Best Heaviness Poems
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(PoetrySoup Format)
. . gravity were graceful, giving and gracious
like space, lace and liquid love,
each puzzling piece would fit for us,
and time would trace the importance thereof -
unlike the unlimited heaviness that pulls at me,
i’m holding onto the hope of, if only . . .
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A simple, yet symbolic scribble
~ As tender thoughts tug ‘pon my heart ~
Bite Size Poem no.45 Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Line Gauthier
2nd Place
Sunday June 5th, 2022- Poem of the Week
death is near-
a fading out tomorrow will never be-
gone away an empty shell will dwell
birds and butterflies come fluttering
on gossamer silky wings
wings soft as a spider web
and the curtains stir in the open window
death
comes
like a bird of prey
drifting silently
and hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
her
hair
streaming down her shoulders
the clock of time stops the end has come
deep blue is the sky beyond this realm
birds and butterflies come fluttering
on gossamer silky wings
and hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
blue birds are twittering in the trees
she breathes
a long breath
pauses
and then
the moment of death a heaviness descends
death comes
like a bird of prey
drifting silently
she hangs
her head like a dead flower the mind dies
a peacefulness a light that fills the room her spirit leaving
and on the bedside
a beautiful bouquet of red roses dulcet full of scent
oh her life was fleeting
infused with happiness beauty laughter
the dream has ended the final curtain has dropped
farewell my beauty I kiss her lips her still warm hand
outside a gentle rain has begun
falling on the weeping willow tree
my weeping tears
dropping soaking her blanket
___________________________
June 26, 2015
Free Verse/"death of a friend"
Copyright Protected, ID 684720
Submitted to the contest, Any Poem You Are Proud Of
Sponsor, Mystic Rose
Second Place
I am proud of this poem because I wrote right after the death of my friend,
she died of cancer and I was with her at the end witnessing it through the eyes
of a poet. It is my most viewed poem and I was able to capture the style
of E.E. Cummings perfectly in my opinion.
__________________________
Submitted to the contest, A poem You Are Proud Of #3
sponsor, Skat
Fifth Place
_____________________________
Submitted to the contest, Death and Dying
sponsor, Debbie Guzzi
Second Place
[A love poem for my wife of 43 years]
When I leave you...
it won't be out of anger,
it won't be out of jealousy,
it won't be for another woman,
and it won't be for freedom.
When I leave you,
it won't be with grace--
it will be hard, hard to do.
I could try to fight it,
but with what power?
Taken quick or slowly,
I'll still be taken--
out of this world,
out of your life....
Never out of your heart,
I know,
I'm planted there,
a Gibraltar till time's end.
Yet...yet I fear for the weight,
the heaviness on you:
all the times you'll need a touch,
or miss my breath
on the nape of your neck....
When the stars weep,
when songbirds die,
then, only then,
will my love be left
by your lonely side.
Do I yet know how much I love you?
Will my soul chant in mourning for you?
Will it long for this world,
this world of night and day
only because you are still in it?
another somber rise of day through autumn's reign
where clouded thoughts backslide through eyes
while the anguish of my pain lies misted in the lash of october's skies
i watch as the breeze strips color from these trees
crimson drops aloft on the awry path, downward in spirals
like a child's mind trying to find assuage from life's affliction
through atrocious little lines carved upon shrouded flesh
in an auspicious attempt to find relief, momentarily unrestricted
sometimes i long to be like the leaves of autumn, spun golden
twirling in the allure of whispered breezes, adrift in the winds
carefree on the jaunt of life of these memories that taunt
other times, the appetency to be the tree is greater in depth,
to be bare, weightless and absolve the heaviness of life's burdens
as you cast them downward in wayward winds to their death
while your roots remain grounded, although twisted, still stand firm
sometimes i'd like to see the beauty in october through other's eyes
to glow in the dawn of my day, not shiver in its winded breath
beneath the grays of skies, where all i can see is impending death
in the season's foreshadow as the leaves slip like blood through hands
October 9, 2019
Crazy A's Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl
On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all!
counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer
Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me.
