Best Frailer Poems
In a house too huge for them to maintain,
a man hunched over with back pain lives
with a disabled daughter and
his very elderly wife.
A recent heart attack
has left her frailer
and meaner. The
doctor “says”
she will
die.
Not
willing
to get up
or walk for years,
she had atrophied.
Refusing sponge baths, meds,
or a private nurse, she screams
for her ill spouse whose little strength
does little good. Time is crawling on
the doomsday clock: two minutes to midnight.
Feb. 18, 2018
For Emile Pinet's the doomsday clock: two minutes to midnight contest
Categories:
frailer, death,
Form:
Etheree
I wish that I had the heart to hate you.
I wish that I feel the way you do.
I wish that I could dismiss of my conscience
And I could do the heartless things you do.
I wish that I could make you feel as I do,
As you starred me in the eyes just to say
I’m just a juvenile delinquent
And I shall always remain the same.
I wish I could find humor in your weakness.
At the sight of your tears, I am amused.
And when you fall, I wont be there to catch you.
I'll watch nearby to see how you are abused.
In your time of need, I shall disown you.
I’ll tell you just how much you disappoint me.
Your frailer just once again, proves that I was right.
And you’ve sunk to what I knew you’d always be.
Oh yes, how I’d love to hate you.
With every piece of my broken heart.
To give you the pain you’ve inflicted for so long
And have the honor to tear your world apart.
In the end, you’d get just what you deserve.
The torment, neglect , guilt and shame.
So when you fall and have no one left to run to
I'll be there to save you once again.
For, though I say I wish to be you,
I feel perhaps these words untrue.
I’d still feel the pain much greater, in fact.
The guilt of what I’ve done to you.
I am blessed to have such a heart as mine.
For , you could never feel as I.
It must be quite the same to hate me
As it does to view have from the other side.
I can’t imagine what it must feel like
To never know the joy I feel with in.
To know the beauty I feel each time
I walk away, and fail to take a stand.
I may not make you feel the pain
As I wished so many times I could do
But it must hurt to feel discussed enough
That you have to hate me as you do.
I can’t imagine, nor do I wish to,
To walk a mile in those shoes.
For it’s one thing to be hated by another
But it must hurt to be hated mostly by you.
Categories:
frailer, loss, love, passion, heart,
Form:
The Journey Of Marriage
Grand party, grand clothes, grand decor and grand style!
Well-wishers and greetings cheering the dulled hearts
Silver jubilee's are celebrated by partners with affected smiles
Wars behind doors and eyes literally gnawed out by painted talons
The tongue's wrath suffices enough to dig the other's deepest grave
Hugging and kissing, hot breaths murmuring love,
Recanting nostalgic moments of forgotten years
Questionably doubtful are their publicly remembered memories
Hypocritical man enjoys the pleasures of his self spun yarns
The journey of marriage is of the queerest sort
For the first 25 years the credit goes to the woman
She is new in a family of cobwebbed informal strangers
With unexpected situations and strangeness all around
Dowry and many more expectations with her innocent entry
Barbs suffocating her and barbed wires demarcating her existence
A new family is fenced around greatly testing her tolerance
The frail kneel down and the frailer are knocked out in a wolf pack
The strongest of them bitterly battle through their horrendous lifetime
In the next 25 years milestone the man is crushed by his woman's strength
No more cowing, she now woof's and purrs, her journey has just begun
The new look, the new woman, the new beginning,
A bold woman takes birth, her fur flies, no more messing with her
New music they listen to while forced to to see their real satanic selves-
Tarnished images barren without their much wanted spoils
His wife now a stranger, the truth he faces as she demands justice
Balances are straight, her voice commands respect as her ship sails off
The sacrifices of an egalitarian woman demand numerous accolades
November 12, 2015
Contest: The Journey Begins
Sponsor:Matt Caliri
Categories:
frailer, anniversary, celebration, marriage,
Form:
Light Verse
From heaven I fell in drop to swell,
Upon the waves of Loch Fyne.
From rain to girl, sand born in pearl
thus formed was I divine.
When first formed, I was Unicorn
And no name had such as I
But then the moon, the belewe moon
appeared and Rain rose I.
From rain, to pearl to Unicorn
to maid of Rain who cried.
Who rose, once more, a woman
at edge of ocean’s tide.
Upon the strand two horses ran,
two stallions side by side
each whiter than the abalone
the shell where she’d reside.
