Best Heartsore Poems
Your love song lapsed into ancient French that April day.
I only understood the words of spring and heartsore
lapsed. Only love and heartsore, I understood your ancient
words of the spring-day song into that French April.
You fabricate my pauses into repetition, silence speaks
of ages strung to rhyme in love’s difficult service
you strung into pauses in service to ages. Fabricate of
love’s repetition, rhyme speaks my difficult silence.
We practice tedium of vows till language breaks apart.
As if art should aim at science, rigorous, quantitative,
rigorous language breaks tedium. Science vows a part of
quantitative practice till we should aim “as if” at art.
Till we lapsed into language. As your ancient ages only
fabricate quantitative French strung to that difficult
practice, science speaks of tedium and understood rhyme.
The spring in service of love’s rigorous vows. April
pauses, heartsore. You and I, apart. If love should aim
my words at day, repetition breaks into silence of song.
Written: October 05, 2023
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Where the paradisiacal angels reside.
A myriad of creatures, ebony and betide
A dinkum dissolute and a discreet divine,
A degree of dexterity, a denizen decline
Amidst the mahatmas and zeitgeist calls,
An indweller quests for lyricism thrall.
A martyrdom route, an incubus chase,
Eristic battles in the realm of grace
A proponent of verity, a wraith of anile,
Sought to indwell the hearts of enamel.
A sip of soma, a savor of seraglio supine,
Agnostic beyond, for the geist did shine.
Destructive metempsychosis, a mortal plight,
Internal battles, seeking inspirational light.
In the realm of the departed, desolate cries
A crybaby tears, but awe-inspiring skies
Departed souls, once heartsick and heartsore,
Find solace in the trust they restore.
For in the internal depths, a spark ignites.
And as the decedents rise, their souls bear flight.
Absolve afreets, the anxiousness abides,
Embrace the beatitude; sublimity resides.
Rawness of a sentimentalist, troubadour song,
The immanence of duende is pantywaist wrong.
In the realm of the spiritual, the snarl of sin,
Is replaced by beatitude, the soul's win.
Spotless and unsullied, cleansed of all pain,
The spiritual journey is the ultimate gain.
They sully the cosmic force with opulence.
Yet, the sunny glow of bliss starts radiance.
A troll in the netherworld, forlornness abounds,
In the cognition of theosophy, the soul rebounds.
In the middle of
the day, in the heartsore-bright
daylight I breathe dark.
There he sat trembling, cowering in fright,
Twilight's pall submerging shadowy form;
His green eyes distinctive, piercing the night,
Body arching with each drop of the storm.
My wife signaled me: "Let's help keep him warm."
She scooped him up, took him to our small dorm.
Cats like to drink milk; he lapped up his bowl.
Contentedly purring, stretching out s-l-o-w,
The milk and the warmth restoring his soul.
Smiling peacefully, our hearts aglow,
We turned in for the evening, lights down low---
Our house guest all snuggly, from head to toe.
Came the morn, bad news perched at our front door,
The cat had vanished, no trace anywhere;
Left us there crying, heartsick and heartsore.
My wife looked at me: "It's too much to bear!"
She fell to her knees, voice soft and so fair:
"If it's all meant to be, why should I care?"
Then as we gave up our last ounce of hope,
In pranced the cat with a mate: He'd eloped!
February 16, 2018
Oh, the cattle herd’s down
But not the price in the store,
You can’t make a livin’—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
I ‘member my granddad
In those ranch days of yore,
How he just seemed to scrape by—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
But he told them stories
Of longhorns shore to shore,
Glory days of trail drives
We don’t have anymore.
Dad took over the ranch
When death came to gramp’s door,
We all knew nothin’ else then
Like those that came before.
Yes, nothin’ is easy
And when it rains, it does pour—
Now I’m runnin’ the ranch
And just feelin’ heartsore.
So we’re sellin’ the herd—
It’s all too much of a chore—
Can’t make no good livin’—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
I ain’t movin’ to town
For cash sweepin’ a floor—
I’m still cowboy at heart—
Jest ain’t ranchin’ no more.
Lost in amorous creations
Disposal as dalliance
A catalyst for infatuation
Clandestine Plans
Blood Soaked Hands
Hiding faith behind abject Science
She is my Heartsore Happiness
Dreams of Blithesome hopes
reality corrupts breeds animus
Treacherous Teachers of Falsities,
our minds. They molest
Walk these long roads Carrying short ropes
down this crooked path
sharpened steel digesting bone gnawed flesh,
we die alone
Our hearts explode. Chewing destruction we are slowly spoon fed
adrift with no direction
Forgot how to walk, I can't learn how to feel
Become the Living dead
My life devoid of exotic adventure
(in fact...yours truly
never set foot outside the United States,
nor took to the skies, yes...how bore)
ring, the solitary endeavors,
not an onerous unbearable chore,
although (as mentioned in a previous poem)
this fellow rarely exits apartment door,
(particularly during biting cold),
fabulous grandeur tis mine to explore
thru (healthy escape)
by way of imagination fourscore
minus ten orbits completed
round the sun, and tapping
mind bending places galore
envisioning how a blind person -
nonetheless lamentable and heartsore
(more so since birth, this pupil doth ignore
versus tragedy eye will not site here),
no limitation to where this loner can soar,
which appears contradictory to previous
disclosures, yet revisiting said notion,
sans feeling tour
charred asper meaninglessness, a spore
germinated evincing clearly reassure
ring mine psyche, those select modes
engaging body, mind, and spirit for
instance exercise, reading/
writing, and meditation
with deliberation yours truly doth pour,
the entire heart and soul of
Matthew Scott Harris to shore
up sagging sullenness, yet though disheartened
at squelching interpersonal/social, mental,
and physical parabolic contour
of healthy development,
this fellow wishes he did more
class participation, dating,
fostering friendships/relationships
such ordinary human development that did war
rant raving about prior
disappointment, the decor
ration accrued, via strengthening muscles at core
of happiness from this
sojourner for truth...bonjour!
I feel you inside me
though you are not with me
No one can find you
but I can see you next to me!
You aren't far away from me
You are in my heartsore
You aren't behind my eyes
but always in my tears!
I can't forget you; it's difficult for me
I still love you as I did before.
I'm not asking you to come back to me
but you could love me some more!
You still come in my dreams
and make me smile
I still read your love poems
and follow your style.
Your moon shines in my sky
It will never depart away.
You'll remember me when I die
Just forgive me that day!