It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain. Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven, pen in suntanned hand!
sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight
A tent of brightly coloured wool
Along an effervescent pool
Filled with deliciously cool streams
This would last a week and I would surely weep
For in my sorrows, I made haste
Beneath a bleak sky adorned with clouds of thought
Menacing a downpour of grief
I left the bosom of my camp
And could not recall my steps
The fierce winds of the desert deleted my trail
As the winds of time would delete my memory from all that ever beheld me
The clouds of thought once again embraced my mind and etched on the bleak skies a certain name
A name sweeter than sweetness itself
With a velvety texture surpassing that of silk
A name that transcended the barren plains dancing around on the tongues of angels
And stretched to the bitter and sweet seas
It is a name unlike which any man has ever beheld
For though many share it
None could wear it with her grace, borne of the musk of paradise itself
A name that evokes images of beautiful pearls
One that sends shivers down my spine
When I envision her delicate visage
A name that spreads warmth from the core of my soul
Which slowly percolates through my being to the tip of my nose
This name can only be the perfectly sculpted form of -????? whose true beauty transcends that of meaningless words
A mellifluous name when uttered in any tone
It shimmers and shines and radiates brilliantly
Even upon the twisted tongue of the vilest crone
I remember the day when the winds of authority blew on our firm grasp
And whisked her away on the cursed back of an evil black horse
And it is with this heaviness that I thus sink
Into a pitiless lake of anguish
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists
Baby’s birth brings blessings, blowing boredom-blues
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings
Daybreak dos and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors...
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury...
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with mercies'* might
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization...
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence
Quality quotes quiet the querulous' qualms and quixotics' questions
Redolent reflections refocus reviewers against regretful reveries
Spiritual songs by soprano soloists shut silence-stillness
Triumphant thanksgiving tops tight timetable of tenacious teachers...
Ultimate urgency upholds undaunted umpires unto usefulness
Verses vanquish vanities vying against vision of the victors
Watchfulness warmth wakes the weary to welcome words of wisdom
X rays of ‘xpertise ‘xamination x-out ‘xpectations for a Xanadu
Yes-yells yearn for youth yielded yeah-yowls from yesterdays’ yets
Zion's zephyr zooms the zealously zestful to zenith of prize-zillions!!!
*Lamentations 3:22-23 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness.
Abecedarian and alliteration forms
July 28, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
1st place, "ABCEDARIAN POEM" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 6/4/2022.
Taken this worn path ,he'd
taken so many times before
To his one and only true love,
he will always adore
His destination marked Riekers,
sprinkled with fresh snow
After five years even if blind,
he'd know where to go
Looking at the marble stone,
her flowers still in his hand
Made his chest ache with
a heaviness, he couldn't stand
His eyes teared up,then the
tears streamed down his face
This is where his demons lived,
this was the place
Today was not for them, he had
something to say
"Baby I'm back again!
Do you remember what's today?"
"It's when you gave to me a gift,
one the greatest of all!"
"Also when you left me,
after telling me to stand tall"
"Leaving me but not alone,
you left with me one other life!"
"Our baby girl turned five today!
But still I crave my wife!"
"Each day that passes,
she reminds me more of you!"
"Her eyes and hair, down to her
dimpled smile too!"
"I want to thank you for all the joy you
you brought me!"
"Plus our baby girl, I still bounce
upon my knee!"
He thought it would get easier,
through the many years
He placed her flowers down,
unable to hold back the tears
"Goodnight my love! I'll be back,
but now I must go!"
A cold wind seemed to kiss his cheek,
as it began to blow
It felt as if she caressed his face,
to say "I Love You"
Smiling still in tears,
he whispered
"Forever I Do Too!"
1st place
STRAND SPECIAL 9,any form ,any theme'
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Tell me what you're afraid to lose
tell me what you're afraid to keep
all that keeps you awake at night
and steals you from your sleep
The heaviness inside doesn't know what it wants
so it cries, cries, cries.
