Best Introspectionsweet Poems
I have seen spring’s awakening
And basked in summer’s sun
And I have watched in awe
As autumn’s colors softly sprung
But now that winter’s here
Amid the softly falling snow
I mourn for the beauty
That was lost so long ago.
Oh sweet bird of youth
You lavished me with your love
Whispering sweet nothings
Under twinkling stars above
You led me to believe
I’d spend eternity with you
Then without a warning
You disappeared from view!
Down through the years
I've searched for you in vain
All I have are memories
Of you that remain
Now. most of my songs
Have been sung
But I cling to the melody
Of when we were young
Copright©2008 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
------
The first time I had been blue,
I remember,
Sitting at the bar,
With the attention of that one person behind it,
Only..
And nobody else.
I wrote my first song.
Gulping down chilled poison,
And lurking the shallow crowd
The smell of beer,
The smoke,
The intoxication beyond reasoning,
Hovering in the humid air like an unscrupulous dream,
I found my poison dripping from my fingers,
Painting the napkin,
Which he gave me with a sweet smile..
The checkered shirt that I wore,
Displayed its dismay, like a lost set of wires
Didn't know where to connect..
My jeans, flaunted skin..and a scar
Through the notched denim,
By a jut, of one fine forgetful furniture..
And, i wanted to get rid of everything,
The blues, the rues,
The parasitic clothes, in the heat of the night
The shoes cried 'RUN! RUN!'
Were my favourites,
So not them...sweethearts!
The clock danced its way with the crowd,
Soon the tables and the chairs
Rebelled for scattering them like lemon seeds
On the busy kitchen floor,
And it was my poison, being poured
Into the napkin,
And into the glass
By that one person behind the bar,
Whose attention I had,
Only...
For one last time,
As after that,
With that same sweet smile,
He handed me the bill..!
I’m not a flower child,
neither a sage, poet or bard.
I wont feed you with guile
or hit you hard
with the absurd,
laced between sweet word.
I’ll not promise you an hour
and then give only a minute,
letting precious love go sour….
reaching the limit,
disposing love,
much as an ill fitting glove.
I promise to give my all.
If you need me, I stand
within reach of your call,
on demand,
loved, free,
doing my best to agree.
I’m not a flower child,
neither a sage, poet or bard.
No sweet words sugar piled.
Old and charred,
my life…
the pleasure of my wife.
© Dec 2010 Charles Henderson
For Paula's -Just poetry contest 5th place
Jealousy.
Oh sweet Jealousy!
I feel thy bitter sting.
Take seat in my heart
And in my mind,
Take flight on injured wing.
Tis the moment
To endure?
To take one’s heart,
Once loved,
Once clean and pure?
I shant be pressured.
Gain is hopeless.
Thy tree is rootless.
I want one’s treasure.
To break through
Is the one who wins.
Shall this be my destiny,
To put out the flame of jealousy?
Wanting the possession
Which we cant hold
Shall sew my wound
Of further aggression?
Tis truth be wrong!
Tis nothing but a withered shadow
Singing its tempting song.
Raising peril
Carries the throne
On which misled
Covetness walks.
Pernishes tricks
Fail to carry
The withstanders
But chokes the one who stalks.
In the end,
The final end,
When holy sacred light
Touches down
On unholy ground,
None can hold a fight.
Tis thee who crave
A worthless blade
That fall in darkness
With none to save.
Tis Jealousy
A path for me?
Thy urge is strong
Like gravity.
Will not my soul be moved?
Shall forever be
A tearful sea
Or an opened wound
That shant be soothed?
Jealousy.
Oh sweet Jealousy!
I feel thy bitter sting.
Meghan Newton
2004
Form: