Best Bereave Poems
This solemn shore of atrophy called grief,
would sail on, sail on from this moor of thief -
while yesterday I smiled, and did achieve
today am stricken to a nodding leave!
This buckling of intent, I do perceive
is more than time can counter or receive
do take more time with me and yet proceed
to bolster me - my actions so recede!
What fondness should attain in this bereave,
it is a mocking sign, its own conceive
is born anew, with someone's silenced knave
and never felt so sharply, now its slave!
has manifested to a halting save -
and captured those surrounding . . . . . true love's grave!
Maples shed their trembling leaves,
the scorch of daylight dies and evening drips
in pools of reddish hue as I bereave the absence
of my heart's desire with saddened, love-lorn lips.
Happiness, a blessing never to be felt again,
slipping from my memory, as distant as the moon;
'neath cloudless skies I roam for miles to look for rain
in search of solace, for my spirit's sorely hewn.
Her gleaming beauty doth illuminate the night,
sets flares to shame, outshines the blushing rose.
I'd trade my soul and halt the oceans in their flight
if only she'd forgive me, put an end to all my woes.
Posed such, in its formidable array
would guess that all protection in refer
not deem my soul respectively, relay
but from some archway's character of serve!
That guard of my esteem, not turning gray
is from some inner peace, not just of nerve
the loyalty I've bridged by my own stay
now chances not its entry as conserve.
For naught the times, nor beckoning's concur
that shoulder decorated stood its ground,
some rite of passage, measures not impure
or guesses at my fancy, or my frowned!
How steady in some answer of reserve
would guarantee its effort, so unbound,
that resolution's comfort not deserve
or its entailment daily ne'er impound!
Is freedom such an answer, I not need
when life holds such encumbrance up her sleeve,
prescribe me not, in entities concede
but brave begot ~ a childhood of bereave!
The Sentry, grasp the plot ~ remit, receive
to bear it all, a blossom of Faith's core
that from behind, attacks are so conceive
the narrowing's remind, an open door!
The harrowing of purging not refined
a net of undeniable content,
the message straight from cowardly assign
and from its framework, instigates resent!
That Hell be guarded once, and so confined
the nature of the whore that so compels,
is tempting of man's nature, so inclined
and reconciles its effort, "all is well!"
And so it be, prerogative regress
is functioned only lightly to incline
to rob my thought, my enemies redress
and matter less, to only spend my time!
Forfeits agenda, reconciles, climbs
that merit of dissension leaves encore,
all but that host's dimension steeps unbind
revolving with ascension ~ perish more ~
And tumbles its direction ~ out of line!
To be continued ~ The Sentry Rhymes ~ Dangerous times.
Note ~ Guard duty is one of the most sensitive, and loyal of commitments.
Such as that of a noble entity, a queen, an endangered person, or even
a family, spouse, children. Today our protection needs to be more loving,
more personal & caring, not back turning, and avoiding. Our own National
Guard need to be here, at home, on board, with their reason intact, and not
forged from some idealistic, protectionist bourgeois ~ needing to be
everywhere else!
My old home town, 12 years old and playing in the hay
preparing feed as I waited for sunrise, that fateful day
The suns warm rays broke the dark crispness of my world
Just as if windblown leafs, the rays of light began to whorl
It nudged life, to wake from sleep, on this November day
Then painted my world in colors, instead of moonlit gray
Thankful to see the sun, tend animals, I didn’t disobey
I cleaned up, caught the bus, to learn at school this day
A simple, wonderful life, in a world that's about to change
As we listened, we learned our ideas aren't so strange
My teacher's and classes are great but, I must confess
we'd see movies, even watch TV, but not to an excess
After lunch I had history, maybe he had a movie to see
But, in class he looked sad as I heard the intercom key
"Our President has been shot, teachers turn on your TV"
As we watched tears flowed, it wasn't a movie we'd see
Learning of fear, uncertainty, hope and prayer I bereave
That life is like a roller coaster, on this day, as we grieve
My world and life changed this day, seeing life so brutal
Was it pointless to live free, an effort seemingly so futile?
I struggled with this many years, then in 1969, I choose
It's better to die free, than live in fear of what you oppose
A fragment of my life.
