Best Grieved Poems
_________
The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
viewing it now, after all these years...
The street seems narrower, and the trees have grown tall..
And where once open fields spanned both sides of the road,
there are small tract houses, where fences have bloomed.
Neighboring orchards have all disappeared
But, somehow we knew the house would be there....
As if seen from a distance, edged by seasons, yet clear
There's the path that we laid one hot summer day,
in the yard of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew....
Someone else left their footprints that lead to the door
There's a rusty-red bike, and a skate left behind
by the squeaky old gate, that tomorrow will find.
As suddenly as wind will spring from the dust
thirty years fell away, and flew into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise,
like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____
...Our first Christmas trees, and our first holidays...
Anniversaries we spent with just pizza and wine
The place where I cried long into the night,
as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...
Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____
Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white trim
Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun
The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
Just a small yellow house, with its snow-white trim...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...
Quietude endows hushed mystical space
Admonishing words have no role to play—
Look how in solitude its posture bends
Bowing in deference to calming intellect.
Listen to the utterance of wailing heart
Where grieved voices subtly resonate
In stygian echoes of aches and pain
As bawl of mortal life kneels down to pray.
Touch of gifted hands magically illuminates
Enlightenment of soul’s secret message
Setting aside obtuse incredulous images,
Silencing the whims of infuriating regrets.
Glowing in epiphany of truths ornate
Emanating from the heart’s regal reign,
Voice of divinity in conquest reverberates
Winning decisively dissonant arguments.
Gaining wisdom of supreme knowledge,
Free from shackles of ordinary, mundane;
Revelations disarm the earthly laments
Basking in discovery of heavenly solace.
March 2, 2020
Poem of the week on March 8, 2020
Placed 1st: Picture prompt poetry contest
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Placed 2nd: Your Best Free Verse 2020 Poetry Contest
By John Hamilton
"Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture of the birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune, and gave her Nature's most healing balm." ~ Louisa May Alcott
Dawn's light awakens me from sleep,
as morning light unfurls.
On the skyline I see it sweep
across meadows of grazing sheep.
Dewdrops hang like fine strands of pearls
on webs of silken whorls.
Like tears, they fell in waning night
as if the sky was grieved,
but in amber rays of daylight
I clearly see the dewy sight
of moisture, to which leaves have cleaved...
their thirst has been relieved.
Lush, the grass when it drank its fill
from Nature's water tap.
My garden is happy to swill
morning mist when the air is chill.
Petals fold to better entrap
drops for flowers to lap.
Prismed by the sun's reflection,
each pearl soon disappears,
dried by Ra's heated subjection.
There will be a new collection
when in the morning there appears
dew that's been shed as tears.
Original Date of Posting ~ June 18, 2022
Dewdrops Contest
This Challenge ~ December 3, 2022
Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
There they were, in the center of
our asphalt cul-de-sac street
circled around their dead companion,
four common myna birds, holding
their own semblance of a funeral.
I slowly backed out of my driveway
and passed by them in quiet reverie.
They didn't attempt to fly away or
even move as I passed by them.
Tears flooded my eyes as I realized
how much they were deeply grieving.
Their friend was truly loved and grieved
as we'd grieve the loss of a loved one.
Later on when I returned home the
dead bird was gone, and so were they.
© Connie Marcum Wong
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20
Privileged is the right of ingress, bearing your beloved name,
To chambers of your heart, where burns a sacred flame,
Of inner sanctum divine, in sanctity of a heavenly place,
Strumming beats esoteric, vying ataraxis of ethereal grace.
Reserved for you and I, is a secret temple, tolling solace,
Where love and life embrace, in a sanctuary pure, flawless;
Where the bells echo, beckoning will of empathetic mind,
Affirming proclivity for affinity, aligned with motives kind.
When solitary thoughts linger on a grievous path of life,
When hurdles, detours of past, manifest anguish of strife,
When hurricanes and storms churn in destructive tides,
To shores of peace and tranquility, inner sanctum guides.
When life drives rudderless, perturbed in dubious plight,
Harmony of sapience and prudence transmit inner light,
Spurring verse of wisdom, as missives enlightened chime,
Defying apathy and ignorance, honoring virtues sublime.
Only you and I can soothe, troubled tears of grieved sigh,
Only you and I can fill voids, when vacuously life goes awry,
As dialogue of reason and intellect inner sanctum revives
Empowering thoughts so inspired, where sagacity thrives.
