Grave Hope Poems

These Grave Hope poems are examples of Grave poems about Hope. These are the best examples of Grave Hope poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic Verse |
My France, My France
How I weep for you
these tears are not of joy,
for you have let the enemy in,
they brought disaster to your shores.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
The pain you must endure.
For all those dead have,
come to you under burdening
skies.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
Who has put you through this Hell?
It has no face,
I cannot tell,
It's here in space,
the Dawning was its place.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
Your skies have turn to Black
The Peace and Security you seek,
has now suddenly turned its back.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
My tears are not of joy
I pray for you,
my heart opens too.
You may find Peace within.
When your dead are buried and
your revenge has its reward
Come together
Powers of Faith
Come together
Almighty hand and rest upon us
from this mighty land.

Give us your Peace.
We ask thee now
Give us your Peace
We ask how?

My France, My France
How I weep for you
In time of trouble,
what is it can you do?
Your borders closed
turmoil enclosed
The sadness fills the air.

For Peace is fleeting,
The enemy has come there.
Your golden arch is dim.
Your Eiffel black with sin
The City of  Lights 
are in the shadows for his mighty 
hand has struck.

Peace you may ask,
Revenge your reward.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
For can we say, no more, no more.

Copyright © Marilyn Williams | Year Posted 2015




Details | Rhyme |
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?

For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.

From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.

As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.

Copyright © Tom Valles | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Quite frankly, I don't remember at all
You see I was quite young when I took my first fall.
Don't know which parent was there to catch me
Or how hard the decision was to stand back and let me. 
Did I topple forward or backward, or who made the call. 
And who scooped me up crying
After the fall.
I can't remember the joy of first letting go
And taking that step without holding on. 
Groping my way forward
Leaning against the wall
I got back up 
After the fall.
As the Earth spun the years flew by so fast
At 17 I finally knew everything at last!!
Unexpectedly, I fell once again,
Head over heels this time 
And out on a limb.
I was so sure of that bet
I gambled it all
Heart bruised abused and then broken
After that fall.
And then I broke my own promise 
To not love again.
Hungry for life
I gambled to win.
Life is a theatre of first steps first 
A one act play with no time to rehearse.
Co starring in roles
Cast without planning.
"Never more" echoes 
The raven still chanting.
Undaunted unwilling
To let darkness win all
Trusting Father to be there
After the fall.
Then the day came
When I had a son
To let him learn the word hot And hope he'd not run,
Would he still love me
Or trust me at all
When I pulled my hand back
And allowed him to fall?
And knowing I'd be there again
To help him to stand
And knowing he might never walk
If I didn't let go of his hand
And hoping he didn't revert back to a crawl
When I let go of his hand
And allowed him to fall.
As the earth kept on turning
My heart kept yearning
My son now a man
Living and learning.
He hasn't held my hand now in a very long time
The cats in the cradle slowly plays in the back of my mind.
I looked in the mirror today
And noticed my dad.
And remembered a talk that we'd never had.
Remembering how he seemed towering and tall 
And was there every time 
After each fall.
I lose my balance these days now and again
My steps aren't as sure
As they once might have been. 
In the winter of life now
I feel so small
And wonder who'll catch me
If I take a fall. 
I suppose I'll just have to trust Father
With both great things and small 
To pick me up on the other side
When I take my last fall.

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2014




Details | Acrostic |
Long arms of tender compassion
Oneness of embittered Humanity
Visceral faith was your salvation
Encompassing all vain materialism
Lenitive of the corporal punishment 
Illuminating a hope encrypted in a
Necropolis of suppressed ideas 
Extruding life from deep darkness  
Seeping rain from saturated soil
Sedative of every entombed soul

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Read the Bible and the words that are said. Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead! All one has to do is read the book of revelation. To read about this world and this nation! Days of wickedness and evil that abounds.. Shall very soon. Come “crashing to the ground!” For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid! Many have become sin’s servant and slave! Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath! They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path! Right now... There’s a path and a way to “escape!” Please do it right now! Before it’s too late! The right path to take, is through Christ alone! He must be the lord of your heart and home! Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul! He’ll never leave you! Is what he wants you to know! Times of trouble and uncertainty are well on their way! Christ can help you to overcome! He can do it TODAY! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Pantoum |
Was there more between us,... than luck?
How long were you buried, in your shallow grave beneath the oak?
And just when I needed to know the secret of hope,
you whispered out good fortune with your burnished breath.

