Best Lament Poems
I have no sorrow, for sorrow is small,
And can't be held guilty for choices made.
Reflections are scrawled on my mind's dark wall,
And will leave stains as they begin to fade.
Time passes without a sense of motion.
My lost dreams disappear with wrinkled skin.
Traveled paths contain my life's emotions.
Leads from a world not to be seen again.
Though eyes perceive what the heart desires,
Long to conceive of perfection not found.
They see the way lighted by hopeful fires.
A clearer path to stay on fateful ground.
The distance traveled, the lifetime spent.
Hurried times unraveled without lament.
date written...10/16/15
She lovingly smiles at him each evening
dressed in palest silk, a gossamer gown,
brushed with hints of silverdust shadows.
Her shapely fullness casts a womanly glow
across his surface in ripples of light.
Enthralled by her shimmering beauty,
he waves to her from Baltic blue depths
of his longing and unspoken passion.
Her reflection swims in his crests and troughs
as he cradles the embodiment of her perfection.
Crested fingers rise to fondle her magnificence
but vast distance keeps them too far apart.
Her heart guides the ebbing and flowing
of his tides in their nightly dance, spent romancing.
Fluidly, he waltzes her in rhythm to the shore,
serenaded by a chorus of flickering stars
singing a tune written eons before
Gershwin could dream of Rhapsody in Blue.
Little more could either of them do as
their song wafted in a dolorous lover's lament
known by humans but perceived by few
as a divergent love between two of Earth's forces
whose liaison would be a tragedy for me and you
The sun has set and evening falls.
A silver sliver-moon hangs high
above my house; behind its walls
I’ve made my bed, and here I lie.
I think of times star light, star bright,
a girl who never questioned why
she dreamed awake with all her might.
I’ve made my bed and here I lie.
Those wishes wished so long ago
are still no closer than the sky
that’s filled with summer stars aglow.
I’ve made my bed and here I lie.
And though I’m warm inside my room,
long shadows of the night pass by
my window shade and cast their gloom.
I’ve made my bed and here I lie.
How sensible, how dull my schemes!
Beneath my comforter, I sigh
remembering my tarnished dreams.
I’ve made my bed, and here I lie.
For JP Contest 5: Feelings
(Feeling regret as a sense of loss and longing for someone or something gone or passed out of existence)
I mourn for the death of my former youth,
a time of innocence and naive bliss
which hid from me life's dark, unpleasant truth,
but now holds all the pleasures that I miss;
a time of handsome beauty, brawn, and thews,
as of Greek gods in their Olympian prime,
like Hercules of fabled strength, sinews,
and might of past renown from mythic time.
But, O Cupid!...how I do most pine for
your renewing of my dead, barren life,
which now lusts for the nubiles of folklore,
whose maidenheads can quench my burning strife!
Because of my decline's ever-growing years,
I've lost both youth and love as old age nears.
I feel I have appendicitis,
Or a bad case of bursitis,
And I think I need another tonsillectomy.
I'm sure I got a staph infection
From a tetanus injection
While I was prepping for a hemorrhoidectomy.
I've got cataracts and shingles,
When I cough my kidney jingles,
And my muscle tone's diminished due to entropy.
I have a lower disc displacement,
I need a knee and hip replacement,
And I'm scheduled for my umpteenth colonoscopy.
With my doctor's full compliance,
I will donate my corpse to science
To see if reasons can be found for all my maladies.
No doubt that when they disconnect me,
Vivisect me and inspect me,
They'll find a host of medical irregularities,
As well as hitherto unheard of abnormalities
That may account for part or all of my infirmities,
And might help to explain my PCP's enormous fees.
Author's note: After reading Ilene Bauer's delightfully insightful "A Certain Age", once again I delved into my archives and disinterred this bit of nonsense from 2017. I apologize, dear readers, if any of you who might be suffering from medical conditions find it insensitive. It is certainly not intended to be so. Although I don't think it's been scientifically tested or doctor recommended, I firmly believe in the homeopathically therapeutic value of humor and laughter. And I know that after writing this piece, I felt better about my own health issues.
The drip is connected to my right arm
It works, as they say, just like a charm
I'm delirious with joy, must be morphine
Here comes the best nurse you've ever seen
My knee was connected to my thigh, they say
My back once connected to my spine, but nay
No more, they're disjointed now, I feel good
My legs, if I have any, are sticks of wood
The bedpan gives chills up and down my skin
Turn my head , let loose, it feels like a sin
Reruns on TV, watch the news ten times
No peace in the world, nothing but crimes
My ankles are swollen, I got a new cast
When can I get out, I'm having a blast (not)
The food is amazing, the soup is split pee
I call the grim reaper, " come rescue me"
Pressing the button, does this even work
Singing loud to a chorus, I wish I could twirk
I'm so gonna sleep now, have the wildest dreams
'bout my skeleton dancing alone with moonbeams
My stay on the fifth floor is finally done
Wheel me outside, I need to sit in the sun
Only one final thing is left here to say:
My much kneeded vacation, wasted away
Lament not, oh worthy lama
This life is but a dream
Live in joy, free from fear stigma
Things are not what they seem
Childlike, given to play
To rhythm divine sway
Keeping ego at bay
Be self-taught
Lament not
13-December-2021
Quietus
I have no spirit.
I have no soul.
I am nothing more than a terrible troll.
I’ll never see Heaven,
And this is my Hell,
To be shunned by all men and the fair mademoiselle.
I was made by a madman,
Assembled from parts
Of decaying cadavers, and life from a spark.
My twisted existence
Of needles and thread,
Malodorous materials from realms of the dead.
I entered this world
One dark stormy night,
My creator’s repugnance foretelling my plight.
I opened my eyelids
As lightning bolts zapped,
With howling of winds and thunderous claps.
