Best Pains Poems
Every family has them
These unsettling times these misunderstandings
Times when many things come into play
In most cases these wee spats are soon over and forgotten
But sometimes differences run deeper
Because of other factors
Such as jealousy, middle child syndrome personality
It's only human nature at play
The necessity for all to find our place
In the overall scheme of life
To establish one's self in the pecking order
And accepting it without malice, without jealousy
A hard lesson to learn when we're brand new at he game
Always suspecting that siblings
Are the ones receiving preferential treatment
In reality, they are reacting in exactly the same matter
Trying their best to learn the ropes
To understand what life means what life is all about
But we never do have all the answers
Even if we survive those uncertain early years
And live to the ripe old age of thirty
Well that is what old age is when you're a teenager
Please be assured, you WILL get through
And be a well adjusted adult
The ambient glow of the fireplace becomes hypnotic.
Home alone, always, without true love to snuggle me.
Each of many pains of night makes my mind neurotic.
Pathetic it may seem for a young and beautiful girl.
Alone again after years of searching; life becomes a whirl.
Incessant longing gnaws away at self-control.
Night brings its darkness to the weariness of my soul.
Satan takes a grip upon my sanity; I am no longer whole.
Oh, that I could find true love and live a life of joy.
Forever, I live searching, only to be someone’s toy.
Night without you, my true love, is a lonely curse.
If only I could find you, whoever you are, wherever you are.
Grateful love, come; I beg you and quench my thirst.
Heaven is but a thought away…as is suicide.
Touch me with your warmth; Save me and let love abide.
Where is the dream that I dreamt as a child.
I never knew that the world could be so wild.
Today is just one step in eternity, but forever alone.
How can I face another day; I know not!
Over and over the thoughts circulate in my mind.
Utter self-destructions seeming the only solution.
Then, I fear the great and dreadful consequence.
To live eternity alone would be unbearable.
Reality visits at the break of dawn, briefly.
Underneath these fancy clothes lies a broken heart.
Each day takes me to a new horizon…until night.
Loneliness tortures me; at dark I am immobile.
Oh, the pains of night without true love destroy.
Vitality sinks into Satan’s sullen ship; sips sorrows.
Everything seems lost, but I pray for true love, tomorrow.
Copyright March 8, 2015
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: The Pain of Night
Sponsored by Tammy Reams
Whistle in the wind, hum to the trees,
life is always on the run, as evasive as the breeze.
There is often smoke smoldering in the heart,
but we have got to seek fire if we are not to fall apart.
Surrendering your passion is to lock yourself in jail,
just as to be untrue is to live a personal hell.
Life deals merely a portion of the whole of eternity;
you may blow off living, but it takes you seriously.
Feelings must be felt to the brim of the soul
or truth cannot touch you and enable you to grow.
When you fall down, feel all of the pain.
When you are depressed, let yourself rain.
If sorrow is a stranger, joy cannot be your friend,
for they walk hand in hand seeking the same end.
If you never felt empty, how could joy fill you again?
If you never lost, would it feel as good to win?
If pain never met you and put you on trial,
how could you ever truly appreciate a smile?
The Heavy Price Paid To End The Deepest Of Dark Pains
In my night-dreams, flies jargon of oracles wise and profound
words given that break heavy chains by which I was once bound
just a conversation with my dark-muse and her ancient friends
as she promised, they provided a means to making of my amends
tho', they are not angels, and each one exacts a heavy price
one that costs this soul very dearly and I have to pay thrice!
For when I reenter this dark world and walk among the dead
I am commanded to do a ghastly deed, one I so truly dread
kill, on first day of each week, not true villains as a great release
my victims are to be the innocent or else their help will cease
this long forty year vicious cycle only ends when I shall perish
or dare'st to murder that which my heart most fervently so cherish!
Alas! They knew well such great cost I would never ever dare to pay
what do they say, poet's ink is the blood that keeps devils away
yet all of my devils dance gaily within my red-blood splattered ink
and to this day, I sorry at how low my desires caused me to sink
tho' with glee, they told me this also would make it all go away
if I would murder my own beloved wife and use her blood to pay!
Now to commit that unthinkable act, its time has too soon came
I had played with fire, sought the dark gods, played their game
the oracles I told would get their last pay come full moon tonight
this would bring buckets of blood, to their greatest of delights
each one appeared and gave me more useless advice to seal the deal
having no clue, that this old tired poet, himself would thus kill!
All that gloomy day I worked to make sharp the sacrificial knife
to kill the monstrous monster they had made, not its beloved wife
she I had sent very far away, to visit her beloved family in Spain
to spare her this night's bloody sight, never to see her again
now the full moon has risen, that dark, dreaded midnight hour came
I give you my friends, these sad words bereft of a dark poet's name!
signed,
In honor of my hero, Edgar Allan Poe
1-31-2019
Note, this now finished piece was the other poem(4th) that I had
wanted to present when honoring Poe in my ongoing dedication series.
I only just finished it today, early this morn. I hope you may find
it dark, ghastly, and very Poe'esq in somber mood and its darkness..
