Best Ruing Poems
Almost sixty years ago, my father
under suspicion, as a cattle rustler
Me a bit surprised
but it could have been as the title of a hustler
One day whilst in the dairy, my father with my brother milking cows
two young cops arrived to ask a leading question
Were you in such and such a paddock on such and such a day
if so what was your purpose, was put as a suggestion
They had evidence to support, that my father he did visit
That his actions in that paddock may be viewed as illicit
One cop from his pocket pulled a docket , that had been found
it was a receipt which displayed my fathers name
It was enough for them to investigate,
that's why to my father's property they came
To their leading question
what was it he was doing
I had a crap was his immediate reply
One young innocent cop asked my father what's a crap
They would have instantly known if my father said he was ........ a word that rhymes with ruing
perhaps my father would have had regrets if he had known what would later be brewing
NO CHARGES LAID
1.
Within Elysium Fields, the souls of the dead find their peace but there are those souls who do not think they deserve such peace. Those already within Elysium sometimes try to bring these sad souls into the fold by extolling the beauty of Elysium.
Oh, beloved grace, open sapphire eyes,
standing now on emerald green expanse.
You are glory, within a paradise
where sun brightly shines, beauty you enhance.
Shadows mar my view of Elysium
Regrets I carry from a life wasted
There are no oaks or pretty psidium
Nectar of Norse Gods I’ve never tasted
Emerald green carpet reaches the sea,
where azure waters to horizon reach.
Up high on a hill your villa shall be,
where love and joy no darkness ever breach.
In a hovel I dwell, ruing mistakes
Elysium’s bright lights behind closed gates
No joy in my soul, just torment and aches
For a life filled with sin, nothing placates
Swim through the beauty which awaits your eyes,
into life's new dawn Elysium sings.
Those who enter with love find paradise,
find the peace that Elysium love brings.
Coveting rewards for those who lived well
Is the destiny of my own making
There is no escape from torments that befell
To think joy had been mine for the taking
07/01/2019
(Collaborative Poetry Series.)
Thank you Carolyn for letting me share ink with you on this wonderful write. It has been an honour and a pleasure to work on this collaboration with you. You have made the experience so enjoyable and easy. Have a wonderful Monday. Hugs....Mike. XX
I know I’ve made a thousand journeys,
withstood the tests of time and foe
shed the dust and shouldered worries
struggled onward against the flow.
Unconforming, seldom bending
straight the path I ever took.
Challenge was my unending passion
contradiction I forsook.
I’ve battled tempests ‘fore and ‘hind me,
I’ve seen the devil at my heels.
Seldom knowing what lay before me
never knowing how respite feels.
I’ve seen the Valkyries and Forty Furies
their mazy circles in the sky,
taunting, haunting, ever daunting
beckoning from their aeries high.
I’ve crossed the searing sands of Gobi
and scaled Himalaya’s rocky tors,
badlands, wastelands all behind me,
walked upon the Seven shores.
I’ve gazed upon the Northern Lights
and seen the Southern Cross at sea.
I’ve traveled east and journeyed west,
no home or kindred claiming me.
No ebb of tide did succor bring me,
no place of solace ever found
but grappled fiercely all that challenged,
gaining purchase on the ground.
I rose against what life beset me
with courage the gruel for my soul,
hampered, harassed, never emptied,
firm and resolute toward my goal.
But it’s finished now, I’ve done my part
and I’ve left nothing uncompleted.
No looking back, no ruing thoughts
all my convictions undefeated.
And now I’m on that final journey
through all meridians of time and space,
with hope to meet the God that gave me
aeonian fortitude to run the race.
© August, 2015
One day while fishing Noah feels a tug upon his rod,
“I think I’ve caught a fish!” he yells, “Please, let it be a cod!”
He pulls his rod and reels his line to see what’s on the hook.
Then leans towards the sea so he can get a better look.
With wild excitement Noah peers to see what’s in the sea,
Then drops his tackle with a start, and turns around to flee.
The biggest shark that Noah’s ever seen is on the line,
It’s thrashing, pulling, chomping, chewing hard on Noah’s twine.
“Hey! You up there, how dare you! What on earth d’you think you’re doing?
Let me go at once or I promise you, this day you will be ruing!
I’ll beat you soundly; hard enough your eyes will soon be popping.
Now let me go so I can swim and get back to my shopping."
“Sharks don’t shop!” said Noah, “you just swim around and fight.
And when I’m swimming with my friends you give us all a fright.
We’re scared and try to run away but you guys bite our legs,"
Says the shark "I'm shopping, honestly. Look, here's a dozen eggs.
And here's a nice new dress I found. I think it will look nice
With these red boots from Dover Soles. I bought them at half price.
What about this perfume? Take a sniff it's Chanel 5.
Do you like it? Try some on your wrist. It makes me feel alive!"
So Noah holds his arm out to receive a squirt of scent.
And the shark bites through his elbow just right where his arm is bent.
"You rotter!" Noah screams, "you ate my arm, oh why, oh why?"
"All that shopping made me hungry" says the shark, "so long, goodbye!"
Deafening
rapid fire blasts
Shatter
the transluscent margins of
Silence
with
Harrowed cries
gasped
Howls
echo from one side to the other
Of the heart’s vast arena
with a repeating chorus
of ruing
Pleas
Of the gone lost
Groaning for home
in frayed syllables
Grasping
at last
To a measure of hope
Possible
in a faith’s apologies
And abiding love’s
Pronounced touch
of forgiveness…
** “I am the prodigal son every time I search for
unconditional love where it cannot be found.”
Henri Nouwen: “ The Prodigal Son “
—————————
(c) sally eslinger 2/3/2025
I'll be as kind as I can be, practicing sincerity.
I'll do my best at what I'm best at doing,
but what I can't do well, I won't be ruing!
For Rick Parise's 1-3 Line Poetry -
Your Life "Mission Statement" Poetry Contest
Climbers and bushes are like sentinels that guard our terrains,
Waterfalls and paths, cascade like snakes gliding on the mountains,
Our indigenous mansion lounges like a penthouse on the hill,
Amidst echoing rocks, mumbling winds, which chime with a mellow mill.
Chirpy whistles, gaiety gurgles and tuneful tender trills,
Of the nightingales, serenely sooth me with melodious thrills.
My breaths as I awake, perfumed by scents of lavender and jasmine,
The mollifying noon breeze, habitually sprays fragrances pristine,
Women in native regalia adorned, hum harmoniously, ambling to the spring
While whistling herdsmen, guide home their cattle fleets, in the evening.
Festal flashes of the withering sun, linger longingly, as if ruing to depart
From the chaste crimsonlit landscape, like lovers unwilling to part?
The lulling twilight thrush and owl’s ominous knell, contrastingly interlude,
Nightsky; a swarm of stars sprightly surround the moon, like in nuptial beatitude.
Ghastly and grotesque shapes seem to transiently form, from a distance,
Reminiscent of the phantom and fairy folklores, of our childhood dalliance.
I escape the misty chill, as fireflies’ luminous sparks bid me farewell,
Reclining to the quilt of our fireplace, succumbing to its soporific spell,
In a while, surrender to slumber’s beckon, lured like a lyre saccharine,
Home’s where the heart is, always a quilt of memories divine.
© Maverick Nyambu
a false man, a true man
a crooked man's strife
a litany of sins, as long as his life
a young man, an old man
a man for all times
a scale that will measure much more than his crimes
a thin man, a fat man
a man as he's made
a price not to bargain, but simply be paid
a cold man, a warm man
a gentle man's fate
a changing for better, before it's too late
a strong man, a weak man
a just man at last
a chance now to live life, not ruing the past
a live man, a dead man
a peaceful man rests
a time to reflect on his worsts and his bests
a rare man, a common man
ubiquitous man
a time to come home now, to where he began
Existence is jam-packed with such deadly traps,
You would wonder why its Author made it so;
You never are sure and ever live on borrowed time
For its turns may any time deal you a terminal blow.
You breathe when you find you can,
And will not be there to raise a query
Regarding your untimely and unfair decease,
When short it’s cut your mortal merry.
You suffer and cry when you have a tear,
And still get more of the dreaded stuff;
You make new resolves but your will is weak
And so you forget them all in a huff.
