Best Lossold Poems
‘Twas a grey november morning
When I climbed outside my window
To see my breath like dragon’s smoke
Swirl and dance away.
‘Twas bitter cold
That autumn day,
And sickly sun wore mourning shrouds
Though lazy earth had yet to draw
Her snowy blanket
To her chin.
I marveled at
The tiny leaf-
The last one to remember
Summer’s happy days,
The only one to forget
His time was done.
Yet in his small defiance-
Prideful even in the light of death-
As he clung tightly to the bough
He commanded wondering respect.
And too
The blades of grass,
Idle maidens gossiping,
Had not lost their bright greenery
To old winter’s paling breath.
For they had done with washing
Dappled cheeks in morning dew,
Now arrayed themselves in frosty gowns
For Autumn's final dance.
With cheery feet
They turned and swayed,
Laughing in their finery,
The wind as minstrel serenading
With whistling tune
Them all.
Until the last leaf,
Old heart breaking,
Found that he could hold no more.
Slowly,
Slowly down he drifted
To the forest floor.
Then with a crashing sound was shattered
The stillness of that dark, dark morn;
And all the maidens wept in earnest-
Rent their lovely clothes in twain.
And as I felt the old man sleeping-
Dreaming ever
In my hand-
I knew the magic of that morning
Had been torn away.
Sure enough, earth’s yawning
Fingers
Pulled upon herself the snow.
But still sometimes I think of
Eden
Hidden in the folds of Autumn:
Longing, pining, yearning still
To whisper ancient secrets
To me.
The silent news spoke
Nothing of my grief, the fire
Came after the smoke
Children, grandchildren
Were'nt lollipops of the flames
Choking on prayers
The serpent's eyes red
Looked, and from our fortress fled
Staining just one room
With the ash of sin
Investment here of its doom
Without rain or tears
Throw the old things out
Burnt furniture, wet clothes scarred
With water and dirt
Human life is more
Than grief can measure in loss
This, yet we endure
Carol, dear, and John
Give Candice my love's regard
We shall build again
The phoenix in us
Resist the yearning in dust
To fracture our trust
We rise, and we rise
The spark above leaping fire
Death is love disguised,
The balm of the skies
We believe and do not need
The germ in the seed.
Let old visions die
Frail vanity now disposed
Fresh faith from it grows
For in this despair
Our safety meant God is here
Life is only grace.
I sometimes call out your name, as I wake from a dream, only to realize that you’re no
longer here beside me. There are days when I walk along the old trail behind our house…I
swear sometime I can hear you calling out my name in the distance. Only to realize it’s just
two kids playing in the distance. Oh, how I wish that you were here one more time, just so I
could bask in the warmth of your smile and listen to the soothing sigh off your laughter. No
nothing is still the same since the day…God called you back to be with him. God sure is a
lucky fellow, to have someone as special as you in his company. Lord, knows you must have
them all laughing and smiling…as you make those funny faces and sounds with your hands to
your face. I can’t help but to think of you as I past that old faded picture of me and you that
hangs on the wall. Maybe…next week I will throw it out? After all it’s all faded and the frame
is breaking up, guess it’s from all the tears I shed on it, each time I took it off that wall?
The old red barn, standing mute for years,
still sporting the squeaky weather vane.
Its paint long cracked and peeling,
now all but disappeared.
Six generations of father, son, and grandson
have worried and fussed over its care,
resisting temptations to renew, rebuild,
or remodel the symbol of heart and soul.
The farm foreclosed for back taxes,
now twenty acres remain of six hundred.
The old Massey Ferguson now long quiet,
too large to plow the small garden worked.
Too expensive to get it running anyway,
the sentimental attachment, greater than worth.
A tear slowly traversed the young owner’s cheek
as he signed the transfer to the restaurant chain.
The barn would have to be moved to make
room for a ramp off of the new cloverleaf.
© Oct 5 2010 For Rick's "the old red barn" contest
An abandon old town, from where life once thrived,
now sets alone forsaken and desolate in the late evening sun.
Empty shadows dance across the ground gripping the old town
with an eerie reality of lost hope and futile dreams.