Moon is still behind glum clouds
Sullen is the garb of a silent sky
So much like how he feels tonight
Anxious in the night laden in dark
Stars are opaquely hanging listless
Like the glimmer of her grieved vibes
Dimming in saddened teary eyes
Refusing to proffer a happy smile
A chatter heard from birds’ nest
Breaks their muffled silence
Quivering pulse of anguished feelings
Rattling summer’s lavender dreams
Drifting away in coral winds
From fragrant garden’s ruby appeal
A lone bird now leaves its abode
And sits close by, staring at him
Ambivalent of travails it heard
Unsure to yield, unwilling to leave
Bawl of strife’s persistent despair
Slowly fades in decaying night
As moon is starting to pierce dark,
So are the twinkles of distant stars
Waning in purple of rising dawn
Glinting on blush of the tinted arc
Seeing the lone bird sprinting above
Spanning wings in blazing speed
Fleeing emptiness of vacant scene
Much like him… way ahead of him
July 12, 2020
July Na Or Hm Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Hm received in contest judged on 7/14/2020
Contest Name: Completely New (9) Any Form Any Theme
While your hands caress my body, is it her face that you see?
Is your thunder of release now brought on by HER memory?
Am I just a luscious body that contains HER living soul?
Just an instrument of passion where your craving are made whole?
Life has played a dirty trick, though, for our story’s gone and changed
Sentiments which were so true then, all have now become deranged
I am left to grieve and wonder how she came to steal your heart
Was my love not good enough, then? Did she fill some hidden part?
Did a fantasy not flourish, was some longing left unknown?
Tell my heart what made you love her, why your heart for me is stone?
Here you lie in pleasure’s arms, yet every thought is there instead
Naked, grieved, I’m left to wonder what it feels like to be dead
Eileen Manassian
He is the voice inside your heart
the one that makes you care
the voice that cries at injustices
when life becomes unfair
He is compassion deep within
that stirs and makes you feel
the hurt and pain and helplessness
of the suffering and grieved
He is your comfort in sadness felt
when you try to understand
the senseless emphasis on things
of insignificance to man
He is the love no one can cloak
the tears of joy you shed
the water that connects the souls
of both the living and the dead
He is the force that shielded you
that kept you safe from falling
the guide that won't leave you alone
until you hear his voice that's calling
The voice that says he's engraved inside
your heart and soul and mind
and he'll bring to you remembrances
if you but want to seek, you'll find
He is the voice you know exists
healing wounds of your life's story
The voice determined that you win
And be partaker of his glory
He is the peace who ends despair
the truth in you for cause to say
"My God! My God! I know you're here
for you shine to light the way
and blood once shed has cleansed my sins
my aged old mind has been set free
Father, I do glorify thy name
for grace that reconciles through Christ in me"
And thus it is, the voice of hope
that enables you to stand
His reach is to the very core
His wisdom..the rebirth of the soul of man..
Paradise Leaving Not A Trace
I took the last picture off the wall
then my broken heart started to bawl
on the floor lay your broken vows
fat they lay like bloated cows
The love sworn by your sacred heart
flipped over like an apple cart
the corner lay three mismatched shoes
I sit here , lonely, cryin' da blues
I took that picture and held it tight
sad memories of our fightin' last night
you spat upon my deep, deep remorse
grieved as you beat on that dead horse
I saw dear hope entered my heart today
I saw a picture that reminded me of you
the pretty girl had your perfect eyes
sun shining so like you in her skies
Tell me just one more time how you care
lie to me even if it is an oath unfair
whisper gasps of our sex-filled nights
baby, please forget those recent fights
Lets hang the pictures back on the walls
lock the doors, not take any damn calls
undress as we rush into mad, mad embrace
stay in that paradise leaving not a trace
Robert J. Lindley, 06/21/1976
This was my last poem written to her before my first wife and I finally
divorced. I had my best friend deliver it. He said she threw it into the
garbage can and told him to tell me to go jump into a lake. Next morn I
knocked on the door there, her mother answered. I asked for my poem back
from the garbage can, she got it and gave it to me! I have it still with dried
food stains on the last stanza.
I keep it to remind me that too late is a damn terrible place to ever be!!! This
is the first time I have ever shared it with anybody since she never even read
it.
I hope you may like it , for it shows that young fools
suffer too. And often rightly so...
Every Day,
My Father got up early
And sat there, in the dark, like a mushroom,
And thought, and thought, and thought…
And... grieved...
He would not be the hero that he'd hoped,
An ordinary fellow with flat feet...
What DID he think? enveloped in the pre-dawn hush?
Perhaps he thought up all the ways that he would live the day,
And do some thing for everybody else... why? Just to pay
The
Deal He Bought.
To do something he hated, to provide…
To do something he loved, just to provide…
Perhaps he grieved for sons
He feared would fail him,
Or grieved for lonely life lived long in misery,
Or grieved for death's shadow… long, and inching closer
But, No.
