Best Loss Poems
The old man sat with eyes closed, dozing in his chair
Until a little voice he heard say “Grandpa, are you there”.
He gazed upon a little boy while waking from his nap
Then reached down with a sweeping move and placed him in his lap
The child was carrying a book that he wanted him to see
He held it up and asked him “Grandpa, will you read to me”?
The old man cleaned his glasses then opened up the book
And suddenly the two of them a wonderous journey took
They ventured lands so far away, sailed seas not sailed before
Met knights and kings and wizards on every distant shore.
Together they fought dragons, saved damsels in distress
Freeing lands of monsters and the treasures they possess
When the old man closed the cover to end their magic ride
He told the boy “We're much like books, what's important is inside”.
But one day when the boy arrived and rushed to Grandpas chair
Much to his disappointment, his Grandpa was not there
He ran to find his mother for surely she would know
Why the chair was empty, where did his Grandpa go
She sat him down and asked him if he remembered in each book
The adventures and the journeys that he and Grandpa took
He took you there to show you the things that you can find
The wonders that are yours to see if you open up your mind.
But he still walks beside you in the stories you have read
You're not left to go alone, he’s just gone on ahead
The child then went and chose a book and climbed up in the chair
And opening up the cover whispered “Grandpa, are you there”?
Grim fog, I praise the shelter of your drear,
the sundown ghost morose not grandiose,
I walk alone - but, no -- with my despair;
a bittern bids a bitter adiós.
The breakers so in agony they gnash
and gnaw the strand with thrash of foamy green,
the tempest witch brings ironfisted lash
alas, the eye-of-storm epiphany unseen.
Free, free! The tern who flies in Gemini
above beloved peak and shore and wave,
sun-painted wings, away you went -- so spry,
so fierce! Bluebird pierced and buried in your grave,
..and the stars understand; a fateful fall into the sea --
Damn the deep! It’s jostle docile.. my scream to meet the scree!
Susan Ashley
June 29, 2021
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mille 11
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Contemporary Sonnet
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
*bittern: any of several tawny brown herons
*scree: an accumulation of weathered rock fragments at the foot of a cliff
*a Modern / Contemporary Sonnet is a poem of 14 lines addressing any theme of the poet's choosing. It does not need to adhere to any set rhyme scheme, syllable count or meter, nor does it need to include a volta. The only true requirement of a modern sonnet is that it consists of 14 lines*
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
In A Sad Blindness, One May Yet Find Hope
(The Solemn Prayer)
Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.
On this day, life should see past these looming black-storms
Find solace in love, hope and my loving wife's arms
Yet that stone wall, yields to nothing but great power
Far more than this broken soul can muster this hour
When thus lost, can one ever find again that Light
Healer of dagger stabbed wounds, found on a dark night
I pray, gift wisdom to walk that one true-lit path
Release this sad soul from, this evil, wicked wrath.
Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2017
Syllables Per Line:
12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12
Total # Syllables: 288
Total # Words: 225
Note- I decided to write this poem, this morn. About half had already been composed in my head yesterday afternoon and I finally sat down now to put pen to paper.
Believe me, in that it was not an easy task to finish this and be satisfied with the results.
Maybe I am just tired and stopped because of that.
I don't know. Maybe on another day, I could have and would have thought this lacking and rewritten it..
But today, I have only enough to say, this is as it is(and thus it may stay), hope you may find it agreeable and not fault me too much .......
"At the end of my life, with just one breath left, if you come then, I'll sit up and sing. That cannot now be said or written." Rumi
Lyrics of loneliness liberate in a lucid language,
lulling loveless librettos of lamenting loss.
In deadly depths of darkness,
deep desires dipped in despair,
misplace my marooned mind
in metaphorical mists of misconception.
Deserted in a domain of demons,
there's an aura of angst amongst absent angels.
When reality resembles a betrayal of butterflies,
withered wings wilt in wild winters without a wish.
