Loss Write Poems

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

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Details | Haiku |
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013




Details | I do not know? |


I've Scribbled This Song For You...


I'm wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin...


now I'm all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now...

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I'm tired of being so carefully hid,


la laa laa la laa laa laa...


(repeat to fade)


:-)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.

Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.

Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.

-10/14/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013




Details | Romanticism |
I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Wrestling Verses


Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,

fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,

remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.


Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,

scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.


My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,

your skin,
your bare back my canvas,

my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.


Wrestling verses,

lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,

still,

my fingers tickle your soft skin,

my ink would run dry,

were it not for your gentle touch

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
[beforehand i just want to let you know that i wrote this in honor of November 17th. which is 
To Write Love On Her Arms Day. im hoping to come up with a better one before than. but i 
still hope you enjoy this quickly-wrote one(: ]

this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my struggle,
my fall downs, 
&& all the breakdowns.
this is about every wound i placed upon my body.
over 60 self inflicted wounds,
that as my story went on they began to heal.
i stoped writing "give up" 
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my past.
how it haunted me for years,
&& how im still running from some of it.
this is how i went from a hood rat,
to me actually caring about myself.
i began to write love on my arms<3
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about how i learned to keep the bottle off of my nightstand.
i dont need liquor running through my veins 24/7.
i started to look at life through sober eyes.
i began to write love on my arms<3
&& as i wrote this day after day, i saw that i was loved. 
i found comfort in better things then pills, liquor, && razorblades.
&& even though i am still in healing,
my story is not over.
&& it will never be.
i still write love on my arms<3

Copyright © Saralynn SpaceCadet | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Wondering if it’s an omen, finding the box in the attic today?
A treasure trove of memories into our lives
This piece of paper upon which I started to write a poem
I remember at the time I could write no more as I grieved

Missing you as each day goes by and wishing you were here
I know you are in the ever loving arms of our Lord
The Lord sent you down as an angel on loan to us
You were called home dear and we were not ready

I know we will one day be together again
Waiting for the day we will be called home also
Now the poem I started to write to you is finished
Our time together will come again my daughter and 
never end

Written by: Carol Brown
 For The "Treasure Trove" contest of Linda-Marie
1st Place Winner

Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012

Details | Couplet |
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent

The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath

As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store

If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display

I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed

I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve

I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate

My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near

On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue

I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December

Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught

In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime  

To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host

Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being 
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing

Copyright © Shawn Sackman | Year Posted 2009

Details | Haiku |
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
Omniscient guy
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Happiness in a Wrong way – Zamreen Zarook

In the notion of seeking happiness,
I thought of stepping in to nonsense,
I dream I could find success,
But I had only little access.

Every attempt that I lend,
It was an utter failure at the end,
My life was full of difficult bend,
But God is always there as a good friend.

My deeds travel in various ways,
Some times in subways,
Or in times it goes in highways,
But I had the belief, God is there always.

North and south families surrounded,
East and west friends are rounded,
Every time fear on death soughed,
I am trapped, and my merits are loaded.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
What I do to deserve this heartbreak,
this horrid and unnatural pain,
this cleche of events that strike me simultaneously
as the time ticks away,
and as the grinning faces pierce a whole through my soul
and my heart turns pale and slowly beats.
My heart is torn in two,
and I cannot find the doctors to stich me up.
I ask an old man,
how does love go about,
he smaked me in the face and went on.
The pain and the sorrow,
it is too much to feel,
too much to gain in one serving,
When I eat, I taste posion, not passion,
familiar faces turn grey, with ruby eyes and sharp fangs
they hiss at me, like a cat to a mouse.
I don't understand why I deserve this.
I am a good man,
who loves with open arms and a big heart.
With every hug I give,
I recieve a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds,
suicidal tendencies roll through my mine,
but I quickly throw them out,
because Mama didn't raise no coward.
I see the blow, I clench my fists
and swing away,
God cries wanting to stop this madness,
Death laughs and soon joins in,
people join in and punch away.
I lay there on the concret blood everywhere,
my heart torn out of my chest,
each with a thousand knives stabbed in it,
as it slowly beats,
I lay their on the pavement,
looking up to the heavenly skies,
and as it starts to rain droplets of hope
I ask myself,
What did I do to deserve this?
Then, I shall close my eyes
and rest for awhile.

