Best Cathartic Poems
listen,
the whispers
of leaves
turn colour
autumn is here.
now that you are gone
who will wake every morn
to lift the sun
unveil the sky
etch in the clouds
who will paint the rainbow?
i had a dream and in the dream i wove you a poem
i used the fiber of my character to create spools of silken thread
dipped in the juices of my passion i dyed them in the colors of my imagination
re-enforced each and every single strand with the strength of my love
touch,
the echoes
of the rain
- waters
- blossoms spring.
now that 'us' is just a word
no longer with you as one
i alone wind up metal toys
cut out paper dolls
the beach swept from under my feet
the child in me flees.
spun spools from the intricacy of my spirit
designed a pattern
to the rhythm
of the music
of my inner thoughts
enamoured in your vision
crystal beads gather on my brow
as i toil your finely bred gift
as i braid every part of me
with every memory
into every sliver of fabric
taste,
uncut
snow shapes
crisp cold
ices the wintertide.
instead now rusted
a fools gold chain of loneliness
hangs around my neck like a noose
mourns a union that once had breath
a twosome that now is dead.
see,
the sand sculptures
paint
rekindle
a childhood summer
past.
sew in the loving glow emits my flawless dreams
with my boiling blood initial my woven piece
my work at an end i awake
you lay there a wingless angel asleep
smiling as if you heard a bell ring
your boundless warmth embraces me
the moon no longer smiles
the stars no longer wink
smell,
seasonal airs
stimulates senses
memories they deliver.
without a touch
barely - i kiss you.
in this
my decade of one
hope is a wickless candle
the night just day without light
in the glee,
hopes and dreams,
in the human spirit,
lives the miracle of life.
magnificent
voices in every pitch
deep and resounding,
the melody of echoes and whispers – uncut.
Jan 4 2017
With Love
Armand
Age twenty-one, so young...was I
I scribbled words, so time could fly
I've always liked to riddle and rhyme
So, I wrote a poem to pass my time
John Lennon's name had filled my slot
I wrote about...when he got shot
So sad a day...I'll always remember
Nineteen-eighty the eighth of December
How cruel a world- is what I wrote
But "most are kind" was in my note
Imagine- if John...were still alive today
There would be more great music...to hear and play
His songs be filled with peace and love
The moon, the earth...the skies above
I'm sure he'd write of righteousness
His poetic thoughts, most of all...I'll miss
Next forty years- I wrote no more
Till one rainy day...when it began to pour
It poured divorce- and it drenched my name
My ex, myself, ourselves...to blame
So, I grabbed my coat...and I grabbed my hat
And I moved myself- a bedroom flat
Then, Lennon's poem...came to me again
So I grabbed my pad, and I inked my pen
With so much time- beheld by me
I started writing again; poetry
So easy now, are words to find
Cathartic thoughts...now cross my mind
Catharsis Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
12/2/2020
Cursing Cathartic
I blooming swear too much these days
It really is disgraceful.
Went from one not to boo a goose
To using words distasteful.
It happened by design you see
Set emotions free from me.
From where they had long lain -
Damaging and wasteful.
Don’t get me wrong it was
Effective in the expressive.
Speed it became habit alas
Just a little too impressive.
Cleansed now of historical debris -
Free at last to be me here now.
Contentment has no such hold over me
It is time for cursing to take a bow.
In the depths of solitude, a poet dwells,
A lover of words, where silence swells.
His heart, once vibrant, now laden with pain,
A life shattered, lost in a torrential rain.
A child, once joyous, his laughter's delight,
Now a memory that fades in the night.
A marriage, once promising, crumbled apart,
Leaving him broken, with a wounded heart.
Yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker remained,
A glimmer of hope that still sustained.
For deep within his spirit, a fire burned,
A steadfast belief, a lesson hard-earned.
Depression's grip tightened, a relentless foe,
But he clung to faith, refusing to let go.