How long were you buried in your shallow grave beneath the oak,
then rising from the shiver of crumbling, copper leaves?
You whispered out good fortune with your burnished breath, 
to lighten the shadows of my grief

Then rising from the shiver of crumbling, copper leaves,
you patiently waited for the perfect moment.
To lighten the shadows of my grief,
you revealed a wizened, tarnished face to me

You patiently waited for the perfect moment.
And just when I needed to know the secret of hope
you revealed a wizened, tarnished face to me
Was there more between us,.... than luck?



....................................................................
For Rhonda's and Cyndi's Penny Pantoum Contest
(Copper Penny....USA)

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
Seeking accompany- Zamreen Zarook
 
I kick to wonder what made me to cry,
Am really writing as a fry,
Myself launch to be dry,
This ink will be a victim for my cry.
 
What really went wrong with me all these day,
What made e to forget my last day,
I realized I jumped out of my track yesterday,
So I regret for that, what is called as present today.
 
Happiness have started to wave hands for this sinner,
Sadness have started to move inner,
The faults that I considered as miner,
So far changed as a miner of a winner.
 
My face was a comparison to sunlight,
Where as my routine changed it to moon light,
I wish to get that twilight,
As a sinner I started to search for that enlight.
 
I started to enjoy what is right,
I remade my faults as a kite,
I wished it would fly apart from my  sight,
My system said, you are free from your rubbish weight.
 
It proved that I always should depend on god,
In whatever the variation of my mood,
He is there to clear my victorious road,
So, I started to live according to His code.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
From the moment I was born I wept. I cried out of wanting, After all to want is the first natural humane instinct. As I got older I walked through life holding open my heart to experiences even if unwillingly. My eyes remained wide as my legs carried me through twisting generations.

 

I have laughed gaily without judgment, grieved earth shattering loss, embraced joy beyond what the motion pictures portray and loved and been loved more than any fictional character that its writer breathed life onto paper.

 

From cradle to my destined grave I stroll on earths vast plain of emotion to take hold of life and live as if tomorrow my again body would be laid to rest.

 

A newborn cries because it is its horn of proof that it is thriving with vitality. An elder gently sobs under breath knowing each day they inhale is another day of dying. We are born into cradling arms and are buried cancelling ourselves, From life to death we take memories we've made from cradle to grave. Nothing is more precious, needed and wanted to either groups young r old than a life fully lived before the final chapter is read.

 

Birth to twelve is layered in childhood innocents. Becoming a teen is our first presumable milestone and we assume ourselves to be made of granite like Galatea.

 

Throughout our twenties our lips taste first loves even lust but gracefully as we age our minds and souls carry us home making a place to rest out weary bodies, a place to rest with growing families. Children come wrapped in beautiful ribbons and we grow old. Wrinkles come, inevitably dependency goes then we parish to our coffins made by younger, sometimes older hands.

 

But even after we rest under feet of blackened tear filled soil we live, To be born again or to be swept away by Gods gentle voice no one person can say.

 

But we live and breath, inhale life though our lungs from cradle to the grave.

"Sorry for not capitalizing, hope that fixed it! Please keep commenting :) Much love, Whit."

Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2012

Details | Epic |
The stones slipped through the great fingertips of God
Each ligure staked its existence on the four corners of the universe
The quadrivial region began to spin and pull into a sphere
And pathways revealed their footholds 

The fourth ligure bravely landed in the midst of history
So that one day the future settlement of the second 
Would be moved by the last—by the past
Suffering much it stayed
Manifesting in incandescent words
Thrusting evanescence upon the weak
Selfless, it's sorrow would move the merriest
Would move the unmovable

The third lies in the profound valley of mystical guardians
Star-recruited, they are the very light above the canvas of gray
They embrace the stone—are inspired by the stone  
The very reflection of their creator was evident
Upon their unremitting glimmers
Unafraid to stare the others down
Motivated and construed by the glower of death
Eyes move fixedly beyond the simple vast

