Best Box Poems
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
Checked with howmanysyllables.com
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
__________________________________________
4/12/13
My box of sadness too.
A box full of sadness I store under my bed.
With thoughts so sad
Making me wish I was dead.
With one look underneath my bed.
Memories of you jump inside my head.
Like a Jack in the box, who is trapped inside.
I stuffed my feelings in this box.
I will not surrender to any sadden thoughts.
Shutting the box full of spider webs.
I do not want to feel the deepness of sad, I hide.
This sadness I store back under my bed.
My feelings are better trapped inside.
Staring at the box with my eyes open wide.
Tears start to fall the ones I buried inside
Following footsteps with no guide.
Why did I bother to remove the lid.
Sadness always makes it hard to decide
The pain my heart does not want to see.
Hiding the sadness, I yet have not cried.
I will not release my sadness, and set it free.
I have managed to put the sadness out side of me.
This sadness only belongs to me.
How could you leave with out telling me bye.
I pretend to live my life so cheerfully.
It takes a real person to bring me down.
My sadness trapped behind a fake bully.
Like a smile from a clown .
I put on a show and block any sad thought.
Not allowing my self to drown in self pitting ways.
You left me alone after bringing me into this world.
The one and only person who could be there for me.
In my troubles and need she left me.
Every one saying it might have been suicide.
How could you leave us behind with misery and blame.
The sadness of your shame is what I hide
A box of my sadness under my bed.
By:P.D.----I guess that is one of my sadness. A true one at that.
To:The Rambling Poet- This is a challenge called by you.
Trapped inside with a sadness. The other part of me
There's a little box found in my room,
With heartfelt memories, I won't open soon.
A box of pictures, to reminisce.
They break my heart, it's you I miss.
Portraits of my little girl, When daddy
left, it pained her world.
Oh my precious, I'm deeply sorry,
for hurting you, and causing worry.
A separation that brought you pain,
I wish my love that I could change.
A love a father deeply feels,
I pray in time, your heart would heal.
The years are missing, they pass on by,
I call no answer, there's no reply.
There is a blame I hold inside, and
sadly know the reason why.
There's a little box found in my room,
full of heartfelt memories I won't open soon.
I pull down from the shelf
The beautiful box of treasures
Ornately carved
Warm, yet well worn
To the gentle touch of my fingers
There is no rush
As I sit in this cosy spot
The sunlight of memory
Like a shaft of enlightenment
Beams onto my cheeks
There is a brass clasp
That silently releases the lid
Inset with filigree, blue and gold
My favourite colours
In my favourite pattern
The hinges release the air inside
Like a happy sigh
A hug of acceptance
As a valued friend visits
After life has carved out years of absence
My eyes closed, I reach inside..
I find the sound of laughter
Forest light streaming through the trees
Jewels of picnics and Spring days
Friends I have loved and lost
I find endless Christmases
Warm Summer gifts of love
Painted pictures from children
Smiles from unexpected messages
Or kind words that linger
I find weddings and food and dancing
Music and poetry and photographs, old and new
I remember the holding of many hands
Small, soft, pretty, all different
Some tired and wrinkly (my favourites)
I find emotions that I thought I had lost
All gathered in this precious box.
Placed carefully,
Never broken
Always perfect and personal
I am slightly overwhelmed
(it happens sometimes)
For now, the tears can stay outside
As I close the lid, replace the clasp
Until the next time
I bought a box of truth from a peddler down the street,
even though he told me its veracity might sting.
I handed him a stack of bills and asked for a receipt.
The box was wrapped in violet silk and tied with silver string.
I gripped the lid with shaking hands and paused with bated breath,
even though he told me its veracity might sting.
The truth inside the box was even uglier than death.
It slapped me with repugnance and assaulted with its stench.
I gripped the lid with shaking hands and paused with bated breath.
I closed the box in panicked shock and struggled not to blench.
Receipt in hand, I hurried to return the wretched truth.
It slapped me with repugnance and assaulted with its stench.
I found that lousy peddler selling boxes from his booth.
He studied me with sympathy and eyed my violet crate.
Receipt in hand, I hurried to return the wretched truth.
With fingers clenched in fury and a heart awash with hate,
I bought a box of lies from that peddler down the street.
He studied me with sympathy and eyed my yellow crate.