I was thrust into light.
I knew darkness and cold.
I was thirsty and hungry, a sight to behold.
A blind man took pity.
I did not offend.
He was my one unconditional friend.
And then he was gone,
But I needed someone,
A partner to witness what I had become.
I wanted affection,
But all that I fetched
Was fear and revulsion for this awful wretch.
All I desired
Was someone to share
Ups and downs of a life filled with sorrow and care.
Alas! My creator
Reneged on our deal.
In spite of my honest and urgent appeal,
He butchered my bride.
I butchered his, too.
But first I killed Henry. That day he will rue.
The way I’d been treated
Only heightened my rage.
Yet my maker perished before the last page.
Soon I discovered
That I could not die.
I’ve lasted for decades. Death I defy.
And my punishment still,
As a tragic outcast,
Is to walk among gravestones of people who’ve passed.
Bruises disappeared, cuts and scratches gone
The scars inside will never heal
The roses are beautiful, your promises empty
You'll never know the way I feel
Self esteem removed, dignity stripped
Emotions drained, each day the same
How pathetic can you be to think
Somehow, some way, I might be to blame.
A horror story not fully told
Nowhere to run, nowhere to go
A love so warm, now so cold
To be so high, then sink so low.
The battle rages on, each day the same
Our dreams and plans have turned to dust
Why is the pain greater, also the shame
When it's someone you love, someone you trust.
As the last petal falls
upon trembling twigs,
and the heart withers,
like nocturnal stars
weeping in a casket~
of ice-laced sepals,
soaked in searing silence,
cloaked in thistles of nothingness,
let Cleopatra’s amulets
dress your blurred horizon,
embroidered with
empty promises.
I wear our forbidden love
like a bleeding epitaph,
inscribed with
gusts of grief
and twisted tendrils,
emanating memories of us~
a mystical reflection of
how once we danced
like daffodils sipping
spiced gold magic
while the satanic sun
burned the flickering
flames of felicity within twin souls,
weaving poetic pansies
across the symphonic sky,
brushed with Sahara crystals,
unfolding a canopy of unbreakable
c o m p a s s i o n ...
O beloved black dahlia,
if I could, I would
fetch you the moon on a spoon,
steal the galaxies~
wrap them in
supernova serenity.
I’ll paint lakes of longing
with opalescent silver,
sculpt Swarovski swans
glazed in iridescent bliss,
tempting the alluring twilight
to drizzle aurora threads
across mysterious silhouettes,
engrossed in
an ethereal orchestra.
But if tomorrow
these words weigh little
less than the dreams
we’ve dreamed in stillness,
remember my soul is tied
to your rain-kissed metaphors,
and even if rhymes cannot
fix what’s undone,
these verses ache
to cleanse every stain
left within lifeless leaflets.
For no shift in season
could veil the vibrancy of vermilion
still rushing through these veins,
singing your name
in scarred cadence,
resting my quivering quill on
the cusp of the cursed springs,
as I embrace darkness before
the dawning of dulcet wings,
to lure you back
to the land of timeless trinkets,
a lachrymose lament~
romanticized as the requiem
for bewitched orchards...
From A Sad Book, A Poet's Deep, Heartfelt Lament
Fear I, morn brings not glistening of dew
That in youth's vanished seeds of demise
Wisps of shadows in dark meadows grew
Midnight sent forth melancholy surprise.
Alas, soft wings of hope fled far away
As falling leaves of silence too soon roar
I cannot defeat intense coming grays
In dying dreams, I land not on new shores.
I sing song of a dear paradise lost
Radiant life with love and abundant
To see yet again glowing gems of frost
O' mercy Lord, a sweeter life please grant.
With falling leaves of silence's epic roar,
In dying dreams, I land not on new shores.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-18-2021
Sonnet, ( A bitter pill when Hope seems utterly lost )
He lost his job, now drives a rig.
The pros are small; the cons are big.
A sleeper cab is his abode
on tedious and lonesome road.
In Old West days, a steed he’d mount;
now yellow lines he cannot count.
A steady stream, long have they flowed
on tedious and lonesome road.
A ribbon flat, it sometimes winds,
descends or climbs until he finds
it’s all one constant episode
on tedious and lonesome road.
By some he’s loathed along the path.
For taking space, he’s shown their wrath.
Sparse traffic lessens not his load
on tedious and lonesome road.
He drives and while he drives, he yearns
for life’s return; his stomach churns.
He knows his hope but can erode
on tedious and lonesome road.
For the Solitude Contest of scott thirtyseven
(Some truck drivers have a very hard and lonely life and it's even worse
when they work for companies that couldn't care less about their welfare)
eyes of deepest blue
lips sweet as maple syrup...
his dog loves him too
Today I did stab,
an eraser so white, pure,
it did bleed blue ink.
Its 6 am
And that bloddy alarm goes off again.
Just another half an hour I plead,
But the alarm doesn't listen, the alarm doesn't heed.
Washed and dressed, reluctantly I head for my car,
A 20 minute drive, work is not very far.
The parking gods are good and I get a space
Right by the front door, my favourite place!
A smile on my face I sprint up the stairs,
Today will be good, no worries or cares.
"I want these figures and I want them now!
And these I want yesterday and don't ask me how!"
Do this, do that and for goodness sake hurry,
Am I going to be fired? I'm beggining to worry.
Its 4 pm and I plod down the stairs
My smile long gone but nobody cares
Home at last, I kick at the door
Feet up, hair down, pick up mail form the floor.
Thats my car in that photo, whats this all about?
A speeding ticket "I don't believe it" my husband hears me shout
I wish this dire day would come to an end
Shattered nerves need sleep time to mend
But all too soon
Its 6 am
And that bloody alarm goes off again.
DMoran 2012
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