The second ligure rested upon the shoulders of invisible martyrs 
The hopeful power it planted on the sufferers was unbelievable
For spectators used their disbelief to cover their ever-placed envy
They never were part of the battle—they merely watched
Always seeing truth
But they never quite absorbed
Like a rock hitting the water
The inevitable fate was to fly and sink

The first of the ligures settled in the very reservoir of Satan himself
Even the very heart of the devil is marked
Though rebellion embarked  
The cold stone landed upon his naked bosom
He despaired not to the pericopal truth the gods had bestowed upon him
He merely despised it
But wished not to lose it
For such a stone to fall upon that dark corner—he felt pride for the gracious wound

In truth, there are twelve ligures of stone 
And four were dispersed, dropped into the universe
The last eight the great Eternal wears upon his breastplate 
And only He can re-move these ligures

-July 20, 2013-
-For Shadow Himilton's Any Subject Contest-
-Thanks for the inspiration-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
suppose sun stop shining
and the clouds get dark
when there will not be the courage to face life
will you be there to give me shelter
shield me from the thunder
make me a bed of roses
melt away my fears,
my safety guaranteed.

suppose things will happen
those we term the unexpected
will you handle them as unexpected
hoping lies not perfected
and love remain respected
ours never Regretted
see some rejected
their communication neglected
their memories permanently deleted
but their hearts pulse the same beats
Always in a remember state they cannot reset.

Left in the cold
No one to hold
Heart bled, thoughts dead
Bond broken beyond reconstruction
Permanent heart condition
Said it was a hard decision
You could not replace
“Was not a case”
Where is that one you Praise
Meant to pay your class?
Has he the same face?
He used to give that promise?
Has he left like you left?

Come dear, I will lift you forget you left
Give you my best Taste
All I have, all my love
Dear child of the grave
Come to me and be safe
Come to me and be saved
Bring your love along
Let us live long.

I will do your hair, paint your lips, fit your hips
Make you feel beautiful among beasts
Make you always high on heels and wheels
Be on top that is your place in this life
Stay on top that is your space in this life
You are wise, none tell you otherwise
Live in lies, pay the price
The price is never nice
Be safe, tame the tongue
Come to me dear child
Come and be safe

A future is waiting
When you will keep winning
Come child of the grave
Take my hand
Show me where you want to go
I will walk with you. Hold my hand.
I will go with you wherever you land
In times of tides I will understand
With you I will stand just hold my hand.
Never let it go
Whether it grows cold as snow
And as you Grow you will know
Never to bite that hand
Dear child hold my Hand
Let me follow you to your fertile Land.

Your future is spelt
Go for it child, go Get
Be on top that is your place in this life
Stay on top that is your space in this life
Come dear, I will lift you forget you left
Give you my best Taste
All I have, all my love
Dear child of the grave
Come to me and be safe
Come to me and be saved
Come child of the grave
Take my hand
Show me where you want to go
I will walk with you. Hold my hand

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
A terrifying ordeal,
Not only is my mentor gone,
My lovely Rosie,
No longer does this grandmother’s;
Heart beat,
Tears have flooded my evenings,
Heartache captures my soul,
Day by day,
Improve,
Update letters,
Left at the proper sight,
Whilst time of daylight,
Quells the pain within,
My medium moves me,
To succeed and move on,
Achieve all that my Nonny,
Would have desired me to,
So I push onward toward my dreams,
I no longer feel the need to scream.

Copyright © Melissa Ross | Year Posted 2010

Details | Tanka |
Life like Autumn's leaves
returns to Earth's coldest soil; 
Nature reawakens
each spring, but life never does:
Mankind's last hope lays in grave.


Written on 11/ 9/ 2013

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Forced into grumbling stomach and head throb
It is dark cold emptiness all around
first laid off and then dissmissed from the job
It is a blight on all our light and sound

The wrinkled hours on my both cheek sunken
Driven out from two rented rooms, roaming
Hope hearth home health heaven hell all broken
For food morsels with dogs in the trash bin

Fallen crumbled plundered you all despise
One of our two children is now missing
Wreckage breakage drainage in our void eyes
Moans and groans around the serpent hissing

With our pulverised waves and hungry soul 
We are struggling to get back into whole 
Vultures on our head and the end hems in
Of your poem, O life, we’re still dreaming
____________________________________________
23/10/2016




Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
My heart is beating once again!
Call Archimedes from his grave so we may celebrate!
Eureka! I found it again!
My heart’s pain has gone away!
My life’s darkness has lifted away!
Stark in the middle of the wilderness I have regained the way!
Oh! How beautiful it is to see and feel me back on my way!