Egotism is the anesthetic that deadens the pains of stupidity
It lowers the shield that lets one think they have complete validity
pains insist the pen
to paint - penumbra of life;
flashbacked halcyon..
04.02.16
looking deep into her face
for minutes at a time
one finger in her hair
more pleasent than the chime
I've long dreamed of her touch
dreams to caress her mind
holding her close to heart
and we'll together bind
so close she is to me
I reach and touch her lip
gently with my finger
though lusting for her hips
and either I should kiss
as either would be bliss
as my hands draw on her
and we end so breathless
I see her hand in mine
I'd know it without sight
warming and soft to feel
I'd hold it all my nights
I wished to delve her mind
I wished to know that girl
let her sorrow be gone
unto me I shall feel
never distort the air
nor show signs of concern
if I hold her to me
little to be discerned
but that's not who I am
to see through rosey shades
be draped in silken cloth
that's not how I was made
I see what could calm me
her sinuous body
lovely before all eyes
teasing me wantonly
see the unloved lover
so wretched to behold
I'll keep my eyes above
yet my heart remains cold
The rational subject
Dances in duality
Stripped of earnings, personhood urging
Marked by contract, on paper
Life transforms into property
Belligerent because of tooth enamel-
That unexpected biological decay
Proves that mind stands still
We've built up a hoary artifice
Exclaiming our particular version of truth
Covering the ground with gridwork and lines
Mining jewels to keep the helium high
While filling quotas to make the ceiling rise
I hear the great man/ nature divide
Residing in our pattern of life
Speaking out a vast anguish
Birthing pains of a new era
We will make it through the womb
Our power lies in our pleasure
As mankind always traverses
An uneven terrain
‘When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.’ - Lauren Eden
................................................
my pains depart not
even when my tear glands d r y
as sorrow remains my life’s most loyal friend
it bothers not to knock before drawing near
just since
I was wrested away from my mother’s breast
as she e x h a l e d
her last breath in creeping agony
two years after my father was jailed for life~
his crime
the same blood that now pulses within my veins
then....
hatred was s e w n
into a grim dress that h a u n t s
t o r m e n t i n g my nights and days,
never ceasing
my mouth
s t r i p p e d
as hunger cries pierced through my ribs
love~
a drifter who shuns my h o l l o w abode
yet sings with a l o u d voice in my friends’ homes
caressing
only when hatred
h i d e s a w a y
loitering in the streets,
refusing to
step
inside
my good friend~
when I smoke thick marijuana
draining strong gin bottles till nothing remains
when I sniff the white powder, chasing a trip
one that will carry me straight to my father
All hope is lost, for fairytales
Happy endings are only fiction
High pitched whistles drown the bells
Only fools waste pennies, wishing
Dreams were big when we were small
Til we dose do’ed and swapped
Now we’re wise and know it all
The magic, abruptly, stopped
We began an early green
Then a striking red
It seems so very mean
How, gold will leave us dead
Calloused canvas, etched with sun and rain,
A map of toil, where muscles speak their pain.
No crown adorns it, nor scepter's gilded shine,
But in its grip, a legacy entwines.
Not pharaohs' monuments, nor empires vast,
But fields that nourish, homes that rise at last.
Bricks laid true, with sweat for mortar's hold,
A city's pulse, in stories yet untold.
No artist's brush, nor poet's lyric grace,
But hammers tapping, leaving their own trace.
Steel forged and shaped, with fire's ardent kiss,
A symphony of sparks, where dreams don't miss.
Not ruler's scepter, nor scholar's quill,
But thread spun fine, with patient, practiced skill.
Garments woven, warmth against the cold,
A mother's love, in stitches neatly told.
No warrior's blade, nor priest's anointed hand,
But seeds that sprout, at farmer's wise command.
Land nurtured, yielding life anew,
A cycle's dance, beneath a sky so blue.
No sculptor's chisel, nor architect's grand plan,
But tools that mend, held by a steady hand.
Machines repaired, with rhythmic, whirring hum,
A world kept turning, never truly numb.
Not surgeon's scalpel, nor teacher's guiding pen,
But streets swept clean, where children play again.
Invisible threads, that bind a community,
A hand unseen, yet vital, you can see.
So raise your gaze, beyond the gilded frame,
To hands that build, the ones without a name.
For in their toil, a nation's spirit thrives,
A tapestry of labour, where humanity survives.
Young and handsome
the world was his oyster
‘Til he chose to self-cloister
~ his oyster now a clam
I wake up in pain
my wrists have shiny handcuffs
I am in jail
My heart feels ice-cold
It will not stop its beating
I wish it would stop
My cell mate is gone
I am feeling so alone
I just want to die
I do not cry when doves fly
Whenever it rains
My tears are no longer flowing.
I ask God why
We betrayed Your confidence in this paradise You gave to us
Do you still love us?
Money and power are used to control others
The cross of Jesus on top of the church tower
There is no confidence in their religion.
Like a thief, They lay in wait.
As I look up at the morning sky,
The Butterfly is stunning
I am no longer perplexed as to why Your Love and Wisdom are my guiding Light.
We were eight children
crowded in a little house;
and just one bathroom.
5/5/16
For Contest: Haiku on "My Family"
Hosted by: Marvin Celestial