Best Rueful Poems
So long have I harped of regret,
For price of vice is not paid yet,
With rueful heart, Lord, now I pray;
O God, won't you show me the way.
Contrite in careless deeds of yore,
As mindless acts morals abhor,
I seek amends, and humbly say;
O God, won't you show me the way.
With remorse I sail for morrow,
Steer life’s ship through pain and sorrow,
And vow, all debts, I shall repay;
O God, won't you show me the way.
In lonesome past alone I moan,
For blunders made now I atone,
And pledge your edicts, I'll obey;
O God, won't you show me the way.
Though evil lurks, tries to cajole,
While, toll immoral, taxes soul,
From goodwill divine I won't stray;
O God, won't you show me the way.
Written: January 12, 2023
Placed 1st: Revealing Your Soul…Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Soto Poet
Form: Kyrielle (eight syllables per line)
Categories:
rueful, forgiveness, introspection, prayer,
Form:
Kyrielle
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
Categories:
rueful, abuse, addiction, allegory, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
Through shoveled loam I glimpse pale light
Hands dare intrude into my burial crypt
Exposing the devastation of my decay
Dignity of this chamber has been stripped
Human eyes stare into my skeletal sockets
I feel the sun's warmth, but cannot spill tears
Lips, long ago stitched from laces of my soul
Loosed were the bindings of stygian spheres
Wormwood case and satin pillow, rotted
Lily's scent lingers, squandered their seed
Awakened without sight or sandals afoot
Penance in supplication for every misdeed
My rueful spirit, once clothed in silk shroud
has dwindled to dust and time brittled bone
I remember pleading in voice of reason
Cover my nakedness and inter me, face prone
*These verses do not reflect my religious
beliefs of life after death.
Categories:
rueful, death,
Form:
Rhyme
Silent shadows whisper wicked rumors from tawny tinted tents
Reflecting rueful random thoughts, such are their laments
Circus kingdom cast offs disappear for no fault of their own
If only you knew, the stunt star’s stunning and raving review
Perilous pyrotechnic cruelly disfigures, and if only you knew
Dark duplicate shapes of onyx outlines, two damaged lives
Repellant is he, a vibrant visible resilient soul is she who thrives
Redeemed restored! Residing in each other’s passionate thunder
Unscrupulous undertones shan’t ever tear their love asunder!
You know what I mean...
Sequestered away from prying eyes of light they remain inside
Alas all alone, as in The Phantom Of The Opera they hide
Yet, shimmering silhouettes seen against the dimming sky
What witnesses the galactic guardian stars cannot deny
They say beauty can never be found in the dark,
I’ve heard this from an empress ere she was ready to embark
upon a ship shouting, sheets rife with words written about her love
No not notes of loneliness it’s not for this lioness a warrior above
it all, she places all her inner impetuous into her piercing poetry
A dusky distant shape and outline listens, lusting, yearning with glee
The light shone brightly behind, they move closer kissing eagerly
You know what I mean…
Categories:
rueful, bereavement, conflict, irony, true
Form:
Alliteration
Shimmering over a glassy sea, a moonlight carpet beams.
My walkway high to a starlit sky of memories from my dreams.
There mighty Taurus, rip-snortin’ bull, lowers his horns for battle.
Naked on his shoulders Seven Sisters ride side-saddle.
Dazzling diamonds, blue-white ice,
blazing through nebulosity.
Merope mocked and mooned me twice,
twerking with faux ferocity.
“Begone now, mortal, from my sight,
who dares defile the very night.
Look down upon the moonlit glade,
bear witness to the mayhem made.”
Agape, the Pleiad sisters wailed while yonder Cetus spouted.
“The culprit must be caught and jailed,” the rueful Virgo shouted.
The heavens heaved, so much offended,
torn fabric of time could not be mended.
Then darkness fell like a clap of thunder,
were it not for Einstein’s Biggest Blunder,
the Universe was blown asunder.
Who once wrote “God plays not with dice,”
had not known anything of such vice,
said: “Reading erotic poetry can’t compete with cosmic knowitry.”
Submitted: 6/2/2019
Categories:
rueful, universe,
Form:
Rhyme
Man of melancholy - memories ashen and shadow gray,
heart harrowed, solicits solace from her psychic energy.
An offering, his woebegone weeping wildflower bouquet,
teardrops titian, sorrow scintillant, reflects rueful reverie.
Heart harrowed solicits solace from her psychic energy,
free falling through forlorn filigree, he mourns at her gravestone.
Teardrops, titian sorrow scintillant reflects rueful reverie
of his Earth angel, soul-lifted too soon, spiritually sown.
Free falling, through forlorn filigree he mourns. At her gravestone
fragrance haunting, flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of his Earth angel soul-lifted too soon; spiritually sown
blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations!
Fragrance... haunting flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of inamorata, flame extinguished expectant with their child.
Blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations
bedevil his mind. Happiness, hope exiled, ego beguiled.
Of inamorata flame extinguished expectant with their child,
an offering; his woebegone weeping. Wildflower bouquet
bedevils his mind, happiness, hope. Exiled ego beguiled,
man of melancholy memories - ashen and shadow gray.
Susan Ashley
September 16, 2017
~Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Favorite Pantoum Premiere
Sponsor: Laura Loo
~ First Place ~
Contest: Poems That Paint A Picture 2
Sponsor: Silent One
* based on a pencil drawing by Mike Theuer provided by Silent One on contest page *
Categories:
rueful, bereavement, death, grave, grief,
Form:
Pantoum
Tethered by life's boundless gyre;
doltish in the headlong plunge.
Swirling in its turbid mire;
mock demur feigns to expunge.
Inchoate thoughts swell pathos' rosters;
errant guides whose hack beguiles.
Pay scant regard to such impostors;
debar with glee their rueful smiles.
Then peerless grow your firm resolve;
abjure ego its tumescence.
Ascend the arc and thus evolve;
render glacial your senescence.
Else succumb as prisoner of your thought;
Fashioned into something you are not.
Categories:
rueful, character, life,
Form:
Sonnet
My rueful spirit was gowned in a silken shroud of white.
Was there no chance my penitent cries had been heard?
I searched his pensive eyes for the palest glimpse of light,
then he wiped my tears away. His heart had been stirred.
Four line poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Posted: July 27, 2020
Categories:
rueful, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
There are painful pitfalls to happiness
No one, not I, is immune to misery's tragic tune.
We cry in the night like a wolf baying at the moon,
sullen, soulful songs of heartbreak and despair,
drifting upon air. Of those memories; beware.
My emotions may seem as dormant as a volcano...
Silent but molten, setting fire to my dreams.
In ashes they lie, beyond the reach of my heart.
I try to write the plight of my life, but the light
turns dark, leaving me with tormented thoughts.
Expressing the bane of lost love in poetic refrain
is a rueful score of what once was but is no more.
I've written hundreds of poems of being smitten.
Bitten and wounded by Cupid's arrow, was I.
How I wish he'd missed his target, and yet,
never would I have known love's tender touch
or the gentle caresses as he stroked my tresses,
nor the taste of his lips sealing love's vow.
My muse refuses to let me forget
the memories of romance, so bittersweet,
so, I continue to write as I stumble,
suffering while penning another grief-stricken sonnet,
then more, still more, I write in lamenting encore,
a sequence of denouements that will tear me apart
each time I lay bare my wounded heart.
December 7, 2020
Catharsis Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Categories:
rueful, emotions, endurance, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
In London, away in a terrace
Half-hidden with elm trees and grime,
Lived young Violet, in her parents' house,
Left alone for near all of the time,
As her mother had no patience to teach her
And her father was working all day,
Violet read to herself through her childhood
Forgetting her seclusion in play,
Any friends she made as a young woman
Would laugh at her stitches and cloth,
For they knew that Violet was quite useless
And so showed their neat needlework off,
Poor Violet kept trying her best, but
Each time everyone ran her down,
She retreated back into her mind's warmth
Far away from that cold-blooded town,
Then one night, as the raindrops were piercing
Through the rueful, restricting twilight,
Violet threw on her Sunday attire and
Did at once in the darkness delight,
So she ran through the alleys and gardens,
Dancing down the pitch-black London streets,
Her beautiful dress flew about her
As she skipped past the other deceits,
Violet's stories swam round in her memory
As she flew through the night and the stars,
And she bathed thoroughly and with relish
Until Violet was cleansed of her scars,
Now her heart was open and happy,
So she laughed and fluttered her tail,
Carelessly gliding free through the water
And onwards to the ocean did sail.
As the weary sun rose on the next day
Her friends could be seen on the pier,
Dabbing at their dry eyes with their hankies,
Voices straining trying to sound sincere,
"It has hurt us so indescribably,
That because of her poorly-sewn hems,
Violet felt she was inferior to us
And has drowned herself in the Thames."