Started writing this for Broken Wings contest
but, I lost track of time
Yesterday she left , warm and sunny ,all pleasant and funny
Spend some time with me she said, for soon I will leave
I lingered many months, my season ends , I will come again so don’t bereave
Gone are the long summer evenings full of crickets ,cicadas and fireflies flickering light,
Blinking their secret codes, mysterious and magic , in plain sight
Marking time with the pale yellow moon passing thru starry fields of dark summer nights
Fall sweeps in, proclaiming loud and clear, the death of summer is now so near
The seeds run full nourishing the land , acorns dropping ,and everything ripens,
Soon the trees will change their skin and like magic a new life appears
From vibrant green to orange, red and yellow
Long slow and rolling , dark green and pale ,the waves tamed and mellow, carry their lament
Carrying a sharp edge the cold ,damp wind brings sudden intent
Grey banks of clouds, long and low stretch to the horizon with their rainy content
Soon Jackets and jeans ,sweatshirts and sleeves will take their rightful place ,
Layer upon layer will I make of bare legs and chests that were openly seen
The deserted beaches , falling skies, pale and pink, all proclaim the long rest is now at hand
Painted pumpkins all in a row dot the land with orange and black
Mister owl haunts the night in his favorite wood on wing and nightcap
While lingering over bare earth and frosted fields of yellow corn and golden ripe wheat
Couples and lonely people ,walking silently, hand in hand, hurry back to their retreat
And sailboats huddle close together on dry land almost within reach and wistfully watch the sea
And I will sit near a warm glowing fire, book in one hand, sipping hot cocoa or tea
I drink poetry and excrete it in my imagination to the taste of soup, inspiration in my gutter of sky, the farces run the barn of wood crawling fingers, digging deep into the fury velvet twilight map the location
Entertainer decapitate loyal crew to the kingdom of kingpin round morning blessing brother meek of submerged answers never to be repeated to the third person singular, but lukewarm of appetite detached morning mum.
Line of angry dull pin the sharp hap to the loot of moon pointing straightforward to the faded Antilles, Western Indies scruffs of limitless anchor of my days to that thwart of subliminal good to go.
Smiling moon to the center of the sky peep into my prison of imagination, padlock to the gallows mistake shaking the dignity of arrow to the cloak the tempest banana republic to repugnant whistle sound
The kilos of rhythms backed up my pant of pain to till sunshine yet to blame the belated from the bereave lure to deputizes the post of ray to tray of mishaps, the din of lion claws of fun rub truth leaning side by side sip the peg of life to the smile of hyperbole.
The sharp thoughts quick under my pillow from voices of an Island crying to trembling hawk jog of bug nails sound decontrol of hail night and the root of thief.
There’s a clock on my wall
in the den – striking ten
as I slink down the hall -
simply remembering when
our passion was valid
and truthful
and honored
and sacred.
Now the clock strikes again
chiming four – on the floor,
a famous cherubim
writhes from the lash of my claw.
His flush face turns pallid.
He’s cringing there
duct-taped
and naked.
See my blood loom like lye
in a glass on your table.
So swig me and swill me -
there’s no warning label
to inform you of danger
when romance goes awry.
Your amorous arrows
belie.
Once again the clock strikes
singing eight – it’s too late
as I relive the likes
of a cursed crippled fate -
without legs to stand on
I’ll falter
and stumble
to then fall.
Six a.m.- dawn has cracked.
You may leave – please perceive
your silk bags are all packed
there’s no time to bereave
and before you’re begone -
take this clock,
as your gift,
from my wall.
My aorta grew cold
in a bowl on your table.
Now chew me and chomp me
and swallow when able.
Cupid’s retiring -
and his bow’s being sold;
his lackluster work
I’ve cajoled.
Written for and dedicated to
my loving Father: John M. Heck
01/18/1935 - 02/14/2003
Manipulation
Doctrines, Orders, at times, Education
Aim to accomplish manipulation!!
Message permanently caged in store;
Is a hand working puppet from the core!!
You either learn to change your mind
Or learn to change your humankind!!
Civilisations that we blindly receive
Humanities will permanently bereave!!
Claptrap compels you to avidly learn:
“Boy, good Titles are a thing to earn,”
On split boots, bendy legs then stagger
Weighed down by on-the-job blabber!!
Nay, clever and lively children we bear
Till by controls at School learn to fear!!
And, many cartoons that on TV feature
Educate infantile minds to fear nature!!