No longer could she race with them
all across the ocean's side,
she’d lost her horn and been reborn
in frailer form she hied.
Now, forelorn she rides astride
like a nyph, or virgin bride,
until that ole betrayer moon
returns she'll be not satisfied.
Contest/ Rain, The Story
By Debbie Guzzi
* A Blue moon is an extra full moon in a year.
Often there are many years between one blue/blewe
"betrayer" moon and the next.
Categories:
frailer, fantasyrain, moon, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
Twinkly bunch with loaded school bags
Ambition injustice and itching their backs,
Cunning those faces in front of the gate
Heedful pupils well-chosen apparently late.
A fistful primary breeziness
Shared with smiles, tears and silliness,
Together they brawled, together they fiddled
At times they often complained to be differentiated.
Kiddo little minds and parents appeared unjustified
They cried, they blamed and they lazed,
Loaded by books and rat raced tutelage
They pass by a very dignified teen-age.
Out from the custody of cynosure
Together they stepped towards Lyceum liberty,
Few were classed and few remained united
The formers became edified and rests were unidentified.
A masked – small compliments and the evening aloha
The river side sunset appeared to be ambiguous –
A fiesta time boogie and the overnight cockeyed
At times such occasions made them to blab out their twinkly time.
Grown up as buddies and with time they rationalized
Affairs, status and outlook made them more gratified,
Traits made them parted and one cried in solitary
The formers humiliated the frailer and the frailer remained solely.
Lost in their computations, explores and technological justifications
Few carried out degree uprightly and few were abased shamefully,
Bucketed with knowledge, numbers, meetings and self-worth
They neglected those twinkly smiles who were grown up with assorted life.
Few became responsible and few got hold of ménage
Few were invited and rests seemed out of the sight.
Hearsays few get together known to be friendly trinity
Yet there also they lived with different hierarchy.
Left away life they sacrificed the age of assorted life
One who lived with it can now front the barbarous life.
They lost themselves to their twinkly buddies’ mobilization
Upcoming in their lives they will surly come by friendly exoneration.
Dated: 18/01/2010
Categories:
frailer, friendshiptime, together,
Form:
Narrative
Asunder have all my classical forms and themes been torn,
Who tore them?
Who destroyed them to bring the poem down to the earth?
Yes, I did.
It is I who is now cold like a fully unthawed polar ocean,
No longer a wrathful wrangler,
No longer bold.
The neatly shaped rhyme and rhythm of verse is now
Like a frail vase, clasped by a frailer fist,
Falls only to get smashed on the floor
To sharp smithereens.
When undaunted I trotted upon them,
Found my feet hued with
Beautiful stains of love.
Categories:
frailer, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
She was taken away from me,
At such a young age,
We were just newlyweds,
When she fell deathly ill,
To an unknown sickness.
The doctors could do nothing,
But hope that the sickness would pass,
Each day; she grew frailer and sicker,
Till the sickness consumed her,
And she no longer could hold on,
And passed on that fateful night.
Till this day I still hear her,
Begging me between coughs,
To stop smothering her with her pillow,
Watching her squirm weakly,
Until she layed limp,
My hands were once so gentle,
Now that of a murderer.
I felt her heart give way,
Heard one last word,
Escape her muffled mouth,
As she sipped her last breath.
Now on this night,
She stands before me like a silhouette,
A horrid creature of decay,
Smelling of death,
With blackened eyes,
And blue peeling lips.
“My dearest Ophelia,
Forgive me” I cry,
Falling to my knees,
Seeing a sneer run across her lips,
As she blows ashes into my face,
Burning my eyes.
“Please I cry” as blood pours like tears,
Spilling from my dry throat,
Feeling my innards as they burn,
As my charred body falls,
Falls to the ground in ashes,
As I part this world,
Into my own hellish torment.
Categories:
frailer, death, forgiveness, loss, me,
Form:
Because She Craved the Very Best
by Michael R. Burch
Because she craved the very best,
he took her East, he took her West;
he took her where there were no wars
and brought her bright bouquets of stars,
the blush and fragrances of roses,
the hush an evening sky imposes,
moonbeams pale and garlands rare,
and golden combs to match her hair,
a nightingale to sing all night,
white wings, to let her soul take flight ...
She stabbed him with a poisoned sting
and as he lay there dying,
she screamed, "I wanted everything!"
and started crying.
