Best Misty Eyed Poems
through a very small circle
and without reason
I once caught sight
of a magnified ship
'standing still'
out at sea
when it came into focus
it merged with the sky
that was grey
and was smudged
by the rain on the lens
like the whole world around it
not even the dog on the beach
barking and spinning in circles
while chasing whistles
that got lost
on the razor blade wind
could detract
because for those
five misty-eyed minutes
before my sixpence ran out
life was safe and exciting
with no
real meaning
that ship
is still out there
anchored somewhere
inside childhood
- out of time
out of season
and many many miles
from land.
Your sweet nectar fills my cup to the brim,
I never tire of your masculine touch.
You gave me hope in love,when all looked grim,
darling you’re my soulmate and not a clutch.
I will fill your cup til’ the heavens end,
touching every part of your lovely soul.
We’ll face any storm, you are my best friend,
our love is like no other, and I’m whole .
Basking in your affection is sublime,
when I met you, my heart began to beat.
My love for you will pass the end of time,
being in your arms is a special treat.
I get misty eyed from pure happiness,
you take my breath away, I now confess
Do not mist your eyes I will be here,
My arms will always be open, clutch them.
Let me see the stars in your eyes,
Let me hold your golden heart.
Let me love you,
Let us never part.
Alexis Y. &
Bobby May
10/15/2020
Copyright © Bobby May | Year Posted 2020
In starry silence and deepest sleep,
I hold vivid memories and a treasured secret
close to my heart of a long ago summer love.
Ours, was a season carved from the sun's caress,
from a sun that never set (even when the moon shone bright).
I cherished the time I held your hand, my handsome stranger.
Every waking moment was blissful and fantasies in darkness
sweetened my slumber. Our love was daring and true
but was a story never meant to be told, not even to
the icy winds blowing through my winter nights.
With you, I was lustrous in youthful glow, plucked
like a flower in morning dew, and still hungry for life
with an adventurous spirit. I called you, your warm words,
and the wild heart within them, my second home.
I was entranced by your stare; each passion-kissed day
alone with you was tethered loosely to the next
perfect, steamy day. The summer's citrus sun sprayed
light upon perfumed petals in our garden of love.
I could have pulled away before autumn's chill
but yearned to be held captive by, to know intimately,
the shackles of your love until I could no longer breathe
or desire from you more than I could give of myself.
A girl became a woman when the ripe August moon
shared its silver beams of passion in that far off, exotic place.
Brilliant in mind, it seems like yesterday but was many years ago.
As quick as you stepped into my life, you were gone,
taking with you the sultry sun and late summer moon –
you were a stranger I knew too well but not well enough
to mourn. I’m older now, busy with responsibilities.
My skin, slightly weathered, is thicker. I carry the weight
of my mistakes on my back, and still, I stand tall.
I share my strength, my love, my embrace, but
I carry the secret of you closer to my heart as I age.
Our summer memories are a part of my dreams
and the source of many misty-eyed smiles in sunlight.
For Frank's Love In A Far Off Place Contest, 7/26/15
Through rolling vapor MISTS I spy, a sailing ship at sea,
And think, perhaps, the Captain’s lost, MYSTIFIED as to where he be-
For he had MISSED his plotted course, because he could not see,
And now was lost and AMIDST, with others just like he-
There was no sign of MISTING, leaving the harbor an hour before,
REMISS about the weather, didn't know a MIST was rolling to shore-
MYSTERIOUS murk surrounded his ship, as he looked to find some ground,
And MISTY eyed he did become, when a way home wasn’t found-
“MISSING BOATS in a MYSTICAL FOG", the newspaper headlines read,
And those who'd been 'board the “MYSTIC,” now reported dead-
Dark, punishing days lie ahead.
Winter has crept up once again and I'm deep
in sad contemplation, saying a silent prayer
for the downtrodden without the creature comforts
I often take for granted, imagining how
they're muddling through life.