Violet's parents had not yet noticed
The absence of their only daughter,
And they would understand even less
How she came to be dead underwater,
But Violet was now free to prosper,
To swim and to dance and to glide,
And with angels and mermaids to play with,
She would always in her dreams reside.
Categories:
rueful, adventure, angst, death, loss,
Form:
Ballad
The New Year has come wafting on the wings of winter
The high latitudinal areas of the northern hemisphere
Would be in the grip of frequent snowstorms severe
Throwing life in desolate isolation and out of gear.
The cold wave sub-zero conditions of deprivation would persist
In many sections of population for in poverty they can’t subsist
Who wouldn’t see for long the sun of subservient survival
Through the dense fog of abject abandon and rueful refusal.
The frosty winter nights would fall with wrath
Making many frigid who would seek introvert warmth.
After the winter haze clears the weather would change
The spring would develop many high pressure regions
In the lives’ atmosphere of the aspirant people
Living in the spreading mist of uncertain future climate
With the hope of clear blue sky and sunny temperate days.
They have to brace for the increasing ambient temperature
In the thermal islands in the wake of global warming true or not.
The fanatic heat waves in the summer of discontent
Could blow dust of hatred in the raging desert storm
Might sweep like nimbus cloud across the tormented humanity.
The overcast monsoon sky may fall asunder
After unpredictable cloud burst one after another
On gloomy minds plunged in the trough of depression.
They would sink in the flood brought by heavy rains
In low pressure areas where mental stress would deepen despair.
Hurricanes and tropical storms would spin on trade winds
Wreck havoc bringing misery to many
For they would make landfall on the helpless people of destiny.
The cirrus clouds would slowly clear
The low atmospheric disturbances would subside
As the autumn would arrive sailing on the northern wind
With nip in the air and prospect of bright sunny days.
The occasional gusty winds of the fall
Would blow the broken brown leaves away
The way welted thoughts of the mind
Get swept by the squalls of fast moving times.
The old year would take our agony and dreams
Across the winter to the cold folds of another New Year
And we would wait for yet another spring another time
When our lives would bloom like flowers.
January 7, 2018.
Categories:
rueful, analogy, life, new year,
Form:
Free verse
There are many painful pitfalls to happiness,
and no one is immune to misery's tragic tune.
We cry in the night like a wolf baying at the moon,
sullen, soulful songs of heartbreak and despair,
drifting upon air. Of those memories; beware.
My emotions may seem as dormant as a volcano~
Silent but molten, setting fire to my dreams.
In ashes they lie, beyond the reach of my heart.
I try to write the plight of my life, but the light
turns dark, leaving me with tormented thoughts.
Expressing the bane of lost love in poetic refrain
is a rueful score of what once was but is no more.
I've written hundreds of poems of being smitten.
Bitten and wounded by Cupid's arrow, was I.
How I wish he'd missed his target, and yet,
never would I have known love's tender touch
or the gentle caresses as he stroked my tresses,
nor the taste of his lips sealing love's vow.
My protective muse refuses to let me forget
the memories of romance, the good and bittersweet,
so, I continue to write although I stumble,
suffering while penning another grief-stricken Sonnet.
Then more, still more, I write in lamenting encore,
a sequence of denouements that will tear me apart
each time I write and lay bare my wounded heart.
Categories:
rueful, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
Rueful.
The roots of love have bought forth shoots of sweethearts, dark and fair
some blossomed and some faded from a spark that wasn't there.
Magical attraction, in an instant spells were cast
but time soon bought the curtain down, the show not meant to last.
The rendezvous, it's time and place a mutual decision
convenient, quick, and coldly planned with military precision.
Outside a church we said goodbye, an awkward fleeting kiss
on a carpet of confetti, irony I didn't miss.
Not one of them left memories
as powerful as this
if she was not to be the one
I asked myself- who is?
Categories:
rueful, break up, heartbreak,
Form:
Rhyme
forlorn
woebegone
in
pensive
musing
this
yearning
this
longing
melancholy
becomes
a
rueful
pining
almost
nostalgic
contemplation
Categories:
rueful, word play,
Form:
Verse
Eyes of confidence
Naïve and hardened
Advancing on the battlefield
Eyes of anguish
Discovering the horror
Spent upon the blood of war
Eyes of hope
Peace in reprieve
Hold fast to victory’s color
Eyes of benevolence
Engulfed within anguish
Rueful to the melee’s victims
Eyes of regret
A human understanding
Shoveling over another grave
Categories:
rueful, history, introspection, life, time,
Form:
Free verse