-9/23/13-

Inspired by all the betrayal and heartbreak I've faced, by so many cowards who didn't want to recieve my love. People I had thought who were my friends, came with invitations of humiliation and hate, and now I see who my real friends are; this pen and paper... Have a good day.
P.S. No one should ever be shown this much betrayal and heartbreak. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. Have a good day!

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | ABC |


Bitter by ; being mentally bruised and battered most of my life,
shaken with fright without a single soul to help me
through the troubles unseen horrors of the night, 
from an evil source that I fear to strike. 
But as the evil forces, who limited my choices 
that when I found my stallion horses. 
Swiftly it came to my head I can run and I cannot hide, 
feeling the Beast closing in on every time I decide to hide. 
Tired of running and tired of alluding this
relentless creep as my red bolt eyes weep 
feeling rest-less, likes a lonely defeated warrior from his home in retreat 
that is when I knew it time to rest, to release my Beast. 
But in a fight, I may not win however as I cast out my dirty words sin
I made sure it felt my impact, to the bloody end.

by Keith Kadell

Copyright © Keith Relf | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
Can you hear the thumping, thump, thump of my heart beating away?
Can you hear my whispers of love in your ear,
as you sleep the night away in your bed, laying on the virgin white sheets,
tangled in blankets?
Can you hear me sing our favorite song, as you walk down the lonesome avenue?
Can you hear my soul, cry out for a warm embrace of your sweetest hugs?
Can you hear me cry out for a simple, loving kiss upon the lips?

I don't ask for much from you, my love.
All I ask you, is if you can hear me, and to see that you still believe in me,
and I haven't became a figment, a ghost in a scrapbook.
That I am still there with you, and not a picture of a memory collecting dust in a box.
I don't ask for much from you, my love.
I just want to know if you can still hear me, deep in your heart!

Don't forget about me.
Don't move to another, without first accepting that we had something beautiful.
Don't let me go off and vanish in vain.
Admit, you loved me, but you were afraid. Of What? I ask myself.
I don't know.

Can you feel me, touch you gently on the arm?
Can you feel my embrace, as you sit there crying on your bed,
crying to the pattern and rythmn of the rain tapping on the window pane?
Can you hear me, can you feel me? Do you even know that I'm here, with you?
Do you...?

Don't destroy something beautiful.
I love you.

I don't ask for much from you, My Love.
all I ask is that you remember.
You remember the laughs, the fun we had,
the long walks, and the long talks.
Remember the Ferris Wheel at the amusement park,
where we first kissed.
And shared our first corndog together,
and I won you that purple stuffed teddybear.
On cold nights, we'd cuddle together.
I'd write you love poems and we talk for hours about nonsense.
Remember, how you'd cry and I'd hold you, and kiss you upon your sweet head.
Remember, the nights we'd sleep together,
and the mornings we'd wake up together
with a smile and a morning kiss.
Do you remember, My Love, Do you?
Remember the good times, and don't get up and leave so quick.
To jump right into someone else's arms and forget all about me.

Can you feel the pain I have for you?
Can you feel the love I give to you?
Can you hear me sigh and cry, for one more night of love with you?
Can you...?

I don't ask for much from you, My Love.
All I ask is that you remember me,
For I still and will always remember you.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Sitting on a lonely bench,
Memories got me blenched,
Your heart I tried to clench,
Though, the rains got me drenched,
From hearts I needed to entrench...

Your words not retrenched,
From things I wanted to bent,
While you often tended to bend,
Without letting me mend...

You, I tried to fend,
You borrowed and erased the times I used to lend,
Manipulated and used by you,
Pretending to be a friend...

From hallows I ascended
From errors you descended,
My life wished to be attended.
Even though, you got me expended,
My hands were still extended,
Even though, you got me offended...

The times I misspended,
You still condescended me,
Though, the changes were about to be impended,
I was still amended,
And I was still intended...

But, I was not comprehended,
Even though, you were condemned and untamed,
While I was aimed to be blamed,
Still, more thing you wanted to borrow and gain...

Although, this is the end,
The ways, I will paint,
For the pains to get unbended,
As I contemplate nature and life,
With memories that swayed and portended,
As my soul slowly transcended,
While sitting on a lonely bench...