In the depths of despair, he found solace there,
Whispering prayers, releasing his care.
Like a solitary phoenix, he emerged from the flame,
With resilience and strength, he overcame.
For trials and tribulations had shaped his soul,
And from the ashes, a stronger man he'd grow.
He sought solace in the verses he penned,
Pouring his anguish, a cathartic blend.
With each stroke of the pen, he found release,
A balm for his wounds, a gentle peace.
And as he shared his poems, he touched hearts anew,
For in his words, others found solace too.
His story became a testament of grace,
A beacon of hope in a desolate place.
Through the darkest nights, he trusted in God,
His unwavering faith, a staff and a rod.
And from the depths of despair, he arose,
A testament to resilience, where hope freely flows.
So let his tale be a reminder to all,
That in our darkest hours, we need to recall,
That even when we stumble, lose our way,
We can rise like the phoenix, find light in the gray.
To define the word cathartic
It means providing psychological relief
Through expressions of strong emotions
To substantiate one's beliefs
An example is a conversation
With someone 'bout their hopes and dreams
Hopes they have for themselves and family
Helping them stay on stream
Allowing someone to vocalize
Their anxieties, their worries, their fears
Can help them out at a time of great stress
Appreciated for the coming years
Therapeutic also defines cathartic
Rewarding both the giver and receiver
Providing each with a feeling of fulfilment
Making each in life a believer
To define the word cathartic
It means providing psychological relief
Through expressions of strong emotions
To substantiate one's beliefs
© Jack Ellison 2012
the simple truth
many do not speak
many do not know
many souls retreat...
the words do not lie
the man behind does
from president to priest
history records acts of deceit
unethical concerns exist
unauthorized remorse
life uneconomical
people sent to die
indifferent religion?
gassed, shot, torture, hung
with a lie this all begun?
A simple man,
in a mad mans head
economics enough to ensure
millions dead...
search, ask who is in charge-
a mad man? his lie?
your lie, your life?
The consummation of this
escape
blossoms into unhindered perception;
Naked, amenable gushes of slated clarity
wrack the the bounds of form;
born to change
the metamorphosis of itself
and evolve into the beauty seen
by
your eyes.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Cathartic Eclipse
I witnessed the death of the universe…
Tumbling, crushing, spinning
in the maddening chaos
of the spiral Time!
Eternity… ceased to exist,
Time… was no more,
my soul ripped asunder
the stars… show no more!
Pleading internally
I succumb my farewells,
emptied my concavities,
ashes of solitude reminded me
of quixotic moments
dismissed involuntarily
you were oblivious to my presence
gazing emptily a brimming space,
surreality became my twisted fate
and no transition left for immortality!
My world is hushed
And I crave for volumes of light
in this glaring darkness of hope
succumbing throes
of cacophonous silence
cocooned in webs of deceit
awaiting the promised resurrection.
In these nights of forgetfulness
my poetry still bleeds inside me
in this realm there is an aeonic distance
between my Soul… and your Heart!...
The warm happiness melting to a cold frosty ice
We smiled and laughed through wraps, pork and rice
I stroll home through snow that soothes my ache
Days continue to merge untill from dream i wake
What do i do through my life as you come and go
I play a small part in such a bold and colourful show
I continue to pretend to you, to him and myself too
That any feelings i had for you are completely through
I think it all through on my cathartic walk home
Hoping that this lifetime will not be spent alone
Helper for heartbreak's dissipation
Coat of slick paint covers pain
His younger hair longer temptation
Gives dead Romeo fresh frame
Travel miles along Australia's coast
Brought assailed soldier to me
Astringent ginger kisses Kylie ghost
Instant skin soothe of proximity
Tersely told stories, recently passed
Undo injury of passion's abort
Urge rapid recovery, characters cast
Script for infant territory taught
27th January
Cathartic Cleanse
(He chose name Katherine)
I tried to love her.
I so was anxious to love her.
A child can endure such abuse.
