wounds

I loved you streaming and golden through fatigue
O ! grape of sin ripened by my gaze
I loved your heated mounting sucking in shadows
and the houses  your famous teeth and your gardens
all juicy the evening of the dream of whores

Nocturnal city whose walls of tears bitter crypt
the obscene litanies that I have sung that I have prayed
to your Madonnas of pleasure and those testing
the guilt-ridden ex-votos which I trimmed
during my wild years !
How I prayed  shed tears  sang
How I intoned in a tenebrous voice your praises
at the organ of winter’s rains in the tubas
vertiginous in the shade
and how I walked !

How I stalked Death for a long time under your arcades
with my blood I mixed the oil of cobbled paving
where I looked atrociously for pure crime
amongst discordant murders  the agonies
the love

And the svelte leaded-glass window I loved
so naked in the square of memory
that she was visible in the great heaps when her haïr
raving cascaded graminaceous over you  revealed
your proud marble  O ! speechless
that she was grave and sculpted by your labours
death which bathed you with her tender arms
that she was tall like down in the depths of the lakes
and that your rivers ran sweet on her ivory

How difficult was the offering of tears  where to be  
         crucified,
you appeared
to be betrayed down there in the darkness

How she was superbly black this heavy calice
raised by two hands of blood over your sin 

Which
             from the other being never useless
									is the tomb

					II

Lord ! You looked for me
in the vacuous waters of a woman
under the searing myrtles You stifled her
the youthful dead drenched in tears ! And you cried out
more desperately than the light
and You laughed at the earth   one could hear
Your heart beating ferociously amongst the stones
Father of my pain ! You tear apart my demise
but why destroy the cadaver since You want
the blood ? and why the emptiness ? and why
do You let me have this victim ?

Hands sullied by the night   Am I the murderer 	
am I the cursed priest of this death
have I eaten the bread over her and drunken the wine
have I shed Your blood over her
							 have I invented
her body  cross of voluptuousness  whereupon to have me 
                                                            nailed 


O ! jealous gods !  what is my crime ?
									I loved her
She was a sword of fury between us
in times gone by,
but dead what can she still retain of my likeness
this forgotten rock pounded by her kisses ?
Is this blasphemy
that these rites of a pious heart
serve as down  under the stone’s wing
a black sun in her hair
a sip of shadow at her lips
a portion of autumn in her hand
a herb

But O !
You aren’t at all deceived by these environs
of alleys  of tranquil slumber : and You require
that I were naked in the battle !
Here I am
made glorious, a great flag of adorable countryside
Death
at the highest tower of the impossible,
laid out for her !

I am the fort on which converge all vistas
raised on the naked ire of memory
hymn of stone and the resounding tomb
where adorable Easter rises protected in You
she who was death
						O ! Sacred One !

You Lord, march into crime !
							amidst
the detonations of the soul and the mammoth
explosions of the depths,
hurry up with the profanous dénouement or the darkness
or it hardly matters  the resurrection ! and don’t ever
lift eyes towards the curtain of the theatre.

(from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967)
© T. Wignesan – Paris,  October 1, 2014


(from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967)

© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 1, 2014




					I

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Laura Loo | Details |

Lament Of My Life

Lament of My Life Contest Sponsor: Casarah Nance ~My Bereaving Eulogy~ Time seemed to pass so much faster than I expected, All the love, loss, passion and things I have neglected. How many times have I lost a special loved one? Well, now I am the loss, I'm so delicate and young. Thirty five years of the clock ticking towards my end, I hardly had any time to catch up and make amends. I was born into a family full of love so passionate, strong mother and father, siblings so affectionate. At times as a sweet little girl I was scared to look in my mirror, too scared to see disappointment in conjunction with my fear. Times of broken hearts and left alone, never to feel peace fully, friends left and at times was attacked by bullies. Most of the time I was full of daisies and sweet honey, I was content and silly, joyful and pretty funny. I was raised with love, beauty and constant protection, with my mom I have always had a deep inner connection. Bonded by blood was I, with my brother and two sisters, siblings so potent, conflict and resentment was never considered. Wedding bells rang and the honeymoon came and left, many years I lived with a curse of feeling anxious and depressed. But my husband, sweet Nicholas, saved me from my damnation, so in love with his wife, who felt I didn't deserve condemnation. Then there she was my soul saving wonder, a petite seven pounds, my ravishing sweetheart, a wrinkly face with big doe eyes so brown. In my twenties is when I almost died from my addiction, I was defeated and abruptly damaged with out jurisdiction. Death should've been seeping right through the walls of my soul, My body took a tole, out of control, and yearned to become whole. I have the Lord to thank for my bravery and recuperation, I'll never know why He chose to save me from elimination. The older I grew the more wisdom I seemed to gain, I threw out all the jealousy, regret and constant blame. Back on December thirty-first of two thousand and ten, my big sister died tragically and I lost my best friend. The horror of our last goodbye still haunts me every night, why would she take her life and give up up on her fight? My inner essence was shattered and my joy found regret, I never gave my soul a chance to heal, time to reflect. But the next five years was full of soul-savoring moments, I had an opportunity for growth, sapience and atonement. When I died, the loss of me, destroyed everyone I knew, funny how I hadn't realized how much their love for me grew.... I was chosen to be born into a warm family. Devoted mother and father with more than enough love and peaceful joy to go around. But my personal deprivation caused my fork in the road to veer off and create my own twisted global destiny. What was my destiny anyways? My destiny was to nurture my loved ones and keep my heart safe from the damage of what could've become my daily struggle. I was born to be a daughter, sister wife and mother.... When did I get so lost in the madness of separating good from regret, and distinguishing my happiness and my lower class confidence? None of that matters anymore...what is important is the legacy I left behind is in my daughters eyes and in her smile. She will always carry my sensitive nature in her tiny ten year old soul. My husband loved me so much more than I can have ever imagined. I know this for a fact. How do I know? Well, being with someone for twenty years is enough proof. Regardless of consequences and in spite of wrong doings, I always needed more. “More what?”, I wondered. I longed for the satisfaction in my core that only me and me alone could provide. My sorrow from losses beyond my control has flipped upside down and now I am the loss for others. Their sorrow is unbearable. I can barely shine down upon them because my empathy knows what it's like to lose such an important person in my life. Now more than ever, I realize my importance in the world. I was born to love freely, and I died being loved and needed... loss can break our hearts life was my constant blessing grieve, but see me smile be sad, not for long empathy can shine beyond death can be a gift ~Date Written: March 8, 2016~

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

That Was a Human

Allow me to be disgusted at the jest
and your halfway happy surprise at the end result
of the missile timed precisely:

Did he just splatter?

And allow me to feel the brunt of the bruising
upon my saddened heart, where for others was felt,
from laughing hard.

Yes, all lives matter

Even the ones who don't bear
our national colors
our political expectations    no matter how wrong or right
For just this occasion let us get back to basics:

That was a human

ten fingers and ten toes
perhaps a wife and family to call his own
but do you even know?

            Or even care to think
beyond the face of it?

Getting kicks at watching the Live Leaks
of people being blown to smithereens      It bothers me
That one should find it amusing
Does it bother      You?

---a single tear of blue
is all I'm asking---

Who he was or what he did
what difference does it make?
When life closes the lid
all we have is the acknowledgement:

That was a human      A human

What if those pixels on the screen
were all that was left of that man's memory

would you still find it funny?

And yet still we turn to Facebook Enlightenment
with quotations that decorate a sniper in a holy moment ---

"And oh God. One more thing.
Ignore my enemies heathen prayers
and help me send those bastards
straight to hell.

Amen."

(The amount of "likes" are disheartening
and should be a sin.
Where's the "vomit button" ... ?)

Reading through the comment's section,
like poetry for the juvenile,
and the criminally insane.
No Alka Seltzer      No pills
I'm riding this crazy train unprotected
as if I'm dying for a thrill.

Dying ... at the very least.
Queasy at the vertigo of a nation
acting to love and loving to act

(Nineteen-Eighty-Four called,
they want their plot back)

And have you read empathy such as this?

ROFL, mate! That's classic!

(you have a doggie bag on ya, by chance?
I think I'm gonna be sick)

That was a human

A HUMAN!!!

And you call yourself a Man of God?
Yet still feel compelled
to pull back His Grace to your own ends

... that slippery tide
between your fingers

As if infinity could only be stretched so far;
it won't last long my friend,
before you look into that celestial mirror
scared at what you see

 Is that            me?

