Best Grief Poems
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
*The Dead Poet*
Many blocks along the road,
Kicking down walls of heavy stones,
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside.
Her pen had gone ink dry.
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried!
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Still nothing,
Everything felt dead inside.
Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.
In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry,
A cry, never heard before.
Running from this evil, that stain her world.
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box,
Her insides grasp all the air of air once alive.
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything.
Had nothing left, but the empty space within.
Next!
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.
by;PD
On the edge of silence
beyond the mossy-muffled stone wall
a wind chime chants — faint, like falling sparkles of stars—
honeyed musings of a wind spirit on the move
from west to east a bridge of broken chords.
Cosmic animation stirs my domestic pulsation
in a supple sweep from beyond the western dusk fallen,
soft notes jangle in sweet saunter — so like you,
an angel’s riff on an airy whiff —
O wind chanter, I hear you
and I linger in my undying love for him – for I hear you, singer!
Sing to me of his approach!
For alone, on the cold stone of a lifeless dusk,
I mourn the most.
Like powdered night wings looping the lantern’s glow,
I feel the brush of your touch amid the moments’ flutter
a flirtation with a long tress and frills of my nightdress —
O bittersweet enchantment!
O wild yet tender wind — O miraculous visitor!
But how do I hold you? How do I hold the wind, my love?
Always, always! You slip away on blank paper wings!
My human nature aspires to fly but my every heartbeat caged
ironclad in mortal armor obliged in the grasp of gravity’s greed.
Damn this bane of my spirit’s capture
and this coupling yoke of love that did not die with you!
Damn this bane of my lifeblood, bound to its streambed!
Though my wilted river rises with the throb of a tide robbed
not even a river’s rapture can compete with the thrills
of your unbound freedom — oh death’s freedom!
The ringing sleigh bell singing of spring peepers intrude —
O wind chanter – distant wind chime – your tinsel talk fades.
Alas! He is lost to me again—lost! lost! lost!
DRY MASCARA
Nobody sees through the shadow and the color of my eyes
The times I've cried are the only time you notice the trace down my face
This time,
The sorrow at heart is deeper than anything I've ever penned or spoken of,
an atmosphere of dark film and Revlon
Many times I allowed myself to die, only to return to the living
The numbness of my soul delivers weight nobody can lift
Talk of black eyes, the tale of my life reopens every scar
On good days, the sun seems to stray from where I lay,
Only to reveal the paste that drowns my face
At times I blank out the pain,
the depression compiles the close quarters of my room
Even then, I can't escape every past wound I covered up
Hiding was never the problem, the healing process was
Institutionalized, no longer able to function as a whole
Each cell inside replicates a tight thick wall with no escape
The laughter of nothing sinks into a gulf of tears
With moods more melancholy than most
I press the pain that echoes hard within my head
- I weep
Deep sadness flows with no mercy, no reason
Nothing to cancel out the voices that hush my inner being
In a whisper, I ask for H E L P,
- I bleed
Nobody sees me, nobody hears me, NOBODY.....
The mascara ruins another fake mask
Grief is somber,
a constant reminder to my soul that it can't hide forever
Silence - callous
Until I can't feel anything...
Empty - detached
I felt myself become numb
Emotions gone
I laughed at the end.
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
the raspy whisper
finally
gets my full attention -
wistfully I smile
..for its persistence reminds me of you..
the crisp red leaf
scuttles scrapingly
across the gray pavement
to and fro
like a dancing crab
moving with the whims of the winds
chasing me
as it seemed like I had once chased my dreams;
blown in directions left up to chance
..until I met you..
..is it now, as it was then
Destiny?
for in this instant, my sense of direction
seems predestined..
a smoky scent
spices the chilled blue air
reminding me of our cozy nights
curled with the fire
..entranced
as we were
with our warmth
and our flame..
could it be
love signals from the hearth
calling me home..?
..my soul
feels akin to the red leaf,
the wafting smoke
and I am ready to follow..
Would the cold atmosphere be so cruel
as to play capricious tricks upon my eyes... or
..is that really
YOU
standing there..?