You know the way you should go
But your legs are light and easy to tempt,
So you end up taking the wrong course
And end up ruing the resolutions unkept.
If a believer, you increase your bootless prayers
And hope that someone up there will hear your cry,
But find your very woes increasing day after day
Till you accept your immutable plight and cease to try.
Whether blind rich or church-mouse poor, every man has his woes;
The poor man is ever crying over all the possible opportunities lost,
The young will always have to contend unfulfilled infatuations,
And the millionaire will ever bawl over a business deal unclosed.
So rather than file on through the shortened pages of time,
Men should spurn all the care and feel happy throughout;
In plenty and in dearth, in love and in hate –
For why invest in care and still have to doubt?
Saved soul
Soiled from living
Sin rues
Ruing
Of the mark missed
Joy
Joyful
Burdens lifted
New lease
Written: December 01, 2014
Wistful,
wondering why.
Weeping.
She cried alone,
as she sat
on rugged rock,
ruing she ever loved.
Placed 2
Batman wangled a one-wish deal from a genie fair and real,
ruing that his graveyard shift duty had been driving him nutty,
this flapping around nocturnal, chasing this and that criminal.
He wanted to be Spiderman, that glitzy celebrity on teevee,
and genie said yes, but would not guarantee identical identity,
and that impersonation or trademark law Batman ought to know.
Batman insisted on his wish, genie granted it with a minor twist:
the spider silken cord wouldn't zip out straight from his wrist,
but through holes of his shoes or pants, whichever opened first.
So, folks, if a guy swishes by upright, that's the real Spiderman alright,
but if he dangles upside down by his butt, then that's him, the man-bat,
and if that's unsightly, that's arachnid anatomy, don't blame the genie!
Our traces are an open book.
The digital world cuts into
pieces the starry,innovative
thinking.
The digital world is the secrecy
of a frightened,tormented soul.
The freedom of dying freedom
will be inevitable.
The personal life is continuously
ruing,nothing but,only a visual
reality will prevails to dominate
our every day life.
The unavoidable death of death
will be definite.
"thoughtless thoughts" will blossom
,flourish.
Profound thoughts,thoughtful
consideration and a state of thoughtfulness
will be destroyed and die
The lifeless death of death
is the main goal of the visual
digital world.
The whole world will be an
enormous cell,where,ideas
ideals and thoughts
will be suffocated.
.
MaryAnn Sage
Approximately one and a half score minus seven years ago
this then naïve and innocent early twenty something,
now a middle aged, diamond in the rough, jaded
two plus decades slavish married male did not realize
his fare maiden perfect form, she a capricorn
(who also shared same January 13th birthday as myself,
though a half dozen years Mycenae senior
hovered in mine immediate proximity,
a mere hello kitty whisker away,
which accompanying cat’s eye soft nose a pet smart appetite
saw me weight tool screwed up
to revere mother of pearl opal mate ideal beau
now ex post facto finds yours truly ruing foregone soul mate to crow
in vain, though I cannot help pining and lamenting where art thou – dow
ting she (MaryAnn Sage, a young whirled, wide webbed childless divorcee,
a couple of years shy of thirty)
ponders whereabouts of this contemplative, furtive
* * * * * * * * * *
’Twas raining cats and dogs,
Then a hard drizzle over the bogs.
I was the one with umbrella in-house;
But a girl needed to reach her house -
Beauty this deep must not souse!
This girl I offered to helping,
But heard me some fellas yelping:
Your best chance, your best try!
Yet soaking to keep her dry,
Put my umbrella over hairs plaited wry.
If only she'll look me with a smile,
It’ll make wooing a thing worthwhile;
But all the uneasy way through,
On her face she wore a forbidding cool
As though I smelled of a kiddy’s stool.
I took her number, nonetheless,
Promising to bring an umbrella no less
Every time the heavens poured.
But on reaching my place of board,
And seeing it a figure short was bored.
Argh! howled I in a voice so mean,
Ruing the guile she wreaked upon m’being.
So next time the rains were to fall,
Swore I the darkest oath of all,
My umbrella she’ll never have this doll!