Best Outliving Poems
Trickle tender tears - those that take their time
born to bathe and baptize bereavement;
dew drops cling to fragile petals of forlorn feelings ~
aged and alone
sentiments from sorrowful soul slowly seeps
revived in rising rivers of rhythmic release
emptying from eclipsed eyes
in reverberant regrets and reveries ~
retrospective reviews with resilient realism
offered to an overdue oldster oppressed by outliving others -
reflections retrieved and remembrances retained
gifts given from the gravestone-garden of growing grief
watered with wept woebegone wine
cherished with chaste caressing care
memories and mourning ~
hallowed in a harrowed heart
Susan Ashley
March 24, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: Alliteration Poem
Sponsor: Silent One
Categories:
outliving, bereavement, emotions, grief, loss,
Form:
Alliteration
My heart remains asleep, until you touch it... (poet)
You are the most' enigmatic existence,'
which will never be mine.
I remain a million waves away,
trying to make beauty from your scars.
Love is a reflective remedy in a world
veiled behind hateful hallucinations.
Envious eyes are an enemy
in episodes of egression.
As you are a mistress of midnight,
and I, a dahlia rejoicing in daylight.
To the one who has composed an
enchanted poem with silken whispers,
concealed within the silent
chambers of my sentiments,
lets go to a place where we can engrave
our own molten bronze memoirs,
where death can never keep us apart.
An eternal paradise for just me and you,
where the hidden passages of unheard chapters,
no longer remain unspoken and untouched.
Kiss me like moonlight on meadows,
caressing each blade of my oasis
in shimmering, silvery sensations.
Knowing my memories will appear
at dawn, in the form of dewdrops.
When aroused embers emerge,
uncontrollable words flow on virgin fibers,
as each intimate beat of hypnotic hearts,
floats along psychedelic paths of harmony,
where perpetual petals blossom like rainbows.
Heavenly scents scintillate senses,
as glittering butterflies float like our souls,
with shadows of satin stars serenading
our spellbound, sensual, sparkling spirits,
in realms with breathless nights and
velvet sighs echoing like lulling lullabies.
Each scribe springs into life in vivid visions,
like a divine dance, easing us into a tranquil trance.
A place called forever, illustrating immortal vows,
overwhelming like a Michelangelo masterpiece,
outliving the breaths of time in pristine clarity.
Categories:
outliving, absence, love, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
Goodbye, Odie
My little old cat is dying.
His steps are awkward, eyes unfocussed
and he cries when he can’t see me.
I’m not sure I want to be in a world
that doesn’t have my tabby Familiar.
I am feeling widowed, again.
I’m resigned to be grieving, again
outliving another love who is dying.
There’s odd comfort in this ache, the strange familiar.
I gaze at him imploringly, in tears, unfocussed.
He is my greatest love in our small world.
He reaches out a snow- capped paw to tap me.
Here I go again, making it all about me,
fighting to accept death must happen, again.
It seems that these past years, this is my world,
sitting by the bedside of the dying,
as they gaze at unseen figures in the room, unfocussed,
but they hear them, and they smile, voices familiar.
I push my face in soft ginger fur, the scent familiar.
He always smelled like vanilla cookies, to me.
Green eyes stare into mine, they’re focussed.
I watch as death opaques the life from eyes, again.
I hear my husband’s voice as he was dying;
“I am tired. It’s time to leave this world.”
Death has been a constant in my world,
an entity with which I’m too familiar.
Such a selfish act on the part of the dying,
to love me absolutely, then leave me.
I feel the empty chest constriction of grief, again.
I clutch a lifeless body, I am unfocussed.
I can’t see through tears, unfocussed.
Odie leaves a gaping hole in my world.
I’ll struggle with condolences, again.
My grief is in my chest, pain so familiar.
The last time one I loved held on to me
while completing the evolution of dying.
No longer unfocussed, I rise to greet grief, again,
it’s now my world and it enfolds me,
my dark, familiar partner in the dance of dying.
