Best Mournings Poems
Lace hankie tucked inside her jacket sleeve
Hard candy filled the tin beside Mom’s purse
Gray mournings, nature’s gifts for those who grieve
At times when it seems nothing could be worse
So many dresses filled her closet space
And most of them I’d sewn by hand for her
I folded them as memories gave chase
Recalling the fine fabrics Moms prefer
Her perfume bottle nearly stood half full
Its fragrance still brought thoughts of Mom to me
And when I packed her scarf of finest wool
A teardrop fell that only Dad could see
For as I stowed Mom’s things, my Dad looked on
He knew I’d pack again when he was gone
*January 3, 2020
i have taken
your spirit soaked in poverty
blessed are knocking on the doors
you rain on me
i have borrowed
your mournings and its comforts
we lie on the sand singing
i have pledged your
meekness to inherit the dancing earth
we dance to the tune of love
i have stolen
your hunger and thirst, justice prevail
and we are full, mercy we give, they
are merciful, i see, we eat steak
and drink red wine of water
i have joined the purity in your tender
heart heaven is visible now we are
i have inherited your peace n we are the
children of love
they persecute us for the sake of our
righteousness ours
is the kingdom
we escape to the end of the hunting world
preparing for the rapture
Love is beautiful, it brings perfection
Perfection sprouting from two human beings
Two human beings who then transcend mutually
Transcend mutually until they become unique
Feelings can be deadly wild like a stallion
Like a stallion who is exploding all rings
All rings in a precise way, very vigorously
Vigorously until the hearts are in total panic
Emotions act faster than every single action
Every single action, including automated flings
Automated flings killing the fool anonymously
Anonymously crushing his own harmony, pathetic
Marriage is complex, surrounded by temptation
Temptation which amplifies with useless mournings
Useless mournings opening doors, a new life adjacently
Adjacently creating a world that is tremendously chaotic
Like the moving clouds my life runs,
Not knowing when to stop, saturate and shower,
Carrying the vapours of worry my heart weighs heavy,
Crossing the peak I saturate and cry,
Sometimes I squall, sometimes I bawl,
At times I weep and at times I wail,
The joy of colours are slowly dwindling,
I turn black or white,
I see my life waning in vain,
I was wont to rise at dawn,
My mornings turned mournings,
Tears of grief brushes my cheeks,
Lamentation has become my daily passion,
I like to cry and this is my hobby,
The two impostors - happiness and joy
I never met them so far
To smile or laugh, this has become
The most difficult task.
No shelter to stay,
No shoulders to lay,
A sense of loneliness in the crowd,
Desolation always stands before me,
I see my reflection but there is none,
Even my shadow never follows me,
Unaccompanied and deserted,
Isolated from my own species,
Yet I danced with abandoned enthusiasm,
My bed, my companion,
Where I cuddle for warmth,
It makes my dreams come true,
By making me more dream and accrue
My pillow my spouse,
The hugs of lust and kisses of romance,
With all love bites and chews,
It remains the same even if I squeeze,
The scented breeze holds up patiently,
When the window panes thrown open,
It rushes to tell me its stories of faux pas,
In fiasco and pain I listen to him again,
We share are exasperation and worries,
My gentle friend slides my tears away,
The park benches where I take a nap,
Reminds me my mother’s lap,
It calls me with love and care
And bears me with its arms as chair,
The tall maples around me,
With beautiful red pentamerous raceme
It composes melodies of all times
And makes an concert with wind chimes,
With all these little pleasures,
All alone in this world,
With no one falling in my eyes,
I live a life`
And this I call a solace in solitude.
22 July, 2016
Loneliness Poetry contest
Free as the independent woman that raised us
Don’t believe in every story
Allegories & fables
Fast for mournings ,Now I’m unplugged from the matrix
I once seen great things come to me When I’m humble & patient
Die young live fast ima hustler baby
Enlightened a fein about my dreams , But they just customers craving
I’m in love with the planet ,But I enjoy a comfortable spaceship
Green like marine corps beside Oliver North
Olive oil every pocket got multiply copies of corpse
Every slave visioned days of riding a horse
So I Kill for my freedom with no kind of remorse
The evening sun enhance my melanin
I embrace my new journey with everything i got within
As nights get dark I remember The police are not our friends
Sunrise eats the nights heartache
Mournings are the music of my soul
Failing big by what was a stake
Dying every day by loves toll
I'm just dwelling on a prayer
Alone again broken from the part
Drifting from a dream of no compare
Love me now save my heart
Pictures of grief hang on lives wall
Silence breaks the barrior of my mind
Waiting breathless for your yearning call
Capturing your eyes but always blind
I'm just dwelling on a prayer
Alone again broken from the part
Drifting from a dream of no compare
Love me now save my heart
Feelings gone removed from this place
Fallings tears drown me forever
Hurting always seeing the pain on my face
Knowing the cure is us together
I'm just dwelling on a prayer
Alone again broken from the part
Drifting from a dream of no compare
Love me now save my heart
Turning blue from the emotion
Burning to death from passions fail
Wanting to blindly show devotion
Living on with you to tell the tale
Can I allay man's acceptance
of poverty which was not a dire circumstance before?
On those past days of summer the stale from bread crumbs fell
onto the lidless eyes of each child, woman on the street while my hands stretched out in full vanity ...
my very core frustrated, angry as I
walked without faith;
this self- imposed conceit ruling my thoughts as I served the community for my own glory.
And though I wished for more nights abundant that will quench their souls,
I slaved, part of my time dedicated to teach them how to make a living--
but can I wish for the morning sun to come and glow behind the ridges of a slum village wrecked by knives of hunger?
'Empathy denied by pride! '
How could I befriend genuine charity
when my self- centered heart
hungered for personal gain, the applause
of greatness screaming from tin cans and rice bowls of unpriveleged families?
How full of myself was I,
anticipating honors for service rendered,
an accompaniment to my thirsty pride...
and like so, reaping poor men's
adulation, I became more empty,
more devoid of inner peace...
Into deep mournings, prayers sought me:
Who is poorer of spirit-- the giver or the taker?
I pause now...another tomorrow begins,
baptism of epiphany flames the belly.
Another day arrives, my hope and transformation refreshed.
My favorite thing about the month of June
The smell of cuttings across the lawn
The air so crisp and beautifully warm by noon
The smell of the day after right after dawn
Spirits linger in early mournings rays
Each moment passes, away silently slips the day
If only those moments could only last
The smell of dew and fresh cut grass
Clean, crisp and fresh holding it with loving grasp
All through the day
Why Christmas Day when He seems so far away?
Why fain rejoicing when really there is nothing to say?
Why do Christmas with all it's tradition and more,
When in a few days it shall transition to as it was before?
There is no Christmas magic
Offering some mystical trick.
Transforming our hopeless state so tragic
Into happy! happy ! happy!
Just that quick.
The Christ that came for Calvary, does not return each year . There is no need to prepare him room, for he is already there.
In your soul , in your marriage too. In your family and all who fellowship with you.
He greets you each morning,
He gives you rest each night.
He knows your joys and Mournings,
Nothing escapes His sight.
So the greatest gift to give this year
Is to share with others that Christ is already here!
And rather than make room in the inn
He wants man to walk with Him.
Clods of blood,
Backs of sweats,
Echoes of mournings,
Fountains of tears,
Alters of sacrifices
traded for the freedom
we inherit today.
There were days when
our forth parents have to
struggle across the atlantic
ocean oppress by transatlantic
devotion
with ships of slaves on their
shoulders.
Inside the vessels tightly
packed with the blackness of
our skin
the minds that engineer our
cultures
and the fighters of our freedom.
Their burdens were made heavy
like the burden of slaves.
Their feet bleed against the
thorns of inhumanity
yet still they carry their burden
in the boiling sun and in the
dark of night, so that we can
inherit freedom
They gave their backs
to the whips,
their limbs to shackles,
their labor to the fields
then gave their live to the
grave, and all they ask
in return is for our freedom.
Knowing the hardship that
our ancestors undergo so that
we're free,
what do we do with our
freedom?
Darkness, the day she went away,
perpetual rain claimed his heart.
“Hope” her prognosis didn’t sway;
misty mournings, being apart.