Old building sags in the moonlight.
Homesteads stretch out across the endless barren land.
Empty like the promise of a new life.
A cool breeze drifts aimlessly through open doors,
and broken windows, scattering into time pieces of the past.
.
He’s having a big mid life crisis
It’s a bit late, I grant you, but true
It should have begun in his forties
And not when he hit eighty two
When he traded his wife for a new one
(She is thirty years younger, or more)
The old one was getting quite past it
So he told her, and showed her the door
He now spends his time, with fine dining and wine
And all of life’s pleasures and joys
From Italian suits and dying his roots
To a house full of gadgets and toys
In the garage there sits a big Harley
And whenever the weather is sunny
He jumps on his hack, with his bird on the back
And they go out and spend loadsa money
But he’s not such a big hairy biker
Since when they return from the trip
He’ll sit down in front of the fire
For a cocoa, and afternoon kip
As his old aching bones start rebelling
And he ponders upon his past life
All the things he has done, the women the fun
But most, how he misses his wife
Tsunami
I got some bad news from my granddaughter today
That one of her friends who had moved to JAPAN
With her family- “died in that tsunami.”
She was only ten years of age
And would always speak with my
Grand daughter on her face book page.
Now this young life has been taken away
And for her and all lives lost, we do pray.
First they had an earthquake - one of the
Strongest ever recorded at 9.0 on the scale
Which created the tsunami with over
thirty foot waves ,sending possibly thousands
To an early watery grave.
it seems like with each disaster
There is a miracle after.
A four month old baby was found alive
They’re still trying to figure out
How it survived.
Then a seventy year old lady
Somehow came thru
How did she make it? What did she do?
They also found a man in a crushed
House eight days later.
Now you tell me - what can be greater!
they are finding many more alive
But in the process, so many have died.
So for these miracles that we now see
They Will go into the pages of history.
How many more signs must be shown
Before we open our eyes to what humanity
Is doing and to what god created.
Must everything we know become devastated.
So to my granddaughters friend JENNIFER VEGA
You have gone to meet our maker.
But as so many who have gone before
You’ll be there to open our door.
You’ll be there with a grin
Ready to welcome us in.
But why has mankind allowed us
To get to a point of no return
With so many screaming , and their
Voices can’t be heard.
I guess mankind will never learn
And in our hearts these tragedies
Will forever burn.
This garden grows in rows
The old soil is parched and hard
Stripped of nourishment
By time
Headstones in a graveyard
This garden grows in rows
Sprung from seeds of despair
Grown from consequence
By design
Gate broken beyond repair
This garden grows in rows
Watered by slow gray tears
Tended with old love
By thine
A long black coach draws near
This garden grows in rows
The flowers mingle with the weeds
Silence all surrounding
By mine
No one visits, cries or pleads
I tried to fly
God knows I tried
To bring the cherry back
For children in the nest.
I told old Daedalus
It was the weight of sorrow
That kept me
In the labyrinth dark
Shivering before the minotaur
I had no weight at all
That could defy my wings
I told old Daedalus
Listening me carefully
While rolling sweat in wax
It was the lost of feathers
The plucking of focus from the heart
And while my children waited
There I was in the day and night of night
There I was bruised and baited
Shunning the place of sacrifice
The total consummation of not flesh
But time, the harrying tap of time
Longing to get back
Longing to oar the reversing sea
Longing my soul from guilt to free
Longing to break the unmaking of me
Longing again to taste the sunshine's glee
I could not fly with wax
Nor be frivolous like poor Icarus
Celebrating not the arrival
But the escape from that darkness primeval.
Ambiguity
Is a perfidious circumstance
But here before heaven
I gave it everything
Every dream without opportunity
Every sinews without joy
I only kept back again and again
A little time to soothe the pain
And thus I suffered in the silent years
In the edifice of manhood
I hid my tears
Brine with the bitterness of her spite
Fenced in the envy of her hate
She shredded the feathers for my flight
And left my sojourn desolate.
I tried to fly
I tried to bring the cherry back
But could not get up the tree myself
Without my wings
I was stuck before the awful clock.
The house now stands empty
where the old folks used to be
waiting to be filled again
with the sounds of a family.