I think that was his Pure time,
When stars were still alive, and shed a light
That could not yet be lost in day's grand smear of Sun,
When the silent house made the homely sounds
That only he, at that hour, heard
When the dark enfolded him, and was his blanket,
Reassuring him, that he would have the strength to face
Another day, another week, another year,
Like every Ordinary Man Does,
With slow faith,
And quick fears.
My eyes were sorely struck when once they perceived
verity in your insightful words. Oh, how they grieved
when you chose to kneel low enough to kiss the ring
of a cunning being, whose unmerited praises you sing
My ignorance would have been a cliched state of bliss
if I'd not stumbled into great depth of a poetic abyss
'Twas with bitter regret that I unveiled your charade
No longer do I doubt the crux of a contrived crusade
With prudence and humble nature, you oft' disclosed
but a false facade was revealed and hubris exposed
As a poet you declared compassion and a meek heart
but sold your feeble soul for the nod of a counterpart
Poet, I hungrily supped at the banquet of your lines
but a person's integrity is one that genuinely defines
human value. From reading you, I refrain and eschew
Aware of your pretexts, I know what motivates you
*You may think I only post something on PS when I have a gripe, and I have when I've felt it was warranted. It's your right to believe what you will. My recent posts prove otherwise, but after very recently reading something that touched my heart in a sadly profound way, I chose to write about it instead of trying to forget that I saw the words. Writing has always been a means of comfort, solace and closure. This write serves as a dissolution for me.
He is the voice inside your heart
the one that makes you care
the voice that cries at injustices
when life becomes unfair
He is compassion deep within
that stirs and makes you feel
the hurt and pain and helplessness
of the suffering and grieved
He is your comfort in sadness felt
when you try to understand
the senseless emphasis on things
of insignificance to man
He is the love no one can cloak
the tears of joy you shed
the water that connects the souls
of both the living and the dead
He is the force that shielded you
that kept you safe from falling
the guide that won't leave you alone
until you hear his voice that's calling
The voice that says he's engraved inside
your heart and soul and mind
and he'll bring to you remembrances
if you but want to seek, you'll find
He is the voice you know exists
healing wounds of your life's story
The voice determined that you win
And be partaker of his glory
He is the peace who ends despair
the truth in you for cause to say
"My God! My God! I know you're here
for you shine to light the way
and blood once shed has cleansed my sins
My aged old mind has been set free
Father I do glorify thy name
for grace that reconciles through Christ in me"
And thus it is..the voice of hope
that enables you to stand
His reach is to the very core
His wisdom..the rebirth of the soul of man...
On a chilly Sunday morning
In a land she didn’t belong
She walked along an English road
To a place of Holy Song
She sat in this sacred dwelling
Three sisters by her side
United together
Since their mother died
By no means was she religious
Still unsure in what she believed
The four sisters sat in stillness
As they silently grieved
The church was modest and quaint
Rows of aged solid oak pews
Glorious stained glass windows
Where the morning sun peeked through
As she wept for her mother
In Gods peaceful home
She was engulfed by a powerful emotion
One entirely unknown
It was feeling of absolute tranquility
A joy so pure and whole
Of comfort and abundance
That radiated her soul
A sense of complete inner peace
She didn’t quite understand
A warm loving embrace
Touched by gentle guiding hands
Reflecting within silence of my thoughts
I feel the ills of world in its stygian form--
Its music devoid of the melodic sound
Echoing in humanity’s tenebrous bawl.
On my way I see summer’s rose gardens
And autumnal look of auburn elegance,
But mostly I encounter parched look of life
Like a river dry, in the grip of drought--
A depleted look of empty wine bottle,
Nothing left to offer, devoid of its buzz.
A hidden voice prompts, raising its voice,
Asking what the world would be like
If it could wipe all tears in mothers’ eyes,
And on troubled faces put million smiles
And feed the hungry, gripped in strife.
Peering now into grieved, disquieting lives
It takes me there to war-torn towns—
Pointing to a child wandering empty streets
Orphaned by someone else’s misdeeds
Amid nothingness of abandoned dreams;
Asking me angrily how does one restore
The flame that blazed in desolate child’s eyes
Before they brazenly killed her family…
Can you look in her eyes and explain why?
Can you dare say she’ll have a normal life?
I look for epiphany in epistle of almighty
But stumble in hindrance of the ordinary--
Wicked, narrow views of blatant primacy
Attempting to justify, but failing miserably.
I hear them trumpeting the world as it is
Sounding foolish in the world that could be.
June 23, 2020
Placed 1st: Reflections in silence poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One