Each time the furious rage of winter roars
belligerently, wreaking miserable havoc,
and it's chill on my skin is immediate
and unforgiving; I think of those occupying
ramshackle dwellings with no heat
to keep warm, and say a silent prayer.
Especially on my mind, all the homeless folks
I've given money to while stopped at a traffic light.
"You've made my day, sir. God bless you!,"
I remember one once saying to me.
Where is this man now? Somewhere warm and safe?
Please, God, hear my silent prayer for him!
The mere thought of one,
just one stray animal, fending for itself out in the cold
is depressing enough to make me misty-eyed.
Why is life during winter so appallingly savage?
It's too harsh an element for such a poor creature. I say
a silent prayer for God's mercy. It's really all I can do.
Submitted for...
Your 2021 N-A Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Date: 04/25/2021
N/A in All Yours Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/20/2021
Date posted: 01/17/2021
Date originally written: 07/23/2007
We all like to think that if we were the victims of domestic abuse we'd up and leave - but it's not always as easy or straightforward as that. Women stay with abusive partners for all kinds of reasons - they love them, they fear them, they have children with them, they believe they can change them or they simply have no where else to go. - Kate Thornton
Although her tears were more real
than any words, any screams, the dreaded yelling
criticizing, arguing, condemning…
reckless words who failed to understand or recognize
the feelings, softly dancing, from the darkest fears,
pouring from the opening in pores where doubt stained
verses echoed the pain, the grief, the tears…
gushing like rivers, emptying the damaged spirit, the drenching
wounds warring with heartfelt yearning,
pleading for the light, the embrace of a caring
who cares? Who cares?
silent, he stands at the door, erasing the music from her tears,
reaching beneath the gentle, to a burial ground of loathing
a distant dream perches on her heart, like hope,
but not quite so sure…
she fails to hear him when he cries because his tears are swallowed up
in trails of painful injuries, silent thieves of joy,
agonizing, feeding on the past…
which was last seen screaming for feelings, bleeding quietly,
in the still, cool waters of abuse,
domestic violence, trembling on the lashes,
misty eyed and almost as dramatic as the stories
beneath the quiet graves, who roar with the assurance,
finally protected by the only One who could save her
from the shame, the pain, the despair…
burning in her eyes, tears fall… ignored by the one who hurts her so,
but wiped dry by the One who called her home….
so cry no more… cry no more!
She takes in strays that no one wants;
the house is overrun with cats;
she feeds them scraps - it's all she has -
but some will hunt and feast on rats.
Her husband left, she lost her job -
she coped. So many years alone,
the cats her only friends (although,
you never hear Old Ester moan).
They say she's crazy, or a witch;
the children run, the locals hide.
She doesn't speak and hobbles by:
a sad old lady, misty-eyed...
for Line's Crazy Cat Lady contest
A sliver of October moon
sinks slow into the western night
and the life of a billion stars
begin to fade beyond my sight
The black curtain of night dissolves
as colors flare the eastern sky
The glorious hues of morning
proudly herald a new sunrise
Heaven's light spreads o'er the valley
telling all the world to arise
Bright autumn leaves upon the trees
mimic the grandeur of the sky
Sunflowers turn their golden heads
to the promise of what's to come
A melody from wings on high
sing a joyous praise to the sun
I get a little misty eyed
as other cowboy start to come
Can't help but feel a little sad
that this night-herders job is done
You turn me on, you make me misty-eyed,
My nascent science of love, years back,
When I followed you downstream, to bloom it began,
The sight of flowers blossom, in earnest we did invest,
Your frail hands, soft and tender,
Your electric touch, skin-deep not,
You taught me to watch the stars, in reflection I wondered,
The Antares and Aldebaran, caught my sigh,
Provoked, you opened the gates to your heart,
You filled me in, you turned me on,
Oh the Aroma, and the beauty to behold,
Two star-crossed lovers,
As breath-taking as the Maasai Mara, we opened to a new world
Full of life,
Full of energy,
Reasons why you turn me on!