Keywords/Tags: Rose, Roses, Flowers, Materialism, Possessions, Shallow, Shallowness, Greedy, Greediness, Desire, Lust, Craving, Cravings, Gift, Gifts, Gift-Giving, Ingratitude, Ungrateful, Ungratefulness, Pomp, Circumstance
What The Roses Don’t Say
by Michael R. Burch
Oblivious to love, the roses bloom
and never touch . . . They gather calm and still
to watch the busy insects swarm their leaves . . .
They sway, bemused . . . till rain falls with a chill
stark premonition: ice! . . . and then they twitch
in shock at every outrage . . . Soon they’ll blush
a paler scarlet, humbled in their beds,
for they’ll be naked; worse, their leaves will droop,
their petals quickly wither . . . Spindly thorns
are poor defense against the winter’s onslaught . . .
No, they are roses. Men should be afraid.
The Monarch’s Rose or The Hedgerow Rose
by Michael R. Burch
I lead you here to pluck this florid rose
still tethered to its post, a dreary mass
propped up to stiff attention, winsome-thorned
(what hand was ever daunted less to touch
such flame, in blatant disregard of all
but atavistic beauty)? Does this rose
not symbolize our love? But as I place
its emblem to your breast, how can this poem,
long centuries deflowered, not debase
all art, if merely genuine, but not
“original”? Love, how can reused words
though frailer than all petals, bent by air
to lovelier contortions, still persist,
defying even gravity? For here
beat Monarch’s wings: they rise on emptiness!
Categories:
frailer, allusion, extended metaphor, girl,
Form:
Sonnet
A weakness wound its wicked way inside
where thoughts of “us”, not love, do dwell and swell,
and formed a nest of twigs to stay the tide
yet cresting waves of righteousness rebelled.
“Stray not,” he said " for look on how I writhe."
Of fire formed made thane to only He.
Yet, man, of mud and clay did breach my pride
for Love of Thee, caste out the likes of me.
Now, Lucifer’s red flame so bright, burns night,
a warning scent to frailer souls, “Don’t fall.”
For even stars misstep, disgrace, pride’s plight,
let his torment be your clarion call.
In light, act right, rise high in good spirit
and say “God, the devil made me do it.”
Categories:
frailer, angst, dedication, devotion, family,
Form:
Sonnet
My mother, who is eighty-five
Has had a very rough year.
So I planned a special Christmas gift
Though it's November and nowhere near.
Fourteen years ago I took her to see
John McDermott perform here in town.
She was over the moon for this Scottish tenor.
Now another concert had come around.
I arranged for special seating
As a walker she now needs to use.
So we were placed in the perfect row,
We definitely had great views.
John McDermott is a people-person,
Shaking hands and signing his name,
So I approached and asked for a photo
Of he and my mother, to frame.
No cameras allowed, but I had my cell phone
So he graciously posed with my mother
And I captured a beautiful picture
Which we can hang right next to the other.
She is so much frailer now
But her smile beams out the same.
In this second photo of the two of them.
Now I just need to find the perfect frame.
Categories:
frailer, family, mother, music
Form:
Rhyme
Out here, happ'ness
impales no frailer scorn
Onto the breath, than
prints of foot reborn.
Categories:
frailer, allegory
Form:
Couplet
Thou wert frail, frailer still thy fate,
Had reasons fair to feel nigh riled,
Your sad eyes sure had looked for me,
O my ill-fated child.
I was too far to welcome thee,
My child, had little time to wait,
Get admired in father’s fond arms,
And ye left, gone from gate.
Helpless not to have held to heart,
Nor yet welcome thou to my world,
Let me the least give thou this rose—
A bit frail, feeble, curled.
Now, amidst piles of painful thoughts
Lost in a time-warped and wan wave,
I’m left to see thy wilted soul,
O to see it till grave.
Ye had come to us long years back,
A bit pallid, my child, and pale,
What a punch time’s chosen to punch,
A gust of wind’s turned gale!
And as I offer thee this rose,
Why, wonder I, wide-eyed and wild,
To just turn time’s page and feel good?
No, my guilt’s piled, my child.
I do admit my guilt, my child,
In plight, for not doing my due,
Here, let me wish, thy new life’s pink,
The wretched me whilst rue.
________________________________________
Musings |03.05.2024| reminisce, remember, rose
Categories:
frailer, child, daughter, remember, rose,
Form:
Quatrain