Eureka! I found it again!
Call Archimedes from his grave so we may celebrate again!
Writing literature in my dreams,
While praying for success in my sleep!
Writing poems in my head while strolling ahead!
Painting masterpieces in my head while bathing at midday!
Seeing tomorrow today while it’s still too much work away!
Oh! How beautiful it is to see and feel me back on my way!

Copyright © Wiseton Prins | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse |
The brightest green and dullest grey –
The colours of the cemetery.
The ancient yew tree, centuries old,
Still welcomes all into the fold.

The rich and famous, cheek by jowl
Co-habit with the village poor.
Now all are equal in this place:
Past members of the human race.

Old ivy rises from the grave;
It seeks the light, its soul to save.
Consuming letters one by one,
It clings and creeps towards the sun.

With bold inscription fading fast
The master mason looks aghast.
But who was Walter, where is he ?
He’s shrouded in obscurity.

A churchyard is a dead city,
Remembrance of mortality
And yet, despite the fading flowers,
The wren and robin here find bowers.

The blackbird’s sweet soliloquy
Drifts gently from the rowan tree.
Away with death, decay and strife,
Here is a sanctuary for life !

Copyright © Mike Jones | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |
Ship wrecked, what the heck!
 
A dessert island, deserted and
slim chances of survival.
 
Marooned, to be found no time
soon. being gloom will surly
seal your doom!
 
No time to sit upon the sandy shore
and anticipate. Life is precious get
to your feet for goodness sake!
 
In this scorching heat you will
surly dehydrate. Make efforts 
dont sit there and self hate.
 
Got to investigate the island, a source of
fresh water is a must find, before you
start to hellucinate.
 
Make a shelter a place to hide, of the 
ground from biting crabs. hidden from any
prowling big cats.
 
The next plans food, go hunt with a make
shift spear. Into the oceann I disappear.
Breaking the surface with a gasp, a whoop
and a hooray you caught a stingray. you’ll
have supper at last.

Copyright © Andy Craig | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Her pain at ease, her voice a breeze,
She’s gone but never far from you.
The shallow gravitation, she pulls you toward her rest.
Her hand outstretched, grasping to the sky,
Knelt by the grave, you release the pain bottled within,
The grief, the depression, the anger you feel,
One and all pour forth over the soul that is lost.
Her grasping hand with a hold on you,
Pulls you down within.
The grave occupied with the love you hold,
Keeps you always near to her.
From the grasping hand, release,
Escape her shallow grave.
With her name in your heart,
Turn around and strive --through life.
For she’s not in the grave,
She watches above.
And all that you do,
With love, 
she watches.

Copyright © Patrick Whitaker | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
Peace you built your house in the graveyard,
And gave yourself to those scattered bones,
While we toil to have you.
I laughed at the silent chat of bones.

Death how wicked you are!
Your visit leaves nothing but tears and mourning,
Only visiting, but not to be visited.
Can’t you spare, even on merit!

Three hundred and sixty five days without food,
Makes on dry bone yawn,
Like a hungry buffalo,
Those jaws are grudging, budging begging for food,

Death if you can show pity,
Let us know how your place is,
What is your house like? What is your mission?
Though, God made death, man patronizes it.

Graveyard of the dead,
With their resting dry bones waiting for the journey,
With their ears wide open for the trumpet,
For the talks of those dry bones echoes across the seas. 

