Best Harsher Poems
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
Categories:
harsher, goodbye, lonely, love, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Some mistakes are
Not so easy to erase
Some linger
And haunt you
No matter what you’ve done
No matter what you do
As you try to forget
As you try to make amends
Sometimes forgiveness
Never seems to come
Sometimes you’re so much
Harsher on yourself
Submitted on August 26, 2019 for contest OVERCOMING MISTAKES sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE - RANKED 1ST
Categories:
harsher, angst, introspection, longing, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
A tribute to our own Charmaine Chircop. Well past due and definitely well deserved
the sky she sees is beautiful
the sun appears at her command
yet no sorceress is she
storms vanish because she wills it
blue skies and puffy whites adorn her
she is a poetic princess
a lover of soft words
she frolics in lavender fields by day
and dreams of sweet jasmine at night
from her window she spies a crofter's moon
before long she's far away
lost in sweet reverie
wishing for...
she smiles as a warm zephyr tousles her hair
a sandy beach, her home away from home
the sea is her haven, her docile domain
where loneliness no longer taunts
where pig-tailed little girls build sand castles
where angels sing lilting lullabies after midnight
and stars of heaven bow at her graceful presence
she once asked: would you still love me if I wasn't a poet?
a symphony of souls responded with a resounding YES
yet, without her poetry the world would be a little colder
a little harsher, a little more hopeless and for a certainty,
less romantic
so here's to our island girl, our maltese poetess
may she find the happiness of her dreams
and may her golden pen never cease spilling precious ink
forever delighting appreciative, loving hearts
Categories:
harsher, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
Son, would you tuck in your shirttail
Was something often heard
At home when I was a youngster
With harsher action inferred
My otherwise kind hearted Mother
Had shirttails as a pet peeve
That boys were just naturally sloppy
Was something she wouldn't believe
It didn't seem to matter
That action was big in my plan
Like building a fort or a tree house
Or a game of kick the can
As long as my trouser tops covered
The tail of my shirt complete
Dear Mother seemed quite contented
And smiled at her son so neat
But catching fly balls and gophers
Are surely not meant I'd say
For shirttails tucked in and tidy
From the start to the end of a day
Well now that I'm older I smile
Each time I check my belt line
And straighten my shirt without thinking
Like a habit that's learned over time
Some Mothers have talent for teaching
Their lessons to boys of school age
Who think that neatness can't happen
'Till life's reached a much older stage
You see my reflex for shirttails
Was taught by a Mother with grace
Who sewed to each shirttail bottom
Two inches of fancy pink lace!
Categories:
harsher, funny, mother,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
I dedicate this poem to you,
The one who I used to call "friend",
"Best friend", or maybe even "sister".
Yes, you meant that much to me,
And I thought I meant as much to you.
No, maybe not as much, but at least a "best friend".
Did I ask for too much?
Was that too selfish of a request?
I thought that we'd be best friends forever,
I really did.
But I guess it was all just a fantasy,
A fragment of my imagination.
After all, reality is a much harsher place.
I think I only realized that after you walked away;
After you walked away and never looked back
And left me in a deep, dark pit of torment,
Wondering why you'd changed.
If I'd done something different, would you still be the same?
Of all the people beside me, I never would have guessed that
You would be the one to leave me like this.
And as I watched from a mile away,
How well off you seemeed without me,
I fell into a sea of depression.
For the longest time,
I felt so lonely,
Questioning myself whether anyone truly needed me.
Or was I only just second choice?
Now, as I am writing this poem,
I cannot say that I have been completely healed.
I still feel the doubt, the uncertainty,
When someone says
"I love you"
Or
"You are my best friend"
Even when I know that it is all in my head.
But I think I can say with confidence that
I have become stronger,
Even if just a little bit,
Even though sometimes
I still miss you.
Categories:
harsher, best friend, betrayal, depression,
Form:
Free verse
When I was young and clueless,
If retirement appeared
Somehow upon my radar
I would think it pretty weird.
But if I gave some thought to where
My future self might be,
Most likely it would be a little
Cabin by the sea.
A stroll into a charming town,
My cottage with a view,
A garden and a lot of time
To do the things I’d do.
But life takes unexpected turns
And there’s no magic math
To calculate the ending
As we chart our chosen path.