I have finally broken the noose.
She was unto a monster;
But a child’s eyes are naïve—
Even the bitterness of abuse seems
Sweet in the eyes of a youngster.
O’ how a child yearns for affection—
Only to be mistreated unto dejection.
A child can easily become infected—
Ruined and wretched by adolescence.
I tried to love her.
I was so anxious to love her.
A child can endure such abuse.
I have finally broken the noose.
My eyes water as I introspect.
Within me are splinters I must disinfect.
I have prayed to breathe—
I have prayed to break free of her disease.
I have finally broken the noose;
But it is difficult to completely break loose.
Agonizing remnants pierce the heart—
As I ponder of abuse, my poetic art.
If not for abuse, would I be art?
If not for abuse, would I possess this spark?
Should I despise mother?
Am I not a poet?
O’ how a child yearns for affection—
Only to be mistreated unto dejection.
A child can easily be infected—
Ruined and wretched by adolescence.
I cry for mother. My eyes ache for mother.
I want so much to love for mother. I am
Confused, a reborn child abused. But I
Love Mother, she is my poetic dam.
Naive
MY POETRY IS CATHARTIC
I write poetry about my fears.
Poetry is medicine for the heart,
The heart which has suffered
Pain of isolation, rejection,
Felt the claws of loneliness
And choked in the prison of solitude.
Misfit , different,
Outsider on the inside -
Single-cell confinement
Of a single cell organism
Whose love is unreciprocated,
Or yet unfulfilled,
Or only a painful memory of loss -
Loss of a loved one -
Strapped in an ambulance,
Trapped in a cell of disillusionment,
Wrapped in a nightmare,
With a heart suffering.
Calmed are my fears
And balmed is my heart
By the poems I write.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Leighann Anderson's Contest "Free for All"
To define the word cathartic
It means providing psychological relief
Through expressions of strong emotions
To substantiate one's beliefs
An example is a conversation
With someone 'bout their hopes and dreams
Hopes they have for themselves and family
Helping them stay on stream
Allowing someone to vocalize
Their anxieties, their worries, their fears
Can help them out at a time of great stress
Appreciated for the coming years
Therapeutic also defines cathartic
Rewarding both the giver and receiver
Providing each with a feeling of fulfillment
Making each in life a believer
To define the word cathartic
It simply means psychological relief
Through expressions of strong emotions
And to substantiate one's beliefs>center>
. . . such relief, such ease
itchy, consummated sneeze
cathartic release . . !
She shivers with thoughts
and asks for fleece
to cover her ears, her neck
her eyes.
Sinking into the comfort of skin
she wilts.
She weeps.
It's these thoughts when
the rest of the world is smiling
that are the coldest.
They knock in synapse rhythm:
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Faster and faster 'till the freezing begins.
Occasionally, the tears start at old movies,
or commercials (if they're really good),
but mostly they just wait for the persistent memories.
The war.
Hospital stays where no one came to pick her up.
A mother who spoke of love only with disgust on her lips.
The piano keys turning electric under her fingers
to match her wailing, note by note.
Lost love.
Lost people.
Lost family.
Lost.
It's in a warp of time she weeps for better days.
Minutes dream of her 'till she grows still,
the shaking quieted.
After these thoughts, after warmth, after tears,
after stuffing the synapse strings back behind doors,
closing them tightly, but without anger
after becoming still,
the blood returns to finger tips and smiles
and she uses her quick fix to repair her world.
The waves on every beach which know her footprint.
The birth of her only child.
The purr of her favorite cat as he shares her sunflower seeds
and drinks her beer out of the bottle cap.
Music, ah music, which unravels out of her depths in composition gifts.
Pure love.
Pure people.
Pure family.
Pure.
Emerging tired, but triumphant, over herself,
she folds up the fleece and rejoins the here and now
and picks up the phone to call her daughter,
with only moments having past,
once again cleansing cathartic history.