Stretched out on wing of weariness,
The total collapse of the flesh.
Arms and legs, limp and pitiless.
The world’s escarpments hurt..enmesh.
Come to me, says the one buried…
Who rose from the grave. Likewise grim,
With heaviness, her soul carried
To the foot of the cross…to Him.
The death bed’s a feather, so white.
Her guardian angel plucked from
her largesse…quintessence takes flight.
To heavy hearted, He says Come.
Decomposing in shallow grave,
But not so the soul…it is brave.
Ceraunophilia - 7-13-26
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Summer Storm
The day grows dark, ominous with rumbling,
We watch a hood of humid heaviness
Slowly slide across the face of dusk
With wispy veils of mist, a harbinger’s whisper
Turns green leaves silver in brooding twilight stillness.
In slowly rising chords of chaos
Crickets hide and even air holds it’s breath
To listen for the steps of a far-off symphony.
Our eyes grow ready as sallow clouds swallow dusk
When the rising perfume of summer rain
Fills our nostrils with it’s signature
And raindrops sizzle on sidewalks
Dancing in frenzy, faster - harder.
The sky explodes to our delight
With brilliant shards of light in spirals
Then shakes the night with belly laughs, delighted with itself.
We run to open shutters wide
And lie upon the bed
To watch this full born summer storm
Plunder midnight with crashing waves of booms and fury.
a hallway. offices. tinted sunlight.
people who have forgotten my name.
but i am here.
and then a room. and a meeting.
and i am unprepared.
“you’re up” says the leader.
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.
my mind screams.
my throat locks.
and then a word fights through the scream.
and i breathe. and find a voice.
and then another word.
and a thought.
then relevance.
i am moving.
and eyes do not wander.
but the scream fights on:
they will find out.
i was connected at one time.
so the scream would fade.
but not now.
these many years later.
“we could use you again,”
he had said.
and i had relented.
but why? boredom? faith?
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.
“what have you been up to?”
he had asked.
and i had lied.
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.
“what on EARTH are you talking about?!”
demands the one who should have taken over for me.
and the throat locks again.
and the scream rises up.
and he knows it.
but sympathy has no place here.
so i struggle with the scream.
and find the words to hide the Fraud
as he shakes his head in disgust.
and i remember why i left.
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”
She's the one who carried you in thy womb.
Every day she counts until you grew.
A happiest moment she ever had,
Is when she first touched your little hands.
She's the one in charged to everything.
Twenty-four-seven,her duty never ends.
Do the house chores,nanny and cook.
Doesn't receive salary for her hardwork.
She's the one who kept tears in the night.
Just to assure a family will keep in sight.
She endures all heaviness this life has bring.
To keep her children away from fears.
She's the one gives unconditional love.
Forgive our sin, no matter how it hurts her heart.
She has a bag full of smiles.
A hug and kiss is all that she wants.
As she gets old, please love her back.
Repay her hardworks and multi tasks.
Take care the way she did for us.
We'll be a mom too,and do what she does.
~~ Dedicated to all Souper MOMs~~
**HAPPY Souper MOMS DAY!!!! **
,
riddles N' rainbows paintbrush the day
summer's heaviness invades
rain circumvents geraniums
ant's N' azaleas dance through sidewalks
where tiny green grass creep 'neath weeds
to see sun seed grey with bright
frogs N' grasshoppers flop along
best friends
when storm clouds bend beyond old oak trees
boys N' girls skip rope,
Double Dutch N' such
up N' down the cul de sac curve
moms N' dads pretend everything's ok
when they've long since strayed away
from light N' love
gloves come off
when lights go out
they scream N' shout
the children barely notice
yet they'll feel the coldness N' cold shoulders
as it's gets colder N' colder
just not days N' nights like now
fuss N' fights have no place
right here N' right now
along these roasting roads
where ticky tack homes
crowd suburbia
where riddles N' rainbows paintbrush the day
summer's heaviness invades
as nature n' naïve children play...
today ,
~JSLambert 2014