In timeless tender tunes of tearful toxic torment,
nocturnal nightingales cry in a crepuscule chorus,
confessing caged crescendos in cryptic codes.
Sickness slithers in sinister silence,
as grinning Grim Reaper reveals his reflection.
My sojourner soul seeks a saviour's silhouette.
Who soothes in seraphic serenades of serenity.
To float in fate's fountain of featherless freedom.
In forbidden fields where fluorescent flowers flourish forever.
Her effervescent eyes exhale an elixir,
evoking an exotic, enticing, everlasting epiphany.
Enchanting in echoes of an Edenic enduring enigma.
Beneath bluebells, breathless and broken,
let me lay inside the lilacs of her amorphous aroma.
Her swan song closing chapter of my chronicles.
A halcyon harmony of heavenly harps,
guiding my gondola towards golden gates of grace.
Behold Death
Behold Death in your loving arms.
Embrace it as you would the loved
one who passed…entering another
realm, as they are still hovering near
and can hear, see and feel
your grieving emotions.
You may not be able to visualize
them, but may sense their presence.
Feel the comfort they are trying
to offer by crossing the boundaries of
linear time from one realm to the next
in the beauty that residing divinely on
the other side affords us.
We are able to sense their essence of
spirit that will remain with us always
until we too join them in their existence
that has no limitations and is bound only
by collective souls living in harmony.
Behold Death in your loving arms.
10-13-18
~Poem of the Day October 15, 2018~
Thank you Poetry Soup Team and Members.
Shadowed in the silent room, the daylight's nearly gone
Dusk climbs in through window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, and dust gets in my eyes
I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
Discovering old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelain, unblemished, young and new
Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held small china cups, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished
Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches
I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
My loneliness is free to go, I know that she is there
Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside
These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours
____________________________________________________________
Written 6/8/2008
Submitted to Contest: "Old Jewelry or Just Old Things or Old,
Old Poems/Poetry Contest "
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Once when my soul spoke,
you betrayed every word.
Then your tongue promised
to only sing with sincerity.
I danced for a brief while,
lost in your angelic orchestra.
Until I stumbled and you fell,
crushing our garden of roses.
Then keys fused only sad sounds.
Maybe it was me, but i'm sure
it was you, who left me alone on
that boulevard of broken promises.
Vivid violins cried, until you
snapped their sorrowful strings.
And I was right there, but
your eyes deceived you.
You thought it was rain drops,
not the tone of my tears,
electrocuting the heart
of my weeping guitar.
Chills from your silence
froze suppressed emotions.
Creating ribs of steel, which
shield flesh that is now stone.
Now your love belongs to
another innocent man.
Who doesn't know your song,
nor how your garden blooms.
Simple Musings
Silent One
28 February 2018
You had me oblivious to your antics,
as you hushed me tenderly by the creek
into your hide and seekable
soul-surrendering secret relief.
There, you cottled me into softness
with a simple chin caress,
which continued to smooth
the entire twisting course
of my delicate remorse.
My garments shifted
from their skin,
slipped into the witnessing wind.
You convinced me to sin
so remarkably, so recklessly,
for one worshipped glide
of feigned intimacy.
I bemoan my mixed senses
behind the curtain of uncertainty.
Oh, Romeo, if only I'd known you.
If only I knew that
your prestigious people-pleasing smile
was practice for the play.
That those granny pleasing manners
and Band-Aid banter
would soothe my soul to sleep.
That those jovial jokes
and caramel coated coaxing
would lead me quietly to the creek
where your meaty man hands would span
each inch of my innocence and beyond.
That your chivalrous, chiseled chest
and incandescent camper's scent
would be compressed
against my gentleness.
By this indulgence
I had relinquished your respect
and you had tossed my trust.
So dissolved the blending of lust,
and with it the end of us.
Your camouflaged fibs
of forever love
would continue deep
through the space in my ribs,
into the closing scene.
Romeo, so applause-worthy were you
on your secret stage that
Shakespeare could have cast you
just as you had cast me.
My hands are tired, so I let my brush rest,
unable to paint Autumn's loneliness.
How much I miss you can never be stressed.
August has left behind blank emptiness.
Sitting by the window in the corner,
watching the world in its colourful hues.
I search for your face among the murmur,
but all I'm left with is a muse with blues.
In simple stillness your voice echoes loud.
Each stitch I weave I see you before me.
Memories remind me of what we vowed.
Without you there would be no artistry.
My palette is dry without your pastel,
all that's left is an indigo inkwell.
Such precious gemstones
Morning dew shines like diamonds
God’s tears from heaven
Written on 18th February 2 days before my father died
Posted 22nd February 2015
with each crest of a wave
forming white crystal peaks
she weeps, inhales, let's go.
beneath a star studded vista
a resplendent guiding light
arms open, palms up, she is free.
the soothing sea winds
carrying away her grief and sorrow
hands posed in devotion, she smiles.
in a seascape of serenity
her baptism place of choice
she steps forward, her new beginning.
02-17-2017
A lovely rose grew to the garden's delight,
a poem of sunrise surrounded by night.
One day her friend Ivy asked "Why do you mourn?"
Rose answered, "I've lost my beloved dear thorn.
"We've been closer than close since I was a young bud,
now I fear he has fallen down into the mud.
He protected this vine, but I trust our Creator
we shall meet again, be it sooner or later."
Another thorn fell then, and nearly another.
Poor Rose mourned and prayed as would any sad mother.
"I must carry on", she said, "find ways to cope,
composing new poems to give others hope".
With courage and kindness she faced each new day,
always loving and knowing the right words to say.
She lost a few petals when summer storms blew,
but her friends in the garden all felt she pulled through.
One day Ivy looked and with sadness profound
saw the flowerless vine and her friend on the ground.
But the vine's saddest loss was the soil's richest gain,
for Rose and her thorns were united again.
For Connie Marcum-Wong. We miss you dear rose, but
rejoice that you are finally reunited with your loved ones.
Quote: A man can fail many times, but he isn’t a failure until he begins to blame somebody else.
John Burroughs
________________________________________
Inspired by life’s goals, winners are intuitively aware,
A loss is but a steppingstone, not a reason to despair;
Again and again, with certitude they play the game,
For triumph, they envision, is written in every name.
They never seek to blame others, for own mistakes,
Instead, they course-correct, averting heart-breaks,
Re-learning, deep in introspection, as they re-assess;
Ameliorating ways of failures, reaching for success.
When life is perturbed in adversities, they fear not,
Cognizant~ anything worthwhile must be hard-fought;
Summoning conquering ways, every failure taught,
To attain ultimate milestone, reveries of victory sought.
They accept, they advance, when things go wrong,
Strumming theme winsome, emanating from life’s song,
Echoing a pledge revered, treasured for quite long;
Avowing~ to them, the reigns of future shall belong.
Dreams of passion, dreams coveted, refuse to die,
For resolutely their objectives, driven believers vie;
Until triumphantly, bells-elated, of success chime,
Trumping sad sighs of failures, defeated over time.
Sunlight falls in breezy dapples
across your lichened stone,
solace now I seek in chapel’s
old yard while we’re alone.
It brings my heart back, being here -
love; that I remember,
the autumn brings a tender tear
season of September.
Neath supple sways my prayerful praise
I offer you a hymn;
may dreams evergreen be always
blessed to soulful brim.
...church bells black -
they toll the hours
mourning time
since you’ve been gone.
Losing you
and laughter ours
wrong side of Heaven
I am on...
Green leaves that sigh like grieving silk
have not yet turned to red,
memories sweet as mother’s milk
will nurse through snows ahead.
It brings my heart back, being here -
love; that I remember,
the autumn brings a tender tear
season of September.