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Well we are already a couple of months in so i just wanted to say welcome. 
this will be a new journey for the both of us, so i hope it will be awesome. 
I will try to write more than usual this year, I promise. :)
What would help tho if you readers would send me topics and stuff to help me write about things cuz my mind goes way faster than my fingers and i cant think of just one thing. lol. so thank you readers. plz comment and tell me your thoughts.

Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation 
                     of words cascading from a nebulous eye 
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto 
                     a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,

and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly 
                     sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades 
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry 
                     fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,

Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion 
                     itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so 
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever 
                     careering from caustic career path to another new low,

Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s 
                    counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the 
                    fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp 

Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent 
                    with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering 
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond 
                    farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering 

Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and 
                    gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the 
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed 
                    existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a

Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding 
                    gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of 
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels 
                    in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love. 


Praise no other; I am poetry.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Oh well here I go again, 
wishin for a dream that I could be wrapped in, 
entrapped in, 
torn away from addiction, 
destroy the tele… 
vision they strive to force upon you, 
its all false but you know I’m true. 
They will not protect you when you scream your broken cries, 
they are merely evil faces of masked men behind illuminati eyes 
with which they hypnotize, 
brainwash you with their lies. 
I've got those deep thoughts pouring in, 
all the roads I've traveled down
conditions I have traveled in 
here in my pretty town, 
the 910 deserves a crown. 
East Coast I'm representing, 
I promise you I am not venting. 
High on that purple haze, 
And still haven't slept for days, 
excuse these bloodshot eyes
with a krispy kreme glaze, 
some will try to say its just a silly phase...
My mind is so graphic, 
use words like special tactics, 
unmistakable like D'Jango, 
or a peace signs' angle, 
destroy the crave for war and struggle, 
no need to explain all the trouble, 
with places burstin’ into rubble, 
Rebel! Rebel! We’ll show ‘em hell! 
I’ll be fightin’ when I'm dead, 
kick and scream till my blood is shed, 
let authorities know the message will be spread! 
Put on a show with a little bit of passion 
or the bad things will continue to happen.
Get the love through your head, 
all this hatred should be dead, 
what I'm saying must be said, 
before the gauge goes into red. 
With vocabulary this brilliant makes a female more vigilant, 
like brothers boston what I speak 
my words alone will make you weak, make you faint, 
Like blood spilled by hands of a vigilante saint, 
trust me lifes too short,
you dont have the time my young cohort, 
wait until your words make an enemy
cause their threatened by the uncertainty 
that you will make it this far 
make a point unlike this war
next thing you know you see ‘em sweat
words fresh like paint drippin with purpose, 
makin ‘em wet.  
I finger paint a master piece with a just simple rhyme, 
just don't pull your piece on me just let me speak, my mind, 
while I unwind, rewind all this blasphemy, 
continential catastrophe, 
I may have to beg and plead so that my boys can rest in peace 
sorry for the interruption, 
don’t blame me for the corruption, 
for now I'll put my words at ease, 
hope you told someone you loved them today and that it wasn't a white lie, 
just a tease.

04.27.2013

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Carpe Diem |
Look upon city once known by name,
ruins that I called home, streets swallowed by flame,
in time alive shell not witness less of what should you understand,
reach on to hand of a stranger, scroll remain;
in signs that might be changing welcome,
different of a man.

When dawn awakes and there is no light,
upon dusk of man darkness will be spread by sight,
in time not different change will arise, life we thought you knew,
death would recognize.

Hearts will bound to King without a Crown,
why do mothers shed tears, echo rooted in the ground,
is there reason of a foolish wars, contracts written in blood,
new born babies died breathless, can't even appreciate the Sun,
don't deserve to live, not worth of the land,
existence will be scattered in ashes,
you will be remembered
by name.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Pantoum |
We know her future could be bright
If not for death that snatched her dream
She was the queen among her mates
The few she left here said it all

If not for death that snatched her dream
While on earth she nurtured the best
The few she left here said it all
A jewel worth many to pens

While on earth she nurtured the best
She was the queen of her mates
The few she left here said it all
We know her future could be bright

Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
I am dead without my love.
It is simple as that.
I cannot breath without her,
I cannot eat without her,
I cannot write without her.
I cannot live without my love,
I am dead without my love.

I cannot prosper without her warm embrace,
I cannot think without her by my side.
always thinking of her, sharing her love I once had,
with another.
My heart breaks,
and my mind is gone.
I weap... I weap...
I cannot handle the betrayal of my once love.
I am stuck, sitting in dark corners of dark rooms,
staring at blank walls, thinking of what once was.