And as the years unfold we find
The follies of our youth
Seem fictional when they’re compared
To living’s harsher truth.
Ironically, though, in my
Long-time view-free home, I am
Retired, far from seaside
And contented as a clam.
Categories:
harsher, retirement,
Form:
Rhyme
But my school master
my father and mother
the classmates and friends
contributed little, or nothing
Lessons to write poems
Life taught me major skills
Inspired me with intrinsic love
And it made me to conclude;
“Best and lasting lessons in life
are not taught by institutions,
but by the often neglected
wild bushes of life.
The harsher the wilderness,
the greater the lesson.”
Categories:
harsher, allusion, education, poems, write,
Form:
Free verse
7th October, 2023. Israel.
“Shabbat Mourning”
the War commenced
with morning, rudely awakened,
unrest.
some say,
it has arrived,
the biblical Apocalypse.
some say,
not war, just another
haggling loose rabble skirmish.
Hamas
says,
“God is Great!”
Netanyahu
says,
“we are at War!
And we will
win
this War!”
everything over
before begun;
Winter is coming
harsher than
before
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Our enemy will pay a price the type of which it has never known,” Netanyahu said in a video statement.
Categories:
harsher, humanity, war, world,
Form:
Narrative
Don`t be fooled by the face i wear,for i wear a thousand masks and none of them
are me.Don`t be fooled, for god sake don`t be fooled
I give the impression that im secure,that confidence is my name and coolness is my
game,and i need nobody,but don`t believe me.
Beneath dwells the real me, in confusion,fear and loneliness that`s why i hide behind of this mask i`ve created,to shield me from the glance that knows,but such a glance is my salvation,that it is followed by salvation,
it is followed by loveIt`s the only thing that can liberate me from my own
prison walls.
I`m afraid that deep down i`m nothing and no good
and you will reject me.
And so begins the parade of masks,i idly chatter to
and tell you everything that means nothing,and nothing that is everything
that is is crying within me,so please listen carefully as i try to hear
what i`m not saying. I want to be genuine spontanious and me
but you please help me,hold out your hand.
Each time you are understanding, kind and gentle, the harsher i strike back.
My heart grows very feeble wings.
Your sensitivity, empathy and power of understanding
you alone can release me from my self built wall
and lies my only hope.
Beat down these walls with firm hands,but gentle
for a child who is sensitive.I`m someone you know well,
for i am every man you meet, i am every woman too...
I AM ALSO YOU.
Paul Beadnall.
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ A solitary sonnetist
Contest Name Everyone knows, anything goes...
This was copied from a wall from a Mental hospital wall, i didnt know the Author
but do now Mr. David Summers (1966)
.
This shone light back into my days..
I read this when i was in a torrid time in a mental hosptal ( unknown author)
Categories:
harsher, depression, inspirational, me, time,
Form:
Free verse
I thought of one of my nephews before I wrote this, God bless him please
He's from a western land where the hustla's real,
And the thugs'll steal,
Brothers'll kill for the love o' bills,
Tryin' to get a mill[million],
Means much blood'll spill
So his forte's to scheme & die fo',
Gettin'that cream[money] & lie low,
Then hittin' up his rivals
An eye for an eye
and dealin' with street survival,
Makes him drift back to his childhood,
When it was much peace & all good,
But now he gets no sleep
He creeps deep in foul hoods,
Where bodies get chalked & the crowd stood,
In amazement,
Witnessin' homicide engravements on the pavements,
Too much of this misbehavement,
Has the communities decaying
and too many youngsters fall before their prime,
And the harsher the crime, steeper the prison time,
But he was born a product in a wicked jungle,
Bred to run amongst those who are far from humble,
And addicted to makin' they're funds grow,
And plus they're quick to stun those,
Who gets victimized by the hoods jurisdiction,
A whole slew of unsolved crimes
with very few convictions,
And justice is missin',
Because this lifestyle is opposite of fiction,
So he marches through ghetto life
with his hard hat & boots on,
Still focussed on gettin' his loot on,
While killers get their shoot on,
Many of them shoot wrong,
So innocent bystanders been dying for too long,
But he continues to move on,
As 1 of the Young, Wicked & Black
Categories:
harsher, crazy, hip hop, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Suicide letters
Or love notes to death
I an not sure what to call them
I have read so many
From my friends of course
Saying they are sorry
How they just couldn't take it any longer
How their sorrow swallowed them
The depression gripping tighter
That's what depression does
It chokes out the life in you
My best friend suffered for a long time
For at least 5 years
Until she wrote her love note to death
I still remember the erratic text scrawled on the page
The pain in each sharp edge of the harsher letters
Like T, K, and L
Each edge cutting me
Like the blade that ended her life
Like the blade stained blood-red
I don't use knives anymore
I don't even keep them in my house
My ex boyfriend Mike
Wrote his love note
To me and Death
I sat on the floor sobbing
As he told me he loved me
But couldn't take the pain
As he went on and on about the tragedy he faced
How I brought the only light he knew into his life
How I should never forget him
And I don't
I still pass his house everyday
I still look for his car
I still have the bottle of painkillers he took
It's empty of course
I just suffer through pain now
I don't want to go like he did
I miss him
Along with my best friend
But like I said they both had love letters to Death
So Death soon fell in love with them
Categories:
harsher, angst, anxiety, death of
Form:
Free verse
The truth of reality haunts my soul,
lamenting the innocence childhood stole.