Oh!
my beloved,
how my broken spirit
has suffered
in my pining desire to be with you -
I run to you!
years of yearning prayers answered
fingertips straining - stretching further
reaching out to touch you,
the whole of my being aching
to hold you and enfold you
..ah, I feel your heat
so very close to me..
Alas!
I fall to my knees,
my arms empty
but for the loss I carry..
your warm breath
on the nape of my neck
only my hot want
brewed with a cool wisp of the breeze
..Oh, God! Please!
just let it be
let me go..!
my forsaken flame less than a dying ember;
I but ashes in my grief
withered
in my autumn season
without you
still...
I’m slow to realize...
that your fading glow just the sun slanting low
blurring wicked whimsy with my wild sorrow
in the burning of these bitter tears.
Susan Ashley
December 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: NA the day away
Sponsor: Lu Loo
*N/A’d: Best Free Verse 2019 Poetry Contest*
~ Honorable Mention ~
Contest: Your Choice (2) Any Theme, Form
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Poem Of The Day ~
December 4, 2018
I see you ‘cross the vast expanse,
a love disguised in dreamy whirl
and clothed in raiment sun-spun gold
as wispy cirrus wraps your dance
the music of your sigh aswirl -
a breeze I feel but cannot hold,
but dance I will with memories
though for your arms I’ll ever pine,
I look to skies for bluest eyes
at times behind the tapestries
of cumulus both yours and mine –
the realm in which my angel flies.
Our love so like the lilac leaf
two halves that shared a center vein,
once green we were but now I fade
I’m torn in half without relief
the pain not washed away by rain —
this heart-shaped leaf afraid and frayed.
O touch me warm your slanting rays
how cold my soul you left behind,
to gaze through tears at beauty high
to wander through the haze of days
and know the planets misaligned —
when eyes of turquoise dyed the sky.
Alas, myself but cosmic dust
yet still, the stardust gilts the rust.
It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
of silence which is deafening.
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.
Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in
by the apathy of death.
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope,
hope that we still had time,
time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
and then death swooped in
and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
8-27-16
August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day
It's like a black cloak around our world bringing misery and death
Virologists are saying " you ain't seen nothing yet"
If only our leaders would look back, at how these viruses thrive
They'd have got answers in history books and many would still be alive.
It will soon be the norm for families each and everyday
To attend funerals of loved ones who have passed away
And while adults pay their respects and kneel down to pray
Children will get bored and around the tombstones they'll play.
Every country takes action their way and will not be told
If they follow the W.H.O. 's advice more would live to be old
But it's far too late now covid - 19 is thriving
While we fight the virus with emphasis on surviving.
Don't mix with others and steer well clear of the crowd
Or it might be you that will be covered with a shroud
To increase your chance of survival, ruthless you've got to be
Even keeping a safe distance from your own family.
Crime is now rife there's profiteering and panic buying
Not enough is being done and the death toll is rising
Some impliment soft measures that seem quite funny
They don't care about you it's all about the money.
We all need to take care singing from the same hymn sheet
Or it won't be too long before the army's on the street
People will get mean and desperate in order to thrive
Pushing aside the weak and vulnerable who'll struggle to survive.
Our health workers pushed to the limit administering care
While the selfish among us strip supermarket shelves bare
But others are doing good things for their fellow man
No one knows if they'll get ill so do good deeds while you can.
Written 21st March 2020.