For, with a villain’s loud, eerie growl
Tells minds that evils are on the prowl!!
Invariable evils, minds they manipulate
To fear Good and Villains to emulate!!!
JM
13th March 2014
I see a bullet comin' at my skull
I'm running
I see responsibility, too much, too dull
I'm running
I see a system ringing corruption
I'm running
I see peril leading to disruption
I'm running
I see a hopeless, dire situation bust
I'm running
I see dreams on a self-collecting dust
I'm running
I see what I see, breathe what I breath,
I ain't tryin' to plea, nor think, I can't bereave,
Can't sink, I need to be free,
I'm teetering on the brink, I can't be me,
Only thing up my sleeve...
Keep on running!
I heard of lands both far and near
where wealth beyond tale can conceive.
With rivers deep and mountains sheer
for the brave to challenge and reave.
I heard of them and I believe
this call that moves me to explore.
I should follow my heart and weave
the path where none has gone before.
Through legends spread by foe and peer,
my head and heart do wish me leave
the comforts of my home so dear
to seek the thrills that I perceive.
The first to achieve and retrieve
power and fame I can’t ignore,
the tug on the conqueror’s sleeve,
the path where none has gone before.
I’m confident in what I hear,
stand ready with sword, shield, and greave.
No time for mortal dread nor tear.
No time to cause angst or aggrieve
the loss of friend or kin bereave.
I sail to explore a new shore
and swear on death I will not leave
the path where none has gone before.
I seek your audience and ear
to beg, my dear Prince; I implore
your blessing, funds, and ships to steer
the path where none has gone before.
In Youth-less Age
Though gentle, hopeful drifts we brood,
but age our wont be kind enough,
in threescores is when life imbued,
will partial be the earthly stuff;
but you'll still be my fancy then,
when Suns shall be the Shallowest,
and dry as those days --my fingers, pen!
Diluting the persistent best;
then shall I my own mind bereave,
when servile times would near a close,
but will your eyes, mine still deceive,
that greater truth than life propose.
The understanding of our earth,
up till we stay, --the way shall give,
entwine when with a lovers mirth,
we not our age but more shall live;
there I shall be a part of you,
though life may still not worthy be,
but time the hearts as one does sew
and breeds the soul's eternity.
Soon ladies fine with auburn head,
in youth's subservience shall grow,
with shadows white and lips blood red,
to whom the haste --the world will owe;
but, by the words that reason frowns,
and those that cost if cared for less;
within the gardens, across all towns,
just you my dame this heart possess,
as your my gardens cherished fruit,
could time nor age do you wrong,
your grace can shift a hand from mute,
such do my rhymes to you belong,
and the words, claims that come to me,
be their center, and my days renew,
until the time this soul is free,
and life us quells, an end pursue;
the end of the sojourn we made,
shall love then still be intense more,
when breaths and sight move to a fade,
like youth, your age --I shall adore.
R.N.Khan, © 2012
Let your puzzle
Be the last amongst bereave
As in trying to preserve, I’m sure
It will end with you a hassle.
In life, having all the challenges
Has its own derivation to pulse
Expect them and prepare
Even the worst it may become.
Always consult the Father for Guidance!
slice me
dice me,
stab me
jab me,
poke and
prevoke me.
leave me
bereave me,
taunt me
haunt me,
whack and
hack me.
spike me
strike me,
hit me
slit me,
drill me
then kill me.
Oof
Don’t put your view all are blind
They can’t see ten or nine
They have determined they can find
Solution is already all know shrine
Bereave is not necessity it always dawns
Scarce barks all the day as unwelcome guest
Put your disguise on your veil
All viewed your deceitful hay
Shame on you for being that that
Looting always day by day
Poor creatures are suffocating
Swallowing your poisonous play.
Some say that love is dead,
But can that really be so?
Is it an idea, a thought in your head?
Or an emotion you outwardly show?
They say that love is no more,
But is that really true?
Must you ask for it, implore,
Or does it come naturally to you?
I heard that love has been destroyed,
But is that believable?
Is it simply redundant or unemployed?
Or a state that’s unachievable?
It’s said that love is in the past,
Old-fashioned and out of date,
But do we all just move too fast?
Perhaps we need to stop and wait.
I watched as love was laid to rest,
And I suppose to see is to believe;
We buried it dressed in our Sunday best,
A love we bereave but cannot conceive.