A heart that's never experienced love;
always feels empty, never wholly whole.
I found no love on the wings of a dove;
push inevitably turned into shove.
And yet, normality included hope,
and my willingness to partake thereof.
Faced with the fact that I can barely cope,
I'm left dangling at the end of my rope.
And, frustrated with an absentee God,
faith starts sliding down a slippery slope.
The fact my father never spared the rod;
meant unconditional love was a fraud.
And an incompleteness shadows my dreams,
retracing the steps I've already trod.
My upbringing was harsher than it seems,
confronting my demons with silent screams.
And a fractured future born of the past;
forms a collage of life's lows and extremes.
Hope's magic has become too weak to cast,
Exhausted, its power has degraded fast.
Lonely and unloved, I await life's end,
Praying that in death, I'll find love at last.
Categories:
harsher, abuse, angst, depression, father,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Spring is late in coming and March is chilly,
England’s weather seems to be getting harsher,
Friends had snow and here it is cold and raining…
Easter in wellies!*
* Wellington boots
For Craig’s Sapphic Stanza contest
Categories:
harsher, weather,
Form:
Sapphic stanza
When winters sub-zero arrives !!!!
Attention Homeless !!!
For your survival !!!
For you, who have been forced – by the hand of fate,
by circumstances beyond your control or by your choice
to live in the arms of Mother Nature, the shelter of a derelict house
- no longer a home – or some abandoned building on the fringes.
Come winters coldest dance ( minus six degrees Celsius )
you will be able to find warmth, comfort, shelter and compassion
from the harsher elements of winters by attending
Our Lady of Fatima’s – Knights of Columbus Hall,
located at the corner of Shaughnessy and Fraser in PO CO .
A notice will be posted on the door of Share’s Food Bank,
Trinity United Church 2215 Prairie Avenue Port Coquitlam
when this shelter will be provided for your benefit.
Please pass the word along to those you know
whom we may not reach through our network.
Prepared for winter of 2004 by
B. J. “A” 2
May 24th 2014
Categories:
harsher, giving,
Form:
Prose Poetry
six million stones
a railroad car streaked red
a thousand astrodomes
swollen with dead children
the population of houston
dallas wiped out
ugly striped prison uniforms
signifying captures and escapes
martin luther as a bigot
bonhoeffer as a hero
dying days before the
liberation
faces from rwanda darfur
signaling the continuance
of a tradition of genocide
a danish fishing boat
hiding neighbors in a
fake bottom to escape
a wicked storming
the pictures of happy
proud loving families
bludgeoned in broken glass
a soft cloth golden star
like a slave branding
pulsating with hatred and
judgement harsher than
the ornate letter a for hester
1500000 butterflies
sewn drawn carved
remembering
the children who lost
their lives in the
Holocaust
"Butterflies don't live in here, here in the ghetto" Pavel Friedman, April, l942
Written after a visit to The Holocaust Museum of Houston
Categories:
harsher, death, family, history, political,
Form:
Free verse