Copyright © Stephen Aniobi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |
The hope of the living None would hope, like a destitute, by the roadside to rot, With their eyes and other vitals, by the vultures pecked out, Oozing a cocktail of body fluids, unsightly like yellowy snot, And their putrid stench pervading the air, around and about. But, most would hope, though with a morbid fear of the end, That a garland at least, or an array of floral comeliness, Would from an acquaintance, a relative, or a good friend, Adorn the dark envelope, of their cold and silent loneliness. That, dark clouds of grief; torrents of tears, their signage, Would thicken the air with anguish, as the news is broken, That their journey had ended, if even with a high mileage, And threnodies would be sung; words of their good spoken. That, as the wreath(s), though freshly made, goes withering; Memories of them, slowly, yet surely, goes into the obscure, That of their good, even the winds would go on whispering, As weeping usher their metamorphosis into organic manure. Yet, most by their lives, do not on any place such a burden, Or, on the elements, tales of good to convey throughout time. Positive impacts, as engravings on steel quenched to harden, We all must first have on people, to justify such hope, as a prime! Oct. 1, 2017

Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Hold your breath.
Feel your heart pound in your chest,
Yes, life's precious but we run around and second guess it?
These worldly ways destroy us,
We don't trust what came before us,
We want to be the witness and understand how it all shifted,
I in vision it, with a blindfold, 
Under my streets theres a story to be told,
Before the cites and the brick,
I wonder what was here before all of this?
I see a tree every few feet,
and grass cracking through the concrete,
I think there used to be a forest here
but there an't much left,
just a few trees behind my neighbors fence,
This cities like a tombstone on the grave of our beginning,
I hate how we're living in all this power,
So, I took a flower and laid it on the street,
just to show my respect for what lies beneath.

Imagine how it used to be.....

Copyright © Amy Houck | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose |
                                                All in
Deserted beaches. Beautiful. Quiet. Tides stood. Faded by their allotted rounds.  History has an appointment to keep. Gold. Utah. Juno. Omaha. Sword. Normandy, France. Overlord. To keep not hold. 

Forward, lethal, deadly pitch. Channel arrears irrelevant. All in, no return, 
the damned on top.
All in. Quiet, Beautiful. None to dispute or disturb. Not so. Dawn.
1944 day of reckoning. Smoke and noise. Noise and smoke.
All in. At Normandy.

Arising here. End of evil. Drawn in, those who wished and them whom not. 
They were there, men of honor. Valiant, sworn by sacred oaths, less known today the price they paid. With life’s blood and sweat. Their callings, Advanced at Normandy.

Normandy Beaches once quiet. Sixty miles agreed by five. knowing full well their sacrifice. Fated, this age of men and boys, fought for the all. Damned or not. Once gulls floated as they do again. Man’s best being done. Spirits
soar. Overlord. 

The dead are reposed, now assured we make, the taking of life and land.
By force, where necessary, backed by must, the living, with sacred obligation. Stand poised. Ready, to be called again. Stand and deliver. Bargained again with blood’s swift sword.  

Copyright © Dave Moon | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Once I walked without any strain, 
Each step now is made in pain. 
My spirit still strong and free, 
I feel it stirring in back of me. 

Turning my head, I see its smiles... 
Ushering me to walk those miles. 
The journey almost made, the destination I seek,
Even though I am now frail and weak.

Moving in shadows of black and white, 
Teetering on the precipice of forever night. 
My past coloured in rainbows hues, 
Brilliant shades of rose and blue.

Yet as I near my journeys end. 
I yearn for it all to begin again. 
I hear your voice whisper in my ear... 
For you dear spirit, express no fear.

Fear is not felt, by the young and the brave, 
For they can not fathom, death and the grave. 
I'm left wondering, if when I am finally gone, 
Will my wonderful brave spirit, really live on? 


Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2006

Details | Verse |
Sun, my ever coming, now my ever going friend!
Mourn not, angelic mate, though this is the end
For as I watch how parts of you are slowly gone-
Still, others greet you on your shining throne.

But dear Sun? Why yet you grieve?
I never wanted more to leave!
Feel not forlorn- I'm just forsaking life-
This child of Death, this much false strife.
The game of Life's designed to betray 
All hopes, all dreams...I cannot stay,
For every night when in bed I lay
In grave to wake up I cease not to pray.

He'll never slake his thirst for pain.
I'll leave him first- by my own hand slain.