His reason for being she was.
Darkness, the day she went away,
his fragile heart came to a pause.
Erased were hopes for one more day.
Laughter he heard from kids at play;
their joy could not revive his dream.
Darkness, the day she went away,
he recalled hearing seagulls scream.
He looked to heaven, asking why
there was naught he could do or say.
Tears still fell as sunset drew nigh;
darkness, the day she went away.
This is where it died
where faith and hope succumbed to death.
Where our tears bitter and longing
sting the parched clay.
Where birds resound their daily choruses
intermingled with the mournings,
the serrated sobs that saw the concept
of what should have been.
Starbuck
Author Message
Admin
Admin
Age : 53
Joined : 25 Jun 2007
Posts : 45
Localisation : Tucson
Subject: Starbuck Today at 12:19
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Starbuck
Starbuck
SixtyOne
CharlaXFabels
Starbuck
There is a place called Starbucks and that is how many ewe should have of the
things
the dollars not the things oh ewe (long pause) now where was eye at let's see?
Eh?
The coffee comes with cream AND chocolate and iff ewe add some caramel and
cream
the thing could cost a lot of dollars turning green in someone elses hands.
The new coffee at Starbucks is called Starbuck it sells for 99 cents no tax for the
poor to have a Starbuck is an ad mans fix. When eye heard that Starbucks was
experimenting with the $1.oo coffee it immediately came to me what a common
sense solution and an ad man's dream. There would be a million dollars made
in the very first week. No one in the advertising department store will “GET” it. It
takes a long outsider look to seek and find a poet mind in wonder who has paid
his last two dollars just to have a common cup of black to prance down a city
slidewalk to hold the cup up high and proudly say eye go to Starbucks at least
this just one time. How many times have eye said eye would go in there instead
if they only made a coffee for a buck. Give it a new look. Make the Styrofoam in
black or even green not white.
Starbuck for a buck. Print a Starbuck coupon. Give away about a thousand of
them for promotions send the Charlax one. Charles R Hice General Delivery
Main Post Office Tucson Arizona 85726 eye kid you not after all it was my idea or
at least send me one of those $500 cards that everyone likes to use in the
mournings when they fill up all the drive threws. Make my day Clint Eastwoods
picture on the side of the new cup. Come on AD MEN throw it up in meetings to
all the chairmen of the boards of corrections. When cokes are now in all the
better machines at well over a dollar 33 the Coke@ people will finally make tea.
Just kidding ewe just twisting the ending on this CharlaXFabel. Be the first in line
to get the thing this Starbuck please.
It's the ghost
That lost himself in the pain
Who doesn't see himself as being dead
Showing a gullible smile
In a rotted mouth?
That exaggerates the gestures
Who fled
Slid from highs
Suffered silently, bled,
Tasted the salt of bitterness,
Felt a knot in the throat, cried?
Who lived jolting this way and that
Kept deep mournings when there were no funerals
Beckoned with long white handkerchiefs,
Who amputated bones,dragged chains,
Who never did any good nor bad
Who haunted his mind,
Who made himself a delinquent,
Who saw himself as a lover, loved, an animal?
Is it that who lost himself for the pain
Who doesn't see himself as being dead
Showing a gullible smile
In a rotted mouth?
Well now! The gost is me!
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What the hell have I
...but hands full of dust
From beneath that dead tree without shelter nor brush
Upon this desolate land without shadow or shade
Where the earth has been scorched and it's skin is decayed
Those who will enter shall fall by the sword
Then portioned to jackals gnawing the bones from before
What the hell have I
...but somber mournings at dawn
The tree replied life and death is what you hold in thy palms
It showed me love and hate inside of one grain of sand
Courage and fear within another - then evolution of man
And It revealed something different from either hand I held clutched
For the ground that I stood was auctioned for material lust
Then it said as your shadow at morning is striding behind
Or your shadow rising at evening into infinite nights
I'm older then angels and will live long after your death
I acquiesced then surrendered as my heart would reflect
Captivated by wild flowers growing upon rotted flesh
As song echoed from tombstones where willows made nest
What the hell have I
...upon this rented earth
A hand full of dust or the essentials of birth
~JJF ~