Best Sighing Poems
Have you ever really heard
The sweet twitter of the night bird,
Flying towards the refuge trees:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
Two lovers sit on make shift bench,
Strangely they spoke in makeshift French,
Hoping their sweet whispers would please:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
A boy and a girl ate their meal,
Time for play, oh just hear them squeal
The children run and laugh and tease:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
The parents discuss the future
Their love, growth, success and nature
Their love mature, their hands they squeeze:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
God sees all of His creation,
The beauty of their vocation
Like the greenery of the trees:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
Catching Moon Sighs
From time to time
as clouds pass
— those plumpted puffs —
touring by
…Out
from behind them
a
Night’s lit
Blink!
will occur
for:
T’is our
Moon sighing
at Time’s insistent nudges
to fleet on by
And at which overseeing Venus
winks her sympathies…
(c) s.y. eslinger6/2024
In the hollows of a long and dreamless night,
The soothing beauty of a dawning twilight
And tired sighs of a homeless train passing by
Keep me company in the loneliness of this high
And I speak aloud to the crowd of whispering trees,
“I’ll live to find peace before I die from this disease.”
Sighing is one of life’s simpler pleasures
So often taken for granted, it appears,
It replaces many less desirable measures.
For example, learning a bill is in arrears
One can merely sigh and lay the matter aside,
So often taken for granted, it appears.
Another example, hearing a remark so snide
Showing boredom at such crass rudeness,
One can merely sigh and lay the matter aside.
Sighing also reflects relief from crudeness
A way of scarcely noticing, then turning away
Showing boredom at such crass rudeness.
Experts say, physically, sighing is a body’s way
Of taking in more oxygen in a time of need,
A way of scarcely noticing, then turning away.
Not like when one noticeably starts to bleed
Sighing is one of life’s simpler pleasures
Of taking in more oxygen in a time of need
It replaces many less desirable measures.
Written December 6, 2022
[posted prematurely as a Terza Rima,
so I edited, re-classified and reposted]
Revised December 6, 2022
Forlorn, my Muse breathes a profound, deep sigh;
silent, I just observe and don't ask why.
Her sigh belies her true, fervent desire,
for she's forever near to just inspire.
Though sad, she sees me in the cool of morn
by brook and bower where my songs are born:
she, lighter from the music of my songs,
is the dear one to whom my heart belongs.
And I, reposed nearby the babbling brook
and bower (far, far from the tow'ring rook!),
motion her hither, my deep-sighing Muse:
for if she's beckoned, she won't then refuse
to be my lifelong Muse until I'm dead,
when by all I'll be studied and well-read
so all the world will know how I so yearned,
and in my lines see how for her I burned!
Although a withered tree possesses a charm of its own,
aside from elegance, what should this old man do,
because not even possess a taste of ordinary
but he is the man of base, the incarnation of disgust.
If wrinkled face covered with ugly age spots,
clumsy shaking hands with swollen finger joints,
mucus filled clogged throat with foul breath,
arched stiff body with fetid body odor,
are all for the aged, with what shall we distinguish the means of life.
If the point where the word beauty no longer bears any meaning
to an old man anymore is the place for him to roam
stepping on the rays of the setting sun with remorse,
he should, if not all the truth, at least sustain empty mind
in his stiffening body, rather then spread bad breath in the air,
that may be caused from the curse he made to the world,
piles and piles of bad mouths he made to harm others,
and ill wishes he made from envies toward neighbors with his
small but destructive tongue, rotted and gives off the stinking odor?
The offensive odor from the body
may also be the same as of the foul breath, because it caused
from contaminants polluting the body from taking a bath jumping into any water
if he sees one on the roadside.
If there is an easy way out or shortcut,
did not give any consideration but, instantaneously,
took this easy way.
If he finds an empty space,
not even a moment of thought, rushed to there,
sat, laid and rolled over to enjoy the space of his own.
Since wrong cannot last long
he shouldn’t see, hear or speak anymore
but leave the world without an apprehension of others.
Nevertheless, what shall the old man do!
Because life is a cycle of retribution
and is the reason he is still breathing.
And because he is breathing, he undergoes never-ending torture
suffocated by his own body odor that became an intolerable reek,
groaning for persisting pain twisting stiffened body,
while he continues seeing, hearing and mumbling.
Oh "the silent song of the sighing breeze"_
and melody of the birds chirping song,
the gentle swaying of the forest's trees;
sounds that mingle and twine . . . the whole daylong !
I come upon some wildflowers growing,
fragile blooms in yellow, purple and blue;
all the while that sighing breeze is blowing,
sighing, sighing- though still fragile . . . begin life new !
So, let go of the past sorrow and grief,
embrace the beauty of nature for peace;
let emotions fall like a tree's dead leaf,
the treasure you find . . . is God's great masterpiece !
Sighing in the rain
It
Was a
Dull morning
Dark and cloudy
But we ventured out
Rushing to catch the train
Before long we were engulfed
Half way along the avenue
In a downpour of torrential rain
Of course Jan had forgotten her brolly
So we had to turn back, go home again
As she was soaked to the very skin
The rest of us were so annoyed
We would miss the train to town
Be late for the concert
And afternoon tea.
Our day out spoiled
“Not happy
Foolish
Jan”
The silent song of the sighing breeze
The silent song of the sighing breeze
murmured but not listened !
Either subsonic or supersonic
but to be felt by heart
not to meet a tragic end.