Oh, thank you, Sun! Thy smile to me so sweet.
 I'm glad you see how fake is my defeat.
In vain away I shall not fade-
To be a different shadow in a world of shade,
I'll let him in- the Devil I presume,
And all his evil seal in fragile tomb;
And soil shall smother, worms happily consume,
Till wounds of Earth do heal in barren womb.

A place of birth, though scarred by silent stone,
Shall be my grave when sins imposed I do atone.

But as for now, I bid farewell.
I long to spend some time in hell!
We'll meet again, but not just yet-
I ought to join the rotting dead.

Copyright © Dimitar Kovachev | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |
A bird flew to my Window.
She was light and exquisite on her sill side perch.
She sang of her nest
in a tree.
I went to the tree
whose bark was scarred and thick on old plant flesh.
the Green Tree told me
"these are my roots, 
that sit in this soil"
So i dug a grave.
Deep and dark and narrow through earth.
And my grave told me
"this is your soul,
with its wreath of stars"
The starlight shone,
sober, with weightless import.
The stars showed me
a Mirror.
In darkness we sit,
we sit as one.
One breath,
with naught to be told.

Copyright © mike lay | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse |
I've heard roots digging underground for me'
they need my concentrated pain to blossom
in whispered scent of angels bringing Spring
and pure white Hope of finding ageless Love...

copyright@iolandascripca

Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |
Eyes have now adjusted
Hands are now in view
The air is dry and falling short
I’m thinking now of you

The immediate world is stifling
But you can set me free
Come seek, my love, find me here
Please come now and save me

Oh, bring me from this darkness
The air it now draws thin
My love, I’m still waiting here
A shallow grave I’m in

Like being buried, yet alive,
Are feelings I’ll know best
Until you come to save me, dear
Until love manifests

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008

Details | Dramatic Verse |
“Query”
from a word miner non-trumpeting
Beatle browed quarry man.

One emailing digital commoner bemoans assiduous, 
zealously yearning xing worthy values undergirding 
the storied renown quintessential peaceable operation 
nations marvel lately kindling justice,
institutionalizing hope, gentility, freedom, equality. 

Dummkopf Donald Count Drake
Hula iz destroying cradle, 
where forefathers/mothers begot
America. He shows no demonstrable diplomacy 
DURST donning duplicitous damning dingbat drive.

THUS...SPAKE
ZARATHUSTRA GAVE ME THE GREEN LIGHT 

I call out President Trump blitzing, donning, 
and flagrantly hoisting his arrested development 
proof positive he lacks the acuity,
diplomacy, and generosity to invite kosher 
or Goyim mandates.

As an anonymously, devilishly, 
grouchy voluntary member
(as well a deplorable basket case)
of the one man literary duh vice squad keeping
a mostly straight and true reputation for Hilary Clinton
(versus his claim of her baseless crookedness,

she evinces qualities immediately evident 
asper an old gnarled hickory stick), I will 
stick tommy figurative guns in an
attempt to staunch the figurative bloodletting heaped
upon admirable Democratic constituents.

Concomitant with this near impossible mission
will be my unbiased opinion, that our FAKE
commander in chief aspires to abrogate, 
denominate, and generate demonstrable gimcrackery, 

invidious kleptocracy, and incorporate
questionable statecraft.
Analogous to an old chestnut tree apothegm
(well rooted to create self serving, 
vassal hating (viz vacillating), 
retreating, and re: tweeting.

Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
tomorrow’s a new day
when
this
night

will be forgotten
And
the light

and the might
of the eager armies
surging to war

we’ll have forgotten
what the fight had been for

and the wind whispers peaceful death
over grass reaching for height
and the moon in the morning sky
and the silver-hot fright

which the living things move by
driven to flight

when the quickening pulse
and the mood is just right
when the life-shedding earth snake
pulls my skin around tight

i will cling to the new grass
Like the cold morning frost
i will sing to the very last
i will sing very lost

Like the song of the deep sea
Like the howl of the stray dog
who scours the night streets
outlined in the dense fog

when the earth overturns itself
yet again as it always does
when the ends of the universe
touch me, soft like my mother’s blood

i will change in the darkness
like a lady undressing
i will cast in my fury
every trapping and dressing

I will rage in the silent storm
I will find peace at last
I will blaze across eons
I will lie in the grass

Copyright © Justin Aptaker | Year Posted 2017