Her beauty,
her smile,
the laughs shared, and the tears we weaped together.
Holding hands, you and I, walking down sandy beaches,
and beautiful highways, full of love.
How we sat on park benches and kissed the night away.
I cannot believe you are gone, with another.

I did what I could,
I loved you endless time on my hand.
Our time spent together was special and near to the heart.
Do not expect for that happiness to come again.
For that has sailed, to far East, to the rising of the new day.

But, I cannot live one more day without my love.
For what I had with her is unexplainable and beautiful beyond definition.
I have seen the wayward signs point me to the direction of you.
But when we see each other, you don't spare a passing glance,
as if I was a ghost, an invisible man, like air.
That is when my heart breaks, torn in two, I cannot see me without you.
Walk with another, shall I go, now this without you.

For she is my everything, beauty and nature.
She is my rose, my violet, my nightingale singing her songs, in the twilight.
She is the sky, the sun, the moon, the trees, the grass.
She is everything to me.
She is even the summer storms and Winter blizzards that roll in and destroy,
beauty and harmony.

I cannot live without my love, for she is my one and only.
I do not like to beg, but love me once again and live with me forever.
For you know and I know, and the world knows,
That I cannot live without you,
I cannot live without my love,
For I am dead without my love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
for being born with you to begin,
its been a long time since my last confession,
I don't wont your blessing,
lies and resurrection.
I don't believe in love, I don't believe in faith,
cant stand my own kind,
humble in hate,
I don't believe in truth, I don't wont to be saved,
erase me from your list,
buried, unmarked,
graved.

Abused as a child,
bloodstains of a man,
only shovel awaits,
forgive me if you can.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A single kiss from thy lovely lips,
so sweet and so divine,
yet I taste posion upon your tongue.

Your beauty so glorious,
like a blooming rose so beautiful,
yet, why do mine eyes go blind
in the sight that you walk along with another?

Yes you, walk with another,
arm under arm,
lips touching lips in romantic kisses,
it makes my blood boil,
for mine lips are dry.

For mine eyes have seen your glory,
yet no one here listens to my story.
You are evil, yes you are,
don't try to deny,
Listen to a man of experience,
you might as well save some expense.

I write of our long romantic walks
we took together, under the shade of olive trees,
how we went apple picking in autumn time,
and made love in the foyer.

Nomore of that sweet and passionate love,
nomore silent kisses in the night,
when the wind blows hard against the branches,
that tape violently on my windowpane. 
Nomore somber tears shed, when you got sick,
and nomore warm embraces when you shed tears of betrayal.

Betrayal now is a game played by a fool,
such as I,
to think I'd have a happy life with you?
Huh, only a fool would think such a thing,
but now I sit, looking at the foyer,
where we once made sweet, passionate love,
nomore will that foyer be filled with exotic pleasure.
Nomore will you be filled with smiles and exotic pleasure.
I've done my job, as a good man shall do,
now pack your things and get of my stage,
the spotlight yawns for anew,
and the audience grows tired and restless of you.

Now I live life anew,
you too shall see life in new eyes,
walking hand and hand with the blond, blue eyed devil
you call your own.
Shall he take one kiss from your lips,
and die of the posion he tastes on your tongue,
shall he go blind, when he sees your true, black beauty?
He will see the ugly soul, covered up by white rags,
and cheap makeup,
and then he will come to me,
and shake my hand in condolence
and say, "You were right!"

Now you are all alone,
looking for another, as you did many times before,
Now you are alone, walking an open road,
spying on another,
fear of being alone.
Now, you see when you play games with a good man's emotions,
don't try it,
because a good man is not meant to be toyed with.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
I need you
To clutch me tight and
Wipe my tears away.
Telling me 
‘I know it looks bad but it’ll get better’.
 
I need hope
To come along and
Recuse me from 
The ceaseless
Pit I recurrently fall into.
 
I need someone
To be there when
I have my blade.
To say
‘Don’t damage your beauty’.

But you aren’t there.

You don’t listen;
Not to me.
I’m never there for you,
You completely
Shut me out.
 
As if I don’t care.
Like I’m not good enough.
Too pathetic; too worthless.
Not worth
The trouble.
 
So no one takes 
My blade from me.
And the angry lines slash
My arm
In every direction.
 