I sent my errand to you
through blowing breeze to
sigh and whisper in your ears,
cherishing expectation to touch your emotion.
Wandering on wonderful sea beach,
ruminating old memories being nostalgic.
Sending my unsaid message in symphony of silent song
through gentle breeze only to sigh.
Zephyr pulling emotive urge unstoppable.
Reminiscences rolling spreading forgotten fragrance.
May my dormant desires propagate through air to reach you.
Ruthless truth was ‘ I couldn’t accept You ‘
That lamentation is chasing me throughput life.
I am weeping with the silent song of the sighing breeze
imbibing my lost love.
I close my eyes and I see; a broken smile that is me
I close my eyes and I feel; an intangible light that makes it real.
I open my eyes and I imagine; my broken smile completing
I open my eyes and I touch; the reality that awaits me much.
I close my eyes and I hear; the whispering winds which render all clear
I close my eyes and I smell; the memories of times past well.
I open my eyes and I listen; to the winds that leave my life glistened
I open my eyes and I breathe; all the urging hopes of you indeed.
It is a cycle of here and there, is and not, ignorance and care
It is a cycle of haste and rest, true and false, worst and best.
Difficult as it is, I still live through; complicated as it may get, I still wish it were true.
One thing it is, to aspire and dream; another again, to silently scream.
It is a cycle of yes and no, maybe and sure, why and so
It is a cycle of ‘I think’ and ‘I feel’, ‘I want’ and ‘I must’, ‘I wish’ and ‘I have to deal’.
It gets tougher and I lose faith; but it is alright, I can still wait
My deepest fear is the end of it all; the loss of my faith and my patience’ fall
It is a fairytale waiting to happen; that is what I have believed in
It is the essence of life we all are looking for; that is what I have been thinking
Let’s wait a little longer and pray a little more
Hope for a few moments stronger and hold out till my feelings are sore
Find me before the dawn breaks, find me before the magic is gone
Find me before the spell turns to nothing, find me before the curtain is drawn.
The last time someone I cared for
shut me out this quickly and this much,
was the last time they closed that door,
leaving me aught but the broken handle to clutch.
They say I shouldn't feel this way in two weeks,
should not yet get this hurt;
I wish so, but solace my heart seeks,
when one so open turns so curt.
It's been raining these few days,
which always suits me just fine.
It fits being lost in this maze
of worries and doubts of mine.
The dreaded Friday the 13th comes by
and brings with it the cliff I feared,
the vague ending I always decry,
the goodbye with no answers, ardor bleared.
It's by no means the end of my world,
indeed just an example of how it's always been.
So back to that road I am freshly hurled,
tonight sighing once again.
As restlessness spirals like swirls in a shimmer,
An aura showered path swallows blackness as it grows,
As fires dine on forests, like rust in fast-forward.
A brightly lit trail leads to an abandoned charcoal house..
The klanking of glass streams gently through the breeze,
Patterns lay in the sand, left by meandering souls.
Your arms slowly rise, a push forced to the door.
Ice falls from your skin as you rush through the air,
With a click signaled entrance, you looked up and said;
"I've been here before, and I know I should leave".
The door sighed a creek of impeccable desire,
as you gazed upon it's awkward peeling paint.
"I really shouldn't be here, it's not time yet". You whispered.
A small glistening appeared through the door, growing brighter and wider.
Fixated, like a statue in the mesmer of a glow,
You watch the door shut, and the spirals lose their light..
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing
As its waters flowed lazily toward the west,
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
They tell me her fish are no good for frying,
Technology prevents her from reaching a crest
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing.
As I sat resting along the bank, I felt like crying,
The view hindered by barges floating abreast
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
I could see the pollution along her edges drying
Not in negligible amounts, too much is manifest,
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing.
A few civic-minded folks who care keep trying
To clean up our waterways, doing their best,
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
Tugs were anchored at the ship’s store buying
I wondered if the tugs ever take on a guest,
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
Written April 4, 2022
submitted to Brian Strand's
Premier Poetry Contest
I heard what I thought were whispers in flight.
Soft murmurings like lyrics, that caused no fright.
It was similar to the humming drone of honey bees,
playing for me, "the silent song of the sighing breeze."
It was such a soft voice that resonated in my mind,
that I set out in a search, desperately hoping to find
the slightest wind that could murmur its sighs to me.
They were nearly inaudible, but not eerie or ghostly.
Leaves on ancient oaks were being stripped away.
Gusts blew with more force, making its branches sway.
What message did I not yet decipher from the breeze?
Was it meant for me, or for the bare limbs of trees?
Suddenly, a gentle calmness settled across the yard.
I didn't hear the breeze's song, though I tried very hard.
Woeful words it carried were not meant for my ears,
but to assuage all the trees who wept wistful tears.
#1
They deck the halls
And wistful sigh
So much has gobbled
Up the days
The shopping list
The cards sent out
So slippery in
The traffic’s maze.
They hear the songs
Of warm good will
And feeble prayers
For peace on earth
But down inside
They bungle still
The festive fount
That gives life worth.
The manger and
The wise men’s trek
Mere images
Within the blend
And shepherds heed
The angel songs
Of Glory come
In love for men.
Too tired now
To see Noel
As marvelous
And filled with Hope.
The Day flits by
The sparkle leaves
Through one more
Christ-less year
They grope.
Lord move with power
And shake their eyes
And hearts still cold
To Mercy’s Plan.
With revelation
Lift their weights
Enlighten to
Your Son born man.