Yet still you wear that outpouring of love
on your neck like a trophy
as if you even deserved it.

a single tear of blue     just one
can you give it to me, son?

t h a t w a s a h u m a n

And do you even care?
Does it phase you in the slightest?
Or does a coat of arms
give you further reason to divide?

Jesus died for all      For all

All that upheld the American flag
      as equal to His words.
All who marched to the beat of the drums
      drowning out the birds.
All who bravely proclaimed: We are Heading to War!
                                       We are Heading to War!
And all those who never asked: And what for? What for?

Do you feel its beating on your soul?
S h  o   u    l     d
      I       t        a        l         k
          s           l            o             w?

(the unwritten verses
you added long ago)

It doesn't even matter now,
because all that remains
is what's been left on the page.

All that remains...

Just four sad words
like hopeless sand
slipping through my fingers

That was a human      (or at least it was)
Before Man forgot what he had,
Believing he could do better,
Egging the Almighty to play his game

... back to the drawing board, smirked the Creation

And what about you, Dear Reader?
What will the eulogizer speak
in your honor
when the lights out?

That was a monster
He won't bother you now

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

While Waiting For My Return Flight Home

"You in the military?"

I was confused at first and didn't know why the man would ask me such a question. But then I remembered my recent haircut.

"No... is it because I shaved my head, that you think that?"

He laughed, in confirmation. At the time he seemed good-natured and so I decided to try and spark some kind of conversation. After all why not? I had two hours worth of sitting ahead of me, and I was bored of the silence.

"Do you think it's weird that I shave my head?". Admittedly I'm not the most graceful conversationalist. "Not at all... so why are you headed to Boise?". I told him I live there and that I just got back from Europe. For some reason where I came from didn't interest him much.

"You study at BSU?". I told him no, and he started to sway back and forth. He had a weird habit of not being able to stand completely straight. "What do you do?". And I said I was just a pizza-maker, and thought the description was ample. He paused for five minutes and then said in a low condescending voice "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that. Now what do you DO?".

I was exhausted from almost twenty hours of drawn out sitting, and plus I was never good at clever responses, so I said dumbly "I don't know". He said "What about CWI? You know, coll-ege-of-west-ern-i-da-ho", pronouncing each syllable precisely. Did he think I had mental problems or something? "I don't know, I haven't looked very deep into it".

He seemed irritated with me and continued that annoying sway of his. My shallow side got the best of me and I couldn't help but form conclusions of what he thought of me. Like for instance; this kid probably spends most of his time playing video-games... that is when he's not smoking pot. Hell, maybe he even does both at the same time. Those were the thoughts that came to me and I was helpless to stop them.

He showed me his military ID, saying proudly "See here, I'm in the military." Placing his finger right on his portrait. I said "Cool!". But I really just wanted some peace and quiet. He put his card back in his wallet. But he had this look about him, that showed deep disappointment. He looked as though he was waiting for some profound response from my end. Did he expect me to bow down, kiss his feet, and shout out "Oh you brave man! I'm simply not worthy of your presence!" But no, all I said was cool and continued to look at the giant digital clock on the wall. Will this plane ever get here!?

"C'mon man, you gotta know what you wanna do in life!". His badgering just wouldn't stop, but I was in no mood to breathe any comebacks beside mechanical responses. I could have told him I had a passion for composing songs on my piano, and that I was self-taught; or that I had enough material on my Kindle Fire to start at least a couple books. I could've even quoted Plato, stating "College polishes pebbles, but dims diamonds". But I don't think that would have jived well with him and would have simply caused me more stress. Why should I bother defending myself to someone who knew absolutely NOTHING about me? I just wanted to get home after a month of being away. Not get lectured by this complete stranger who refused to get the hint.

"My son is seventeen years old and has no idea what he wants to do". Was he talking to himself or me? "I'd like to show him brochures of Michigan or Hawaii," he snickered, "Heck, maybe that would get him out of the house!". I mentally rolled my eyes at him - I was simply too beat to do it physically. I've never been so grateful to have a dad like mine. That poor, poor kid! When the plane, at last arrived, I rejoiced that I didn't have sit next to that meddlesome man. I say this in complete seriousness, that he was quite possibly the most irritating person I've ever met.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013


Long Poems