Receive
Listen
Be Still
Whispered words arriving on teardrops of the wind
They call to me
Embracing me so that I may exhale
For a moment in time
I look down to see the child woman curled up on my lap
Quietly dreaming
I stroke her sleep dampened hair and
Caress her cheek gently with my palm
Oh, child of mine
Allow me to reach in and
Cradle your wounded heart
Let me carry your pain and worry
Stirring, she turns her face revealing
A half-eyed sleepy smile
A gift I have treasured for centuries
Remembering the day
I walked through the trees of time
Lime, emerald, forest green, moss, juniper, ochre, and kiwi
Yellow tinged velvet leaves ride silver breezes
Tree people
Miraculous sacred creatures
Birthed of mother nature
Beckon me onward and inward
Towards water’s edge where moving mirrors of
Intellect and mystery await me
I walk with my companion who rides on my shoulder
The white hawk of my dreams
Narrating our passage through space and time
Howl Howl Howl
Stories above me, monkeys wearing fur
Play and swing
Screeching, flying, and tumbling through the air
Reaching sacred river’s edge
I pause and hear silent footsteps
Of the others joining
I gaze at the flowing water
Reflections of the lost ones float by
Faces of those who have passed from this life
I reach out and kiss each one with my fingertips
All of us gather ~ standing and joining hands
Collectively we reach up towards the heavens
We rise as one
Taking a moment to listen and
Receive grace from one another
A glimpse and a grin are shared
As I squeeze the weathered hand
Of my fellow human
Up Up Up Up
We float above the majestic green canopy
A glorious carpet of
Lavender clouds awaits
The day moon and the day sun kiss
As they watch us rise
A moment of gratitude shared by all
POTD
9/12/2023
Not with my arms but with a heart
that blesses your reveries, may peace reside
within your chest... is it possible to love you
less? Perhaps allow the sun to brush your hair
in the luminescence of dawn?
Even autumn envies you as white light
moves with your scent and possesses
your laughter never to be mine again in times
of harvest or falling rain…
and from stars above, may your eyes
remember our blades of grass
while I half-close the damp field of memorials
creaking on the burial of a resting place
that finds me kneeling, wailing, asking
how time can drown our adventures
much too soon...
as I stumble upon this cruel, bruised night
You gave me wings
to experience the
freedom of flight
my love.
You let me soar
the skies and beyond
into other universes
where consciousness
has no boundaries,
feels no weight,
nor limitations
of the earthbound,
only coherence with other
soul travelers exploring
the many dimensions
in light form.
How could I keep
begging you to stay
when your earthly body
yearned for that same
freedom of flight from
a world without
which you will not
return in my lifetime.
We joined our hearts in vows of
“until death do we part”
and I know I must accept
your departure with all
the love you would
have offered me
had my departure
preceded yours.
We always said that death
is but a station
on our journey home
to the afterlife.
It is my turn now
to give you the same
freedom you gave me
when we met.
I often see you now in
my peripheral vision,
just a ghostly glimpse
that lets me know
you see me
and you are still looking
out for me as the protective
mate you were.
I continue to fly now
but mostly at night
as my body sleeps.
I miss your masculine
embrace and my
heart still often weeps.
June 4, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest~N/A~
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
~Nineth Place~
Flight Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
with each crest of a wave
forming white crystal peaks
she weeps, inhales, let's go.
beneath a star studded vista
a resplendent guiding light
arms open, palms up, she is free.
the soothing sea winds
carrying away her grief and sorrow
hands posed in devotion, she smiles.
in a seascape of serenity
her baptism place of choice
she steps forward, her new beginning.
02-17-2017
Sitting by his bed
Labored breathing
Time is short
Holding his hand
A prayer – for him, for me
Be strong and courageous
Eyes blink open for a moment
Then nothing – gone
Tears flow
Skin relaxes
Death pallor forms
Alone in the moment
Alone
Cell Phone rings
My daughter in a panic
Fear spikes my heart
Dad – there are ants in the bathroom
Relief – exhaling
Death in the moment
But also Life
Life
Goodbye dear friend
Our time over
Your precious love and wisdom
I take
To guide my moments
My moments
To love
To forgive
To encourage
To live
Each day
Each person
In every situation
Compassionately
Boldly
Completely
In every moment
In
Every
Moment
David Meade
12/28/2014
Live Generously
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green.
A maple crib stands in the corner.
It's a picture perfect scene.
There is only one thing missing
in this room so perfectly designed.
The baby was never to take a breath.
You have to wonder what God had in mind.
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
live behind an ever closed door.
To look at the would-be parents
you couldn't tell who was grieving more.
Not all plans have happy endings;
some endings never seem to end.
How much sadness can two people take
before they break instead of bend.
Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green
in a room now shrouded in sadness
where no child will ever be seen.
~~~ 03/01/2013 ~~~
Francine Roberts