Maybe a child at play
on some afternoon
or just the sound of a radio
playing a well known tune.
But I will always remember the old man
with his tales of long ago
of how he lived as a working man
and the folks he used to know.
And I’ll remember the old man’s wife
a little anxious, like she could be
but always happy to spend some time
sharing a laugh with me.
Their joy was in the simple things
like a flower coming in to bloom
the happiness in the eyes of a child
and those good old fashioned tunes.
But the greatest gift they had in life
is given by a women to a man
oh how they loved their baby girl
from the day her life began.
Now they’ve passed their gift to me
to love her as my own
for now and all eternity
so she is not alone.
My feeling is gone like the warmth in winter, leaving me cold like an icy splinter
A feeling so hollow deep down inside, a gaping maw from which I cannot hide
Like a endless void consuming my heat, eating my insides so I'm incomplete
My feeling is gone like the old man’s youth, my feeling is gone and that’s the truth
I feel no joy in the summers sweet sun, there is no exhilaration in my fastest run
I feel no love in the babe’s soft eyes and I feel no pain in their harshest cries
No doubt or pity are felt in this heart, not one ounce of emotion can I impart
My feeling is gone like an old man’s youth, my feeling is gone and that’s the truth
My feeling is gone like a seed on the wind, the innocence of man who know he has sinned
Like a man of tin I grind through the days, waiting to die and counting the ways
The motions of life hold no interest for me, an unfortunate rocking like a boat on the sea.
My feeling is gone like an old man’s youth, my feeling is gone and that’s the truth
I miss the old you.
That young, innocent spirit I once knew.
After all you've been through,
I thought what the others were saying about you
Was simply untrue
Just out of the blue
I thought they were gonna make you subdue
I was mistaken.
Recently, my faith in you has shaken
And your recent attitude has left me forsaken
I would just wish that the old you would awaken
You no longer laugh, smile, or cry
The innocent spirit inside you has clearly died
Your arrogance now overshadows your once humbleness
I wish I knew you no longer, as your old memory would suffice as eternal bliss
I was foolish to think things would stay the same,
As even the seasons change regularly
The leaves fall ordinarily
The old die so that the young can live
And one sets an example so that others can give
Things constantly change,
And even our own memories become estranged
But I thought it was extraordinarily strange
When I saw you change
What would mama say?
Seeing her baby boy fade away
What would papa say?
Seeing dismay pave your way
In the mirror, it is you I see
Because no matter how much in vain I disagree
I will never forget that the one that changed was me
For some it is inevitable
the colors gradually fade
Until the days seem eternally dusk
the skies forever grey
Waking in the morning
that old desire just ain't there
what used to inspire
along the way you lost somewhere
Youth seemed so invincible
but getting old has a way
of making one feel vulnerable
knowing time is having the final say
Photo pictures and poets
are similar on a very thin line
Freezing moments and thoughts
of a life in an other time
Old pictures of old men
back when they were nine
to writes of there will and testament
due to a loss of time
Pictures of a girlfriend,
or a long lost loved one
To writes of there feelings
brings a beautiful lost love poem
From pictures of Family
and great times that were shared
too writings from Grand paw's
about time that couldn't be spared
From all these old pictures
and all these final thoughts
photo pictures and poets
will not let it be forgot
Some say I am crazy
and some say I am not
these things prove together
Photo pictures and poets
are alike
a lot
Please take a moment and open your thoughts
As you enter my mind to the contests sought
To run as brothers one faster than the other
Running to catch up to shadow his brother
One turns the corner the other behind
Just as he turns in your eyes you now find
Through me you see a main road just ahead
You see your brother, in seconds he's dead
Listen to the impact as he is hit by a van
Slow motion now shows, as different worlds ran
Tyres are screeching, or is it my brother
For fifty yards he's been dragged, a young life in smother
To reach the opening that your past images have seen
A nine year old boy against a modern machine
To look through my eyes on that Monday night
At seven years old I turned and took fright
How I got back to my father I'll never know
In monsoon of tears under street light glow
To be so young to say your brother is dead
For the past forty two years, my dreams I still dread