Categories:
outliving, animal, bereavement, cat, death,
Form:
Pantoum
You aren't my grandmother, only a friend,
But I'll be so sad when you time here ends.
Luminous blue eyes; hair like pearls in sunlight
Your smile always greets me with avid delight.
For ninety seven years you've lived your life,
Many of them sad and filled with strife.
Outliving your family and many friends, too
Yet, your beautiful spirit is still shining through.
You are one of my heroes, should I be so bold,
A prime example of Life though your body is old.
In a home confined, you exude dignity and grace,
By the touch of your hand I see God's face.
And in the end when you hear His call,
The angels will meet you with joy, one and all;
With hearts of rejoicing and open arms.
For you are a testament to God's love and charm.
Jscervenka,2002
(This is one of my earliest writes that I had forgotten about and found at my abandon site, but did not want to abandon the feeling that went into it or the person who inspired it.)
Categories:
outliving, inspiration, mentor, old,
Form:
Rhyme
THE BALLAD OF MA POSSUM
Roofing like a penthouse floor,
Tis not a haunt but Ma's snore.
A wombatic possum in appearance,
Being nature's pinup is her arrogance.
Her distintictive, brush, bob tail, loss,
reputedly, respected as the boss poss.
Hearing her grunt and fight,
echoing a freaky still night fright.
Oh!, nightlife beware,
if Ma is anywhere.
trees n eyes in the wood
is part of Ma's family hood.
Scratchings at the door,
signals to eat, until no more,
Possum busters have done their best,
But Ma thinks, tis a game and quest.
With her teeth and claws,
makes furnishings with any trapddors.
Characterise, personalise or humanise,
big booted, smudged lipstick and pearl,
smokin cigars, no sweet little girl,
tough and ready to roll,
she aint no possum doll.
A pet possum sage,
outliving the legends of her long age.
Categories:
outliving, animal, environment, fun, humorous,
Form:
Ballad
skinny children move quickly outliving
the shadow of their slim suicides.
running and skipping they celebrate lent
with
the soles of their feet creating samba
daylight vigil's on every corner.
now the ash of gods presence floats on
the
water through the navel of the city.
the drain pipe priest charge a nickle
for a bottle, over time some called it coca
cola.
but still a dark skinned gutter punk jesus
races
through the broken streets with all the
other
holy youth.
they wear pink and orange flip flop
sandles
annoited to speckled shades of crimson
by
a bleeding grapefruit that gets kicked
through
folded cardboard box goals.
the sun is setting now in the streets of
sao paulo
and in the parks on every bench the old
wait
in their tabernacles of wrinkled days.
They sit quietly to watch the pigeons turn
to gray grail.
With a coronation of lanterns on
their heads in the late evening
they speak parables in such
strange tounges.
Categories:
outliving, allegory,
Form:
Mellow Years
The bearded gentleman looked neat,
As he passed my house on the street.
In declining years, yet still enduring,
Scoffing at age, merely maturing.
Chronologically ripened, who knows what age?
He’d smile and say he’s still on life’s stage.
You could set your clock by his daily walk
To get fresh air, sometimes stopping to talk.
Losing his wife, outliving friends,
Guarding his life, avoiding sins,
To a loving Savior he was dedicated.
To good behavior he was predicated.
He left the impression of enjoying life,
His body aging, his wit sharp as a knife.
Accused of growing old he simply sneers,
Admitting only to mellowing years.
—James E. Tate, March 2012
Categories:
outliving, life, people, philosophy,
Form:
Quatrain
Running wild
Through beds of rocks and stones
His voice echoes... 'Neath the mountain tops
Years gone by
Slimmed thin; his narrow bones
His arms, still trickling slowly downstream
Of man-stocked
No more reproduction
Like a blood transfusion...the trout swims
Just like that
Outliving you and I
One day, Old Man River...will be gone
Images in Parallel Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
2/15/2021
Categories:
outliving, nature, river,
Form:
Verse
If you had the option to be an immortal,
would you leap at the chance, or just let that go?
It sounds like a question that’s easy to answer,
but I’d recommend that you take it real slow.
Are you the only one who lasts forever,
outliving all of your family and friends?
Do you think you would be able to stomach the
funerals of grandchildren meeting their ends?
And what of your health? Are you just like you are now,
receiving a body that’s twenty years old?
The former, depressing, if movement is limited;
the latter is one on which I’m not quite sold.
Who did you hang with when you were just twenty,
and are these the folks with whom you’d spend your time?
Nightclubs and dancing for the rest of the ages
sounds more like hell than a slice of the divine.
I think I’ll pass and just live the remainder
of the days God has allotted for me;
then when I’ve been ushered into His presence,
I’ll sing out His praises for eternity.
—————
For the If I Were Immortal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Written on 04/18/2022
Categories:
outliving, age,
Form:
Rhyme
calling all mistreated jugglers
and wretches of condemned madhouses
bewitched by fingers of freak fame
the spindly fingers of trickster twins
that open the floodgates to occult caverns
unleashing the brusque wraiths
the brittle symmetry of her glacial eyes
cast down from the empyrean skies
as a sanctified abyss from ancient past
eyes as candlelit rectory windows
shining bright like voluptuous pyre
and ferryman’s lantern on turbid nights
calling all gritty peyote coyotes
gargoyles of noxious mind germination
whistling by the graves of stars
in the form of ravenous black holes
so vexed by the self-immolation of lovers
the musicality of their hearty asphyxia
tantalized through thick and thin
falling in cascade down the wailing well
how do we always end up vampirized
singing the longeval sardonic litanies
outliving the meteoric tremors
as monuments of the past tumble down
calling all incorporeal beasts
to swing the fate’s pendulum in effigie
and mourn the motheaten grandeur
of lofty and aged Victorian ancestry
within the reach of eternity’s gate
disemburdened and lost to the ether
melting at last in the muse’s embrace
eclipsed by the fading night gyrations
there’s no excuse not to leave in rapture
one last rainy walk by the derelict wharf
ready to fall down the fissures en masse
into the ruptures of our narcotic glossary
Categories:
outliving, imagery, surreal, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
SEQUENCE PHRASIS part 3
Euphony at its core,a glance to
mesmorise,memories surface outliving
passing fame&excels in retrospect,even
upon the losing side.In passion’s grip,
there’s nowhere to hide,living free,
an awesome task,a heady fragrance
even if fortune favours the brave on life’s
highway,..hope enlightens all.
From my Cameo 2008
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
Categories:
outliving, poetry,
Form:
Verse
All efforts tabled on Nigeria;
Experiencing a fortunate miscarriage,
Feasting Aso rock- a pizzeria
But never admit it is the cause of this age.
Upon the solid manifesto,
That touches all sectors:
Picturing California's Barstow,
To cajole mandates of the electors.
Finally, all promises are working...
Nigerians are glad to vote SAI BABA.
How beautiful things are shirking!
Yet, we never cease referencing YORUBA's BONOBO.
Now, pebbles tear apart the wall to a lowland.
No sands dare last all days.
Though, the wall can not withstand
The test of time come the apartness of clays.
The crevices in the wall:
Is an awaiting lost of hope;
One day, the wall will surely fall.
Just like acrobats won't last all days on tightrope.
The time is no longer right;
The poor and his rights are wrong,
For there's no one to stand by him.
Those beautiful hearts; pure and young
Have been battered and their loves' lights dim.
Buhari's reign is like what?
Revelation said it well in his whatnot
And if that be the truth,
Should we believe, lazy are all youths?
Why do we fear actions and love words?
If we never mind, our hens can fly like birds
But we keep living in reliving,
The leadership orbiting the Africa GIANT's sun outliving...
The societies expectations--
A reason millions are invested in educations.
When shall we be tired?
To relieve those supposed to have retired.
Just like the withered leaves bring
Blessings unto tree to renew its strength.
The odd flowers introduce the spring
And relinquished fortitude to breath.
The detached withered leaves
That have been laid to rest,
Can never regain life's airfoil
Than enrich the top soil.
What are meant for backups,
Ended up been the beautiful ups.
One thing unsure is the extent of our grieves,
All are mere satisfying best.
Of course, sun shall rise and shines bright on the green lushes,
Blessing nature with its radiant nutritional solar energy.
As the aiding glimmer blushes,
It shall promote unbelievable synergy.
But if nights tarry for long,
Mornings shall come with the healing birdsong...
Youths, light the nights;
Cohorts, best their rest.
Categories:
outliving, abuse, africa, art, betrayal,
Form:
Rhyme
Adios dear dentist with shots, x-rays and drills
Adieu root canals, crowns, and skyrocketing bills
With just gums underneath
I'm outliving my teeth
G'day dear hot oatmeal, ciao vitamin pills
12/20/22
Categories:
outliving, goodbye, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Foremost On My Bucket List?
Yo yo ma...though your absence
doth suddenly cause me woe,
no matter parting with
many bittersweet sorrows
long since consciousness unstrung
more'n fourteen plus years ago,
the last surviving Kuritsky
grim reaper enviously eventually snatched,
outliving demise of my Uncle Paul,
your once favorite sibling and only bro
tis grief that rankles, shackles, torments...,
thus caw zing such poetic twittering I crow
yea, this sole son bare knuckles
scraping along without dough
suddenly riven with mortal anguish -
worse fate than death - or bloated ego
willpower to live life to the max
hardened ice floe
despite promising futures
regarding thee deux daughters
that doth find me to glow
my spirit analogous to santa
deprived of his cheery, hearty
guffawing, and merry ho ho ho
yours truly seems condemned
to suffer, a worse fate
than freezing during whiteout
blizzard conditions barring
access to igloo,
brutally cold as Jupiter's Io
spirit felled by juggernaut, no
joking hence I don't feel Jew
bull, ah if yours truly knew
thee torturous emotional state threw
out every fiber upon
last fading memory...of you
unfairly condemned to suffer,
yes my lack of loo
cre immaterial, whence death
stole thee to realm afterlife queue
no doubt, a welcome reprieve aye rue
versus less cruel fate,
viz prolonged illness
comeuppance impales me
body, mind and askew
being pitched, where
adventurousness gungho fear slew,
feeling buzz with aliveness
(akin to David and Goliath)
unable to shake melancholy blue
nostalgic for underworld view
where cessation will find me
inaudibly coffin with a whew!
Categories:
outliving, absence, anxiety, august, betrayal,
Form:
Free verse
It wasn't a memory as such but a story,
Recounted time and again by parents loving and proud.
Young men are too occupied chasing visions and fleeing demons
To remember.
Middle age concerns lean towards practicality, keeping or escaping it.
If there was a memory, it had surely been mistreated and lost.
Now the Old man had only the words of parents,
Who were not much more than children when he was a boy,
When he was five.
Those were times of solidness.
The world seemed bigger, thicker, and heavier, conspiring to
Safety through simplicity.
The snow more a stuffed, quilted blanket than the sheet of icy crystals
He now sees.
Christmas lights like huge, shining beetles gorged and bursting with color,
Metamorphosed over decades into fragile gnats twinkling and blinking,
Toys of Iron, Steel, and Wood thickly painted,
Outliving childhood and its memory.
This is what the old man could recall.
Yet each Christmas the old man would renew himself to
His parent's words.
Recounting again and again until the child he'd been felt at home.
Sometimes the story was sad, sometimes happy, and sometimes funny,
But always it ended with the hope and magic of the season,
Inside a parent's love.
Each year, when the story became less his parent's,
More his own,
He'd sit with the children of his family's families and he would begin,
?I remember when I was a boy, just about the age you are
Now.
Categories:
outliving, age, christmas, family, memory,
Form:
Free verse