I handed him a stack of bills and asked for no receipt.
you opened your eyes but closed your mind
oblivious to dreams I kept inside
you saw the package but not the treasure
all of those late nights we were together
you spent the passion but saved your heart
keeping those two things far, far apart
nothing ever ventured, nothing ever gained
so good at keeping it all self-contained
you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light
I thought I had it under control
I could play the game and you'd never know
you were much smarter than I thought
you saw the ruse right from the start
gently, you tried to let me down
distancing me with silent sounds
what you couldn't see--failed to understand
I knew your game but couldn't outrun your plan
you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light
I could see your future and I wasn't a part
you weren't completely honest when we started
I knew there was another, but not the whole connection
how you had already promised your love and affection
so as we go forward with an uneasy truce
bury what's dead between me and you
no tourniquet will completely ever stop my bleed
you'll say you didn't promise to be what I need
you asked me once if the wound was still deep
you can figure that out in this song if you read
what starts with white lies, ends sadly with truth
it ebbs and then flows with each phase of the moon
you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light
stroking black velvet
until her tiny rumble . . .
becomes a huge purr
April 6, 2022
for Robert James Liguori's Black Cat Haiku Poetry Contest
I keep a box of memories
it’s safely tucked away
but now and then and then again
I bring it out to play
a marble here a matchbook there
and pictures one or two
of things I’ve done and wars I’ve won
and yes there's one of you
my father’s broken pocket watch
my mother’s broken dreams
my sons first tooth, a letter home
and empty space it seems
oh yes sweetheart I see them now
the feathers gold and blue
I marked them with the day and date
of nineteen ninety two
and here's the twigs I kept for you
from your father's nest
and tufts of down to comfort you
from your mother's breast
and yes sweetheart I understand
I dearly love you too
and if I could I’d spread my wings
and fly away with you
the injustice of
the powder blue box
standing proudly
on the corner of
fifty-seventh and fifth
A symbol of division
extending the partition
between wealth and
everyone else
back around the way
the old shabby
half shingled house
was home to the
second hand charlie brown
size thirteen shoes
worn by
the size thirteen girl
sitting on the second
stair stoop
when she was just thirteen
no one heard her scream
no one saw her run
and hide in shame
under the rough wool
of poverty that had never
comforted or warmed her
her playgrounds were
clotheslines for volleyball
and cracked tarred side streets
for hopscotch
forced to scratch and climb each day
up through that
crammed and crowded pit
fighting to reach the light before
the trap was sealed shut on the door
there’s a quota, you see
only some will be allowed
a chance to be free
everyone knew
most will not make it through
the others doomed
to return and make do
forced to accept
false narratives and
live by corrupted rules
but just remember
the megaphone
fed down into the abyss
is an acoustic indoctrination
and it never ceases to play
“two plus two
equals four”
a deliberate
echo to trance
the suffocated poor
yet one percent
know the real truth
two plus two
equals anything
you want it to
entrenched in power
they refuse to let go
protecting the system
they must maintain
the status quo
so she stands in line
to make the climb
determined to reach
the top in time
she knows her freedom
is just beyond that light
as she hears the trap door
slam behind
she feels the warmth
of destiny on her face
knowing that countless others
are left behind
trapped in a sinkhole
of poverty and oppression
in a mental cage
that denies their rights
I heard him close shut the attic door,
I snuck in and saw him on the floor.
He found the box that I stored away,
As I turned to leave I heard him say.
“Mom, could you come here for a few,
Whose badge is this and what does this do?”
Placing the hat on top of his head,
Come close my son I softly said.
With a saddened tone I lowly spoke,
Pushing words over the lump in my throat.
That box of stuff belonged to a man,
Who left one night with his keys in hand.
He heard his pager go off late one night,
He jumped in that suit and dashed out of sight.
To answer a call, not knowing for sure,
The dangers his heart would have to endure.
He’d always been brave right from the start,
And was a good man with a courageous heart.
He wasn’t a man like typical dads,
That was mainly because the job that he had.
That box of stuff is his way to pave,
The bright good man you’ll be someday.
Because in that box that you delved into,
Belonged to a man who looked like you.
If you can understand I’ve never known why,
Before you were born that man had to die.
I cannot imagine what he went through,
To save a stranger he never knew.
He faced a danger he didn’t deserve,
He gave his life to protect and to serve.
He wasn’t respected most of the time,
But still he laid his life down on the line.
With all this that I share this day,
There’s a few final words I’d like to say.
All the stuff that’s within that box,
I want you to know belonged to a cop.
There’s a lot of things he never saw,
He lost his life defending the law.
And one of those things that he didn’t see,
Was watching you become what you came to be.
