The artist is absent, i guess i killed her off. Built her, just to break her- like a ceramic cup in the decor. A sway and the pieces fall, broken down in chunks of her pain. In the story of everything, the art suffers- tight ship, bad weather- nothing helps. There's no shore to go to. You stay with the wind, flock with the waves like a clueless bird, hoping someday you'll reach a comfort of a place you get to call home. I didn't feed her soul- with words full of love, hate, sad, happy- all she can feel is a hole, in her life where the content used to be. Where the quill-and-ink rested along with a page, ready to be scribbled, ready to be filled with her mind's rage. The ink bleeds once or not at all. It's tiring, having to walk in the spring season, fresh air, new hopes different dreams and yet feeling like the fall.
Every step she takes, every mistake she makes, all the roadblocks that make her feel nothing at all. Carnations over her gazettes, no scriptures, no memories to recall. It has faded into nothing yet she bleeds it somehow. The writer is absent, I think I've killed her off. Clueless in her own world somehow.
As if it never left
And though your love has departed
and drifts further away with the passing years,
in dreams it remains ever close to you—
as if it were never absent.
In dreams, the past returns;
within the embrace of absence,
the heartbeat echoes more powerfully—
love’s most beautiful resonance,
as if it never fell silent.
And if your love should one day return,
changed by the years spent apart,
never speak to it of your dream—
as if it never left.
Dragonfruit
One year I got dragonfruit
For my birthday
It was so pretty and pink
When Daddy opened it up
It was empty
Translucent membrane
Full of hard black seeds
When I took a bite
It was tasteless in the middle
With black seeds of hate
Daddy loved me like dragonfruit
Flashy and vibrant on the outside
Tasteless in the middle
With black seeds of hate
And pain
But every once in a while
If you cut the fruit in half
And look it in the eyes
Scoop out the very center
It is faintly sweet
To this Mourning idle day,
To the silence of this uncertain night;
I offer the quenched melody
shrieking boastful, in silence of gloom.
In the sombre piano, Chopin
upheaves restlessness crying in fright.
This worklessness pinches deep
the needles, of loneliness wringing again.
An upbeat mourn yearn shows
to reach the absent overwhelmed be.
Here reaches out there to then,
where the answer would approach back.
Sucked back into vacuum black,
Away from the light heavier than dark,
Bleeding in red rose covered
in throes of pain, and beauty of blood.
Leaving behind or being left
behind the curtains of worldliness,
Grounded set her eyes silently
Breathing among the needles of needlessness.
In the silence between us, words become shadows in an absent dance,
Only conscious lies still dare to make themselves a garment,
For, God, who doesn't feel the burden of an eternal blackness,
Drowned in the sea of silence, where words refuse to be law?
The refusal of reason is an old game, dismantled from the use of conscience,
Just as others explored yesterday, lost on paths of uncertainty,
I remain alone in my Olympus, a universe of my thoughts,
Obsessed with unknown meanings, like a conductor lost in heavy silences.
I don't know if and why, like a note hanging in the symphony of forgetting,
The truth I haven't told, yet, to anyone, before dawn and evening,
A precocious truth, but so pure and unsane, still unspoken,
Before curiosity that approaches from afar, in complicated calculations.
One step forward, beyond your passing and transitory death,
Announcing to loved ones that before one's own death, helpless,
There isn't enough lawlessness to defeat the mystery that binds us,
For death is an eternal dance, beyond words, a vague shadow.
A-bsent, but caring
B-ound by social anxiety
C-ontinuing Christian charity
D-elighting in incognito
E-nthusiastic in spirit
Every time I fall in love,
It seems I'm through before I start.
What's wrong with me's no mystery,
I have an absent-minded heart.
I meet a girl, she seems ideal,
But when Cupid shoots his dart,
I tend to duck and dodge so it can't lodge
In my absent-minded heart.
Before too long the girl moves on,
Another romance falls apart.
And when she's gone, I'm left alone
With my absent-minded heart.
I hope, if love should come my way again,
The one who'll win me will be smart,
And in her tender way remind me
To let Cupid's arrow find me
So it can cut the ties that bind me
To an absent-minded heart.
Rumi: I chose to hold you in my dreams because my dreams have no end.
the night's cold air
chills my old bones
my dog snuzzling me warm
she wakes trembling
I know the signs
weather change brings a storm
I love seeing you after a long week
I hate the feeling of driving to your house
I love how we play video games together
I hate that it was all we did
I love my mother
I hate all the problems you made for her
I loved our talks
I hated the way you would talk to me
I love the memories
I hate our memories
I loved hanging out with you
I hated being with you
We used to love each other
Now the love is turning into hate
I love my dad
But, I hate Mark
Echoes, thoughts thrown off-course
illusive as in "vision blurring"...
ennui, with nothing to reinforce
imagery. Silence disturbed by purring,
odd admixture of buzzing and whirring.
Lost....
When I'm without you,
Simply I am lost.
Left on my own and lonely,
Outcast from all that’s glossy.
So far from my one and only,
Too many miles by hoof.
Told you,
I’m lost,
In the shadows,
aloof.
Longingly looking for you,
Only to find you’re not there.
Solidifying what's true,
To be found nowhere.
Liz White,
I’m lost,
Without you,
I despair.
In the echo of your absence,
I’m a whisper in the air.
Police Remembrance Day …..
Whose shout is it today
And knowing who I looked away
For a tear trickled down
For a lost friend of some renown
Our ever shrinking group of friends
Smiled and remembered a time when
They made us smile at their antics then
So here’s to Absent Friends with love we send.
© Paul Warren Poetry
As it is the way with me, I have the car prepped by individuals whose love of the industry has acquired a rather peculiar name, "Grease Monkey."
I have no understanding of vehicles or their inner makings of their encasement under the hood the concepts of an engine. Repairing a flat tire, or locking the keys in the car, whereto, I leave it to AAA for its resolve.
Now the picture is made clear, the vehicle industry is one subject matter, when it comes to my person, I have little to no interest.
Now we're heading back to the Bay Area, and the four of us have some great conversations, lots of laughing, funny incidences in housekeeping.
I drove up to let all three off at Derek's place and waited in my car, as Derek went to retrieve his car. Jane and I shared some new news and there was no mention of that store incident, though it dwells in the back of our heads.
Derek drove to my driver's window, and I said I was going off to work, and I drove away and off to work I went, as they got into Derek's car till I was unable to see them.
Are you synthetic?
Your synapses seem
to emanate
computer code.
No emotion swirling
around your existence,
no rustic vibes
of simplicity.
I crave the timeless
story of passion,
not the illusion
of perfection.
I want to blossom
in the beating music of life,
but I hear only the silence
of your absent heart.
Shadows stretch across my mind,
in grief I'm lost
hard to find.
Darkness whispers,
pulling me near.
In the sadness of your loss,
I disappear.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.