So there is a hopeless void
Inside of me, 
That grows bigger
Every day.
As you push me further away from you.
 
And I cry, 
Every night I cry myself
To sleep. Focusing on beaten
Broken hearts.
Because without you there is no reason to go on.

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Stimulating ideas pop into your head
You need a pen…you need a piece of lined paper 
It looks like you’re outtah luck…no wonder you’re drowning in dread
You need a shoulder to lie your head down for a moment’s rest… 
You need a helper…to aid you while you struggle emotionally…
I’m not trying to irritate you purposely

Try with all your might…try your best
To stay optimistic and fervent 
I believe that you’ll pass the test
Be upbeat, kindhearted and jubilant  

I appreciate the words you wrote on my notebook…
Sometimes, I feel like leftovers left on the counter…
I’m a rotten mess – you’re leaving me as if I’m an uninteresting book 
Sometimes, I feel like a coward – I don’t mean to bother…

But, you’re like no other . . .

You’re like a mat – you’re constantly stepped on…
I’m like YOUR unwanted tool – 
I stepped on you and
Pushed your buttons
I accused you of being the fool 
When, in fact, I’m the fool by your side…
You’re drifting…pushing me aside…

I’m writing words of truth though – 
Expressing how much I’m fond of you 

I esteem your presence
Glowing with glee 
At times, you do say things without thinking 
I’m the god of distress – 
You’re leaving me breathless 
Cutting me down like I’m some decaying tree
You don’t see how much you make me…
Guilty for your crimes
Taking the blame about the hundredth time 

At times, I feel that I’m awkward when I’m around you

You’re like a backpack – you carry everyone’s weight…
You’re like a sponge – soaking in our stress
I’m a distraction to you – you’re wasting valuable time…but don’t hesitate 
I’m writing words of self-centered feelings – logic doesn’t exist…
But these feelings aren’t as bad as committing a crime
These feelings come and go – I just had to confess 
I didn’t mean to screw up your progress…

Hey, if you need a few sheets of paper to right on, 
Use me like a notebook instead…and write with all your might
It seems as if you read me…like a book that drags on and on 
Use me as your tool of relaxation… and read me all night  

When you wrote those words on my notebook…
It made my day…you’re such a delight 
Like reading a fascinating, classic book

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Jump up and down like a jackrabbit
running through meadows
running from what?
Could it be heartbreak,
a venemous snake that hides in the grass,
hiding with fangs ready to pierce the tender skin
upon the tight, bronze flesh of everyday life?
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now!
I need a vacation a long way away from the faceless smiles
and ignorance of young girls, who don't look at you,
who don't show you love and respect.
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now,
as jumping spiders hop everywhere, crawling eight legs around me
my soul black like carcoal, but my heart still beating
slower this time, not like the days before
and like the jackrabbit running from anything and everything,
I run to seek love and vanish away from the empty voids
that people call, their souls.
Recording a film with no tape,
talking to a woman you love, but not having the guts to tell her how you really feel
Jump my boy, like a jackrabbit, take my advice
tell her before she leaves
turns down the endless avenues of endless dark love
the trees grow taller, taller than you
and you sit there feeling away yourself die, missing out in life.
I cannot see you lose your love.
Say it, say it, Say it!!! Tell her! Tell her! Build the guts up!
Build up the courage, tell her how you feel. Take her by the hand and never say goodbye! Never say goodnight, stay with her till the flight comes in the morning
of the first rays of sun shine through your dorm room take her and love her!
Do not be like me, the jackrabbit! I see no happiness
Reading poetry it makes me sad,
to write of others falling in love and I never finding the one.
People tell me, you'll find yours, have hope
but I am a frightened little jackrabbit
who flees from sounds of deep emotions, not having courage to fall in love,
not building the guts up to tell her how I really feel.
She walks alone, I find my oppertunity and sing my love song
She smiles and moves on,
please tell me I cannot fight anymore.
All I have to say is Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I need a vacation
to go to some sandy beach on an island of love
and write and write and write, the same poetry that depresses me
but makes you all fall in love with words!
Fiction about love stories, please kiss me
Blue eyed death comes, plays a game of chess with me
I bet twenty, he bets my soul
Kiss me death, the only love I'll ever get,
besides my poet friends who kiss my ass
Listen to my heart, truely, I don't write of beauty
I write for the sorrow soul, the fleeing jackrabbit
running away from love.....

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013