You’re brave like him in the things you pursue,
I know he’d be proud of the life you ensue.
It’s been along time that my heart has cried,
I still remember the night that he died.
Much has happened since the night he was slain,
I think you should know that you bear his name.
Yes there are times that I still get sad;
But I want you to know that man was your dad.
So put the box up my little snooper,
Now that you know your dad was a trooper.
The Box
This box is so small it engulfs me
No windows or doors to be seen
I sit in my corner, thinking:
“Oh Lord, what a wonderful dream.”
I dream that I find a new doorway
The one that’s been there all along
One last look in the mirror,
I know I have to be strong.
I press myself up to the outside
And listen to what lies within
The sound of the silence is deafening
Deep breath and my head starts to spin.
“Don’t go” my mind starts to tell me
The fear going straight to my heart
Blood pumping fast in my veins now
I’ve always been scared of the dark.
Feeling my way through the darkness
I’m surprised there isn’t a lock
My body shaking with anguish
“Can’t do it” my mind seems to mock.
I hear the sound of the laughter
The voices familiar to ear
My hand closing down on the handle
It’s time now to meet this fear.
The motion so light to my touch
My mind all battered and torn
I enter into the limelight
Expecting to meet with such scorn.
The voices abate in a second
No time can be recorded at will
I stare at the faces before me
And notice they all seem so still.
“Good God, my dear woman, what’s kept you?
We thought you would never come home
This party’s been going for some time now
At last you’ve come out on your own.”
I look into the face of my old friend
And turn to meet their embrace
My laughter so light and melodic
The grin spreading over my face
“Sorry I’m late as usual
So much work that had to be done.
But better late than never
The results are second to none.”
I bought a box of smiles
Now I'm in a perdicament
Since there's only a few
How do I best use them
Do I pull out a smile when I see a child
Or wait for a funny situation
Do I cut one in half to add to a nervous laugh
When I'm clearly caught misbehaving
Do I share one with my neighbor
Whose husband is gone and she's all alone
Use them now or save them for later
Or do I put one on when I see a couple
Hand in hand walking down the street
I know how that feels cause it gives me chills
When my girl and I do the same thing
Should I head to the beach and in the box reach
For a smile on a bright sunny day
Or just sit tight for whatever might
Any day come my way
I never knew there were so many different reasons
For which a smile is meant
So I just took one out, the perfect smile
And wore it everywhere I went
Realizing soon after that
That smiles never really wear down
So I opened the box, took out the whole lot
And passed all the smiles around
Now everyone I see smiles back at me
All they needed was someone to share them
I still have a few so here's one for you
They're so popular now everyone wears them
While cleaning out the attic I
Recently discovered
A box full of long forgotten books.
Time had not been kind to this find
As the covers were dusty and the pages had lost
Their newly printed pristine luster.
Despite obvious imperfections
In this aging collection
Of perennial prose and poetic writings
From childhood days,
I suddenly found myself
Transported there before turning
The first page.
I took umbrage over a comment in a current blog, in part stating that poetry, "... is a battlefield..." No. There should be no gauntlets thrown, no darts hurled, and no negative words hurled as if Poetry Soup is a battlefield. I was motivated to write...
Over and over again, blogs become a wallowing hole
where ugliness brews contempt and always takes a toll
on those who are trying to make a simple observation.
Someone takes offense and that provokes confrontation
by a tadpole who'll be a frog and not Prince Charming.
Ya know... the narcissistic type who think it's alarming
that they're ideas are not accepted by others on the site.
Then, it's "Katie, bar the door" and get ready for a fight!
Pollywogs keep swimming in rippling waters of the Soup,
where they take a dump, but don't think of it as 'Poop.'
Blogs are sandboxes where nasty words become litter.
Catty remarks are made by the arrogant and the bitter.
Not surprising, the same ones cut up with their mocking.
It's the same MO they use when they come a knocking...
knocking on new blog doors and causing a ruckus inside.
That's crossing a line that no one should ever take in stride.
Some abuse blogs, as if they're churches or synagogues.
If any part of Poetry Soup should go, it should be the Blogs.
Not as some redundantly claim, should be poetry contests...
Objected to by rallying sponsors and poets in fervid protests.
Blogs serve as playgrounds but break all schoolyard rules
when some can't stop themselves from acting like fools.
There's fighting and tugs of war... never for a good cause.
Gettin' tough over trivial stuff puts a pinch in their drawers.
For gosh sake, act like adults instead of flakes and nuts.
There's never and excuse for acting like a rattlepated putz.