Misty eyed and weary over the gallows I blow
daunting a mere string in tow
last school bells rung
but the hallowed halls still call
Scuff marks mark my sentence
tough times as seconds slowly ticked by
pure white first day memories
when fresh minds mattered
puddles and mud stained canvas
darkness haunts to this very day
running ladders
locked away weekends didn't matter
Used and abused
a fresh life awaits
up high I fly
The lights are on all throughout the city
The vast amount of light exists around
The fainting love spell, such divinity
A long enhanced greatness so abound
Pieces of delight are within each scene
The lights are on all throughout the city
Cars express their glory, by lights they’re seen
And each home brings about light pleasantly
Passion floats within the air completely
There are immense delights while just roaming
The lights are on all throughout the city
Enlightenment shown by all approaching
Like a swinging light switch in a warm room
Baring the basics of necessity
Misty eyed people approach without doom
The lights are on all throughout the city
Russell Sivey
dreary eyed, musky languor- tassels tight
a loose walk paraded by looser convictions
an acquaintance of that sad, lowly height
that alluded odysseys and several hymns
open window, surely dries out the stink
encroached in the room shadows and fleas
the zeitgeist of this area; to even think
flowers and dewdrops burly trees; to seize
the thought, it lingers, but only so little
too soon, to even land a misty eyed dream.
several formica red tables
glass shakers of pepper and salt
big plastic tomatoes I wanted to squeeze
and shaped bottles of sarson’s own malt.
netting on all of the windows
scratch marks from chairs on the floor
ashtrays with notches to rest cigarettes
and 'open' and 'closed' on the door.
menus upright in a v-shape
the 'royals' adorning the wall
food through the fog of benson & hedges
with no one complaining at all.
my past was another country
before chains, regulations and brunch
places I knew from those misty-eyed times
are no more and have all 'gone to lunch'.
For My Mother
Although you are not here with me today, Mom
On quiet nights, I sometimes remember
How you held my hand and led the way
Those past years never to be forgotten
When I was lost, your words of encouragement
Guided me to the narrow path of fulfillment
And now that I am grown, I look back
To see you, Mom, my Knight in shining armor
When times were hard, you fought your misty eyed tears
How difficult it must have been to hide your most inner fears
And even though you needed love and comforting too
Your sacrifices were for me, unselfish and without thought of you
You taught me to never give up, always be myself each day
To follow my dreams, not letting anything stand in my way
I will try my best but you know it's not easy for me, Mom
To follow in your footsteps, but I'll never let you down
And now that you are no longer here for me to say
I look upon my children with the hope that someday,
They can understand why I often look at the stars for you,
An Angel, still guiding and forever watching over us too
******
Gone But Not Forgotten
I thank you Mom!
By: Liz Ward
It was a long lonely night at the lumber mill
Just listening to a whippoorwill
In the dark beside a logging road.
I’ve got fifteen cars of timber on my load.
The yard stinks of bleeding sap and cut pine.
Roll on, roll on down the line.
I’ll be on my way before the dawn
Through the bottoms and the swamps.
Before first sun light on the timber lot,
Backwater sloughs and cypress knots.
On rusted rails I’ll be making time
When the horizon winks a thin gold line.
I’ll be rumbling down this long steel track,
Somewhere between porch light and pitch black
While coyotes call out for the night.
My engines will be roaring around the bend
As the night bird’s song comes to an end.
Roll on, morning train, roll on.
Then day break will lay on morning dew,
As the logging town fades out of view.
I’ll give my whistle a blow, blow
To make the farmer’s rooster crow.
By the time the sun has warmed me,
Old men will be drinking their coffee
As I roll through the station.
I ask you leave an open car
For misty eyed hobos and runaways.
Let them know the clotheslines, highways,
And countless telephone poles.
Sunshine and shadows clicking time
Beside the graveyards, grain silos,
And other lonely places.
They’ll be greeted by multitudes of sparrows,
Smiling house wives in their bathrobes,
Unwashed cars and graffiti
Behind the back yards of society.
They’ll find comfort in the rhythm of the day
Beside the dusty dirt roads and alleyways.
Roll on, big freight train, roll on.